Page 58 of Ruined

Oh. So that’s what he was remembering. The day I had the final argument with his mother—the argument that ended it all. The day Oliver burst into the garage and found me with all my stuff packed into my car, ready to abandon the life I’d built for six years. The day he cried out, “Dad!” and reached out for me in vain.

The Oliver in front of me is the same Oliver that I helped raise. I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to push it to the back of my mind, but I realize now that he hasn’t. To him, I’ve always been Logan, Dad, Daddy, the one who’s supposed to look out for him. Have I changed that now by blurring the lines between us? Have I twisted our relationship into something unrecognizable, something it never should’ve been?

I still don’t know, but when I look at him—at his fallen gaze and his trembling lip—all I know is that I need to take care of him, no matter what way that might be.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

I stroke his thigh. “Shh, don’t be sorry. I know. But this… It’s just pancakes. I didn’t mean…”

He shakes his head, and when he squeezes his eyes shut, tears drip down his cheeks. “I know. It’s just me being stupid.”

“You’re not being stupid, sweetheart. Don’t say that about yourself.”

He bites his lip, and I can tell he’s trying to hold his tears back. “Where did you go? When you left.”

I sigh deeply, jaw tightening with memories I’d rather forget. “A friend of mine owned a car repair shop in Denver. I knew he’d give me a job if I needed it.”

Oliver nods, still teary-eyed. What I don’t tell him is that Denver was far enough to make sure I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew. It was never my home, just a city to disappear in—nothing else.

When I got a job opportunity in Portland, I figured enough years had passed that my old life wouldn’t come back to haunt me. I was wrong.

Reuniting with Oliver feels more inevitable than random, though. In hindsight, running into him on a hookup app must’ve been some divine intervention by the universe. I still don’t know what lesson I’m supposed to learn from it, or if I’ve made the right choices.

“Did you like it?” Oliver asks. “Your life in Denver.”

I shake my head. “It was hardly a life.” I was just going through the motions. Trying not to think about how intensely lonely I was while at the same time refusing connections with any sort of depth.

Oliver sucks in a shaky breath. “That year, I… I flunked the first year of high school.” He says it as a statement, not an accusation, but regardless, my chest clenches with pain.

“I know.”

“I really missed you.”

“I know, Oliver.” My heart aches for him, but deep down, I don’t know how to feel about him telling me all this. In some ways, I’m happy he’s honest with me. At the same time, his distress only reinforces the ever-present conflict in my mind: by being with him, do I risk hurting him even more than I already have?

It’s too late to back out now, though. I’ve made my choice, and I don’t want to let him go, even if it might be what’s best for him. Am I selfish? Yes. I don’t think Oliver understands just how selfish I’m being, and that’s a problem on its own.

I reach out to wipe the tears from his cheeks with my thumb. “Shh, I’m here. Daddy’s here.”

That word—that forbidden word full of temptation and safety all at once—seems to snap him out of his painful memories. His gaze flicks up to meet mine, and he licks his dry lips.

“Go on.” I nod toward the pancakes on the breakfast tray. “They’re getting cold.”

He lifts the plate into his lap and starts to eat. Slowly at first, but when he realizes how hungry he is, he scarfs the pancakes down like someone’s going to take them away from him.

“I can make more if you want,” I offer with a smile.

“No, I’m okay.” He wipes his mouth and takes a big swig of the milk. He sets the glass down hard, and the big burp he lets out makes us both laugh.

Relieved that he seems to be feeling better now, I take his hand and stroke a finger over his knuckles. “Do you want to do something today?”

“Do something? Like what?” He raises a brow, and I roll my eyes, knowing where his mind instantly goes.

“The weather’s great. We could go to the park. Go shopping, maybe. I saw those jeans of yours; you could use some new ones. Will you let Daddy buy some for you?”

His lips part, and his cheeks tint with color. “Okay.”

I’ve still got my hand by his thigh, and when he glances down at it, I know what must’ve happened. He got turned on by me wanting to buy him clothes? That’s a new one. On second thought, it’s not new at all; he likes it when I take care of him and notice what he needs, and I can hardly deny that I like it too.