told him the whole story, starting with the first letter I received. As I spoke, the expression on his face kept growing darker. When I finally stopped, he was silent for nearly a whole minute.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I looked down at my hands. “Because I kept calling you for everything. It wasn’t a big deal for Mitchell to come.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.” The words were mild, but I could hear the edge to them.
“I know.”
“Then why.” He reached out and cupped my chin, turning my head so I had to look at him. “Why wouldn’t you call me or at least tell me about what happened? We were together all night and you never once thought to bring this up? I told you I wanted to take care of you.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Because I felt like asking you to stay here for an unknown amount of time would be moving too fast and I didn’t want to scare you off.”
“Shae, you could never do that,” he said sincerely.
“That was only part of it,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I also didn’t want you to feel like I only came to you when I needed something.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “That’s why you were so upset about what I said after dinner.”
I nodded.
He took my hand and squeezed it. “Well, now that I know, what can I do to help?”
I squeezed his hand back and some of the tension went out of me. He was here. He was going to help me, even if it was only by sitting by my side. Before I could think of anything that I needed him to do, a car pulled up the driveway.
We stood and watched as it parked and the driver’s side door opened. A tiny woman got out and started walking towards us.
“Shit,” Jasper breathed. “Aime.”
I didn’t need him to tell me her name again. She didn’t look much different than she did in the photo. What was different, however, was the little girl behind her. Tiny, with light brown curls and dark eyes, she looked a lot like Aime.
My blood turned to ice. I knew what she was going to say, but I stayed where I was and let her finish coming to me.
“Shae Lockwood?” Aime stopped a few feet away from me.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “Aime Vargas?”
Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, then flicked to Jasper. She recognized him, I was sure of it, but she didn’t say a word to him. Instead, she focused all of her attention on me.
“I’m Aime.” She reached behind her and pulled the girl up beside her. “This is Jenny. She’s Allen’s daughter and we’re here for what’s hers.”
Chapter 8
For the first couple weeks after Allen had died, there were times when it had all felt so surreal that I thought I could convince myself that it was all just a bad dream. A few times I’d even had dreams that none of this had happened, that Allen hadn’t died right in front of me. That we were still married, had a family.
This was another one of those moments.
It had to be a dream. A nightmare, actually.
There was no way I could be standing here, next to my dead husband’s best friend who I was now dating, listening to said late husband’s ex-girlfriend say that he had a daughter.
Allen didn’t have kids.
We’d wanted kids and had planned to start trying just before he’d died. Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought we were trying to do. Then I’d gotten the letter letting me know he’d been so sick. Why had he led me to believe we could have children together when he knew we never would?
Or that he already had a kid.
A daughter.
One with big dark eyes and light brown curls.
One who was standing behind her mother and looking for all the world like she didn’t want to be there.
It was the look on the girl’s face more than anything that broke me out of the strange trance that the words had put me under.
“What?”
My response was far from elegant or even particularly unique or insightful, but it was a question at least.
Aime smirked at me and the surreal feeling disappeared under annoyance. Even if she
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I looked down at my hands. “Because I kept calling you for everything. It wasn’t a big deal for Mitchell to come.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.” The words were mild, but I could hear the edge to them.
“I know.”
“Then why.” He reached out and cupped my chin, turning my head so I had to look at him. “Why wouldn’t you call me or at least tell me about what happened? We were together all night and you never once thought to bring this up? I told you I wanted to take care of you.”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “Because I felt like asking you to stay here for an unknown amount of time would be moving too fast and I didn’t want to scare you off.”
“Shae, you could never do that,” he said sincerely.
“That was only part of it,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I also didn’t want you to feel like I only came to you when I needed something.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “That’s why you were so upset about what I said after dinner.”
I nodded.
He took my hand and squeezed it. “Well, now that I know, what can I do to help?”
I squeezed his hand back and some of the tension went out of me. He was here. He was going to help me, even if it was only by sitting by my side. Before I could think of anything that I needed him to do, a car pulled up the driveway.
We stood and watched as it parked and the driver’s side door opened. A tiny woman got out and started walking towards us.
“Shit,” Jasper breathed. “Aime.”
I didn’t need him to tell me her name again. She didn’t look much different than she did in the photo. What was different, however, was the little girl behind her. Tiny, with light brown curls and dark eyes, she looked a lot like Aime.
My blood turned to ice. I knew what she was going to say, but I stayed where I was and let her finish coming to me.
“Shae Lockwood?” Aime stopped a few feet away from me.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “Aime Vargas?”
Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, then flicked to Jasper. She recognized him, I was sure of it, but she didn’t say a word to him. Instead, she focused all of her attention on me.
“I’m Aime.” She reached behind her and pulled the girl up beside her. “This is Jenny. She’s Allen’s daughter and we’re here for what’s hers.”
Chapter 8
For the first couple weeks after Allen had died, there were times when it had all felt so surreal that I thought I could convince myself that it was all just a bad dream. A few times I’d even had dreams that none of this had happened, that Allen hadn’t died right in front of me. That we were still married, had a family.
This was another one of those moments.
It had to be a dream. A nightmare, actually.
There was no way I could be standing here, next to my dead husband’s best friend who I was now dating, listening to said late husband’s ex-girlfriend say that he had a daughter.
Allen didn’t have kids.
We’d wanted kids and had planned to start trying just before he’d died. Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought we were trying to do. Then I’d gotten the letter letting me know he’d been so sick. Why had he led me to believe we could have children together when he knew we never would?
Or that he already had a kid.
A daughter.
One with big dark eyes and light brown curls.
One who was standing behind her mother and looking for all the world like she didn’t want to be there.
It was the look on the girl’s face more than anything that broke me out of the strange trance that the words had put me under.
“What?”
My response was far from elegant or even particularly unique or insightful, but it was a question at least.
Aime smirked at me and the surreal feeling disappeared under annoyance. Even if she
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