His strong shoulders broke forward. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I knew your hotel name and villa number. I could’ve paid someone off to access the records and get your information. But I knew what I’d do with your name if I had it. The temptation would be too much. I’d jump ship—literally, I was in the Navy on a sub—and swim through the depths of Hell to get to you. But I figured if I found you, you’d reject me. I told myself you would have called if you wanted to see me again. I let my ego and pride get in the way.” He hung his head, tearing his hands through his hair. “I convinced myself you didn’t want me. That I wasn’t good for you. But you have no idea how much I⁠—”

Shock, not gravity, pulled me down, and he abandoned whatever he planned to say at the sight. My knees slammed to the floor as I replayed his admission.

“I should have come for you.” He crouched in front of me, drawing his finger under my chin. “I should’ve come,” he added emphatically.

Goose bumps wrecked my skin, creating an entire grid of chaos across my body. “You didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have come,” he said in a firm voice. “You raised our son by yourself. You needed me. He needed me. And I wasn’t there.” His voice became so painfully raw, it hurt to hear.

I tracked the path of one of my tears as it became lost between us on the scuffed-up hardwoods.

His hand left my chin, and he shifted backward, sitting on the floor. His legs stretched out in front of him, and he buried his fingertips into the back of his skull, elbows drawing together.

“Constantine.” I wasn’t thinking clearly, only focusing on his pain, so when I crawled over to him, I climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

He let his arms fall to his sides, and I buried my face at his shoulder and neck, my fingers twisting up the hair at the back of his head as I cried.

He didn’t push me away.

He didn’t remind me we were still just strangers.

Instead, he cradled the back of my head, holding me in place as his other hand slid up and down my back, the stroking motions soothing both of us.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes. Both of us grieving the time he lost with his son, the time Colin lost with his father.

It was his turn to break the silence. Without letting go of me, he rasped, “You named him Colin because of my first initial?”