A muscle quivers in his jaw. “No, I don’t. I’m angry. So damn angry. At myself for being a sellout for so long, at them for proving me wrong, at the world for being so unfair.”
Yeah, join the club. Anger still simmers in my bones, but the person I should be directing it to is standing in front of me, looking like he just lost a puppy.
His hand drops from mine, and then he takes a step closer and places it on my cheek. My eyes close of their own accord as I let the heat of his skin soothe the loneliness I’ve felt the last two days.
“You’ve been crying,” he whispers in a troubled voice.
I open my eyes and look up at him and nod my head. There’s no use denying it. I’m a wreck without him. It’s like all the colors drained out of my world the night I walked away from him, leaving nothing but the quiet ache of what used to be.
A glazed look of despair spreads across his face. “There are so many things I’d do differently in my life … but I can’t find myself to regret them because they brought me Eli. But you … if only I could have protected you better.”
I shudder inwardly. Another cryptic message that does nothing but keep me out in the rain.
“Walker …”
“I know. I know I owe you the truth. I’ve owed it to you for years.”
My breath catches in my lungs. Is he going to tell me? Will we finally be able to move forward after all? Hope floats in my chest until I see just how tortured he looks.
“It can’t be that bad, Walker. Whatever it is, just tell me.”
He takes my hand and walks us over to my couch. I follow his lead and take a seat next to him. With my hand still in his, he rubs familiar circles over my skin.
“Before I tell you this, I just need you to know one thing.” He takes a deep, shaky breath and releases it.
I start to wonder if this is something bigger than I could possibly imagine. He looks like he might be sick.
He continues, “I’ve been in love with you before I really think I knew what love was. Before we were both old enough to comprehend the depths of love, I loved you. And now, I’m more in love with you than I thought possible.”
The man I’m hopelessly in love with just admitted his love for me. I should be soaring through the sky with a joy thatis unmatched. But his admission feels like it’s etched with goodbye.
“The night you came to me in my bedroom”—his voice is distant, like he’s brought back to that point in time—“I had just overheard your parents arguing in our garage.”
My body stiffens. My parents. This is about my family. I can sense that my world is about to crash. I know it’s coming. I feel it.
His eyes hold mine. He doesn’t want to continue. This is it, and he’s beginning to second-guess whether or not he should tell me. But now Ineedto know.
“Just say it,” I whisper and clutch his hand.
“They were arguing because your dad wanted to tell you the truth. Something your mom thought was best to keep from you.” He takes one final drag of a breath. “Your dad … he’s not your biological father.”
My body is assaulted in a raw and primitive moment of grief so powerful that it threatens to destroy me. Dad. My dad. My rock. Not my father. The truth doesn’t just break me; it hollows me out from the inside, leaving nothing but the echo of everything I thought I knew.
I should scream, cry, throw something. I should yell at Walker and beg him to take it back. But I’m too shook to do anything but sit in silence while my brain does a flashback of every single moment of my life, wondering what else was a lie. Was anything in my life real?
All the years I’ve spent thinking my dad was the only one who got me, the only one in my family who I connected with. And he isn’t even my father.
Walker leans his head forward. “Jessie”—his voice cracks—“I’m so sorry. I know what your dad means to you. I never wanted to be the one to have to tell you this.”
I can’t even look at him. I pull my hand from his and rub my arms up and down, trying to soothe the shivers that have taken over.
Walker says my name again, quieter this time. “Jessie …”
I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak. My mind is swirling with memories—Dad teaching me how to drive, the way he answers the phone for me, his gentle hugs, our jokes. None of it makes sense anymore. Every memory feels like a lie, wrapped in something that used to feel safe.
The air feels too hot. I stand up from the couch and begin to wave my hands in front of my face as I try to regain some kind of composure, but the gesture is futile.
“I need to …” My voice breaks. I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I need to go home.”
