"Will you help me?"
"That's why I'm here."
Those four words knock the air from my lungs. Warren's hand rests on Beckett's shoulder, the same shoulder I've kissed goodnight a thousand times. The same shoulder that carries Warren's DNA.
Blake tosses bags into the truck bed. "Everyone ready for adventure?"
As the boys scramble into the backseat, Warren straightens up. He's so close now I can smell his cologne. His eyes meet mine briefly before sliding away, like I'm a storefront he's passing without interest.
But then, he pauses, for just a moment, but I notice. His gaze flicks back toward me, something unreadable flickering across his face. It's nothing. It's everything.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest.
He turns and climbs into the truck without a word.
I wave until they disappear around the corner, my smile fixed in place for Beckett's sake. The silence that follows their departure fills my ears like cotton.
"Alright, let's get to that wine! We've got some catching up to do," Gemma says as she pulls me inside.
I fill our glasses and put the food on a tray. "Couch eating and drinking, like old times?" I ask. But I already know the answer.
"Is there any other way?"
She flicks the TV on low, more for background than anything, while I bring everything over. Crazy Rich Asians, our favorite go-to, rolls on in the background.
We curl into the couch, lo mein cartons balanced on our knees, laughter already spilling as we trade stories.
On the tv, Nick Young drops to one knee in the middle of a plane cabin. Gemma snorts into her wine.
"That is not how real men apologize." She points her glass at the muted screen. "Too many words, not enough groveling."
I manage a weak laugh, my mind miles away at Lake Worth, where Warren is teaching my son, our son, to fish right now.
"He's ridiculously hot, by the way." Gemma refills her glass, red wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "Seeing him in person answered every question I've ever had about this crazy story with one glance. I get it now. And he definitely lingered on you. Don't tell me you didn't notice."
Heat floods my face. "It doesn't matter if I noticed. Plus, if he lingered, it was hate magnetism. Whatever that means. I can assure you it wasn't a warm linger."
"Whatever you say, Miss Thing." She grins wickedly.
I groan, dropping my head against the cushions. "It doesn't matter. He hates me, Gem."
"That man doesnothate you." She sets her glass down with a decisive clink. "He's mad, yes, but I saw the way he looked at you. That's not hate."
"You saw him for thirty seconds in my driveway."
"Thirty very informative seconds." She taps her temple. "These eyes don't miss much. Especially not the way he checked to make sure you were watching when he helped Beckett."
My stomach flips. "He was just being a good... whatever he is."
"Father. The word you're looking for is father." Gemma's teasing smile softens. "Look, I'm not sayingforgiveness happens overnight. But that tension? That's not indifference."
I want to argue, but the words catch in my throat. Because I desperately want her to be right. What if beneath Warren's icy exterior, something still burns for me?
"It doesn't matter," I whisper, not wanting it to believe myself, but convinced there is no going back. "Even if he doesn't hate me, I've done too much damage."
Gemma reaches over, squeezing my hand. "Love isn't a balance sheet, Janie. It's less linear and black and white than that."
Her words burrow under my skin, planting a dangerous seed of hope I'm afraid to water.