Page 128 of His Pretty Little Duet

Happily-ever-after for FawnHarlowButcher.

"Aurora will not give my son children," Luca interrupts my thoughts, another contemplation that must have played out across my face.

I slowly shake my head, saying, "I don't think he wants children, Luca. He was only willing to care for me because?—"

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Neither did I until later in life, but I found myself with them before I was ready. My son is smarter than me. He doesn't do things in halves. If he's a father… Well, he won't be like me. I made mistakes with them all. All my boys suffered, but with Clay—Clay was basically an orphan, like you, my girl."

"You did give him family. His brothers. There is so much love between them. I?—"

"They created that bond all by themselves. They could have been at each other's throats, but they weren't. I don't know who that bond is accounted to… but it sure as hell is not me."

"You are too hard on yourself?—"

"None of that. Don't soften the situation for my benefit, girl. Listen and understand," he states, and I hold my breath along with my innate need to comfort him. In that way, he's just like Clay. He's discussing his mistakes, showing a sense of guilt, but that’s only half of what he's saying.

What he's really saying is: 'I fucked up. I want you to know that I fucked up, and I'm accountable for it, but you may not make me feel better about it or console me.’

Are all men like this?

I wouldn't know. If I'd had a dad or even an uncle, maybe I would have a point of reference.

I think Luca and Clay would prefer me to stone them for their mistakes rather than forgive them. As though neither of them has a person to show them forgiveness, to allow them to wallow in their mistakes, togrieve them.

He goes on, "The fact is, I saw Clay exactly thirty-six times from the day he was born until he turned twenty-four. I loved another woman and the pain of seeing her with your father was more than I could bare to witness, so I spent every damnmoment I could away from the District. Away from my family. I was a shitty, selfish father, and I did what I wanted. I boxed. I ran boxing gyms and the competitions for the Family all over the world. That is where I lived my life. I did it because I refused to see her in his arms. So, I don't need my failings forgiven or softened, Fawn. I need the right woman in my sons' lives moving forward because I neglected to give them the right one at the beginning. So are you prepared for the part you need to play?"

He doesn't love his wife; he lovedmy dad'swife… My heart pounds in my throat. "Is that why you hated him? Because you loved her?"

"I was right to… " His gaze loses focus as he stares at the glass of whiskey rocking back and forth in his fingers. Then he says, "Madeline and I had a son together, and…dammit… I knew if he thought the boy was his, he would love him, so I stepped aside. And I proved to be the worst kind of father as it stood, but he knew,somehow. Or someone told him. He tried to have the boy killed—my boy with his mother's green eyes.Konnor.Everything changed from there. The bad blood was rancid. There was no going back. Are you prepared for what that means for your father?"

I take another sip of my whiskey, using the delicious liquid to bide me some time while I contemplate.

My father tried to have a child killed simply because he was not his own blood.

Who does that?

A smile hits the corner of my lips at the memory of Clay swearing to care for my baby and me, asserting that the baby is his despite the blood father.

My heart steadies.

And I know I want to be therightwoman for him because he chose me when no one else did. I'll choose him now. I'll choose him forever. "What part do I need to play?"

"You're very young?—"

"I'm not weak?—"

"No." He nods slowly, his blue eyes panning my resolute face as though he can measure my strength like he's the authority on the subject. "No, you're not."

Clay

My younger brother,Xander, lands a hit on the side of Eddie's jaw—a heavy-weight champion twice his size—snapping his head to the side, splitting his lip open, and spraying the ringside table and the white dress shirts of theCosa Nostraassociates.

They revel in it. But I despise watching my youngest brother bouncing between those ropes, receiving and delivering the violence. It shouldn't be him. He wasn't meant to be part of this corruption.

He was meant to get out. Be better.

I bite down on the cigar in my mouth as the room booms and shakes with barks and calls, the youngest Butcher brother invoking chants from the crowd.

"The Butcher."

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