Light in Mourning

25

At the end of May, we got a call that had us rushing down to Jacksonville. Drew was in labor, more than a week late, and Georgia wasn’t willing to miss it for the world. She’d hired a caretaker for the house and a maid to come in, between guests. I'd come to realize it might be difficult for her to live right next door and I wondered if buying the tiny beach cottage next to the beach rental had been a good idea. It seemed to add an extra layer of stress, but so far, whenever I mentioned moving or buying something else, she wouldn’t hear of it. I hoped that the stress would ease with time and, other than taking care of the big things, she could put the rental out of her mind.

We took the Jeep down to Jacksonville, Charlie in the back, and stayed for a week after little Bennett was welcomed into the world. Georgia attended labor and delivery with Drew and Gavin. Drew, through a haze of blissful tears, asked Georgia to be the little guy’s godmother. She happily accepted. Regardless of the title, I knew she would be like a second mom to him. She had presents stacked in the back of the Jeep on the drive down, bought more when we were there, and helped out with feedings and diaper changes all through the night.

When we left a week later, the sad look on Georgia's face nearly broke my heart. She was leaving a piece of her heart with that squirmy little shit and it softened my heart to her and our future together all the more.

Another month passed, and we were in full summer swing. The beach house was booked through September and we were getting off-season calls for October. Turned out owning a rental on the North Carolina beach was a great investment, one that would more than pay the bills with little effort. All it took was some upkeep inbetween rentals, which we, for the most part, hired out when needed. Georgia had started writing in her free time; her new therapist had explained it was a form of therapy. A way to release the pain and fear she'd held onto for so long. She enjoyed it, and I loved watching her in the morning on the deck, laptop across her legs as she typed away. I didn't know what she was writing down and I didn't ask. I just knew that a sense of calm seemed to radiate out from her when she finally put it down for the day.

Georgia also received a letter from the parole board stating parole had been denied. I held her in my arms as she sobbed; her reaction surprised me at first. Wasn't this what she wanted? What she hoped for? Until she explained it was a cleansing of sorts. Happy tears and sad tears together: happy because she didn't want him released after serving just sixteen years for the brutal murder of her parents, but also sadness because he had a family he'd left abandoned—a wife without her husband and a son without a father. I didn't agree with this line of thinking at all; for all we knew, they were much better off without him, but I kept my mouth shut and let her cry. It was the least I could do.

We were also starting to talk about wedding plans. I was on her ass to set a date. I wasn’t willing to let her slip through my fingers or give her a chance to wise up and dump my ass. I knew I had it good; I knew with my past, she could easily choose to be wary. She was old hat at relationships but I was a newbie. The old me would have been scared. The notions of a family and wife were new to me—something I hadn't given much thought to before—but now it was here, I wasn’t worried in the slightest.

I was pushing for a fall wedding, but Georgia rolled her eyes every time I tried to convince her. She wanted something well-thought-out and planned. She argued she’d moved in with me on impulse and said yes on impulse, but she was not willing to get married on impulse. After weeks of working on her, I finally got her nailed down for spring. She wanted a small wedding on the beach, right here at our home, just our closest friends and family. It sounded perfect.

We were having this very discussion on a warm day at the beginning of July when a loud knock sounded at the door. Georgia lifted her eyebrows in surprise and then slid back through the French doors. She called my name a few minutes later, so I tracked in after her. I stepped up behind her, sliding my palm up her neck and giving her a soft massage before my eyes turned to the guest standing at the doorway.

“What’s up?” I asked my beautiful fiancée, who was looking up at me with a confused expression.

“Tristan?” The woman in the doorway murmured my name. I glanced at her, searching her face. I was sure I didn’t know her. “It’s okay, baby.” She pulled a little boy, not more than three or four, from behind her. A mass of tousled blond hair and light green eyes stared back at me. “This is your daddy, honey.”

My heart roared in my ears. It beat so fucking fast I swore it would fly out of my chest. I met the woman’s eyes, unable to speak, searching for answers. I didn’t fucking know her. At least I didn’t think I knew her. But that kid—that kid could have been me at four. His hair, his eyes, I didn't want to believe it, but the resemblance couldn't be denied.

“I’ll let you guys talk.” Georgia pulled away from me.

“No. Don’t leave.” I pulled her closer to me, searching her eyes, begging her not to walk away. I swallowed the huge lump that had formed in my throat. I felt Georgia shuffle beside me. Shit, I’d forgotten how she must be feeling. She must have been able to see how much he looked like me. Would she run? Would this be the last straw? This summer had been so perfect, everything about it—from our engagement on—and was it all about to shatter at my feet?

The sad thing was I couldn’t blame her if she did run.

This was her greatest fear. Her biggest insecurity when it came to us—my past. And here it was, three feet tall and starting up at me.

“It’s okay.” I watched her take a deep breath. “Hey, little guy, want to take a walk with me? We can look for sea glass on the shore.” She bent down to his level and I watched their interaction, tears burning the back of my eyes. I ran a hand through my hair and pulled. I was going to be fucking bald before I hit thirty, without a doubt. I chomped down on my lip painfully. I couldn’t imagine what Georgia was feeling, but if this kid was mine, I had to be there. It just tore me up inside that I couldn’t have this with Georgia, because she was the girl I wanted. I didn’t want this with anyone but her, but now here we were, another wrench thrown in our path.

“What’s sea glass?” his soft little voice asked her.

“Here, lemme show you.”

His little hand slipped into hers. His mom nodded to Georgia in agreement before the girl who stole my heart, and the little person that may or may not have my DNA coursing through his little body, turned the corner and walked out toward the beach.

“Are you sure? I mean, I don't really remember . . .”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. We hooked up one night in Jacksonville more than four years ago and that little guy was the result.”

“No fucking way.” I shook my head in disbelief. But it couldn’t be denied. He looked just fucking like me. I was sure I could dig up a baby picture that had me looking just like him. “Impossible.” I stared at her, unable to rip my gaze away.

“I’m sorry it took me so long. I didn’t have your number, and the situation being what it was . . . I just didn’t think you’d want . . .” She trailed off.

“Yeah.” I shuffled to the side and invited her in. We had four years worth of talking to do but I couldn’t calm down; my heart thudded and my breath came out in quick exhales.

I can't fucking breathe. Jesus Christ, is it hot in here?

My brain buzzed with a million thoughts, all the time my eyes searching her face.

Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Long legs. Light blonde hair.

Why didn’t I know her? Why didn't she look familiar? I’d been with a lot of women, but fuck—I never thought I’d forget a face like this.