I take a shaky breath. “I think I’m in love with him, Gem. Maybe I always have been, but I never let myself admit it.”
Her expression sobers instantly. “Janie…”
“What if we didn’t have to hide it?” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “What if I just told the truth?”
Gemma sets her glass down with deliberate care. “Okay. Which truth are we talking about here? The ‘I think I’m in love with Warren Carter' truth… or the ‘I’ve been raising his son for five years and never told him' truth?”
The air is suddenly too thin to fill my lungs. My chest burns. “Both. Eventually. But, God, there’s so much at stake. Most importantly, what Warren will say, but still, Blake, my parents?—”
“Your brother would survive knowing you and Warren are a thing,” Gemma cuts in, her tone sharper now. “But finding out you kept his nephew from Warren? That’s a whole different explosion, Janie. That’s nuclear.”
Tears sting my eyes. “What if Warren can’t forgive me? What if I ruin everything, for all of us?”
Gemma doesn’t flinch. She reaches across the table, lacing her fingers through mine. “Then you deal with it together, like grown-ups. But stop torturing yourself with what-ifs. I've watched you go through it for years, and I bitmy tongue. But it's tearing you up. You've got to come clean.”
Her words hit like a lifeline. My voice cracks anyway. “I can’t lose everything I’ve built, Gem. But you're right. I can’t keep this from Warren any longer. I thought he never wanted to be a father before, but now I see him with Blake's kids and with Beckett. He will be an amazing father.”
She squeezes my hand tightly. “You need to tell him, Janie.”
Gemma left about an hour ago.I'm not sure any goodbye has ever been so hard. She's my security blanket, and living in two separate states has not been good for me during this shitstorm.
Having her here, if only for seventeen hours, total, not that I was counting, was everything.
Beckett is already asleep, and the silence in our still mostly empty house echoes with every click of my laptop keys.
I've spread budget reports across the dining table where Beckett's dinosaur placemat usually sits, trying to focus on work instead of the conversation with Gemma still circling in my head.
My phone hisses against the table. Warren's name appears on the screen, sending a jolt through my chest.
The funding report has errors. We have the deadline tomorrow. Can we meet so we can go through it together? It shouldn't take long.
I stare at the text, my heart racing. Why does a simple, work-related text cause me to get lightheaded?
Sure, but I can't leave my house. My son is asleep. Do you mind coming here?
That works. Can you send me the address? I'll head that way now.
Holy fuck. I know this isn't wise, to have him here, in my home. I stand up and pace, my hand shaking as I stare at the screen.
Then I text him my address. Fuck it.
Twenty minutes later, the faintest tap-tap-tap pierces the silence. The sound ricochets through the quiet living room, and my pulse leaps to my throat. I smooth my shirt, tuck loose strands of hair behind my ears, and force my hand to the knob.
Warren stands on my porch, tie loosened at his throat, briefcase in one hand, his keys in the other. "Thanks for this. The board wants revisions by morning, and I don't know how to fix it."
"No problem." I step back, letting him into the space that is suddenly energized. "We can work at the dining table."
His presence fills the room as he sets his briefcase down and pulls out folders. We settle into chairs across from each other, all business despite the current droning beneath the surface.
"These allocations don't match your presentation numbers." Warren points to a line item, leaning forward.
I slide my chair closer to see. "That's because Pope suggested we redirect funds from adult screenings to pediatric."
"Without consulting the committee?"
"It was preliminary. I was going to bring it up at Thursday's meeting."
Our shoulders brush as we both reach for the same chart. The contact sends warmth radiating up my arm.