Page 57 of Masquerade Mistake

“Gee, thanks,” he says. “I guess you were in charge the whole time.”

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“That’s exactly what it’s like.”

“When you have kids…”

“What, Claire? Because I do have a kid.”

I breathe through my nose, turning away from him as I collect myself.

“You don’t get it,” I say slowly, then look back at him. “I raised Finn all these years on my own. My job has been to protect him from harm, and that includes emotional harm. I had no way to know if you were a good guy or a bad one. I already swore I wasn’t going to date anyone until I was done raising Finn. You changed my mind, first because of who you are to Finn, but second because of who you are as a man. I wouldn’t have found out if you were the right man for either of us if I’d told you about Finn that night. So I’m glad I didn’t tell you, because then I wouldn’t know what it feels like to fall in love with you.”

The words tumble from me, and I try to catch them as they land between us. His mouth opens, and I think I see his face soften. Then he looks away. I brush my pinky against his hand on the center console, and he jerks as if to move, but his hand remains. I wrap my pinky around his, and he grips it back. I can see the tears rolling down his cheek, even though he’s trying to keep his face from mine.

“My biggest fear,” he finally says, then sniffs as he wipes his face, “my biggest reason for not having kids, is my fear that I’d do to them what my dad did to me.”

“Finn grew up happy,” I say softly. He looks over at me, his face shining with tears.

“Without a dad,” he says.

“But happy.” I take his hand in mine, and he lets me even though his grasp is loose. “It wasn’t my ideal choice either,” I tell him, “especially now that I know you. Finn would have loved having you as a father. I mean, he’ll love having you as a dad now,” I correct myself. The words scare me to death, especially as I see the shift in his face. “Do you want to be his dad?”

He takes a shaky breath, and his hand is moist with sweat. Or maybe it’s mine. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. I’ve never been good at sharing, and right now I’m letting go of so many trust issues when I don’t even know where Ethan and I stand.

“Yes, I want to be his dad,” he says. “No kid should have to go without his father.”

I know Ethan is coming from a place of hurt, but I can’t help feeling slighted by the statement—as if somehow Finn suffered under only my care.

“He’s been okay all these years,” I say carefully. Even still, Ethan’s eyes flash as he looks at me, taking his hand from mine.

“I’m going to be his dad,” he repeats. He starts the car again, putting it in reverse. The conversation is over, but there’s still so much to say. Yet neither of us speak for the duration of the ride. We reach my house, and he pulls in front without making a move to get out. I unclip my seatbelt, taking long enough to see if there’s anything else he wants to say. He stares straight ahead, his jaw pulsing as his eyes flash. I don’t know what to think. I want to say something—anything—but nothing feels appropriate. We’ve gone in circles enough, and I wish I’d found a way to tell him about Finn before it came to this. Would it have been better? I’ll never know.

I step outside the car, my feet feeling like lead as they hit the concrete. I turn, pausing in the moment to see if there’s anything left. He shifts the car in drive. The message is clear. I close door, and he squeals from the curb, leaving me behind.

Maren is at my house fifteen minutes after I text her. She’d been working her shift at Insomniacs, but she left early due to a family emergency. I suppose this is exactly that, especially since I’m a crumpled heap on the kitchen table.

“He’s just reacting to something surprising,” Maren assures me. “Knowing what he’s been through, he’s probably dealing with some trauma. He’ll come back around. Didn’t he come around last time?”

“Yeah, but this is so much bigger. It’s not like snooping into his life. I hid his own son from him.” I bury my head in my hands again, wishing I could take back the past few months and start fresh, this time with only the truth.

“You had your reasons,” Maren reminded me. “When you made that decision, you didn’t owe Ethan anything. You did what you had to do to protect your son. Don’t you think Ethan would have done the same?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say, “I never even let him be a parent.”

Maren groans, then takes my hands. “Claire, get a grip. Ethan is angry right now, but once he calms down, he’ll see things from your side of it. He has to. You were only doing what was best for Finn, and Ethan cannot blame you for that.”

“I know.” I wipe my eyes, then sigh. “This just doesn’t feel good. It feels like I keep messing everything up with Ethan, and all he’s done is be wonderful.”

“Except for seeing things from your perspective,” Maren points out. “He’s a great guy and all, but he’s having a hard time seeing anyone’s side except his own. And if anything, he should be thanking you.”

“Why?” I sniff. She rolls her eyes.

“Claire, you raised a wonderful little boy on your own for the past six years. You didn’t seek him out to make him pay, you just did what you needed to do to make sure Finn had the best childhood ever. You’ve gone to great lengths to make sure he’s been protected and happy. That’s not a small feat, especially with where you came from. You had all the ingredients to be a messed-up mom to him, and you weren’t at all. Finn is lucky to have you, and when Ethan comes to his senses, he’s going to realize he was lucky to have you raising his son too.”

“But he’s not going to ever get there because he was stripped of the chance to be Finn’s dad.”

“By circumstance,” Maren says. “Look, we can go round and round in circles about this, but the truth of the matter is you made the best decision you could make with the limited information you had.” Maren picks up the pile of tissues I have on the table and throws them away before washing her hands with a good amount of soap. She fills a glass of water, and then sets it in front of me. I sip it gratefully. Even though I still feel weighed down by my guilt, the load feels a little lighter after talking it out.

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