King of Hearts
Page 86
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“He’s yours,” I breathed.
King rubbed at his jaw, where an attractive bit of stubble had started to grow. And then, just like that, he turned and walked away. Jesus. My shoes felt like they were stuck in a tub of cement as I stood there, not knowing what to do. When I finally regained my senses, I hurried after him. He’d rounded the tent and was making his way toward the camper vans when I got close enough to grab his elbow.
“Wait, don’t be angry with me, please,” I begged. He stopped walking and turned around, his features contorted in anguish. His eyes flickered between mine, his voice coming out strained and raspy.
“Christ, Alexis, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself.”
“Why? You had no clue I was pregnant. Hell, I didn’t even figure it out until months after you’d disappeared.”
He huffed out a breath, hands frantically running through his hair again. “Yes, but I’ve been hiding for years, burying my head in the sand, and all the while you were out there, alone with a child that was mine. It just…it makes me feel worthless.”
I moved closer and lifted his hands from his hair, like I had to before when he was tugging it to the point where he was almost tearing it out. Sliding my fingers through his, I held both of his hands in mine and looked him in the eye. “You are not worthless, King. You’re the strongest person I know right now. I mean, look at you, look at how far you’ve come since I found you. Don’t you dare think for one second that I blame you for not being there. I had help. I had Karla and my parents, and your mum, too. The only thing I regret are the years you’ve missed, but I’m not going to dwell on them, and I won’t let you, either. He’s still young, King, and there are more years ahead of us than there are behind.”
Tears streamed down his face as he stared at me. “He’s so…perfect.” He paused, brought his hands to my face to cup my cheeks. “He’s like this perfect little human that we made together, and I don’t even know him.”
I reached up and placed my hands over his. “You’ll get to know him. And I wouldn’t go throwing around the word ‘perfect’ just yet,” I joked. “When he’s having a tantrum or coming into the house with dirt all over himself, he’s far from perfect, believe me.”
King let out a quiet, sad laugh and gripped me tighter. The quiet was punctuated by the pounding of my pulse, which I was sure he could feel. A long silence fell between us as we simply stood there, communicating without words. Finally, I spoke.
“Come on, let’s go back so that you can meet him properly.”
Indecision clouding his expression, he drew in a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. There was something so heartachingly beautiful about the moment, and I wondered why I’d ever been scared to tell him. If anything, the discovery had brought more of the colour back into his eyes, and I was determined to replace every last bit.
We walked hand in hand to where the elephants were being kept, and found Jay with Oliver up on his shoulders so that he could reach out and pet one of their trunks.
“Hey!” I called, and he twisted around to see me.
“Mummy, I’m petting the elephant. Look!” he called back, and reached out again to touch it.
“I can see that, baby. Come here, there’s someone I want you to meet.” I could feel King’s intense stare on me when I spoke to our son, and then I saw his attention go to Oliver as Jay let him down off his shoulders. He came running at me and I caught him, lifting him up into my arms. He was getting taller by the week, his long legs dangling down from my hold.
I turned him to face King and said, “This is my friend. His name is Oliver.”
Oliver made a face. “But my name is Oliver.”
“That’s right. You’re both named Oliver.”
He let out a cute laugh. “That’s crazy.”
I laughed, too, and saw King smile. I could tell that he was still struggling with his emotions, but was making an effort to hold it together. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, little man,” he said, and reached out to take his hand and shake it. Oliver was quiet as he studied King, trying to suss him out. It was kind of adorable. I gave him a little nudge.
“What do you say back?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”
King’s smile grew larger, and I felt like my heart was about to burst. I’d visualised this moment for years, imagined it happening in so many different ways, but now that it was actually here, there was no comparison. It was like a little piece of me that was broken was finally being healed. And if the look on King’s face was anything to go by, he was feeling exactly the same way.
“Oh, I know what we can do,” Oliver announced suddenly. “I can be Oliver 1 and you can be Oliver 2.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” King chuckled, the tenderness in his voice as he interacted with our son causing a deep, feminine part of me to ache.
I really wanted to tell him he could call him Daddy, but it was too soon. Oliver was an open, accepting sort of kid, but still, I knew I had to ease him into the idea that King was his father. Letting him down from my arms, we headed inside the tent for the start of the show. I bought Oliver some candy floss, so he was quiet as a mouse as he concentrated on stuffing his face. King seemed at a bit of a loss for how to act, but I just squeezed his hand to let him know he was doing fine. When we found some seats and King sat down, Oliver made his way over and unceremoniously began to climb onto his lap.
King rubbed at his jaw, where an attractive bit of stubble had started to grow. And then, just like that, he turned and walked away. Jesus. My shoes felt like they were stuck in a tub of cement as I stood there, not knowing what to do. When I finally regained my senses, I hurried after him. He’d rounded the tent and was making his way toward the camper vans when I got close enough to grab his elbow.
“Wait, don’t be angry with me, please,” I begged. He stopped walking and turned around, his features contorted in anguish. His eyes flickered between mine, his voice coming out strained and raspy.
“Christ, Alexis, I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at myself.”
“Why? You had no clue I was pregnant. Hell, I didn’t even figure it out until months after you’d disappeared.”
He huffed out a breath, hands frantically running through his hair again. “Yes, but I’ve been hiding for years, burying my head in the sand, and all the while you were out there, alone with a child that was mine. It just…it makes me feel worthless.”
I moved closer and lifted his hands from his hair, like I had to before when he was tugging it to the point where he was almost tearing it out. Sliding my fingers through his, I held both of his hands in mine and looked him in the eye. “You are not worthless, King. You’re the strongest person I know right now. I mean, look at you, look at how far you’ve come since I found you. Don’t you dare think for one second that I blame you for not being there. I had help. I had Karla and my parents, and your mum, too. The only thing I regret are the years you’ve missed, but I’m not going to dwell on them, and I won’t let you, either. He’s still young, King, and there are more years ahead of us than there are behind.”
Tears streamed down his face as he stared at me. “He’s so…perfect.” He paused, brought his hands to my face to cup my cheeks. “He’s like this perfect little human that we made together, and I don’t even know him.”
I reached up and placed my hands over his. “You’ll get to know him. And I wouldn’t go throwing around the word ‘perfect’ just yet,” I joked. “When he’s having a tantrum or coming into the house with dirt all over himself, he’s far from perfect, believe me.”
King let out a quiet, sad laugh and gripped me tighter. The quiet was punctuated by the pounding of my pulse, which I was sure he could feel. A long silence fell between us as we simply stood there, communicating without words. Finally, I spoke.
“Come on, let’s go back so that you can meet him properly.”
Indecision clouding his expression, he drew in a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. There was something so heartachingly beautiful about the moment, and I wondered why I’d ever been scared to tell him. If anything, the discovery had brought more of the colour back into his eyes, and I was determined to replace every last bit.
We walked hand in hand to where the elephants were being kept, and found Jay with Oliver up on his shoulders so that he could reach out and pet one of their trunks.
“Hey!” I called, and he twisted around to see me.
“Mummy, I’m petting the elephant. Look!” he called back, and reached out again to touch it.
“I can see that, baby. Come here, there’s someone I want you to meet.” I could feel King’s intense stare on me when I spoke to our son, and then I saw his attention go to Oliver as Jay let him down off his shoulders. He came running at me and I caught him, lifting him up into my arms. He was getting taller by the week, his long legs dangling down from my hold.
I turned him to face King and said, “This is my friend. His name is Oliver.”
Oliver made a face. “But my name is Oliver.”
“That’s right. You’re both named Oliver.”
He let out a cute laugh. “That’s crazy.”
I laughed, too, and saw King smile. I could tell that he was still struggling with his emotions, but was making an effort to hold it together. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, little man,” he said, and reached out to take his hand and shake it. Oliver was quiet as he studied King, trying to suss him out. It was kind of adorable. I gave him a little nudge.
“What do you say back?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”
King’s smile grew larger, and I felt like my heart was about to burst. I’d visualised this moment for years, imagined it happening in so many different ways, but now that it was actually here, there was no comparison. It was like a little piece of me that was broken was finally being healed. And if the look on King’s face was anything to go by, he was feeling exactly the same way.
“Oh, I know what we can do,” Oliver announced suddenly. “I can be Oliver 1 and you can be Oliver 2.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” King chuckled, the tenderness in his voice as he interacted with our son causing a deep, feminine part of me to ache.
I really wanted to tell him he could call him Daddy, but it was too soon. Oliver was an open, accepting sort of kid, but still, I knew I had to ease him into the idea that King was his father. Letting him down from my arms, we headed inside the tent for the start of the show. I bought Oliver some candy floss, so he was quiet as a mouse as he concentrated on stuffing his face. King seemed at a bit of a loss for how to act, but I just squeezed his hand to let him know he was doing fine. When we found some seats and King sat down, Oliver made his way over and unceremoniously began to climb onto his lap.
