hanging?” Martin chuckles at his own joke as I open the door, and he walks into my apartment.
“A little lighter,” I reply.
“Hey! He made a joke! Must be feeling better.” Martin’s eyes glitter as he slides onto a stool at the kitchen breakfast bar.
“Getting there. I’m glad to be back at work. I told Veronica why I’d been off. She thinks I should take another week. I had to threaten to revoke the extra holiday I gave her for her not to re-arrange all my meetings.” I shake my head with a smile.
She’s worked for me for years. Her heart is in the right place, but I need to be back at work. It’s not just the amount we have going on with the White Fire launch; I just need to be busy. I need to be so busy I can’t think of anything else.
Can’t think about Megan.
“I can’t believe you only took a week off,” Martin says in mock disgust as he reaches for an apple from the fruit bowl and crunches into it.
“Surely being the boss should have some perks?”
“It does. Like only taking a week off when everyone thinks I should take two.”
Martin shakes his head. “Workaholic.”
“How about you? You made plans now the treatments’ finished?” I lean against the kitchen counter next to him.
Martin tilts his head from side to side. “Yeah, got two meetings lined up.”
“That’s great.” I smile.
He smiles back at me as he takes another bite of the apple. For all his fooling about, he’s got his head screwed on. He had a great health insurance policy set up that paid out when he was diagnosed. It meant that he could take time off from his freelance job as an architect and not worry about paying the mortgage and bills on the house he owns with Abigail.
“That’s not all, though.” He looks at me, his expression serious as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a small black box with a gold embossed design on the lid and sliding it across the marble counter to me.
“What’s this?”
I flip the lid up. There was no need to ask. I knew what it would be before I even opened it.
A single solitaire, brilliant-cut diamond set on a platinum band, sparkles out at me. A smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I raise my eyes to Martin.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” His brow creases as he looks at the ring.
“I think she’ll love it! Congratulations.” I reach my arm over and slap him on the back.
He blows out a nervous laugh. “I’ve wanted to ask her for ages, and then when the treatment finished…” he looks at me, “I just knew it was time, you know? She’s been there through everything. Never complained once. Never given me any reason to think she has doubts about us—about our future.”
“She’s very special. You two are made for each other.”
I hand him back the box, and he takes one more look at the ring before he closes the lid.
“Yeah, she is… really special.” Martin looks down at his hands before clearing his throat. “What’s going on with you and Megan now, then? You were dating, weren’t you? I haven’t heard you mention her recently, yet whenever your name comes up with Abigail, she gets in a right funny mood.”
I pull my mouth into a tight line. “It’s complicated.”
Martin eyes me. “You’re talking to me here. I know complicated. You want to get it off your chest?”
I must tell him at some point, and we’ve known each other for ten years. If anyone will understand, then it’s Martin. He lost his dad as a kid, too. We’re both the chewed-up and spit-out products of a childhood marred by cancer. I meet his eyes as I drag my hand across my chin.
“Megan’s pregnant.”
Even as I say the words, I’m still getting used to them.
She’s pregnant.
We’re having… no, she’s having a baby.
She’s having my baby, and the knowledge that I won’t be a part of it is like a fist squeezing my heart, piercing it with long, filthy black claws.
“What?” Martin’s eyes light up, and he jumps down from the stool with his arms out.
I shake my head, and my face must say it all, as he sits back down again, blowing out his cheeks, then relaxing them.
“I’m sorry. Whose is it?”
“What? No. She hasn’t been seeing anyone else.” I frown, fisting my hands on the worktop.
God, it would have made this all much easier if she had. She wouldn’t be the Megan I know if she’d done that.
She wouldn’t be the Megan I’m in love with.
“The baby’s yours?” Martin scratches his face, his brows drawn together.
“Yes, the baby’s mine,” I say, my voice flat.
“I don’t get it. Why aren’t you happy? This is amazing, Jax!”
I wince at his choice of words. “You know what it’s like to lose a parent, Martin. When you’re just a kid… having to grow up and deal with things no kid should ever have to.”
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “what’s that got to do with anything?”
I drop my head to my chest. “I can’t do that to my child.”
“I don’t get it. You told me the cancer was all removed, that you didn’t need more treatment?” Martin leans down to the counter, staring up at me, so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“It was. I don’t.”
“So, why are you talking like you’ve got a noose tied around your neck?”
“It could come back. It could be months from now… it could be a few years. I could be pushing my child on the swing one day and being told I have weeks left to live the next. Like my dad, Martin. Just like my dad.”
“You could say that about anything. You could walk out of here and get hit by a bus, choke on an apple.” He holds up the demolished core in his hand as if to demonstrate his point. “You don’t not live your life because something might happen one day. It just as easily might not.”
I say nothing.
“Fuck, Jaxon,” his eyes widen, “you’re not serious?”
He shakes his head as he looks at me, his expression hardening as he narrows his eyes at me.
“You’re fucking unbelievable! I’ve heard the way you talk about her. I’ve seen the look on your face when you so much as say her name. Yet, you’re going to let all that go because of what? Because you’re fucking scared!”
“It’s not as simple as that, Mart—”
“Yes! It is as fucking simple as that! You’re going to lose the woman you love and your own baby because you’re a coward who can’t let go of the past.”
I glare at him as he rises from the stool and faces me square on, his chest heaving from his sudden outburst.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” he hisses, jabbing a finger at my chest.
I take a deep breath and draw my shoulders back as he shakes his head at me, his eyes shining.
“Abigail loves kids. She even works in a primary school, surrounded by them. But all the chemo… I may never be a dad. We just don’t know if I can ever give her that.” His voice is strained as he chokes back a sob and clears his throat. “You don’t think I haven’t thought she would be better off without me? You don’t think I haven’t tried to convince her she could find someone else who can give her those things?”
There’s a look in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
Fear.
I squeeze my eyes shut, running my fingers across them. The banging in my head has started up again, along with the stinging in my eyes. I’ve never seen Martin look scared before. Never heard him even hint at it. Even when he was first diagnosed, so young at just twenty-five. He’s dealt with a lot in his years, but he’s always bounced back, throwing himself into everything. Charity marathons, skydives, writing a book. He’s always thrown himself into living. He’s the same age as my son, eighteen years my junior, yet he doesn’t let it phase him.
He’s a better man than me.
I swallow the giant lump in my throat as I open my eyes.
“You’re not the only one, Jaxon. I’m fucking petrified here too,” he whispers, holding up the ring box in his hand. “Petrified that all this could end one day. That she’ll decide she wants what I can’t give her. But you know what? One thing I’m never going to do?” His eyes search mine. “I’m never going to give up without a fight, Jax. I’m never going to give up. Because if I did that, then what’s the point? What’s the point in anything?”
He takes a step towards me, his chest deflating as he lays a hand on my shoulder. All his anger just seconds ago disappears as he looks at me sadly.
“It’s not just you anymore. Think about Megan. You really want another guy marrying her? Being called ‘Daddy’ by your kid? You could live another sixty years of hell knowing what you missed. Or maybe you’ll just live six, being part of it. Loving them, only the way you can. I know what I would choose.” He squeezes my shoulder. “She needs you, Jax.” He looks into my eyes one last time, patting my shoulder as he walks towards the door. “Think about it before it’s too late,” he adds as he looks back at me one more time, shaking his head in defeat.
Then he walks out the door, and it clicks shut behind him.
Everyone seems to walk out of that door recently.
“Did your mum tell you about visiting Christopher last weekend? Sounds like they had a great time,” Penelope says.
“Yes, she did. I’ve just come from her house.”
“That’s nice. Where are you headed now? Back to the office?”
I look out of the window of the parked Jag.
“Yes, just have another quick stop to make first.”
“You’re at the crematorium gardens, aren’t you?” Penelope says.
I smile. “I’m that predictable?”
“Twenty-seven years, Jaxon.” She laughs. “Everything okay?” Her voice is warm, understanding.
I blow out a big breath.
“I’m going to be a father again, Pen.”
There’s a hint of surprise in her voice, but I know her well enough to hear the smile there, too.
“Megan? The woman you told me about?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“That’s wonderful news. Congratulations.”
I swipe at my eyes at the genuine happiness in her voice. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m crying like a baby at everything recently.
“Really. You deserve happiness, Jaxon. We both did a great job with Christopher. He’s grown into an exceptional man, just like his father. It’s time you let yourself live again. For you.”
“Thanks, Pen.” I manage to keep my voice even.
“Now go! Go tell your dad the news.” She chuckles.
I smile as I end the call and climb out of the car, heading straight to my dad’s memorial plaque.
It’s a glorious early spring morning. The sun filters through the trees, leaving patches of warmth dotted about the grass and paths, which wind through the gardens. The trees are covered in buds, signifying new beginnings. Spring flowers have pushed up from their bulbs, adding colour to the flower beds by the path.
I crouch down at Dad’s plaque and take out my handkerchief, polishing the already shiny surface. There is a pot of daffodils left here by Mum, her familiar loopy handwriting, so like mine, on the card.
I miss you every day we’re apart and am thankful for every one we got together.
I place it back down after reading.
It cements everything I have thought of the last few days. Since my talk with Megan, since Martin’s visit. I’ve barely slept. Instead, staying up all night searching my soul. Breaking it down piece by piece, only to rebuild it again. This time with the right foundation.
Instead of grief being my power, pushing me forward, making me strive to succeed—as I wanted to do to make my dad proud, wherever he is—I rebuilt it with love. Love for Megan, joy at finding her, joy at her wanting me back, the inescapable swell in my chest whenever I see her, touch her, hear her voice.
And most of all, the miracle that is life, which we created together.
I still have a way to go, dealing with things. But I want to do it now. I have a reason—two reasons—to sort myself out and be the man and father they both deserve. I could hear the relief in Joanna’s voice when I called her and asked her for the number of the therapist she mentioned before. If I stand a hope of Megan forgiving me, then I need to show her I’m doing everything in my power to move forward.
I know what I want now—what I’ve always wanted.
Only now, I’m giving myself the permission to have it… if I’m not too late.
My chest heaves as the emotions of the last few days wash over me.
“I’m sorry, Dad. You’d be so disappointed in me. I’ve really screwed things up,” I sob, dropping to sit on the ground. “I thought losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But now I know not having you at all would have been so much harder.”
I look up at the sky, praying silently he can hear me. The gardens are quiet. I’m the only visitor in sight.
“I lost sight of what’s important, Dad. I forgot what you taught me. That love is the greatest gift. I love you so much, Dad, and I know you’d love Megan. She’s bright and talented. She looks so delicate, but she’s stronger than she thinks. She has dreams, real ones she’s following by herself. And she daydreams.” I chuckle. “She gets this look on her face, and I can tell she’s in her own little world, especially when she’s drawing. She’s beautiful, Dad,” I sigh.
“She’s having our baby. I’ve been a coward. A stupid idiot. I lost sight of what’s important. I let her down; I let you down. I let myself down. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me. Help me make it right, please,” I whisper.
I sit for a while, enjoying the peace. I don’t come here enough, but I should. Feeling close to Dad helps me to organise my thoughts more clearly. It’s as though I need to step away from all the noise and just be. Just sit and allow my thoughts to process. I’ve always been a control freak. Everything must be perfect—have an order. I have to fix it. I couldn’t fix Dad. I couldn’t do anything to stop him from having to leave. Everything I’ve done ever since has been me trying to fix things, to stay in control. Marrying Penelope, raising Christopher together, building up my business.
All situations that I controlled, doing what I thought was best, powered by my grief.
Until Megan.
She brought out a reckless side to me, one where I have no control. Where I couldn’t keep away from her, even though I thought I should.
Thought I had to.
With her, I have no control, and it scares the crap out of me.
I rise to my feet, taking in a deep breath.
“Bye, Dad. Thank you for listening.”
I walk the one hundred and thirty-eight steps back the way I came.
But now I have a new direction.
With each purposeful step, my determination grows.
I’m walking back to my life.
Only now, I intend to live it.
