Page 10 of Needing You

Ellie must have told them I was coming because it was Will himself who answered the door. He barely spared me a glance before stepping out, closing the door behind him, and brushing by me to pace the front porch.

Even the ghost of a touch of his arm against mine felt like a blow, and I blinked, watching him carefully. When he didn’t say anything, just kept pacing with his hands repeatedly snaking through his raven-black hair, I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

He stopped with his back to me, the black T-shirt he wore stretching tightly across his broad shoulders. His posture was rigid, like he was trying to decide if he wanted to bolt.

Finally, he turned. I tried not to appreciate the way he held himself. He was all sleek muscle and untamed pride, even more so now than when he was the cocky teenager I once loved. I tried not to stare at his strong jaw and high cheekbones or think about what a truly beautiful man he’d grown up to be.

And most of all, I pretended not to notice how his deep-brown eyes still had the power to ensnare me, even after all these years.

“Tell me about him,” he demanded without preamble.

I swallowed, surprised. “Um. Okay. Would you like to sit?”

I gestured to the wicker furniture on the porch, but he shook his head impatiently. With a sigh, I crossed to a loveseat with its burnt-orange cushion and yellow throw pillows and slowly lowered myself onto it. He moved to the rail and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his wide chest as he stared down at me expectantly.

“So,” I started, setting my purse down on the seat next to me, “what would you like to know?”

“His name is Jackson?”

“Yes.”

He nodded once. “Jackson what?”

My tongue felt heavy as I fought to get the words out. “Jackson William Preston.”

Will’s head fell backward, and he stared at the ceiling of the porch. He didn’t make eye contact with me as he said, “So heismine.”

“Yes.” I kept my voice even, even though I wanted to scream it.

I couldn’t blame him for wanting to confirm it, though. For all he knew, I’d cheated on him and had been too ashamed to tell him. Or this was all a big, awkward misunderstanding, and I’d gotten pregnant right after I left instead of right before. I wondered if either of those outcomes would have been easier to accept than the truth.

“What’s he into?” Will asked.

“Football in the fall, track in the spring. He’s very fast. His coach told him he’d likely make varsity even though he’s only a sophomore.”

Will made a low grunting noise and tugged his lips over to one side. Was that a smile he was trying to conceal? I’d imagined this conversation many times, but Will starting out by asking me about Jackson’s hobbies and then actually looking pleased to hear about his success on the field hadn’t crossed my mind as a possibility.

I’d thought there’d be rage. Sadness. Betrayal. Demands to know more about why I didn’t tell him. I’d pictured myself trying to explain everything in some way that didn’t put all of the blame on him, even though it was his actions that caused me to make my choices. But at the end of the day, they weremychoices, so I knew I’d need to apologize.

“Will,” I said gently, waiting for him to look at me before continuing, “when I found out—”

“No,” he practically growled, pushing off from the rail. His eyes were fierce, and his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. “I don’t wanna hear about that yet. The only thing I need to know right now iswho he is. I can’t hear the rest yet.”

Inner torment was all too visible on his handsome face, and something inside me cracked knowing I was the one who caused it. Yes, I’d had my reasons at the time. But the very fact that he stood here more concerned with hearing about his son than what led up to this moment had me aching for him.

“Tell me everything,” he all but pleaded, leaning back against the rail.

Immediately, I rambled facts and tidbits about our son like it was the last thing I’d ever do. I told him about Jackson’s first day of kindergarten, and how he’d told his teacher he’d be the best student she’d ever have. Then on the last day, he’d asked her if he was. She said yes, of course.

I told him about his first crush—his twenty-two-year-old babysitter—who’d broken his fragile ten-year-old heart when she got married instead of waiting for him to grow up.

I detailed his awkward preteen phase and then how he’d blossomed in eighth grade, becoming one of the popular kids thanks to his growth spurt and lack of acne.

Small, genuine smiles broke through every now and then, but by the time I made it all the way to the present and spoke again about how well his football season was going, Will’s jaw was clenched so tightly I thought he might break it. And most jarringly, his throat bobbed with the effort of holding back the unmistakable wetness in his eyes.

It was all so much.Toomuch. What had I done?

But no. I couldn’t let myself go down the road of regret right now. Today was about moving forward. What was done was done. And if I could go back to that night in New York—when I’d had to cover Jackson’s eyes, so he didn’t see his father groping one woman while he took a body shot off another—I’d have made the same choice. That version of Will had a lot of growing up to do.

---