“I don’t know how,” I admitted. “But I know why.”
She looked up, questioning.
“Because this—us—is the only thing that makes sense. In all the craziness of it all, finding you is the one thing that feels right.” I leaned forward. “I’m not giving up on this, Theresa. And I won’t let you fight alone.”
Something shifted in her expression. The doubt receded, replaced by a determination that matched my own. She turned her hand in mine, our fingers interlacing.
“Okay,” she breathed. “We stay steady. No matter what.”
“Aye. One step at a time,” I agreed.
The night air bit through my jacket as we stood in the parking lot between our cars. The bar’s neon sign bathed Theresa’s face in red light, carving shadows beneath her cheekbones and highlighting the stubborn set of her jaw.
“I really want to take you to a hotel and forget any of this exists,” I told her, finally admitting what had been consuming me since I’d walked into the bar.
She looked at me, wanting the same thing, knowing we couldn’t.
I pulled her into me and kissed her—not slow, not cautious, but with all the pent-up heat of every hour I’d spent missing her.
Her hands fisted in my jacket lapels, holding on like I might disappear if she let go. I understood the feeling completely. In the months since we’d met, she’d become the one thing I couldn’t imagine losing.
We broke apart reluctantly, foreheads touching as we breathed into the cold air between us.
“How about Sunday?” I asked, my voice rough. “The beach trip we talked about. The weather’s supposed to be good.”
She pulled back slightly, uncertainty crossing her face. “Patrick, I don’t know. Shouldn’t we wait until after this crisis is over?”
“It’s the weekend. Everything’s closed. Arthur can’t make his next move until Monday.” I cupped her face in my hands. “And I think it’s time our children meet each other, Theresa.”
She studied me, and I could tell she was running through every reason this was a terrible idea, every logical argument for pumping the brakes.
“Okay,” she said finally, a small smile breaking through. “Sunday. Half Moon Bay.”
“Sunday,” I confirmed, stealing one more quick kiss.
We got into our separate cars, and I watched her taillights disappear before starting my engine. The drive home passed in a blur, my mind already spinning with strategies, analyzing angles, looking for ways to counter Arthur’s sabotage.
The house was dark and quiet when I returned. The little ones were asleep, Mrs. Kowalski had retired to her quarters. My dinner sat in the refrigerator as promised, but I wasn’t hungry. Jet lag had caught up with me, a bone-deep exhaustion that made even the stairs look like a challenge.
But as I passed Alec’s room, I paused. Light spilled from beneath his door—still awake, probably reading.
I raised my hand to knock, then lowered it. What would I say? That I was sorry for leaving again? That I understood his anger? That I was trying to build something new, something that might eventually heal what grief had broken?
All true. None of it enough.
But tonight had proven something important: what I had with Theresa was real. Worth fighting for. Worth building a future around.
I just had to convince my son of that.
Chapter
Twenty
THERESA
I stoodin my kitchen at six in the morning, staring down at the growing mountain of supplies spilling out of my beach bag. Various sunscreen lotions for everyone, because Patrick’s Scottish children had no idea how fast their fair skin could burn in the California sun. Towels—enough for everyone, which felt like packing for an army. Snacks—granola bars for the big kids, graham crackers, and applesauce pouches for the toddlers. A first-aid kit, because Rome attracted injuries like a magnet.
I pulled out the cooler next, filling it with water bottles and juice boxes. I paused, frowning. String cheese. I forgot the string cheese.
