Love Rekindled (Love Surfaced) (7 page)

“Is that your daughter?” The father scoots next to me, and I back up for some personal space.

“Yes,” I answer, hoping that’s the end of our conversation. Doesn’t he know I’m busy ogling my ex’s more mature and developed body?

“That’s my son. It’s my week to have him.”

I smile and nod. “That’s nice.”

“His mom is a real bear.” He looks down at my hand, his eyes lighting up when he notices there’s no ring. “How’s your ex?”

Right in front of you.

I gage Brads smiling face, blowing bubbles in the water to Em. He’s treating her like a porcelain doll.

“He’s not really involved in our lives too much.”

“Oh.” He slides back over to his side.

I’m sorry, is that code for something I don’t know about? But I don’t ask any questions, because he’s gone and I prefer it that way.

Brad’s eyes glance in my direction, and I bite back my smile, hoping he caught the dad interested and maybe he’s jealous a guy was showing me attention.

“You know she’s been taking lessons since she was six months,” I holler over to Brad, and he swims the two of them over to my side of the pool.

“She has?” Shock flutters on his face.

“Yeah. Cami was her teacher first, then Wes, and finally Kevin before you. You can dunk her,” I urge him, but he cringes.

“Maybe next lesson.” His hopeful eyes question mine, asking me if there will be a next time.

“Do it, Brad. She’s great.” I push the issue more.

“Nah. Next time.”

“No, now,” I urge, and he cocks his head at me, probably wondering what I’m trying to do.

“Okay.” He gradually lowers her under the water and pops her back up.

She squeals in delight, and Brad chuckles.

“Again,” Em says, and he obliges.

He looks over to me and smiles. “Thank you.” He nods and the two continue on.

I watch them for the remaining fifteen minutes, trying to concentrate more on Em than Brad, but it’s hard. Every time his eyes find mine, my heart flutters and I’m thrown off my stable axis again. How can he still have this effect on me after all this time?

Another parent comes over, checking the schedule, and I already know it’s Tyler. He’s right after us. Sadness washes over me that our time with Brad is over. Brad will never be ours, what am I saying? Never will he be a constant in our life, and I need to remember that if he sticks around to raise our daughter. Brad has the capacity to leave us high and dry in the middle of the night. He’s not one for commitment.

He swims her over, placing her on the edge of the pool.

“My next appointment is here.” He eyes Tyler and his mom.

“I saw.” I wrap Em’s princess towel around her.

“I’ll see you tonight.” His eyes never leave Em.

“Yep.”

“Bye, Emerson,” he says, holding his hand up for a high five.

She steps forward and hits his hand with hers.

“Bye.”

I pick her up.

“Bye, Brad,” I say, balancing all our bags on my shoulder.

“Bye, Taylor.” His voice quivers.

How is it just as heartbreaking to walk away from him now as it was before?

Brad

I DRIVE MY TRUCK
DOWN
the streets of Roosevelt. I spy Wes’s Camaro parked out front of some tavern in the downtown area. My palms are sweaty and my heart thumps against the wall of my chest. I press on the gas a little harder in my eagerness to get to Taylor’s.

I think I’m still absorbing the fact that I’m a dad. Tonight, I’ll get to the bottom to why Taylor thought it was okay to keep her from me all this time. I’ve missed two years of my daughter’s life. It’s hard not to be angry, but at the same time, a small part of me understands Taylor’s reasoning. I was a different person back then, and I’m not sure what would have happened if she’d told me. That’s considering she would have found me sober and coherent at some point.

My GPS tells me I’ve reached my destination, and I pull along the curb, spotting her beat-up Jetta in the driveway. It’s a small house, but the cute Halloween decorations in the yard show how homey Taylor probably makes the house for the two of them.

I climb out of my truck, shoving my phone in the pocket of my jeans. My footsteps drag because I’m not sure I have the strength to deal with this. Trudging up the asshole I was two years ago isn’t a pleasant thought, but if I want Taylor back, along with a daughter I just discovered, I have to man up and talk this shit out.

My shaky finger reaches for the doorbell, but the door opens before it connects.

Taylor stands there in jeans and a sweater, different than the scrubs she was wearing earlier. Her hair is pulled in a messy ponytail on the top of her head, but her make-up is still flawless. Her rosy lips make me want to kiss her until we’re both desperate for air. She’s perfect and gorgeous as always.

Em squeals from behind her and Taylor opens the screen door.

“Come in,” she says, her hand urging me inside.

“Thanks.” I slip off my boots, and she shuts the door behind us, flicking the lock.

Em is sitting on the floor, playing with some toy that sings over and over again. Taylor walks over and switches a button on the toy, softening the noise. “You’ll thank me later when the song replays over and over in your head.”

“I think I can thank you now.” I stand there, still in shock that my daughter is sitting at my feet.

“Do you want anything to drink?” she yells on her way to what I assume is the kitchen.

Beer is the first thing that comes to mind, but I shouldn’t drink around my daughter, right? “Water would be great,” I answer.

She comes back into the room, her ponytail swinging back and forth. Her face bears no smile. She hands me the water and our fingers brush as it changes hands. Electricity surges between us.

“Come sit.” She ushers me to the couch, and I look at Em and then back to her. “She’s fine. Everything is childproofed here.”

She falls to the couch, tucking one leg under the other.

I mimic her, my eyes watching Emerson. Her face lights up and she giggles each time the toy drops through the hole.

“She likes that one?”

Taylor nods. “She likes all her toys, but that’s her favorite.”

I watch in awe, unable to tear my eyes away from her, searching for myself in her every mannerism. She’s beautiful, just like her mom, the one who’s now staring right at me.

“I don’t want to talk about it with her here,” I say, the words escaping my mouth before I can process them through a filter.

“Okay.” She accepts my wishes. “She’s ready for bed. Do you want to come up with me and read her a bedtime story?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” I stand as she bends down to pick her up. She’s so at ease with her, every muscle probably trained to hold the weight of our daughter. Em whimpers, but Taylor continues on her path.

“Tomorrow, baby girl. Now, it’s sleep time,” she tells our little girl.

I follow them up the stairs and notice no pictures fill the walls. In my house when I was growing up, it was overflowing with pictures of me and Piper. Taylor turns right at the top of the stairs, stepping over a box in front of the door.

“Sorry, I haven’t gotten to clean up here this week,” she excuses a non-existent mess.

Still, no pictures occupy the wall space, and I wonder why there aren’t any personal decorations. Back in college, Taylor had her damn high school tassel hanging from a corkboard filled with pictures of her high school friends. She’d rushed to get our first picture framed, and I hung it on her wall for her. So, now, with a daughter, why would those pictures in frames not adorn every wall for everyone to see?

The white crib sits against the far wall, and “Emerson” is hung in pink letters above it. The whole room is decorated in gray and pink. Taylor stands next to a rocking chair in the corner, holding Em in her arms.

“Go ahead and sit,” she instructs. Once I’m seated, she positions Em on my lap and hands me
Goodnight, Gorilla
. “This is her favorite right now.”

I wonder how many other favorites I’ve missed. I tamp down the anger that wants to rise out of my throat. Taylor isn’t the only one to blame for the awkward position we’re now in.

Emerson rests her head on my chest and her legs splay out on my lap. She stares up at me, waiting for me to start reading, but my voice catches in my throat from the unbelievable feeling of love that’s brimming inside of me.

I start reading the story, and she laughs at the gorilla sneaking the keys, and when I change the voices of the animals, she laughs harder. I close the book and she plucks it out of my hand. “Again,” she says.

I look over to Taylor, who shakes her head in amusement. She gives me the green light to read it another time. So I do. Another three times, actually.

“Okay, Em, it’s time for bed.” Taylor plucks her from my lap, and I miss the weight of her small body on my legs instantly. “Give Brad a hug.” She holds Em out to me and her small arms wrap around my neck loosely. I deny the urge to tighten my hold and never let her go.

I’m in love with a child I met only hours before.

Taylor lays her down and Emerson rolls onto her side, facing the back of the crib quickly. Taylor busies herself turning on a nightlight and some lullabies from the stereo in the corner.

I lean against the wall, watching the mother in Taylor go about a routine she thinks nothing about, I’m sure. It’s amazing that she’s raised her all these years without any help.

“Let’s talk.” She walks down the hall, shuffling a box into a corner. My eyes intently watch her ass as we walk down the stairs. How I loved it when my hands molded to her hips as she rocked back and forth on me.

She sits back down on the couch and switches on a white box; instantly, I hear Emerson’s cooing and her light lullabies through the speaker.

Taylor’s back straightens and she inches closer to the far corner of the couch. “Speak your peace, Brad,” she says—defensively, I might add.

“I get why you did it, but all these years, did you ever think about contacting me?” I ask the question the way I’d practiced on the way over—calm, cool, and collected.

“I did, but I was worried you wouldn’t want this responsibility, or worse, you’d hurt her.” Her consistent honesty is refreshing, and I’m glad she didn’t lose it. Otherwise, we’d be beating around the bush right about now.

“I’m not your father,” I grind out.

“I know, but I also know what it’s like to have a father who despises you.”

Taylor was honest when we’d dated, but she wasn’t an open book. Little things here and there, and I put the puzzle of her childhood together, but I’d get just shy of the final piece, and she’d shut down. Her dad’s an alcoholic, and her mom died when she was young. Her sister would show up on campus occasionally, but never stayed more than one night. The only other thing I knew was that she hated her small town, so imagine my surprise when I found out she came back here after graduation.

“Was it because of Emerson that you came back here?”

Her eyes stare intently at the bottle of water in her hands. “I needed help.”

A sharp pain jabs through my chest.

“I wish you’d have come to me. At least at some point.” I fiddle with my own bottle.

“I am sorry for that, Brad, but you destroyed me that day.”

My eyes remain down, unwilling to see the hurt I assume is flashing from hers.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t forgive me, but, Taylor, I wasn’t me then. I was so upset about the Olympics, I went into this tunnel of depression.”

“Brad—”

“No, Taylor, let me get this out. I don’t even know half the shit I did then. Most of it is a blur. It started with enhancement drugs, and then when I didn’t make it, my dealer gave me some harder stuff when I asked to not be in the present.” I scoot closer, needing to look in her eyes when I apologize. “I understand if you never forgive me for cheating on you.” She winces, but I hold her eyes. “I had to give this a chance, because you are my future. I was positive of it then, and I’m positive of it now.”

“I won’t keep Em from you.” A tear drips down her cheek.

“Taylor, I came here before I even knew Emerson existed. I want both of you,” I beg, but I see in her eyes she’s shutting down. Her lips are shut tight, and she doesn’t believe me.

“It’s not just my heart I’m risking, Brad.” I cradle her head in my hand, thankful she’s letting me touch her. Her skin is warm under my touch. My thumb brushes away the tears dripping down her cheek.

“I know, but I promise you are both in good hands.”

She shakes her head and her eyes once again move to the bottle, but she doesn’t pull away from me. “I wish I could believe you. There was a time I believed in us, but that time is long gone.”

I urge her face back up, so she’s meeting my eyes. “Give me time to prove myself.”

“I don’t know.” The fact she hasn’t moved and my lips are mere inches from hers tells me she still feels our connection.

“One week.”

This grabs her attention.

“All I need is one week to make your feelings for me resurface and prove to you I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can’t promise anything,” she relents, but at the same time, there’s a knock on the door.