I faintly hear him walk up behind me, eyeing the ingredients I have laying on the counter. It’s just a BLT, or a partial one. I ran out of tomatoes two days ago, and only have a few pieces of precooked bacon left.
I hear a soft laugh come from him. “BLT, huh? Like old times?”
I smile to myself. “I use mayo now.”
He gasps. “No ranch?”
Picking up the mayonnaise container and shaking it, I grin. “I still love ranch, but I’ve been obsessed with mayo for a while now.”
Honestly, I don’t know where my obsession with mayonnaise came from. I used to hate it, but lately I’ve wanted it on everything; sandwiches, fries, even chips.
Bash snickers, taking the container from me, then the knife. He dominates my space, spreading the condiment over the top piece of bread and putting together the other ingredients.
“No tomatoes?”
“Ran out,” I explain. “But I can make you something different if you’d like.”
He shakes his head and pushes the sandwich toward me. “I ate already. Do you need groceries?”
My eyes widen. “What? No. I’ll go when I have time.”
His eyes peer around the low-stocked shelves. Unfortunately, the glass-fronted cabinets let’s him see that I’m lying. I do need to do grocery shopping, but I have little time on my hands to go.
Tapping his fingers against the counter, he nods. He gestures toward the sandwich again, silently telling me to eat. I watch him put the remaining ingredients back in the fridge and take the dirty knife to the sink and wash it.
Frowning, I ask, “What are you doing? You don’t need to wash my dishes.”
“Just eat, Opal.”
“But—”
“Hey,” he says, turning. “I want to do something nice for you. You’re a lot smaller than I remember, you could use the food.”
I blink, peering down at myself. Pinching the fat roll that I know my stomach carries, I glance back up at him doubtfully. His eyes rake over my body, something flashing in his eyes.
I don’t let myself analyze what it is.
Clearing my throat, I pick at my lunch. “I’m just surprised, is all. It’s been nearly two weeks since I saw you. And I don’t blame you for being angry at me. But you’re washing my dishes like nothing happened. It seems weird.”
He finishes washing the knife, rinsing it off and putting it in the drainer. Drying off his hands on the towel, he turns to me, leaning his lower back against the edge of the counter.
“Look,” he says, sighing. “I’m not going to pretend that I’m not still a little angry. We always talked about what our future would look like, and kids never really factored in.”
My lips twitch. “We were kids ourselves back then.”
His eyes lock with mine. “But not anymore.” Making his point, he scopes me out again, his eyes roaming down the length of my body. Everywhere his gaze goes tingles, like he’s physically touching me. I squirm when our eyes meet again.
“No,” he rasps. “Definitely not kids anymore.”
I focus on my food instead of answering him. But I feel him staring, and it makes me uncomfortable—brings me back to when we were younger.
“Anyway,” I diverge, “It happened. Just because we never talked about kids doesn’t mean it was never going to happen. We weren’t always careful.”
He grunts in agreement, then pauses. “It’s not that I never wanted it, you know.” That gets my attention. “I wanted a family, but I wanted us to live a little first.”
Does he think I didn’t want the same thing?
“I did, too.” I set the sandwich down. “I love Addy with everything I have, Bash. I don’t regret her for one second. But I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I didn’t exactly have a role model mother myself, you know? I had no idea if I’d even be able to keep her, but I wanted to. I needed to prove to myself that I wasn’t going to be like my own mother.”
His lips twitch down. “What happened between you and your mom? It was you guys against the world. Against …”
Against Dad.
“She chose him.”
He sucks in a breath.
Appetite gone, I close my eyes. “I was going to tell you about the pregnancy the day you dumped me. You know, get your thoughts on what to do. But you know how that ended. After staying in the park for a little while, I went home. I was so upset and couldn’t hold back when Mom asked what was wrong. She thought Dad did something.” I laugh dryly. “She acted like the breakup was nothing, but when I told her what was going on she just became completely withdrawn. No emotion. Nothing.”
I brush off invisible lint from my shirt, sniffing back tears. “I thought she loved me, but she didn’t. Not enough to let me stay.”
His jaw ticks. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I eye him. “Do you really think I was going to be able to stay in that house once Dad found out? Come on, Bash. You’re smarter than that. Mom told me that I had options, but the option she talked about was something I refused to do.”
His shocked lips formed the word for me. “Abortion.”
He doesn’t need me to confirm it. “Whether I liked it or not, I was pregnant. And I wasn’t sure if I was going to keep our baby, especially after you left. As much as Mom didn’t want Dad to know, there was no way to hide it once I started showing. She told him and worse things could have happened. Given Dad’s history, being kicked out was getting off easy.”
I would never forget that day. It was bad enough feeling like my world was falling apart after Bash broke up with me. I needed Mom, but she didn’t need me or the stress I’d cause by keeping me around.
She made me keep quiet for about a month until the morning sickness got to me, and even Dad noticed that something was off. So, Mom came clean. There was shouting, so much shouting. Dad threw an expensive bottle of whiskey at the wall and called me a slut.
My own father. The worst part was, it didn’t surprise me. In fact, I expected a lot worse from him.
He told me to leave that day and never come back until I took care of the “thing” inside of me. He wouldn’t even let me pack a bag before opening the door and shoving me out. All while Mom stood and watched.
“She didn’t stop him,” I tell him. “She didn’t even try.” My voice cracks.
“And you haven’t spoken since?”
I shake my head. “I went to the funeral, but we didn’t exchange more than a few words. As far as I was concerned, she didn’t deserve any. And I found out some things before the funeral that gave me a little closure. Not a lot, but a little.”
“What things?”
“About Dad.” My throat dries up. “I’m not excusing what he did in the past, Bash. Don’t think that’s what this is. But an old doctor friend of his came to his funeral and spoke to me. He told me that he’d been seeing Dad on and off for years for his condition and was pleased at his improvement. I didn’t know what he meant, I hadn’t spoken to either of my parents in years. Turns out, Dad was being treated for bi-polar disorder. His friend said something about Dad’s family having a mental health history, and that there was a lot of aggression and abuse wrapped up in his father’s side. It … it makes sense. It doesn’t make all the screaming or hitting right, but it makes sense.”
He’s quiet, too quiet. I don’t know what he’s thinking or if I want to know. He never liked Dad, and truth be told, I’m not sure I did much either. He terrified me, and Mom making me believe his actions were normal made him that much scarier, more unpredictable. I knew better than to believe it, but I didn’t want to upset her by thinking differently.
“Those trips he’d take? He wasn’t having an affair. Maybe he was on top of it.” I shrug. “I guess he was seeing his friend about his problems. You know how he was gone more often after you reported him to the cops? Well, he’d gotten better. Still not number one Dad material, but better. And even though he still had his ups and downs, mostly downs, he never got as bad as he had been.”
>
Bash draws in a long breath, nodding his head. “I can’t say I like the guy any better, but I guess that does explain things.”
I just nod. “I don’t know if Mom knew about his family history or not. I never brought the conversation up to her. As far as we both knew, he died of a heart attack. Maybe it was more, some accidental drug overdose, or related to his illness. Honestly, I didn’t care. He’d done so much that I couldn’t get past, and I couldn’t muster the energy to care. And Mom—” I pause. “—I still don’t know about her. But I went that day because the town expected us both there, so …”
He shifts where he stands. “Do you still care what the town thinks of you? Because you shouldn’t. You’re better than almost every person here.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not true.”
“Aren’t you?” he prods.
I nibble my bottom lip. “How can I be? This town is woven into who I am, Bash. Clinton is in my DNA. It’s where I was born and raised, where I’ve lived my whole life, and where my daughter will live for the rest of hers. The people here, whether I like it or not, are going to be part of our lives. I have no choice but to care what they think.”
He pushes off the counter and saunters over until he’s right in front of me. Before I can protest, his searing eyes lock with mine and I can’t look away.
“You always have a choice,” he tells me.
I tilt my head, eyes softening. “Oh, Bash. I guess Addy’s not the only one living in a fairy tale.”
He reels.
I sigh. “Life doesn’t go the way we want it to. You and I are the perfect examples of that, don’t you see? Just because everyone else thinks we belong together doesn’t mean we should be. And just because people shouldn’t care what others think of them, doesn’t mean that it’s easy not to.”
He seems to struggle with a reply. I step aside, putting distance between us. I used to love him in my personal bubble—we were practically the same person, so it didn’t matter before. But now it matters.
Everything matters.
“You act like there’s no chance for us,” he murmurs, hurt straining his tone. “You used to believe in second chances. Has that changed?”
Doesn’t he get it? A second chance is worth nothing unless people learn from their first mistakes. Bash is going to leave again. He’ll always leave.
“Second chances—” I fist the material of my pajama pants, averting my stare toward the floor. “They don’t always mean happily ever after. Sometimes second chances are meant to end things the way they should have the first time around.”
I hear a harsh inhale, causing me to peak up at him through my lashes.
His eyes are dark, and pain weighs down his lips and shoulders. “You honestly don’t think we could have made it if I hadn’t left?”
I risk meeting his eyes, daring to see the pain I inflicted. I’m not petty enough to bask in it, not even after everything he made me feel years ago. That kind of pain isn’t worth holding onto. Instead, you grow from it.
“I think a lot of things could have happened between us, but they didn’t. This isn’t a game of what-if. It’s our reality, our story—one that isn’t the prettiest or most put-together. But it’s ours nonetheless. If you want the truth, I think we were meant to end things back then, because we both got the opportunity to become better versions of ourselves, surround ourselves with bigger loves.”
His jaw ticks. “Like Noah.”
“No,” I breathe. “Like Addy.”
His lips part, then close.
I wrap my arms around myself. “Addy will always be my biggest, purest love, Sebastian. Her heart is so much like yours it hurts sometimes. And, one day, she’ll be your biggest love, too.”
He looks away, but I see his eyes turn watery. Behind the curtain of emotion is unspoken apologies and regrets, things he’s missed and has yet to see.
It’s a lot for him, I get it.
“I’m not saying it can’t be now,” I add quietly. “But I don’t want Addy to get to know a ghost. If you want in her life, you need to promise me that you won’t walk out. Let’s be real, Bash. Your career can’t exactly be done from home. You have to leave, and I don’t hold that against you. I never have.”
He slumps down on the stool near the counter, defeat etched into his wavering frown. His brows are pinched in contemplation, like he’s trying to figure out how this will work. If it can work.
“She deserves to know her father.”
He finally looks at me, his eyes asking the silent question between us. Does he deserve her, knowing he can break her heart repeatedly by leaving?
But I know the truth.
Bash deserves to know his daughter just as much as she deserves to know him. They’re family, blood. Soon, he’ll realize just how similar they are. It’s like she knows his spirit without knowing the man who has held it so beautifully.
“Sometimes,” I whisper, “a little heartbreak is worth it. Remember what your mom used to tell us when we were younger? When you told her that you wanted to learn guitar but weren’t sure you’d be any good and didn’t want to risk it, what did she tell you?”
He presses his lips together in thought. “She told me that risks are worth taking as long as it’s for a good cause.”
“And if it contributes to a good life,” I add.
He chuckles. “She probably saw it on a motivational poster somewhere. She’s obsessed with Pinterest now solely for the quotes she finds on them. And knitting patterns.”
A small smile graces my lips, because I have at least three knitted blankets from Linda in my bedroom. She even made a baby blanket for Addison that’s still on her bed.
“Linda was great with me after you left, you know. I tried separating myself from anything that reminded me of you, but she was always kind of like a second Mom to me.”
“She thought of you as her own,” he says.
I nod. “After I got kicked out, she let me stay at your house,” I admit sheepishly.
Based on the way his brows shoot up, she never told him. I asked her not to, and she promised not to say a word, but they’re family. I wouldn’t have blamed her.
“She didn’t know about the baby at first. I think she suspected it when she’d come in every morning with a glass of water after I’d gotten sick. By the third month, she knew. I wasn’t showing, but the signs were all there. She always had a pretty good instinct.”
He stares at me blankly, and I’m not sure if he’s angry. I asked his own mother to keep secrets from him.
“Hate me, not her. She wanted to tell yo—”
“I don’t hate either of you,” he cut me off. “I can’t say I’m particularly pleased over the fact my own mother knew I was going to be a father, but …” He shoves his fingers through his hair.
“She was going to tell you. But when I was half way through the pregnancy I had some complications. There was some bleeding, and I thought I might miscarry. I begged her not to say anything if I lost her, and I wasn’t even sure if I was going to keep her or look into adoption. I wanted to be sure.”
“What happened then?”
I blink away tears, reliving pieces of the past that reminded me of how weak I truly was.
I shrug like it doesn’t mean anything now, but we both know it does. “Your album hit number one on iTunes, and your career was taking off. Linda was going to tell you when you called home, because she wanted you involved in any way possible. But you said something to her that made her finally see my point. A kid was going to weigh you down. You’d never live out the only dream you ever had. We’d stop you from being happy, and neither of us wanted that.”
“What could I have said?” he doubts.
I swipe away a single tear. “You told her that leaving Clinton was the best thing that could have happened to you, and that you were going to make her proud.”
His expression drops. “Opal …”
“I know. Maybe if you’d known sooner—”
“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it,” he informs me abruptly. “I would have gotten on the first plane back here the second I heard, because no matter what, you’re the best thing that happened to me. And a baby?” He shakes his head. “Sure, that’s scary as hell to think about, still is. But she exists. She’s here. She’s … she’s ours. I still can’t wrap my head around there being half of me roaming around. My career was everything to me because I didn’t know what opportunities were waiting for me in Clinton.”
I inhale slowly. “I couldn’t wait forever, Bash. It would have broken me if I thought for a second, we could pick up where we left off like nothing changed. Because everything—”
“Changed,” he finishes for me.
I just nod.
“We could have been what legends are made of,” he muses dryly.
“No,” I whisper. “We’re who destroys them.”
I leave Opal’s place before Addison wakes up, knowing that she deserves a proper introduction. Not one where she wakes up to find me standing in the kitchen, a random sniveling idiot lost in his emotions. Plus, Opal and I needed some breathing room after our conversation.
Walking into town, I turn the corner by the community center and bump into a tiny shoulder.
“Hey, watch i—”
Kennedy’s glare softens as she looks at me.
“Everly,” she muses. “We have to stop meeting like this.”
A grin quirks up half of my lips as I recall our first encounter back in high school.
“Too bad Derby isn’t here to scold us.”
She adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder, full-on grinning.
I flick a strand of her mint hair. “Decided to change things up, huh?”
She fluffs her hair. “I think green suits me, don’t you?”
I give her a once over, thoroughly impressed. I have to say, any color looks good on her, and she’s done them all.
“Except black,” she scoffs, sticking her tongue out. She tweaks her hair, pulling the curl and letting it bounce back up. “I’m too pale to pull off black. I’d look like a total goth freak.”
I snicker, remembering the dark makeup she wore to test her mother’s limits. The heavy eyeliner and dark purple lipstick made her stick out like a sore thumb.
The Choices We Make (Relentless Book 4) Page 15