"But you meant to file it.” The words slice both of us. I throw them like a weapon, even as some foolish part of me hopes he’ll say no, that he never meant to.
"Yes. No. I don’t know." His shoulders slump. "Five years ago, I walked away because I was afraid of losing Blake, of losing the only family I’d ever known."
My arms wrap tighter around myself, the urge to reach for him nearly unbearable.
"And now I’ve done it again," he admits. "Drafting petitions instead of trusting you. Walking away, in a sense, but not being able to let go completely. I let fear and control dictate my choices instead of—" His throat works, struggling. "Instead of love."
The word lands between us, fragile, dangerous.
"Both times, my fear cost me the very thing I wanted most." His eyes lift, unguarded. "You. And now you and Beckett."
My throat closes. "Why are you doing this to me, Warren?"
"I need you to know." His voice frays. "I’m not asking for forgiveness. I couldn’t leave without telling you it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was because I didn’t believe I deserved you. That you’d stay."
The words cut. Only a few minutes ago, I swore I was nothing more than his pawn, a body he used to slip past my defenses. But the man in front of me doesn’t sound calculating. He sounds gutted. The rawness in him slices through my anger.
My heart hammers as I stare at the man I’ve loved since I was too young to name it.
The father of my child.
"I…" My voice fails, cracks. I force it out again. "I don’t know what to do with that. I tried to talk to you. I gave you space. And now? I don’t know, Warren."
He scrubs a hand down his face, looking wrecked. His tie gone, shirt rumpled, stubble darkening his jaw. He looks like I feel—shattered.
“You think I don’t see you, Janie?” His voice comes out rough. “You're everything I've ever wanted.”
Fresh tears sting. “Then why? Why draft those papers? Why make me your opponent instead of your partner?”
His jaw tightens as he steps closer, heat radiating through the icy shell I’ve built.
“Because rules are all I know. The law doesn’t waver, Janie. It doesn’t walk away. People do.” His voice drops, hoarse. “And I couldn’t risk Beckett on something that fragile. I didn’t believe you would love me forever. I didn't think I was lovable for the long haul.”
His eyes lock on mine, unflinching. “So I leaned on what I know—the law. Something that wouldn’t vanish, even when you decided I wasn’t enough.”
The words scrape across me like glass. “Ironic that you’re the one who disappeared every time it mattered.”
He swallows hard. He looks down in defeat. “I know.”
“All of this could’ve been avoided if you’d just told me. So much pain. So many lies. Years we can’t get back. Why now?”
His chest heaves. “Because I’d rather risk my heart breaking than let you keep believing I didn’t love you.”
The silence crushes me. My body leans toward him before I snap back, nails biting into my arms. My heart doesn’t care that every alarm screams not to trust him.
“All I ever wanted,” I whisper, “was to hear you say you loved me.”
“I know.” His voice cracks. “But I’m saying it now.”
This time, he doesn’t deflect. Doesn’t argue. He just takes my anger and pain, his shoulders sagging, regret carved into every line of him.
"I want to be strong enough to deserve you," he whispers.
And for one dizzying moment, my body aches to close the distance, to kiss him, comfort him, crawl back into his arms.
But the wound is still too raw. And I don't trust myself.
My body aches for it with a hunger that startles me, even now. I remember the warmth of his skin, the security of his hand on the small of my back, the way he would trace patterns on my shoulder in the early mornings.