Another month passed, and we were in full summer swing. The beach house was booked through September and we were getting off-season calls for October. Turned out owning a rental on the North Carolina beach was a great investment, one that would more than pay the bills with little effort. All it took was some upkeep inbetween rentals, which we, for the most part, hired out when needed. Georgia had started writing in her free time; her new therapist had explained it was a form of therapy. A way to release the pain and fear she'd held onto for so long. She enjoyed it, and I loved watching her in the morning on the deck, laptop across her legs as she typed away. I didn't know what she was writing down and I didn't ask. I just knew that a sense of calm seemed to radiate out from her when she finally put it down for the day.
Georgia also received a letter from the parole board stating parole had been denied. I held her in my arms as she sobbed; her reaction surprised me at first. Wasn't this what she wanted? What she hoped for? Until she explained it was a cleansing of sorts. Happy tears and sad tears together: happy because she didn't want him released after serving just sixteen years for the brutal murder of her parents, but also sadness because he had a family he'd left abandoned—a wife without her husband and a son without a father. I didn't agree with this line of thinking at all; for all we knew, they were much better off without him, but I kept my mouth shut and let her cry. It was the least I could do.
We were also starting to talk about wedding plans. I was on her ass to set a date. I wasn’t willing to let her slip through my fingers or give her a chance to wise up and dump my ass. I knew I had it good; I knew with my past, she could easily choose to be wary. She was old hat at relationships but I was a newbie. The old me would have been scared. The notions of a family and wife were new to me—something I hadn't given much thought to before—but now it was here, I wasn’t worried in the slightest.
I was pushing for a fall wedding, but Georgia rolled her eyes every time I tried to convince her. She wanted something well-thought-out and planned. She argued she’d moved in with me on impulse and said yes on impulse, but she was not willing to get married on impulse. After weeks of working on her, I finally got her nailed down for spring. She wanted a small wedding on the beach, right here at our home, just our closest friends and family. It sounded perfect.
We were having this very discussion on a warm day at the beginning of July when a loud knock sounded at the door. Georgia lifted her eyebrows in surprise and then slid back through the French doors. She called my name a few minutes later, so I tracked in after her. I stepped up behind her, sliding my palm up her neck and giving her a soft massage before my eyes turned to the guest standing at the doorway.
“What’s up?” I asked my beautiful fiancée, who was looking up at me with a confused expression.
“Tristan?” The woman in the doorway murmured my name. I glanced at her, searching her face. I was sure I didn’t know her. “It’s okay, baby.” She pulled a little boy, not more than three or four, from behind her. A mass of tousled blond hair and light green eyes stared back at me. “This is your daddy, honey.”
My heart roared in my ears. It beat so fucking fast I swore it would fly out of my chest. I met the woman’s eyes, unable to speak, searching for answers. I didn’t fucking know her. At least I didn’t think I knew her. But that kid—that kid could have been me at four. His hair, his eyes, I didn't want to believe it, but the resemblance couldn't be denied.
“I’ll let you guys talk.” Georgia pulled away from me.
“No. Don’t leave.” I pulled her closer to me, searching her eyes, begging her not to walk away. I swallowed the huge lump that had formed in my throat. I felt Georgia shuffle beside me. Shit, I’d forgotten how she must be feeling. She must have been able to see how much he looked like me. Would she run? Would this be the last straw? This summer had been so perfect, everything about it—from our engagement on—and was it all about to shatter at my feet?
The sad thing was I couldn’t blame her if she did run.
This was her greatest fear. Her biggest insecurity when it came to us—my past. And here it was, three feet tall and starting up at me.
“It’s okay.” I watched her take a deep breath. “Hey, little guy, want to take a walk with me? We can look for sea glass on the shore.” She bent down to his level and I watched their interaction, tears burning the back of my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair and pulled. I was going to be fucking bald before I hit thirty, without a doubt. I chomped down on my lip painfully. I couldn’t imagine what Georgia was feeling, but if this kid was mine, I had to be there. It just tore me up inside that I couldn’t have this with Georgia, because she was the girl I wanted. I didn’t want this with anyone but her, but now here we were, another wrench thrown in our path.
“What’s sea glass?” his soft little voice asked her.
“Here, lemme show you.”
His little hand slipped into hers. His mom nodded to Georgia in agreement before the girl who stole my heart, and the little person that may or may not have my DNA coursing through his little body, turned the corner and walked out toward the beach.
“Are you sure? I mean, I don't really remember . . .”
“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. We hooked up one night in Jacksonville more than four years ago and that little guy was the result.”
“No fucking way.” I shook my head in disbelief. But it couldn’t be denied. He looked just fucking like me. I was sure I could dig up a baby picture that had me looking just like him. “Impossible.” I stared at her, unable to rip my gaze away.
“I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t have your number, and the situation being what it was . . . I just didn’t think you’d want . . .” She trailed off.
“Yeah.” I shuffled to the side and invited her in. We had four years worth of talking to do but I couldn’t calm down; my heart thudded and my breath came out in quick exhales.
I can't fucking breathe. Jesus Christ, is it hot in here?
My brain buzzed with a million thoughts, all the time my eyes searching her face.
Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Long legs. Light blonde hair.
Why didn’t I know her? Why didn't she look familiar? I’d been with a lot of women, but fuck—I never thought I’d forget a face like this.
Fifty-Seven
Georgia
I walked down to the water with a little fist clenched in my hand. The sweetest little boy I’d ever laid eyes on—a little boy who could easily be Tristan’s son. I tried to distract myself with small talk as we picked our way along the shoreline, pointing out shells, watching the sea birds, throwing sticks for Charlie to fetch, as his mom and possibly his dad talked in my house.
Our house.
The kitchen we made dinners in.
The bedroom we made love in.
The living room we planned our wedding in.
The house I’d been envisioning our kids growing up in, and yet here was this little guy, a product of Tristan’s one-night stand with someone else. The thought wrenched my heart into two painful, jagged pieces.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I bent beside him as he drew swirls in the sand with his finger.
“Trevor,” he said in a singsong voice. “You're pretty.”
“Thanks, Trevor.” God, even his name was close to Tristan’s. She’d named him after his dad.
Tristan and Trevor. My heart galloped inside my chest cavity, beating against the walls and threatening to burst out.
I suddenly felt lightheaded and plopped my ass in the wet sand.
The worst part was she seemed perfectly nice. She didn’t seem vindictive. I’d run into a few of Tristan’s exes and he had a type. Bleached blonde and bitchy, and while she was blonde, she didn’t seem at all bitchy. Other than the fact that she'd announced to this little boy that Tristan was his dad before she'd even spoken to Tristan about it, she seemed perfectly honest. Understanding.
I was about to throw up.
I took deep
breaths and watched the little boy's wavy golden locks fall over his forehead as he drew stick figures.
Jesus, he looked like one of the little kids I’d imagined in my daydream last summer. Except this one wasn’t mine. He was Tristan’s and this beautiful little boy's mother’s. Another woman. The product of another night of passion Tristan had had with someone other than me. It didn't matter we hadn't known each other then; he’d always been mine. We’d belonged to each other, were meant to find each other from the beginning, and it felt like such a loss of a dream, having kids together, because now he might have a child with someone else.
And then I remembered we didn’t know for sure.
But God, he looked so much like him: the odds were in favor of Tristan being this beautiful little boy’s daddy. I ran a hand through my hair, a habit I was picking up from Tristan, and took a few deep, calming breaths.
I didn’t know what it would mean for us if this was his child. I didn’t know if I could stay. I loved him, but this was so much. Custody and visitation and shared vacations. My mind ran away with all the potential complications this could hold for our future.
Could this break us?
I knew I loved Tristan. I knew this little boy deserved his daddy. I just didn’t know if I could be a stepmom. I didn’t know if I could look into the face of this little boy who looked so much like Tristan: a reminder of a shared night he'd had with another woman.
I didn’t know if I had it in me.
I walked into our bedroom and found Tristan propped against the headboard, staring off into space. I frowned at his vacant expression. His mind was consumed with thoughts; I could see them running a thousand miles a minute. I tried to quell the anxiety that had been building in my tummy all day. Tristan and Lexi had spent two hours talking at the kitchen table while Trevor and I played on the beach with Charlie, making sand castles and splashing in the waves. He’d asked me if Tristan was really his daddy. He’d said that he’d never had a daddy before. I told him I didn’t know, but with every word he said, my heart broke for him.
I took my time going through my evening routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face, because I was dreading crawling into bed with Tristan. After Lexi and Trevor left, Tristan had locked himself in his office. I didn’t know what he was doing, or thinking, but I didn’t bother him. I knew he needed just as much time to adjust to this as I did.
“Hey.” I crawled into bed beside him. He snapped out of his thoughts and curled an arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his body. He dipped down and kissed the top of my head, nuzzling his nose in my hair. I squeezed my eyes shut tight and melted into him. I burrowed into his chest and enjoyed the feeling of his soft skin against mine. I swallowed down the lump in my throat, but wasn’t able to calm the raging of my heart.
“I have to take care of him.” Tristan murmured into my hair. “He looks . . . he looks so much . . .” He sucked in a quick breath and held it, like he was waiting for my reaction.
“I know,” I whispered. Trevor looked just like him. Chances were good that Tristan was his dad. Tristan’s fingers kneaded into the muscle of my neck and I could tell he was staring into space again, his thoughts taking him away.
* * *
“Lexi and Trevor are in town for a few days. I asked her if I could take him out, spend some time with him.” Tristan stood across the kitchen from me the next morning, coffee cup in hand, hip resting against the counter and sexy as ever.
“Okay.” I stood and watched him, waiting for more, but unable to ask the questions, unwilling to pry.
“You don’t mind?”
“No.” I obsessively wiped the countertop down with a towel, anything to avoid looking in his eyes.
“Are you sure? I just don’t want to miss anymore time with him.”
“How long will she be in town?” That question came out clipped. I didn't mean it to, but it rolled out before I'd had a chance to catch it.
“She took a few weeks off. Once she tracked me down, she figured we'd need time to figure things out . . .”
“Do you remember her?” I asked without looking up at him. He didn’t answer right away, the waves rolling on the shore becoming louder and louder with each passing moment of silence that stretched between us.
“I’m not sure.”
I finally peeked up at him as he ran a hand through his hair.
“Did she tell you anything about . . . that night?” The words barely escaped my throat. It physically hurt to say them.
“She said we were at a little sports bar. A place I used to go to a lot. She said we took shots and played pool, and I was pretty wasted by the end of the night. She drove me home; she said it seemed like I was going through something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like I was looking to forget something. Or someone,” he mumbled and looked away from me.
“Oh. Do you think . . .” I trailed off.
“She’s telling the truth?” His eyes darted back to mine. “I don’t know. I don’t see why she wouldn’t. She knew where I lived . . .” He gnawed on his bottom lip once he’d finished. “Four and a half years ago—the month it would have happened—would have been my birthday.”
“Oh.” My brows knit together in confusion.
“And the anniversary of my mom leaving,” he said so softly I had to strain to hear him.
“What?” I whispered.
“My mom left on my birthday. We had a birthday party, cake, pictures, everything was perfect, and then late that night . . . she left. Every birthday was hard for me—the anniversary of her leaving. I always got shitfaced to forget. So when she says it seemed like I was going through something . . . I was.”
My thoughts slammed through my head. Oh God, Trevor was his son. He'd had a one-night stand with Lexi. One night and they’d made a baby.
“Well, I’ve got stuff to do, so . . . I’ll see you in a few hours?”
“Georgia.” He set down his coffee cup and made his way toward me.
“No, it’s okay. Just go be with Trevor. He’s sweet; enjoy him.”
“Do you want to come?” Tristan’s eyes lit up.
“No, I can’t. I really have stuff I need to take care of. Calls and . . . whatever. So I’ll see you later?” I turned to leave the kitchen.
“Georgia, wait.”
I turned and watched him watching me. His eyes held a look of pain and confusion and anxiety. His shoulders were hunched over, both hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jeans. His white shirt fitted to his lean form. I wanted to run to him, press my nose into the fresh cotton, and inhale him. Take a hit of my favorite scent in the world, one that helped to center me.
“I’m afraid you won’t be here when I get back.” His eyes peered back at me. The pain that radiated across the kitchen held me stock-still, gazing back at him. I swallowed the lump that had lodged in my throat.
“I’ll be here.” I stepped up to him, running a hand along his cheek, feeling the stubble along his jaw line. “I’ll be here,” I murmured. His green eyes assessed me with a vulnerability I’d never seen before. It terrified me and broke my heart all in the same breath. I had the ability to destroy him if I left, and I’d never felt that before. He’d said that months ago and I'd believed him, but now I was seeing the concern etched across his face.
He didn’t trust me not to leave.
“I love you.” He snagged my hand, pulled my wrist up to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on my skin. “Every day, I love you.” He turned my hand over and placed a kiss on the glittering diamond I wore on my ring finger.
“I know.” I nodded and leaned into him. He enveloped me in his arms and rubbed my back. “I love you too,” I choked out as tears finally fell down my cheeks. I held him against me, letting the worry and anxiety seep out of my system. I was so ready for our path to be steady and straight, not rocky, with bumps in the road and obstacles meant to throw us off. I didn't know how much more we could take.
We stood there for an un
told amount of minutes, holding each other, taking comfort because neither of us knew the path that lay ahead.
Fifty-Eight
Tristan
I stepped out onto the deck a few mornings later to find Georgia in the sweetest little short fucking cut-offs, her creamy skin revealed nearly up to there, so indecent all I could think about was twisting one fist in her wild fucking hair and running the other up her leg until I reached her pussy. Tingles raced across the base of my spine and my dick twitched in my shorts. I would never get enough of her; she had my blood set to a constant boil, ready to take her, make her mine at any given moment, regardless if I’d just been buried deep inside her.
She stood on the beach barefoot, her hair dancing on the wind, staring into the distance. With coffee cup in hand, I headed down the steps, ready to make my way to her when she turned a fraction and I saw the phone at her ear. Who could she possibly be talking to this early? I frowned and glanced at my watch. Before nine a.m.
I stood, content to watch her beautiful form on the beach, waiting for her to get off the phone. Charlie sauntered around in the sand, dipping his big paws into the water and sniffing around the dune grass. This was my life and it was beyond fucking perfect. My beautiful dark-haired girl had made my life perfect, and the guilt I felt for throwing her into my mess burned in my stomach. I’d thrown her such a load of shit lately. I cast my eyes down to the sand, watching the wind scatter it across the weathered wood of the deck.
If Trevor was mine, I had to be there for him. I had to be a dad, there wasn’t any other option. I just prayed with everything I had in me that Georgia wouldn’t leave me.
But who could blame her if she did?
I hadn’t known she would come. That a beautiful dark-haired woman would consume me, make me drop to my knees, make me want to give up everything I thought I wanted just for a taste, a glimpse of her smile, a touch of her skin. If she left me, I’d be torn apart. I’d have my son, but I’d be a hollow fucking shell and my heart would cease to beat. I took a long swallow of my coffee and tried to shift my focus away from what-ifs. There was nothing I could do anyway. I didn’t have any other options ahead of me.
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