Page 91 of Single Chance

When I stepped inside, I saw him sitting shirtless in his armchair, legs stretched out on the ottoman. His elbow was braced on one of the arms, hand supporting his head. Thinking he was asleep, I gave myself a few seconds to appreciate the sight of him in the dim light from outside, shadows playing over his half-naked body.

“Hey,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle him.

I watched his chest rise slowly with a deep breath. Then his head came up as he finally looked at me. I realized he hadn’t been asleep. Concern spiked through me again.

“What’s going on?” I asked, walking closer.

I found a corner of the ottoman to perch on in front of him.

He dropped his legs to the floor, leaned forward, elbows on knees. My relief at finding him had disappeared as an alarm went off in my head telling me very clearly he was not okay, and it likely had to do with us.

“Talk to me, Chance,” I said, not bothering to keep my voice hushed. “Why are you down here?”

He stood, as if he didn’t want to be so close to me. I tried to let that roll off, but I was getting the distinct impression he’d slammed a metaphorical door shut with me on the outside.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. Tonight…” He shook his head as he paced. “That never should’ve happened. I shouldn’t have let it. I told myself we’re both adults, and it’s fine for us to find pleasure in each other, but it’s not going to work.”

My heart pounded as I realized speaking my feelings before I’d dozed off must have spooked him. “I freaked you out with the L-word.”

“We can’t do that.”

“Do that? Fall in love?”

“Right. We had an agreement.”

“We did, but we changed it. It seemed like both of us went into that willingly.”

“I let myself believe we could handle it, but there’s too much between us. Our priority has to be the baby.”

“I agree.”

“We can’t be lovers. We can’t fall in love. Love would ruin everything.”

That was so absurd I had to hold in a disbelieving laugh. He clearly believed that. “Tell me why.”

He dropped into his desk chair. “We have to focus on the baby,” he said again.

“And you don’t think we can do that if we love each other?”

“Love would take away our chance of making it through the next two decades on good terms.”

“I don’t understand, Chance. This is new”—I gestured between us—“and I’m not trying to rush us or make us something we’re not yet, but how can you say feelings between us wouldn’t be beneficial for our child? It doesn’t make sense.”

He popped up off the chair and paced again, his agitation growing. At the doorway, he reached up, grabbed the doorjamb, and held on, facing away from me. Silence stretched out, my heart racing as I waited, wondered what he could possibly say that would make sense.

Finally he let go of the doorjamb, turned halfway, leaned his back against the frame, and crossed his arms. “The problem is me, Rowan. Look at my track record. Every single relationship that should be strong is a mess. My daughter. My parents. My brother. Erin. I’m the weak link. I’ve tried my whole life to be what my loved ones need, and I’ve fallen short. Every. Last. Time.”

“What?” I nearly shrieked. “You can’t really think that.”

His nonresponse told me he did.

I let that sink in, tried to comprehend it. In my opinion, it was crazy, but I was starting to see he actually believed there was something wrong with him.

I stood from the ottoman. “Your daughter is ateenager, Chance. Teenagers are impossible.”

“Yet you got along with her within five minutes of meeting her. Now she talks to you ten times more than she talks to me. I’m glad she has you,” he added quickly. “Damn glad she has you because I can’t fucking seem to do anything right when it comes to helping her.”

“That’s not true. She knows you love her. I think she feels awkward talking to you because you’re her dad.”

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