Chapter Eleven
Jamie
“This isn’t what I expected.” Eric’s voice carried easily through the pine-scented air as needles softened our steps and trees closed in around us.
I knew it wasn’t. This wasn’t a waterfront walkway or public beach where everyone else went—locals and tourists drawn to the Bay the second spring arrived.
Those places were crowded. Families with strollers.
Couples pretending not to watch each other.
Runners, dogs, cameras, noise. The whole town spilling out to be seen.
Not ideal when I was trying to avoid public scrutiny. The secrets I needed to share were better said in private.
Mills Conservation Area wasn’t empty, but it was big enough to feel secluded. Trails cut through rock and trees, winding along the river and climbing the natural rise of the Niagara Escarpment until they reached the lookout perched above the valley.
His arm brushed mine, warm and solid, and I forced myself to focus on the view instead of the contact. “Not a nature guy?”
“It’s great. Just not what I grew up with. I’ve spent most of my life in the city.”
“Toronto?”
“Montreal. Born and raised.” He stepped over a root without breaking stride. “After university, I moved to Manhattan to work for my uncle. I’ve only been in Copper Ridge about five months. My parents and Caleb moved here four years ago. My sister’s in Toronto, though.”
“That’s where I live. But being back here feels…good. I missed all this green.”
I drew in a deep breath, clean air filling my lungs in a way the city never quite managed. “If you think this part’s impressive, wait until you see what’s next.”
We crested the rise as I said it. The trees thinned, then fell away entirely, and the lookout spread open beneath the sky. Golden evening light poured across the rise like it had been waiting for us.
Eric stopped behind me, close but not touching. For a moment, the world narrowed to wind in the trees and the steady sound of his breathing at my back.
The view tugged at something deep in my chest, memories flooding me all at once. I was eight again. Then fifteen. Standing here and pretending the valley below was a kingdom and I was something untouchable.
Princess.
Like a whisper from the past, Dylan’s annoying nickname echoed through my mind, making my skin crawl.
What would’ve happened if Eric hadn’t been there yesterday? If I’d been alone with Dylan?
There was no point lying to myself. I probably would’ve let him touch me. Let him pull me back into the same tired loop we’d been circling for years.
I’d always justified it. We had history. A child. He knew me better than anyone. He was easy and familiar. All the excuses I hid behind so I didn’t have to call it what it was.
Loneliness.
Dylan had always been convenient.
The truth wasn’t just embarrassing. It was ugly. I hadn’t misread him. I’d seen exactly who he was and chose not to look too closely. He still believed in us. In some version of a future I’d already left behind.
And I let him. Strung him along because it felt safer than standing on my own.
The firm weight of Eric’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Hey, where’d you go?”
“Sorry. Got lost in thought.”
“Thoughts about what?”
There it was. The opening I’d been working up to.
I drew in a breath and let it out all at once. “About that explanation I owe you.”
No one else had ever stepped in for me the way Eric had. He was the only one who’d ever taken control when I needed someone. On fake-boyfriend credentials alone, he’d earned the truth.
It was now or never.
“I can practically hear the gears grinding in your head.” His thumb brushed my collarbone in a slow, absent sweep that made stepping away feel impossible.
My pulse kicked hard as a breathless laugh escaped me.
“I’m not going to pretend I’m not curious. But I won’t corner you into saying something you’re not ready to.”
Of course he wouldn’t.
He was infuriatingly decent, and all I’d given him so far were fragments and half-truths wrapped in avoidance.
I shook my head. “I want to tell you.”
His jaw tightened, but he waited.
“Dylan was my first boyfriend. We started dating when we were fifteen.” My voice sounded steady, but it didn’t feel that way. “We thought we were in love. Mostly we were just young. And stupid.”
Eric’s hand slid from my shoulder down my arm, fingers closing around mine with quiet authority.
“I stayed at his place whenever being at home felt…unbearable.” My eyes closed and lips pressed together, the words hard to get out.
Eric tugged on my hand, guiding me to one of the benches overlooking the trail. The motion was decisive, and I obeyed without thought.
“Talk to me.” Our thighs brushed as he sat next to me. “I’ve seen the photos. I know it wasn’t always like that. Tell me what changed.”
“It’s a lot. Too much. It’s all tangled.”
Silence stretched between us, but he didn’t rush to fill it. He just waited.
And somehow, that gave me the strength to go on. “My mom and sister died in a car accident when I was thirteen. My sister died on impact. My mom didn’t. She was kept alive in a coma for just over three weeks.”
Saying it out loud still felt unreal, like I was reciting facts from someone else’s life.
“For twenty-three days, my dad and I sat beside her. She was broken, bruised, and unconscious. We watched machines breathe for her and told ourselves it would be okay. That she’d wake up. That she’d come back to us.” My throat tightened. “She never did.”
His grip firmed, thumb tracing slow circles over my wrist. A reminder I wasn’t alone.
“The coma was induced. The doctors said it was the only way to try to save her. But after three weeks, it wasn’t her anymore. Just machines.” I swallowed hard. “They told us she was brain dead. There was no real choice left, but it was my dad who had to make it.”
My chest burned as the memory pressed down hard.
“He signed the paperwork. Less than twenty-four hours later, she was gone.”
“Fuck, Jamie. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t deserve your sympathy.” My voice cracked as the first tear slipped free. “I blamed him. Screamed at him and called him a murderer.”
The pain that gripped my chest was sharp and old, nothing like the dull ache I’d been carrying. This one had teeth—grief that had never been processed or even named.
“What I didn’t understand was that the doctors would’ve done it anyway. That the decision my dad made was probably the hardest one he’d ever face.”
The lump in my throat swelled until it hurt to breathe. “He did it out of love. Out of mercy. He donated her organs. He spared us weeks of watching her fade.”
Tears slid freely now, no point fighting them.
“He never defended himself. Never corrected me. Never told me the facts. He just let me hate him.”
“Come here.” Eric didn’t wait for permission. He pulled me into him, like he’d already decided this was where I belonged.
I let myself lean into him. I hadn’t earned this. Didn’t deserve the way he held me like I was something worth protecting. I took it anyway.
“We were both drowning,” I said, my voice cracking. “But instead of holding onto each other, we just…shut down.”
Eric’s arm tightened around me, and I curled my legs onto the bench, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.
“He started drinking. I’d come home from school and find him passed out. Sometimes in his own mess.” My stomach knotted. “When he wasn’t out cold, he was furious. Everything set him off. I cleaned him up when I could. Avoided him when I couldn’t. And that became the norm somehow.”
Silence settled around us, but my thoughts hadn’t stilled.
Coming back here, I was prepared for that version of my father. For the mess. The quiet dread of walking through the door.
Instead, I’d found a man who seemed…functional. When had he clawed his way out? And how had I missed it?
“Did he hurt you?” Eric’s voice wasn’t loud, but the words were hard.
“He slapped me once. But the first time he hit me was the last time he ever got the chance.”
My chest burned as the memory surfaced. The crack of skin on skin. The sting that lingered long after my face stopped throbbing.
“So you started running to Dylan.” It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t sound like an accusation, either. Eric stated it like a fact. “That was your out.”
“Yes. He was my escape.” A bitter, breathy laugh slipped free. “I really believed he was going to save me.”
God, I’d been so young. So desperate. I’d wrapped my future around a boy who cared more about sneaking booze and getting me into bed than getting me out of anything. He talked pretty, and I’d listened.
Like a fool.
“But he didn’t.”
“No,” I agreed. “He didn’t.”
He exhaled, slow and measured. “Okay. My turn.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You gave me something real.” His gaze didn’t waver. “More than I expected. Now it’s my turn. And if you decide you’re done after that, I’ll respect it.”
“No, Eric. I should just finish. I should tell you everything.”
He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek. “Hey, beautiful girl, you’re stealing my spotlight.”
I almost laughed despite myself.
“I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old man who, until five months ago, had my entire life mapped out.” The way he said it made it clear he wasn’t asking for pity.
“I built that plan myself,” he continued, his jaw tightening.
“But every step was calculated to meet the expectations I thought my parents had for me. Corporate accounting at my uncle’s pharmaceutical company, the right apartment in Manhattan, the right connections.
I told myself I was in control, that I was choosing my path. ”
He dragged a hand through his hair, fingers curling hard at the ends like he needed the pain to keep him present.
“But I hated every damn day of it. Manhattan felt like a trap, not an opportunity. I just didn’t let myself think about it until Caleb got sick.
Then suddenly all that careful planning felt pointless.
I’d been wasting my time. My fucking life. ”
His eyes locked on mine.
“So I walked away. Left the job, the apartment, my friends, everything I’d worked for without a backward glance. My uncle still thinks I’m coming back to work. But I’ve already decided—I’m done living someone else’s version of success.”
I pulled back enough to see his face clearly. “There’s nothing shameful about that. You’re an adult who made a choice. I left home at seventeen because I didn’t think I had one.”
“Seventeen?” he repeated, brows lifting. “For real?”
“Yeah. My dad pushed me past the point of no return. He threatened me. He threatened Dylan…” I swallowed hard, fear trying to cut off the words. “And my baby.”
Eric tensed, his breath held and body tight.
“Dylan gave me an ultimatum. And like an idiot, I went to my father for help.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember that picture you were looking at? At my dad’s house. The one of the little boy?”
My lips curved despite the tremor in them. My son’s grin flashed through my mind, bright and unstoppable. “That’s my son.”
The shock on Eric’s face cut deep. I’d told myself the omission was harmless. Seeing his reaction proved otherwise.
“Dylan’s his father,” I said, because there was no turning back now. “When I told him I was pregnant, his reaction wasn’t exactly supportive. He made it clear I could keep him or keep the baby. Not both.”
Saying it out loud still hurt. And yet, the more I spoke, the stronger I felt.
“I was terrified. So I went to my dad.” My fingers dug into my jeans. “He called me a whore and hit me. That’s when I packed a bag. Took his car. His credit card. No plan. No goodbye. I just walked out. And I never came back.”
“You have a kid?” Eric’s voice was calm. Too calm. Something dangerous simmered beneath it.
“Yes.” I lifted my chin, even with tears still falling.
“Dylan’s the father.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You were a teenager. You stole a car. Left home. And raised a child on your own.”
I nodded. “Mostly.”
The silence that followed was nothing like before. Not peaceful. Not shared. It pressed in, heavy. Eric stared out over the trees, jaw ticking, breath shallow, like he was holding something back.
I couldn’t sit inside it.
I slid out from under his arm and stood. It was a relief to have the truth out in the open. It felt better to be honest. Better to be the real me.
The rest I could survive.
Rejection was familiar. Expected, even. Fake or not, this thing between us had always been fragile. There’d always been an end in sight.
It was time for me to go.