“Oh,” he said, falling silent while his busy thoughts churned. I knew he was doing the math. Placing my hand on the small of his back, I gently guided him toward the back porch, hoping we’d make it inside before the barrage of questions. “Is he my dad?” he asked, turning to look at me as we walked up the wooden steps to the back porch.
I swallowed, taking in the yearning in his bright eyes, and all I could think about was the look on Calum’s face when he’d realized the truth.
“Yes. He is.” I told him, forcing my lips to lift. All I managed was a hesitant smile that quickly faded when Asher spoke.
“I thought he was dead.” Regret slammed into me as I looked into the infinite pools of blue eyes—so similar to Cal’s.
“No, he’s not, and I’m sorry if I made you think that,” I managed, despite the emotion clogging my throat.
“I know you didn’t say it. It’s just…I saw how sad you got whenever I asked about my dad.” Asher replied, lifting his left shoulder in a shrug. “Nik’s dad is dead, and his mom doesn’t talk about him often, either.”
My heart clenched painfully in my chest. The fact that he’d noticed what I thought I hid so well surprised me. I thought I had years of practicing, but the older Asher got, the more intuitive he became.
“I was sad, but you have every right to ask me questions about him. I should have made that clearer.”
“Can I ask questions now?” I nodded. “Are you happy he’s back?” he asked, tilting his head, his eyes boring into mine.
“Yes, of course.” I replied carefully. It was a hard question to answer truthfully in its entirety. Motioning to the door, I straightened. “Let’s go inside and make some dinner. We’ll talk about it over tacos,” I added.
“Okay,” he nodded, his dark fringe falling into his eyes. I brushed it back and kissed his forehead before fishing my keys out of my purse, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
We stepped inside, onto the thick mat that protected the hardwood floors from snow and salt. I toed my boots off, setting them on the shelf by the door, before I walked into the kitchen to set my things down.
The main floor was an open concept with the kitchen leading into the living room, divided by a wall with a peek-through window that allowed light to spill throughout the entire main level. There was a counter beneath the peek-through window, where Asher and I ate most of our meals.
It was tiny, but it was ours. I signed the deed on this little house four years ago, using the inheritance my maternal grandmother had left for me as a down payment. It was the first home Asher and I had lived in without my parents. It was a step I’d been all too ready for.
Of course, they’d sold their house in Halifax and bought one down the street from mine, so I didn’t fully escape them, but their close proximity came in handy on snow days and when Asher fell sick.
I took a moment, closing my eyes and breathing slowly. The scent of home was every bit as soothing as my bookstore.
I tried not to think about how it would feel to have Calum invade this safe space of mine, the way he had with the bookstore.
“Why is he gone all the time?” Asher’s inquiry caught me off guard, and I turned. He’d hung up his coat and put away his shoes, his big eyes watching me with interest.
“He’s a musician,” I replied. “He plays guitar and sings in a band, and they go on tour a lot.”
“Really?” His eyes lit up, and the sight of his excitement brought concern to my heart at the same time it brought a smile to my lips. He moved to the island and climbed on the stool, leaning over the dark countertop. “Is he famous? Is that why all those people came in?”
“Yes,” I answered, washing my hands in the sink. “They’ve played all over Canada and the United States. I think they’ve even gone to the United Kingdom.” I dried my hands on a towel before moving to the refrigerator to start taking ingredients out for dinner.
“Cool!”
“I guess it is,” I admitted with a dry chuckle, setting the ground beef, onions, and peppers down on the counter. I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Musicians do travel a lot, though. You might only get to see him every couple of months.”
“Maybe he won’t be gone so much, now that he knows about me,” he hedged with a shrug, trying to play off how much it meant to him.
I nodded, swallowing my worry. I hoped like hell Asher was right, but I knew the likelihood of Calum slowing his music career was improbable.
“Maybe,” I managed with a smile. “Wash up and grab the lettuce and tomatoes?”
“’Kay.” Asher nodded, hopping down from the stool and walking around to the sink. He was almost tall enough to reach the tap without having to stretch. Once he’d finished washing his hands, he turned the tap off and slid with socked feet past me to the refrigerator.
Condiments clanged gently when he pulled open the door. He opened the crisper to grab the lettuce and tomatoes, balancing everything in his arms and pushed the drawer closed with his foot.
Using his elbow to shut the refrigerator door, Asher carried everything to the sink and set it down inside the colander. He rinsed the lettuce and tomatoes quickly, eyes darting to me.
“Can we put on some music?” he asked. Listening to music while preparing and making dinner was kind of our thing, so his request wasn’t surprising.
“Sure, what do you want to listen to?” I asked, pausing my task of cutting the onions and peppers. I moved the tap, washing my hands and drying them on the towel that I had slung over my shoulder.
“Can we listen to one of his songs?” he questioned hopefully; his cheeks tinged with pink. It saddened me that he felt embarrassed about his desire to know more about his father—and that I was to blame for that.
“You have a few of his songs on your iPod already,” I said, and before the last word was even out of my mouth, Asher was racing to the back door to grab his iPod from his jacket pocket.
I took the device from him and scrolled through the playlists, finding the one I’d labeled C.J. This is the album that contained songs Calum had recorded, songs he’d written for me or because of me. Just his voice, his acoustic, and yet…it had been the most romantic gift he’d given me.
I hesitated for only a moment. My fingers absently brushed the back, where HR+CJ was engraved before I hit play.
“This is him?” Asher’s jaw went slack, his eyes widening. He recognized the songs and the voice. I’d played this playlist over and over again when he was a baby because it was the only thing that would soothe him.
Even though it wrenched me, I endured hearing these songs over and over again for him.
I nodded, clearing my throat. “Yes, this is just him playing and singing songs that he wrote himself. His band stuff is a little different.”
“Can we play that?”
“Sure.” I moved to the living room, grabbing my phone from my purse. I’d missed a few text messages and a call from my mother—who was currently visiting her sister with Dad in Ontario.
Pausing, I opened up the messages. I didn’t recognize the number, but the first text cleared up any would-be confusion.
It’s me, Calum.
I fired out a reply. I’m surprised you remembered.
Three dots appeared, and his response came half a second later. I’ve never forgotten.
“Uh, Mom? Tacos?” Asher prompted, gesturing to the stove pointedly.
“Crap,” I muttered, jogging over to stir the ground beef mixture. Luckily, he had caught it before it had time to burn. I set my phone down, stirring the taco seasoning in. Once it was simmering, I opened the music app and typed in the band’s name.
I plugged it into the speaker and hit play, adjusting the volume so that it was high enough to hear but not loud enough to prevent conversation.
Asher tilted his head, listening to The Forgotten Flounders. Calum’s talent had only grown and flourished over the years, although all of their albums were good.
I would never admit it, but I listen
ed to every song he and his band ever recorded. It was compulsive, and this compulsion was at its peak when I was pregnant with Asher. I must have listened to their debut album, Ashes in the Dark, a thousand times, searching for meaning I couldn’t be sure was even there.
But the years passed, and he never came back. Those years had carved a desolate hole in my heart, one that I did my best to pretend wasn’t there.
Aside from that ever-lingering hollowness Calum’s desertion left, I was happy. I had a son that was my entire world. I had my parents, who had never given up on me and did everything they could to help me achieve my goals. I had Ellery and the bookstore, and friendships I’d built around the community.
I was happy, truly.
His presence shouldn’t shake everything up as much as it had; I needed to get a grip on myself, on the old feelings that never died but needed to, for Asher’s sake. Calum’s return wasn’t and couldn’t be about us.
Calum
For the past hour, I’d been sitting in my rental, parked at the curb in front of my parents’ house, my thoughts churning. Finding out I had a kid today had side slammed the shit out of me.
I had a son, an almost-eight-year-old son.
I hadn’t just left Harper. I’d left a child behind. I hadn’t just fucked up. I’d fucked up. I’d missed years of it all, years I could never get back, years I hadn’t known how desperately I wanted until I realized he was mine…
Ours.
He looked like me, but I saw traces of her in him, too—the freckles across the bridge of his nose, his mannerisms. I’d known the moment I looked down and saw him.
I stopped short of punching the steering wheel, opting instead to push my hair back with all of the aggravation I felt inside.
I’d never forgotten her number. A thousand times over the last near-decade, I’d gone to message or call her, but I always chickened out. Harper had every right to hate me, and I wasn’t entirely sure I would be able to bear that hatred along with my own. A few years had passed, then I just assumed she’d changed it, the way I had.
Still never forgot it, though. It was embedded into my memory.
I wasn’t—and couldn’t be—mad at her for not telling me. She’d been here all along, hell she hadn’t even changed her damn phone number. She’d chosen her future, just as I’d chosen what I thought was my future.
Then I’d fucking stuck to it out of sheer stubbornness, instead of admitting I’d chosen wrong.
The passenger door opened, and I startled, relaxing a little when I realized it was just Connor. She slid inside and closed the door. “You’ve been sitting out here for thirty minutes, Cal. Are you gonna come inside?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said, my jaw tight.
“I take it the visit didn’t go very well?” She asked.
“Right back into my business,” I laughed, shaking my head with mild irritation. I could never truly be mad at her, though, and she knew it.
She smiled. “What else are little sisters for?”
“Nosey little things,” I sighed, falling silent and closing my eyes, ruminating. I was more apt to push my struggles deep down inside and ignore them, not to burden others with them. But this was something that I couldn’t keep buried; this was something I didn’t want to keep buried. “I uh, have a son.”
“What?” Connor exclaimed, aghast. “With Harper?”
“Yeah,” I replied, finally opening my eyes. “He’s almost eight, Connor. His birthday is on April 21st.”
“Wow.” Her eyes had widened comically, her mouth lax with shock. She shook her head, looking back up toward the house. “Wow, wow, wow. That’s…intense.”
“Yeah.” I exhaled.
“So, what now?” she asked, looking at me dead-on. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, pulling my gaze forward, staring blankly ahead with unfocused eyes. I had no clue how to make up for the years I’ve missed. Nine years. The pregnancy. The birth. Everything. How can I possibly make amends?
Harper had been the only woman I’d ever thought seriously about. I remember the first time I thought about having kids with her when we were walking down Hirtle’s Beach. We passed a pregnant woman and her husband, who had paused in taking her photograph to kiss her rounded belly.
We’d stopped, and Harper had offered to take their picture.
I remember watching her while she held the camera in front of her eye, snapping a few photographs of the couple, and for a moment—I’d pictured her with a rounded belly and I realized that prospect wasn’t as terrifying as it should have been. To know that I’d missed the whole thing completely gutted me.
Connor was quiet, watching me with concern. “Why didn’t she tell you sooner?”
I quirked a brow, sending her a sidelong glance. “Because I’m a colossal asshole who left without saying goodbye or leaving a forwarding number?”
She winced, her nose wrinkling. “Right, that might have done it,” she sighed, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “Still, she could have come to us. Mom would have—“
“And I could have done a lot of things differently, too.” I snapped, instantly regretting my short tone with her. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s a lot to digest, you know? And I can’t get pissed at her for not tracking me down. She shouldn’t have had to.”
“You’re right. She shouldn’t have had to. You should have come home sooner, but you didn’t.” Connor’s delicate brow raised pointedly. “Are you going to leave still?” she pressed, sighing with relief as I shook my head.
“Leaving now would be the absolute worst thing I could do, and I’d like to think I’m smart enough to learn from past mistakes.”
The disgust I’d always felt toward myself for leaving Harper the way I had was unmeasurable now, so visceral, I couldn’t remove myself—which is exactly why I was still sitting in the car, instead of going up to the house.
“You are,” Connor said softly. Turning my head back, I was confronted by the determination in her green eyes. “Stop punishing yourself. You have an opportunity to get to know your son, don’t squander it because you’re too focused on beating yourself up about the past. Move forward, Cal…not backward.”
I chuckled ruefully, my lips twitching in a reluctant smile. Connor had always been perceptive, even when she was just a kid. Like I said, in a thousand ways—my little sister out-smarted me.
“You’re right.” Sighing, I rested my head against the headrest. “I’m not going to squander it. I can’t walk away again—and I won’t. I just have no fucking clue how to fix it.”
“You fix it by being here, now,” she replied. I nodded, her words lodging into my brain. Her hand moved to the door, and she tilted her head in question. “Are you going to come inside?”
I hesitated, weighing my options. It’d be easier just to leave and go book a hotel somewhere. I didn’t know if I could process the last eight hours under that roof. If I went in right now, I’d inevitably get into a fight with my dad.
I knew it was selfish, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew I had to get away—at least for a little bit. “There’s something I have to do. Tell Ma I’ll be home later, but don’t say anything about me having a son, k?” I added, my brow furrowing. “I’ll tell them myself, soon.”
“Okay,” Connor said softly before slipping out of the Porsche. She paused before closing the door. I waited until she’d walked up the porch steps before I turned on the car and pulled away from the curb.
With no destination in mind, I started driving around aimlessly. Through familiar streets and jogging memories I hadn’t thought of in years, none of them easing the guilt and turmoil I felt clogging up my heart.
I ended up at Hirtle’s Beach. Pulling the obnoxious vehicle into a parking spot, I killed the ignition and grabbed my leather jacket, my keys and my phone.
Opening the door, I stepped out. Bracing against the chilly wind, I pulled on my jacket, removing the hat I’d shoved in the deep pocke
t and tucking my phone and keys inside before I started toward the boardwalk.
Gramps and Nan used to take Connor and me here during the summer, and it was one of the first places I’d brought Harper to when I found out she was new in town.
It was one of my favourite places. It didn’t matter what time of day or year I went. There was always something sacred about being there. I found solace in it, the way some would find peace in a church pew.
It had been a long time since I’d found that kind of solace. I didn’t deserve it, not really, but clarity on the situation wouldn’t come if I continued to stew in the regret. I knew it wouldn’t be found at the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, either.
I tugged the hat on and zipped up my jacket, my footsteps echoing dully against the wooden boardwalk. I didn’t pass anyone on my way in, but there were a few people spread out along the three kilometers of white sandy beach. None of them were close enough to make out my face; and none of them were even interested in who I was or why I was there.
It was refreshing.
My boots sunk into the white sand as I strolled out to the rolling surf. Damp sand clung to the bottom of my jeans, the cold seeping through to nip at my ankles. Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, breathing in the fresh sea air, listening to the waves’ symphony.
A moment later, I opened my lids and looked out toward the sea. The sun was setting, painting the horizon in breathtaking splashes of yellow and orange.
Transported to another night, I remember watching her the first time she experienced a sunset at Hirtle’s Beach.
Harper’s face jumped to the forefront of my memory. The intricate braid she’d worn that day, the way she had looked at me—the way it felt to touch her, to bring my lips to hers for the first time.
She fit like a puzzle piece I hadn’t known I was even missing, and I’d ripped her from my life, leaving that space pointedly vacant.
With my silence, I made her believe that everything we’d felt for one another had been a lie. I told myself she was better off, and maybe she was—but I had no right to make that call for the both of us. I was just too afraid she wouldn’t choose me; too afraid she’d see that I was unworthy and selfish.
Off Beat (Forgotten Flounders Series Book 1) Page 7