Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Even Isaak holds him briefly, the giant man handling my son like precious cargo while Lily watches from her blanket with curious eyes. Soon enough, though, Connor’s back in my arms where he belongs, settling against my chest like he was made to fit there.
“We should order food,” Kira suggests. “You need to eat. Keep your strength up.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Domhnall.” Her tone brooks no argument. “You have a son now. You don’t get to not eat. He needs you strong.”
She’s right. Damn her maternal logic.
“Pizza,” Moira announces. “Comfort food. Carbs. All the things Domhn pretends he doesn’t eat.”
I don’t argue. Can’t, really, with Connor’s weight in my arms reminding me that everything’s changed. I have someone depending on me now. Someone who needs me to be more than the hollow shell I’ve been since Anna left.
While Moira orders enough food to feed an army, I study my son’s face. He has my coloring, his jaw already showing my stubborn lines. But there—the shape of his eyes, the curve of his lip—that’s her. All her.
“She carried him,” I say quietly. “All those months, she was out there carrying our son, and I didn’t know.”
“She was protecting you both,” Bane offers. “Whatever she’s doing, wherever she is, she’s making sure you’re safe.”
Safe. Is that what we are? This house has become a fortress, yes. My security is the best money can buy. But she’s out there facing God knows what alone while I sit here, useless.
No. Not useless. I’m caring for our son. That’s what she needs me to do.
The food arrives in a chaos of boxes and the smell of cheese and garlic. My stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten properly in days. We spread out in the living room, an impromptu family dinner with my son sleeping in my arms.
“To Connor,” Isaak says and raises his beer. “And to his mother’s swift return.”
We toast with whatever’s in hand—beer, water, Moira’s Diet Coke. Connor sleeps through it all, blissfully unaware that his arrival has changed everything.
“I should set up a nursery,” I say, the practical considerations finally breaking through the shock. “He needs a proper space.”
“We’ll help,” Kira immediately offers. “I still have the list of all the baby stores and sites from when I was setting up Lily’s room.”
“I can handle security modifications,” Isaak adds. “Baby monitors, additional cameras, motion sensors calibrated for—”
“Breathe,” Moira interrupts. “He just got here. Maybe let’s just get through tonight first?”
She’s right. Tonight. Tomorrow. One step at a time.
Connor stirs in his sleep, making small snuffling sounds that tug at something primal in my chest. My son. My blood. My responsibility.
I was helpless once, as was my little sister, and the people who should have been there to take care of us didn’t. My son will never know that neglect and abandonment. He’ll never have to wonder what the word family means, because we will always be right here at his side, supporting and loving him.
“I’m going to find her,” I say quietly. “I have resources. Contacts. I can try harder. I can’t just sit here—”
“Yes, you can.” Bane’s voice is gentle but firm. “That’s exactly what you should do. Sit here and care for your son and wait for her to finish whatever she’s doing. Because that’s what she needs from you.”
I want to argue. Want to rage. Want to tear the world apart looking for her. But Connor’s weight in my arms keeps me grounded. He needs me here. Needs me stable.
“She said soon,” Moira points out. “In the note. She said she’d be home soon.”
Soon. Such a relative term. Soon could be days or weeks or months. But she’s never lied to me. Not about the important things. If she says soon, she means it.
The evening wears on, comfortable in its strange domesticity. Isaak and I sit on the couch and both of our babies crash out against our chests, their little heads turned towards each other. Two babies who might grow up as close as siblings. Moira curls into Bane’s side, stable in ways I never thought I’d see, while Kira sits on Isaak’s other side, occasionally sharing those little looks and touches that speak of deep contentment.
And me? I hold my son and count his breaths and wait for his mother to come home.
FORTY-TWO
January
ANNA
Mads kept trying to take over this morning, her presence pressing against the edges of my consciousness like a caged animal testing its bars. But I was determined to show her I can be the brave one, for once.
I can take care of us, too.
“Fine,” she finally agreed, her voice a reluctant whisper in my mind. “But I’m right here if you need me.”
I can feel her there, coiled and ready to spring into action if the plan—if anything—goes wrong. Neither of us has sensed Red’s presence since we gave birth. Sometimes I wonder if the act of bringing Connor into the world... satisfied her? Or somehow fulfilled whatever primal need for protection that called her into being?