“Interesting.” Cal’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes go cold. “Because when Silas asked Charles this morning if he’d heard from you, he said he hadn’t. That he didn’t know if you were coming.”
“He lied for you,” Jace says quietly, and there’s no accusation in it. Just observation. Just another data point being cataloged and filed. “Why?”
“I asked him to.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I needed time to settle in. To get the boys oriented before—”Before I had to face you. Before I had to see your faces and know what’s coming.
“What boys?” Silas asks, and something shifts in his expression.
The world tilts again. Slower this time. More dangerous.
“You—you have kids?” Jace’s voice cracks slightly. Just barely. But I hear it.
Oh God. Oh no. Charles didn’t tell them. Of course, he didn’t—he respects my privacy, keeps my secrets, even from them.
“Two sons,” I say quietly, watching their faces. Watching the information hit them like bullets. “Liam and Noah. They’re five.”
The silence is deafening.
Jace’s steel-blue eyes go wide, then carefully blank—that military mask he wears when processing tactical information he doesn’t want to show.
Cal’s amber eyes flick from me to where Charles is still occupied with the truck, then back to me. I can see him doing calculations behind that charming smile that’s suddenly frozen in place. His jaw works like he’s trying to say something, but can’t figure out what.
Silas has gone very still. That particular kind of stillness that means violence is being barely contained. His storm-gray eyes are locked on me, and I can’t read what’s in them. Shock? Anger? Recognition?
“You have kids,” Cal says finally, and his voice sounds strange. Hollow. “You’re a mom.”
“Yes.”
“For five years,” Silas adds quietly.
“Yes.”
“Parks, that’s—” Jace stops, swallows hard. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
The word sounds like it’s been dragged over broken glass.
Across the driveway, Charles is helping Marcus secure the last box, completely oblivious to the bomb that just detonated on his front steps.
The moment he’s focused elsewhere, Cal’s voice drops to barely above a whisper. “Five years old. Born when, exactly?”
“October,” I say, because there’s no point in lying now. “October tenth.”
I watch the math happen in real time. Watch their faces as they calculate. January to October. Nine months. Forty weeks. The timeline is screaming at all of them.
“Jesus Christ,” Silas breathes, so quietly I almost miss it.
“Parker—” Cal starts.
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Not here. Not now.”
“Then when?” Silas demands, his voice still low but urgent. “Because we need to?—”
“Tomorrow,” I cut him off. “After the funeral. After I’ve gotten through burying my father and introducing my sons to a hundred people who are going to ask questions I don’t want to answer.” I force myself to meet their eyes. “Can you give me that? One day?”
The three of them exchange glances. Some kind of silent communication that I can’t read.
“One day,” Jace finally says, but his voice is strained. “But Parker—your sons. Where are they right now?”
My stomach drops. “In the library. With Jimmy and Lottie.”
