“Artificially relaxed, I should say,” she amended. “It’s safe to blame my son getting into trouble for my tensed state, along with⁠—”

“Your son?” I did it again, interrupted her like an asshole.

Her mouth rounded with displeasure; I didn’t blame her.

I was being an asshole. Ready to push her away before she could shut the inevitable door in my face.

Push her away so she’d take back her words to me before that call, words I’d die to hear again: You don’t think I’ve spent these last seventeen years dreaming about one day bumping into the man who gave me the best night of my life, never mind the miracle of our son?

That question would haunt me for the next seventeen years. After I lost her again. Because why wouldn’t I lose her? Why wouldn’t I be given a glimpse of peace only to have it stolen from me, relegating me to spend eternity knowing what could have been if only.

“I’m sorry. It was a slip of the tongue.” She reached for my arm and lightly squeezed it. “Our son. He’s our son.”

“No, I’m sorry.” I stared down at her delicate fingers resting on my forearm, right on top of a burn mark—a brand that asshole . . . Fuck, I couldn’t think about that. “I don’t know how to process what I’m feeling since you came back into my life. It’s safe to say relaxed is the last thing I’ve been since Colin stole my wallet.”

I bared down on my teeth, shocked again at how easily the truth came out when she was around, especially when no amount of pushing by my family over the years had successfully gotten me to talk.

“You know how they say the stages of grief are linear? Well, I think they’re actually one big, unpredictable, messy blob. And I believe the same is true for this. For us. For our son.” Her soft tone had me finally looking up at her. “But for you, you’re grieving the loss of sixteen years with your son. You have to work through that. The denial and anger.” She sniffled. “All those things at once. While also wanting to be happy because we’re here now in front of you. You don’t know how to make sense of your feelings, and you’re confused.” She lightly nodded, one lone tear slipping down her cheek. “So yeah, it’s a big, blobby mess. To be upset is perfectly normal, even for a strong guy like you.” She wet her lips, and I tracked the movement.