“No. She made her choices. But I could have tried to help. Instead, I was mad about her being a bitch, so I didn’t say anything to anyone. Her life fell apart, partially because I was petty. That’s the regret.”
“You were a child. Cut some slack for the girl you were.”
“Only if you cut yourself some slack for not being there for every waking moment of Jason’s life.”
He smirks. “Thought you weren’t listening.”
“I can ogle your mouth and listen at the same time, thank you very much.” I give his hand a squeeze. “Jason’s a grown man. You are not responsible for his bullshit.”
“I know. On some mature level, I know. But as his father, it’s hard not to feel responsible for his bullshit.”
“All you can do is call him out when it happens. You can’t fix him anymore than I can fix Reina.”
He nods and shifts the conversation to better topics. When I’m officially in a barbecue coma, he’s telling me about Scout—how the dog finally let him scratch behind his ears last week without flinching—and I’m watching his mouth move and thinking:You’re talking about patience and earning trust, and I am sitting here keeping the biggest secret of your life from you.
He looks up mid-story. “What?”
I blink. “What?”
“You disappeared for a second.”
“I’m right here.”
“Your eyes went somewhere else.”
God, he notices everything. I force a smile. “I was thinking about how you feed a stray dog soup.”
“You make it sound sentimental.”
“Youaresentimental.”
He tilts his head. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”
“I am.” And I really am. That’s the problem.
Because this isn’t a surface-level attraction anymore. This isn’t about revenge, novelty, manipulation, or adrenaline. This is laughter and comfort, and the way he watches me like I’m worth paying attention to.
He deserves to know that the boys he delivered are not just patients. They’re his.
The words almost climb up my throat. “Damian?—”
He leans forward slightly. “Yeah?”
Not here. Not in a room that smells like smoked meat and beer and easy conversation. Not with people two tables over arguing about football. This isn’t a brisket conversation. This is a life-altering confession. And I don’t want the moment diluted by sauce stains and paper towels.
“I was going to ask if you think Scout would ever change his mind. Once you earn enough of his trust.”
He studies me for a second too long. “Some animals will never be domesticated or tamed. But I enjoy them all the same.”
I get the feeling he’s not talking about the dog.
After dinner, we walk to our cars, and he follows me home to make sure I get there okay. It’s a thin excuse, but I’ve heard worse. When we walk up to my apartment, the porch light hums faintly overhead. I turn toward him.
This is the moment. This is when I tell him.
“Do you want to come in?” I ask instead.
His gaze sharpens just slightly. “Are you sure?”
