His demeanor was an almost one-hundred-eighty-degree difference from when he first entered the clinic. His voice was lower, less angry but still riddled with pain.
“She told me that it was probably for the best.” He speared me with his gaze. “That our son…” He stopped.
I covered my mouth with my hand and gasped.
I could imagine my grandmother saying something like that to me. But hearing that she told it to Ace felt like someone yanking my heart out of my chest. I hadn’t even told her I was pregnant until well into my second trimester. That was only a couple of weeks before AJ died.
“I went to her to look for you.”
“I never went back to her,” I whispered. My grandmother’s home was the last place I wanted to go after deciding to leave Ace.
“Where did you go?” he asked, his voice sincere yet resigned.
I shrugged. “I went back to Georgia for a little while. I stayed in a homeless shelter for almost a year.” But the memories of living in Georgia with my mom became too much for me.
“Then I took a bus up to Philadelphia to stay with a cousin for a little while.”
“Homeless shelters? You chose to stay in a shelter rather than live with me?” The hurt was back in his voice.
I shook my head. And my eyes watered even more. I couldn’t wipe all the tears away as they streamed down my cheeks. How could I explain that I’d felt like being homeless was what I deserved? That I’d been the catalyst of his pain, just like I’d been the impetus of my mother’s pain and, eventually, her death?
“You deserved better,” I whispered, unable to look at him. “I’m just sorry my leaving the way I did made you hate me so much.”
“I don’t hate you, Savannah,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I never hated you. Even when I tried to hate you, I couldn’t.”
He moved closer. “Everything would be so much easier if I could just fucking hate you.”
I closed my eyes against his words. He was right. A piece of me wished he hated me, too.
When I opened my eyes, Ace stood before me, much closer. He raised his hand to cup my face and leaned in. The kiss was slow at first, tender as if he was feeling out new territory.
I melted into the soft brush of his lips against mine. He followed that by a lick of his tongue against my bottom lip.
I released a sigh, and he brought our bodies even closer. His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me into him. This wasn’t like our previous kisses. Those were filled with anger and resentment.
This kiss was more like the way we used to kiss. Where Ace led and I followed, savoring every second of our skin brushing against each other’s. This felt like a kiss from the old Ace.
My Ace. My husband.
“Savannah,” Reese called through the door.
I startled and pulled back from Ace. “Shit.”
I had completely forgotten where I was and that I should’ve been seeing patients.
Ace took a step back as if he needed to reorient himself as well. He didn’t say anything as he moved to open the door.
There stood a wide-eyed Reese, glancing between the two of us.
“I’ll see you at home,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Home,” I repeated in a low tone, needing to make sure I heard him correctly. Not once in the past six weeks had he referred to his house as my home.
I nodded.
“Sorry for the interruption,” he told Reese before exiting.
I watched him walk away and fought my legs to remain where they were. I wanted to follow him but I couldn’t.
