A Lie for a Lie (All In, #1)(58)

“It does. And I don’t want you to think I don’t want you in our lives. I’ve just spent all this time doing it on my own. He’s just been mine, so the thought of having to share him is scary.”

“I get it, but won’t it be a lot easier if we’re in this together instead of you on your own?” he asks softly.

“Is that what you want? For us to be in this together?”

RJ swallows thickly. “I had sort of hoped we could see if we still fit. I know I have to work to earn back your trust, Lainey. I get that I messed this up—and that’s on me—but I’ll be honest: it gutted me when I realized I had no way to contact you and I’d left you with no way to find me either. I wanted so badly to seek you out, but I figured your not answering the phone and not leaving a note was clearly telling me you weren’t interested in an ‘us’ outside of Alaska. I should’ve tried to find you, but I didn’t think I could handle hearing that kind of truth. I wish I could go back and do things differently.”

I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to keep myself from wringing them out of nervousness. I fell so hard and fast for him last time, and the aftermath was more painful than I ever could have imagined, but it can’t be by chance that we’ve found our way back to each other. I owe it to myself and to Kody to see if we still feel the same way. “I think, for Kody’s sake, it’s worth trying.” I still need to be careful with my heart, though.

“Really?”

“We worked well together before, but everything was so different, so we’ll have to see. One day at a time and all that, right?”

RJ nods. “I can handle one day at a time.”

I don’t mention my fears: that this reality is too different from the one we lived in a year ago. This one has responsibilities and obligations that Alaska didn’t. And all the attention RJ seems to thrive on terrifies me. But for Kody I’ll try—and, selfishly, for me, because the other option is shared custody, and I don’t want to give up 50 percent of my time with my son.

“Um, I don’t know how to broach this without it being awkward, but I spoke to the team doctor about a formal DNA test. It’s pretty obvious that Kody is mine, but I figured we’ll need it moving forward, and it’ll avoid a lot of red tape—so whenever you have time, he can make a house call.”

Kody starts fussing, as if he can suddenly sense my anxiety. Without my having to say a word, RJ carefully transfers him to my arms. I shush him, patting his bottom as he cuddles into my neck and snuffles quietly. “Any day is fine with me. I have tomorrow off, but I’m not sure if that’s too short notice or not.”

“We can make it work. I have practice in the morning, but after that I’m free. You could come, if you want—both of you. I could have a car pick you up?”

“I have a car.”

“You got your license.” He smiles—it’s a statement, not a question.

At some point I should tell RJ the truth: that I knew how to drive in Alaska but I just never got my license. It was one of the first things I did when I returned to Washington, wanting that piece of independence. “I did, and I drove all the way here from Washington.”

RJ’s eyes bug out. “That’s one hell of a drive.”

“You should try it when you’re seven months pregnant. It probably took twice as long with all the bathroom stops.”

“What made you come all the way to Chicago?” RJ props his cheek on his fist.

I shrug and look away. “There was a job opportunity, and I took it.” I press my lips to Kody’s forehead. He’s finally asleep. “I’m going to put him in his crib.”

“Okay. Sure. Can I help?”

“Of course.”

I teach RJ in whispers how to put Kody to bed. It’s not particularly difficult, but we have a routine we follow. Once he’s settled in his crib and sleeping soundly, RJ and I head back to the living room.

I pull out two photo albums, the first chronicling my pregnancy—including the ultrasound pictures, my progress from tiny bump to full-on baby belly, the drive from Washington to Chicago, setting up his nursery in this apartment, and the trip to the hospital with Eden.

One of RJ’s arms is stretched out across the back of the couch, the album open between us. He’s shifted until our thighs are touching. I’m hyperaware of our proximity, of every place where our bodies touch, of the way he keeps fiddling with the end of my braid. The closeness is easy—but not, because it reminds me of those weeks when we were together and of the way we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

“Eden was with you for the birth?” RJ asks, pulling me out of my head and my spiral of inappropriate thoughts.

“She was. She’s been a good friend.”

“I’m glad you have her. I’d hate to think of you completely alone out here. I can’t imagine your parents were all that happy that you moved across the country.”

“They’re the reason I’m here.”

“Can I ask what happened?” RJ shifts so he’s facing me.

I focus on the picture in front of me, the last one I took before my entire life changed all over again. “My parents were happy to have me home when I returned from Alaska, but I was . . . not as happy to be there. I missed Kodiak Island—I missed you—and you were just . . . gone. It didn’t take long before my mother started with the whole overprotective routine. It got old fast, and things went downhill quickly when I realized I was pregnant. I tried to find a way to reach you, but when I’d exhausted all my options . . . well, it all seemed pretty hopeless.”