12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Jesse

W alking into Il Forchetta, I'm disoriented for a moment, like I've stepped through a portal back in time and the last two and a half years haven't happened. Before we moved to San Diego, this was my favorite restaurant. Andrew never liked it; it wasn't fancy enough for him. Which is why I picked it for tonight's meeting. Spiteful? Yes. Do I give one single shit? No.

I spot him at a table in the back.

"Hey," he says softly as I slide into the chair across from him. I have to stop myself from cringing when his eyes rake over me. "You look really good, Jess."

I nod, not sure how to respond. It's been over a year since Andrew and I have been in the same room, and I'd expected to be hit with a tsunami of pain and regret when I saw him. But instead of pain, I feel, strangely… nothing.

We make stilted, painful conversation about the weather and other stupid crap until our drinks arrive. As soon as the server disappears, Andrew clears his throat and leans forward, his eyes earnest.

"So, um, you're probably wondering what this is about," he starts, and I just nod, wanting nothing more than to get this over with.

"I need to apologize, Jesse. The shit that happened between us—actually, no," he pauses for a second, closes his eyes briefly and sucks in a deep breath. "The shit I did to you—I just want you to know how much I regret it. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, Jesse, I'm so sorry for everything."

I blink at him. This is not what I was expecting.

"I know I've said it before," he continues, "but… I'm in therapy now, and, well, I was selfish and stupid and horrible to you, and I just… I need you to know that what happened wasn't ever about you, Jess. It was all on me."

I listen to his words, trying to gauge their sincerity. I've heard Andrew apologize before, but something feels different this time. There's a rawness to his voice, a vulnerability I've never seen in him before.

But I still don't trust him. "What is this about, Andrew? Do you want something from me? Is that it?"

Pain lances across his face, and I cringe inwardly. Even though he's an asshole, I still don't like hurting him. Apparently, I'm not built for revenge. His expression smooths over, and if I didn't know better, I'd swear the color rising in his cheeks is shame.

He takes a deep breath before looking at me again. "Yeah, I deserve that. But no, I don't want anything from you. Other than I just… I need you to know how I feel."

I narrow my eyes at him, trying to see if I can find a motive for whatever this is written on his face. But all I can see is sincerity, and it makes me angry because he's a liar. He's a goddamn liar and I know that now, but there's still part of me that thinks he's telling the truth. The fact that my gut is telling me to believe him makes rage bubble up in my chest.

"Why are you doing this? Why now? I don't get it," I grit out through my painfully clenched teeth.

He looks down at the table again and grabs his fork, fiddling with it nervously before answering.

"Well, I'm in therapy now, like I said," he says, still not meeting my eyes. "I want to be a good dad to Emma, and I want her to grow up with a proper family." He pauses again, finally putting down the fork and instead playing a quick game of chess with the salt and pepper shakers. "I need to make this thing work with Ashley. So I need to be a better husband to her than I was to you."

I wait for the pain to slice through me, the white-hot agony of missing him and the life I thought we had together. But it doesn't come. The rage that was bubbling in my chest only moments ago has drained away, replaced by something that feels like… pity.

He really did make a mess of things. He fucked up my life, but he also fucked up his own. And maybe this is a real effort to be a better person.

"Okay," I say slowly. "I guess I can understand that. It's good that you're trying to grow as a person—your daughter deserves that."

Suddenly, I'm hit with an unexpected feeling of peace, and I can see everything as clear as day. I've been blaming myself for not being able to see Andrew for who he truly was. I thought I'd been wrong about him the entire time. But I get it now. I wasn't wrong about him: he's exactly the same person he always was. He's not evil, and he didn't set out with some grand plan to hurt me; he just lost control of his life. I was collateral damage, which sucks, but it's not a reflection of me or my judgment about people.

My instincts are just fine. Love is a leap of faith, no matter who you're in it with. All I can do, all anyone can do, is work every day to make a relationship work and hope the other person does the same.

Suddenly, I realize I've heard everything I need to from Andrew. The weight I've been carrying for months—years, even—lifts off my shoulders. I don't need to sit through the rest of this dinner pretending we're friends or that his words can fix what's broken between us.

"Andrew," I interrupt, my voice steady. "Thank you for this. I appreciate your apology, and I'm glad you're working on yourself. But I need to go."

He blinks, surprise etched across his face. "What? We haven't even ordered yet."

I'm already standing, fishing my wallet out of my pocket. I toss a couple of bills on the table for my drink. "I know, and I'm sorry. But there's somewhere I need to be."

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You've met someone?"

I pause, a smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, I have. And I need to tell him something important."

Andrew nods, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "Go. Be happy, Jess. You deserve it."

Without another word, I turn and stride out of the restaurant. The cool night air hits my face, and I feel like I can breathe properly for the first time in years. I pull out my phone, quickly booking the next flight to San Diego.

As I wait for my Uber, my heart races with anticipation. I need to get back to Martin. I need to tell him that I'm not afraid anymore, that I'm all in. That what we have is real and worth fighting for.