Instead, my gaze freezes on a chest—a male chest that I’d recognize anywhere, clothed or unclothed.
My heart immediately thumps to my feet as I drag my eyes up…and up…and up until I reach light blue eyes staring down at me.
Grayson raises a familiar white envelope in one hand. “We need to talk.”
No hello, no polite greeting, but his words lack the anger I would’ve assume they would carry and I blink, surprised he’s here. Surprised he’s not yelling at me. Surprised I’m hearing from him at all instead of a lawyer like he threatened.
“Kennedy?”
My head jerks back at my name. My mouth goes dry when I look at him, still frozen in the doorway, my hand wrapped around the doorknob. “Yeah?”
I see a hint of a smile before it disappears, as if he can’t bear the idea to smile in my presence. “I don’t want to fight again, I just want to talk. Can you let me in?”
“Of course.” I take two steps back, giving him room to enter before I close the door behind him. “Sorry,” I say when I watch him take in the mess all over my small apartment. I’ve pretended to clean, picking up a paper plate or a random napkin lying around, but in the few days I’ve been home, my apartment looks more like a rat hole than it ever has. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
He kicks off his shoes and removes his jacket. “I wasn’t expecting to come.”
Without looking at me, Grayson pushes through the small entryway, the eating area just off the kitchen, and into the living room where he takes a seat on the couch. He hasn’t dropped the envelope; instead he’s holding it in his hands gently…almost reverently.
I wipe my hands down my thighs and join him, sitting at the far end of the couch. “Do you want something to drink?”
He shakes his head and slides the envelope onto the table in front of us. “Thank you for sending that to me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you in Vegas.”
Grayson still doesn’t look at me. He continues to look at the envelope. His sandy-blond hair isn’t pulled back like it typically is. Instead it hangs low, blocking his eyes from my view. I can’t tell what he’s thinking as he sits there, rubbing his hands back and forth and cracking his knuckles.
He shifts on the couch and faces me. Blowing out a breath, he pushes his hair off his face and looks directly into my eyes. “I’ve had some time to think…some time to get over the shock of last weekend.” He pauses to swallow and lick his lips.
I follow every movement, hating myself that I like it so much.
“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, Kennedy.”
“You have every right to be upset,” I blurt. He does. I’m not surprised his anger went to monstrous levels. “I don’t blame you.”
“I was shocked and angry, but that doesn’t excuse the way I yelled at you.” He blinks, looks around my living room, and I give him time. I don’t know why he’s here, but I can only imagine. My pulse begins to thrum harder and faster as I wait.
“Why are you here?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything. The ticking of the kitchen clock sounds louder than it should.
He rolls his lips, and his hands go to his hair again. I’ve never seen him look so uncertain…so shaken. It kills me that I’ve done this to him.
“The Matsens seem like great people.”
I nod when he pauses, because he’s right: they are truly wonderful, and more open than they need to be.
“And I can’t tell you what it means to me that you sent me everything you did, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have a son out there I didn’t know about and have never seen.” He blinks and leans forward. “I want to see him, Kennedy. I need to.”
Fear claws at my throat. I don’t know how it’s possible. I’ve looked into parental rights after an adoption. Essentially, I’ve royally screwed him over by not finding him before the birth. According to general law, if a biological father isn’t known or isn’t found in order to give up his rights, he loses them legally when an adoption is completed. If he steps forward later, a paternity test is generally done to ensure he’s the biological parent, but in order for a father to gain back his rights, he has a long, and most often tumultuous, legal case ahead of him.
“Why?” I ask, the one word garbled and stuck in my throat. “Do you want to raise him?”
Grayson shakes his head, tugging on his hair at the back of his neck. His head falls back and a puff of breath falls from his parted lips. “I don’t fucking know, Kennedy. But this isn’t fair, and it isn’t right. You got to see him. You got to say goodbye. I have nothing but photos and letters and the knowledge that I don’t know if I would have surrendered my rights six years ago if you had asked.”
I open my mouth to speak. What I’m going to say, I don’t know, but I can feel Grayson’s frustration rising.
“I talked to my lawyer, but without you…without your help, I don’t have much of a chance. Please, Kennedy. Help me with this. I just…I need to see him—need to know if he’s okay, and that all this crap that sounds so fucking perfect isn’t a bunch of bullshit.” His eyes spear into mine, the intensity in his gaze powerful. “You owe me this.”
“I know.” I run my hands down my thighs again. God. I’m sweaty and gross and probably stinky and it’s not like Grayson gives a shit because he’s not here for me, anyway. I lick my lips, wetting them, and watch Grayson’s eyes drop to follow the quick movement. He raises his gaze immediately. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”
To prove it to him, I jump off the couch and head to the kitchen. Grabbing the business card I’ve always kept close but no longer need because I’ve long since memorized the information, I take it back to Grayson.
“This is the adoption agency I used. Mary knows me, knows everything. I don’t know...I don’t know how this works,” I stammer when he takes the card.
His finger brushes against mine, and the heat stings my hand. Both of us freeze before he leans forward and shoves the card into his back pocket without looking.
He gapes at me for a brief moment before standing up. I take a step back, giving him space when he walks away and heads back to the front door and slips on his shoes.
“I should go. I need to get back to Chicago.” A line appears between his brows and he looks at me over his shoulder. “Why aren’t you at work? I mean...I’m glad you were here, I guess. I was just expecting to wait.”
“Um.” I scratch the back of my neck, avoiding eye contact with him. This is humiliating. “I got fired on Monday.” At his shocked noise, I look at him and shrug. “Apparently some photos of us made some magazine covers and my boss wasn’t too thrilled.”
He takes a step toward me. Away from the door. A muscle tics in his jaw. “You got fired because of me?”
“I get it. The company’s image is important to them, and I sort of put that at risk, I guess. It’s no big deal, really.”
“Kennedy.”
I drag my eyes to meet his reluctantly. All the anger and frustration he’s had for me has evaporated, leaving nothing but sadness.
“It’s fine, Grayson. I can find a new job.”
“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to. Not just because you were seen in public with me. Fuck, I’m—”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”
Moments of strained silence pass between us as we stare at each other in my cramped hallway. I hate this. I hate that a week ago, Grayson was just a hurtful memory in my past. After this past weekend, he’s so much more than that.
I love this man. And I’ve hurt him.
Braving a rejection I know is coming, I risk taking a step toward him. I look at him with pleading eyes, and ask, “I know you probably hate me, and I don’t blame you. But…do you think you can forgive me? I’m so sorry, Grayson, but I do—”
He raises his hand slowly, trailing a finger down my cheek, and he smiles sadly. “I don’t hate you, K. I just…I don’t know if I can forgive you either, even if I realize that I’m equally to blame. I understand why you went through with the adoption. I do.”
Tears shimmer in my eyes, making his expression go blurry.
“Fuck, last weekend…” His finger glides down the column of my throat, and I feel my breath hitch as he whispers, “That was incredible, having you back and being with you. It was the happiest I’d been in a long time.”
I pull my gaze from his and look at his shoulder. I can’t stand to see the anguish mixed with desire in his eyes. He might be trying to hide it, but he’s failing miserably and I know that in this moment he’s just as tortured, filled with just as much regret and sadness as I am.
“I understand,” I whisper, my voice growing ragged and harsh. A lump clogs my throat, making it difficult to speak and breathe.
Which is why I don’t expect it when Grayson leans forward, brushing his lips against my cheek. I flinch from the warm and brief contact.
“I just want to see my son, see how that goes, and then maybe…maybe we can figure out what we do about us?”