Chapter Twenty-Three
Jamie
My dad looked dead. In five hours, he’d barely stirred, and it was freaking me out.
It reminded me of Hunter as a newborn and how I’d check to make sure he was still breathing whenever he fell asleep. It was embarrassing to admit the number of times I woke him, just to be sure he was still alive.
I was tempted to do the same with my father now, except the monitor showed he wasn’t dead yet, and I wasn’t insane enough to disturb him. Waking him would mean facing him again.
Although maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
He wasn’t going to last much longer. All I could do was find peace with it.
With him.
I needed to make amends. I had no idea how or if it was even possible, but I wanted to try. Seeing how he’d taken care of the house, knowing how good things were before we lost Mom and Trina—there had to be something salvageable between us.
I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Maybe if I reconciled with Dad, I could send for Hunter. My father and son should meet at least once. My decisions had impacted them both so deeply.
I’d probably done Hunter a disservice keeping him from this place.
He’d never experienced life outside Toronto’s rat race.
Never seen the forests surrounding this place, gone to a real farmer’s market, or skied at the resort.
He’d never had a backyard to play in. And he’d never spent a lazy Sunday watching old movies with his whole family.
He might not ever get some of those moments, and most of that was my fault. I’d robbed him of what could’ve been the best parts of his childhood.
Pain bloomed in my chest, indecision cracking my heart.
Part of me wanted to run back to the life I’d built over the last decade. Back to the predictable. The safe. I could pack up, leave Copper Ridge in the rearview mirror, and pretend this detour had never happened.
But that part of me was operating out of fear.
Fear that I might want to stay and make a new life here. For me and my son.
Toronto had lost some of its luster compared to Copper Ridge. The nostalgia and longing for this place were easy to ignore when I wasn’t immersed in it. But being here again—breathing this air, walking these streets—made the lie harder to hold.
I’d missed it. The town. The people. The version of myself I’d once been.
And if I left now, I’d miss Eric most of all. I wasn’t ready to move on without him.
Maybe this thing between us was purely circumstance, a forced connection built on need and fear. Two exhausted people clinging to comfort. Maybe the pull between us was just adrenaline and grief masquerading as chemistry.
Hell, under normal circumstances, we might bore each other senseless.
Maybe.
But when I’d woken this morning with my cheek pressed to his chest, his arm heavy and sure around my waist, everything had felt right. Not dramatic. Not reckless. Just…right.
He made staying feel possible.
Every reason I had to leave blurred when he touched me. The past didn’t disappear, but it didn’t feel as unmanageable when I was in his arms.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway pulled me from my thoughts. Dylan appeared in the doorway, strutting into my father’s hospital room like he belonged there. Like he owned the damn place.
“Hey there, Princess. You’re looking good this evening.” Cocky as always.
“What are you doing here?” If I wasn’t worried about waking my dad, I might’ve yelled.
“Thought I’d check in, see how you’re holding up.” He smiled like this was normal. “How’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Fine, I guess. He’s been sleeping all day. But, really Dylan, why are you here?”
“Just finished my shift. Thought we could talk.” He hesitated, staring like he was daring me to make the first move.
“You want to talk again?”
“I was hoping we could continue our conversation from the other day.”
Thirty seconds in the room and I’d had enough. Talking wasn’t something we’d ever done successfully, even as a couple.
“I wanted you to know you were right.” His gaze dropped. “I should be taking more responsibility for Hunter. I want to. I’ve just been afraid. I don’t know what I’m doing. I wasn’t prepared to be a dad.”
Finally. After ten years, he was finally admitting what I’d been saying all along. The validation should have been sweet, but all I felt was exhaustion.
“Welcome to parenthood, Dylan. You think I had the first clue about being a mom? You think I was prepared? What kind of excuse is that?”
Dylan glanced at my sleeping father. “You’re right, Princess. I have no excuse.”
“Stop calling me that. I’m not your princess. I never was, and I never will be.”
“Calm down.” He sighed, exasperated. “It’s just a nickname. You might not like it, but you’re still a princess in my mind. You can’t force me to think differently.”
If only it were that easy.
“But I’ll try to respect your feelings about it. It’s just another reminder that you’re too good for me.”
“God, Dylan, give it a rest. I’m not the bad guy because I refuse to accept the way you treat me.”
“No. I’m the bad guy. That’s what I’m saying. I don’t deserve someone like you. I’ve been an asshole, I know it. I’m worried I’m not good enough for our son either. But I want to move forward. Do the right thing. Earn the right to have him call me Dad.”
“Well, it’s about goddamn time,” my father drawled sleepily.
“Dad… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. We’ll take this conversation out to the hall.”
“No, you will not.” Although weak, he still had a way of asserting his authority. “You think I don’t have a right to know what’s going on? This is my grandson you’re talking about. You’re my daughter—like it or not.”
The possessiveness in his voice caught me off guard. After years of silence, he was suddenly claiming ownership of my life, my decisions, my child.
“Mr. Hartley, I guess I owe you an apology too.” Dylan had the sense to look contrite. “I realize I need to step up. I’ve been disrespectful to you and to your daughter. I plan to make up for that.”
“You gonna start helping her out more?”
“Yes, sir, if she’ll let me.”
“You gonna do more than visit a few times a year and send a cheque once a month? Actually get involved with your son?”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I want.”
They were discussing me, my life, like I wasn’t even in the room. Like I was some incapable heroine in need of rescue. As if either of them had any business trying to make decisions on my behalf.
I’d raised Hunter alone for ten years. I’d built a career, maintained a home, made every major decision without input from either of these men. What the hell gave them the right to start caring now? And how the hell did my father know so much about me and Dylan?
The irony wasn’t lost on me—I’d spent years wanting both of them to step up, and now that they were trying, all I felt was bitter.
“What do you say, Jamie?” Dad asked quietly. “You gonna give him a chance to make things right?”
“With Hunter, yes.” I turned to Dylan. “I’d never hold you back from your son. But Hunter needs to be the priority, not your feelings. He barely knows you. It’ll take time.”
“What about with you, James? You gonna let him make things right with you?”
I wasn’t sure how my father had become the facilitator, but I didn’t like it. I never wanted to disappoint him, even now. Still, this felt like a setup.
Instead of answering his invasive question, I fired back my own. “How did you know Dylan sends me a check every month? How do you know how often he visits? And who gave you those pictures of Hunter in your living room?”
“Jesus Christ, child.” His attempt to yell dissolved into coughing.
Dylan answered instead. “He knows because I tell him.”
“So you’ve been conspiring behind my back? You thought you’d cozy up to Dad so he could convince me to go back to you?”
“You really are paranoid and defensive.” Dylan’s accusation stung. “I kept in touch because he’s your father. Since you weren’t talking to him, someone should. He deserves to know about you and his grandkid. I thought he should have pictures and stories about your life.”
Stories about my life from a man who only showed up when it suited him. I was aghast at the lengths Dylan had gone to behind my back.
Dad stopped coughing. “You still didn’t answer my question. You gonna let Dylan make things right with you?”
Hell no.
Dylan spoke before I could. “All Jamie wants from me is doing right by our son, Mr. Hartley. She’s determined we won’t have a relationship beyond Hunter. Beyond friendship.”
“Jamie?” My dad looked at me like I’d broken some cardinal rule. “You not going to give Dylan a second chance? Don’t you think your boy should have a real family?”
“Dad.” I sighed, tired and frustrated. “Dylan and I discussed this. Hunter needs two strong parents who love him. Us being together won’t make things better. It would make them worse.”
“James.” His tone grew stern.
Dylan cut him off. “Mr. Hartley, Jamie’s got a point. We don’t love each other. That’s no way to raise a kid. Trust me—that’s the home I grew up in, and it sucked.”
Dylan admitting he didn’t love me felt surprisingly good. I’d been afraid I’d damaged him beyond repair. Maybe something I’d said had finally sunk in.
“Besides,” he continued, “Jamie has a new man. I met him the other day. Seems like a good guy. But I’m still running a background check to make sure he’s safe around Hunter. I plan to be thorough.”
“New guy? How come I didn’t know about this?” Dad coughed, looking at Dylan accusingly. “And if he’s such a good guy, where is he?”
Shit. This was where lying got you.
How was I supposed to dig out of this without revealing my dishonesty?
I felt like the asshole now. I’d lied to everyone, including myself, and now I had to explain it all to my dying father.
What would Eric think if he were here right now? What would he do? What would he expect me to do? Honesty was best—I just needed the strength to say it.
“He’s—”
My phone rang, Hunter’s number lighting the screen.