Don't Let Go(13)

“Your daughter?” he asked, not looking up from the photo.
I felt my chin tremble and an unnamed old emptiness ached within me. “Yes.”
“She’s beautiful,” he said. “Looks a lot like you at that age.” His eyes made a slow trip to meet mine, and the weight of emotion in them pushed the air from the room. “Shayna’s pregnant,” he said. The words were slow and careful, as if he’d practiced saying them. “And I didn’t want you to hear that from anyone else.”

? ? ?

My ears rang with the words, and I felt myself nodding as if he’d just told me he’d bought a new Crock-Pot. Pregnant. Noah and his new woman. Going to have a baby. That—that was perfectly fine.
“Con—” I stopped to clear my throat of the rocks that apparently settled there. “Congratulations. That’s—wow, that’s—really cool.”
He looked at me for far too long, as if waiting for me to quit babbling and nodding and get to my meltdown. I wasn’t going to have a meltdown. I was a grown-up. And he had every right to have another child. I had. And it would have probably ripped his heart out if he’d been around to see me pregnant again, and married, raising a baby, so my chest threatening to cave in was completely justified.
I focused on the way his fingers worked methodically on Harley’s neck, massaging, making her eyelids get heavier and heavier. She was calm. I could be calm too.
“So you’re okay?” he asked, pulling my attention back to his face.
I scoffed. “Of course. How old is she?” As that fell out of my mouth, I realized how it sounded. “I mean, in relation to you,” I added quickly. “I mean, I only saw her for a second, but she looks really young. But—maybe that’s how they make them in Italy.” I laughed and was dimly aware that I sounded insane.
Noah chuckled, his eyes staying serious and focused on me. I knew without a doubt that I already hated that new trick of his. It was unnerving.
“She’s from Virginia,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. “I assumed—”
“She’s a military brat,” he said. “They were stationed overseas for several years when she was young, and Italy was her favorite place. After college, she went back.”
Well, of course. Doesn’t everyone?
“And she’s thirty,” he added. “In case you need to card her.”
I smirked. “Cute.”
He shrugged, a crooked grin working on one side of his mouth. “What can I say?”
Warmth went from the center of my chest to all extremities on that grin, and I promptly got to my feet and set my mug on the side table.
“Well, it sounds like everything’s going your way, Noah. I’m happy for you.”
I wanted him to go. I needed him to go. Before I could really sink my thoughts into what he’d told me, and before my mouth overloaded my brain. Because it was about to. I could feel it all up in my throat. He gently moved Harley’s head and rose as well, bringing him a little closer than I anticipated, and I backed up a step and crossed my arms as those eyes looked straight through to the core of me.
“It’s really good to see you, Jules,” he said softly. “You look good.”
I bit my bottom lip and dug a thumbnail into my arm. Dear God, he looked good, too. Even better up close. That voice that went with the eyes—and the body, even buffed out and different, was still the same. But my thoughts wouldn’t stop shoving their way to the surface.
“Why this month?” I blurted out, wishing for duct tape over my mouth. “Why now? You could have picked any other time of the year to come back home. March, April—July, even.”
For a moment, the comfort left his eyes, and I saw the stricken, hurt boy I’d seen him as last. My stomach tightened at the memory. He glanced over his shoulder at the painting and then back to me, and I had the irrational urge to wrap my arms around him and comfort him.
“Yes, I could have,” he said, the words barely more than a whisper. “But I didn’t.”
I thought of him sitting alone on the bench the night before and wondered if his perfect fiancée in red knew about it. Knew about us, knew the history she was moving into.
“I—” Movement to my left caught my attention, and I turned to see Patrick coming down the stairs in jeans and no shoes, buttoning his shirt. “Patrick!” I said, a nervous laugh escaping my throat as I realized I’d completely forgotten he was there. Oh, holy shit.
He stopped mid-step on the stairway when he saw us, an unsure smile on his face as he looked from me to Noah and back again. Harley jumped from the couch and met him halfway, big tail swinging, clearly thinking it was a party. I was able to register that Noah looked as if he’d been slapped, right before my brain went on panic mode.
“Patrick,” I said, backing up farther and mentally pulling myself back together. “This is Noah—Ryan. The—” I gestured with my hand as both men raised eyebrows at me. “The diner—?” I continued, praying for the rambling to stop. “That’s Noah’s dad. We grew up together. Me and Noah, not his dad.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at me and my psychotic rant and chuckled as he made it down the stairs and across the room to shake Noah’s hand.
“Nice to meet you, man,” he said as they did the manly grip thing. “Patrick Keaton.”
Noah’s face had shut down. I had no way of reading what he was thinking. “Likewise.”
“Noah just retired from the Navy,” I added, feeling for some inane reason that I needed to fill space. “And Patrick runs a construction contracting company.”