Dom slides the coffees onto the counter. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Have you eaten?” He looks between me and Rose. “I’m sure we can spare a few hash browns and egg muffins.”
Lilly mumbles with a mouth full of food. “Not a chance in hell am I sharing mine.”
“We’re good, man. Been up since the crack of dawn.” I nod at Rose. “This one woke me up.”
Dom gives me a look. “Oh, yeah?”
Rose screws her face in disgust. “He had a date with the ironing board.”
The guys chuckle at my expense.
“Rope. Chair.” I raise my brow at Dom, who wipes the smirk from his face when he remembers the photograph I took of him after Poppy tied him up.
Shane pats my back. “I thought you were coming out with us last night to celebrate Lil’s becoming a qualified nurse?”
“Something came up. Did you have a good night?” I slip a clean tie around my neck under my collar.
“I had one too many mocktails and spent the rest of the night nursing a bottle of Gaviscon.”
Rose smiles warmly. “Oh, don’t remind me. I had terrible acid reflux when I was having my son. I practically lived on that stuff.”
I rub at the ache in my chest, wishing I were there with her. Bitterness coats my tongue, knowing she was with someone else.
“Right,” Lilly says, dipping her hash brown into a pot of ketchup. “How old’s your son?”
“Almost thirteen.” Rose glances at me, then back to the girls.
They all stare at her as if she’s grown another head.
Violet practically chokes on her bagel. “No way. You must have had him when you were like fifteen or something.”
“I was eighteen.” Rose straightens her spine as if proud, like our son is her greatest achievement, and my chest swells with admiration for the woman before me.
Dom raises his brow as he looks between us as if he’s just done the math.
I nod towards the bedroom and hope he follows as I change into a clean pair of trousers.
Dom shuts the door behind him. “You weren’t kidding when you said last night was eventful, were you?”
“He’s mine.” I button up my trousers and sit on the bed, scroll through my phone to a snap I took of one of Rose’s family photos in her living room.
It’s a recent image of Angelos.
Dom’s jaw slackens as he looks between the phone and me. “He’s a City supporter?”
I snatch the phone back and smile at my son in last season’s City shirt. “You find out you’re an uncle andthat’syour first response?”
“He looks like you,” Dom says, quieter now. “Same eyes. Same resting bitch face.”
“Cheers.”
He nudges me. “You all right?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I’ve missed almost thirteen years, Dom. I don’t know where to even start.” Asigh escapes as I run my hand over my face, tired from little to no sleep last night on Rose’s couch.
“You start by educating the lad on football teams. Maybe throw in a United shirt.” He chuckles and knocks my shoulder with his. “You start by showing up. Which, by the way, you’re already doing.” He pauses. “Have you told him yet?”
“Not yet. I can’t. Not while that arsehole she married’s still sniffing around.”
