Page 106 of The Voices are Back

Cameras flashed in the vestibule, and I cursed.

Shortly after all the shit went down with Bowie’s coach, he’d switched fully to soccer. And what a decision that was.

Bowie now played for FC Brooksburg, an up-and-coming soccer team in Madison, Wisconsin that was taking the soccer world by storm. One second, they were a nobody soccer team with an überbillionaire from Dubai as an owner, and the next they were playing, and beating, the best of the best.

Their latest conquest was FC Madrid last night. Hours before Bowie’s baby was born.

Bowie played in Madrid, flew straight home, and walked into the hospital just in time for his child to make his or her appearance.

His child.

Holy fuck, I was a goddamn grandfather.

“You’re gonna miss the elevator if you keep lollygagging!” Morr giggled from my back, tapping my chest as if she would a disobeying horse.

I snorted and moved faster, already practically running. Now I was outright sprinting for the elevator.

I made it, though, causing my girl to laugh.

When we arrived on the floor where my son was located, I walked right up to the first nurse behind a desk and said, “I’m looking for my son.”

Her brows lifted. “And is your son having a child?”

Today, Bowie had his first child.

“My son had his first child.” I smiled. “As of two hours ago. McBanks.”

She grinned.

She knew that name.

It really wasn’t a surprise.

It was famous now.

Though, in our small little town of Accident, it was infamous.

But only because it was Morrigan’s new name, instead of Morrigan’s old name—St. Pete.

All those years ago, and what happened with Morrigan’s mother and father was still a scandal. The most recent one, and the further away one.

One trying to kill themself, and take their unborn babies out with them, all because a man was controlling wasn’t something the town forgot. Then, years later, when said man has a heart attack because he refused modern medicine? Well, let’s just say the St. Pete name had a bit of a stigma to it.

The McBanks name, however, was known worldwide because my son had become the soccer star midfielder. The “hot, smart soccer guy” that everyone loved.

I hadn’t learned that last part from Bowie, though. I’d learned it from Morrigan and my ex-wife as they squealed about his photos inSports Illustrated Magazine.

Needless to say, he was a very large celebrity in the soccer world, and hell in the United States and Europe right now. Everyone knew his name because he was apparently “cute.”

“I can see where he gets it,” I heard a nurse say.

I looked over just in time to feel Morrigan’s hand tighten possessively on my shoulder. A hiss in my ear let me know that she was two seconds away from biting the woman’s head off.

“His room number?” I asked.

“We’re not allowed to let anyone…”

“Dad!”

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