Page 43

Carson

N o one can tear me down the way I can.

During the entire drive to the Front Porch Diner, I wage war with myself—wondering what the hell I’m doing.

I’m torn about whether this is truly the best thing to do. I wonder if my selfishness and desire for her should outweigh what Wren deserves. I question if I can really be enough—fearing I’ll end up just like… him .

It’s my worst fear—the one I’ve carried around for years. And while I’ve done everything I can to be the opposite of the man who raised me, the possibility still haunts me. Still claws at the back of my mind every time something good shows up in my life.

And Wren is so good. She deserves so much more than a man haunted by the fear of turning into his father.

While I have no intention of ever being anything like him, I won’t deny that my worries about that possibility have held me back all these years.

Thankfully, the drive to the diner is short, and I don’t have to sit in that spiral too long.

After having Wren’s legs wrapped around my head this morning, tasting her, hearing her come undone, part of me wanted to say screw it and close the place down for the day. I’d rather stay buried between her thighs than here, chopping produce and pretending to care about customer service.

When I finally caved to my wants last night and claimed her as mine, I felt a mix of relief—and regret.

Because no, I don’t think I’m a good idea for her.

But I want to become the man she needs.

She offered to come in and help with the morning prep before her shift at the nursing home.

I refused and told her to catch up on sleep since we’d be having another long night tackling that list of hers.

The flush that colored her cheeks tempted me even more to call in sick today.

But when you own the business, that’s not really an option.

“Hey, bossman,” LouAnn calls. “There’s a woman out here askin’ for you.”

My annoyed glares amuse LouAnn. She has quickly caught on to the fact that people aren’t my thing. She usually runs interference for me.

“I’m a little busy,” I mumble, turning back to the large metal counter, dicing the tomatoes I brought from my home garden. “You can’t help her?”

“Nope. Says she needs to speak with you specifically. She said she’ll wait.”

Great.

I mumble under my breath as I continue dicing. Hopefully, if I stay busy enough, the woman will grow tired and leave.

But a half-hour later, I step into the dining room—and the world stops spinning.

Sitting at the counter is the last person I ever expected to see again.

Her deep blue eyes—mirrors of my own—lift to mine, cautious and hesitant. A nervous smile plays across her lips.

“Hey, Car.”

My stomach drops.

Twenty-five years. Not a fucking peep. No letters, no phone calls, nothing . I thought she was dead. My dad used to say she ran off to Vegas and got into all kinds of questionable shit. I stopped believing most of what he said a long time ago.

Parents can be deceitful when it comes to shaping their child’s views about an ex-spouse.

But sometimes, even a liar tells the truth.

“What do you want?”

I don’t even give a shit that I’m being rude to the woman I used to call mom. She doesn’t deserve my respect.

Her smile falters as hurt flashes across her features at my rough tone. “I was hopin’ we could talk.”

I nod. “Yeah, I figured. What do you want?” My jaw is tight, and I’m gripping the kitchen towel like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

“I get that you’re upset with me. But I’d really like a chance to explain some things. I know you’re busy,” she glances around the diner, “but I don’t mind waitin’.”

I let out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “Waitin’, huh?”

She nods, worrying her lip. “As long as it takes.”

“How’s twenty-five years sound?”

My words hit their mark. Her face crumbles just slightly.

“You’re right. But if you’ll let me explain, I promise I’ll leave you alone after—if that’s what you want.”

I should tell her to go. To walk out the way she did back then. But something in me needs to hear whatever version of the truth she’s been sitting on.

Time drags.

She stays the whole day.

True to her word, she doesn’t push. LouAnn tells me she ordered almost everything on the menu and kept complimenting each dish. Weirdly flattering. Annoying, too.

The time on the clock indicates that I can no longer delay this. I have a good woman waiting for me at home.

I walk out of the kitchen to find her still sitting at the counter in the same seat she’s had all day. Her posture’s slumped, and she looks…smaller. Tired. Not like the woman I remember from my childhood.

Back then, she was fire and light, even when things were hard. But when Dad started drinking more, it broke her down. The bruises that constantly marked her skin, the fear in her eyes—I remember it all.

She was my protector—especially against him. It felt like it was always us against the world. Then one day…she was gone. And it was just me.

Me and the monster I had to live with.

“Thank you,” she says quietly as I take the seat next to her in the now-empty diner.

“I’ve got plans, so…” I gesture for her to move along with her speech that I’m sure she’s rehearsed several times by now.

She nods with a half smile. “You look good, Carson. It’s really good to see you.”

Jesus Christ, I don’t have time for this.

“Look, I’m not interested in playin’ catchup. If you have somethin’ to say, say it. Otherwise, I need to close up and get out of here.”

“Right…sorry.” She takes a deep breath and rolls the end of her napkin between her fingers.

“I’m not sure what all you were told once I left. I’m sure your dad had stories… A lot of them probably true.” A half-hearted laugh escapes as a breath from her nose.

“I was wrong to leave you with him. I know that and I’m sorry.

But at the time, I didn’t feel mentally stable enough to take you with me.

And I sure couldn’t have supported you. I barely kept myself alive those first few years.

Then I started dancing in Vegas, met some shady people, and got into some terrible things…

I was in no place to have you around me, Car.

It took me years to finally gather enough courage to admit that I had a problem. ”

Her hand shakes on the counter before she quickly pulls it down to her lap.

“I wasn’t fit to be a mother, Car. And you deserved better than what I could give you.”

I stare straight ahead. Her voice feels like background noise.

Did she just come here for a therapy session? Why the hell does she think I care to hear what she’s been up to all these years?

“I really don’t need to hear any of this. Like I said, I have plans. You want forgiveness? Fine. You’re forgiven. Are we good to go now?”

“No.” She shakes her head incredulously.

“That’s not why I’m here. I just… I’m clean now.

Have been for a while. When I first sobered up, I called your dad to ask about you.

He told me you wanted nothin’ to do with me.

I didn’t doubt it, so I left you alone. Figured if you were doin’ okay, then maybe it was better I stay away.

But when I heard that your dad passed away, I knew I needed to find you.

By the time I tracked you down, I was such a nervous wreck,” she admits, shaking her head again with a nervous chuckle.

“I was worried that you’d be mad and refuse to see me. And I wasn’t ready for that kinda hurt yet. You were my baby, and I let you down.” Her voice breaks as she swipes the lone tear from her cheek.

“I’m sorry that it took me this long to find the courage to speak to you.”

Her eyes peer up at me, a small smile quickly appearing and vanishing.

“You don’t have to forgive me. I just needed you to know that I never stopped thinkin’ about you.

I never stopped lovin’ you. And I hope you can understand why everything happened the way that it did.

I was a terrible mother with a lot of problems, and that wasn’t something you should’ve had to pay for… I’m sorry, Carson.”

All these years, I’ve always made assumptions. But hearing all of this strikes me straight in the gut.

I stare at her hands. The way she fidgets. The way she swallows down emotion. She’s not lying.

She had problems and needed help. She received the help and is trying to move forward with her life, deciding now that she’s ready for me to be a part of it again.

But that doesn’t mean I’m ready.

“You can’t do that.” I shake my head, rage boiling over inside me. “You can’t just come in here after all these years and dump all this on me. I can’t forgive you that easily. You fucked up and I have every right to be pissed as long as I want.”

I heard every damn word she said. I know she believes she did the right thing, and who knows, maybe she did.

My father was a terrible person, but perhaps going with her would have turned out worse for me.

However, that still doesn’t mean I have to forgive her and move on just like that because she’s ready.

She nods, blinking away more tears. “You’re right. That was a lot.”

A long silence stretches between us.

Her defeated eyes peer up at the clock on the wall. “Would it be okay if I come back tomorrow? Or maybe in a few days? Just to talk? … If you want to…” She trails off, unsure and unable to read my feelings.

I sigh. I’m many things—an asshole being the main one—but I can’t deny the part of me that longs to see if this could all work out.

“Give me your number.”

Her eyes spark to life as she nods and quickly grabs my phone to enter her number.

I don’t know how the relationship with her will turn out. If she’s really clean and wants to move forward, then with my guard up, I’ll give it a try.

After she leaves, I start wiping down the counters, her voice still echoing in my head. Memories of my childhood and my parents play on a loop in my mind. Now, looking at my mother, you can only see the miserable, forlorn expression of regret.

I may have told Wren and myself that I was ready for this thing between us, but I think I was only half invested.

Throughout my life, I never planned on settling down or imagined having the ‘family life.’ However, after what I saw today, and now realizing how different I am from both of my parents, I know exactly what I want— and what I don’t.

Like the universe wanted to throw one more sign my way to make sure my hard-headed self got the memo, I catch sight of a bottle of lavender lotion on the shelf near the kitchen door—Wren’s doing.

She brought it for the girls here, said that they needed something after all the handwashing at the end of the day.

Flipping the lights off, I head for the door.

Lavender. Her calm in a bottle.

But she’s the calm I need.

She’s the one who makes me feel like I’ve got something to fight for. Like I’ve finally come home.

And I’ll be damned if I ever let her go again.