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He knows. My fingers brush back my son’s dark curls, and I smile at him. He’s the best thing I’ve ever done. He looks so much like me, though his eyes are Alastair’s. Mine are a lot darker. Zayn is one of the tallest kids in his class, and he’s going to tower over me one day.

Yet another way he’ll be like his father. However, he’s the kindest person I know, and I refuse to let that change.

“Pinky promise,” I whisper, holding out my pinky and looping it in his. I hold onto the back of Arran’s pants as I stand, peeking around him to see my grandfather stalking toward them. “Abuelo.”

He freezes as if I shot him, because I usually call him Emil. “Si, mija. ¿Que necesitas?”

“Tiempo.”

I need time. I have to figure this out without worrying about my son being hurt by this.

My Spanish is far better now that I speak it more regularly around my family. It’s also the only way to get a loaded gun to think twice before firing.

“Arran, will you go with her, please?” Emil asks, blowing out a breath. “I know you probably have a lot of questions…”

“People are allowed to have a past,” my boyfriend murmurs. “I want her future.”

Oh fuck. Fuck. I lean against his back as I bury my face into his shirt and breathe in his scent as I cling to him. Tears prick my eyes and I know I can’t let them fall. In my experience, sharks scent weakness, and Zayn’s father is no different.

“Honey?” I can appreciate how no one is using my name right now and I nod as I take a step back as Rachelle speaks to me.

“Can you… Take him for me tonight and I’ll be over tomorrow?” I ask. Rachelle’s head nods. I know that it’s what we’ve already decided, but I need to run through it again for my own sanity.

“We can go to the tattoo shop to talk,” Arran grunts. The words express exactly what he means for them to: he doesn’t want Alastair, Ciaran, or Draven to know where either of us live.

It’s smart and expresses that he’s just as paranoid as I am.

“Voice message me before bed?” I ask Zayn.

“Yes, Mommy. I love you. Happy birthday.” He hugs me tightly and then walks into the protective circle of my family. Ignacio pulls his jacket open to show his gun off to the guys, while Jared takes Ari’s hand as she glances at them curiously.

Adelina, on the other hand, purses her lips as if she wants to spit at the guys, and Liliana hurries her toward the parking lot. In moments, I’m alone with Arran and my past, and I do my best to stand strong.

“You look good,” Ciaran says softly, his blue hair startling against his skin. He’s truly embraced his individuality and it works for him. I avoid hockey games on television whenever possible, and my family has stopped talking about the Devils in any capacity.

“If you’re here, on my birthday, I doubt it can be for a good reason⁠—”

“We have one chance at this, Noor,” Draven grunts, his blue eyes blazing. “The reasons aren’t good or bad. We thought you were dead. Can we please talk?”

My heart pounds in my chest and I say the only word I can. Logic and impudence have the same response in this case.

“Yes.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

DRAVEN

Good. She looks like a goddess. Her cheeks are flushed, her clothes flowing and fitting her better than I’ve seen before. Noor looks healthy.

Her boyfriend is tall, built, and inked, but it’s clear he has a one track mind to keep her safe. He doesn’t seem to care that she has a different name, one that I found out is Isla from eavesdropping earlier. While it’s a pretty name, it isn’t her.

“This way,” Arran grunts, his arm around Noor as we begin walking. I watch the way she seems to sag slightly, and he picks her into his arms without a second thought. “No one cares, baby. You’re just getting a little ride to the shop. Our little slice of heaven damn well knows that I’ll carry you around like a backpack if I feel like it.”

Her laughter is laced with tears as she lays her head on Arran’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“You had a long day, and now there’s this. I keep telling you: be nice to yourself, baby girl.”