When We Collide (11 page)

Blake rearranged the chairs around the table and
dragged a highchair over for Olivia. Every few seconds, he’d cast
glances toward the entrance of the pizza parlor to see if his
family had arrived.

The place hadn’t changed in all the years I’d been
gone. This had been our regular high school hangout. All my friends
and I would come here for pizza before we ended up piling in trucks
and cars to head out to our secluded field or to whatever party was
happening. Red-backed booths still lined the walls, and the tables
sitting in the middle were surrounded by the same generic
red-cushioned chairs I associated with just about every crappy
restaurant I’d ever stepped foot in. Lance still shouted “order up”
every time he slid a pizza through the kitchen window, and I
couldn’t help but be surprised that I recognized only one of the
two waitresses who were working that night.

The front door chimed and Grace entered. She held
Olivia in one arm and Emma’s hand with the other.

“Oh good, the girls are here,” Mom said as she
glanced up at the door over her menu.

They were all bundled up in jackets and knit hats,
their cheeks rosy-red from winter’s bite. Grace snaked her way
through the restaurant and over to the table, her smile only for
Blake as they approached. He was already standing, waiting as if
unwilling to waste even a second of this life with them, kissed her
and hugged his girls, said he’d missed them.

I snubbed the shame that worked to wind itself
around my heart every time I saw Blake’s kids. If I was going to be
around, it was about time I got over it.

While Blake and Grace fought with Olivia’s flailing
feet to get her buckled into the highchair, Emma attempted to crawl
onto the empty chair to my right. Lying on her belly, she grunted
and struggled to lift her knee to the cushion to push herself
up.

“
Need help?” I asked, fumbling
awkwardly as I reached out to help her, extending my hand for her
to use as leverage. I was almost surprised she accepted it. Emma
popped up on both her knees, and I pushed her chair in until her
stomach touched the table, smiling at the cute little girl who
smiled shyly up at me.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Will,” Blake said over the howling of his
youngest as he snapped her belt in place. “This one gives us fits
every time we try to put her into a highchair.”

I had to restrain the threat of disconcerted
laughter when Olivia screeched her dissatisfaction and raked her
hand across the table in front of her, sending the coloring page
and crayons Blake had set down in front of her scattering across
the floor. Blake seemed unfazed when he picked them up and set them
in front of her, kneeling to get in her line of vision. “If you do
it again, Olivia, you’re not going to be allowed to have them
back.”

Peeking over at my mother and father, I gathered
this was common as they continued to look over the menu. Mom
glanced up every couple of seconds to discuss with Grace what kind
of pizza they wanted to order.

Emma leaned with her forearms against the table so
she could see around me, shouting her preferences above the loud
cries of her sister. “I want cheese, Gramma!”

Mom smiled and reached around me to touch her hand.
“Anything you want, sweetheart. How about you, Will? What are you
in the mood for?”

I glanced at Emma with a knowing smile, then back to
Mom. “Cheese is good with me.”

I felt as if I’d been thrown into a chaotic new
world. It was disorienting, being in the midst of such easy
affection, how much patience was extended without giving it a
second thought. Had I been eating with Kristina, not that she’d
ever have stooped low enough to come to a place like this, she
would have been complaining about just how rude some people
were.

We ordered, and once the pizza was served, the table
settled into quiet conversation. I tried not to let it bother me
that Grace had not said one thing to me since I’d been back. She
was still questioning my reasons for being there, and I couldn’t
blame her.

At the tug of my sleeve, I looked to my right.

“Look it, Uncle William.” Holding up her coloring
sheet, Emma showed me what she’d drawn, pointing with her chubby
little finger as she traced the rainbow connecting her house to her
gramma and grampa’s house. She was grinning, animated, no question
excited to be holding my attention. She looked up at me for
approval, and for the first time since I’d come home, I didn’t feel
like a complete outsider.

I smiled down at my niece, thinking
this
was
where I’d start, begin again, a second chance at knowing my family.
“This is really beau…”

I stilled, contending with the overwhelming desire I
had to look up from the drawing when I felt the shift in my world.
A rush of freezing cold air singed my cheeks when the door was
opened, mixed with the undeniable flame of her presence. The
shocking intensity of her eyes pinned me in place as the bell
chimed again when the door closed.

My mind clouded, and again, I cursed this little
town. This was why I’d left in the first place, unable to face it,
but unable to look away as I gave in and stole a glimpse at the
three who’d walked through the door. Maggie’s eyes locked with mine
for the briefest second, but it might as well have been an
eternity.

During that time, my anger was suspended. I couldn’t
remember that I’d been betrayed or that she’d lied.

All I could think of was how much I’d missed
her—wanted her.

It flooded me in desire and warmth, the memory of
how perfect this girl had felt in my arms. How I’d been her
sanctuary and she’d been my everything.

She dropped her gaze and broke the spell, the moment
passing just as quickly as it had come, sending reality crashing
down over me. With it came the smoldering resentment that had
stolen the last six years of my life.

Troy led her by the hand. She kept her head down and
her hair fell around her face—hiding. It was the same fucking
unbearable scene I’d had to witness time and time again through
that summer. The rage it derived, the stabbing pain it’d caused as
I had to sit and pretend that her heart didn’t belong to me.

Only now it was worse.

A child clung to her leg, timid and scared.
Hiding.

I dug my fingers into the table, held myself back
while fury exploded, completely leveling the walls I’d constructed
to keep her out.

He was exactly like his mother.

Except
he
was mine.

The little voice that had me lying to myself all
week was gone—the one that had tried to convince me there was no
possible way that child could be mine. It was silenced in those
wide brown eyes that seemed to be drawn my way by an unknown
recognition. The boy stumbled along behind his mother who trained
her attention on the ground. Over his shoulder, the child strained
to maintain eye contact with me as he was steered across the
floor.

I almost expected him to call out to me, to giggle
and run.

And I’d chase him, helpless to do anything else,
because I recognized him too.

Led to a booth toward the front of the restaurant,
the boy climbed in first, moving far enough inside to be cut from
my view. Maggie scooted in next to him. Troy slid into the opposite
side, facing away, concealed by the high-backed booth, apparently
unaware of my presence.

Thank God.

I wasn’t sure I could control myself if Troy were in
my line of sight for the entire night. I doubted Troy could control
himself, either.

I could feel her spirit pulsing against me, wrapping
and coiling around my being while she tried to withdraw from me at
the same time. I knew then Maggie couldn’t escape me any more than
I could escape her.

She hazarded me another fleeting glance, another
plea.
Let it go
. I saw it as another lie. I minutely shook
my head. It felt like an apology.

There was no chance I’d simply
let it go.
All
I’d ever wanted to do was protect her, and she’d never let me.

Protecting her was no longer a choice. Whatever I
had to do, I would.

I realized my mother was whispering. Her voice was
low and directed at Blake. “…Always has been a nice girl…Did you
see she stopped by Lara’s reception…Jonathan is such a sweet little
boy…”

Blake nodded as he ate. “Yeah, I noticed her when
she was heading out.”

I wanted to scream as my attention darted between
them, shake them, demand to know if they saw even a hint of what
I’d recognized. My father fed Olivia small pieces of his pizza,
paying little attention to the conversation happening around
him.

It was obvious none of them had any clue.

Grace continued with her distinct aversion to my
presence, ducking her head to deflect my eye when I tried to search
her face, her movements jerky when she suddenly pushed away from
the table to set Olivia free. She somehow both grumbled and cooed
at her child about the mess she had made, wiped a dampened napkin
over Olivia’s face that was smeared with pizza sauce.

Every one of them was unaware of what the child
across the room meant, how he was tied to them, bound by an unseen
connection.

I swept my gaze back to Maggie’s table. God, part of
me wanted to hate her. Blame her.

Tentatively she raised her head as if she felt
everything I did. She looked at me beneath her veil of hair and
risked meeting my eyes. Exposed herself and all of her
vulnerability, the agony in her face, the shame.

I lost myself there, ended up back where we’d
begun.

It didn't matter if I wanted to hate her. I could
only hate the choices she'd made. Maybe the choices I'd made as
well.

Never once in all those years had I thought maybe,
just maybe, I could have changed her decision. That I could have
made a difference. I couldn't help but question it now. Had I
stayed, would things have been different?

Troy leaned across the table and stole her
attention, and she turned away from me. Gave in to him. The same
way she always had.

I closed my eyes. Would it be different now? Could
she see this wasn’t the life she wanted to live? Did she understand
she deserved
more
? That her son deserved
more
?

"We should at least stop by and say hi," my mother
said. She grabbed the bill from the center of the table and
gathered her things to stand. “You remember Maggie, don’t you,
Will?”

I fumbled through the thoughts in my mind to find an
acceptable answer, when Blake suddenly laughed as he sucked the
last of his soda through his straw. Ice clanked when he dropped the
cup back to the table. "I don't think William and Troy get along
much, Ma."

Grace straightened with Olivia in her arms and
turned to smack Blake against the shoulder, her eyes narrowed in
warning.

"What?" Blake asked in mock defense, throwing a grin
in my direction.

After that first night at the bonfire almost six
years ago, I’d spent the entire summer watching Maggie and Troy
together. I’d sat idle for
three
months while my love for
her had grown and my rage toward Troy had built. At the end of the
summer, it had all erupted in a hate I couldn’t have controlled
even if I’d wanted to.

Blake had been proud of me, I knew, again standing
up for what we both knew was right, even after he had warned me not
to get involved. But Blake had had no clue just how involved I’d
gotten over those months.

He had no idea how important that night had been to
me or what Maggie and I had shared after. He had no idea I would
have gladly died for her. To Blake it had been nothing more than me
standing up for the same girl a second time because I believed it
was the right thing to do.

When in reality, it had been the only thing I could
do.

Mom looked at me, her expression piqued in question.
She'd never known about the incident. I was sure she would have
freaked out. She would have said she was scared for me, said she'd
never raised me to completely lose myself that way.

“It was nothing,” I said to reassure her, helping
Emma from her chair and taking her hand. “We just had a little
disagreement...that's all.”

Blake’s whole face lifted in a
you’re full of
shit
sort of way, but he dropped it and took Olivia from
Grace's arms, whispering, “Let’s get you home, sweetheart,” against
his daughter’s head.

With Emma’s warm hand in mine, I cast one last
glance in Maggie's direction. She pretended to be absorbed in the
menu. I turned my attention to the well-trodden floor.

I didn't dare look at the boy.

I forced myself to put one foot in front of the
other. Near the front door, Emma tugged at my wrist and handed me
the picture she'd drawn, shy once again. “This is for you, Uncle
William.”

My smile was almost a grimace as I accepted her
gift.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart,” I said as I looked
down at my brother's sweet child and thought this is the way it is
supposed to be. A child loved by her father. Loved by her mother.
Safe and protected in their care.

A sudden need collided with my spirit, and I jerked
to look back toward the booth. Troy looked up just when I did. At
first he stared, working his jaw as if it took a minute for his
mind to catch up with the fact that I was there.

Recognition dawned and a new challenge seemed to be
drawn.

I was sure Troy had never known what had happened
between Maggie and me, was sure Troy had no idea the child sitting
next to her was
mine
. In my head, I saw myself walking up to
the table and throwing it in Troy’s face, taking Maggie and
Jonathan by the hand, and leading them out the door. As if that
would somehow be a magical solution. That this situation could ever
be that easy.