Page 63 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

Her face goes soft. At her nickname or this perfect family moment, I’m not sure. She pushes her hand through Max’s hair, focusing her attention on him. “Daniel wants to talk to you for a sec, if that’s okay.”

His eyes dart between us, his brow furrowed. “Sure?”

Already, my chest constricts. My headache from before resumes—a steady pulse behind my eyes that makes me slightly nauseated. Hands stuffed into my pockets, I walk to the nearby bench and sit at one end. Max sits in the middle. Sadie takes the far end.

Here we are. At my crossroads.

“Max.” I angle toward him and remove my hands from my pockets, but I don’t know what to do with myself. I place my hands on my thighs, then pick at my cuticles. “I have something to tell you, but before I do, I want you to know a bit more about me.”

He glances over his shoulder at Sadie. She gives an encouraging nod. He turns back to me with a quiet “Okay.”

“You know I have a history with your mom, but it was more than that. She was . . .” I lift my eyes from his for a moment, needing her to see this. To see me—the depths of my feelings for her. “I was in love with her,” I say roughly.

She covers her trembling lips with her hand. I attempt to say I still love you with my eyes, but I probably resemble a terrified lamb about to be slaughtered. I return my focus to Max, who’s looking slightly bewildered. “I loved her a lot, and she loved me. We were planning a future together, but things beyond our control tore us apart.”

His dark eyes sweep my face, probing, analyzing. “So you wanna date my mom?”

I want to marry his mom, but that’s a whole other conversation. I don’t bother mentioning my asshole father and witness protection. Sadie explained the story to him before he met my family. He knows what I went through. He just doesn’t know who I am.

“Thing is, Max. The reason I’m here, running this program. The reason I returned this close to my hometown is . . .” Goddamn it, these tears. Burning up the backs of my eyes again, threatening to fall. I glance at Sadie. My Sprite, who encourages me when I’m floundering. She’s battling her own set of waterworks and losing. Tears drip unchecked down her cheeks. I push through the fire burning up my lungs and say, “I’m your dad, Max.”

He blinks at me, doesn’t speak, but he’s breathing hard. Like, really hard.

I press my fist against my chest. Swear to God, my heart’s about to bust through. “I didn’t know, Max. Had no idea your mom was pregnant with you when we had to go into witness protection. Only found out about you recently. My real name’s Desmond, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I was worried about you. Scared that the pressure of meeting me would be hard to handle, or that I might accidentally hurt you. Because honestly, I’m a bit of a screwup. But then I met you, and you’re this great kid. So amazing and smart and talented and easy to be around. You make being a dad feel easy, and I’m so proud you’re mine.” My tears are everywhere, dripping over my nose, my lips. Total shit show. “I hope you can forgive me for keeping this from you. I want nothing more than to be your dad.”

He still doesn’t speak or move, and I start to cave. I’m buckling. A landslide of devastation I can’t control.

Sadie’s hands are on Max’s shoulders. She’s telling him “It’s okay” and “We can leave if you want.”

For the record, I am not okay. I can’t leave. I will petrify in this spot. A tarnished sculpture with my insides gouged out, amid the hopping squirrels and green-green grass, titled The Day Desmond Lost His Heart.

Then arms are around my neck. Little-boy arms, hugging me fiercely. Max doesn’t say a word, just cries and shakes and squeezes me, and I’m squeezing him back, burying my face against him, breathing him in, worried I’m holding him too hard.

“I love you,” I choke out. “All of you, Max. No holds barred.”

No matter who he loves or doesn’t love. No matter what happens with Sadie. From here on out, I’ll always have Max.

I open my sopping eyes and see her. Sadie Jones. The strong woman who loved her son so fiercely she cut off her parents and carved out a new life for herself. She’s bawling and smiling and beaming, and I can’t lie. I need her too. Us. This family together. Which means I have some convincing to do, starting with our second date this Thursday night.

TWENTY

Dates can be nerve racking. Dates with your first love, who raised your son and owns your heart, are a whole other beast. I’m pacing outside the entrance to a fun street food scene, alternating between crossing my arms and sticking my hands in my jean pockets. Since we’re keeping our date secret from Max so he doesn’t get his hopes up about us, I couldn’t pick up Sadie at home as I would’ve liked. I got to our meeting spot early instead. I’d claim my eager arrival was so she wouldn’t feel awkward waiting for me. Truth is, I’m mildly overexcited for tonight.

Before leaving my house, I tried on three different T-shirts—all plain black, but I swear each fits differently—and settled on the one that’s softest. And yes, that’s gel in my hair. I don’t remember the last time I cared so much about how I looked or waited eagerly to glimpse a woman. Everything feels new and exciting. I feel new, all thanks to Max.

We’ve chatted on the phone every day since Monday. Probing talks where he asks me personal questions about my interests and hobbies (exercising and pitifully done crafts) and what it’s like having four brothers (invasive and annoying). He also hit me with random doozies like, “Do you think dragons exist?” And, “If you were a french fry and you were starving, would you eat yourself?” His brain is ridiculous and awesome. I hate when I have to hang up with him, and I’m busting to see him tomorrow on our hike. I’m not sure if he’ll feel awkward or shy in public with me. Whatever transpires, we’ll work through it. I’m just excited to see him again.

And his mother.

Nearby vendors are selling mini samples of their street food concoctions, the mouthwatering smells of grilled meat, exotic spices, and caramelized sugar drifting from the festivities. A couple walks past me toward the action, holding hands and leaning into each other. The woman has a cool collection of tattoos that put mine to shame, and when the guy kisses her cheek, my stomach does this nervous, happy jump I can’t even describe.

Then I smell the best smells: sunshine and citrus—my sweet Sadie Jones.

“Des?”

I swivel, and there she is, smiling shyly, killing me with her fluttery summer dress. The fabric looks thin, the barely-there straps exposing the freckles on her shoulders. The low front flirts with her cleavage, but her lips are what do me in: pink and shiny and begging to be devoured. At a loss for words, I do the only thing humanly possible—lean down to kiss her.

Sadie gives me her cheek.