Page 86 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

Firming my jaw and gentling my voice, I say, “Nice to meet you, Max.”

Sadie stands and ruffles his hair. “Go in the bookstore, honey. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

Max eyes me warily. I don’t blame him. As far as he knows, I made his mother cry. But he says, “Okay,” and runs inside.

I rub my hands down my face. “Holy shit, Sadie.”

“I know. Trust me, I know.” Silence lingers. Ten years of silence I can’t begin to fill.

Aside from her red-rimmed eyes, Sadie’s as stunning as ever, with wavy sun-kissed blonde hair offset by darker roots—the dyed hair Sandra had observed. She still has the type of delicate bone structure a fairy or elf would flaunt, with a petite frame and fair skin to match. She was so much smaller than Desmond I used to wonder how sex worked between them. Then there’s the big purse on her shoulder that might hold a candlestick or a wrench but most definitely holds my brother’s heart.

“I don’t follow the news much,” she finally says. “Only heard about your dad’s book the other day, totally by accident—some random couple talking about it in the grocery line—and I nearly lost it. You have no idea how hard I looked for Des, how many calls I made after you disappeared, the people I hunted down. I tried so hard, and when I couldn’t find him, I had to leave.” She takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes. “I refused to tell anyone here I was pregnant. They thought I was drowning my sorrows in food, getting fat, but I couldn’t stay here and be faced with the questions, see all our memories every day. I wouldn’t have survived.”

I hear the self-blame in her voice, like she somehow didn’t do enough to find him, or she should’ve stayed so he could find her. Painful ifs that drive a person mad.

“My father did this, Sadie. Not you. Not Desmond, who loved you so much losing you flattened him. My father stole the past ten years of your lives, and there was nothing either of you could’ve done to stop it.”

Except that’s not fully true. Desmond had planned to propose a week before our disappearance. If nerves and doubts hadn’t thwarted him, Sadie would have been family. She’d have been in witness protection with us, the two of them raising their child together. How the hell will he live with that knowledge?

She covers her mouth with a shaky hand, closes her eyes briefly. “How’s Des? Is he okay? I kept trying to find him after Max was born. Contacted every law firm I could find, across a bunch of states. I tried for years, but I guess he had a new name.”

I don’t know how to answer this without breaking this already broken woman. There’s no softening this truth. I’m once again sucking on the noxious fumes of Desmond’s banana Camaro, watching his angry fists grip the wheel, while his eyebrow piercing infects his face as viciously as memories infect his mind.

“Losing you was rough on Des,” I say cautiously. “He took WITSEC worse than any of us, never finished law school. Kind of spiraled and made a lot of”—appalling, reckless, self-destructive—“bad decisions.”

I can’t say anymore. I’m a Yellow-Bellied Coward Bird, pathetically spineless, one word from flying straight into a window headfirst. I don’t have it in me to watch Sadie fall apart. I’ll have an epic inburst and might run after all.

She presses her lips together. “Can I have his number?”

I guess this can get harder. The rocks in my heart grind down to shards, cutting deeper with every breath. “We don’t know where he is right now. He disappears sometimes, and Dad’s book probably hit him hard. But I’ll find him,” I add when her face crumples. I grip her shoulders, being her Jake. Her younger-older brother who will keep her together. “I’ll tell my family, and we won’t rest until we find him.”

She dashes at her face again. “Yeah. Okay, yeah.” She focuses on me, smiles through her tears. “God, I can’t believe how handsome you are. You’re a man now, E. Are you back with Delilah?”

Despite everything, a burst of happiness hits me. My home. My love, even when things get hard. “I am. It was rough at first, but we’re finding our way through this mess. You and Max should come over. We have plans, but you can join us. Or we’ll cancel. I don’t think I can entertain with this news.”

She shakes her head and steps back, hiking her big purse higher over her shoulder. “We have a long drive home. Maybe next time.”

These shell-shocked minutes haven’t been enough. I need to know Max, talk to him, give him bad advice he’ll hate, tease him about his crushes, teach him how to draw and how to cook my famous curry. “Can we have a family get-together? With my mom? She’ll go nuts when she meets Max.” Probably break down, but Jesus. He’s her first grandchild.

Sadie fiddles with her purse strap. “Of course, but I’d rather Max meet his dad first, if that’s okay. Once you find him.”

Desmond. His dad.

I sag slightly, unable to pretend I’m not disappointed. Finding Des might not be quick. “I understand, but if it takes a while, maybe they can meet him sooner?”

“We’ll talk, but please give your family my love.” She presses her palm to my cheek. “It’s so good to see you.”

She blinks back more tears. We exchange contact information, then she goes inside the bookstore, leaving me staring after her, unsure what to do with myself. I’ve forgotten how to move. Walk. Speak. Swallow. Think.

Home. Delilah.

There’s only one place I want to be. My feet move, speed walking and then jogging, desperate to get to Delilah, hug her, share this news so it doesn’t consume me. I need to call my family, but I need Delilah first.

I’m breathless by the time I’m at her door. I’m empty handed, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll have to cancel tonight. Our friends will understand. I’ll drive to Houston as soon as possible, hit the road after I talk to Delilah. Figure out how to find Desmond and give him the second-biggest shock of his life.

I burst into Delilah’s place, expecting to find her busy in the kitchen, prepping the appetizers she planned, but she’s at the table, staring at my computer, hand clutching the mouse. My stomach drops. I know what she’s looking at: the screen I didn’t bother closing. My story isn’t a secret. I don’t care if she reads it, but her face is so crestfallen I have the sinking feeling I’ve done something very wrong.

TWENTY-NINE