Page 162 of Boardroom Mask

“You heard me,” I press. “You’re a coward, Jillian Pierce. You’ve had seven months to drive to New Jersey. It’s an hour away. Less, if you take the turnpike. And you haven’t done it.” She opens her mouth, but I lunge forward to grab her and spin her around, so she’s trapped between me and the garden wall. “Your daughter is waiting for you. She’sbeenwaiting. And you’re standing at playgrounds watchingotherpeople’s kids because you’re too scared to go meet your own.”

Her face crumples. She tries to recover, but the mask is gone and it’s not coming back. Her chin trembles. She presses her lips together hard.

“You survived something that would’ve destroyed most people,” I tell her. “You carried a child you didn’t ask for, and you loved her enough to give her a shot at a good life. That’s the strongest thing I’ve ever heard of. But not going to see her? Not showing up when shewantsyou there? That’s bullshit. And you know it.”

She’s breathing fast through her nose, fists still clenched, tears running freely now. She doesn’t wipe them away.

“But here’s the thing: I’m an even bigger coward than you are,” I confess. “Because I had everything I ever wanted, and I ran away from it.”

Jillian blinks. Her fury wavers. Just for a second.

But that’s my chance. That’s my open window.

“I told myself it was noble, what I was doing. I was doing it for you, so how could it be selfish?‘I’m a bad man and you’re better off without me.’That’s cowardly. It’s a cover-up for the fact that I was fucking scared.” I swallow hard. “I was terrified that you’d wake up one day and see me clearly and realize I’m not worth any of it. I thought, if I left first, at least I’d get to control how it ended.”

My throat feels thick. I push through the barrier.

“I spent seven months in Europe trying to become somebody else. Or, better yet, to become nobody at all. And you know what I figured out? I’m never going to be that guy. I’m always going to be the man who climbed through your window with a gun and fell in love with you on your kitchen floor. That’s who I am. I’mnot clean and I’m not fixed. I’m probably never going to be either of those things.”

I grab her hands in mine. They’re ice-cold, but that’s okay—I have enough fire in me for the both of us.

“But loving you was the one good thing I ever did, Jillian. And I won’t fuck that up a second time.” Her tears are falling unchecked, twin rivers down her face. She’s going to be so pissed when she realizes her makeup is ruined. But I like her this way. She’s never more beautiful than when she cries black tears for me.

She looks down at our joined hands, then back up at me. Her mascara is a disaster. Her nose is red. She’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.

“So what happens next?” she whispers.

I pull her hands up and press my lips to her knuckles, one by one, tasting salt and champagne and Jillian. “You’re going to meet your daughter.”

Her breath hitches as she shakes her head. “No, no. I can’t do that. I can’t go there alone.”

I clutch her frozen fingers. “Good thing you won’t have to. I’ll drive.”

69

JILLIAN

“I have died every day waiting for you / Darling, don’t be afraid / I have loved you for a thousand years / I’ll love you for a thousand more”

— “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri

“We can still turn around,” I offer.

Kir doesn’t dignify that with a response. He just pumps my hand and keeps his eyes on the road. He hasn’t told me it’ll be okay, that I’m brave or strong or ready. He hasn’t told me a damn thing, actually. I’m grateful for that, because if he said any of those words right now, I’d probably throw up in his lap.

Exit 153 appears on the green sign overhead. Montclair is eight miles away.

My stomach does cartwheels. I rest my forehead against the window and watch New Jersey zoom past in the dark. Strip malls. Gas stations. A church with a lit-up cross.

Soon, too soon, we’re there. I look down at myself, still wearing the green gown from the wedding. I feel beyond foolish showingup like this, but it’ll have to be okay, because we’re here now, and I know that there’s no turning back.

It’s a pretty, quiet street. Old oaks interlace their fingers overhead to form an emerald canopy that shines bright in the moonlight. We’re parked in front of a blue house with white shutters. A pink tricycle lies on its side in the front yard, glittery tassels wafting in the summer breeze. The porch light is on. Waiting for us.

Kir cuts the engine. The silence is enormous. He looks at me. I look at the house.

“I can’t feel my legs,” I tell him.

“They’re still there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”