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An hour passes, and another. Finn makes good on that foot rub promise. Around midnight, the final votes come through, and a sigh of relief passes through the room.
There’s no big celebration. Nolan and Carson slap Finn’s back, shake his hands, and head out. Genna, slightly drunk by now, punches him in the shoulder. “There ya go, ya fucker,” she says, beaming. “Knew ya could do it.”
“I’ll take her home,” Kathryn says, laughing as Genna stumbles slightly. “I’ll also dump some cold water on her head.”
“Hey!”
“Congrats,” Kathryn says, steering Genna to the door.
Once the room’s cleared out, Finn sits beside me on a couch near the TV. C-SPAN shows a bunch of tired old people milling about, shaking hands, posing for pictures. I lean my head on his shoulder.
“Now what?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Your dad got his law. Does that mean he’ll talk to us?”
“Probably not,” Finn admits. “But it’s a step in the right direction.”
“Do you care if he does? I mean, things have been good. Do you really care if he never talks to you again?”
Finn’s face tightens. “Yes. I do.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. But finally, he says, “Because he’s my father. Despite everything, that means something.”
“I know what you mean.” I sigh, closing my eyes. “Are we going to fuck our kids up the same way our parents fucked us up?”
“I’ll try not to.”
“But probably will anyway.” I tilt my chin toward him and get a kiss in return. “We can still try though.”
He hugs me tighter and I sink against him like drifting into a warm bath.
Chapter49
Finn
Ihold the tiny, squirming baby in my arms. He coos against my bare chest, staring up at me with his strangely dark blue eyes. Cillian snuggles, lips moving. “He’s got my father’s nose,” I say as something deep inside my body shifts like the thick crack of an ice shelf dropping into black ocean. My center moves. “He’s got your smile.”
“He’s got your bad attitude,” Dara says from the hospital bed, sighing.
Cillian Crowley was born three hours ago, and my life changed forever the moment he came into the world. Dara, my beautiful Dara, she gave birth to my child like a champion. I don’t think I’ve ever loved a person as much as I love her in this moment, and I don’t think I’ll ever come back down from the high I feel holding my child in my arms.
I shift closer to her bed. “Think this skin to skin is doing anything?”
“Who knows,” she says, grinning. “But I love that you’re doing it.”
“I’d do anything for my boy and my wife,” I say, meaning it.
“I know you would.”
I hold Cillian for a while longer, at least until he gets fussy. If I could feed the boy myself, I’d gladly hold him forever. Instead, I help Dara sit up, help her get herself into position, and the boy latches with no problems. I watch her from across the room, the light coming in through the window illuminating her hair. We’re in a suite in the best hospital in Boston, basically a hotel room, but we could be in a sewer and Dara would still glow.
How it came to this, I’ll never understand. From spotting her on the street, to thinking she was beautiful and wanting to bring her home, to needing to keep her more than I’ve ever needed something before.
Now, our baby, our little Cillian boy. So tiny, still marked by his birth, still beautiful.
There’s a knock on the door and a nurse pokes her head in. “Ah, Mr. Crowley, you have a visitor. Is it a good time?”
I look to Dara. She nods, still exhausted from the birth. “I think we’re ready.”
