I can see the effort it takes for him to get the words out, like he’s afraid if he opens his mouth too much, something worse might slip out with them.
“That man…” he says slowly as he stares straight ahead, a distant look in his eyes.
My body goes rigid as the image of Adrian manhandling my son floods my mind.
“What about him?” I try very hard to keep my tone light.
“He said he was my…granddad.”
I keep my face carefully neutral, even though my pulse is roaring in my ears.
This is the conversation I knew was coming, and I’ve been dreading it ever since we brought Scout home.
“I know,” I say gently.
Scout frowns as he fiddles with his toy. “But you said Grandpa died.”
“He did. The man you saw… He was just confused.”
“So, he’s not my granddad?”
I swallow hard. “Not in the way he meant. It’s…complicated.”
He nods slowly before shifting down the bed and resting his head on the pillow.
“Can you tell me tomorrow? My head feels tired,” he mumbles as his eyes start to droop.
Guilt slices straight through me as I look at my son.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Tomorrow.”
He rolls onto his side, and within minutes, his breathing evens out, and his body finally surrenders to sleep. I turn out the light and sit there, watching him like he might disappear if I look away.
My chest aches with everything I didn’t say, everything I’m still hiding from him.
I should have handled that better. But all I can think about is how close I came to losing him. How easily this could have ended with a body bag and a lifetime of pain and regret.
This whole mess has been one hell of a wake-up call. It’s taught me that I can never get distracted by my heart, especially when my son’s life is on the line.
Eventually, I force myself to stand. But even then, I linger in the doorway for just a moment, committing the sight of my son sleeping peacefully to memory before quietly closing the door.
Then I turn and head straight for Fiona’s room.
Now that Scout is home and safe, I need to address the other threat that is still looming over his head, and mine too.
I don’t bother knocking.
When I enter the room, Fiona looks up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the bed.
I immediately notice the flicker of hope in her eyes at the sight of me. It’s like a candle that refuses to go out no matter how many times I try to extinguish it.
That only makes me angrier, my temper already fried from the altercation with Smirnov.
“You don’t get to look at me like that.”
Fiona’s shoulders stiffen.
“Cormac—”
