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“You don’t sound like you believe that.”
“I do believe that.”
“I wish I had that sort of confidence,” I respond. “Micah is stubborn, and even when he’s in the wrong, he likes to dig in. He usually doubles down when he’s wrong instead of just apologizing and moving forward.”
The corners of Hunter’s eyes crinkled as a wry grin touched his lips. “I was pretty much the same way when I was his age. But I grew out of it … eventually.”
I take a drink of my wine and look down at my plate, my appetite quickly evaporating. I know what I have to do. It’s a realization I came to yesterday and have been thinking about nonstop ever since. It’s a decision I don’t like. It’s a decision I didn’t want to have to make. But after a lot of thought and soul searching, I think it’s the right decision. Maybe the only decision I can make.
“What’s going on with you?” Hunter asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not all here with me,” he says. “Where are you at?”
The soft smile on my lips melts away. I feel my face growing warm as my belly churns and turns over on itself. The back of my throat is coated with the acidic taste of bile, and I’m having to fight off the waves of nausea washing through me. Just thinking about this makes me sick. Hunter leans forward, his dark intense gaze fixed on me.
“Harlow? What’s going on with you?”
My hand shakes so hard that I almost drop my glass of wine as I take a sip, needing a little liquid courage to get through the next few minutes. Drawing in a deep breath, I hold it as I silently count to five, then let it out slowly. My trembling finally subsides, but I’m a long way from calm. Hunter stares at me, waiting for a reply, and the tension in the air between us keeps growing thicker. I need to tell him. I owe him that.
“Hunter, I feel terrible about what happened between you and Micah?—”
“That’s not your fault. Nothing for you to feel bad about.”
“Please,” I say. “Let me just say my piece.”
He frowns but sits back in his chair. “Okay.”
“Micah is your son. He’s your blood. I don’t want to be the thing that gets between you and your son.”
“You’re not,” he replies. “It’s his attitude. It’s his lack of maturity and his lack of respect. That’s what’s getting between us. Not you.”
“But that all only came to a head because he found us in bed together.”
“It would have come to a head at some point, Harlow. This isn’t your fault.”
“The fact that it was me in your bed certainly didn’t help matters.”
He shrugs. “Like I said, Micah will eventually come around.”
“Unless he doesn’t.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not going to let my son’s lack of maturity dictate who I see, Harlow. I’m not going to let him run my life that way.”
“And I can’t live with myself feeling like I’m the reason for this split between you two.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I think…”
My throat grows dry as I try to force the words out of my mouth, but they seem to stick and don’t want to come out. Taking another swallow of wine, I clear my throat and steel myself.
“Hunter, I think you need to work on repairing your relationship with your son,” I tell him. “And I don’t think you can do that with me in your life. At least, not right now. Not until Micah grows up a bit, like you said.”
He shakes his head. “No. This doesn’t work. I’m not going to let my son’s mood determine who I can be with?—”
“I don’t want to let it either, but I also don’t want to be at least partially to blame for you not having a relationship with your son.”
