I opened my mouth, finding words elusive. This isn’t how I envisioned things happening, in the storeroom of my business.
“How old is he?” Calum repeated tersely.
“He’ll be eight on April 21st.”
“Is he mine?”
“No. He’s mine, but you are his father.” I couldn’t move my eyes away from his profile. I watched every emotion that flickered through his eyes as he ran his hand over his jaw. Disbelief, hurt, regret, shame, and right back to disbelief.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And just how was I supposed to do that? Over Twitter? Instagram, perhaps?” I demanded hotly, eyes flashing, and hands clenching at my sides. “You left without a word.Youchanged your number, your email address.You’rethe one that took off without saying goodbye, Calum.”
He froze, absorbing every word like a punch. He was looking at me with an overwhelming intensity that made me want to cry. But I wouldn’t. Focusing on the wall of boxes directly behind him, I drew in a stabilizing breath.
“I thought leaving you was the best thing I could do for you,” he admitted, pulling my attention back to him. “You wanted something I couldn’t give you.”
“Be honest, Calum.Youwanted somethingIcouldn’t give you.” I could tell I struck a nerve by the hurt that flashed through his eyes.
“I didn’t know you were pregnant!” he fired back.
“I didn’t either!” I exclaimed. “I found out a few months after you left, when it was apparent that you weren’t coming back,” I added, my voice softer and wavering even as I lifted my chin in stubborn resolve. “You broke my heart, and I wasn’t about to be that tired cliché. You chose your future, so I chose mine.”
Calum looked to the ceiling, drawing in and releasing a deep breath audibly before dropping his gaze back to me. “I’m sorry, Harper. If I’d known—“
“You’d have what?” I asked, shaking my head. He turned his chin, giving himself a moment. When he looked back at me, the shattered regret in his eyes made my breath catch.
“I would have been here, Harper.” I scoffed with disbelief, and he shook his head, stepping closer to me. “I’ve regretted leaving things the way I did since the moment I boarded that plane. I’ve thought about it every second of every day because it’s another moment I let pass before coming back. But if I’d known, Harper—” he choked up, swallowing hard.
His scent, his presence, his words—it all overwhelmed me. Calum stepped in front of me, bringing his hand up to frame my face, his thumb tracing along my jaw, his touch instinctually reverent.
I nearly forgot about every scar he’d left on my heart because in that moment, I wanted so desperately to believe him. I leaned into his touch a fraction, coveting the heat of his palm, the familiar calluses on his fingers from guitar strings, and closed my eyes.
But then, I came to my senses, and I remembered everything that had happened between the last time I saw him and now. His touch couldn’t erase it all.
I stepped back abruptly, shaking my head. “You can’t say that, Calum. You left me because you didn’t want the commitment of a girlfriend ruining your chances at whatever came next.”
His blue eyes locked on mine, stealing my breath, and he shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t about you ruining anything, Harper. It was all me—I thought I couldn’t be it all, and I needed to be this.”
“Well, you’re that,” I said, my tone hard. Pulling my gaze away from his enticing, stormy eyes, I shook my head. “Was it worth it?”
“No,” he swallowed, his gaze was heavy with regret, and it pierced through me, reminding me of my own. His hand dropped to his side, and my eyes tracked the moment. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded stiffly, pulling my eyes away from him for a moment to collect myself. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t keep this from you to hurt you, but you…you never came back.”
The last words stung coming out, but I pushed them through my lips anyway. I couldn’t tell him that a tiny part of me had waited, almostexpectinghim to come back, and each day he didn’t…
Calum watched me reflectively, the sorrow deep in his eyes. He already knew what I couldn’t say. He was shouldering the blame, taking on this burden, filing it away with his other failings. “I get it. I should have never left like that in the first place.”
“Why did you?” In all these years, I’d never had the opportunity to ask him why. Through the tabloids and the photos, I assumed that he’d done so to enjoy the spoils of fame. My heart twisted at the mental reminder of how many had touched him since me.
His gaze lifted, caressing over me, from my heels to rest on my face.
“I couldn’t say goodbye,” he finally replied, swallowing.
“So you left?” I shook my head, the tear finally breaking free and rolling down my cheek. I wiped it away with frustration, glaring at him. “It was the shittiest, most hurtful of goodbyes, Cal.”
“Harper—“ he tried, reaching out to me.
