Page 137 of Inflict

Connor had been slowly moving toward Evelyn as they spoke, but at the sound of a new, much younger and juvenile female voice, he jerked back a good foot, rooted to the ground again. His gaze found the person responsible for the shout, a wee thing, maybe three and a half feet tall, with strawberry-blonde curls and the greenest eyes he had ever seen next to the woman’s he loved. The wee lass came out of the kitchen with a banana in her hand, and came to a stop at Evelyn’s legs, holding the fruit up for her to take.

“Please?”

“Sure, Ciara,” Evelyn said, her smile returning.

She peeled the banana, handed it back to the child, and then the girl—a living, breathing copycat of a wee child he remembered from way back—skipped back into the kitchen, happy as could be.

Connor watched her go.

“My daughter,” Evelyn said softly. “Ciara. She had a different name given by someone else, but also the one I gave her, so.”

Connor glanced back at his lover. “You left something behind, you said.”

“She’s six.”

He knew how long she had been with the Russian, and was capable of figuring out a lot that she clearly wasn’t saying. That child was likely the Russian’s, and if Connor counted back the years—six—that was the time when Evelyn had once said she had been sterilized.

He also distinctly remembered being told, months and months ago, before he’d went in to kill the Russian, that the man had a wife and daughter, though they didn’t live with him.

“He sent her away?” Connor guessed.

Evelyn shook her head. “No, his wife took her. She stayed for two years after, but then she left. Told me she would be in the Sunshine State, at the busiest beach, if I ever got free. She knew he was terrible, but with me, he left her alone. He had no reason to make her stay while I was there, so maybe it was … a gift or something, to her. A way out, and then her gratitude at giving back what wasn’t hers to take.”

Connor didn’t know what to say.

Apparently, Evelyn didn’t need him to.

“She made me a promise,” Evelyn said, “and I made one back, to find her. I made it out there, kept going between places—beaches—hoping to sight her. It took a while, but I got lucky.”

“She just gave her back, when she’s raised her for all this time?”

Evelyn frowned. “Ciara isn’t hers, she’s mine. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“But?”

“You could have told me,” Connor said. “It would have saved me a lot of … shite.”

Evelyn shrugged. “I didn’t go just for Ciara, Connor.”

“Then, why?”

“I needed to figure out who I was without … the rest. Things that happened, the way I lived, and even you. You were the one who said I needed to sort out who I wanted to be. You were right, Connor. I didn’t know who I was—Evelyn, or Sasha. I didn’t know who I wanted to be. I needed to figure that part of me out without you. I’m not sorry for needing freedom to learn, please don’t be mad for giving it to me.”

How could he be mad?

How could he begrudge her something she had never had?

How could he cage her because he was selfish?

“Evelyn,” Connor murmured.

“Yeah?”

“Did you figure it out—who you are, and who you want to be?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”