Page 10 of Breaking Free

J.R. is irritated with the long silence. “Why are you here, Rachel?”

“I just…” I wring my hands together. “I just needed—Iwanted—to see you.”

“You don’t get to just show up here years later and tell me it’s because you wanted to see me.” He glares at me for a few moments and then shakes his head at me. “Go home, Rachel.”

J.R. pushes past me and starts back toward the house. This action is the equivalent to him slamming the door in my face.

I stand on the boardwalk, watching him walk away, and I’m not sure what my options are. Do I chase after him, or do I go home?

I see Knox’s blue eyes in my mind, and I think about how sad she will be when I tell her that it’s not going to work out for her to meet her dad. Not right now, anyway. Then, I think how Knox will grow up with daddy issues, and then she’ll hate me because all of this is my fault really. I left J.R. Not the other way around.

Nevertheless, I can’t change my choices. I can’t go back. I’m stuck with the consequences, but Knox shouldn’t have to be stuck with them, too.

“J.R.!” I run to catch up with him. “Wait, please.” I grab his arm gently, and then I step in front of him. “Please, just talk to me.”

He gazes down into my eyes for a moment. His expression is like stone. I wonder what he’s thinking. Finally, his lips part. “You’ve got ten minutes, and then I want you gone.”

Okay. Ten minutes. I have ten minutes to tell him that he’s a father. I can do this. I smile at him. “Thank you.”

J.R. continues toward the house. I jog to keep up with his long strides, and then I step into the house after him. His house. Our house. My house. It still looks the same. Beautiful pine floors. White shiplap walls. Open concept. The far wall is made of windows with a perfect view of large oaks, Spanish moss, our dock, and then the ocean beyond all of that.

The kitchen cabinets are pine, too, just like the floors, with white granite countertops. It’s a beautiful home. One that came straight from my brain. I’m glad we didn’t bulldoze it.

I close the front door behind me, and then I stand awkwardly on the burnt orange oriental rug in the foyer. I’m pleased to see he kept the rug. It was never his favorite.

“Why are you here?” J.R. asks for the third time, only now, he’s looking at his watch.

He really is timing this conversation. I’m not sure why I’m surprised. J.R. never says anything he doesn’t mean.

I can’t think of a good place to start, so I decide to start with something simple. It won’t mean anything to him; but I want to say it, so I do. “I’ve missed you.”

J.R. rolls his eyes at me. “Are you out of money? Is that why you’re here, Rach? You need money?”

I’m offended. Maybe even angry. I can’t believe that he would even suggest that I came here because I need money. I’ve never asked for a dime from anyone. I’ve always made my own. In the time since I left J.R., I have worked as a waitress, an assistant, and now I’m finally doing what I’ve always wanted to do. I am writing. I’m not writing novels like I had hoped I would be, but I am writing opinion posts for our local newspaper. Most people read my posts online instead of the newspaper, though.

I work to keep my temper even, but I’m out of luck. “Are you kidding me? You know me better than that.” I’ve done a lot of wrong between the two of us, but I can’t accept the fact that he thinks I’m here for money.

“I thought I did. And then you left.” He grits his teeth.

I want to break eye contact, but I don’t. I’m terribly uncomfortable. I have to deal with it, though. I wring my hands together. “I made a bad choice, J.R. I know that now. I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but I am sorry.”

There’s silence between us for a few moments. His expression softens a bit as though my apology does mean something to him.

“There’s another reason why I’m here, J.R.” I continue. “And I know that you’ll never forgive me for this, but maybe, one day you will.”

J.R.’s expression changes again. He’s both curious and maybe even concerned. I think that I see fear in his eyes, too. I feel a pain in my chest. Dread. Regret.

“Five years ago”—my heart is pounding again, and I feel a little sweaty— “I had a baby.”

J. R.’s eyes grow wide.

“A baby girl.” I swallow, and then I sigh slightly. “Her name is Knox Rose, and she’s yours.”

9

J.R. hasn’t moved a muscle since I broke the news of Knox to him. It’s only been a few seconds, but the only reaction I’ve gotten is a set of wide, blue eyes. I wait for him to say something. If he doesn’t say something, how do I know what to say? I’m still standing there awkwardly and uncomfortably on the oriental rug in the foyer. The silence is killing me.

“Please say something,” I whisper. My own voice startles me.

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