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  Fuck the other slipper, I was going out like this.

  Except then Carla popped up behind me. “Ah! He’s here!”

  Hold up. She was expecting Tate?

  I spun back toward her. “This was you?” I couldn’t imagine how she’d done it, but if she was somehow behind my child being somewhere he absolutely should not be... Rage surged through me, curling my hand into a fist when I’d never hit anyone in my life.

  “What month?” Cade asked, ignoring Tate’s question.

  Fuck. I didn’t have time for Carla.

  Turning away from whatever bullshit response she started to give me, I ran down the steps so fast I didn’t even feel the cold on my one bare foot, reaching Tate just as he said, “What month is my birthday? January. January sixth.”

  It was easy enough math, and I saw Cade doing the calculations, saw him figuring it out or thinking he’d figured it out, and there was nothing I could do but stop it. “Tate, please.” I pushed him toward the door. “Go inside.”

  His expression gave just as much away as Cade’s. “But Mom—”

  I cut him off. “Seriously, Tate. Go. In. The. House. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Jesus, okay. Fine.”

  I cringed. His choice of language was pretty trivial in light of everything else, but motherly instinct wasn’t always great at prioritizing, and I had to resist the urge to correct him.

  With his duffel bag in hand, he brushed past me, and while I wanted to follow him up the stairs and apologize and explain, I had to say something to Cade first.

  Cade. My love. My only.

  Cade, whose eyes pierced me like nails, accusing and angry, holding my gaze to his, demanding explanations that I couldn’t give until my son was out of earshot.

  “Come right on in, Tate. I’ll get you some hot chocolate.”

  Goddammit. Carla.

  I tore my eyes from Cade and swung my head around. “Don’t fucking say a word to him until I’m in there.”

  She glared as Tate walked past her into the house. “I’m just warming the kid up, Julianna. No need to go all mother bear on me.”

  She hadn’t seen mother bear. This was a kitten in comparison with what I felt inside, and her play-innocent gaslighting wasn’t helping calm me. Acting as if I hadn’t just sent my child into a house with a wolf when her teeth were practically bared. I almost left Cade to go deal with her instead.

  “You didn’t tell me? You weren’t going to fucking tell me?”

  Just like that, my focus was back on Cade. “You’re wrong. It’s not—”

  He cut me off. “No, you’re wrong. What you did is wrong. What you did—”

  I raised my voice, trying to get a word in edgewise. “I didn’t do what—”

  “—is unforgivable. You robbed me—”

  “He’s not yours!” It came out as a shout, and immediately, I worried I’d been loud enough to carry inside. But the front door was still closed when I glanced behind me, and now I had Cade’s attention, so I said it again at a more reasonable volume. “He’s not yours.”

  It was a gut punch for me to say it, even now, after all these years.

  It had to be just as bad to hear it.

  “But his birthday…?” As hard as his mask was, I could see the hope flicker.

  Or maybe it wasn’t hope but the flame of resistance. The desire to see the past as he believed it to be, that belief so strong that it was easier to bend the facts to fit around that than consider he’d never known the truth.

  The truth he now had to consider was probably earth-shattering.

  And while the whole truth might make it better, it would take so much more explaining than what I could give to him standing outside, perched on one foot so the bare one didn’t hit the cold ground while my son got interrogated by his step-grandmother in the house behind me.

  The whole truth was hard enough under the best of circumstances. I still had a hard time saying it out loud.

  “If he’s going to be seventeen in January…” Cade wasn’t going to give up so easily. “That means you got pregnant your senior year. Nine months. That means you were pregnant at graduation.”

  I wished I could lie, but all I could say was, “Right.”

  Then he understood. His shoulders slumped, his expression fell. I’d gotten pregnant while we were together, and the baby wasn’t his, and that meant...

  “Oh.” He took a step backward. Then another. “I see.”

  But he didn’t see, and while he now realized I hadn’t robbed him of the chance to watch his child grow up, I wasn’t sure that this new epiphany was any easier to forgive.

  “Cade.” It came out like a plea, even though I knew that wasn’t fair.

  He shook his head at me, confirming that I had no right to ask him anything now—maybe not ever again—and took another step backward, another step away from me. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “No.” I stepped after him, reaching for him. “You’re not.”

  “Such a fucking idiot.”

  “You aren’t. I need to explain. I need to—”

  But he wasn’t hearing me. As though in a daze, his head still shaking, he turned toward our rental car. “I, uh, have to get to the locksmith.”

  He couldn’t hide the hurt on his face, though he was trying. And as many times as I’d imagined telling him, his reaction was somehow way worse than any scenario I’d thought up on my own.

  I’d broken him.

  Again.

  How many times could I do this to him and still hope that he could be put back together?

  I felt the ache as though it were mine.

  Whatever was happening inside the house, it was suddenly not as important as this. “Cade, wait. Please. Let’s talk.” I chased after him.

  He was at the driver’s side of the car. “I can’t.” He opened the door. “I have to…” Instead of finishing the sentence with words, he held up the keys to my father’s cabin that we’d found while searching his office the night before, the keys he planned to take to town to get copied.

  I didn’t have my coat or my purse or a proper pair of shoes, but I ran to the passenger door. “I’ll go with you.” I pulled on the handle, but it was locked. I pulled again, as if that would magically make it open. “Please, let me come.”

  He paused, one foot in the car, refusing to look me in the eye. “I’d really rather be alone right now.” He nodded at the house. “You should go be with your son.”

  He threw the word like a dagger, and while I knew this was the worst way for him to find out and that he might understand if he heard all of it, I also felt validated. This was why I hadn’t told him. This was why I’d kept this secret, even when I’d come back into his life.

  Because the only thing he could do with this information was hate me.

  Or I could tell him more, and he’d hate himself.

  I honestly didn’t know which was worse.

  So I let him get in the car, and when he started the engine, I backed up and let him drive away.

  Three

  Jolie

  Cade took a piece of my heart with him as he tore out of the driveway. But the other piece of my heart was inside the house, alone with a woman who could destroy what Tate believed the same way I’d just destroyed Cade.

  My focus had to be on my son.

  Back in the house, I didn’t bother to kick off the slipper and instead went looking for Tate. I was already headed down the hallway toward the dining room when he called out. “Mom?”

  I turned around and found him with his phone in hand, sitting on the couch in the living room, a space that was a complete contradiction to its name. Growing up, we’d only ever used the room for guests, and since I was very rarely allowed to have people over, I spent very little time there. I’d gotten so used to thinking of it as a useless room, I hadn’t even bothered to look there, and now that I was looking, it felt odd to see Tate sitting there, being treated like a stranger in a house I knew so well.

  It wasn’t a bad thing.

  In fact, I preferred it, but I was surprised that Carla wasn’t beside him, telling him all sorts of things I didn’t want him to know.

  “Mom, what’s going on? You’re being so weird, and that man outside—”

  I cut him off. “No, no, no. You don’t get to ask questions until I get answers. What the—?” I paused to take a breath in and out before going on. However he got here, it wasn’t on his own, and that meant I shouldn’t be taking out my frustration on him. Slightly calmer, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

  He looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “Are you messing with me?”

  “No. I’m one hundred percent not messing with you. Why are you here?”

  “You’re scaring me right now, Mom.”

  Whether he deserved it or not, my rope was at its end. “Tate. Just answer the goddamn question.”

  “Why are you yelling at me? You told me to come!”

  “I did not! When?”

  With a huff of frustration, he clicked a few things on his phone and then stood up to show me. “Last night. Were you drunk or something?”

  I read the last text he’d sent a little before ten. Maps says I’ll be there in an hour.

  The text before that from me had been sent a few minutes before. When do you think you’ll be here?

  Except I hadn’t had my phone all morning, and I had definitely not sent that text.

  A kettle whistle went off in the background. Carla fixing the cocoa.

  Fucking Carla.

  I snatched the phone out of his hand. Anger stirred through me, my body vibrating as I scrolled up through several texts until I found the last text I’d sent the night before at dinner, reminding him that he couldn’t have anyone over and that I didn’t want him driving after ten p.m.

  I’d stormed off from the table, leaving my phone behind before he’d responded. Tara and I are going to hang with Ben over at her place. I’ll take the train back if we’re out too late.

  If I’d seen that, I would have told him to be sure he didn’t stay out too late.

  Instead, the screen showed I’d responded around eight. What are your plans for tomorrow?

  Homework and cleaning my room. Duh. A winking emoji followed.

  Why don’t you drive up and join me instead? I stifled a growl.

  In NY?

  No, I’m in Connecticut now.

  Wth r u doing in CT?

  Change of plans. You should drive up. It’s only a couple of hours away.

  Tonight?

  No.

  There had been a pause before “I” added, Tomorrow morning. First thing.

  He must have tried to call after that because his next message said, Mom, answer!

  Can’t talk right now. Let me know when you’re on your way in the morning. The address followed that as well as a link to directions on Maps.

  Okey dokey.

  The next text came from Tate as well, sent a little before nine this morning. Still want me 2 come?

  Yes. Bring an overnight bag.

  Should I tell the Burritts?

  I’ll call them later today.

  Then I was back to the text asking when he’d arrive, and it took everything in me not to throw his phone at Carla’s curio cabinet.

  “What’s going on, Mom? Am I in trouble? You’re really freaking me out.”

  Another breath. I’d worked really hard to be sure that I always handled anger constructively in front of him, and I wasn’t going to let Carla’s meddling be the reason I ruined that now. “It’s, um, no. You’re not in trouble. I just… I didn’t send these messages.”

  The color drained from his face. “What do you mean? They say they’re from you. How can they not be from you?” He took the phone back from me and clicked on one of my texts, bringing up the contact info, verifying it had indeed been sent from my phone.

  “It did come from my phone. I just wasn’t the one…” He looked terrified and confused, and I hadn’t seen him in a week, and suddenly, I really needed to hug him. “It’s fine,” I assured him as I wrapped my arms around him. “I’m glad you’re here. I was just surprised, is all.”

  “I don’t understand.” He pulled away, much earlier than I would have liked, but I couldn’t be too disappointed since he’d let me hug him longer than usual. “If you didn’t send…” He seemed to have a thought. “When I turned onto the road and saw the school, I thought you were going to tell me you got a job here or something, but then I got to the house—this is where you grew up, isn’t it?”

  “I…” I wasn’t prepared to talk about this. He’d been seven when we’d left—old enough to have memories of the place—but I’d hoped those were few and faint.

  Of course, when he was standing in the very house, it was harder to expect he’d forget.

  “Do you remember living here?” Carla came in carrying a tray with three mugs and a plate of cookies, as if she’d been waiting in the wings to enter at the right moment.

  I wondered if the chocolate was hot enough to scald if I threw mine in her face.

  “Vaguely,” Tate said, looking around the room.

  I didn’t like this. Didn’t like him coming back here. Didn’t like him wondering about that time or our life here or anything before that. “Hey, kiddo, I need to talk to—”

  But Carla spoke at the same time, and she was the one who got his attention. “Do you remember me?” She set the tray on the coffee table and stood up straight so he could get a good look at her.

  “You’re…” He squinted his eyes in her direction.

  “Married to my father,” I finished for him.

  Again, Carla spoke over me. “Cade’s mother.”

  “Cade?” Tate perked up immediately.

  Just like I feared, she had opened a can of worms that I was not ready to deal with. The situation was too complicated, always had been, which was why I had never wanted him to come back here. Now all my secrets and lies were threatening to unravel, and I needed to take control of the situation, right the fuck now.

  “Okay, Tate. How about you go upstairs and rest for a while. I need to talk to Carla real quick.” And maybe murder her a little bit while I’m at it.

  I tried to nudge him toward the stairs, but Carla took that moment to put her hand in her pocket and retrieve my cell. “Oh, Julianna. You left this downstairs last night.”

  Tate didn’t budge. “Julianna?”

  I grabbed my phone out of her hand, wishing I could yank her arm out of the socket with it. Stupid me for leaving it out of my sight. Stupid me for using Cade’s birthday as my lockscreen pin. She was probably the only person in the world who could guess it. Stupid me for not changing it before I’d stepped foot in this fucked-up house.

  “Hold on,” Tate said, pointing his finger in Carla’s direction. “You had my mom’s phone?” He was too bright of a kid to miss anything. “So who was texting me last night?”

  This time, I didn’t let her say a word. “I’m going to find all of that out, okay? I’ll fill you in after. You can get a little rest before you have to go back home. Upstairs. The room at the end of the hall.”

  “Don’t forget your cocoa.” Carla looked smug as she tried to hand him the mug.

  He ignored the mug and spun toward me. “You’re making me go back home already?”

  Whoops. Not the thing to say at the moment. “We can talk about it in a bit. Go lie down.”

  “I’m not tired, Mom. I haven’t even had lunch. And why can’t I be here for this conversation? I’m obviously involved.”

  “Do you want me to make you a bite to eat?” As annoyed as I was with Carla’s innocent/sweet step-grandparent routine, I was grateful for this suggestion.

  “Awesome idea.” I took the mug out of her hand and put it in Tate’s. “You can stay here and eat some cookies, and I’ll help in the kitchen.” I nodded for Carla to go ahead of me, but she only took one step before he stopped us.

  “Wait a minute, Mom. Please.”

  I smiled at him impatiently. “What?”

  “Just tell me one thing.” He put the mug down on the tray, seeming disinterested in the drink. “That man—Cade? That’s Cade Warren, right? And don’t tell me it’s not the same Cade like you did when I looked him up that one time because you can’t say that’s not him if he’s here. That’s too big of a coincidence.”

  I’d hoped he wouldn’t recognize Cade in person. It had been a year since he’d gone looking online for the name he’d been hearing about for years, determined to find the man who I insisted had disappeared. Thank God the name wasn’t that uncommon. He’d shown me face after face after face, and each time I’d said, “Not him.”

  Then he’d actually shown me Cade—my Cade—dressed in a suit, listed as a co-owner of a huge international marketing firm, and my stomach had turned over on itself while I’d repeated the same “Not him” response.

  I’d been caught out, and my face must have shown it because Tate looked hurt. “Why didn’t you want me to meet my father?”

  I could feel Carla’s glare at my back. Shame flooded through me, the kind of shame I hadn’t felt in years. Shame for the lies. Shame for not being able to tell the truth now. “Oh, sweetie.” I tried to hug him again, but this time, he pulled away.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m a kid. Does he not want to meet me? What is he even doing here? Is that why she brought me out here?”

  I was a shit mother. This whole thing he’d walked into had to be even more confusing and fucked up to him than it was to me—and it was pretty fucked up to me—even though it wasn’t my fault that he was here, it was my fault that he believed the things he believed.

  And my fault for perpetuating the lies. “He doesn’t know,” I said softly before I’d completely committed to saying it.

  “He doesn’t know I’m his kid?”

  Now that I’d started down this path, it was easier to keep running down it. “He doesn’t know he has a kid at all. He left town before I knew I was pregnant, and then, like I told you, I didn’t know what happened to him…”