The Guy on the Left (The Underdogs, #2)(28)

“You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Her tone is dry, and instead of letting it deter me, I use this chance alone with her to try to bridge the gap between us. She’s refusing to let me in. Her smiles are mostly forced, but she’s always polite. Though I’m the last man she’d consider for a relationship, I’m determined a friendship is possible. It’s what’s best for all of us, but I can’t seem to find an in.

“I mean that. You really are beautiful.”

“I appreciate the compliment.”

I shake my head. “Always so formal. Are you ever going to let me—”

“Dante has another ear infection. He’s been prone to them since he was a baby. At one point, we thought we were going to have to get him tubes because he had them so often.”

She reads my concern in the reflection of the mirror.

“He’s fine,” she says, fastening an earring. “They’re less frequent now, and his hearing is perfect.”

“Tell me more.”

“More?” She draws her brows. “His drops—”

“I can read the directions on the medicine. Tell me more about what he was like as a baby.”

“Oh, he was a living doll,” she says fondly. He came out so small but got really fat when I breastfed.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “He had rolls on his rolls.”

“Yeah. He was my Michelin Man-baby. Tough as tread, too. Didn’t cry much when he hurt himself.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I cried more than he did. He’s always been resilient.”

I fight between the resentment I feel and asking more questions, and she reads my posture. You could cut the budding tension in the room with a knife.

“Sixteen hours,” she says, her tone cool while she eyes me in the mirror.

“What?”

“If you want to know why I’ve held this grudge for so long. There’s your answer. Sixteen hours. Alone, and in the worst pain of my life.”

I’ve always been curious about his birth, but from the picture she posted, she was all smiles after, so I never considered it was that hard on her.

“I thought about messaging you just so I would have someone, anyone, there to hold my hand. I was two weeks early, and Parker was out of town for work. I was completely alone. My parents had both died years before, and I’m an only child. I had no one. So, I considered reaching out to you for my own selfish needs, but the more I studied your profile pic and the cocky smile you were wearing, the angrier I got.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns to me, her arm resting over her chair. “Not good enough. It wasn’t then, and it’s not now, but I’m trying. I really am. You think I enjoy being this way? I don’t. I’m not proud of the way I’m behaving. It’s not as easy as just letting it go. It’s not that simple.”

“I get it.”

“You couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly understand just how hard it was. During those hours, I had too much time to think about my future. The years I’d spend making decisions alone, caring for him alone. I wrote you off for good the second he was ripped from me. Twenty-three stitches. And Jesus, how that hurt. But it wasn’t just the labor itself, it was being there, in the scariest moment of my life, without anyone I cared about to tell me it was all going to be okay. And the realization during those hours that I would be in the same position from then on out, it was all too much.”

“I would’ve been there. I wanted to be there. If you would have just reached out, I would have been there.”

“I didn’t want you there. Despite the way you looked then, in the light of day, you were an eighteen-year-old kid. If there were any question, it would have been answered the second your name and age was printed on his birth certificate. I was hysterical, my voice went out. My labor screams were silent. I was so upset, I put my baby in distress. I assumed since so many women have done it, I could handle it, but I was so fucking wrong. The whole time I was just…sad. Sad for myself, sad for my baby who didn’t have a chance at normalcy because his father told a selfish lie.” Her voice is shaking, and I clench my fists, itching to pull her into my arms. She lifts her chin defiantly. “So, while you paint me the bad guy for all you’ve missed, and all the effort you’ve put in, just remember that you deprived me of what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of my life. ‘I’m sorry’ will never give me those moments back, will never make them less hellacious. ‘I’m sorry’ will never change that day.”

Her confession has me reeling.

She sighs. “Troy, I don’t want to be this bitch to you. I don’t want to harbor this grudge anymore. For the moment, you make him happy, and that should be all that matters now. I’ve been holding onto this anger for six years. It’s not going to disappear overnight. But I am trying.”

“Tell me what to do,” I don’t even recognize my own voice. “What to say.”

“Say you’ll never leave him in that situation. Tell me you’ll never ever let him feel that alone when it counts, and that’s enough.”

“Never, but I want to make it up to you, too.”

“You can’t. But you’re doing what you can by him, and that’s enough for me.”