Page 30 of One More Chance
He was just a boy of thirteen. Yet, he was being torn apart by a storm he didn’t know how to weather. I knew he was desperate to keep his mom safe, but also trying to find a way to connect with me despite everything I had put them all through.
I sat across from him on the floor. “Those feelings make perfect sense. I was disgustingly selfish, Liam. For a long time, for far too long, I thought everything revolved around me. My work, my success, my image.” He sniffled while I spoke, but he didn’t look up. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, son. But I want you to know that I see it all now. I see all the pain I caused. I see all the weight your mother carried. I see all the times you and Violet hurt while I wasn’t there.”
Liam whispered, “I hated you.”
I nodded, my voice patient with understanding. “And you had every right to.”
“So why now?”
Because I’ve seen the world end once already, and I know what a lifetime of regret tastes like…
But I obviously couldn’t say that, so I told him the truth that made the most sense. “Because I wasted so many chances. I don't want to waste anymore.”
Liam finally looked up. He stared at me for a long while. Then, slowly, he shifted and crawled forward. He leaned in and rested his small, shaggy head against my shoulder. “You still have a lot to prove.”
My throat closed around the swell of emotion that threatened to break free as I rested my hand on his back. “I know. And trust me buddy, I will.”
I felt his tears soak into my shirt and heard my son sniffle. Pride swelled beneath my guilt, strange and unexpected. My son had stood his ground, called me out, and defended his mother without flinching. He had every right to hate me, and yet all I could feel in that moment was a twisted kind of awe. He was strong. Stronger than I had been at his age. Stronger than I had raised him to be and as much as it hurt to hear the truth from his mouth, a part of me was so very proud of him.
I patted his back. “It's okay son. Let it out.”
I had not held Liam while he cried since he was a toddler. The Old Me would have told him to toughen up, that real men don't cry, and all of that other toxic masculinity bullshit he'd espoused. I knew this one night, this single moment, would not reverse all of that, but I also knew it was a step in the direction he needed to heal. I wanted him to feel safe. I wanted him to feel safe withme.
After Liam had cried himself dry, I walked him to his room and sat on the edge of his bed. I promised I’d leave once he fell asleep. He gave me this sheepish roll of his eyes, the kind only a thirteen-year-old could pull off; equal partsDad, you’re embarrassing meandplease don’t go.
The truth was, I didn’t care if he thought I was being silly. I wanted to be with him. After everything that had been breaking and bendingin our lives lately, sitting with my son felt like the only solid thing I could do right in that moment.
He eventually turned over, curled into the blankets, and within minutes his breathing deepened.
I watched him sleep. Even in rest, his face carried the weight of everything he’d been forced to shoulder. His brow twitched every so often, some invisible worry still lingering in his dreams.
I leaned down and kissed his forehead, brushing a curl from his temple like I used to when he was small… back when the worst thing in his life was a scraped knee or a forgotten math test. I knew full well he would groan or roll his eyes if he caught me being so sentimental, but I didn’t care. He’d grown taller and sharper around the edges, but he was still my boy.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, though he was already far from hearing.
The hallway was dim as I slipped out and pulled the door closed behind me. I nearly collided into Sloane.
“Christ, Sloane… hey.”
She gave me a smile. “Hey.”
"I know you said you weren't planning to kill me tonight, but you very nearly gave me a heart attack just now."
She didn't miss a beat. “I heard what you said in there."
The tone of her voice set my heart to fluttering. Heat rushed to my face and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah… I meant every word.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked.
And then she looked at me, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she lookedintome. I stopped breathing as I watched my wife decide my fate.
Hell, this was not a casual look done in passing, nor in the detached, cautious way she had studied me over the past two weeks. She was weighing my soul like Anubis.
Her hazel eyes locked onto mine and they still held that fire that drew me like a moth to flame. Even in the dimness of the hallway, there was a golden flicker in her hazel eyes as her gaze drifted lower and scoured over me in a way that drove me wild. It wasn’t lust. It was grief, longing, and the rawness of everything.
The moment we shared earlier that night still burned through me and left me painfully desperate. Despite how much I wanted to ravage her right now, I meant what I'd said: she was in control.
During her inspection, my treacherous body betrayed me and made it undeniably clear how much I desired her. I saw those predatory eyes narrow and her breathing quicken when her gaze settled on my hardened cock straining beneath the gym shorts.
