Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
DECLAN
The scent of garlic and rosemary fills the air, mingling with the sound of oil crackling in the pan. I move through the kitchen with the kind of precision I’ve always found comforting. Not because I’m an expert cook. Far from it. But I’ve always liked the rules that come with cooking.
Steps. Timers. Predictable outcomes.
In a world full of chaos, it’s something I can control.
And control is exactly what I need right now. Something to take my mind off Claire. A reminder of my purpose for being here. To build a relationship with my son.
That’s why I invited him over for dinner tonight. To spend some time getting to know him better.
And to push away all thoughts of Claire.
The doorbell rings just as I’m plating the roasted chicken. I wipe my hands on a towel and head toward the door.
Joshua stands on the porch with a crooked smile and a stack of books tucked beneath one arm. There’s an easy confidence about him I envy, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Hope you’re hungry.” I step aside to let him in.
“If I wasn’t before, I definitely am now. It smells amazing.”
“Nothing fancy. Just chicken, potatoes, and some sautéed vegetables.” I glance at the books as he sets them on the coffee table. “What’s all that?”
“Baby books. Mom kept everything.” He chuckles softly. “Thought you might want to see them. No pressure, though.”
Pressure. The word lingers between us more often than not. Pressure to make up for lost time. Pressure to connect. Pressure not to screw this up.
“I’d like that,” I reply and mean it. Hell, I’m the one who should have asked to see photos from his childhood. “But food first.”
We settle at the table, and for a while, the only sounds are knives and forks.
He murmurs a few quiet compliments between bites, but I can’t help feeling uncertain.
This is the first time we’ve truly been alone together.
All our previous encounters have been in public with plenty to distract me from the truth that I don’t know what to say to my own son.
Every move feels uneasy, like navigating a minefield in the dark.
“When we first spoke,” he begins after several protracted moments of strained silence, “you mentioned you did an ancestry kit to learn more about your mom’s roots?”
I nod, reaching for my glass of wine. “My father never talked about her family. After she died, he shut it all out. Wouldn’t answer questions.
Wouldn’t keep photos up. It was as if she never existed.
When he passed away a few years back, it felt like the right time to learn more about her.
An ancestry kit seemed like a good place to start. ”
He nods in understanding, since we both did it in the hopes of getting answers. “How did your mother pass away?”
I swallow hard, the ache I’ve been carrying since childhood returning. It’s dulled over the years, but it never goes away. And it’s not out of grief.
Instead, it’s out of regret. Blame.
Guilt.
“House fire,” I admit softly.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine…” He shakes his head, his sympathy more than I deserve. “My mom had cancer, so I had years to prepare, even if it didn’t make it any easier. But losing your mom so suddenly like that?”
“It was a long time ago.” I manage to sound neutral, despite the years I’ve carried the burden of her death.
“Do you have any other family?” he asks cautiously. “Besides your dad?”
“A brother. Miles. He’s three years younger. Lives in Florida with his wife and kids.”
His eyes light up. “I have cousins?”
The word hits me harder than I expected. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“I guess you do.”
“How old are they?”
“Lacey is the oldest. She’s six. And Nicholas just turned three.”
“I’d like to meet them one day. If that’s okay,” he adds quickly.
I give him a smile. “Of course.”
That will require finally telling Miles about the son I never knew I had, something I haven’t done yet.
“Are you two close?” Joshua asks, bringing a potato up to his mouth.
“Not as close as we were when we were growing up. The downside of getting older, I suppose. Still, he knows he can always call when he needs me. And I can call him, too.”
“That’s nice. That’s sort of who Claire’s always been to me.”
At the mention of her name, a renewed wave of guilt washes over me, and I do my best to school my expression.
“How long have you known her?” I take a sip of wine, wishing it were stronger.
I still have so many questions about their relationship. He didn’t go into too much detail the other night, just that they were once more than friends before realizing it was a mistake.
“We went to preschool together. Over the years, she sort of became like the sibling I never had.”
“How did you go from being friends to…more than friends?” I ask around the sour taste in my mouth.
“Hormones, mostly,” he says with a laugh.
“Hormones?” My stomach tightens, but I force my face to remain neutral.
“Claire had a crush on a different guy in our grade, and he asked her out, but she was kind of nervous since she’d never even kissed someone. So being the good friend I am, I offered to help her practice. On me.”
I’m not sure who I’m more jealous of. This nameless person who caught Claire’s attention, or my own son.
“And did she?”
“She did.”
“And the other guy?”
“Was a dick to her.” His jaw tenses, and I can feel his anger, despite how long it’s been since this happened. It reminds me of myself.
“So did you ask her out after that?”
“No. In fact, I don’t think I ever really asked her out.”
“You didn’t?” I scrunch my brows.
“We’d still…practice with each other, but always with the expectation of eventually dating someone else. We were simply friends who hooked up. Until…”
“Yes?”
He blows out a self-deprecating laugh. “Until I asked her to marry me last year.”
I nearly spit out my chicken, his statement taking me completely by surprise. “You what? I didn’t think you were serious.”
It was one thing for them to sleep together. But for him to ask her to marry him?
“We weren’t,” he answers
“Then…”
“Mom was sick.” He finishes chewing a piece of chicken and washes it down with some wine.
“When her last round of chemo didn’t work like she’d hoped and she opted out of additional treatment, I don’t know…
” He blows out a long breath. “I guess I thought it would bring my mom some joy in her final few months.”
I nod. If I were in his shoes, I probably would have done the same thing.
“Thankfully, Claire saw it for what it was and turned me down.”
“And now?”
“We’re back to being friends.”
“Just friends?” I ask, needing confirmation I didn’t fuck Claire while he still was.
“Yes.” He laughs. “Just friends. No more benefits. We agreed we never should have crossed that line.”
“And you’re okay with that?” I press.
“I wouldn’t want it any other way. There was never that…spark. For either of us.”
I consider his story for several long moments, unsure how to feel about his relationship with the woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. In a way, it provides me with a certain level of comfort that there were never any romantic feelings between them. But she’s still my son’s friend.
She’s still off limits.
“Did you grow up in the D.C. area?” Joshua asks, changing the subject.
“Connecticut, actually.”
“I have to ask. Red Sox or Yankees?”
“Red Sox. I was a fan when they kept choking in the playoffs.”
“That must have been painful.”
“It sure was,” I said with a laugh.
He continues to ask questions about anything that pops into his head as we finish our meal, and I’m more than happy to talk about something other than Claire.
After we’re done and I’ve cleaned the kitchen, I join Joshua on the couch in the living room.
“Do you mind if I look through some of these?” I pick up one of the baby books.
“It’s why I brought them.”
I open the book to the first page. It’s covered in photos from the hospital, his tiny fingers wrapped around Hannah’s thumb as she holds him close.
“She loved these books,” Joshua says from beside me as I flip through the pages, each one documenting different milestones. “Told me she was worried she’d forget something if she didn’t write it all down.”
Page after page, I watch my son’s life unfold in faded snapshots and handwritten notes. His first steps. His favorite toys. Finger-painted birthday cards. It’s a strange thing, seeing your own child grow up in fast-forward, knowing you weren’t part of it. But it doesn’t make it less meaningful.
“She really loved you,” I murmur as I admire a photo of Joshua and his mother when he was around six. They were on a boat, their skin sun-kissed, their smiles wide.
“I was lucky.”
I turn another page, wanting to know everything I can about Joshua’s childhood, and my breath catches.
There’s a photo of two kids in puffy jackets, standing in front of a snowman. One of them is unmistakably Joshua, all crooked grin and missing teeth. The other is Claire.
Her hair’s pulled into two braids, and she’s beaming at the camera like she owns the world. Her arm is slung around Joshua’s shoulders, and even at that age, the connection between them is obvious.
It’s one thing to listen to him talk about their lifelong friendship.
It’s another to see it for myself.
And I’m the asshole who keeps fantasizing about my son’s best friend.
I clear my throat and sit back, suddenly needing more space. “Thanks for bringing these. For letting me see all of this. And not hating me for not being there.”
“I told you last night.” Joshua closes the book and sets it on the table. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters. And I’m really glad you are here, Declan. It means a lot.”
“I remember my first Christmas after I lost my mother. It was…awful. I didn’t want you to feel alone.”
“Is that how you felt?”
I shouldn’t have felt that way. I was with my brother. And my father was there physically, even if he spent it with a bottle in his hand, looking at me like he couldn’t stand the sight of me. But I’ve learned it’s possible to be surrounded by people and still feel alone.
“I did.”
He nods, not pressing for more information. “Well, thank you for being here.”
“Of course.”
He checks the time and sighs, slowly pulling himself to his feet. “I should get going. Early morning tomorrow. If you want, I can leave these here so you can look through them.” He gestures toward the books.
“I’d like that.”
I rise to my feet and walk him to his car, the cold night air brushing against my skin as we step outside. He’s halfway down the steps when the door to the townhouse beside mine opens and Claire walks out with a petite blonde, both of them dressed in jeans and somewhat revealing tops.
Claire spots me instantly and freezes, her eyes locked on mine as if unable to look away. My jaw tightens as I take in the curve of her hips, focusing on the sliver of skin where her top rides up. She looks like sin and salvation wrapped into one confusing, infuriating package.
Thankfully, Joshua doesn’t seem to notice me eye-fucking his best friend. Instead, he grins and walks over to her, wrapping her in a hug.
“You two going out?”
“We are,” the blonde says. “I’ve had the client from hell all week and need a damn drink. So does she.” She hooks her thumb at Claire, then shifts her attention toward me. “You must be Joshua’s father. Claire mentioned you’re renting my brother’s place.”
Joshua turns toward Claire. “I didn’t think I’d told you yet.”
“We ran into each other this morning when I went for a run.” She smiles nonchalantly as a car pulls up to the curb. “That’s our ride.”
“Don’t get into too much trouble tonight,” Joshua says with a wink.
“No promises,” Claire retorts.
“Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe. Okay?”
“Of course.”
He places a soft kiss on her cheek, and I clench my fists over the idea of him being able to feel her perfect skin while all I can do is watch.
I’m about to offer to take them wherever they’re going myself so she doesn’t have to get into the car with a complete stranger, but I don’t. It’s not my place.
Instead, I remain silent as she climbs into the back seat, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she closes the door.
I steal a glance at Joshua as we both watch the car pull away.
There’s no doubt in my mind.
We’re both thinking about the same thing.
We’re both thinking about Claire.
Except he’s just thinking about her as a friend.
And I’m thinking about her in a way I shouldn’t.