Page 1 of Everything We Left Unsaid

Jacob

It seems likea lifetime ago since I last stepped foot on this damp soil. I’ve missed Abby like crazy. It’s been far too long since I laid eyes on that beautiful face and held her in my arms. My palms dampen at the prospect of seeing her again after such a long absence. I pick at the soft cotton of my t-shirt, tenting it away from my body. It sticks to me like a suction cup, the unbearable summer humidity lingering even as fall approaches.

She has no idea I’m here or that I was coming. Hell, I didn’t even know for sure until yesterday. But we finished up early in Charleston and I didn’t have a good reason not to stop on my way back to Arlington. It’s not that far out of the way, and no one expects me back for at least a week.

I pull into the familiar lot and park my car. There’s no guarantee she’ll be here, but aside from her house, this is the most likely place to find her.

I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees me. I hope she’s missed me like I’ve missed her. Not a day has gone by since I left here that I haven’t thought of her.

My eyes scan over the parking lot looking for her old, beat-up truck. I don’t see it anywhere, but that doesn’t mean anything. She could be parked out back, her shift already in full swing. I huff out a nervous breath and step onto the pavement, swiping my sweat-covered hands over my jean-clad thighs. My pulse races in anticipation as I stride toward the entrance and pull open the door. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim lighting after driving in the blinding afternoon sun for so long. Once they do, I glance around the restaurant, searching the sea of green shirts for even greener eyes and perfectly sun-kissed skin.

After what seems like an eternity looking for her, I’m ready to give up, assuming she’s not working today. But suddenly a mass of dark, wavy hair rises from a table across the room and my heartbeat stutters in my chest. Though her back is to me, I know it’s her. Her hair is a bit shorter, the curve of her hips even more enticing, but there’s no doubt it’s Abby.

Before I know what I’m doing, my feet propel me forward, her presence like the North Star guiding me home. I’ve been lost for far too long. I close the gap between us in seconds, tunnel vision obscuring my surroundings. All I see is her.

“Abby,” I breathe her name, exhaling it as if I’ve been holding my breath since the day I left her sobbing in her driveway.

Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t immediately face me. She knows my voice. She knows it’s me standing behind her. I contemplate reaching out and touching her arm but hesitate, pulling my hand back when she finally begins to turn. Her body twists slowly and her wide eyes meet mine.

We just stand there staring at each other, her expression shocked, mine hopeful. It takes only a moment for her surprise to fade and anger to darken her features. Her eyes narrow and her brows furrow. Before I can register any movement, the sting of her open palm against my cheek jolts me out of my daze.

“You son of a bitch!” she seethes. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing back up here!”

I stand still as a statue, stunned, my hands hanging at my hips. I clench and unclench my fists, resisting the urge to rub my left cheek that smarts from her unexpected slap.

She turns her back to me and leans down to grab something, her whole body shaking with rage. I can’t imagine where all this hostility is coming from. I know she was angry the last time we spoke, but I thought enough time had passed now that she wouldn’t be so upset. When she stands and faces me again, tears are welling in her eyes.

And she’s not alone.

A small child with two short, dark brown pigtails and round, pink cheeks clings to her neck. The girl can’t be more than a year or two old. She stares back at me innocently over Abby’s shoulder, her chubby hand clinging to the collar of Abby’s shirt. She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen, and she has the bluest eyes. Eyes that are familiar to me. Eyes I see reflected in the mirror every day.

She’s mine.

The revelation knocks the wind right out of me and I stand frozen in place, my feet refusing to follow the commands of my racing mind that screams for me to run after them, but I can’t move.

When my limbs begin to work again, I sprint to the door and out into the parking lot. I search for them frantically, but to no avail. They’re already gone, and I’m at a loss.

How did this happen?

How did I not know?

How could she keep this from me?

I gather my composure and head back inside, my sights set on the bar. I’m going to need a stiff drink to process everything that just transpired.

“Jack and Coke,” I respond robotically when the bartender asks for my order. He sets a glass in front of me and pours.

“Bad day?”

I open my mouth to answer with a resounding yes, but close it again. Is it bad? Of course. I think I have a kid I knew nothing about. A woman I once loved, who had my whole heart, bore my child and kept it a secret from me.

I shake that thought from my head. Maybe she’s not mine. Maybe I’m mistaken.

But those eyes.

“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly before draining most of my drink in one gulp and setting it back down on the lacquered bar top. “I think I might be a dad.”

He stops drying the glass in his hands and pins me with his stare. “Wait a minute. Are you Jacob?” I stop with my glass just shy of my lips, surprised at his question. How does he know who I am?

“Yeah,” I answer slowly, hesitantly setting my drink back down. He snatches the glass from the bar top, dumping it in the sink before I can protest.

“Get out,” he says low and calm in a deep, penetrating voice.

“What?” Is this guy for real? Why the hell would he treat a customer like that?

“You caused that sweet girl a lot of grief, and you sure as hell aren’t welcome here.” I search his face, looking for a clue as to who he is and how he knows anything about me and Abby, but I don’t recognize him. I’ve never seen him before today. Realization dawns when I read his name tag. Phil.Shit. He must be Abby’s uncle, the one who owns this bar with his wife, Roselyn. I open my mouth to protest, to explain that I have no idea what’s going on, but his heated glare stops me.

“Get the fuck out of my bar!” he roars. The corded muscles of his arm strain as he points to the door. The whole room has quieted and all eyes are on us. Shocked expressions follow me towards the exit as I obey his command. I have no desire to fight the hulking beast of a man behind the bar, so I do as he asks and leave. This day has turned into a shit-fest. Now I wish I had just gone home.

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