Epilogue
Iopen the door for Sara when I hear her car pull up outside. She called this morning and quietly insisted we needed to talk, stressing it was important. The urgency in her tone sparked some unease, even though I’m clueless what this is about and I’m not one to waste time or energy speculating.
Sara and I fell into a casual relationship a couple years ago, but I ended it when I realized she was developing obvious feelings for me—the kind I’d never return.
She’s pretty in an understated way and I enjoy her company, but I’m never going to be in love with her.
I’ve learned it’s easiest to nip that in the bud.
Since then, we’ve occasionally tumbled into bed together, likely out of loneliness and habit, a brief connection with another human being reminding us that we’re alive. Our friendship is easy, uncomplicated, and the sex is comfortable, reliable.
Sara’s curly brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, but errant corkscrews frame her heart-shaped face. Faint purple tones mar her ivory skin under her eyes, as if she hasn’t slept well, and she’s noticeably pale. Dressed simply in jeans, a tank, and sneakers, she offers me a weak smile.
“Hey,” she says softly, meeting my eyes for only a second.
“Hey,” I reply, giving her a chaste hug. “Come on in.”
She stands in my living room, glancing about as if she doesn’t know what to do next.
“Want a glass of water? Or I could brew some coffee?”
Sara nods. “Water’s fine.”
When I return, she’s planted herself on the couch. I sit on the other end, resting my arm across the sofa back, poised to listen.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, so fast I almost question if I heard her correctly. Her eyes dart around the room, landing on me then jerking away. “And before you ask…it’s yours.”
My gaze blurs, thoughts escalating into overdrive.
I try to remember when we were last together.
The realization hits me hard, the irony causing a maniacal laugh to crawl up my throat—one I squelch.
It was two months ago, the evening of one of the worst days of my entire miserable life, a day of heaven and hell.
The day I saw Jacqui Hall for what was surely the final time because on her left hand sat a big, fucking sparkling engagement ring.
That was the moment I knew all was lost, any warped, repressed hopes I’d nurtured that one day we might find each other and rekindle the greatest love I’ve ever known…
dashed. Jax loved another—and she was marrying him.
I got loaded that night for the first time in years.
Sloppy, take-no-prisoners, blackout drunk.
I’d awoken in Sara’s bed with zero recall of how I’d arrived there or anything that had transpired.
She’d filled in the gaps. How I’d called her from the bar and she’d rescued me.
How she took me home, we’d apparently done the nasty, and now here we are.
My thoughts skid to a stop, my focus returning as sharply as someone flicking on a light in a dark room. Sara’s gaze searches mine, waiting, questioning, faltering.
Damn it. “Well, shit, that’s a surprise. I’m…I’m uh…how are you feeling?”
“Not great, Mick. I’ve got a kid growing inside of me, and I sure never dreamed of becoming a single mom—nor do I want him, or her, raised fatherless.”
My brain blows a fuse. A father? How can I possibly be a father? Are you fucking kidding? With the exemplary patriarch I had guiding my path?
I’m not father material.
I’m crappy boyfriend material. I’m barely human material. I am definitely not father material and that’s what she’s looking for right now. How can I answer this honestly when I already feel like a piece of shit all the way around?
How did this even happen?
I mentally kick myself. This is arguably the stupidest question known to man.
This happens when you stick your dick into a vagina, blow your load, and one of the millions of sperm released in that single ejaculation homes in on the one egg a woman produces every month—and fucking fertilizes the hell out of it.
It’s incredible when you think about it.
A fucking miracle. One I never asked for or wanted…
Goddamn it. Get your shit together.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, pressing hard into my thighs to ground me, and look Sara in the eye. “I’m sorry. A bit caught off guard here.”
“Tell me about it,” she mumbles, steadily wringing her hands in her lap.
“I don’t want you to go through this alone. I want to be there for you. I will be there for you,” I correct, even though I can’t fathom what this means exactly or whether I can be what she needs. “What can I do for you right now? How can I support you?”
“Well…” she pauses, as if she hasn’t thought this through either.
“You could reassure me that you’ll stand by my side through this, that this child won’t be raised without you in his or her life in a meaningful way.
And maybe, could you go with me to my appointments?
I’m scared, Mick. I’m not…this wasn’t planned.
I didn’t…” Her head hangs as she presses her fingertips to her temple.
“Didn’t what?” I ask softly.
She expels a shaky breath. “I’m not trying to trap you…or expecting you to marry me or anything.”
My brain stutters. Marry her? Fuck.
“I just…I mean, I think it’s clear I have feelings for you.” She laughs despondently. “That’s an understatement,” she mutters, almost so low I don’t hear it. She can’t seem to look at me. “I love you. And I know you don’t feel the same—”
“Sara,” I say, waiting until she meets my gaze.
“I care about you a lot, and I’m not abandoning you with this child.
Our child,” I correct, realizing again this sobering reality.
“Just have a little patience with me because…” How do I phrase this?
“I don’t come from a great family. I’ve never considered having one of my own for this reason, so wrapping my head around this is difficult.
It’s a lot to absorb. But I will be there for you, for both of you. ”
I don’t tell her I love her because I don’t. And I won’t offer false promises.
Her eyes glass, and it pains me, knocking against something deep in my chest. I tamp down all the fear and terror coating me on a cellular level.
Am blanketed with her suffocating disappointment at finding herself knocked up by a man who doesn’t return her ardor the way she wants or deserves.
And I can already sense my own faithful companions of self-loathing and worthlessness cloaking me as they drag me into their muddy depths.
Get your head out of your ass.
My shit is secondary. And whether I want a child or not, half of mine is growing inside of her.
This is happening, and I can’t let her down.
It’s not fair to her or to the…our kid. And frankly, I can’t let myself down.
I viscerally understand firsthand what it’s like to be on the receiving end of parental disappointment, abandonment, and all the ugly rest of it, and goddamn it, I can do better, can’t I?
Just because I had my own tumultuous, fucked-up experience with my father doesn’t mean I’m him.
I’m not him.
I can do better. And I will.
Hell, I have to now.
With some semblance of resolve, I pull her from the couch and into a strong, reassuring hug. Holding her, I try cementing the fact we’re in this together. I’m unsure what that entails but for the second time this year, I’m positive it means my life has just changed in totality.
Jacqui’s final words from our last interaction—Terry’s funeral—return, this woman still infiltrating my thoughts even as I hold another.
“All I want is for you to find your happiness. You deserve it, and you need to stop fighting it. Let yourself have a good life full of love, Mick. You’re too good of a human being not to share your heart with someone.”
Maybe this is my sign.
There’s no doubt my actions with Jax caused an irrevocable, unhappy ending to our love, our future, our everything.
I assumed my penance for giving up true love equated to deserving whatever I got in exchange for destroying it—along with some semblance of peace believing Jax would find her happily ever after.
But perhaps this is my wake-up call to at least try and make something work with another woman, even if it doesn’t seem to come with the same longing, fervor, and all-consuming need for an everyday fix.
Perhaps some relationships are quieter yet enduring without all that.
It’s hard to shake what I shared with Jax though.
I’ve never experienced anything like I had with her—before or since.
The comfort, assurance, fiery passion, and something intangible and indefinable made it transpicuous she was tailor-made for me, could glimpse into my soul, and inspired me to be a better man.
Jacqueline Hall wasn’t just the stars aligned—she was a full moon and a fucking eclipse.
Sara is a waning crescent in comparison.
Still, it’s up to me to decide how I can be a good man today and potentially redeem myself and the deplorable way in which I was raised.
Because while I can’t change my disastrous choices of the past, I sure as hell can make an honorable choice now, one fueled by decency, compassion, and willingness.
I can try sharing my heart with the someone in front of me, the someone who needs me with another someone growing inside her who needs me even more.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmur. “I’m here.”
Sara’s shoulders shake as she cries gently in my arms, and I tighten my grip, resolute.