Callie’s eyes changed from bleak to angry. “I wish Mum had killed him. All those years ago when she shot him in self-defense. I wish he’d died. That’s what he does to you. That’s the kind of hate he instills in you.”
Bridging the distance between us, I pulled her into my arms, and I felt her shake as she quietly cried. I met Walker’s furious gaze and hoped he could read the words in my eyes, giving him instruction to put the fear of hell into Nathan Andros. Whatever that might take.
Thirty-Five
CALLIE
SIX WEEKS LATER
Lewis’s parents’ home was a comforting cacophony of people talking over one another, asking to pass the food and drink, and calling back and forth between the adult and kids’ table. The two tables weren’t a deliberate attempt to separate the young from the older, but a necessity since the Adair family had grown exponentially in the last two decades.
There were twenty-four humans in Thane and Regan’s living area, including the one in my belly. I’d counted. The five Adair siblings and their partners; my parents; me and Lewis (Eilidh was the only Adair not in attendance), plus Fyfe, who was an honorary member of the family.
Then there were the teens, Lewis’s cousins—almost sixteen-year-old Vivien, who was the spitting image of her mother Robyn and had all the cocky confidence of her father. If I’d been half as confident and charismatic as Vivien at fifteen, I could have ruled the world. Viv was best buddies with her cousin, Skye, Mac and Arro’s daughter. The cousins couldn’t have been more opposite, but born in the same year, they’d grown up as close as sisters. Skye was reserved, artsy, and seemed to be one of the few people Morwenna gravitated toward, despite the two-year age gap.
Next in age to Skye and Vivien was Nox (Lennox), Brodan and Monroe’s son. He was almost fifteen but thought he was forty, was as big a flirt as Eilidh, but was also the one keeping peace at their table as Vivien argued with her younger brother, Brechin, who was Mor’s age. The siblings had been at each other’s throats about everything and nothing, while Nox kept intervening in a laid-back manner that was a lot like his uncle Arran.
Arran and Ery’s twin daughters, Keely and Kia, were next in age and kept calling over to me with questions about the baby. They were fascinated and excited to be aunts, which was a nice change of pace from Harry who thought it was weird he was going to be a twelve-year-old uncle.
His birthday was a few weeks ago, and he liked to remind everyone whenever he could that he was twelve, as if this was some kind of statement of manhood. The thought of high school had been a distant flag of beckoning teenagedom. That was before classes started, and now Harry wouldn’t stop complaining about how much homework he had. Also, he didn’t much like going from top of the school to the bottom. “The sixth years treat us like wee kids,” he’d complained only five minutes ago, glowering at Vivien.
Vivien had shrugged insouciantly. “I’m not a sixth year. But you are a kid.”
A brussels sprout had gone miraculously flying at her head a few seconds later and landed in Arran’s glass of water with accidental precision. “What the fuck?”
“Language, for fuck’s sake,” Lachlan mock scolded, making us laugh becauseseriously, it was an uphill battle to get the men in Lewis’s family to watch their language now that the kids were all a bit older.
Arran had turned to the children’s table. “Who did that?”
“Wasn’t us, Daddy,” Keely assured him.
Harry began to whistle, as if that weren’t a dead giveaway.
Arran smirked and turned back around. “He’s a wee comedian.”
Dad threw a brussels sprout that hit Harry on the head with perfect aim.
“Oi!” Harry wrinkled his nose, rubbing his temple.
“Walker, really.” Mum slapped a hand over her face in disbelief as the Adair men burst into a rumble of laughter.
Dad shrugged. “Now he won’t throw another vegetable across the room because he knows his dad’s got better aim than him.”
I snorted, sharing a grin with Lewis as Arran got up, unbothered, to refresh his water.
Fyfe leaned over to us, chuckling. “I love your family.”
Looking around, feeling the room filled with the buzz of life, I touched the now growing swell of my stomach. I couldn’t be more grateful that my child would be raised among these wonderful people.
“Callie, is that a bump I see?” Regan asked from down the table, face bright with excitement.
“A small one.” I nodded, smoothing my hand across the slight swell.
“How many weeks are you?” Lewis’s Aunt Arro asked.
“Eighteen weeks. We had our fetal anomaly scan yesterday.”
“All good.” Lewis hurried to say. “Baby is in perfect health.”
