“Sorry, buddy. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About how your mother stole ten years of my life. About how I have a son and never knew it. About how everything I thought I understood about the past has just been turned upside down.
“Nothing important.”
They went inside, where Sierra had set the table for three. The kitchen smelled of rich gravy, tender meat, fresh bread—but as they ate, he tasted nothing.
Every time he looked at Huck, the resemblance seemed to shout at him. Every time he caught Sierra’s eye, he had to look away.
He needed answers. The questions simply coiled inside him, swelling.
But how did you ask a question like that? How did you say Did you keep my son from me for ten years?
Huck told his mother about the security installation and Bandit’s training progress, and Sierra asked about homework and chores.
This should have been his life. These dinners, these conversations, this family.
“Huck, go wash up and get ready for bed,” Sierra said finally, pressing a kiss to the top of her son’s head as she gathered up the plates. “School tomorrow.”
“Aw, Mom. Can’t I stay up a little longer? Mr. R was going to show me how the security cameras work.”
Mr. R. Not Dad. He desperately needed to put his fist through something.
“Tomorrow,” Sierra said firmly.
Huck sighed dramatically but hugged both his mother and Rowan good night before heading upstairs. As his footsteps faded, silence settled over the kitchen.
Sierra began washing dishes. Rowan watched her work, studying her profile, looking for signs of guilt or deception. But all he saw was the same Sierra he’d always known—strong, capable, beautiful.
A woman who’d apparently been lying to him for a decade.
“Sierra.”
She looked up from the sink, soap bubbles clinging to her hands. “Yes?”
The moment stretched between them, loaded with everything he wanted to say and couldn’t figure out how to voice. But the question had been building in his chest all evening, growing heavier with each passing moment until he couldn’t see past it, breathe, even, with the weight of it.
“Is there something you need to tell me?”
Eight
Sierra’s heart stopped as the question hung in the kitchen air. Her hands stilled on the dish towel, her mind scrambling. The careful way he was watching her, the controlled tension in his posture—it all clicked into place with sickening clarity.
Oh no. He knew. Or suspected.
“What do you mean?” Way to dodge, Sierra. But…
She wasn’t ready. Her pulse hammered in her throat.
Rowan stepped closer, his blue eyes never leaving her face. “You know what I mean.”
Sierra’s throat went dry. She turned off the water. Turned to him. Took a breath, her hands still wet.
“Night, Mom! Night, Mr. R!” Huck’s voice called down from upstairs, followed by the sound of his bedroom door closing.
The interruption shattered the charged moment between them. Sierra seized on it like a lifeline. “I should check on him,” she said, not meeting Rowan’s eyes. “Make sure he’s settled.”
