“Sorry,” I say while reaching into my purse. “I know it’s rude, looking at my phone while we’re having dinner. But if it’s about Haley?—”
“Of course.” Ronan makes a quickit’s nothinggesture. “Don’t even worry about it.”
As I pull out my phone, a sense of foreboding closes in around me.
My heartbeat quickens.
I’m not sure if someone who’s not a parent would understand. But there are just times when I’m seized with this certainty that something’s wrong with Haley—like when she broke her arm on the playground at school and I felt a phantom twinge in the matching spot only minutes before, or when she snuck out of the house when she was six and got herself stuck up in the maple tree.
The feeling of wrongness is so strong; my fingers tremble as I pull out my phone.
When I see that the message isn’t from Miranda or, God forbid, the hospital, the relief is overwhelming.
But when I actually read the message, the relief disappears as quickly as it came.
Ang. Your lawyer contacted me. He said I shouldn’t call you directly. I just want to talk to you. Is there someplace we can meet?
As I stare at the message, tears of frustration and anger burn behind my eyes.
What is he doing?
He hasn’t cared about Haley in almost a decade. Why now? Because I’m not kidding myself into thinking this is just ahey, long time no talk kind of thing. He’s not contacting me to say he’s sorry for being an asshole and wants to make amends for it.
No, he wants something. Something I’m not going to want to give.
“Angel?” Ronan’s voice is soft. Worried. When I jerk my gaze up from the phone, his expression is creased with concern. “Is Haley okay?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes. She’s fine.” I take another steadying breath. “If you’ll just… hang on.”
I quickly send a text to my lawyer—thankfully, he knew my mom, so he’s giving me a discounted rate—to let him know about Justin’s most recent communication. Then I shove my phone back into my purse and try to force a smile. “Sorry. I just…”
Just what? How do I explain without ruining our date already?
Ronan takes my hand, nearly swallowing it with his much larger one. The feel of it soothes me. It releases some of the pressure building in my chest. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says. “But I’m here if you want to talk.”
Part of me wants to gloss over it. To bring up a different, lighter topic.
But if I want to know, truly know, if Ronan’s serious about me and everything that entails, I have to be honest with him. Which is why I reply, “That was a message from Justin. Haley’s dad. We haven’t spoken in years. And… I’m not particularly happy to hear from him.”
I swallow a laugh at the gross understatement that is.
Ronan frowns. “I thought he wasn’t in the picture.”
“He’s not.” My voice turns sharp. “He hasn’t been. Ever.”
I’m held up from the rest of the story by Vienna appearing with our drinks. But once she leaves with our dinner orders, I continue, “It’s no secret in town that I came back here to raise Haley on my own.”
“Okay?”
“Justin was my first real boyfriend,” I explain. “I met him my freshman year at UVM. I thought we were being careful. But… apparently not enough. At the end of my second semester,I discovered I was pregnant. I was scared, of course. That was never part of my plan. I wanted kids, but later. After college. After I experienced life.”
Ronan laces his fingers between mine. “That makes sense.”
“But I wanted Haley. There was never any question of that. I just hoped… I thought Justin would support me. I didn’t expect marriage. But I thought he’d step up. Except when I told him…” I shake my head. “He said he didn’t want any part of it. That if I wanted to have the baby, I’d be doing it on my own.”
Ronan’s jaw tightens. Anger narrows his gaze. “So he didn’t help you? At all?”
“Nope. Not before she was born or after. I gave him the chance, though. After Haley was born, I sent Justin pictures. Videos. I asked him to come visit. Not because I wanted him back. I just thought… he was her father. I wanted her to know him.”
