Page 14

Lark

One week later…

Why did she want me to come to her home to talk to her? I swallow hard as I step out of the elevator and into her world.

Her penthouse is like walking into a magazine spread – one where you can't afford anything on the page, but you're drawn to the beauty anyway. The air smells faintly of vanilla, and soft light spills from floor to ceiling windows, creating a warm, inviting, and safe-feeling atmosphere.

I loved her place the first time I visited, and I love it this time, too.

“Thank you for coming,” she says in a soft voice that instantly has me hard. Then again, she does that to me more often than not, so it’s a low bar to set, I think.

“Of course.” My gaze forgets that her beautiful home exists, because now she is all I can see. Her smile. The way she tilts her chin up. Those incredible legs that haunt my dreams. The sparkle in her eyes that warns me she’s a fighter. Everything about her pulls me in, even though I know I should be fighting against the current.

“Come in, make yourself comfortable,” she says, gesturing toward a sleek, inviting sofa.

I look around, hoping to hear the pitter-pat of little feet, but Win is nowhere to be seen.

“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat and wondering what she needed to tell me so badly she was willing to bring me here, to her home, possibly alone.

“Drink?" Lara offers, already gliding toward a bar that’s modern and carefully hides away a collection of alcohol bottles, all looking top shelf, because, of course, they are. She doesn’t do anything in halves, and I admire that about her.

“Sure,” I say, still mesmerized by the view – and I don’t mean the one out the windows, either. I watch her move as she shifts her weight from one hip to the other, looking pretty and comfortable in dark leggings with a loose sweater on over the top. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun that’s adorable. She looks relaxed, in her element, and just as beautiful like this as she is in designer dresses.

“Make it two,” I say, finally tearing my gaze away from her. I’ll need the alcohol to face whatever happens next. Because I think she’s about to fire me. We both know that this pull between us… eventually it’s going to become too much to fight. And when that day comes, we’ll break our the past stays there agreement.

She walks over and I try not to stare as she hands me a glass. “Whiskey, right?” she says, and I smile that she remembers my drink of choice from all those years ago.

“I don’t drink often anymore,” I say, meeting her eyes over the rim of my glass. “Only on special occasions.”

She blinks and nods, as if taking that into account. Her response tells me this is not going to be a special occasion, and that knowledge kicks my heart rate into double time.

The penthouse seems so silent after the noise I’d experienced before. Win has a huge personality and the space feels empty without him. I want to ask where he is, but I don’t want to spook her. He seems like a tender topic, and I don’t want to cause problems. The quiet seems to amplify every small sound.

We sit opposite each other. Lara’s almost got me drooling with the way her legs are crossed so elegantly while I try to match the calm in her body language.

I glance over when I hear the soft sound of tires on marble and see Damon.

“Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt,” he says, halting his wheelchair before taking off toward another part of the penthouse.

“Hey, no worries,” I say, but he's already gone. Lara's watching him go, a half-smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She looks back at me, and that smile is still there, but it dims slightly. Another bad sign.

“Your brother lives with you?” I ask, not to be rude, but I’d assumed he was here before in solidarity. As I ask, I nod in the direction he disappeared.

“Yes.” Her voice is soft as velvet. “I’m all he has.” She lifts her shoulders as if there’s no other option. “He's amazing.”

“It looks like you two have a good relationship and he’s lucky to have you.”

She snorts. “I’m the lucky one. He's been through a lot, and he’s still an amazing uncle and man.”

“I love that you take care of your family.” There’s so much to respect about her I’m having trouble keeping track of everything.

“That’s what we’re supposed to do,” she says, glancing after her brother.

I want to tell her that not everyone would do what she’s done. Plenty of people don’t care for loved ones who need support. She’s a wonderful woman and this is another piece of her, another layer of the woman who's never really left my mind for five years now.

She nods, and takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. I try to prepare for what she’s going to say next. There’s no bracing myself for being fired from a job I love and losing the woman I’ve been falling for, but I have to try to keep calm and relaxed, no matter what.

As she exhales, I sense she’s struggling, too. But when she speaks, her voice doesn't waver.

“There's something I need to tell you.” Her eyes lock onto mine, unflinching.

My brow furrows. That’s an odd way to fire someone. Why word it like that? It’s not like her to be awkward with words.

“Go ahead,” I say as the silence stretches out between us.

“There’s no easy way to say this. But I feel like I screwed up and I need to make things right.” Another deep breath and a lightening of her shoulders, as if some burden is being eased as she speaks.

“What could she possibly need to make right? I blink, suddenly feeling comfortable I’m not being fired, but worried what this means instead.

“It's about my son, Winston. Win.” Her gaze glazes over with warmth and love, and I can feel the depth of her devotion to him. He’s such a delightful little guy, I can understand why. There’s something familiar about him, something I can’t quite place. My guess is that it’s his personality, so like his mother.

Then she seems to snap back, and her gaze meets mine. “ Our son.”

I can’t breathe.

How…

I think back to those two nights, so long ago. I hadn’t used protection, and I guess she wasn’t on any, either.

“ Our son?" My throat tightens around the words, and I feel the blood drain from my face.

She nods again, slower this time. “I should've told you sooner. I'm sorry.”

Why didn’t she? Why did she hide him from me for so long? Questions pound inside my skull, a relentless drumming like the beat of waves on the shore. How? Why? But do any of them matter in the face of the realization that I have a child? I have a son. I’m a dad.

“Does he... does he know about me?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, and distorted like I’m speaking under water.

“He knows he has a dad…” She trails off, as if internally wrestling with – or justifying – something. “I wanted to wait for the right moment…”

The right moment? To tell him that I’m his dad?

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I ask.

She freezes, and I sense her fear this time. I’ve asked a question she doesn’t want to answer, but I need to know. I don’t know why I need to know, but I do.

Her tongue darts across her lips and she blinks, then begins to ever-so-slowly shake her head.

No.

She was never going to tell me about my son.

“Why?” I ask, pain taking a stranglehold on my throat. “Why weren’t you going to tell me?”

She sighs, as if deciding that she’s already told this secret, what’s the harm in coming completely clean. “I looked you up all those years ago. I ran because I learned…” She swallows hard. “That you were… in business with some shady people.”

She’s right. Some of the jobs I did back then were less than legal, but they were all to claw my way out of generational debt and poverty. I did what I had to to survive and to take care of my mom after my father died.

But instead of coming to me with her concerns and learning my side of things, she’d run away, cut me out, and hid my son from me. Anger rises up in my throat, sour as bile and burning.

“I know I messed up, and I don’t know what I can do besides say I’m sorry.” She sounds genuinely pained by the whole situation, but she’s not the one who has lost four years of her son’s life. I am.

There's so much I've missed, so much I don't know. So many years lost that I’ll never get back. I’ll never get that time back, never get to hold him as a baby never get to see his first steps, never get to hear his first word. I’ve missed so much and the anger within me turns to pain.

“Can we tell him now?” The question bursts out, fueled by a sudden, desperate need to connect to this new reality and my son.

“Of course,” Lara says, her expression softening. “He's asleep right now, but soon.”

Soon feels like far too long after all the time I’ve lost.

I can’t get that time back, but I can make sure I don’t miss another moment moving forward. “As soon as possible, please. I’ve already missed so much time.”

She looks like I’ve punched her in the gut; her face goes pale and pain fills her features, and I think, for the first time, the reality of what she’s done sinks in for her. She was there for everything I missed.

“Thank you,” I say, my heart racing a thousand unnamed emotions. I'm a father. The thought is both terrifying and exciting. I can’t wait to be a dad, to take him to games, go camping, teach him to swim, all the things I wish my dad had been there to do for me.

Lara watches me, her gaze offering a silent apology.

“Okay,” I say, dropping my hands on my knees. What else can I say after having this bombshell dropped in my lap? “Okay.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, concern filling those striking eyes of hers.

I nod and stand, my legs shaky, and my stomach twists violently, like I’m going to be sick. “I need to make a call,” I say, my voice somehow sounding more composed than I feel.

“Of course,” she says. Her kind tone only makes it harder to look at her. She stands up and gestures me out onto a balcony and I step out. “It’s private out there,” she says.

I thank her, feeling the crisp night air on my skin. The city sprawls below, lights twinkling like distant stars, and the world I know suddenly feels very far away. Nothing has changed, but everything is different. I pull out my phone and dial the number that I call once a day.

“Lark?” She sounds happy to hear from me, but surprised, too.

“Mom?” My voice is a whisper that breaks, and I lean on the balcony.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her voice fills with immediate concern, and I try to figure out how to tell her what I’ve learned. But I need to tell someone, and she has a right to know, too.

“Mom, it's...” I pause, searching for words that won't come to the front of my mind. “Lara had a baby. My baby. Our son. I have a son.”

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other end. “Oh, Lark.” I can hear her heart break in the words and it’s almost enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I blink.

“Four years, Mom. He’s four, and I didn’t know.” Anger surges, alternating with pain. “She never told me. She wasn’t going to tell me. Ever.”

“But she did.”

“How do I forgive her for stealing four years of my son’s life from me?” The bitterness in my voice burns my throat like pure moonshine.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” Mom says firmly, the way she hasn’t done since I was a kid facing scraped knees or broken dreams. “Lara made a choice. Maybe it wasn’t the one you wanted, but she did what she thought was right at the time.”

“But I missed everything!” My voice cracks, and I hate how weak and broken I sound.

“Being angry now won't change the past,” she says in a gentle, yet unyielding, voice. “But that anger could cost you a future with him. Your son needs his father, Lark. Don’t lose sight of that.”

She’s right. Of course, she’s right. I can’t throw away a lifetime for four years.

“Okay,” I whisper, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a sense of knowing what I need to do now, even if I don’t want to. “Thanks, Mom.” I can always count on her to guide me in moments like this.

“Go back to her and him,” she says softly. “Go be a dad.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re going to be an amazing father. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Just like that, her voice is gone and I lower the phone, scanning the city and inhaling the cool night air for a few more moments, gathering my thoughts and composure.

Then, with a deep breath, I turn back toward the door, toward my son, toward Lara. It's time to face whatever comes next, not as a man blindsided by the past, but as a father ready to embrace the future.

Lara did what she thought was right at the time. And I can’t say for sure she was wrong. Which also means I can’t hold this against her or it’ll become poison in my veins.

I step back into Lara's penthouse, sliding the glass door closed behind me. She looks up, her eyes wide and worried.

“Sorry,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “I needed... a moment.” I rub the back of my neck with one hand, searching for what I want to say next. “I wish you'd felt safe enough to tell me.”

Lara's gaze meets mine, and there's a vulnerability there that tightens something in my chest. She brings one leg to her chest and winds her arms around it while her other foot rests on the floor. Planting her chin on her knee, she looks up at me.

“I wasn’t afraid of you. Just… the company you kept.”

Well, that would have been her mistake. I wasn’t much more trustworthy than those I was working with at the time.

“And I didn't know how.” There’s something hopeless in the way she lifts her shoulders and lets them drop.

“Can I see him?” The question slips out, then more thoughts and ideas follow. “Can I take him home? Just for a bit? My mom—his grandma—she'd love to meet him.”

It's a big ask. I know that. Four years of life, of missed first steps, words, birthdays. Four years of being a ghost father. And now I'm here, trying to scoop up lost time like it's something you can hold.

But Lara shakes her head, a slow, pained motion. “I'm not ready, Lark. This is... it's too much.”

I understand, but this isn’t easy for me, either. Surely she can see that.

“Another day won't make it easier,” I say, the words so quiet I’m not sure she hears them at first.

“Please,” she whispers, and the weight of that single word nearly crushes me. “I need time.”

And just like that, the future I'm trying to build crumbles around the edges. Another moment gone, another memory I won't have. It's torture, this waiting, this wanting. But I nod because what else can I do?

“Okay,” I agree, the promise feeling like shards of glass in my throat. “We'll wait.”

Lara’s eyes soften, and for a moment, I see a flicker of the woman I once knew.

The woman I started to fall for all those years ago when we share time and two passionate nights together on a vacation that’s still embedded in my mind as a memory I play on repeat.

I can tell by the trembling in her shoulders that this isn’t easy for her, either. Of course it’s not.

I take a deep breath, knowing that if she’s not ready for me to take my son for a night or to meet his grandmother, then she’s also not going to be ready for the other thoughts that’s been chasing its tail round and round my mind.

“Thank you.” She sounds so relieved I want to walk over and wrap my arms around her. But I know that if I dare touch her, this night will turn out very differently than what either of us intend. And I know she feels it, too, this impossible pull between us that even now whispers for me to close the gap between us and kiss her. To say the hell with our agreement and take what’s mine. What should be mine. What I claimed years ago. Her .

And as I stand there with my thoughts, I try to figure out the best way and time to tell her the whole truth. Because I guess I haven’t been totally honest with her, either.

She lifts her head and looks at me. “What do you want to do now?” she asks in a delicate voice.

My face must have given away the dirty thoughts in my mind, because she inhales, quickly looking away. “Should we talk more? Make plans? Set boundaries?”

Her amended question sounds a lot less fun than what sprang to my mind, but hers is more practical and necessary.

Because it’s not just about my son. It’s about her, too. Lara. I want her in my life, too, not just as the mother of my child, but as someone I care about deeply.

“We could do any or all of them, if you’re ready and willing.” The words ready and willing have an effect on her. She shivers and goose bumps break out across her arms.

I swallow hard. I want to be there for my son, to make up for lost time, but I also want to be there for Lara. I want to win her heart and make her mind. I want to convince her to spend her life with me. There’s no one I’d rather share in the joys and sorrows of life with.

“I think we should sleep on it,” she says, refusing to meet my gaze.

I nod, knowing full well that sleep isn’t going to change my mind or my plans. “Whatever it takes,” I say, and she stiffens, throwing an unreadable glance at me.

I know one thing for certain: I’m not going to give up. Not on my son, and not on her.

I’ll wait, as long as it takes. Because some things are worth fighting for. And this, this is one of them.