Chapter 27
Steph
“Figured you’d show here eventually,” Riley says, his eyes wary as he looks up at me from where he’s seated on the outcropping of rock that, much as I’ve tried to deny it over the years, has always been ours.
The large boulder, which offers us some privacy from the ridge’s public lookout a few meters above, supports his back as he turns to stare out over the valley and waters below.
The smell of rain is heavy in the air, and my skin has a decidedly dewy feel to it.
I can’t help but think the dark clouds gathering out over the lakes foreshadow the coming conversation.
I move to step around the boulder, trailing my hand along the stone for support, hesitating only momentarily before I suck it up and join him.
Careful to leave a couple of feet of distance between us, I settle back against the cool granite.
My stomach is twisted in knots, and my heart feels like it’s in my throat.
It’s been three days since Thanksgiving. Three days since I’d stared down the hallway from Nora’s kitchen at Riley’s retreating back. Three days since I’d watched him storm out and slam the front door behind him, leaving the little dog who’d tried to follow whining, and me trembling.
I don’t know exactly what I’m doing here, but after two restless, heartsick nights, I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. And somehow, I knew I’d find him here when I was ready to talk.
Am I ready?
Not really. But I need to be.
“I half expected you to turn me away,” I say finally.
He makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a huff, but it serves to communicate his disdain effectively.
“I don’t hide from important conversations,” he says pointedly, and I know it’s meant to be a dig at me, at my avoidance of him when he first returned to town.
It doesn’t land, though, the hypocrisy of that statement lying thick between us, and I watch as he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head back against the rock with the realization.
We both know it—feel it. It doesn’t need to be said.
Nevertheless, I’m unable to avoid pointing it out.
“That’s pretty rich coming from you.”
He shrugs, still not looking at me. “Maybe. But I’ve changed, Steph.
I’m not the guy who runs anymore. I’ve been trying to show you that.
I thought—” he breaks off with a sigh. “I thought, after the last time we were here, after our talk, that you got that. I thought we’d finally made some progress.
” He snorts again, his mouth twisting into a grimace.
“Never imagined you were keeping something like this from me.”
“Oh, so you’re the only one allowed to have secrets now?”
“Jesus Christ, Steph, this is—” he starts, but I cut him off, not finished.
“You’re the only one allowed to make mistakes? To fuck up?”
“Is it a fuck up though?” he snaps, his eyes finally finding mine, and what I see there, in those glistening silver depths, breaks me.
The devastation. The breach of trust. It breaks me because I’ve been there.
I know what he’s feeling in this moment.
And despite all the times over the years I wished for this exact thing—for him to know what it’s like to be so broken, to feel so betrayed, for karma to do its thing—I take no pleasure in it now.
I hate seeing him like this and knowing I’ve done this to him.
“Seems like this was a pretty intentional decision,” he continues. “That talk. Right here,” he points down at the rock between us, his voice rising, “the one we had right. Here. That was the time to get everything out in the open.”
“I know.”
“That was the time to tell me I’m a fucking father, Steph!” he shouts. “I laid everything on the table for you then.”
“I know,” I say again, more forcefully.
“So …” he trails off, his jaw clenching and nostrils flaring. He’s back to staring out over the water, the landscape. His throat works on a swallow. When he speaks again, his voice is low. Tortured. “You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?”
“I—I don’t know,” I say softly.
He jerks his head in a stiff shake, the movement conveying his certainty, but his voice cracks when he says, “You weren’t.”
I lean back against the stone, blowing out a long breath. “Maybe you’re right.”
Silence falls around us, save for the wind that has picked up, gusting up the ridge and disturbing a scattering of leaves at the base of a nearby cluster of oaks.
It whistles hauntingly through the bare branches, the sound causing goosebumps to rise along my neck and arms. We watch together as below, a handful of boats appear to be jockeying for position, lining up on their approach to the marina.
Only two remain out in the distance, large sailboats with brave skippers unable to pass up the thrill of the increasing wind speeds despite the growing swells and darkening skies.
It won’t be long before the temperatures drop in earnest. For many weekenders, Thanksgiving is the last hurrah before the boats finally come out of the water for the winter.
“Fools,” Riley mutters, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s not talking about us but rather the remaining sailors, eyeing them as I had been, our minds in sync as they so often once were.
The thought is both nostalgic and painful.
Will we ever get on the same page? I’d resisted this, with him, for months. But now … I know I want it.
I need to fix this.
“Don’t remember them still being out this late in the season before,” he comments, and I take the offering for what it is, an opportunity to change the subject for a while. To re-group.
“It used to happen earlier, when we were kids,” I agree.
We’d often already had snow by now. “But with global warming, the lakes’ overall temperatures have risen.
It’s prolonged the season, and people love that.
They push it as late as they can, now. The business bureau and tourism board are happy, but it’s caused a lot of other problems.”
He nods, familiar with my eco-rants. Back when we dated in high school, he’d spent many a weekend picking up debris with me and the other Earth Warriors along the shorelines.
“Aside from the implications for the ecosystem and the impact on fish and wildlife, it’s also become a safety issue.
We don’t get a full deep freeze anymore.
Hell, two years ago, Hedd Lake didn’t fully freeze over at all.
It’s not as safe for ice fishing, and we’re seeing more and more deaths every winter.
Last year, we lost five people in three separate events where snowmobiles and a truck went through the ice. ”
“Always trying to save the world,” he murmurs, and the fondness in his voice has hope rising in my chest. Maybe I haven’t lost him. Maybe we can overcome this latest and greatest revelation, too.
“You know me,” I reply softly.
“Yeah. I do.” He turns, then, once more meeting my eyes. Any amusement that had been there, however briefly, has vanished. “I do, Steph. I know you. That’s why this hurts so much.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold his gaze, hoping he can see my sincerity.
“How could you not tell me?” he whispers.
I nibble on my lip, breaking our eye contact to stare down at the hands I’m wringing in my lap, needing the slight reprieve to collect my thoughts.
“You’d made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me—that you had …
moved on. At least that was what I believed at the time,” I amend.
“I was heartbroken and scared and, to be honest, I didn’t know for sure you were the father until after he was born and I saw his eyes.
” I clear my throat. “Your eyes. Sam was there, and he was willing, albeit reluctantly, to be in it with me. I didn’t know where you were.
There was no way I was going to go back to that terrifying building to look for you again. ”
“I wouldn’t have been there anyway. I was already serving my sentence by then.”
I nod.
“I can give you that,” he offers reluctantly.
“But how did you think this was going to work? Now, I mean. Between us. You wouldn’t have been able to keep us apart forever.
I would have met him eventually. I would have—” his voice breaks, and he clears his throat.
“I would have figured it out when I looked into his eyes.”
“I—I didn’t. It’s …” I sigh. “Well, it’s a big part of why I kept pushing you away. I didn’t think it could work out. I hoped you’d give up and leave again. I couldn’t see how it would ever work for us long-term. Even if I could get past what happened before—”
He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but I raise a hand.
“I know. Okay, I know. Now. And I’ve moved past those feelings … mostly. I understand that you thought you were doing the right thing once you realized you were going to prison. But you still ghosted me before that. Not just me, but your brother. Your mother—”
“I’m not that man anymore,” he interrupts, his voice rising.
“So you say. And I think that’s probably true. A lot of time has passed, and you’ve no doubt grown. But …” I trail off, unsure if I should continue. I’m supposed to be groveling here, but I need to think about Matty.
“I want to know my son,” he says quietly.
I shake my head furiously.
“Steph—”
“No, Riley,” I cut him off. Okay … it looks like we are going there.
It’s for the best, I know. After today, I don’t want there to be anything left unsaid between us.
“I understand where you’re coming from. You missed out on the first sixteen years of his life.
I get that. And as biased as I might be as his mother, he’s amazing.
He is. And I do want you to know him, okay, I do. Eventually.