Tristan Pierce.
His heart stopped. Slowly he read it again, the truth skittering on his consciousness to finally blast him full force.
Sydney had listed him as the father on Becca’s birth certificate.
She’d never tried to hide him. Anyone could have pulled the document and found out. She’d never lied and put down her ex-husband, though everyone had naturally believed him to be the father.
Dear God, she’d told him the truth. She had been planning to tell him one day. It was right there in black and white.
The papers dropped from his fist. The memory rose up like a tidal wave, gripped him, and threw him over into chaos . . . into the past . . .
He felt her gaze on his back but refused to turn around. Quickly he dressed, ignoring the sick ache in his gut. Lately the urge to run after he made love to her swamped all thoughts of decency. What was happening to him? It was as if he was twisted inside with the need to be with her versus the need for space.
“I thought you were going to stay.”
Her husky words drifted across the room. He stiffened, but pulled on his T-shirt before meeting her gaze. Emerald eyes sparked with confusion and a need that drove the breath from his lungs. That type of need was dangerous. Could he ever truly give her what she wanted from him? Why didn’t she crave more, like he did? Why didn’t she want to run away from Harrington and never look back? And why did she have to tell him she loved him?
The questions caused a flash of resentment to cut through him. “I can’t,” he said shortly. “I have an early day tomorrow. Better to get our sleep.”
Her face reflected a deep hurt that only inflamed him further. “Okay. My grandparents want you to come over for dinner Thursday. I thought that would be nice.”
“I already said I’d meet some friends at the marina Thursday night.”
She blinked. Dragged the covers closer to her naked body, like she realized she needed to hide from him. “Oh. That will be fun. Want me to drop by?”
He saw how much those words cost her to ask, but he shook his head. “You’re not drinking age yet. Remember?”
He’d gotten her into the bar before but didn’t want to go through the hassle this time. He just wanted a quiet night out so he could stop thinking about his mother and the shit storm that made up his family. He needed to get away from the responsibilities strangling him, which now seemed to include Sydney.
Why are you treating her like this?
The voice had hints of his mother, faintly scolding, but he pushed it away. He was so tired of thinking all the time. Was it so wrong to want things to be simple again? To start with a clean slate, alone, with no one to judge or want more from him?
“I’ll tell them we can reschedule,” she said. He noticed her voice wobbled just a bit.
He gave a curt nod. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tristan?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
His gut lurched. His skin burned. The words got stuck in his throat, rising up but dying before they left his mouth. He couldn’t do this right now. He couldn’t handle her need for him when he barely had enough sanity to deal with himself. He couldn’t commit his heart to her when tomorrow was completely out of his control. He’d already lost his mother. His family. Why set himself up to lose her, too? At least this would be on his terms.
“Good night.”
He left her in the bed, skin still warm from his touch, lips still bruised from his kisses, and hated himself.
But not enough to go back.
The memory dissipated like smoke.
He let out an animallike groan. His body trembled at the sudden burst of realization that tore through him.
Had it been easier to see the past from his own viewpoint rather than accept his actions? Over the years, his memories had spun to cast her in the role of betrayer. The role of a liar bent on keeping the truth from him for revenge or selfishness. But maybe it had been so much bigger than that.
Maybe he was also in the wrong.
All those times he’d walked away, knowing he was deliberately hurting her but unable to stop it. The more she opened up her heart to him, the faster he ran. The easier it was to push her away, not wanting any more messy emotions to tear him apart. The night she was going to tell him about Becca, he’d announced his intention to leave for New York. Yes, he’d asked her to come, but had he ever given her any indication he wanted her to come?
No.
Because deep inside, he’d wanted to do it alone. Yes, he’d come back for her months later. But was it because he’d been lonely and aching for someone to love him? Had he been the one who set her up to be the ultimate giver, with him as the taker? What had he ever given to Sydney?
Not his love. Not his trust.
He’d given her great sex. Then expected it to be enough because he was so used to taking what he wanted from her.
His breath choked his lungs, and he stumbled outside, needing air. Opening the door, he walked onto the porch, staring into the sunny summer morning. He’d never loved her the way she truly needed him to. And if she’d told him about the baby, he could’ve destroyed them both.
She was right. He would have burned with resentment and stayed in Harrington. He would’ve taken out his rage and emotional emptiness on his child instead of finding himself and taking the time to heal his wounds. He hadn’t been ready for anything eight years ago but refused to admit it.
He dropped his forehead into his open palms. What was he going to do? He’d pushed her to the breaking point, and there was no other place to go. She wanted to leave him. He needed to take the ultimate risk—for Becca. For Sydney.
For himself.
Raw emotion swirled inside, overtaking him, and he let it all flow through, finally accepting his fate.
He loved Sydney. She was his soul mate. His wife.
His entire life had been a series of steps to bring him to this moment. To her. His stupid fear and need to control almost ripped his future from his grasp. Somehow, he needed to try to make things right. Make her see how badly he needed her. Trusted her. Loved her.
It was time to give her everything he had and see if it was enough.
In a daze, he pulled out his phone and called his brothers.
“Mama, there’s Morgan!”
Sydney paused from settling her daughter into her booster seat and cocked her head. Her friend walked over to the car, dressed in her usual polished white suit with kitten heels. “What are you doing here? Looking for ballet lessons?”
Morgan gave her a hug, then popped her head in the back to talk to Becca. “Hey, darlin’. I’ve come to ask if Uncle Cal and I can take you to the aquarium today.”
“Yes! Oh, yes, Mama, please? Can I go? Please? The last time I got to pet a real stingray, but he didn’t bite, and I want to do it again!”
“Raven and I thought we’d have an old-fashioned sleepover with Becca,” Morgan continued. “Some girly DVDs. Popcorn. Painting our nails. Would it be okay if she slept over?”