He fell silent, and so did I. Half a dozen thoughts started and fell short as I tried to figure out what to say. Tried to figure out how to fill the awkward silence with something more than small talk. From the look on his face, he was trying to do the same. I searched his expression for that famous anxiety of his, but found none—an impressive feat in and of itself.
“Let me ask you this,” Harley began as he leaned forward on the table. His hands folded around the coffee cup. “What are we doing here, Maverick?”
Straight to the point.
“Catching up,” I said it simply like our last encounter hadn’t been a fucking shit show. I took a long sip of coffee, postponing answering as I worked out the right wording to say to him. As I set the mug down, I sighed. “Look, I know we didn’t separate on good terms, but part of growing up and healing is realizing that… the grass wasn’t greener on the other side just because someone has money.
“The reality is that abuse knows no income bracket. We both used each other in our own ways. I know I used you to feel better—to feel something other than anger and hurt,” I admitted. It had taken a lot of hard conversations for me to face the way I handled things. That wasn’t to say that Harley hadn’t done anything wrong, but I wasn’t exactly innocent in it all either. “It was easier to put my happiness and my future on you rather than deal with everything. I think some part of me believed that just us being together would make all of it go away. That I wouldn’t be angry. That I wouldn’t be an addict. That I’d suddenly have a life worth living.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he whispered.
If there was anyone who would understand that, it was Harley. We were both products of abuse. It was the cracked and unstable foundation we’d been raised on. It shaped the way we learned to exist in the world and interact with everyone. Growing up, every decision we made had been about survival. About keeping the peace and staying small when we had to. We had to learn to pick our battles and gauge just how much we could take.
That kind of upbringing… it didn’t mold you. It completely rewired everything in your brain until you couldn’t recognize yourself. It became your entire identity.
And, if Harley was anything like me, surviving it hadn’t been the end of the story. Even years later, the aftermath still lingered in quieter ways, and our work was never really done. We had to build something stable outside of the abuse. We had to learn how to make decisions that weren’t driven by fear or damage control. We had to learn how to be something more than the worst things that happened to us.
We had to choose thriving over surviving.
And it wasn’t easy. It was brutal and exhausting, and honestly, it was the kind of work that never truly ended. It just changed with the waves of life.
Harley focused hard on his coffee cup, a million miles away in his own thoughts. I gave him the space he needed because, whileit was obvious he was doing better in life, I didn’t have a clue where he was in his journey. I knew how I was doing. I knew my progress. I knew my comfort levels with talking about my past.
It was okay if he wasn’t in the same place I was. It wasn’t a race.
“I am sorry,” he said softly.
“I know,” I replied. When his gaze found mine, I smiled. “I’m not saying what you did was right, but I am saying that you weren’t the only one who did a lot of stupid shit. It’s water under the bridge. I’m not holding onto any of it anymore. I don’t want to be that angry kid, and I don’t think you want to be what they turned you into.”
At least, I was hoping not—for his sake.
“I’m trying my damnedest not to be.”
“I’ll admit, I was surprised that you and your wife moved back here.”
“My what?” He frowned, and despite everything, it settled uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach.
“Holly, your wife—”
“No,” Harley interrupted quickly, shaking his head. “No, no. No. Holly’s not my wife. She’s my daughter’s nanny. She’s like… ten years younger than me.”
I stared at him for a long minute while my mind tried to catch up, all of his words hitting at once.Did he just say daughter?
“Did you just saydaughter?” I demanded.
“Yeah.” His smile was instant—the same kind of smile Roxy had anytime someone brought up Carson. “Yeah, she’s six, and she’s… she’s incredible.”
“You’re a dad?”Yeah, my mind wasn’t catching up.I tried to picture him with a kid, but I couldn’t. Maybe it was the prim-and-proper thing I was used to, because I knew how messy and chaotic kids could be. I couldn’t imagine Harley with that kind of life.
Granted, once upon a time, I couldn’t imagine him in flannel, and we’d already proven that one wrong.
“When we were fixing up my mother’s house, my wife—my ex-wife—and I were working with a surrogate to have a baby. Holly was our surrogate,” he explained.
“And now she’s your nanny?”
“She is,” he nodded, “and she helps keep my house running. My daughter loves her, and the extra help is nice.”
“And your ex-wife…”
