Page 15 of Needing You

“Jackson.”

He pushed up from the couch and paced away from me, and it’d be impossible not to flash back to the day before when I’d had much the same view of his father. Jackson might be fifteen years younger than Will, but he really did look just like him. They moved the same way. They carried pain the same way.

Dammit.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him,” he said quietly, his back still to me.

“You can say as much or as little as you want. There’s no playbook for this kind of thing.”

Usually, when I made a comment with a football metaphor, he’d roll his eyes at me and give me a look that suggested he knew I was trying to connect with him in terms he’d understand. It was like a wryNice try, Momkind of look.

But not today.

“Well, I guess you can tell him I’m cool with meeting him. If he’s waiting to hear or whatever.”

I picked up my phone from the table and sent Will a thumb’s up emoji. Then I gripped it in my hands so hard my knuckles turned white. “I’m really sorry, Jackson. For everything. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought it was the right thing at the time.”

He was so still at first that I thought he wasn’t even going to respond, but then he turned to me and sighed. “I know, Mom.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I used every bit of willpower I had not to leap up from the couch and wrap my arms around my baby boy. My baby boy who was absolutelynota baby and was long overdue for the meeting that was about to happen. I knew him well enough to know that he needed space, not a hug. But his quiet “I know, Mom”told me he didn’t hate me. We could fix this. Maybe not right away, but that was okay.

Will didn’t reply to my text, but at four o’clock on the dot, a sharp knock sounded at our front door. Jackson and I looked at each other with matching expressions of trepidation.

This is it.

I stood, smoothing the front of my blouse as I moved to the door. With one hand on the knob, I turned to my son. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t hesitate, just nodded once. So I took a deep breath and opened the door.

8

WILL

The door swung open, and Kate stood there, eyes full of worry, next to the kid I’d seen at the grocery store. The same kid whose hair she’d ruffled, the one she’d been laughing with.

My kid.

“Hi. Come in.” Kate backed away, and I nodded in thanks as I stepped inside.

Jackson just stared at me. And though I didn’t know him, I could tell he wasn’t thrilled. Was he mad at me? Was I walking into a time bomb situation, and it was only a matter of minutes before he exploded?

I couldn’t blame him. I’d had my dad around as much as a child could want, and I still had an explosive temper and the innate need to push against any restriction or expectations.

“Hey. I’m Will.” Maybe it was stupid, but I extended a hand.

Jackson took it. Shook once with a decent grip for a teen, and we both let our hands drop away.

“I’m Jackson.”

The moment hung there, fraught with a jumble of emotion and confusion, until Kate interrupted it, thank god. “Why don’t you come sit?”

I followed her into their living room. It had a comfortable couch and chair, a mediocre TV, and a small four-person table in a nook that connected with the kitchen. It hit me then that this place was smaller than the one I’d moved out of months ago—that their Colorado apartment was smaller than my New York one.

And fuck if that didn’t kick me in the gut. Knowing I could’ve been providing for them, taking some stress from Kate, and opening up their options… the shitty reality of loss and regret churned in my stomach.

“So… you’re my dad?” Jackson asked from his seat on the couch.

Instead of a quip about that being what Kate told me, I owned it. I wanted to, and I wished I could’ve sooner. “Yes.”

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