Page 97 of That Girl
“Mine. It’s my fault. But I came back to make things right. I came back for you, Aurora.”
I uncross my legs, shifting on the couch. “Then you’re five years too late,” I snap. “You can take whatever lame excuse you have concocted in your brain and go fuck yourself.”
“Candace was seven months pregnant when she approached me. She said I was the father and that she had gotten pregnant from the night we allegedly slept together. She had been diagnosed with advanced-stage kidney disease and wanted to keep the baby, but her disease meant that she’d be on dialysis during the pregnancy. Not only that, but kidney disease could cause complications for the fetus. Her mom died when she was four of the same disease. Candace had been on dialysis almost the entire pregnancy and the likelihood of her living the next two months to give birth was slim to none. She was terrified. She had no one. That’s why she came to find me. My dad told her where I was when she showed up at the house.”
My heart aches for both mother and child, and for JD who had to bear witness to it all. “JD, there are no words.”
JD would have been forced to become a father while still in high school. How in the world was he able to graduate and go to college to play football while being a single parent to a newborn?
“A week after she arrived, she went into labor. There were complications. Connor was born two months prematurely and was in NICU for a while. Like many babies that are born too early, Connor was born with patent ductus arteriosus, which is a heart defect. Unfortunately, the pregnancy destroyed what remained of Candace’s renal function and she developed end-stage renal disease and died shortly after his birth.”
No words can express how absolutely horrible what he says is. Candice must have been so scared. Concern for Connor obliterates my anger at JD. “Is Connor okay now?”
“Luckily the hole between his aorta and his pulmonary artery closed on its own. I make sure he sees a pediatric cardiologist on a regular basis.”
“I am so sorry. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. Connor is such a sweet little boy.”
“I regret many things in my life, Aurora, but I can never regret Connor. Other than my love for you, that little boy is my everything.”
As heartbreaking as his explanation is about Candace and Connor, it doesn’t answer why he stayed away, why he never contacted me or Dustin or Prescott, why he never came back home for five fucking years.
I wouldn’t have cared one damn bit that he had a child with Candace. I would have been there for him, for Candice, and for Connor every step of the way. I would have loved Connor as much as I loved JD. In fact, I do love Connor.
I say what I’m thinking. “You’re not telling me something.”
JD’s mouth opens and closes a few times, but nothing comes out yet again, and I want to shake the words out of him. Then, he deflates before my eyes.
“There is so much more I need to tell you, Aurora. I just don’t know how yet.”
I stand up and smooth down my shirt. “It’s late.”
“Please don’t go yet,” he says imploringly.
I hesitate. “Thank you for dinner. It was a lovely evening.”
He sees my resolve to leave. “Can we have dinner again and continue our conversation?” he asks, blue eyes pleading with me.
“JD, I made a promise to Knox last night. I agreed that I would give our relationship another try.”
It takes a bit of effort to speak the words because they don’t feel right when I try to say them.
I shuffle over to where I left my bag and pick it up, then walk over to the front door and open it. JD hasn’t moved from the spot where I left him.
“Aurora, please don’t go.”
“I’m still angry, JD. And any other day, I would never admit this to anyone, but I’m glad you’re back.” I look directly at him. “I’ve missed you,” I confess on a whisper and close the door quietly behind me.
Reaching inside my large purse, I feel around to make sure the plastic sandwich-bagged items are still there. When I was in JD’s bathroom, I sequestered his toothbrush and did the same with the one I found in Connor’s bathroom after he fell asleep. I could say it was a spur of the moment, reckless decision—but it would be a lie.
I send a text to Charles Worthington, the lawyer we use for personal matters.
Me: Hi, Mr. Worthington. It’s Aurora Montgomery. When you get a chance, could you send me the contact information for the company we use that does the DNA tests.
Worthington&Assoc: May I ask why?
Me: It’s a personal matter.
A second later he sends it.
