Chapter 16 #2
Everything I never had as a child.
But what if we start to expect James? What if she gets used to his presence—his steadiness, his goodness—and he leaves? I can’t bear the thought of her learning heartbreak through me, through someone I bring into her life.
Mason may not give us the home I imagined, but at least his absence is predictable. It’s a safer bet than inviting a love that could vanish, shattering her nascent trust.
I can’t risk falling for someone who might give us everything, only to disappear.
With Anna napping in her crib, I find James at the stove stirring chili, relaxed and steady in a way that ignites my indignance.
“Can you stop the act?” The words snap out of me.
James turns, eyes narrowing, reading everything I’m trying to hide.
“No more glasses of water. No more of this album. Stop being so damn considerate.”
Hurt flashes, then something sharper. He isn’t going to stand there and let me yell. “Why? Because your dickhead husband is too selfish to see you need help?”
“No. You don’t get to swoop in and play the hero.
What’s happening between Mason and me is none of your business.
I can take care of myself. I always have.
” I cross my arms, posture automatic. Defensive, like it might keep me from unraveling.
“I don’t need your pity. And I sure as hell don’t need your regret for giving up your vacation to babysit me and my kid. ”
“You think I regret today?” His nostrils flare, frustration blazing across his face. “There are only two things I regret from this week. You want to hear them?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“One,” he says, his voice so low it ripples down my spine.
“I’ve met the most incredible woman… and I can’t have her.
She’s brilliant, funny. We talk for hours, and it’s easy.
And she’s so goddamn sexy I can’t think straight.
” He swallows hard. “I’ve thought about her every single day for the past year.
And it’s so bad, Sydney, I have to take multiple showers a day to jerk off, just so I can look at her without losing my goddamn mind. ”
His words strike like flint.
My body sparks to life before my mind can catch up. Something tightens low and insistent, pulse hammering against my ribs. The image of him in the shower, wanting me. Fuck.
“Two,” he says, stepping forward, closing the space, “I watched her husband grab her, and I did nothing. Every part of me wanted to put him through a wall. But I didn’t, because I knew she wouldn’t want that. She wouldn’t want me to fight her battles.”
He pauses, voice softening. “Even though she deserves someone who would.”
I inhale sharply, but it’s not enough. His words crash over me. I try to stand my ground while the tide pulls harder.
“Actually, make that three. She’s married to a jackass, and I’m dating her sister-in-law instead of her.”
We’re standing inches apart, but it might as well be an ocean. The heat from his body radiates across the small space, making it hard to breathe, hard to think clearly.
“Why are you with Ivy?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t flinch. “I know this makes me a fucking asshole. How wrong it is that I’m with her when I can’t stop thinking about you.” His voice drops, rough and broken. “When I imagine a life with you.”
The truth is brutal and blinding in its clarity.
I want to tell him he makes me believe I could be more.
That freedom isn’t something I chase on long runs or under frozen lights.
That life doesn’t have to hurt. That being chosen by him is both the most intoxicating and terrifying thing I can imagine.
I open my mouth to say something. The words form and die as the front door bursts open.
Laughter floods in, boots thudding on hardwood, voices rising in cheerful chaos.
I force my legs to move and slip into the living room, past the noise, past the almost of it all. The practiced, gleaming smile appears as I drop my shoulders, pitch my voice higher and become who they expect.
“Hey guys! How was skiing?”
Jules clocks me instantly. Her eyes dart to the kitchen. Something sharp shifts in her gaze—a tilt of her head, a narrowing of her mouth—and I follow her line of sight. James stands where I left him, eyes locked on me, jaw set, every inch of him taut.
“Do you need some time to finish the conversation we clearly interrupted?” She lowers her voice, her eyes skating across the others, as if she’s devising a distraction.
I feel it—all of it—burning through me. Every word he said. Every one I didn’t. I stand frozen, fists clenched, agreeable Sydney fracturing.
Mason steps in, blocking my view of the kitchen. He reaches for my hand, his touch light enough to look loving. “I’m sorry about yesterday, and for leaving the way I did today. Let’s go home in the morning and have a quiet New Year’s Eve.”
I swallow my laugh as a lifetime of possibilities flashes in a heartbeat.
With Mason, I know what to expect. I can handle his disregard and cutting words. It requires low expectations, a steady dulling of self. I can do that. I’ve done it for thirty-seven years. I know how to shelter Anna from it.
But James?
What he offers is something else entirely. Something alive. Unpredictable. Messy and beautiful. It terrifies me because it demands that I believe in a world where love is freely given and won’t be pulled away.
“Syd.” Mason squeezes my hand.
“Yes. I think we should go home.” I swallow hard.
***
Sleep won’t come.
I know I shouldn’t leave the room. Shouldn’t check if he’s still awake. But knowing isn’t the same as listening.
Barefoot, I slip into the hallway, my feet silent against the wood floors. Oversized sweatpants hang loose on my hips. My bare face feels exposed, hair pulled back in a messy bun. Nothing to hide behind. Inside, I feel just as unguarded.
But I don’t stop, not until I reach the sunroom.
He’s sprawled on the sofa, a book open in his hands. His eyes stay fixed on the pages; he doesn’t look when I step into the room.
“I never thanked you for the book. I haven’t started it yet, but… It’s one I’ve wanted to read.”
“You’re welcome.”
His voice is clipped. No glance. No inflection. The twitch of a muscle in his jaw is all I get.
I sink into the chair, unsure why I’m here or what I want to say. The tick of the distant hallway clock and the sharp rustle of pages are the only sounds breaking the silence.
Without a glance or preamble, he begins.
“You asked me earlier why I’m with Ivy. I’m with her because she doesn’t make my blood boil.
She’s kind. Sweet. Easy to be with. She doesn’t make me feel all of this—anger, frustration, jealousy.
” His eyes finally rise from the page, landing on me like a blow.
A sharp, humorless laugh escapes me. “She sounds perfect.”
“I want a family, Sydney. I want kids. I’m thirty-seven years old.”
“So, what… are you threatening me? If I don’t burn my entire life to the ground and chase some maybe with you, you’ll marry her?”
He sucks in a breath before his voice comes out softer, more measured. “Will you tell me what you were about to say before everyone walked in?”
Ignoring his question and my hammering pulse, I say flatly, “Easy isn’t the same thing as right. Sadly, I figured that out too late.”
“Tell me if this is all in my fucking head. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me. That you don’t feel the same way.”
I try to say it, but the words won’t come out. Instead, I hiss, “Can’t you find someone else sweet and nice who’ll give you perfect babies—so I don’t have to fucking watch it.”
His eyes snap to mine, hearing the truth buried in those words.
Some lies are too much, even for me.
My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. I pause at the doorway, waiting to see if he’ll say more. His mouth stays pressed in a thin line.
“Goodbye, James. We’re leaving early in the morning.”
Tears, held back, fall in silent streams as I sweep into our dark room. Mason snores on. Anna’s eyelids flutter as I wrap her in my arms, pulling her to my chest. Her hands fold together as if in tiny prayer.
I watch the steady rise and fall of her breath, committing this moment to memory: the peace of her, soft dark hair beginning to grow, the perfect bow of her lips as she dreams. Each delicate inhale reminds me how completely dependent she is on the choices I make.
My love for her is so absolute that it stirs the memory of a different kind of love—one I buried long ago:
Mother sits on my father’s lap. I hear a commotion and come to the top of the stairs as they stumble inside from their party. Hiding behind a potted plant, I watch. It’s the first time I’ve seen them all day.
She leans down and kisses my father, long and slow. “I couldn’t live if you ever left me.”
“You’ll never have to worry about that, love.” He cradles her chin. “What if we go away for a long weekend? Paris or Turks?”
My mother sighs. “It’s Sydney’s birthday on Sunday.”
“Bah. She’s so young. She won’t even notice. We’ll tell Madame Rousseau to do something special.” My father kisses my mother again. “Anyway, she needs to learn that some loves are more important than others. She’ll eventually leave us. But you and I are forever.”
Oh, how tragically right my mother was.
When other girls had their parents cheer after skating competitions, I smiled and found my nanny.
When classmates had parents visit during boarding school weekends, I buried myself in books and ran through nearby towns.
I learned how to fill the quiet with motion, how to protect the softest parts of myself, to build walls that kept their absence from breaking me.
It wasn’t until the call from my mother’s assistant that everything crumbled. Not even twenty-four hours after hearing my father died in a car accident, I learned my mother was gone too. By choice.
All the walls I’d spent years building shattered. Because the truth was, I did love them. Despite their distance and neglect, I still clung to the foolish hope that someday they might see me, might want to love me in return.
But my mother’s choice made everything clear: I wasn’t enough to make her want to stay. I had never been enough for either of them.
I trace a feather-light finger along Anna’s cheek and whisper, “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
But even as I make the promise, the parallel haunts me. My mother chose passionate, destructive love over her child. I’m choosing the opposite.
As sleep tugs at me, a quiet voice rises from somewhere deep inside:
What if the home Anna deserves... isn’t the one we’re walking back into?