Page 15 of Surrender
Within a moment, her brother began to cry. “He doesn’t like being apart from her,” she murmured without looking up, her voice a lullaby all on its own. “Not even for a minute, huh, Hal? What will we do?” Darcie lifted Hal from the crib, her eyes glowing with that quiet contentment that still left him breathless.
Connor kissed and nuzzled Sylvie, and she giggled. A daddy’s little girl if ever there was one. He cooed at his daughter and smiled when she wrapped her tiny hand around his finger.
“You look happy, my love.”
“How could I not be? You’ve given me everything I ever wanted.” Darcie smiled back at him, her eyes filled with pure love.
She began singing again, some nonsense tune from the fifties—half lyrics, half babble—that had Hal kicking in delight. Connor chuckled, shifting the twin on his shoulder. “I swear,” he said, “their first words are going to be ‘rama lama ding dong,’ not ‘Mommy’ or ‘Daddy.’”
“I’m just giving them a solid musical education,” she said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll go with Elvis. ‘The Wonder of You’ would make an excellent first sentence.”
Connor’s gaze lingered on her face, soft and glowing in the low light.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, meeting his eyes.
“That you’re beautiful.”
“Even now?” She arched a brow. “After you’ve seen me covered in baby puke? And Hal peed in my face this morning.”
Connor smiled. “Especially now.”
She laughed, and the baby in her arms squealed in response. Connor leaned down to kiss the forehead of the baby in her arms and laid his palm gently on the crown of the one he held. Then he sniffed and winced.
“Smells like someone needs their nappy changed.”
“I vote not it.”
Connor grinned, and carried Sylvie off to the changing table without complaint.
From the other side of the room, Darcie asked, “Did you ever hear what Sophie and Keefe were like as babies?” “Some, yes,” Connor said, glancing over his shoulder. “I was younger than them, of course, but according to legend, they fought like wild animals from day one—but wouldn’t tolerate being separated. Ever.”
Darcie smirked. “That tracks.”
“They’d bite and pull hair and scream bloody murder—then fall asleep holding hands. Their mum used to joke that separating them was like trying to break up magnets.”
“And now they’re... still like that,” Darcie said with a soft chuckle. “Even when they’re mad, they’d still go to war for each other.”
Connor nodded. “Thick as thieves, they were. Always in trouble, always covering for each other. As kids, they were constantly behind the bar at O’Brian’s, getting underfoot. Keefe used to climb up on a crate just so he could stir a pot on the stove without setting himself on fire—that didn’t work out so well. One day he slipped off the crate and caught his sleeve on fire.”
He powdered Sylvie’s little bottom, and she cooed.
“Sophie swore up and down to their parents that it was all her fault, said she pushed him. And once, Sophie poured salt into a man’s Guinness because he said something rude about their mum.”
“She didn’t!” Darcie said, eyes wide.
“Oh, she did. And Keefe backed her up like she was the Pope. He told the man that he’d be banned from the pub if he ever opened his mouth like that again.”
Darcie chuckled. “I can see it.”
Connor smiled too. “They’ve always been like that. It wasn’t just sibling loyalty—it was like they were born knowing they were a team. Their parents used to say they were two halves of the same coin. Always fighting, always defending each other. Even now.”
“Even now,” Darcie echoed softly.
Connor nodded. “Sylvie and Hal will figure it out… They will.” Connor said, his voice sure.
Darcie looked at Hal and Sylvie, both babies now dozing on their parents’ shoulders and gently smiled.
Connor looked down at Sylvie, then kissed her head again. “I didn’t know it could feel like this. Like every breath I take matters more because it keeps me here, with all of you.”
