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Hell.
He dropped his balled fists to his side, blinked rapidly and swallowed, furious at the hot tightness in his chest. Never was a long time. And right now it stretched before him endlessly.
He wasn’t accustomed to being powerless.
The only things left for him to do for Michael were so final—so futile. Arranging the funeral. Carrying the coffin. Executing his will. Ensuring that Dylan was protected.
A car swept by in a rush of air, the driver hooting, jerking him out of his trance of grief.
Dylan.
Connor raked both his hands through his wind-ruffled hair. Michael had loved Dylan; he loved Dylan, too.
No doubt about it, Dylan was special. Never had a baby been more loved. And that’s the way it had always been meant to be.
When, shortly after his wedding, Michael had confessed to Connor that he was sterile as a result of contracting mumps as a boy, Connor had agreed to donate sperm to allow the Masons a chance at a baby. It hadn’t been a hard decision for him to make. Anyone who knew Suzy and Michael could see that they were made to be parents. Perfect parents. Yet they’d worried about how their baby might one day react if he discovered Conner was his biological father.
Michael and Suzy had wanted the truth about his biological father to stay forever secret—and Connor had acquiesced to their request. The baby had always been intended to be theirs. Not his.
But now Michael and Suzy were dead.
Connor flinched at the finality of the word. But he would not break his vow to the Masons. At least not until Dylan was old enough to understand why he’d been created from his father’s friend’s seed.
The foggy lethargy that had clung to him for most of the day started to lift. Connor strode back to the Maserati.
At last he had something to do. Something worthwhile. He had a duty—one he would not fail in. He would bring Dylan up to remember the fine man that Michael had been. And someday, when Dylan was older, he would explain how much his parents had loved him—and wanted him. That would be the time to tell Dylan—and the world—the truth.
Victoria reached for the shrilling phone and Dylan’s eyes, which had been growing heavier, popped open. He again started to suck greedily on the bottle she’d been feeding him.
Juggling the handset and the bottle, she waited for him to settle again in the crook of her arm before saying, “Hello?”
“I’ll be there in under an hour.”
Her heart started to knock against her ribs. “Who is this speaking, please?”
“Don’t play games, Victoria,” growled Connor. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
Victoria fell silent. Her day had been pretty awful, too. First thing this morning she’d called Bridget Edge, the managing partner at work, to let her know she wouldn’t be in, that she was taking compassionate leave because her best friend had died.
There had been a short silence. Then, after uttering perfunctory condolences, Bridget had asked when she would be back at work.
Victoria had known in that moment it wouldn’t be wise to say anything about Dylan. Yet.
Bridget would never understand. She wasn’t married and had no children. How could Victoria have confessed that Dylan needed her right now? Or that she needed Dylan more than anything in the world? Bridget would’ve thought she’d lost her marbles. Finally Victoria said she would be back as soon as the funeral had been held.
Suzy had placed Dylan in a day care center a month ago. So far he’d only been going for half a day as Suzy eased herself back into teaching part-time. But if Dylan returned, it would save her from needing to make other arrangements—and keep his routine normal. Tomorrow she’d call the supervisor, let her know to expect Dylan back.
Tomorrow—when she’d gotten a handle on her grief and could talk without her throat tightening up.
Oh, Suzy!
She certainly didn’t feel like facing Connor in less than an hour. Her emotions were too raw, her heart too sore. “I’ve just gotten Dylan to sleep and I’m about to take a bath. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow?”
“I thought you might want a copy of Michael and Suzy’s will.”
“Michael and Suzy’s will?” Good grief, she hadn’t even given a thought to a will. Most unlike her. Her gaze dropped to Dylan, whose mouth was now just twitching on the teat. Emotion overwhelmed her in a hot, poignant wave. The baby had kept her mercifully busy most of the day. He’d been querulous, almost as if he knew….
Except that wasn’t possible.
Connor was speaking again. She forced herself to concentrate.
“Yes, a joint will. I’ve just dropped the original at my solicitor’s so they can start winding up the estate.”
