Just for a second. Let me enjoy this just for a moment.
“Thank you,” he whispers against my neck.
“What for?” I breathe out, closing my eyes as goosebumps pepper my skin.
“For raising our son on your own. For being a badass. For being… you.”
Tears spring to my eyes. If only he knew how much of a badass Iwasn’t. How many days over the years I’ve spent crying myself to sleep or crying in the bathroom so Oscar didn’t see that everything was too much for me. If he knew any of that, he wouldn’t be saying thank you.
“You do what you have to do to keep going,” I whisper, willing the tears to recede.
He turns me around, gently cupping my jaw. “Look at me, firefly,” he says softly.
My eyes open, and my gaze meets his. The look he’s giving me is so much like how he used to look at me—like his world began and ended with me. I force down the sob that threatens to work itself free, ignoring it in favor of digging my head in the sand and pretending none of this is happening. I can’t let him unravel me.
I’ll get my second chance at love again… maybe. Oscar needs to be a bit older, and I need to be more settled in my career.
Excuses, a voice shouts internally.
Shaking my head, I move away from him, walking to the coffee machine. “Coffee?” I ask, forcing a smile.
He looks at me intently, his eyebrow raised, before nodding. “Yeah, I’ll have one. I don’t sleep much anyway, so it won’t matter.”
“You don’t sleep much?” I ask, glad to be on a safer topic. One that has nothing to do with us and the past.
He runs his fingers through his hair and exhales a short laugh. “Nah. I get exhausted to the point where I’m falling asleep at my desk or on the sofa, but once I get into bed, I’m wide awake, scenarios of every past mistake I’ve ever made and ones still yet to come running rampant.”
“That must be awful,” I muse. I’m lucky; as soon as my head hits the pillow at night, it's lights out until either my alarm or Oscar wakes me up in the morning.
“You get used to it.” He shrugs and goes back to drying up the last of the dishes.
I take that as my cue he doesn’t want to continue the conversation, so I head into the living room to get Oscar ready for bed. KnowingI need to get out of this death trap called a bra, I go into my bedroom while Oscar’s changing and put on my pajamas. They’re nothing sexy—a black vest top and black jogging bottoms, but they’re comfortable. I was so focused on everything else earlier that I hadn’t thought to change out of my work clothes.
Letting out a sigh, I make my way back to the living room, where I hear Oscar and Theo talking quietly. “Okay, bud. Time to say goodnight. You can see Dad another day.”
“Yeah, little dude. We have a party to plan.” He winks.
Oscar hugs Theo, who looks taken aback for a moment before he engulfs him in return, squeezing him close.
“You’re not going to leave again, are you?” Oscar whispers, still firmly attached to his dad. “I’ve only just got you back.”
I hear Theo clear his throat, and my eyes dart to his. They’re glossy, and he’s swallowing thickly. “I can promise you on my life that I’m never going anywhere again, Oscar. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
Feeling happy with what Theo said, Oscar lets go and says, “Goodnight.” In the meantime, both Theo and I seem to be feeling the same emotions—hand over our hearts with tears in our eyes. Why do kids have to be so freaking cute?
Following behind Oscar, I give Theo one last look. He’s watching us both go, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth, and that’s when it hits me—there will be no second chance for me. My heart was stolen the moment I met him, and I’ll never get it back. Theodore Moore owns my body, mind, and soul.
I’m just never going to be able to tell him that.
Chapter Thirty-Four
THEO
My ears perk up when I hear a door closing softly and muffled footsteps approaching from down the hallway. Their place is nice, bare, with a few items spread throughout. The couch looks like it’s about to fall apart, which is one of the reasons I haven’t sat on it—I’m terrified it’ll buckle under my weight. A plant wilts on the windowsill, and I smile knowing that if it weren’t for Mrs. Jones, mine would have died a long time ago.
Blake walks into the living room. She’s changed, and her dark hair flows down past her shoulders. The little bit of makeup she always wears is gone, enhancing the freckles on her nose. My tongue runs across my bottom lip as I gaze at her, but I catch myself, averting my eyes and running a hand through my hair.
“He’s asleep,” she says shyly before heading into the kitchen. She comes back a little while later with two glasses of wine. “Sorry, I don’t have any beer.”
