That One Day (That One #1.5) (14 page)

Her mouth opens and closes and I know she has more questions, but Archer starts giggling on the swing, enjoying the pushes she gives him and claiming her attention. He’s so fucking cute. Yeah, I just said that word in my head. Cute. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Can I?” I ask, pointing at the swing and taking her place when she steps aside. For a moment, Archer gives me a
who the fuck are you
look, but after the first couple pushes, he doesn’t seem to mind me taking over from Frankie. There’s a weird ache in my chest, realizing I’m a stranger to my own son.

Another thing my father and I have in common. At least Archer didn’t have to wait twenty-five years to meet me.

Frankie isn’t satisfied with my answer. I should’ve seen it coming. She’s like a bulldozer when it comes to getting answers, always has been. That’s why Dave never got away with playing pranks on her. She’d get him to confess whatever he’s done and then some.

“What truth? What bullshit are you talking about? I don’t know what could have caused you to lose your footing like that?” she inquires.

I can’t tell her where I’ve been, why I’ve been gone. What am I supposed to say?
I found out Ron isn’t my real father and I went to find my dad. Turns out, he’s crazy and has spent most of his grown-up life locked away in a mental hospital. By the way, aren’t you glad I’m Archer’s father? Won’t it be fun if I end up like my dad—driven insane by my love for you or our son?

What if she doesn’t want me around after that? What if she will be too worried about Archer? What if she thinks I’m like my dad? I can’t risk that. I can’t lose her or Archer.

“There are things you don’t know. It doesn’t matter.” I shrug, turning back to my son, not ready to see the disappointment in her eyes.

"It matters to me. But I guess that still isn’t the thing that actually matters.” Her voice breaks, and I know I just managed to hurt her again. There is nothing to take away the sting she’s feeling, to make her believe that she matters without possibly scaring her away.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Not now. It’s all so much to deal with—seeing you again, meeting Archer.”

“You think it’s just a lot for you? Really? I’m trying to figure out why you left, why you’re suddenly back, and if that bullshit you’re talking about will have an effect on my son,” she says, sending off angry vibes and I get it. I get it’s hard for her. But her words were a low blow. ‘Her son.’ Dammit, I might only have been in his life for less than two days, but he’s my son, too. My flesh and blood.

“You mean
our
son, Frankie. Not just yours,” I say, making sure my tone and words enlighten her to the fact that despite all my understanding for her, I have a limit. Wanting to explain to her that I came back for her, only for her, I start to speak, but Archer’s sudden squeal followed by giggles catches our attention, making everything else insignificant for the moment.

***

Forty-five minutes later, we arrive at Bec’s Diner. We decided to have breakfast without her parents and Dave. I hope we’ll manage to spend an hour together without being at each other’s throats.

I get out of the car, and deciding actions speak louder than words, I get Archer out of his seat. Frankie needs to see that while I might be overwhelmed, I still put Archer first, just like she said.

“Come to Daddy,” I whisper into my son’s ear. This word coming out of my mouth sounds weird and foreign, but at the same time, fucking exciting.

Archer looks up at me, his eyes bright and happy. Then he attempts to grab my nose with his little, pudgy fingers. “Dada.”

This single word nearly brings me to my fucking knees. My throat closes up, and I have a hard time swallowing down my emotions. My son called me
Dada
. Hell, I didn’t know I could feel anything like this. I try to blink the tears away that have come out of nowhere. Since I got here, I’ve been at the verge of tears more than a teenage girl at a boyband concert. But looking at Archer, I don’t even care.

We take a seat in a booth in the corner farthest from the door. I’m still holding Archer in my arms, watching him play with the zipper of my jacket. When the waitress takes our orders, Frankie asks her to heat up a bottle for Archer.

“Do you want to feed him?”

Sure I want to feed him, but until today I’ve never really held a baby, let alone fed one. I don’t want to do anything wrong, don’t want to hurt or harm Archer.

Frankie must notice my hesitation. “It isn’t as hard as you think. Trust me, he’ll show you how to do it.”

She hands me the bottle the waitress brought back and as soon as Archer notices it, he goes for it, purposefully guiding it to his mouth. He starts drinking as if he’s been starved for days. No doubt about it, he definitely has his mother’s appetite.

Curiosity gets the best of me when I ask, “So you don’t breastfeed him?”

I’m surprised to see Frankie blush. It’s barely there, but I notice the color staining her normally pale skin.

“I do as long as he wants it and doesn’t get teeth. But I don’t really always feel like whipping my boob out in public,” she says laughing and I join her, giving up the struggle to not let my eyes wander down to her rack. She’s always had a great one, but now—just the sight of them makes my mouth water. Yes, I’m officially a pervert. They are my son’s food source, and I can’t keep myself from imagining all the things I would do if I got my hands on them. Suddenly, I’m really relieved she doesn’t whip them out in public. Guys would go fucking nuts and then I’d have to kill every single one of them.

Once the bottle is empty, Archer falls asleep, snuggled up in my arms. When Frankie suggests getting the stroller so I can lay him down, I decline. I’d rather eat one-handed or not at all, if it means I can hold my son, who instinctively seems to trust me enough to fall asleep in my arms.

While I look at Archer, I wonder again why Frankie’s family doesn’t know. I’ve been asking myself this since I arrived, even before I knew I’m his father. It doesn’t make sense, especially considering they treat her like shit for not telling them. I don’t get why she wouldn’t have told them from the start.

“How come your parents don’t know I’m the father?” I eye her curiously. She seems surprised by my question, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she finally answers.

“I didn’t want to tell them before you knew. You had a right to know first and to be able to decide what role you want to play in our…I mean in Archer’s life. And I knew they would be disappointed that you left—even if you didn’t know about Archer. I just…” She stops talking mid-sentence, but she doesn’t need to say anything more as the truth dawns on me. She was trying to fucking protect me. She’s been doing this for me. I can’t stop myself from saying this out loud, the asshole in me curious to what her reaction will be.

“So you’ve been catching a lot of flak from them because you wanted to protect me and allow me to make my own decision without any pressure?” I stare at her, watching her bite her lip and look to the side in an attempt to not meet my eyes before she exhales slowly.

“I don’t know to be honest. I guess.”

Not sure what that says about me, but I want to do a fucking victory dance. No matter how mad she is at me or how hurt, she still cares. It’s obvious. And it’s all I need for now. It means I have a chance to get her back.

“Besides Ben, I was trying to deal with my own emotions; I didn’t need anyone giving commentary or advice on it. I had to get my head straight. I don’t know…it just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” I say, meaning it, “but we should tell them. From what I can tell, they are complete dickheads toward you. Maybe this will help calm things down.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

Huh? Her statement catches me off guard.

“You don’t want them to know?”

She avoids looking at me, the ketchup bottle on the table suddenly the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

“It’s not that.” She looks up, her green eyes searching mine. “I’m just worried you will disappear again and that would only cause more drama. I would not only be the daughter who sleeps around with her brother’s best friend, but who also makes him run away from his own child.”

And there goes the satisfaction I just bathed in a few moments ago, and I crash back to the ground. Face first. I get why she doesn’t trust me. But that doesn’t lessen the burn of her words.

“I won’t go away,” I try to reassure her.

“Promise?” Her eyes go wide, probably realizing what she just said. Her face turns red and she glances to the side before looking back at me. “Forget that I said anything. That was stupid.”

She looks so vulnerable, so fragile. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s insecure. But I know Frankie too well for that. She’s self-confidence personified. Or at least she used to be.

I want to take away her doubts about me, about us. I want to make her believe I’m here to stay. “I know I hurt you. I understand you don’t trust me. I hope to change that again. And I wish I could promise you to never leave, but there might come a day when it’ll be better for Archer and you to not have me in your life and that is when I will leave, but never because I want to.” It’s as honest of an answer as I can give her, praying she won’t ask for more.

Despite the look she gives me, she doesn’t press me for clarification. Thankfully.

***

On the way back to her parents’ house we discuss the next steps, like me going to visit her in Northampton to spend more time with Archer and get to know him. It doesn’t escape my attention that at no point does she talk about us spending time together. Without a doubt, it’ll be a struggle to get her to trust me. I’m contemplating the ways of achieving this when her voice catches my attention.

“Maybe if you come out in a week or two…”

I don’t like the idea of parting with her or Archer now. It will only give her time to overthink everything; possibly change her mind about me going there altogether.

“Why not now? That way you wouldn’t have to travel alone.” I stare at her, but she focuses her gaze on the road.

“I need a week or two to digest all of this, Ben. I can’t think when I’m constantly confronted with all these feelings, with you. And I need to figure out where you can stay while you’re there.”

This is exactly what I don’t want to happen; she’ll think, and she’ll figure things out and her mistrust and fear of me fucking things up again will change her mind. Fuck. As I’m trying to think of what to do, she speaks up again.

“Ben, before we decide to tell my parents, or before you come to Northampton, I need to make one thing clear. You are Archer’s father and you’ll always have a place in his life and therefore automatically in mine. But you are nothing more than Archer’s father to me. And that will not change, ever.
I don’t know if it even matters to you, but I need to make this clear, there will
never
be an us.”

I clench my teeth to stop myself from swearing or yelling. What the fuck? Anger at myself and at her is coursing through my body. The way she says it, the detached tone—it’s as if someone’s pouring acid down my throat. Then a thought hits me, making it worse. Fuck. She’s seeing someone. Some guy is around her, around Archer, and that’s why she’s so adamant about us never being together.

“Did you understand what I said?”

Her question coupled with my epiphany makes my voice hard and my words clipped.

“Yeah, I heard and understood what you said,” I say, pausing before I continue. “Are you seeing someone?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Pure undiluted jealousy takes over. “Well, I’m Archer’s father, so I think I have a right to know if there is some random guy around my son.”

I know it’s a cheap shot, to question her abilities as a mother, but I need a fucking answer even if I have to provoke it out of her. Even if she’ll have my head on a silver platter for it.

“Whom I fuck or do not fuck, you don’t get to decide. You’ve been in Archer’s life all of twelve hours and you are trying to tell me how to raise him? Indicating I would put him in any kind of harm’s way? You’re an asshole. Everything I do is based on Archer’s well-being, or do you think I come for the happy visits with my parents because I have some kind of masochistic tendencies? Do you think I allow you back into my life because I relish in the pain of seeing you again? I don’t just bring people into Archer’s life without being sure they are worth it. Every single thing I do is for Archer.”

And the asshole award goes to me. When I decided to provoke her mere seconds ago, I didn’t realize I would actually hurt her even more. That was the last thing I wanted. But as much as it sucks—the fact that seeing me is hurting her means she cares.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have made any assumptions.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” I can tell she’s holding on by a very thin thread.

I should leave it alone, but I still want to know. I need to know in order to figure out what my next step will be.

“So, are you seeing someone?”

“No, I’m not seeing anyone.” She shakes her head, sighing.

Thank fuck. I won’t end up in jail for killing some asshole who dared to touch her. And it’s all I needed to hear to know I still have a shot. I can win her back. A confidence I haven’t felt in a while gives me the conviction to decide on the next steps. Steps she’ll hate me for.