I look down at my black skinny jeans and T-shirt before giving him an incredulous look. He just smiles at me, and his smile makes me feel like one of those fainting Southern belles.
“I hope you’re hungry because I think I overdid it with the portions,” he says, placing his hand to the dip of my back and guiding me to the bar stools at the kitchen island.
I put my bag on the floor and take a seat on one of the stools while JD goes around the center island and grabs a wine glass.
“I opened some red to breathe. Would you like a glass? I also have beer, soft drinks, water.”
Without thinking, I reply, “I haven’t touched alcohol since the night Blaise tried to ra—”
I snap my mouth shut. JD is looking at me funny and I can tell he’s trying to figure out the end of my sentence, so I do damage control, fast.
“Since a party where I puked all night. Not a fun night,” I laugh awkwardly and unconvincingly. “May I have a water, please?”
JD cocks his head like Fallon does, and I start to squirm in my seat, just like I do when Fallon gives me that look. For some reason, it makes me feel like a teenager who’s getting a ‘mom’ look. Everyone knows that look and everyone reacts the same way when they get one. They feel a mixture of nervousness and guilt.
Luckily, Connor chooses that moment to run into the kitchen. “We got you a present, Rora! I wrapped it!” It’s absolutely adorable how Connor pronounces his r’s as w’s.
“Careful there, bud. Don’t drop it,” JD cautions him.
The paper is crinkled and ripped, and the tape is zigzagged across the paper to hold it all together. It’s endearing as hell.
“Aww, you shouldn’t have but thank you. I love presents. I also brought you something, but I’ll give it to you after dinner if that’s okay.”
He pouts a little but says, “Okay.”
“Do you want to help me open my present now?” I offer.
Asking a kid to help open a present means they’re going to rip the paper off themselves, and all adults should stand back and stay out of the way.
It takes a while for him to tear the over-taped paper off, but when he finally unveils the present, stinging tears instantly gather in my eyes.
It’s a picture of Connor sitting in my lap at the lake as we steered his little remote-controlled boat.
JD must have taken it without me realizing. The picture is sweet, touching…familial. And looking at it devastates me in a way I am unprepared for. All I can think is—Connor should be my son with JD.
Seeing what should have been our future together framed in an eight-by-ten rectangle of wood and glass has me on the verge of a panic attack. I should’ve known better than to come here tonight. I thought I was ready to let go of my heartache and move forward, even if JD and I could only move forward as friends. I was so, so incredibly wrong, especially after what Prescott told me today at lunch. Connor is Candace’s son. A girl I never talked to at school and never really knew, bore JD his first child.
Connor is smiling up at me, holding the picture in his tiny, outstretched hands, and I just can’t. I swipe at an escaping tear and stand up abruptly.
“Um, I need to use the bathroom. Would you mind holding on to that until I get back?” I choke out.
I don’t wait for an answer. I don’t ask where the bathroom is. I just bolt down the hallway and go into the first room I come to and close the door behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, not willing to let one more tear fall and take deep, calming breaths in and out. JD’s cologne assails my nostrils and I realize when I open my eyes that I’m in his bedroom.
Fuck my goddamn luck! I can’t escape JD even in the midst of a panic attack.
My gaze falls on the large, unmade bed. I have a strong urge to crawl under the rumpled sheets and wrap myself in his scent, and bury my face in the pillow he uses.
“Aurora, you okay?” JD’s deep, gentle voice asks from the other side of the bedroom door.
I turn and lean my forehead against the cool wood, splaying my hands flat as if I could reach through it to touch him. “No.”
“Baby, open up.”
Baby. Oh God.
A few more tears drip down and plop silently on his cream-colored carpet.
“I can’t, JD. Please,” I beg, not knowing what I’m begging him for.
