Page 68 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“You’d be a kickass dad.”
I laughed a little. “Nah.”
“You would. You’re amazing with my kids.”
“That’s being an uncle. Being a father is…” I shook my head. As much as I enjoyed playing dad sometimes, twenty-four-hour-a-day responsibility for eighteen years—per child—was daunting. “I can’t imagine how hard it is. You’re totally responsible for real human beings at all times, not just occasionally.”
“True. But along with that responsibility comes a lot of good stuff. There’s something to be said for being depended on that way. Being needed that way. Being loved that way. I never want to lose that again.” His voice wavered.
I glanced sideways at him. “You’re scared you will?”
“Every fucking minute,” he whispered, staring straight ahead. “I don’t want to be him.”
My chest got tight, and I put an arm around him. “You’re not. It’s gonna be OK,” I told him. “And I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”
Josie came back in the room with the plate, which was now scattered with crumbs. “Look convincing?”
I dropped my arm, and Aaron took a step back. “Very. I have a few more gifts for them in the car. Can I put them under the tree?”
“Sure,” Josie said. “Would you like to stay over? Watch them open gifts in the morning?”
I thought for a second. “Sure. Thanks.”
Josie brought me a blanket and pillow, and I stretched out on the couch. When all the lights were off except the tree lights and the house was quiet, I lay there in the dark and thought about Claire. Wondered if she was asleep or awake. Wondered how dinner had gone. Wondered if she missed me. Wondered if I had the courage to go to her and ask for another chance.
Would she accept me?
I thought about what my brother had in Josie and the girls, and how nice it was to see him stepping up to be the person—husband, father, man—he wanted to be.
It gave me hope.
Twenty-Four
Claire
* * *
Five days after Christmas, I packed two bags—one with clothing, one with art supplies—and headed out of town. I was reluctant to leave right in the middle of my kitchen restoration, but I wasn’t getting much joy out of the work anyway. It had been a lot more fun with Theo around.
I was loading the bags and an easel into the car when my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I didn’t recognize the number. Who’d be calling me at nine A.M. anyway?
“Hello?”
“Claire, it’s Theo.”
My traitorous heart beat quicker. “What do you want? And how did you get this number?”
“From the Hotties for Hire site. It’s on your membership application.”
I frowned. “I need to cancel that.”
“Yes, you do.” A pause. “I need to see you.”
“I thought you didn’t need anything or anybody.” I didn’t even know why that hurt me so much—he’d told me flat out the day we met that he had no ties to any person, place or thing and liked it that way. Had I honestly thought I might be the exception? I was such a fucking fool.
“I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean it.”
What? I hesitated. “It took you a week to realize that?”
