Chapter 44 Nova
nova
I should have been earlier. I should have gotten a cup of coffee, sat down, and mentally prepared myself. Of course, the day had other plans. Scarlette had thrown up this morning all over Luna and me.
Luna, who was utterly terrified of vomit, had practically barricaded herself in the bathroom, leaving me to clean it up.
I didn’t blame her—she was useless when it came to anything remotely gross—but it added to the chaos.
I refused to let Aunt Mae step in. She was older, and the last thing I wanted was for her to catch whatever bug Scarlette had.
Instead of a calm morning with time to gather my thoughts, I’d been up to my elbows in disinfectant and trying to reassure a sick kid while juggling everything else.
Here I was, standing in the very last place I wanted to be on a good day. On a day that had started like this? I wanted to be anywhere but here.
As I walked up to the coffee shop, the cold air biting at my cheeks, I realized maybe the chaos of the morning had been a blessing in disguise. I hadn’t had time to overthink or spiral about what I’d say. No time to rehearse a hundred different versions of this conversation in my head.
It was just me, the brisk Winnetka wind, and the door to the coffee shop in front of me.
I pushed it open, the warm scent of roasted coffee beans wrapping around me as I stepped inside. My heart pounded in my chest, but I moved forward.
There he was. Sitting at a corner table, looking up as the door swung shut behind me.
I didn’t give myself a chance to hesitate. I walked right in, caught his gaze, and gave him a small wave. It felt awkward, but at least I didn’t falter. Without missing a beat, I turned toward the counter, focusing on the barista like this was another ordinary morning.
I can do this.
I repeated the words in my head as I ordered a coffee, my voice surprisingly steady. Ollie told me I was strong, and I clung to that like a lifeline. He told me this was the right thing to do, no matter how much it felt like Austin might try to take her away from me.
The thought still hurt, but I didn’t let it stop me. I grabbed my coffee, took a deep breath, and turned toward the table.
He was leaning slightly forward, his hands resting on the table, and for a moment, I almost didn’t recognize him. This wasn’t the Austin I remembered—the man who stumbled through our life together, always on edge, always fighting some invisible battle he couldn’t seem to win.
He looked . . . healthy.
His hair was clean, his curls softer and more controlled than I’d ever seen them. His clothes were neat, fitted, like he’d put thought into what he wore instead of grabbing whatever was closest. Even his posture was different—more composed, more present.
I knew better than anyone that addicts could hide their struggles, put on a mask that fooled even those closest to them. But there was something about him today. Something that felt different, something I couldn’t quite place, but couldn’t ignore.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the cup as I walked toward him.
I slid into the chair across from him, trying to keep my hands from shaking. My heart was pounding, as I looked at him. It felt surreal, like seeing a ghost from a life I’d worked so hard to leave behind.
“Hi,” I said, the word feeling heavier than it should.
His expression was guarded but curious, like he didn’t know what to say.
The silence stretched for a moment before I blurted out, “You look sober.”
His eyes widened slightly. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been sober for almost five years now.”
Five years. My mind reeled. Five years ago, I was drowning, carrying so much of his weight, trying to hold us both together. Five years ago, I was fighting to live because of the place I was in. We were both fighting our own battles.
“That’s amazing,” I said, my voice warmer than I expected. I meant it, though. Despite everything, I wanted to believe he was proud of himself. He deserved that, at least. “I bet you’re proud of yourself.”
He let out a small huff of air, his lips twitching in a faint smile. “I am,” he admitted, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of the person he could have been back then. The person I’d hoped he could be.
Sobriety wasn’t easy—I knew that much. For all the anger and hurt I felt, I could still admire what he’d accomplished.
“You’re engaged,” he said.
I looked away, out the window. “I am,” I said simply, turning back to meet his gaze.
What I wanted to say was that Ollie was the best person I’d ever met. That he’d been there for all the years Austin hadn’t. How he didn’t step in as Scarlette’s father, he became her world.
And I also wanted to admit that I hadn’t been brave enough to get married again yet. That because of the way Austin and I had gone so wrong, it left scars I was still learning how to live with. Not because I didn’t love Ollie, but because some fears take time to quiet.
He nodded, his attention shifting to the coffee in front of him, his fingers curling around the mug. “I saw you,” he said after a moment. “On social media. In the news.”
A faint smirk tugged at my lips, and I took a sip of my drink, letting the warmth soothe the tension in my throat. “Keeping tabs?” I teased lightly.
He shook his head quickly. “When I got out of rehab, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Then I saw you were engaged . . . and had a kid.”
My plan from all those years ago had worked, the one Iris had come up with when everything felt like it was crumbling. I hadn’t been sure that it would, not at the time. I was shocked, honestly, and impressed.
His voice faltered slightly, and I saw the question lingering in his eyes before he continued. “You do a good job of keeping her out of the spotlight, so I never saw a picture. I assumed she was his.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know. He didn’t really know. I tightened my fingers around the cup as I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“W-Why didn’t you tell me, Nova?” His eyes were wide and searching, pleading for answers I wasn’t sure I could give him.
I’d known this conversation would come someday, but I wasn’t ready. How could I be? The memories—the fights, the shattered glass, the endless nights of uncertainty—flooded back in a torrent, threatening to pull me under.
“I tried, Austin. I did,” I whispered.
I remembered the night I’d called the rehab center, my heart in my throat. Three months after I moved, when that payment landed in my account. When they told me he’d extended his stay, the word stole the air from my lungs. Extended. Things were bad.
“I called after three months—when I got that payment in my account,” I continued, forcing myself to look at him.
“The rehab center said you were still in there, that you’d extended your stay.
I thought that meant things were bad. I didn’t want Scar—her—to be around you while you were still an addict.
” I clenched my jaw, trying to steady the wave of emotions rising in my chest. The fear, the anger, the guilt—it all came rushing back.
“I couldn’t have her around someone who was throwing bottles when he was drunk.
I couldn’t let her see that. I couldn’t let her grow up with half a father—someone who might be there one day and gone the next. ”
The image of him, red-eyed and staggering, came unbidden to my mind. I could still hear the sound of shattering glass. Scarlette deserved more than that. She deserved stability, love, a home where she didn’t have to wonder if her father would show up sober—or show up at all.
Austin’s jaw tightened, and he dropped his gaze to the table. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t know,” he muttered. “I didn’t know she existed. I could’ve been better if I’d known.”
I shook my head, the ache in my chest twisting into something sharper. “Maybe. Maybe not. I had to make the call, Austin. You have no idea how much it killed me to keep that from you, but I couldn’t risk it. Not with her. I had to protect her.”
The words spilled out, years of pent-up fear and guilt lacing every syllable. And then another memory surfaced—the press conference. The first time I’d seen him sober, standing there like a man who was finally trying.
“When I saw the press conference, it felt like it was the first time you were trying to get help for yourself. I loved you still, and I couldn’t let you mess it up or get better because of her. I still wanted you to get better for yourself.”
His shoulders slumped, his shame evident in the way he wouldn’t meet my eyes. But his pain didn’t erase my own.
“You should’ve told me,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I deserved the chance to try.”
I sighed, looking out the window, the reflection of my own weary face staring back at me. “Maybe I should have,” I admitted. “But I wasn’t willing to gamble with her safety. Not back then.”
Even as I said it, the guilt gnawed at me. Could I have handled it differently? Should I have? I didn’t know anymore. I only knew that Scarlette had been my priority, always.
“I tried to find you on social media after the first year, but I couldn’t find anything. It’s like you left everything.”
My stomach twisted as I thought about how much I’d tried to bury the past.
“And my mom?” he asked, his voice harder this time. “You didn’t think of calling her?”
I looked down at my coffee, shame flickering through me. “At that point, I had started to date Ollie. He was a friend of mine and helped me with her. And finally . . . I agreed to date him.” My voice faltered. “Luna thought about it, but . . ..”
“And now?” Austin’s voice broke through my thoughts, forcing me to meet his gaze. “What about now? What do you want me to do?”
What did I want him to do? What could I even ask of him now, after everything?
“I want you to figure out what kind of father you’re going to be. Because if you’re going to be in her life, it has to be all or nothing. No halfway, no excuses.”