For the second time since Gray snuck out of his bed and his life, he’d stalked her as she went to her doctor’s appointments. She was good about letting him know when her appointments were and how she and their son were faring.
After her appointments, she would meet Tina and Imogen at Gray’s old townhouse. Tina was still on crutches, so Mags would pick the two of them up. He stood outside then too.
Gray was clear, through text, because she wouldn’t speak to him over the phone, that his presence was not wanted.
He knew why. The night he’d come home from Tokyo, he panicked. He’d had every intention of putting it all out there, but after they had sex and he was so overwhelmed with how grateful he was to have her back and to be having a child with her, he froze.
The thought of coming clean, of losing her, of her looking at him differently…yeah, a coward.
There was no help for it now, though. Time was running out, and if there was a chance of fixing this, of her staying even after he came clean, he had to take it.
So, he did something that he never thought he’d ever do in a million years. He opened his phone and called his dad, who answered on the first ring.
“Do you know how to find Aunt Alya?”
It took another two weeks to track down his aunt and then another week to make the arrangements for her to fly to Dublin. When they’d finally spoken on the phone, Alya had burst into tears when he told her his name. She hadn’t seen him since his mother’s funeral when he was eight.
As a child, Alya had been the one bright spot in his miserable childhood and why Imogen’s middle name honored the woman.
Operation “Get Gray Back” started with facing his past.
Alya and her thirteen-year-old twin daughters, Dunya and Dasha, descended on his Dublin doorstep in all their Slavic glory. He was thankful to still be fluent in Russian.
The three women spoke English, but their accents were heavy, which left his sheltered Irish father exasperated more often than not and cursing himself for not learning the language. Despite the language barrier, his father and Alya were bulwarks when it came to supporting Ciar in his desire to win back Gray.
His father fully supported Ciar facing his fears. Finally. Three times during their flight to Inverness, his dad had patted his son’s knee, something he hadn’t done since he was a child. Ciar imagined the soothing gesture was meant as much for the older man as it was for him.
His dad insisted on traveling with him. He had known Gray’s parents since before she was born and had said, “Thomas MacGregor is a good man, but you won’t be facing that grumpy bastard without me by your side.”
Ciar appreciated the sentiment, though it wasn’t MacGregor he was worried about seeing. Now that they were standing outside Gray’s front door, his nerves kicked up sevenfold.
“You’ve got this, boy,” his father encouraged at his shoulder.
Ciar raised his finger to ring the bell when he heard shouting coming from inside, along with Gray’s voice. Concerned, he tried the door and found it unlocked and, without further thought, let himself in.
No one noticed Ciar's entrance because a younger, red-faced, and clearly furious version of Thomas held the occupant’s attention. Unfortunately, Ciar heard the tail end of Gray’s brother’s rant. “…and she’s forbidden us to find the prick who’s left her alone and pregnant, and I’m furious.”
Ciar didn’t blame him. The boy should be pissed. They all should be. “I’m here now. Have at me.” Three sets of stunned MacGregor eyes turned his way. “The door was unlocked, and I heard shouting,” he shrugged, the beginnings of embarrassment tightening his shoulders.
“My front door is never unlocked,” MacGregor growled, crossing his arms over his massive chest. “I added your face to the biometric scanner, assuming you would eventually pull your head out of your ass.”
Well, that was unexpected and left him momentarily speechless. Not ready to deal with MacGregor’s wrath quite yet, he finally allowed himself to take in Gray, who stood silently beside her brother. Her face was blank of emotion.
She wore yoga pants and a soft-looking t-shirt stretched thin over a belly that had to be twice the size since the last time he’d seen her from a distance.
“Gray.” He said her name softly, a plea, a prayer. He took a step toward her, but Lochlann stepped in front of his sister, blocking his view. Not that she stayed there. She squeezed around her much larger brother and elbowed his side. Gray clasped her brother’s hand and whispered something that only her brother could hear. Lochlann frowned but relaxed his stance.
“Why the hell are you here?” MacGregor asked, ratcheting up the tension.
Now it was Josephine’s turn to step around her husband and elbow his side. She walked to Ciar and his father, bypassing him with a stern look, before gathering his father into a hug.
“Ciaran Murphy, what a surprise. It’s so good to see you.” Josephine said warmly.
Ciar’s dad’s cheeks pinkened, but he nodded to Josephine and Thomas. “I appreciate you opening your home for my son and me.”
“Like you gave us a choice,” MacGregor muttered. A sharp look from his wife had him biting off anything else he might have wanted to say.
Josephine glanced toward her daughter and raised her brows in question, but Gray remained stubbornly silent.
