“How old is he?” Dad asked. He seemed to be having trouble getting the words out.
“A little over three.”
He glanced away momentarily, when his blue eyes met mine again, they looked wary. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Rowan. I can apologize, like I did with Sam, but I have a feeling that I can sit here and apologize until I’m blue in the face, and you’d still hate me.”
“You never once hugged us,” I said. “You never once told us you loved us or that you were proud of us.”
“And for that, I’m sorry. I’m not sure if you’ve been paying attention, but I didn’t grow up with an incredible father either.”
I swallowed. “That’s my fear. You didn’t break the cycle. How can I be sure I will?”
“You can’t be sure.” He shrugged. “What does your mother say?”
“I haven’t told her.”
“Does Sam know?”
“He knew before I did.”
Realization flickered in his eyes. “Tessa’s boy.”
Tessa’s boy. Why did my heart skip a beat when he said that? I nodded once but kept quiet because I knew when Dad wasn’t done talking and for once, I wanted to hear what he had to say.
“I haven’t met him,” he said. “Sam talks about him often and I keep in touch with the Montes. They’re crazy about their grandson.” He smiled as he said that but then sobered. “I’m assuming Camryn doesn’t know.”
I tensed. This was it. I’d given him the perfect opportunity to get back at me for all the awful things I’d said to him. For every time I’d thrown his extramarital affair and illegitimate son in his face. I waited, the anxiety bunching between my shoulder blades.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” he asked instead. I swallowed past the lump that seemed to have become a permanent fixture in my throat and dropped onto the seat across from him.
“My life is different,” he said with a chuckle, waving a hand. “I know you can see the difference, but I don’t just mean this. I mean everything has changed. I’ve changed and I’m sorry that you and your brother got the short end of the stick and grew up while I still had a lot of growing up to do myself. You have to understand that I did the best that I could. It’s all we can do.”
“I don’t know the first thing about being a father.” I clenched my jaw to get a hold of my emotions.
Dad smiled. “Neither do I and here I am, doing it for a third time.”
I tore my gaze from his. My eyes landed on a picture of him, Mariah, and a little boy all smiling at the camera. It was his smile that nearly broke my heart in two. It looked genuine. Dad looked older than he did in family pictures when I was a kid and ten times happier. He was actually smiling. Really smiling, eyes crinkling with amusement. The three of them looked so . . . happy.
“He’s a good kid. Reminds me a lot of you,” he said and my throat closed up because it was the first nice thing about me that he’d ever said. “He tries so hard to please me and you know what? He does, just like you did when you were his age.”
He gestured toward the pictures hanging on his wall, and I nod, spotting the few he had of Sam and me.
“I speak to him about you. Sam comes around often enough, but Harrison is always asking about you. It’s as if he relates to you even though he’s only ever seen photographs of you.” I could hear the smile in his voice, but I didn’t acknowledge it because I wasn’t sure that I could without bleeding emotions all over the damn place.
I didn’t bleed.
But I did crack.
“Maybe I can meet him sometime.” The words left my mouth before I had a chance to stop them.
“I’d like that.” He paused momentarily. “How’s the company? Did your grandparents sign the contract?”
“It’s been with their lawyer for weeks, but they’ll sign it. I’m offering more than the company’s worth.” I didn’t have to since I owned a higher percentage than they did at the moment. After I took over as CEO, I made it so that they couldn’t really see the entirety of our profit, so they didn’t know that I was paying them less than they were worth. It was sneaky, yes, but that was the way they liked to play, and I wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of this.
“You’ll get it,” he said. “What’s going on with the contract? Is Camryn ready to get out?”
I scoffed. “She’s refusing to sign the papers.”
“Does she think you have a chance at a real family?”
“She already moved out. Not entirely by choice, but it isn’t like we ever acted like a real couple,” I said. Dad raised his eyebrows in response. “She just wants control.”
“Maybe she knows something’s up.”
“She wouldn’t.” I shook my head. The last thing I needed was for her to find out about Miles and make this more difficult than it already was.
“You need to be careful. I’m assuming if Tessa didn’t tell you about him it was for a reason.”
“She saw a picture of Camryn at a party or somewhere and there was cocaine in the picture,” I said by way of explanation. I’d never condoned drug usage. I’d always been far too involved in my health and fitness to want to put a substance like that into my body, but to someone like Camryn cocaine was like having a social cigarette. I said this to my father, but he looked doubtful.
“I wouldn’t want my son around that either,” he said finally.
“Like I said, Camryn moved out months ago, and even before then she’d been carrying on an affair with some guy in the city. She was barely home.” I closed my eyes. It didn’t matter what I said or how I justified any of it, I’d lost three years with my son and couldn’t blame anyone but myself for it. “I need to find a way to fix all of this. I guess I can figure out the how to be a father thing later.”
Dad leaned back in his seat. “Do you remember how you felt about me when you were little?”
My first thought was to say I hated him, but that wasn’t quite right. I truly hadn’t started holding a grudge against him until I found out about the affair and the kid he had. Before then, I’d looked up to him, despite it all.
“I wanted to be just like you.”
“Kids don’t see parents as good or bad. You can be the worst person in the world and your children won’t realize it until they’re faced with the same situation and it suddenly clicks that maybe their father wasn’t right to tell his child that he didn’t bleed,” he said, a sense of sorrow in his eyes.
“Maybe I wasn’t right to push you the way I did or take my own unhappiness out on you. Maybe I should’ve let you sleep in and go to the baseball field with your brother. I made so many mistakes, Rowan. Sometimes I sit and look at the pictures of you and your brother and wish I could go back and fix it all. I’d try to be more loving and show you how important you are. I’d treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I’d hug you and thank you for saving me, because you did, you saved me every damn Saturday because having you in my passenger seat ensured that I wouldn’t drive off a cliff. You can judge me all you want. You have every right to. But you can’t know the pain that lived inside me, a pain you had nothing to do with even if I made you feel that way sometimes. I can’t go back and right my wrongs, son, but I can apologize today and try to be a better father going forward.”
He stood and came around the table. I sat with a clenched stomach, unsure of what was happening, and then he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug. I was bigger than my father, taller, more muscular, but in that moment, I felt small. In that moment, I felt like a needy six-year-old.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice against my hair. “I’ll try to be a better man.”
Something inside me shattered. Tears rolled down my face without preamble. I heard him exhale onto me, but his arms never let up, and I realized that this was what I’d been waiting for my entire life, and the only thing I managed to do was hope that I could provide the same for someone else.
Chapter Eighteen
Tessa
Earlier, as I brainstormed with Seth and Tommy over the phone, I’d gone downstairs to the cellar and picked out a bottle of red. It was one the Chateau made as an exclusive a few years back. All they did was change the label, but it had been enough to get the attention of a Prime Minister, which had the sales skyrocketing. That didn’t really matter to me since I knew next to nothing about wine, but the bottle was a cabernet so I’d taken it.
I stood from the couch, where I’d been sitting and flipping through fabrics since I’d ended the call, headed to the kitchen to open said bottle and order a pizza. Then I looked outside, it was too cool out, definitely not the kind of weather I’d take the canoe out in, but I wished I could. Grandma Joan had renovated the cottage a couple of years ago, tearing down the wall that faced the water and replacing it with glass. The view was truly spectacular and I could picture Miles’s beloved telescope sitting right there by that glass. Celia told me Rowan and Sam had passed by to pick up the other books and had spent a few minutes with Miles. A part of me hated that I hadn’t been there for it, to take pictures, even if only just to store in my memory bank. The other part of me was glad I wasn’t there because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to hold it together. The need to apologize to Rowan ran deep and I didn’t have time for distractions, especially when I still hadn’t settled on any of the fabrics. I picked up my wine and walked back over to the book of fabrics and the hundreds of sketches scattered around it. At least I got that part right. The couches for the hotel design were simple, but the colors I had in mind were bold and bright—royal blues and bright yellows. A Moroccan theme. I’d have to discuss it with Seth and Tommy at nine o’clock during our Skype. I set those aside and went back to the spring collection, which I’d finished sketching. I emailed Seth and Tommy everything earlier, and even though I knew the sketches were great, I was nervous about their feedback. This was my new team. I’d rocked it in Prim Paris, but what if they hated everything I did?
The doorbell rang. I set the sketches down and picked up my wallet, my grumbling stomach reminding me just how hungry I was as I walked over to the door. I pulled it open and did a double take when I saw Rowan standing on the other side, wearing jeans, a long-sleeve white shirt, and a New York Rangers cap.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m missing a fabric book.”
“You drove three hours for a fabric book?”
“I went to pick up the others and your grandmother told me you were holed up here. I wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Why?” I eyed him suspiciously. If he was here to talk about splitting custody, I’d turn him away. It wasn’t that I wasn’t open to the conversation, because I knew that conversation was inevitable and necessary. I’d come here to get my head straight and I wasn’t there yet. His eyes narrowed as if he was mulling over what to say next.
“I came to apologize.”
“Really?”
Out of all the things he could have said, that was the one that surprised me the most. I’d kept his son a secret from him and he was apologizing to me?
“For what?”
“Can we discuss this inside? I’m freezing.”
I bit my tongue. How many times had we played this song and dance? Something about it felt different this time. Years ago, I would have moved out of the way and melted under those blue eyes, but I had become harder. I’d learned life lessons and grown up, so despite my galloping heart and the pulse that was skittering, I didn’t feel the need to make room for him as easily as I once would have. Eventually, after staring at each other for what felt like a solid two minutes, I moved. He walked inside slowly, looking around, taking it all in.
“This is nice.”
“It is.” I watched his broad back as he stood there and finally closed the door. My stomach growled again.
He turned around. “You hungry?”
“Very.”
“Want me to go get food? I thought about bringing something, but I didn’t want to get ahead of myself.”
“I ordered pizza. It should be here any minute.”
He nodded once, sliding his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Are you still working?”
“If I wasn’t, I would’ve gone home already.”
He moved to where the book was open to the blue swatches and touched the sketches. I didn’t want his fingers on them. It was too personal, too much hurt came from the simple gesture, and I rushed over and stood in front of the coffee table, blocking his view. Unfortunately, it put me almost chest to chest with him. The scent of his cologne, his shampoo, body wash, him, infiltrated my senses. Our gazes collided and in that one tiny second, I felt it all rushing back to me and wished so badly I could forget about the past and jump on him. It was the wine, anxiety, and lack of action for sure. I knew he saw this, too, with the way his nostrils flared as he looked at me.
“Tessa.”
I glanced away, ignoring the way the rasp in his voice made everything inside me vibrate. “Please don’t look at my sketches.”
“You always let me look at your sketches.”
I met his gaze again. “How can you say that with a straight face as if you did nothing wrong?” The doorbell rang. I went to move, but Rowan grabbed my arm, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it’s supposed to mean.” I yanked my arm free, grabbed the cash on the table, and went to get my dinner.
When Rowan saw just how much I had ordered, his eyes narrowed. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.” I walked over to the kitchen. “Why?”
“How much food did you get?”
“One pizza, one dessert pizza, and garlic rolls. Why?”
He dragged his eyes over my body slowly and back up. “Where do you store all of this food?”
“None of your business. Besides, I was starving when I ordered and you know I eat with my eyes.”
He helped me set the table. For two, of course, because Rowan was the kind of guy who invited himself into your life, your heart, and your table. I rolled my eyes but said nothing. I was torn between wishing I still wanted to apologize and wanted to ring his neck, and the longer I could smell him, see him, hear him, the more the latter seemed like the option I would take. He served me the first slice and then grabbed one for himself before refilling my wine glass.
“You’re glaring at me.” I was.
“I’m picturing your head exploding.”
He barked out a surprised laugh, a real one that lit up his eyes and showcased that perfect grin of his. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“You couldn’t handle it.”
He laughed again.
“It isn’t funny.”
“It kind of is. The entirety of this situation—from Miles to you feeling like I somehow wronged you by looking at a sketch—is borderline hysterical.”
I exhaled a breath. Fine. He wanted to ask about how I really felt, I would tell him. But first . . .
“Why’d you email me the pictures?”
“What pictures?” He bit into a slice of pizza.
“The wedding pictures.”
“What are you—” He frowned, shaking his head. “What wedding pictures? Why would I email you wedding pictures?”
“I got an email from you shortly after I got to Paris,” I said. “Attached to it were pictures of you and Camryn. She was wearing a wedding dress. I can’t even tell you what you were wearing.”
“I sent those to you?”
“Yes.”
/> I watched as he took another bite of pizza and then chewed slowly, studying my face as I did his, looking for any kind of reaction.
“Tessa, I didn’t email you those pictures.”
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through it, knowing that despite the fact that Celia begged me to delete the email and move on, I’d find it quickly because I never had. Whenever I had a moment of weakness and wanted to try to get in touch with him, I opened the email and reminded myself why I couldn’t. Once I had the image pulled up, I tossed my phone to him. He dropped his pizza and caught it before it hit his chest.
“You wanna know why I didn’t tell you I was pregnant? Why I didn’t tell you I’d had your baby the time I saw you at that conference? That’s why.”
He looked at the pictures for a second before setting the phone aside and looking at me again. I was sure that was sorrow I saw in his eyes, but I was past the point of caring, my blood was past the point of boiling.
“God, Rowan.” My voice fell to a whisper. “She was wearing a dress identical to the sketch I’d ripped out of my sketchbook, which looked fucking ridiculous on her, by the way, but that isn’t the point. The point is that you let her have that dress made, took pictures with her in it, and then sent them to me. For what? To rub it all in my face? I couldn’t have you and you wanted me to make sure I really understood it? To make sure I’d move on and not look back?” My voice rose with each word and I really didn’t give a damn. “It wasn’t enough that I told you I loved you and you acted like it was the worst thing in the world? Did you change your number and email for her benefit too? Because when I was pregnant and alone and fucking scared and tried to reach out to you, you were gone!”
“You could’ve told Sam,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. Hot, angry tears pricked my eyes, I blinked, and they fell down my face.
“Sam? When? Before or after chemo? Before or after he was fighting for his goddamn life? Jesus, Rowan.” I shook my head, disappointed. He’d never change. He’d come to apologize, but he didn’t mean it. He just wanted to do the socially acceptable thing. “Besides, if Sam had reached out to you and told you and you’d said no? That would have killed me. I couldn’t deal with more heartache. First you, then my pregnancy, then Sam’s health. It was too much.”
My Way Back to You: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 10