Page 128 of Beat of Love
But apparently, he was.
And somewhere out there, a kid bore his name.
He had a son.
“I have a son,” he said aloud again, like repeating it might make it real.
“You need to fetch him. Bring him home,” Mammy stated.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” his mother added quickly. “What is his name?”
His name?
Rafferty blinked. “I … forgot to ask,” he whispered.
What kind of man forgets to ask his own son’s name?
A ping from his phone cut through his spiral of self-condemnation.
An email alert.
Mrs. Bronson had promised to send the details. “Need to get this,” he muttered, pulling the phone from his pocket. “It’s from the social worker.”
He swiped open the message, heart hammering in his chest.
Connor Lawson.
Born June thirteenth. Seven years ago.
“Connor,” he whispered. “His name is Connor.”
Two JPEG attachments were included.
He tapped the first image, irritated to see his hand trembling. A boy’s face filled the screen — dark eyes lit with mischief, a gap-toothed grin, and a wild tumble of dark curls framed his light brown skin.
He studied the photo. Cute kid, no doubt. But … no resemblance.
Connor.Connor?
A crazy thought struck him. He did a quick mental calculation.
The timing lined up.
He tapped the second attachment, bracing himself.
“God, no,” he breathed, the words catching in his throat as he studied the woman, her face close to her son’s, smiling softly at the camera.
Dark-haired. Pretty.
Familiar.
The last time he’d seen her, her top lip was split and bleeding, one eye swollen shut, bruises blooming across otherwise flawless skin.
His mind reeled, flung backward seven years.
“I am scared.” Selena’s eyes darted around the abandoned rest stop, her hands moving protectively over her extended belly. “Maybe it is best to go back …”
He hunched forward. “Look at me, darlin’,” he said, low and urgent, wincing again at the sight of her battered features. He’d never understand how a man could lift a finger to hurt a woman. That this petite woman was pregnant made the abuse a hundred times worse.
