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He makes it look so easy as he lets us into the shop and we walk toward the back. I know Alastair will lock up behind us, because the things we need to say need to stay between us. I’m a bit surprised her family agreed to leave, but they had kids to take care of.

Leaving Arran with Noor was a good choice.

There's a nook of sofas in the back of the shop, and Arran sits down with Noor in his lap. Her huge bag goes onto a table, while we sit down and stare at her. I know it’s creepy, but it’s so fucking difficult to be normal when she’s right fucking there.

“Do I need to ask how you found me?” Noor asks softly, dashing away the tears that have fallen. She’s pulling herself together, drawing up her walls, and I don’t want to see that happen.

“My brother accidentally found you,” Ciaran says quietly. “He wanted to prove to me that you were dead and did the opposite with some new technology.”

“He’s out of prison then,” Noor says without inflection.

“He is.” Ciaran could say so much more, but keeps the trauma dumping to himself. “We aren’t here to cause waves, or hurt your relationship with your son. He looks so much like you.”

“He has Alastair’s eyes,” Noor mumbles.

Arran gazes at us with this new information reflecting back and takes a deep breath. “Is there a reason you thought she was dead and you aren’t in your son’s life?” he asks.

Alastair could tell him it’s none of his business, but he doesn’t. If Arran is here, it’s because he’s important to Noor.

“I got Noor pregnant in high school,” Alastair says slowly. “I was a dick who bullied her, and things went too far.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Arran growls.

“We were arguing on the edge of a cliff one night and it disintegrated with her on it,” I bite out. “We couldn’t find her, and her family faked her death.”

“I love your family,” Arran mutters, kissing her temple as Noor smiles mirthlessly. “Who’s responsible for the tracker?”

“Theo and Liliana,” I say, confused by why he’s not currently pissing himself. “You’re okay with this?”

“I’m not on her family’s shit list,” he shrugs. “I was just telling Isla that Emil is a scary motherfucker.”

“Isla. I don’t like it,” Ciaran grunts. “It doesn’t feel like you. I know my feelings don’t matter in this. It's just… ugh.”

“I had to train myself to respond to it,” Noor sighs. “Why are you here? Is it proof of life?”

“I saw that on the cameras,” Ciaran says. “We haven’t known for long that you’re alive, but knowing isn’t the same as this. Noor…”

Ci glances at Alastair as if he’s in pain, and I know he’s thinking about all the times that Dr. Storm has told him to keep his crazy to himself. It’s not a bad idea, but it’ll eventually all come out.

Simply not before we’re even in the door.

“We would like a chance to get to know you and our son,” I say. “We know we’d need to show you we deserve it and we’ve changed. None of us are in contact with our parents anymore, except for me. My mother is our collective mom. She’s always been amazing, and is the only good one out of the whole bunch.”

Noor’s fingers dig into Arran’s thighs as she processes that, and Alastair picks up where I left off.

“We understand that words mean nothing. You’ve never been safe with us in the past, and we’ve done a lot of work between the three of us to change how we respond to things,” he says. “We aren’t asking for immediate access to our son, because we respect your role as his mother in his life. You’re his protector, and always will be. We want to prove to you that we can be safe people in both of your lives.”

“What does that mean?” Noor asks, her voice breaking.

“You’re upsetting her,” Arran growls.

“Our existence will always upset her unless we can heal that,” Ci says, dropping to his knees and crawling to her.

“Fuck,” Alastair mutters, watching as Ciaran covers her hands with his.

“It means that we’re sorry isn’t enough. We’ve spent seven years trying to wrap our minds around a life where you don’t exist, and it fucking sucks. At the risk of sounding insane, colors feel muted, I search for vanilla scents to remember what you smell like, and wish I’d snapped Alexa’s neck the day I met her,” he says. “Wishes are just that, and you have this perfect carbon copy of a human being that the world believes you died for.

“You asked Emil for time. Can we have a little of that too, please? Any down time from hockey, I would like to spend here. Your son doesn’t even need to know who we are if you don’t want him to. Allow us to earn our place in his life. Please don’t run from us again. Ugh. I’m talking too much.”