Page 107 of This Time Around
“But we all have secrets, Jack.”
“I know that. And I don’t need to know every last deep, dark secret in the bottom of your soul. Everyone has things they keep private. But I can’t spend my life worrying that you’re leading this parallel existence and keeping me out of it.”
She was still struggling to think of what to say when he stood up. The sight of him towering over her, shirtless and distraught, was enough to undo her. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.
“I’m sorry, Allie. I’m sorry for what happened sixteen years ago. I’m sorry you felt like you had to go through that alone.” She watched his throat move as he swallowed, seeming to force himself to form more words. “And I’m sorry this was painful for you to tell me just now. I appreciate you finally letting me know.”
“Jack—” She reached her hand up, imploring him to take it. Willing him to sit back down and talk through this.
His gaze dropped to her hand and stayed there for a few heartbeats. He didn’t take it. When his eyes lifted to hers again, she knew it was over.
“I can’t be pulled back into this,” he said. “Into the secrets and the half-truths and the need to ignore anything that disrupts the storyline.” He swallowed again, eyes glittering in sunlight streaming through the dormer window. “I’m sorry, Allie. I can’t.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
For more than a week, Jack ignored his phone.
He used it to swap “I love you” texts with Paige, and to find out when she needed to be picked up from a playdate. He even used it to test apps for his company, now that most of his crew was up and running in the new Portland office.
But the calls from Allie went straight to voicemail.
So did the ones from his father, who had continued to send messages imploring him to get in touch.
The irony wasn’t lost on Jack. The thing that made him angriest with Allie was the same damn thing he was doing now. Avoiding conflict. Pretending things were peachy-fucking-keen when they weren’t at all. When there was a giant, gaping hole in the middle of his chest that he knew damn well hadn’t been there the last time he and Allie split up. He didn’t know why it seemed to ache more this time around, but it did.
But she’d lied to him, dammit. Not just sixteen years ago, when he distinctly remembered her telling him she needed to skip the concert to study for exams. She’d lied about Wade. She’d lied about the money. Lying by omission—by avoidance. That was still lying in Jack’s book. It was something he couldn’t live with day in, day out, for the rest of his life.
“Daddy, you’re doing it again.”
Jack snapped his attention back to his daughter. She was sitting across the dining room table twirling a rainbow-striped game spinner and giving him a look of mild annoyance. They were playing Life, a board game she loved almost as much as he had at her age.
“I’m doing what?” he asked.
“You’re wrinkling the money.” She reached over to pry two paper bills from his hand. “You’ve already put wrinkles in three fifty-thousand-dollar bills.”
Jack frowned. “Have I pointed out that’s not an actual form of currency in the real world? Like you probably shouldn’t expect to put a down payment on a home with a single bill.”
Paige rolled her eyes, giving him a glimpse of the teenager she’d be very soon. “You’ve mentioned that several thousand times. Now stop being a grump and hand me an action card.”
“Say please,” Jack said as he flipped the top card off the stack. “And I’m not being a grump. I’m stewing.”
“Please,” Paige repeated, and at first Jack thought she was being sarcastic about his grumpiness, which he should probably own. But she was just taking his cue about the manners, which he would have noticed if he weren’t so busy stewing. “And thank you,” she added as she studied the card he’d handed her. “It says, ‘Ballet rehearsal: Pick an opponent. Both twirl like a ballerina and spin.’”
“It does not say that.”
“Does so.”
She held the card out to him, and Jack heaved a sigh. “I swear they never made us do stuff like this in the old version of the game.”
“Things change,” Paige said as she hopped out of her chair looking giddy. “Get used to it.”
Jack stood, too, and he had to admit it was tough to stay grumpy with a ten-year-old twirling in circles in front of him. He lifted his hands over his head and spun in his best approximation of a pirouette. His elbow smacked the bookcase, and he felt mildly dizzy, but he found himself smiling.
Paige finished her dance, then plunked down and twirled the spinner. “Eight!” she announced.
Jack spun and got a five.
“That’s another fifty Gs for me,” Paige announced. “Plus a hundred K at the end.”
