That One Day (That One #1.5) (13 page)

Three hours and many games later, Dave finally calls it a night.

“Man, I’m wiped. Too much food and too much beer,” he says while we walk upstairs. His parents must have already gone to bed; everything is dark and quiet. I stop at the door to the room I sleep in.

“Yeah, definitely too much,” I say with more than just the food and beer in mind.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll handle it.” He laughs. “The beer and the food, I mean.” He disappears into his room and leaves me standing in the hallway. My hand is already on the doorknob to my room before I turn and walk to Frankie’s. I can’t wait any longer. I need to know. I need to hear it from her.

I open the door quietly in case she’s sleeping, but as soon as I poke my head inside, I notice her nestled in the window nook of her room. She doesn’t turn in my direction, doesn’t acknowledge me. Yet, I see her body tense. She runs the back of her hands over her face in one swift motion, but I notice. Her cheeks glisten in the moonlight, and I realize she’s been crying. My first instinct is to go over and scoop her up in my arms, but I hesitate. After everything I learned today, I know even less where we stand than I did when I first got here.

I walk closer until I stand next to her, looking out the window. Sandalwood and jasmine—her smell is everywhere. It’s subtle, but always surrounds her.

There are only inches between us, but it feels like we’re miles apart. She doesn’t look at me, just keeps staring out the window.

“Frankie, we really need to talk,” I whisper so I don’t wake Archer, or alert her parents or Dave to my presence in her bedroom.

“Yeah, we do.” Her voice sounds weak and feeble, nothing like the Frankie I remember. A feeling starts to stir in my gut—the familiar guilt I’ve felt before. Only now, it’s much stronger. I try to push it away, hoping it wasn’t me who has done this to her. At the same time, hoping it wasn’t anyone else.

“Is he mine? Is Archer my son?” Yes, I know this is an asshole question. I can’t help it though. I think about my dad—the fact that my mom cheated on him despite being married. There would have been nothing to stop Frankie from sleeping with someone else after I left. She didn’t owe me anything. I need to hear it from her. I need her to confirm it; to quiet the questions in my head.

What I don’t expect is her reaction. She sits up and looks at me; even in the dark I see her eyes blazing.

“Despite the general consensus of me being a woman with loose morals, I can guarantee you that he is indeed your son,” she hisses, her words dripping with anger.

Fuck. I can’t believe it. It’s true. It really is true. I have a son. I’m a father. For a moment the room spins, and I feel like I need to sit down. This doesn’t make any sense.

“That’s…I mean…I didn’t. But how?”

“Do you want a fucking biology lesson? We didn’t use a condom. I wasn’t on the pill.”

She’s whisper-screaming at me, her anger tangible in her tone and every word she says.

I don’t know what to say, how to react. The news doesn’t compute. I’m caught in a tornado of thoughts and feelings.

Last time I felt like someone knocked me off my feet was when I got the letter from Tucson, then again when my dad told me the truth. This…it’s way worse. It’s not something others have done to me. I have only myself to blame. I let her down. I let my son down. I wasn’t there for either of them.

“Fuck, Frankie. It was one night. I…I never thought…” I start, but it comes out all wrong. My brain and my mouth aren’t collaborating. If they were, I’d be able to tell her I never thought, never considered, this would happen. If I’d had the slightest idea, I would have never left her. Obviously, it’s not what my words convey to her.

“Well, Ben,” she spits out. “Neither your sperm nor my eggs seem to have gotten the memo that as long as it is just once, they should stay the fuck away from each other.”

I’m trying to come up with something to say. Something to ease her pain and dispel her anger. But I’m overwhelmed. How many emotions can someone feel before they fucking explode or crumble? Because, I might be close to either. Fear, guilt, shame, and pain are all washing over me, making my head swim. But there are also feelings I didn’t expect…hope, excitement, and yes, even happiness. I have a son. No matter how shitty things have been so far, I have a son and he needs me. It gives me the kind of purpose I haven’t felt in eighteen months.

“What do we do now?” I ask, trying to tame the storm of emotions inside of me and do the right thing—for her and for Archer.

She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Listen, I don’t have any expectations toward you. Not anymore. Even I learn from my mistakes.”

She might as well have punched me in the gut. She hates me, doesn’t trust me, and she has every right to feel that way. But damn, it hurts. It doesn’t get any better when she continues.

“If you want to be a part of Archer’s life, I won’t stop you. He deserves to grow up with a father and you have a right to know your son, to be there for him. But you can rest assured…” She gives me a pointed look, her voice full of conviction. “…if you fucking desert him, if you pull a vanishing act again, I will find you and cut your balls off. And you will never see your son again. He deserves the world. If you are not willing, or capable of giving him that, walk away now. If you decide to stay in his life, you better be in it for the long haul.”

I’m not sure if she’s done or if she has more to say. But when Archer suddenly starts to whimper, she gets up and walks over to him, my presence momentarily forgotten. It gives me time to take a deep breath to steady my nerves. This is not going well.

I watch her as she bends over Archer. Her voice is full of love and affection when she tells him she loves him while stroking his head. She probably doesn’t want me close, but I’m drawn to the crib, drawn to my son. I stand there looking at him, my heart nearly exploding. I didn’t know I could feel so much so quickly. I never knew this kind of feeling even existed. I don’t know Archer, haven’t even held him yet, but it’s clear as day that I love him. All it took was one look.

“He’s so beautiful. And so tiny. I want to try it. I want to be there for him. I…I want to try and be a good father. I…” I pause, questioning if I should say more. Tell her that I want to be there for him. That I hope I won’t lose my mind like my dad did. But that surely would go down well.

But I don’t need to worry about it because she speaks up, her voice strong and unwavering, her eyes narrowed and boring into me.

“Don’t try.
Be
a good father. Like I said, there will be no second chances. I will not let you break his heart.” She might not say it out loud, but by the hurt and anger I’ve seen in her eyes since I arrived, the way she was going out of her way to not deal with me, I know I broke her heart. I was expecting her to be angry at me for leaving, to be pissed off, but I didn’t expect the pain pouring out of her every cell.

“Frankie, listen, I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

She doesn’t let me finish.

“Don’t. Just don’t, Ben.”

“But I want to…” I try again, the need to lessen the pain I’ve caused burning through my veins. I want to apologize, to explain, but she doesn’t give me a chance.

“Right now I really don’t care what you want. I don’t care why you left. I don’t care why you thought it’d be enough to leave me a one-word note. I just don’t have it in me tonight. I don’t have it in me to care. Okay?” Her matter-of-fact attitude is betrayed by the shakiness of her voice. Her bottom lip trembles and it takes everything in me not to hug her. After a moment she sighs.

“Listen, Ben. It’s all a bit much right now. I didn’t expect to see you here. I honestly didn’t know if I would ever see you again. Can we talk tomorrow? Please.”

I don’t want to leave her room, don’t want to leave her or Archer, but she needs space and I need to wrap my head around this.

“Can I touch him?” I ask, not wanting to part for the night without getting closer to my son.

“Yeah, go ahead. He doesn’t bite…yet. Just be gentle so he doesn’t wake up.” She smiles at me. It’s hesitant and small, but it’s the first smile she’s given me since she arrived.

I lean down and stroke Archer’s hand, careful not to wake him. His hand is balled up into a fist, like a boxer ready for a fight. It’s adorable. Hell, I never thought I’d think of a baby as adorable, but he is. While I stroke over his hand, he suddenly opens his fist and grabs my finger, holding on to it. Right here and now, I’m a goner. This little guy has me wrapped around his finger already. I’m a father—his father. This beautiful, little boy is my son. And he needs me. My eyes burn with tears. Jesus, I would’ve never believed this possible if someone told me two years ago. But this moment is so huge, I don’t care if I look like a pussy. I wipe the tears away when Frankie’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Why don’t we go to the park tomorrow after breakfast? We can talk without anyone interrupting us, and you can spend some time with him.”

There’s a lot we have to talk about—figure out. Things are complicated, and I don’t expect her to welcome me into her life with open arms. It’s going to be an uphill battle to win her trust back.

I nod while loosening Archer’s hand from around my finger, the loss hitting me like a freight train. I’m totally done for.

Before I leave her room, I need to tell her at least one thing before she can interrupt me again. One thing that she needs to know.

“I won’t hurt him, I promise. And I won’t hurt you again, either.”

And I mean every word of it. I’d lay down my life before I would hurt either of them.

Back in my room, I lie in bed, no sleep in sight. I realize there isn’t even a little bit of doubt in me. I love Frankie. I have for years. It was never just infatuation or attraction. It was always more than that. I want to make her mine. I want her
and
Archer in my life.

I don’t sleep at all. Nervousness and excitement keep me from getting some shut-eye. I went from planning to chase down the girl I left behind to being a father in the blink of an eye. I’m still planning to win Frankie back. Now even more than before. But there is more at stake, and things are even more complicated than I could have ever imagined.

I fucked up. I had my reasons, but it doesn’t change the fact that she probably wants to gut me. So instead of sleeping, I’m trying to figure out what I need to do, what should happen next. What I can do to prove to her I’m worthy of her and of Archer.

If my family life weren’t so fucked-up, I could ask either one of my parents for advice, but as it stands I’m on my own with this. Hell would freeze over before I’d talk to my mom, and well, my dad is too far removed from reality to really be of much help.

***

I’m already in the kitchen, dressed and ready to go, when she appears with Archer. One look at him and the air is knocked out of my lungs. The realization that I’m a father hits me yet again.

Archer is bundled up in her arms, looking all snug and comfortable. Frankie is also dressed for the cold weather, barely any part of her visible under the black baggy beanie she’s wearing and the huge scarf, which could probably double as a blanket. She looks fucking adorable. She’d kill me if I called her that.

It takes everything in me not to walk up to her, take her in my arms, and kiss her silly. But I’m not keen on being the victim of a homicide, and the apprehensive look she’s giving me, like she wants to be anywhere but here, is helping me cool my heels.

We don’t talk on the ride to the park and it’s awkward as hell. I tap my foot, staring out the window trying to think of a way to ease the situation, to lighten the mood.

All my life I have never been at a loss for words. Hell, I could charm my way out of any sticky situation. I could’ve run over someone’s cat and they probably would have invited me for milk and cookies.

And here I sit with the person I’ve known all my life, and I have no idea what to say to make things better. Occasionally, I glance at her and being the bastard I am, I’m relieved she seems to find this just as difficult. She’s biting her nails, something she always does when she’s anxious. From time to time, her breathing gets choppy, betraying how the situation affects her. It’s so unlike Frankie, and I know this has been my doing. I need to make it right somehow.

Once at the park, we take the path by the waterfront. The place is familiar, yet everything feels foreign and strange right now. I watch Frankie push the stroller while Archer is looking around the park, his eyes wide with excitement.

Looking at his happy face, I want to be included in this moment. I don’t want to feel like an outsider, only silently walking next to them.

I point to the stroller. “Can I?”

She lets me take over, hesitating for a moment before she lets go.

If someone saw us right now, they’d think we’re a young family going for a walk, happily spending time together. They’d have no idea what’s really going on.

After another moment of silence, Frankie speaks up.

“We wanted to talk so I suppose we should maybe, well, talk?”

Although her statement isn’t all that funny, it still makes me chuckle and somehow lightens the mood. Frankie used to breathe and live sarcasm, and it’s good to know not all her bite has disappeared.

“Yeah, I guess we should start somewhere, huh? I just wish it were easier. Between us, you know.” I smile, trying to keep the mood light to make her see I don’t want things to be awkward; I don’t want her to hurt. But my words seem to have the opposite effect.

“Well, we don’t always get what we want, do we?” Her voice is hard as she spits out the words.

So this is how it’s going to be—everything I say or do will be used against me.

I understand she’s hurt and angry. I deserve it. And maybe she needs to get it out of her system for us to be able to talk. But it doesn’t make things any easier.

“Frankie…” I start, but don’t know what to say without making things worse. So I decide to maybe ease us into the conversation. “When’s his birthday?”

“February twentieth. Just before midnight.” I don’t think she notices, but her features soften when she speaks about Archer, about our son.

“What’s he like? I mean, is he a happy baby?”

When she replies, she’s beaming and I’d be a fucking liar if I said it doesn’t tug at my heart to see her love for Archer written all over her pretty face.

“Yeah, most of the time. He’s amazing. I know most moms would say that, but he really is. He isn’t fussy and usually smiles and laughs a lot. It’s impossible to resist his charm.”

I smile, enjoying the easiness of the conversation. But when I think of her having to raise Archer alone, guilt consumes me. “And do you have everything you need? Does he?”

“Yeah, we’re both fine. We have all we need back in Northampton. Between my friends and roommates, Archer is growing up around people who love him to pieces.”

Her words put me at ease, but at the same time I’m jealous. Others have spent time with my son, watched him grow up, while I missed it all. I’ve got no one to blame but me. Although my mother does come to mind. Without her lies, without her betrayal, things might have gone differently.

Now, it’s up to me though. I want to be there for Frankie and for our son. I want to be part of their life.

An image of my dad comes to mind, and I wonder if I’ll go down the same road. I’ve only been back for a bit over a day, known about Archer for even less, and I’m jealous of everyone who has spent time with him. I don’t know if this is normal. Or, if my dad and I have more in common than I’d like—getting attached too quickly and too strongly.

I try to be as honest as I can when I say, “I really want to be there for you and Archer. I don’t know how good I am at that.”

“Well, neither did I. It’s not something you can really prepare for. It’s not always easy. Unfortunately, they don’t come with an instruction manual.” For once there is no venom in her words. She’s trying to reassure me, but it doesn’t take away the uneasy feeling in my stomach. Too much is at stake here for me to take it lightly. That’s why the next words tumble out before I can stop them.

“What if I fail at this? I doubt I’m good enough to be in his life, or in yours. I wasn’t there when either of you needed me. I guess I couldn’t blame you if you hated me.” God, do I hope she doesn’t. Or at least, not indefinitely.

“Being a parent takes some adjusting and learning. You don’t just wake up one morning and know what you’re doing. It’s a lot of trial and error—and learning from mistakes. It’s something you grow into,” she explains, sounding calm and full of conviction, her voice fierce, “but being a good parent means that whatever problems are between us, they can’t affect Archer. It’s not his fault, and he shouldn’t be the one to pay the price for our issues.”

I let her words sink in, relief washing over me. Despite last night’s conversation, I wasn’t convinced she’d let me be part of Archer’s life. Not after everything.

“You’re right. I would understand if you never wanted to see me again, and I’m thankful you aren’t keeping me from Archer.”

I look at her from the corner of my eye. She appears so calm and sure of everything. Unlike her, I’m fucking overwhelmed, barely knowing left from right. I run a hand over my face, trying to calm the onslaught of emotions. “This…fuck…it’s a lot to take in. I didn’t know what to expect when I came here to see you again, but having a son…hell…definitely didn’t expect that.”

I didn’t mean any harm with my statement, just trying to express how crazy this whole situation is, but I stepped into a hornet’s nest judging by her reaction.

“Well, you know…if you would have called, or written, or sent some smoke signals in the eighteen months you were gone, you might have found out earlier. Even better, if you wouldn’t have just taken off without a word…” Her voice is shaky, the earlier confidence and conviction replaced by anger and hurt. “Oh no, wait. There was one damn word. One word I would love to shove up your ass until you choke on it.”

I didn’t expect her to go off on me like this. Since she got here, she’s been reserved around me, distant, not letting me in on how she was feeling. I guess it had to come out eventually, and it makes me feel even more like a worthless bastard. I wish I could tell her why I’d left, explain I never meant to hurt her. But there’s no way to do that without telling her everything, and it’s not something I can do. I still want to say something, anything to make her see I never wanted to leave her. That leaving her behind is not something I’m proud of.

“I fucked up, and I’m sorry, Frankie. I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have slept with you that night…”

The words have barely left my mouth when she leans back, away from me, her face twisting with agony before she unleashes her fury on me.

“Fuck you, Ben. Seriously, go fuck yourself. You think sleeping with me was a mistake? Then why don’t you get lost again. Because let me tell you
—
no matter how shitty I felt thinking about how it ended, I never thought of it as a mistake. Not for one moment. And what you refer to as a mistake has produced this beautiful, little boy.” She’s screaming at me, her body shaking with anger and emotion, while she’s pointing furiously at Archer. “And if you for just one second think of him, or refer to him, as a mistake, I promise you this will be the last time you see either of us ever again.”

I’ve stopped walking and just stare at her. Her breathing is labored, her chest heaving. Her hands are balled into fists at her side and her face is a darker shade of red. The part of me that is governed by my dick thinks she’s absolutely beautiful when she’s mad. The other part of me, the one that’s trying to keep up with the situation, starts to get angry. No matter what I say, it’s the wrong thing. I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying here. I might have left, I might have put her in the role of a single parent, but she slept with me willingly.

While I try to not get carried away, she calms Archer who must’ve been startled by her yelling. I watch them while she consoles our son and reassures him before placing him back in the stroller.

When we start walking again, she stares off into the distance, lightly shaking her head. Her frustration and fury are tangible as we make our way down the path.

I need to make her understand that this isn’t just hard on her, and I might need a fucking moment to get used to the situation. She had nine months to come to terms with it. I haven’t even had twenty-four hours.

“Frankie, fuck, do you think this is easy for me? To find out I have a son?” Irritation and guilt make my voice harder than necessary. “My whole world just turned upside down.”

I take a moment to calm myself down, tilting my head back, trying to relieve the tension in my neck before I continue. “I would never say he’s a mistake. He’s probably the only good thing I have, or will ever, accomplish in my life. Sleeping with you…I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I was dealing with some bullshit that night, and I should have never used you to help me forget about it all.”

I look at her and her eyes are wide, the question evident in them. Fuck, did I mess things up so bad she thinks it was nothing more than a fuck? Have I really managed to destroy all the self-confidence she always had?

“It doesn’t mean I didn’t want to sleep with you before that, or many times after that, but that night—I wish it wouldn’t have happened like that. I said it before—you and Archer deserve better.”

She doesn’t show any reaction to my statement, but I notice the tension in her posture leave her body, the lines on her face become less pronounced.

“Well, even if that were the case
—
that ship has sailed, hasn’t it? You are his dad. You just have to be as good as you can be. There’s no point in questioning yourself.”

She has no idea how much truth was in my words. I can’t stop thinking I’ll end up like my father, driven insane by my love for her, for Archer. Fuck, I only just met him and I already love him. That can’t be fucking normal.

“Easier said than done. You don’t really know me.”

“Bullshit, Ben. I’ve known you all my life
—
minus the last eighteen months.” She’s quiet for a moment, but the silence is heavy—the quiet before the storm. Not that our talk so far has been a walk in the park.

We come to a stop at a playground and I watch Frankie place Archer in a swing. “Ben?” I look up and our eyes meet. Having my attention, she continues. “Why did you leave that night? And where have you been for the past eighteen months?”

She deserves an answer, but I can’t give her the full truth. I can’t explain to her what happened, how everything got fucked up that one day. There is no way I can tell her about my dad, about his issues, or about my fears.

“I left because I was fucked-up, Frankie. I wasn’t anyone you should have been around. I had to deal with some shit I didn’t want to deal with. It was dragging me down, and I wasn’t going to drag you with me. I left because there was no way in hell I would have been capable of dealing with all the emotions
—
your feelings, your family’s feelings, and most of all—my own feelings. I had to deal with the bullshit in my life, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m still not sure I have figured things out.” It’s as much as I’m willing to give her. As much as I can give her.