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“You have?” I ask as Noah nods and my eyes widen.

Jesus, what else do I not know about?

How much has he been keeping from me?

“After learning about the baby, I started thinking about what Biche would have done. He didn’t really have many options and although he’s a a bastard, I couldn’t see him killing a baby.”

My brows furrow as I turn to look at Noah again, trying to understand what’s going on. He flicks his gaze to me for just a second, guilt written all over his features, before looking back to Streak.

“Hold the fuck on. What is going on here? Are we talking about our baby, Thomas?”

Streak nods, sparing an annoyed glance in Noah’s direction. “You didn’t know?”

“Obviously not.”

“Noah came to us after learning what happened to you seven years ago,” Blaze adds with a sigh. “And after finding out about the baby, Streak started looking into Biche, searching for anything that could help us.”

I nod, somewhat following along. “And we’re talking about him killing a baby, because?”

“Let me ask you something,” Streak says. “Did you ever actually see your baby after Biche claimed that he had died?”

“I…” My mouth hangs open as memories from that night come back to me and I realize that I didn’t. I was in so much pain when he told me that Thomas was gone that I didn’t even question it. “I didn’t.”

He nods. “That’s what I’m saying. We’re left with three options - one, the baby really did die. Two, Biche killed the baby himself.”

I struggle to breathe through the sudden tears in my eyes as I stare at him. He’s right - Oliver is a sick bastard but killing a baby… could he really do that? I don’t know.

“Or, the baby didn’t really die at all.”

Noah slams his fist on the table. “If he didn’t die, then where is he?”

“That was the same question I asked myself,” Streak says, wagging a finger like we’ve just cracked some secret code. “Which led me to this…”

He slides a folder across the table and I grab it before Noah can, flipping it open. The photo pinned to the first page makes me gasp and I glance up at them as tears slip down my cheeks.

“Streak, what am I looking at?”

“Your son,” Blaze answers, his voice soft and I shake my head as I stare down at the picture again. He’s the spitting image of Noah - dark hair, green eyes, dimples, and the cutest little gap in his smile where he’s missing a tooth. It’s the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen.

“How did this happen?” Noah asks and I nod, desperately needing that answer as well as I glance up at them again.

“When you told me that Thomas was born almost exactly seven years ago, I started searching. On January thirty-first, two thousand twelve, a baby was left outside a fire station one mile from Biche’s house. The same house that someone pulled permits to build a basement apartment in two years prior.”

I clamp my hand over my mouth. “Oh, God.”

He just left him outside a fire station?

I imagine my baby boy, scared and out in the cold until someone found him and my stomach heaves. He was left outside of a fire station, just like I was - something Oliver knew. He’s a fucking monster.

“Where is he?” Noah asks, pulling the file out of my hand. “Where is our son?”

“Your son was placed in foster care…”

“No,” I sob, shaking my head as my heart squeezes. The biggest factor is my desire for a big family was growing up in foster care and knowing that my son ended up in the same place feels like someone is shredding me from the inside out. The pain is unbearable. Noah wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his side.

“He was only there for three months before he was adopted by a family in Port Allen. Their names are Kelly and TJ Olsen,” Streak says, his voice full of sympathy. I bury my head in Noah’s neck, unable to hold the tears back as my mind races over how fucked up everything is. Losing Thomas was one thing but knowing he’s been out there this whole time, less than thirty miles from me, is a whole new kind of pain that I don’t know how to handle.

“I’m so sorry, you two,” Blaze offers and I feel Noah nod as his hand slips into my hair and he massages the back of my head. “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”