Chapter 25
Riley
Ihelp my mother clear the table, along with Lucy, Steph, and the boys, while Aidan and Piper retreat to the living room for a few minutes, presumably so he can calm down.
Twenty minutes later, we’ve made coffee and are settled back in with dessert, though I stick with a beer, nursing it sullenly. The rest of the group chats happily over pecan pie as Aidan’s earlier outburst, and our argument, are seemingly forgotten but none of this day has gone the way I’d hoped.
Connor sleeps contentedly on the rug by the back door, his belly full for once with all the leftovers my mom made up for him on a plate of his own.
Lucy and Noah discuss the upcoming day trip they have planned to the city to shop for baby gear, and Jack mentions wanting to go ice fishing this winter.
He and my mother, who also enjoys fishing, debate how soon it will be before the lake has frozen over enough to safely set up the fishing huts, and it’s concluded that it likely won’t be before January.
I watch Steph.
She avoids meeting my eyes.
I’m kicking myself over that blowup with Aidan. Even if it was inevitable and long overdue, the timing could not have been worse. I’ve made a horrible impression on those boys, which is the opposite of what I’d set out to do tonight.
But … Steph knows the truth about where I’ve been. Why I couldn’t come back, at least not at first. I thought we were in a much better place now.
So why won’t she just fuckin’ look at me?
I clear my throat, in frustration more than anything else—because I don’t actually have anything to say—but the sound manages to carry over the din of conversation, causing Steph to jump in her seat.
Her eyes flick in my direction for the first time since we sat down.
The connection is brief, too brief, but I see a flash of … something …
She’s nervous, I realize, with surprise.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed her behaving like this, either.
Initially, I’d chalked it up to her shock at seeing me after so many years and her resistance to my overtures, my attempts to spend time with her.
But, can that be right? With all the progress we’ve made in recent weeks …
the texting, the flirting … the kiss—I’d thought we’d moved beyond that.
Now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something else going on here.
The thought snags on the edge of a memory, and I allow my mind to wander back to that first night at Aroma’s. Even then, and despite our history, I’d been puzzled by her initial reaction. By what I can only describe now as panic at the sight of me.
“Hey Noah, is that a GTO you’re driving?” Matt’s question snaps me from the frustrating path of my thoughts.
“Sure is. A ’69 Judge. You know cars?”
“Not really. But I want to. I’m hoping to buy an old beater and fix it up soon. I’ve been saving for a while, and Mom said she’d chip in a bit for my birthday in May.”
Noah smiles. “I know a thing or two about engines. I’d be happy to give you a hand with it.”
So the fuck do I, I growl internally, but I don’t feel it’s my place to offer, nor do I think Matt would be receptive to it.
The boy sits up straighter in his seat, excitement and more hero worship shining on his face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Noah laughs. “My Pops and I actually rebuilt that GTO when I was a teenager. Some of my best memories are of working on it together.”
“I don’t know much about cars,” Aidan chimes in, “but I’ll help too, if I can.”
“That would be so awesome.”
I let out a sigh and work to tune back out of the conversation as the three of them proceed to discuss the options Matt has been researching within his budget. I don’t want to listen to any more of my brother bonding with one of Steph’s kids.
Speaking of Steph, she continues to look extremely uncomfortable.
Again, I study her, confused. She appears to be following the conversation and getting twitchier by the second.
I watch her squirming in her seat, staring intently at her son, and I’m starting to think these nerves have something to do with her family. Her boys.
Does she have a problem with me being around them?
Everyone else here knows and has spent time with them. I’m the only one who hasn’t.
Is that it?
My stomach drops. If Steph doesn’t want me around her sons, then how is this ever going to work?
My thoughts from earlier return, and I realize she’s been uncomfortable any time there’s been mention of her sons. She’s always vague with me about them and changes the subject right away.
But … why?
I’ve met Alex twice now, and, while the boy is clearly wary of me and my intentions toward his mother, I hadn’t thought too much about the interaction, given that those feelings are completely understandable.
I’ve never met Matt before today, though. I take the time to study him now as he continues to speak excitedly with Noah about muscle cars. Steph moves in my peripheral vision, and I look back at her. It’s as though her panic is growing right before my eyes.
What the fuck is going on?
My gaze bounces almost frantically now between the two boys and then back to Steph, who worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
Back to Matt. Then Alex. Steph again. Matt.
Alex. Steph. There’s something going on here, I’m certain of it now.
Something she desperately doesn’t want me to … know? See?
Matt.
Alex.
Steph.
Matt—
This time, when I look at Steph’s eldest son, my gaze snags on something I hadn’t noticed before.
His eyes.
His eyes.
“So how old will you be in May?” Noah asks, his voice breaking into my thoughts. “Seventeen, right?”
“Uh-huh, yeah. Seventeen.”
Seventeen. In May.
My hackles are fully raised now, my nerve endings tingling and on high alert as I run through some quick calculations in my head.
An anticipatory awareness blooms in the air around me, and I somehow know that when I allow these thoughts to reach their inevitable conclusion, my life will be forever altered.
Could it be?
This time, when I glance back at Steph, it’s easy to read her expression. She’s watching me with open trepidation, and I finally understand. Jesus fucking Christ, I understand.
Her face drains of color as she sees the realization wash over me.
I’m chilled to the bone.
His seventeenth birthday is in May.
Chaos erupts around me, and somewhere, at the edge of my consciousness, I realize I’ve just spilled my beer. That my pants are wet. That my mother and Lucy are frantically patting the table in front of me with napkins in an effort to stop the flood I’ve caused.
I don’t fucking care.
Matt, Noah, and Aidan are all standing up across from me to avoid the spillage. Jack comes running in from the kitchen with a pile of tea towels to help sop up the mess.
I don’t fucking care.
I’m frozen, just staring up into the alarmed eyes of the boy across from me. He backs further away from the table as people continue to scurry around cleaning up my mess.
I just keep looking at those eyes. A grey so pale as to be almost silver.
Like my mother’s eyes.
Like mine.
And then, my mind goes blank.
I’m not sure how I got into the kitchen.
I assume I walked, but I have no recollection of it.
Connor is sitting up now and watches me from his perch by the back door as I pace, his eyes lighting up with hope each time I near the fridge.
I might have found it amusing had I not been completely and utterly decimated by this new realization.
My thoughts are a chaotic swirling mess, coming at me so fast, I’m overwhelmed with them.
With the implications. With the betrayal.
Well, that’s ironic, isn’t it? Turnabout, and all that.
Fuuuck.
Everything I thought—
I feel sick. The meal, the beer, sits heavy in my gut.
I can’t—
My breaths are coming quick and sharp now.
Jesus, I can’t believe what I’m actually thinking. The truth that now lies before me. Or … in the other room.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye on my next shaky pass by the fridge and turn to find Steph standing in the doorway.
I freeze, my entire body trembling, as I wait to see what she’ll do.
Say. We stare at each other for a long moment.
She takes a deep breath, dropping her eyes to the floor.
“Is it true?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Steph bites her lip and shakes her head, still refusing to look at me.
“Is it true?” I repeat.
“Riley—” she starts, her tone pleading, but I cut her off from whatever crap she’s about to spin.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Steph. Not about this.”
She sucks in a breath at my tone but says nothing.
“Tell me,” I snap, and she jumps, wrapping her arms protectively around her middle. “Is. He. Mine.” I can barely get the words out.
Steph bites her lip again, squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from me, but not before I catch the wetness glistening on her cheeks.
The enormity of the moment washes over me, and I gape at her back—at her shoulders, shaking now with her silent tears.
Her refusal to answer, her unwillingness to meet my eyes, all of it a clear indication that I’m right.
That the boy—Steph’s Matty—is my son.