“Because I dated Rebecca in college. That was the only relationship I’ve been in, only it wasn’t even real.” I swallowed, still unable to look at her. Too ashamed. “My father needed me to date her to get closer to her family and help close a big deal. I used her because he told me to, then I broke her heart.”

I opened my eyes and stood abruptly, walking over to the windows to look at the city.

She kept quiet, and I gave her another minute to process my shitty behavior from twenty-plus years ago.

Palm on the glass, I continued, “Carter was her friend at the time, and let’s just say, he’s not my greatest fan.”

We may have operated together once since then, but I had enough sense to know a man like Carter didn’t let bygones be bygones because of an apology.

“I was only twenty, and I did whatever my father said.”

I doubted my attempt to rationalize my way through this would help, but I had to try. I didn’t want her hating me for this—there was plenty else she didn’t know about yet to hate me for.

“I didn’t sleep with her,” I added defensively, worried she’d really despise me. “I wasn’t that horrible of a person. I felt guilty about everything. Dropped out of school shortly after that and joined the Navy.”

I lowered my hand from the glass when I realized she was coming to join me at the window. I hesitantly faced her, and she shocked me by lifting her hand to my cheek.

Still not running. Why not? I was well aware I deserved more than a door slammed in my face.

“You were young.” Was she really defending, not lecturing, me? “You can’t beat yourself up for the past.” She tipped her head, quietly staring at me while pushing her hand up to the side of my head.

“How can you be so forgiving?”

She looked out the window, probably pondering what to say or how to explain the fact she was still there despite my confession.

“I raised your son. He’s so much like you. I wouldn’t want him upset years later for mistakes he made when younger.” Eyes back on me, she forced that strange feeling of hope back inside me, asking, “So, why would I want that for his father?”

Father. I’m the father of your child.

Relief filled me, even if the feeling of being forgiven probably never would.

“You’re a good man.” Her free hand went to my chest and over my heart. “I know that. I can feel it.” She whispered, “Skeletons in your closet or not, I don’t care. I know your heart because I know our son’s. So, just⁠—”