Chapter Two: The Things I Chose Not to Ask
1541 Words
I stared at the photograph until the screen dimmed.
Gavin had children.
A boy and a little girl stood in front of him, smiling as though they knew with absolute certainty that the man behind them belonged there.
His hand rested on the little girl’s shoulder.
His wife leaned into his side.
And Gavin was wearing the silver watch I had given him three weeks ago.
The driver’s door opened.
He climbed into the truck, closed it behind him, and released a frustrated breath.
“I’m sorry about Cole. He had no right to speak to you that way.”
I turned my phone toward him.
Whatever apology he had prepared disappeared.
His eyes remained on the photograph for one second too long.
“Who sent you that?”
“Who are they?”
“Harper—”
“Who are the children?”
He looked through the windshield toward the station before answering.
“My son and daughter.”
The words hollowed something inside me.
“You have children.”
“Yes.”
“You told me you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I stared at him.
“You said there was nothing keeping you in your marriage.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“How is it not the same thing?”
“My children aren’t keeping me married to Natalie.”
Natalie.
I had known his wife’s name, but I hated hearing him say it so easily. Like she belonged in his mouth. Like she was part of a life he used every day while I waited for whatever pieces he chose to give me.
“How old are they?”
“Eli is eight. Sophie is five.”
Five.
The little girl was five years old, and I had never asked enough questions to discover she existed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I knew you would react like this.”
I laughed once, breathlessly. “You mean I’d be upset that the man I’m sleeping with forgot to mention two children?”
“I didn’t forget.”
“That makes it worse.”
He leaned back against the seat and rubbed a hand over his face.
“I was trying to protect them.”
“From me?”
“From the situation.”
I looked down at the photograph again.
They looked happy.
Maybe photographs lied. Gavin had told me that often enough. Smiling at a birthday or standing beside your wife didn’t mean a marriage was real.
But children were real.
They couldn’t be explained away as a legal inconvenience or a woman refusing to sign divorce papers.
“When was this taken?”
“Sophie’s birthday.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago.”
My eyes moved to the watch on his wrist.
“You told me you were working that night.”
“I stopped by the house before my shift.”
“You said you couldn’t be around Natalie anymore.”
“It was my daughter’s birthday, Harper. What did you expect me to do?”
The sharpness in his voice made me flinch.
He noticed.
His expression softened immediately.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
“No, you’re right.”
His hand reached for mine, but I pulled away.
“I don’t know what I expected. I didn’t know she existed.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“When I had something definite to give you.”
“You already gave me something definite. You said you were leaving.”
“I am.”
“But you never say when.”
“Because it isn’t only about what I want.”
“Because of the children.”
“Yes.”
The word settled between us.
It should have made me leave.
Instead, I heard myself ask, “Would they live with us?”
Gavin went still.
The question embarrassed me as soon as it left my mouth.
Us.
I had seen the photograph less than five minutes ago, and I was already trying to force his children into the future he had promised me.
“I don’t know,” he said carefully. “Natalie would probably have primary custody.”
“Would they hate me?”
“They wouldn’t have to know everything.”
Everything.
The affair.
The lies.
Their father leaving their mother for a twenty-one-year-old woman they had never met.
My stomach turned.
“Does she know about me?”
“She knows there have been problems.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
His jaw tightened.
“She suspects there’s someone else.”
“And you still live with her.”
“For the kids.”
“You sleep in the guest room.”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t touched her in months.”
“That’s right.”
The answers came smoothly, each one exactly where it belonged.
I wanted to believe them because the alternative made me someone I didn’t want to be.
Not fooled.
Not innocent.
Just selfish.
A movement beside the truck caught my attention.
Cole stood near the passenger side, speaking to another firefighter. His gaze shifted toward us.
He saw the phone in my hand.
He saw the photograph.
Then Gavin reached across the console and cupped the back of my neck.
“Don’t let him get inside your head,” he murmured.
“I just found out you have children.”
“And I’m telling you it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“It changes how I feel about myself.”
“That’s what Cole wants.”
His thumb brushed the skin beneath my ear.
“He wants you ashamed enough to walk away because then he gets to believe he saved everyone.”
“Maybe I should be ashamed.”
“You think loving me makes you a bad person?”
“Loving you doesn’t.”
His eyes held mine.
“But staying might.”
The passenger door opened.
I jerked away from Gavin.
Cole stood outside, one hand gripping the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” Gavin demanded.
Cole looked at the photograph still glowing on my screen.
For a moment, I thought he understood.
Then his gaze moved from the children’s faces to mine, and whatever he saw there only made him colder.
“So you didn’t know,” he said.
I swallowed. “No.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Of course you didn’t.”
The contempt in his voice cut deeper than I expected.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you knew he had a wife, but apparently children were the detail that crossed the line.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Cole,” Gavin warned.
Cole ignored him.
“You want credit because he lied about two kids? You were still sleeping with a married man before you knew about them.”
Heat rushed into my face.
“I know what I did.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop looking like someone stole your innocence. You left that outside his bedroom a long time ago.”
Gavin shoved open his door and climbed out.
“That’s enough.”
Cole stepped back, but his eyes stayed on me.
I wanted to hate him.
I did hate him.
But I couldn’t call him a liar.
“I never asked you to feel sorry for me,” I said.
“Good. Because I don’t.”
Gavin moved around the front of the truck.
Cole finally looked at him.
“You told her there were no kids?”
“I said it’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you brought her into our station.”
Gavin stepped closer. “Walk away.”
Cole’s mouth twisted.
“You’re both perfect for each other.”
Something in me snapped.
I climbed out of the truck.
“At least I’m not pretending to be better than everyone while protecting my friend’s secrets.”
His expression hardened.
“You think keeping his secret makes me responsible for your choices?”
“No. But it makes you a coward.”
The space between us went silent.
Cole stared at me as if I had struck him.
Then he moved closer.
“You want honesty?” he said. “Here it is. I think you knew exactly enough to understand what you were doing. You just didn’t care until the lie became inconvenient for you.”
My throat tightened, but I refused to look away.
“And I think you hate me because it’s easier than admitting your friend is the one who made vows.”
Cole’s face changed.
Gavin grabbed his arm before he could answer.
“Go inside.”
Cole pulled free.
His eyes remained on mine for another second.
There was no pity in them.
No understanding.
Only judgment.
Then he turned and walked back toward the firehouse.
Gavin reached for me.
I stepped away.
Not because Cole had convinced me to leave.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure which man had just told me the truth.
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