Page 61 of Judgment Day

His skin was a beautiful bronze. Like Grey’s.

He was only a child, but his presence stole my breath.

There was no mistaking what this was.

Grey had a son.And he was sitting in this room. My pulse was a frantic, fluttering thing, thrumming in my ears, in my veins, in every delicate point of my body.

Mrs. McTavish made her way around me and into the library. She stopped beside him. “This is Ciaran.” Her words trailed off as though she wasn’t sure how to finish them.

I rolled the name around in my mind.Keer-in.

“Hello, Ciaran.” I sat on the sofa opposite him. “I’m Lauren.” Lauren. Not Lyric. Not to him. Not yet, anyway.

“Hello, Lauren.” He placed the book he’d been reading on the arm of the sofa. “Are you here to see my dad?”

Grey had a son.

How long had he been here? I’d only been gone almost a year. He’d never mentioned a son in the four years I lived here. This kid was at least thirteen years old.

Emotion burned in my chest as I considered my answer. “Yes, I am.”

Mrs. McTavish smoothed her blue dress, swallowed, cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” And then she left us alone.

Silence threaded around us. We breathed. Stared. Sat.

Grey had a son.

I clasped my hands in my lap. “This is my favorite room.”

“Mine, too.” He searched my eyes, for what, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he was like his father. Maybe he didn’t trust fully. “Do you visit often?”

He didn’t know the answer to that, so he hadn’t been here long.

“You could say that.” My voice was thick.

Grey had a son.It echoed in my mind every time I looked at him.

“Are you the one who left the notes?”

“What notes?”

His gaze darted to the bookshelves. “The yellow sticky notes.”

Oh, shit.My mini-reviews. I’d forgotten about them. “You probably shouldn’t read those.”

He shrugged and blushed. “They’re funny.”

“What’s your favorite book?” Please, don’t sayHoles.

“Black Beauty.”

Thank God.

I sank into the leather, leaning the side of my head against the back of the sofa and giving him my full attention. “Oh, I love that book.”

We talked about books and horses until Mrs. McTavish told him it was time for bed. He never asked who I was, and I never offered. He was Grey’s son, and I would leave it up to Grey to decide what role he wanted me to play in his life.

I pulled Jane Austen from the shelf and curled into the corner of the sofa. Nostalgia washed over me, warming me from the inside out. Grey would be home later. Only this time, he wouldn’t cover me with a blanket and leave me asleep. Those memories whispered his name like a distant echo through my heart. This time, he’d wake me up. And when he did, I would be ready.

---