“Living room.” The bedroom would be wiser, but nothing about this man was wise. I knew, just knew that he wouldn’t want to be in bed around Seamus.
He’d want him to think he was the Big. I. Am.
Men. Stupid men and their pride.
But I’d denied him so much of Shay thus far that I couldn’t deny him this.
Declan would soon figure out that Shay wasn’t like him. Wasn’t like any kids he knew from our world.
He wasn’t ashamed to feel, wasn’t ashamed to be affectionate even if he was going through a phase where it was uncool. I’d done a good job. And no, I wasn’t being bigheaded. I’d raised him well, raised him to accept that to be weak, to be vulnerable, wasn’t a crime.
Even though I knew that crossed paths with his father’s family’s ethos.
The pair of us struggled with Declan’s deadweight, and for the first time, I appreciated the whacko minimalism because we didn’t have to steer around much furniture to reach the futon.
Both of us tried hard not to jolt him as we helped him onto it, and when I tried to rearrange his legs, shaking my head at his stupidity, I muttered, “Shay, turn off the TV, please?”
“Sure.” He did as asked, then twisted around to look down at his father. I wasn’t altogether surprised when he took a seat on the edge of the low coffee table, his eyes wide as he whispered, “He’s still ill, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
He cut me a look. “Why isn’t he at a hospital then?”
“Because he’s pigheaded.”
Shay’s lips twitched. “Like me?”
“Worse. You get it from him,” I said dryly.
“Because you were never stubborn?” Declan rasped, his voice kind of puny. Totally unlike the man I knew.
And, frankly, how I’d pay not to have to hear him.
Declan was a force of nature. Ebullient, strong. Fierce. Ferocious.
He wasn’t, and never had beenpuny.
“Nope. Never. Obstinacy isn’t one of my virtues,” I teased, but I heard the tears in my words, and hid them behind a dry smile I shot my son’s way.
He snorted, like predicted, but focused on his father.
The eagerness, the curiosity, neither came as a surprise but I was glad. Really, I was. When I’d told him about having to move, about having to come to Hell’s Kitchen, Shay had taken it on the chin. He’d actually taken it better than I’d expected because he was sick of moving around.
One of the major reasons I’d settled in Rhode Island, taken the position as a professor, was because he was tired of being a nomad. He’d even had a tantrum when I’d tried to pick us up and move down to Argentina where Luis Morales, the famous sculptor, was based. He’d wanted to mentor me, and when Luis Morales had you in his contacts, when he asked you if you wanted to study under him, you just didn’t say no.
For my kid, I’d said no.
If I’d forced the issue, just packed us up and taken off, of course, I wouldn’t be here. Seamus wouldn’t be looking at his father like the way he eyed his first GI Joe as a kid.
When I’d stopped fussing around Declan, I took a seat beside Shay, and realized that even though Declan had been relatively quiet, his gaze was fixed firmly on Seamus.
That he was falling in love with our kid came as a relief to me.
I’d never known how he’d take it—if he’d hurl abuse at me, if he’d try to poison Shay against me—but here he was, looking at him like I knew I’d looked at Shay when I’d just given birth. My heart in my eyes, the need to protect this child from everything and anything just as ferocious as the fire I had to create art. Which, back then, in the aftermath of our break up, had been all I lived and breathed for.
That look gave me hope for the future. For the upcoming days.
I swallowed, nerves hitting me when I hadn’t been nervous since that day when I’d thought he was going to die. I’d taken all the other punches as they came, accepted Caro’s betrayal and the subsequent investigation into my finances and business operations—facilitated by the fancy ass lawyer Brennan had hired for me—and had settled into a new home I loathed.