“I don’t need pretty. I need real.” Jamie leans forward, his elbows on his knees, voice low and unwavering. “Even if my father offered me everything, I wouldn’t go back. If that was who I was, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Everything he says makes sense, but there’s still something holding me back. I’m not sure what.
“I'm here for the long haul, Tiff. For as long as you and Ella will have me.”
I look away, not trusting myself to maintain eye contact when he's saying things like that.
A high-pitched giggle cuts through the thick silence between us. I glance up just in time to see Ella sprinting toward the bleachers, her curls bouncing with every wild step. Zach and Reese trail behind her, tossing a ball lazily between them, their pace deliberately slow.
Ella barrels toward me, skidding to a stop right in front of the bench. Her cheeks are flushed, her smile blinding.
“Mama! Can you come play too?” she asks, breathless and beaming.
“I’m talking to Jamie right now, baby.”
Her brow scrunches, her mouth tugging into a curious little pout as she turns her head toward him. “Who’s Jamie?”
Jamie goes very still beside me.
I swallow hard. There’s no guidebook for this part. No easy way to say he’s your father, and this clearly isn’t the time. I look at him and the ache in his expression is so visceral it feels like it might splinter me from the inside out.
Before I can answer, Jamie shifts forward, clears his throat, and says, “I’m someone who’s wanted to meet you for a long time.”
Ella peers at him curiously, her head tilted just slightly—his tilt, the same one I’ve seen when she’s trying to figure out a tricky puzzle or when she doesn’t trust the broccoli on her plate. My chest tightens.
“Are you Mommy’s friend?” she asks.
Jamie’s mouth lifts at the corners, but it’s not quite a smile. More like something fragile and breaking apart behind his eyes.
“I’d like to be,” he says honestly. “But more than that… I’m someone who’s really lucky just to be sitting here.”
Ella dances on the spot, studying him. Then she steps forward and, with the complete lack of hesitation only a four-year-old can muster, holds out her tiny hand.
“Wanna come play football with us?”
He lets out a little breath of air, because she has no idea how big her offer is. It’s a simple, innocent request, but for him, it’s world-altering.
“I’d love to,” he says, voice rough.
She grins, grabs his hand, and tugs. Just like that, he follows.
I watch them go, the backs of them—her in her grass-stained shorts, him in his scuffed boots—walking toward the field, tethered together by something bigger than either of them can fully name yet.
She doesn’t know who he is, but she’s already accepting him, and I can only be happy for her.
Then why do I feel this sense of dread deep in my stomach?
Chapter 12
“Is the pizza yummy, Jamie?”
Ella's voice pulls me from my thoughts as I stare at the barely touched slice of cheese pizza on my plate despite having been at this table for fifteen minutes. The silence around us is so thick it's practically another guest at the dinner table.
“It's great,” I manage, taking an overdue bite to prove it. “Best pizza I've had in Hope.”
I still can’t believe I’m sitting here, having dinner in Zach’s not-so-humble house because my daughter asked if I could come over after her football practice.
“It's the only pizza you've had in Hope,” Zach mutters, reaching for his third slice. He’s still pissed, which isn’t surprising. One groveling attempt at teaching my daughter howto kick a football won’t be enough to win him over, and it shouldn’t be. Ella deserves more than that.