Page 69 of Heart of a Devil

“No worries there, Boss. Won’t be standing up for a while. Glad you found the kid.”

Every word seems to take a herculean effort, and I feel like I should leave and let him rest. He asked to see me, though, so I make myself stay.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have been finding anyone if you hadn’t jumped in front of that bullet. Not that I’m ungrateful, but what the fuck were you thinking? And while I’m asking questions, what was that you said about following me? If you’retoo knackered and want me to piss off, I will, but if you’re up to it, you’ve got my full attention.”

He rubs his face with one big hand, the leads of his monitors following him, and finally looks me in the eyes.

“I followed you for the same reason I came to London. Because of you.”

I frown, confused. “What the fuck does that mean? I thought you came to London for a fresh start after your mum died.”

“I did. But I also came to London to work for you. To find out more about you.”

“Why the hell did you want to find out more about me?”

“Because you’re my dad, okay?”

I stare at him in disbelief. I shake my head and even poke my fingers in my ears in case I didn’t hear him right. Did he say what I think he said? That I’m his bloodyfather? That makes no sense at all. Except… Fuck, look at the size of him. Look at the way he handles himself. Look at the awkward way he’s always behaved around me.

“Tell me more,” I manage to say, the words all I can squeeze out.

“My mum was called Tracy. Tracy Grant. She raised me on her own, and I’ve no complaints—she was mum and dad to me, and she did a brilliant job. She never told me much about my dad, but she didn’t slag you off either. She said she only knew you for a few nights, on holiday in Tenerife when she was young. Said you were a wild one who wouldn’t have wanted to be tied down, so even though she knew your name, she didn’t try to contact you when she found out she was expecting. She never forgot you though—every time I got into trouble for scrapping, she’d smile and say something about not being able to fight nature. Not in a nasty way, just sort of… deep, I suppose. Like she was thinking about you.”

He’s looking at me beseechingly, and I know he desperately wants me to remember her. Maybe to say she was special, the one that got away. That I always carried happy memories of my holiday fling around with me. That would make him feel better, but I can’t lie to the lad like that.

I scrub my face with my hands and blow out a big breath. “Fuck. Taylor, that’s a lot to take in… and she was right. I was a wild one back then. How old are you again? Twenty-three?”

He nods, and I do some maths in my head. That wasn’t the most stable time of my life. I’d left the army, drifted in and out of jobs, hadn’t really found whatever it was I was looking for. Hadn’t found anything that filled the hole left by Samantha’s mum leaving and taking my unborn child with her. It was before I met Gabriel and we started working together, before Sam came back into my life. I was wild in every way, and that included with women. I’m not proud of the way I was, but I can’t change the past.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, kid. Obviously, I didn’t know. I wish… Well, I wish she’d told me. I wish she’d found me and told me. I would have stepped up. I would have been there for both of you, instead of letting you grow up without a dad.”

“I told you, I have no complaints—it made no difference, you not being around, because she was every bit as good, all right?” Even in his messed-up state, Taylor’s temper rouses when it comes to any perceived criticism of his mother.

“All right, mate. Don’t blow a gasket. I didn’t mean it like that. I just… Well, I’m sad, I suppose. Sad I missed out on you as a kid, that I didn’t get to see you when you were little. Hell, I’m sad you just turned up fully grown in my life, like a bad-tempered brick shithouse.”

He croaks out a laugh that turns into a cough, and I pass him a glass of water.

“I never looked for you when she was alive,” he says when he’s recovered, “because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. She was enough for me. But when she found out about the cancer, she wrote me a letter telling me everything she remembered about you. Your name, where in London you lived, that you worked on the doors at a nightclub called Solitaire.”

“Fuck. That’s a blast from the past. And that was enough for you to find me?”

As I ask the question, I actually start to remember his mum. It’s a vague memory, fuzzy around the edges, but the name of the club sparked something. She was a feisty blond with legs that went on forever, there on a trip with five of her mates. We hooked up, spent a few days together roaming the island on quad bikes, partying and messing around. She was from up north, and I told her if she was ever in London she should call me, come and have a free night out in the club where I worked. Bloody hell. It was casual, a fling. It meant nothing to either of us, and I haven’t given it a second thought since.

But here is Taylor, lying in a hospital bed before me, living proof that it ended up meaning quite a lot.

“It was. I was already working the doors myself, so it felt right when I found out more about you. Maybe I should have told you immediately, but I wanted to see what kind of man you were first. If you were a twat, I would’ve left. If you were decent, I would’ve told you.”

“Makes sense. Except you did neither.”

“That’s ’cause I couldn’t make my mind up. You seemed like you were both decentanda twat. I needed more time.”

I snort with laughter. The kid isn’t wrong. He’s starting to look wrung out now, and I bet his pain levels are pretty horrendous. Being a macho shit like his dad, though, he won’t be letting on while I’m in the room, so I make the decision for him.

I don’t think either of us is quite ready for full-on fatherly hugs, especially him with his stitches in, but I give his shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m going to let you get some rest, all right? I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m glad you told me. We don’t know each other that well yet, but we can fix that. We have all the time in the world. I’m going nowhere, and very fucking clearly, neither are you.”

I pause and clear my throat. “I won’t be able to make up for everything I missed, but I already know I’m proud to be your dad. Now, stop being a hero and press that bloody morphine button, will you?”

He gives me a sheepish grin, and I recall his mum more clearly now. He looks a little like her. Poor bastard looks like me too, though.

---