Page 29 of The Best of Us

“My stepbrother was in the military, and I had this ridiculous idea that he could somehow use his government resources and contacts to figure out who you were based on your first initial and the fact you had an accent.” I realized how naïve that idea was, but desperate times . . .

He looked up at the ceiling, jaw tightening, a wave of hurt probably rolling through him. He was trying to fight the battle of his pain by himself, as I once had to do. “Go on,” he requested a moment later, not yet looking at me.

“My brother reached out to, um, a friend at the CIA. The guy could only get ahold of a profile shot of you, and he said it was too pixelated. I asked him to send it to me, but he wouldn’t. Something about already violating national security by helping me.”

“Juliette.” My name came out like a sigh as he lowered his chin.

A hundredif onlysclimbed into my mind, unearthing thewhat-ifsI’d tried to bury long ago.

If only I gave you my name. If only the napkin hadn’t gotten wet.Never anif onlywe hadn’t met, though. Nor anif onlyI hadn’t gotten pregnant.

I needed him to understand the lengths I went to find him. I needed him to know—to believe—that I never wanted to keep his son from him.

“When that failed, I tried to get guest records for the hotels on the island. Flight manifests for that night. But hotels and airlines take privacy laws seriously.”

He said my name again, this time like it was the last breath left in his lungs. He leaned off to the side and set the bag on the nearby nightstand.

“What are you thinking?” My tongue pinned to the roof of my mouth as I waited for him to finish processing. “I’ve had seventeen years to accept what happened, so if you need time, I get it.”

He framed my cheeks with his hands, and I closed my eyes. He brought his mouth to my ear. “This is my fault.” I didn’t have time to absorb his words because he dropped another dose of heavy on me within seconds. “I could have had you found, and I didn’t.”

Had me found? How?I pulled back, removing his hands from my face to better look at him.

His strong shoulders broke forward. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I knew your hotel name and villa number. I could’ve paid someone off to access the records and get your information. But I knew what I’d do with your name if I had it. The temptation would be too much. I’d jump ship—literally,I was in the Navy on a sub—and swim through the depths of Hell to get to you. But I figured if I found you, you’d reject me. I told myself you would have called if you wanted to see me again. I let my ego and pride get in the way.” He hung his head, tearing his hands through his hair. “I convinced myself you didn’t want me. That I wasn’t good for you. But you have no idea how much I?—”

Shock, not gravity, pulled me down, and he abandoned whatever he planned to say at the sight. My knees slammed to the floor as I replayed his admission.

“I should have come for you.” He crouched in front of me, drawing his finger under my chin. “I should’ve come,” he added emphatically.

Goose bumps wrecked my skin, creating an entire grid of chaos across my body. “You didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. I should have come,” he said in a firm voice. “You raised our son by yourself. You needed me.Heneeded me. And I wasn’t there.” His voice became so painfully raw, it hurt to hear.

I tracked the path of one of my tears as it became lost between us on the scuffed-up hardwoods.

His hand left my chin, and he shifted backward, sitting on the floor. His legs stretched out in front of him, and he buried his fingertips into the back of his skull, elbows drawing together.

“Constantine.” I wasn’t thinking clearly, only focusing on his pain, so when I crawled over to him, I climbed onto his lap, straddling him.

He let his arms fall to his sides, and I buried my face at his shoulder and neck, my fingers twisting up the hair at the back of his head as I cried.

He didn’t push me away.

He didn’t remind me we were still just strangers.

Instead, he cradled the back of my head, holding me in place as his other hand slid up and down my back, the stroking motions soothing both of us.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes. Both of us grieving the time he lost with his son, the time Colin lost with his father.

It was his turn to break the silence. Without letting go of me, he rasped, “You named him Colin because of my first initial?”

“Yes.” I sniffled. “I don’t understand how . . . I mean . . . after all this time . . . and he stole from you.” I sat upright to look at his face. I was a snotty mess and didn’t have it in me to care.

His big hands softly caressed the sides of my arms as we remained locked on to one another.

“You know, Colin’s been obsessed with the city since we visited here with his uncle in 2019. I’m not much of a big-city girl, though.” I licked my wet, salty lips. “His dream school is NYU, if he can ever stop getting into fights to get in.”Story for later.“I didn’t want to be far away from him for college, so I figured the sooner we move here, the better.”

“My sister went to NYU.” The emotion in his tone was palpable, but no tears fell.

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