But that wasn’t possible. “Are you sleeping with him?”
She recoiled as though he’d pushed her in the chest. “Axel?”
“Yes, Axel. The man who seems so comfortable in your apartment.”
“How dare you?” It was a whisper, but there was strength in it, strength and anger. “Do you think you have any right—,”
“No,” he interrupted, his own voice tortured. “And yes. Jack is my son. If you’re spending serious time with another man, if Jack is spending time with him, I think it’s fair that I should know.”
“Jack loves Axel. They’re great together.”
It was in no way helpful.
“There were wine glasses in your sink. Did he stay over?”
“What are you, a detective now?”
“Unless you’ve taken up daytime drinking…”
“You have absolutely zero right to stand here and ask me this.” She glared at him with fire and fury zipping from her slight frame. “I haven’t seen you in almost five weeks, after you pretty summarily dismissed me from your life. And now you show up out of the blue and act like you’re jealous or something?”
Fiero looked down the street, unsure how to respond to that.
“You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me, right? What a chauvinistic, selfish – do you think I should just spend my life single and pining for you?”
He whipped his head around to face her. “So you are seeing him?”
She glared at him and then took a step backwards, freeing her hand from his. He hadn’t even realised he was still holding her.
“Elodie?” Her name was a plea on his lips, but she wasn’t budging.
“Go to hell, Fiero.”
It wasn’t until Jack was asleep that night that Fiero had any opportunity to give their conversation more thought. No, it wasn’t that. He’d forced himself to push it to the back of his mind during the day, because he’d wanted to concentrate on Jack, but once the little boy was fast asleep, Fiero found he couldn’t get Elodie off his mind.
He’d gone to her apartment to see her and to prove to himself that he was glad things between them had ended, and instead, he felt like he’d been slammed in the solar plexus.
He swore under his breath, pacing to the balcony and staring out over Kensington Gardens. The evenings were getting cooler and the sun was down, so only a hint of light could be seen, coming from the old fashioned lamp posts that ran through the street.
She hadn’t answered his questions, and she’d been right not to. She had an excellent point – he had no business asking about her private life. He had no business expecting her to tell him whatever he wanted to know. She’d offered herself to him on a silver platter and he’d backed away as quickly as possible.
Because he couldn’t forgive her.
He wouldn’t forgive her. How could he? He’d already missed so much of Jack’s life, and that was her fault. It was her decision that had led to him being absent.
If it were only that, perhaps he could move past it. But even now, the only reason he knew about Jack was because of a freak accident. If she hadn’t been hit by that truck, his son would still be out there, a stranger to him.
Pain shifted inside of him.
Panic, too.
Because he couldn’t forgive Elodie, but the idea of living his life without her in it was like being pushed into a sea of lava. The pain was immense. What was the alternative? To find a way to get her back in his life even though he couldn’t forgive her? That wasn’t fair on her. It wasn’t fair and it would hurt her in the end and he couldn’t do that.
So there was only this.
Separate lives, and that meant she could date whoever the hell she wanted.
He prowled back inside, his legs restless, his chest hurting.