Page 74 of Loving at 40

“They’ve missed you.” The words are meant to hit a mark. He didn’t just walk away from me, he walked away from them, and it’s been a bumpy road explaining his disappearance.

“I’m sorry.” The apology isn’t enough, but I read in his eyes once again that he knows how weak the words sound. “Give me time, ba—”

My glare cuts him off, and I turn away from him. Forget the shoveling. Screw the snow. Frack Archer.

My elbow is suddenly caught.

“Jenna.” My name. That voice. It’s better than any endearment, yet I don’t trust it. “Let me explain.”

Although I’m greatly relieved he’s alive, I’m not certain I can trust what he’ll say. Three months ago, there’d been news of a yacht exploding on the big lake. Everything in me worried Archer was somehow involved and lost to me in the most final way.

“Let me see the girls.”

He’s already playing me because he knows if the girls accept him, I’m toast. At the very least, I’ll hear his apology or his explanation.

“Archer, I can’t do this,” I mutter, afraid for them. I need to guard their little hearts. They don’t know their father. They’ve missed the man standing before me. His disappearance wasn’t fair to them or me.

“You can, ba—” He pauses. “Jenna. Please.”

Shaking my head, I look off down my quiet street, covered in feet of snow.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Archer sighs, hanging his head. “Just give me time to prove myself.”

“I can’t take any more pretending.”

His head pops up. “I was never pretending. Not with you.” He steps closer to me, and I step back, kicking the low stoop with my heel. Blindly, I step up on it. “Everything between us was real.”

“Was it?” I just don’t know. I know how I felt. I know he sent me his medal. The weight of it rests buried beneath my winter outerwear and a sweatshirt underneath. Every night I’ve clutched it in my hand, but for what, I’m not even certain.

“Wasn’t it for you?” His gravelly voice lowers, uncertain and almost afraid of my answer. Unable to offer him the truth about my own feelings without hearing his, I glance away again, crossing my arms over my midsection. Maybe hearing him out will bring us the closure we all need. The girls will see Archer didn’t disappear into thin air, and I’ll be able to stitch up my heart again, living with the knowledge he’s alive even if he’s not mine.

29

[Archer]

Jenna’s house is small but warm. Despite the cramped space, love is evident the moment I enter. The kids’ artwork decorates the walls, framed in pride and hung to become a focal point. Child-sized chairs rest near a couch, aimed at a television set. A fire crackles behind a protective screen. A staircase divides the entrance area, and a dining room is to the right. The table contains a laptop and a stack of papers, plus coloring sheets, crayons, and a bucket with scissors, a glue bottle and yarn hanging over the lip.

“Archer?” Talia says, eyes wide while I’m unbuttoning my jacket.

“Archer!” Rosie calls out, plucking her thumb from her mouth while tipping back her head on the little chair where she sits. Then she bursts into tears.

What the . . .?

Jenna rushes to Rosie, scooping her up while Rosie keeps her eyes on me. Tears slip down her cheeks, and she hastily brushes them away.

“I told you he wasn’t dead,” Rosie mutters to her sister, glancing down at where Talia sits on her bright yellow chair.

“What the . . .?” Frickity-frack. “No, I’m not dead, princess.” I chuckle, caught between sorrow that they thought I was and relief that I’m alive. I thought I might die—again—at one point, but I clearly did not. “I’m a warrior. Like you.”

Rosie kicks out her legs, signaling her mother to set her on the ground, and she rushes to me. I squat, fighting the pain in my upper leg. Suddenly, she’s in my arms, wrapping her little ones around my neck and nearly choking me. Or maybe it’s the lump in my throat at the acceptance of this innocent child. She’s not questioning me or struggling with my presence like her mother. I don’t blame Jenna, though. God, I can’t fault her reaction. Just the fact I’m inside this house is a step forward, and I have many steps to take.

“Missed you, baby girl,” I whisper to Rosie while keeping my eyes pinned on her mother across the room. Jenna swipes her cheek, rapidly blinking away the tears filling her eyes. I lower to kneel and shift Rosie to my thigh. The crouched position burns through my old wound, but I’ll take a firestorm over my entire body if these ladies take me back.

A second chance, Jenna stated once upon a time. She was my first and only chance to love the right way.

I glance at Talia next. “Missed you, too, ice queen. Did you send all this snow?”