12. Kiara #3
“Kiara. Look at me.” He waits until my eyes meet his. “I’d never do that. I’d never try to take him from you. You’re his mother. You’ve raised him and loved him and been there for every moment of his life. I’m the one who has to earn my place here. Not the other way around.”
“I need to hear you say the words.”
“No lawyers.” His voice is steady. Certain. “No custody battles. No legal action of any kind. Not now. Not ever. I swear it on my life.”
“And no sudden moves.” I don’t look away from him. “No taking him places without asking me first. No showing up unannounced. No buying him expensive gifts to win his affection.”
“Agreed.”
“No promising him things you can’t deliver. No telling him you’ll come back if you aren’t sure you can. No making him love you and then disappearing.”
His face crumples. Just for a second. Then he pulls it back together. “I’d never disappear on him. I’d never do to him what was done to us.”
“And if you break any of these terms.” I make my voice hard. I need him to understand. “If you break any of them, even once, you’re out. No second chances. No explanations. Just done.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because I need you to really understand, Jensen. I’m not doing this to punish you. I’m doing this to protect him. He has already been through enough. He has already spent four years without a father. I won’t let him get attached to you and then lose you again.”
“You won’t lose me.” He reaches out. His hand hovers near my face, not quite touching. “Neither of you will ever lose me again. I’m here. I’m staying. Whatever it takes. However long it takes.”
I search his face. Looking for doubt. Looking for hesitation. Looking for any sign that he doesn’t mean what he’s saying.
I find nothing but desperation. And hope. And grief. And love.
“Okay,” I say finally.
“Okay?”
“We’ll try.”
He exhales. The breath shudders out of him. His whole body seems to sag with relief.
“Thank you.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Kiara. I won’t let you down. I won’t let him down.”
The coffee maker beeps behind me. I turn away from him, grateful for the excuse to move. I pull two mugs from the cabinet. Pour the coffee. Add sugar to mine, leave his black the way he always used to drink it.
When I turn back, he’s watching me with an expression I can’t read.
“You remembered how I take my coffee.”
“Some things are hard to forget.”
I hand him the mug. Our fingers brush during the exchange. His skin is warm. Neither of us pulls away immediately.
Eventually after we’ve finished our coffees he straightens. “I should go,” Jensen says. “Let you get some rest.”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves. “When can I see him again?”
“Soon. I’ll call you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He nods. He pushes off from the wall. He takes a step toward the front door, then stops.
“Kiara.”
“Yes?”
He turns back to face me. His eyes are still wet. His hands are shaking at his sides.
“Thank you. For letting me be here today. For letting me hold him.” He swallows hard. “I know you didn’t have to do this. I know you have every reason to keep me away. But you gave me a chance. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life earning it.”
“Just show up. That’s all I’m asking. Show up and keep showing up.”
“I will. Every time. For as long as it takes.”
He leaves. I close the door behind him and lean against it, listening to his footsteps fade down the stairs. The building is quiet. The apartment is quiet. My heart is loud in my chest.
I stand there for a long time.
Then, from the bedroom, I hear Kieran’s voice. “Mama?”
I go to him. He’s sitting up in bed, clutching Victor, blinking at me in the dim light from the hallway. His hair is mussed. His cheeks are flushed from sleep.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“The tall man.” He rubs his eyes with his free hand. “Is he going to come back?”
I sit on the edge of his bed. I brush the hair back from his forehead.
“Yes. He’s going to come back.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
Kieran considers this. He looks down at Victor, runs his finger along the velociraptor’s stitched claws.
“Good.” He lies back down, pulling Victor against his chest. “I like him.”
“I know you do.”
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
His voice is barely a whisper now, thick with sleep. “I wish he was my dad.”
My throat closes. The words hit me in the chest, knock the air out of my lungs. I can’t speak. I can’t move. I just sit there on the edge of his bed, my hand frozen on his hair, staring at his small face.
He’s already asleep. His breathing has slowed. His fingers have relaxed around Victor.
He doesn’t know what he just said. He doesn’t know how close to the truth he wandered in his half-asleep state. He doesn’t know that the tall man who brought him a velociraptor and played dinosaurs on his bedroom floor is the father he’s been wishing for his whole life.
I sit there for a long time. Watching him sleep. Trying to breathe around the tightness in my chest.
Then I lean down and press a kiss to his forehead.
“Soon,” I whisper. “Someday soon.”
I don’t know if I’m making a promise or a prayer.