Page 32 of Fractured Destiny

The words don’t fit. They scrape around inside my skull, too sharp to swallow, too big to spit out.

Two and a half years. He already knows how to walk. He probably talks.

Somebody else taught him. Held him through fevers, cut grapes in half, clapped when he stacked blocks and carried him out of grocery stores when he melted down in the cereal aisle. Knows whether he liked blueberries or bananas, which book he prefers at bedtime, what song settles him when he wakes up crying.

I’ve missed all of it.

I turn toward the windows because if I look at Neel—Noa, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.

Elliott Bay sprawls beneath the eighteenth floor like nothing life-altering is happening. Right. Fucking. Now. Ferries move through the gray water. Cars crawl along Alaskan Way. People cross streets with coffees in their hands, walking through the same Tuesday they had ten minutes ago.

Seattle doesn’t give a shit about me.

A laugh tears loose. Ugly. Wrong. Too close to a sob for comfort.

Linus shifts behind me, shoes quiet against the carpet, smart enough not to touch me this time. “Lake.”

“No.” I hold up my free hand. “Shut the fuck up.”

He backs off.

Good.

Out of my peripheral vision, I notice Noa sitting across from me. Poised. Quiet. Hair loose over one shoulder. A folder on the table in front of her. Her hands are clasped together, which is enough to piss me off even further.

I’m vibrating out of my skin and she’s had three years to set up this ambush.

“You knew.” I can’t bring myself to look at her directly.

“Yes.”

The answer should satisfy something. It doesn’t.

I face her. “How long?”

Her eyes hold my gaze. “From the time I found out I was pregnant.”

The room tips again. I grip the back of the bad-luck chair, woozy. Talk about self-fulfilling prophecy.

“Before he was born,” I repeat. I didn’t think I could be any more shocked. “You were pregnant with my son and didn’t tell me.”

“Our son.” The correction slices through the room.

I almost laugh again.

Our son.

As if I got a vote.

“Our son,” I echo, and the words taste like blood. “That’s a hell of a thing to hear for the first time in a goddamn conference room.”

Linus steps closer to the table. “Brother—”

“When did you know about this?” I seethe.

“I spoke to her a couple of weeks ago.” His face doesn’t move, but something in his eyes darkens. “I didn’t intend to say anything until there was proof.”

“Proof.” I sit down in a different chair. I desperately hope it’s a good-news chair.