“Jesus Christ, Steph, this is—” he starts, but I cut him off, not finished.
“You’re the only one allowed to make mistakes? To fuck up?”
“Is it a fuck up though?” he snaps, his eyes finally finding mine, and what I see there, in those glistening silver depths, breaks me. The devastation. The breach of trust. It breaks me because I’ve been there. I know what he’s feeling in this moment. And despite all the times over the years I wished for this exact thing—for him to know what it’s like to be so broken, to feel so betrayed, for karma to do its thing—I take no pleasure in it now. I hate seeing him like this and knowing I’ve done this to him.
“Seems like this was a pretty intentional decision,” he continues. “That talk. Right here,” he points down at the rock between us, his voice rising, “the one we hadright.Here. That was the time to get everything out in the open.”
“I know.”
“That was the time to tell me I’m a fucking father, Steph!” he shouts. “I laid everything on the table for you then.”
“I know,” I say again, more forcefully.
“So …” he trails off, his jaw clenching and nostrils flaring. He’s back to staring out over the water, the landscape. His throat works on a swallow. When he speaks again, his voice is low. Tortured. “You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?”
“I—I don’t know,” I say softly.
He jerks his head in a stiff shake, the movement conveying his certainty, but his voice cracks when he says, “You weren’t.”
I lean back against the stone, blowing out a long breath. “Maybe you’re right.”
Silence falls around us, save for the wind that has picked up, gusting up the ridge and disturbing a scattering of leaves at the base of a nearby cluster of oaks. It whistles hauntingly through the bare branches, the sound causing goosebumps to rise along my neck and arms. We watch together as below, a handful of boats appear to be jockeying for position, lining up on their approach to the marina. Only two remain out in the distance, large sailboats with brave skippers unable to pass up the thrill of the increasing wind speeds despite the growing swells and darkening skies. It won’t be long before the temperatures drop in earnest. For many weekenders, Thanksgiving is the last hurrah before the boats finally come out of the water for the winter.
“Fools,” Riley mutters, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s not talking about us but rather the remaining sailors, eyeing them as I had been, our minds in sync as they so often once were. The thought is both nostalgic and painful. Will we ever get on thesame page? I’d resisted this, with him, for months. But now … I know I want it.
I need to fix this.
“Don’t remember them still being out this late in the season before,” he comments, and I take the offering for what it is, an opportunity to change the subject for a while. To re-group.
“It used to happen earlier, when we were kids,” I agree. We’d often already had snow by now. “But with global warming, the lakes’ overall temperatures have risen. It’s prolonged the season, and people love that. They push it as late as they can, now. The business bureau and tourism board are happy, but it’s caused a lot of other problems.”
He nods, familiar with my eco-rants. Back when we dated in high school, he’d spent many a weekend picking up debris with me and the other Earth Warriors along the shorelines.
“Aside from the implications for the ecosystem and the impact on fish and wildlife, it’s also become a safety issue. We don’t get a full deep freeze anymore. Hell, two years ago, Hedd Lake didn’t fully freeze over at all. It’s not as safe for ice fishing, and we’re seeing more and more deaths every winter. Last year, we lost five people in three separate events where snowmobiles and a truck went through the ice.”
“Always trying to save the world,” he murmurs, and the fondness in his voice has hope rising in my chest. Maybe I haven’t lost him. Maybe we can overcome this latest and greatest revelation, too.
“You know me,” I reply softly.
“Yeah. I do.” He turns, then, once more meeting my eyes. Any amusement that had been there, however briefly, has vanished. “I do, Steph. I know you. That’s why this hurts so much.”
“I’m sorry.” I hold his gaze, hoping he can see my sincerity.
“How could you not tell me?” he whispers.
I nibble on my lip, breaking our eye contact to stare down at the hands I’m wringing in my lap, needing the slight reprieve to collect my thoughts.
“You’d made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me—that you had … moved on. At least that was what I believed at the time,” I amend. “I was heartbroken and scared and, to be honest, I didn’t know for sure you were the father until after he was born and I saw his eyes.” I clear my throat. “Youreyes. Sam was there, and he was willing, albeit reluctantly, to be in it with me. I didn’t know where you were. There was no way I was going to go back to that terrifying building to look for you again.”
“I wouldn’t have been there anyway. I was already serving my sentence by then.”
I nod.
“I can give you that,” he offers reluctantly. “But how did you think this was going to work?Now, I mean. Between us. You wouldn’t have been able to keep us apart forever. I would have met him eventually. I would have—” his voice breaks, and he clears histhroat. “I would have figured it out when I looked into his eyes.”
“I—I didn’t. It’s …” I sigh. “Well, it’s a big part of why I kept pushing you away. I didn’t think itcouldwork out. I hoped you’d give up and leave again. I couldn’t see how it would ever work for us long-term. Even if I could get past what happened before—”
He opens his mouth to interrupt me, but I raise a hand.
