A Lie for a Lie (All In, #1)(43)

RJ’s sprawling backyard is heavily landscaped, with a covered sitting area, an outdoor cooking space, an in-ground pool, and beyond that, an outdoor hockey rink. The amount of money it would cost to have all of this, especially in a place like Chicago, is mind boggling.

I’m fortunate my apartment is subsidized by my job at the aquarium, otherwise I’d never be able to afford it.

I take one of the single chairs, and RJ sits on the love seat perpendicular to me. “How are you?” he asks.

“Very confused and anxious,” I say honestly.

He nods. “I’m sorry I lied about who I was.”

“So am I. It feels like everything between us balanced on that lie, RJ—or should I just call you Rook?”

“I like it that you call me RJ.”

“I’m sure that was purposeful, giving me a name that would be impossible to search.” Before I found out who and what he is, I’d idealized him in my head, but now . . . I don’t know.

“Not the way you think.” He exhales a long, slow breath, his expression pained. “I had a reason for keeping the truth from you, Lainey, and I never meant for it to hurt you.”

“Because you never planned to see me again after Alaska,” I shoot back.

“That’s not true.”

I arch a brow. “We lived on different ends of the country—it wasn’t like a long-distance relationship was an option after six weeks together. It was a summer fling.” I say the words because it’s what I’ve told myself in my head this past year. But my heart says something different, and hope beats like a hummingbird’s wings against the fragile cage inside.

“Maybe it started out that way, but it was a lot more than that. At least for me, anyway.” RJ keeps running his hands over his thighs. He props his elbows on his knees and leans forward. “I know we weren’t together long. And maybe we never talked about it being anything beyond a fling, but I wanted it to be more. And then Joy went into labor, and I had to—”

“How is Joy? And the baby?” For the past year I’ve wondered if everything was okay—if they were okay or not.

“She’s great, and so is Max.”

“She had a boy.”

“She did. He’s growing like a weed. They’re not planning on having any more children because it was such a high-risk pregnancy, but everyone is happy and healthy.”

I nod. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I tried to call when I got to LA, Lainey, at least twenty times. Things were hectic and stressful, but I didn’t want you to worry—and then I was worried because you weren’t answering, and things were really touch and go with Joy and the baby. Kyle was beside himself. Stevie and I have never seen him like that before. I thought he was going to have a complete breakdown.”

“I’m so sorry.” And I am—for the pain he endured, for the fear he must have experienced, for the danger they might have been in.

“It was rough at the time, but everyone is doing well now. Would you like to see a picture of Max? He’s a real bruiser.” RJ slips his phone out of his pocket and waits for my nod before he pulls up his photo app. “Do you want to sit here? It’ll be easier to see them.” He pats the cushion beside him.

I stare at the empty space. He’s a big man, taking up a lot of that love seat. He shifts to make more room for me, obviously sensing my hesitation.

“Or you can stay there. Whatever’s more comfortable for you.”

I relent again—partly because the way he’s sitting will make it awkward if I don’t move next to him. I shift to the spot beside him, and he moves the phone so it’s between us. “This is Max in the hospital. Apparently babies are a lot bigger when the mom has gestational diabetes, which I didn’t realize.”

“Geez, how much did he weigh?” I cringe at the idea of pushing that head out of my vagina.

“Almost eleven pounds, I think?”

“Oh my goodness, that’s huge! Some three-month-olds barely weigh that!”

“Yeah, Joy ended up having a C-section. He was breech, and there was something going on with the placenta. I don’t know all the details, but it wasn’t an easy pregnancy or birth for her—or anyone, really.” He flips through pictures showing his nephew at various stages over the past year. There are pictures of RJ holding him as an infant, of Max in a tiny Chicago jersey, of him holding on to RJ’s hands as he takes a wobbly step.

“It looks like you’re a good uncle.” My voice cracks, and I have to clear my throat as I fight to hold back tears.

“Being an uncle is easy. I get to spoil the shit out of him and then give him back to his mom when he gets cranky.”

“Sounds about right.” That’s always the way with uncles, aunts, and grandparents.

“I don’t get to see them as much as I’d like since they’re so far away, but I try to make the most of my time when I’m with them. I’ll get to spend time with them when I play in LA, which is good.” RJ covers my hand with his. “I should have taken you with me—to LA. I should’ve booked two seats and brought you, but my brother was so panicked, and I didn’t think it through.”

“You couldn’t bring me with you, though, because you’d lied about who you were.” I slip my hand out from under his; he tightens his grip for a second before he lets me go.