“When was the baby born?”
“Imogen. Her name is Imogen.” Gray shoved her fist between her teeth, and a keening wail ricocheted off the flat’s walls and the hallways beyond.
“I have an explanation for that too. Just let me explain. Please, Gray.”
As if it couldn’t get worse, Tina’s scowling face showed up at Gray’s elbow. In the nanny’s true obnoxious form, she bustled by Gray, sidestepped the suitcase, and took Imogen from his arms.
“I’ll get this sweet girl cleaned up and dressed.” Tina didn’t wait for confirmation but stomped her way to Imogen’s room with a soldier’s cadence.
“When was she born?” Gray asked again.
He refused to lie and gave her the date. Her face went impossibly white, and she swayed. When he held out a hand for support, she held hers up in a stop gesture.
“The last night we all went out to your dad’s for drinks.”
It wasn’t a question. “In the early morning hours,” he confirmed. “Marie called, and I?—”
“Please do not.”
“Let me explain. I should have explained months ago. I…I care for you so deeply. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting you.”
“That night you left me in my bedroom, naked and alone, you knew you were going to the birth of your child?”
He nodded reluctantly, hearing how badly he had handled the situation was disgusting. “Yes, but?—”
“No,” she stopped him. Her grip on the suitcase handle was white. “Good on you, Ciar. You scored one last piece of me on your way out.”
Now, it was his turn to sway.
“I’ll make sure Daniel, Jonathan, and Dagr let me know when you’re in Dublin. I expect you’ll do me the kindness of letting them know so our paths never cross.
“Goodbye, Ciar.”
thirty-one
JOSEPHINE
“I will fucking ruin his life,”her husband said quietly as he leaned against one of their wraparound balustrades, watching the sun set.
Usually, Josephine would have scolded Thomas’ aggressive threats.
Not today.
Her eyes were raw from crying. Ever since Gray had called her from the airport, she’d been paralyzed.
Parents didn’t want their children to suffer, and their daughter was suffering.
Jo tried to talk her into coming back to Scotland, but she insisted she had to get back to school and decide how to tell her friends about the baby. Not about the child Ciar already had—that sonofabitch—but her own.
She didn’t push on what Gray meant to do now. It was too raw and too soon.
Gray wasn’t alone. She would never be alone, and together, as a family, they would figure it out.
“He named his daughter Imogen. Why, Thomas? Why call her by our daughter’s middle name? I can’t make sense of it.”
Thomas left his silent vigil of counting the stars that had begun to fill the sky to pull her into his arms. “He’ll regret his life choices, never fear, Jo, but for now, we have to help our girl.
“I spoke with Bran and Patrick.” Thomas’ rumbling voice at the top of her head made her feel safe, less panicked. “The O’Faolains still have a seat on Trinity’s board as one of their largest donors. If Gray can get through the end of the year, they think they can get her a special dispensation for her final months to be online. I want her to move home.”
