Page 188 of Falling for the Grumpiest Protector

"You didn't have to."

"I know." He looks at me. "Mom used to ask me sometimes."

"Ask you what?"

"If I wanted to talk to you. Or see you."

I don't move.

"I always said no."

The words hurt. But not in the way he thinks. Diego looks toward the open barn door. "I was angry."

"You had a right to be."

"Every time some kid's dad showed up for a game or picked him up from school, I'd think about you." His voice roughens. "I figured you didn't want me. So when Mom asked if I wanted to see you, saying no felt like the only way I could hurt you back."

"Diego."

"I know how bad that sounds."

"It doesn't." He looks at me. "I was a kid, but I knew she was asking because you wanted to see me. I just didn't care. I wanted you to know what it felt like when somebody didn't want you."

My chest tightens.

"And then I read the letters." His eyes fill. "You knew everything. The dinosaurs. My bike. That stupid pancake thing."

"You ate the middle and left the edges."

"I was eight."

"You were weird."

His mouth twitches. Then his expression crumples. "You remembered me."

"Every day."

A tear slips down his cheek. "So all that time I was angry because I thought you didn't love me." My throat closes. "And you did."

"I never stopped."

He wipes his face. "I could've seen you."

I step closer. "Listen to me." He looks up. "Don't put those years on your shoulders. You were a kid trying to understand why your father wasn't there."

"But I kept saying no."

"Because you were hurt."

"I wasted so much time."

"No. I was the adult. I should've tried harder. I should've found a way to make sure you knew I was here and that I loved you."

His face tightens. "I'm sorry, Dad."

I pull him into me. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

His arms close around me. "I could've had you."