29. Daisy
29
Daisy
M y heart is in my throat as I step into the dark bar. I’m not sure why Jesse asked me to meet him here—a bar in the East Village, called Bounce—at four in the afternoon, but I was too chicken to question it.
I’ve reread his text a hundred times since last night, dissecting his words, looking for clues.
We need to talk .
Does he somehow know about me and Weston? Does he want to call me out in public, make a scene? That doesn’t really seem like his style, but then I never really knew him that well, did I?
I slide onto a barstool, my gaze drifting around the interior, looking for Jess. It’s dimly lit, one wall lined with vinyl booths, the other lined with the bar itself, tables dotted between. At least one small mercy is that it’s not too busy.
“Daisy.”
I almost jump out of my skin when a familiar voice utters my name. I whip my gaze back to the bar where Jess leans on the other side.
Wait. What? Does he work here?
“Uh, hi.” I smooth my hair, try to paste on a smile. I know it’s ridiculous, but part of me wonders if he can tell I’m no longer a virgin. If there’s something different about me, some kind of vibe or clue that I’ve had sex.
With his father. Jesus.
I grimace, pushing the thought from my head. “New job?”
He nods, wiping his hands on a rag and walking out from behind the bar to join me on the next stool.
“How’s it going?”
“Good. My boss is really cool. He owns a few bars, but spends most of his time here.” Jess chuffs a quiet laugh. “We’re a lot alike. I mean, he has a wife and kids, so not totally, but he gets me.”
I lift my eyebrows, uncertain about what that might mean, but not wanting to ask.
An uncomfortable sensation prickles my skin as Jesse’s gaze drifts over me, slowly absorbing my figure from head to toe. I changed out of my work clothes into a summery dress because no one wants to meet their ex looking like trash, but as Jesse’s eyes drink me in, I wonder if that was a mistake.
“You look good, Daisy.”
I swallow, nervous energy fluttering in my belly. “Thanks.” Shit, he’s not going to ask me out again, is he? That’s not why he wanted to meet me? What the hell would I say?
Sorry, I’m fucking your dad instead.
The thought makes me cringe, but Jess doesn’t seem to notice. He leans back on one elbow on the bar, exhaling long and slow as he brings his gaze to mine.
“So, uh, I wanted to apologize for the way everything went down at the beach house. I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I was a complete douche. You didn’t deserve that.”
I blink, unsure of what to say.
“And I want you to know, nothing happened with that chick. But… it was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry.”
I swallow, processing this. “I… thanks, Jess. I appreciate that.” I think back to the part I played in our relationship and sigh. I can’t tell him I had— have —feelings for Wes, obviously, but I also want to apologize for my role in things. “I’m sorry, too.”
He shakes his head, gaze falling to his hands. “Nah, you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I should have been more patient.” His gaze lifts back to mine. “I’ll always regret fucking things up between us, Daisy.” He draws breath to say something more, and panic pierces my chest at the possibility that he might be about to say we should give things another shot.
“How’s your dad?” I blurt. Inexplicably. Because I know how his dad is—he’s good. We made love again after dinner last night, slowly, tenderly, and then fell asleep in each other’s arms. So if Wes is feeling anything like I am—and I think he is—then he’s pretty damn good indeed.
Apart from things with Jess. Wes doesn’t talk about his son much, and that’s not because he doesn’t want to mention him around me. It’s because he doesn’t want to think about him. He doesn’t want to think about what he’s lost. And that breaks my heart.
A frown creases Jesse’s forehead. “No idea,” he mutters. And just like that, he’s back to being the same sullen guy I wanted to break up with in Greenport.
Well, not quite. That guy wouldn’t have apologized to me so sincerely, would never have admitted he was wrong, and regretted his actions. It’s funny how time can make a person reflect on things. Why can’t he do the same with Weston?
Still, I can tell he’s grown in the short time we’ve been apart, even if just a little. Maybe I can work with that.
“Are you really sorry about what happened at the beach house?” I ask carefully.
Jesse’s gaze flies to mine. “Of course. I was an asshole.”
I nod, deciding to try my luck. “I’ll accept your apology on one condition.”
His brow knits. “Okay… What’s that?”
“You make up with your dad.”
Jess scoffs, leaning back. “No way.”
“Look.” I lean forward, hazarding a hand on his arm. He glances down in surprise, softening. “I know you never wanted to talk about this with me, and I’m sorry for pushing you, but your dad…” How do I say this without giving anything away? “He’s a good man, Jess. He cares about you so much, and—”
“You don’t know what he did,” Jess interrupts.
“I do.” I squeeze Jesse’s arm gently. “He told me what happened, why you’re so mad at him.”
Jesse’s eyes widen. “He did? When?”
I roll my lips to the side, wondering how much to share. I don’t want to lie, but I need Jess to believe me. “I… spent a little time with him while you were out partying in Greenport.” That, at least, isn’t a lie.
It seems to pluck at the string of guilt Jess feels about our time away, because he sighs, slumping against the bar. “It’s complicated,” he mutters. “I don’t want to talk to him.”
Maybe I should just accept this and walk away. After all, if he does get back in touch with his dad—if they repair their relationship—what would that mean for my relationship with Wes? How would we continue to see each other with Jess back in his life? We wouldn’t be able to, would we?
But I also know how important Jesse is to Weston, despite what he says about not caring anymore, and if I can help them fix things, then I will. I’ll do that for Wes, regardless of what it means for us, because it matters to him.
“I know you want to blame him for what happened with your mom,” I begin tentatively, well aware I’m inserting myself into a delicate family matter, but Wes feels like family to me in a way now, too, and I can’t let this go. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I did too. And when that happens, it’s all too easy to feel anger instead of dealing with it. I felt that way for years.”
Jesse sighs, fiddling with a cardboard coaster on the bar, not meeting my gaze.
“Anger is easy to feel,” I continue gently. “But grief is harder. It’s so much more painful. And I wonder…” I give Jesse’s arm another squeeze. “I wonder if you’ve been trying to avoid feeling that pain, Jess. I don’t blame you, because it’s awful.”
I think of the anger I still feel toward my parents for their heartless response to the death of the Walkers, and how I let that overshadow my grief for months afterward. They were not who I needed them to be and they never have been. They haven’t once reached out to me since I moved to the city, and therein lies the difference between Jess’s situation and mine. He had a loving relationship with his parents before Lydia’s death. I’ve never had that kind of relationship with my own family. I’d give anything to have parents who care as much as Weston cares for Jesse.
“It’s devastating that you lost your mom, Jess, but you don’t have to lose your dad, too.”
When Jesse finally brings his gaze back to mine, his eyes are sad. “Maybe you’re right,” he mumbles, and surprise trickles through me.
Wow. I’m actually getting through to him.
“I know it’s hard to see now, but you really are lucky to have a father who cares about you as much as Wes does.”
Jesse’s eyebrows rise curiously. “ Wes ?”
Shit.
I cough, glancing away. “Please, Jess. Please think about it, for me. If you really are sorry about your behavior while we were away, then it’s not just me you need to apologize to. It’s your dad, too.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I think he’s going to press me again on the overly familiar name I used for his father, but instead, a sound at the door catches his attention.
“Ah shit, my boss is here.”
I follow his gaze to where a tall, good-looking guy with dirty-blond hair and a tidy beard steps inside. When I say tall, I mean tall —easily six-foot-six. I’d place him close to Weston’s age, and as he approaches the bar, I notice threads of silver in his beard and fine creases beside his friendly hazel eyes. His muscular shoulders fill out his T-shirt nicely, his height and build creating an air of confidence that commands the room, and a group of women who’ve been quietly chatting in a booth over a bottle of chardonnay abandon their conversation to watch him stride across the room.
I don’t blame them.
“Hey, Jess,” the guy says as he slips behind the bar. His eyes move to me, shimmering with a smile that no doubt gets him a shitload of tips when he’s serving drinks.
“Hey. This is my… friend, Daisy.” Jess motions to me. “My boss, Cory.”
“Hi.” I smile at Cory, unable to stop my gaze from straying to the gold band on his left hand. That’s hardly surprising. Whoever she is, she’s one lucky lady.
Jess turns back to me, and as I fix my attention on him again, he lets out a heavy breath. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll think about what you said.”
“I’m glad.” I give his arm a final squeeze before pulling my hand away and rising to go, a bittersweet feeling twisting in my chest. If he really does reach out to his dad, then that will make things unbelievably complicated for me and Weston.
But if it means Weston gets his son back… I’d never stand in the way of that.