Page 65 of Rock On

He had a point.

But this was Harley and me.

We had the kind of history that couldn’t be rewritten.

If we were going to forge a new future, it had to be done carefully.

Her saying she was never going to marry anyone else didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to be with me again.

“A week isn’t enough. Not after what we’ve been through. There’s a lot of baggage to sort through before we can open up like that.”

He made a face. “That’s an excuse. You’re scared.”

“I’m not denying that. I’m fucking terrified she’s going to shoot me down, so I’m trying to maximize my chances by giving us both time to heal.”

“Well, you do you, but take it from a man who knows—things can slip away before you know it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, buddy.” I clapped him on the shoulder.

“Uncle Tommy, are you coming to lunch?” River asked, twisting back to look at me.

God, he really was a mini-Carter.

It wasn’t just the eyes. His dirty blond hair—though Harley was blond too—his quirky smile and even the way he laughed were so much like his dad.

Aw, buddy, how could you leave your kid like this? I almost lifted my eyes to the sky to ask the question.

I wasn’t even remotely religious, but I was struggling with the knowledge that Carter had knowingly left his son. There had to be some sort of higher power orchestrating some of this. Didn’t there?

“Uncle Tommy?” River broke away from Harley and ran up to me, tugging on my jeans. “You’re coming, right? Daddy said my uncles would always be with me.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“I’m coming, River. I just have to walk slower because of my knee.” I pointed to the brace.

He peered at it curiously, then reached out a small, tentative finger. “Does it hurt?”

“Not if you touch carefully,” I said. I watched as he put his tiny hand on my knee and then ever-so-slowly leaned over to press a kiss on it.

“There.” He smiled triumphantly. “All better!”

Tears inexplicably puddled in my eyes, and I had to breathe deeply to keep from breaking down.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, my voice hoarser than I anticipated. “It does feel better.”

“You are so fucked,” Quinn murmured as we walked.

“Shut the fuck up,” I muttered in response.

He just laughed. “I bawled like a fucking baby when my kids were born. They’re all grown now, but becoming a parent is trippy.”

“I’m not a parent!” I protested, though I kept my voice low.

“Not yet, but the writing’s on the wall.”

“You’re delusional.”

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