Chapter 5 Distraction by Dessert
Duncan
Pride washed over me when Rogan stepped in front of his sister. His instincts were spot-on, it just burned how he thought she needed protecting from me. I was a stranger in his home. He didn’t know I’d walk through fire to keep them safe, neither of them did. They’d learn in time.
I stepped back a few paces, giving them a wide berth, as Sloane took each of their hands, leading them to the sofa. She sat in the middle with Rogan on her left and Reagan on her right. A subtle tilt of her head had me moving to the armchair directly opposite them.
“This is my friend, Duncan. He and I have something very important to tell you guys, okay?”
Two sets of eyes flashed in my direction––one pair timid and questioning, the other cool and indifferent. I could work with both.
“Hi, guys.” The slight tremor in my voice gave away my nerves.
“You’re da man from da picture.”
Reagan’s voice was so soft I thought for sure I’d heard her wrong. I looked to Sloane for help, but she sat frozen, her eyes wide in shock. It hit me then, like a crushing blow to the sternum. The photo albums. She knew.
I swallowed and nodded. “I am.”
“You’re my daddy?”
Fuck, this little girl slayed me.
“Yes.”
“Liar,” Rogan spat.
His outburst snapped Sloane out of whatever state she was in.
“That’s enough, Rogan James,” she admonished. “Rudeness will not be tolerated in this house.”
“But he’s lying.”
She cupped his face. “He’s not, Love.”
“He is. My name is Rogan”––his steely gaze cut to me––“not Duncan.”
Fuck, fuck, and fuck again.
The pain in his eyes felt like a knife twisting deep in my chest. Of course she told him he was named after his father.
Why wouldn’t she? She had no idea I was undercover.
The fault for that sat squarely on my shoulders.
What happened after would be more difficult to explain.
Hell, it was confusing for us and we were adults.
Where did we begin and how much should we divulge?
Would a seven-year-old even comprehend the level of deceit used to keep us apart?
The potential for disaster was astronomical.
I leaned forward, dropping my elbows to my knees. “When I met your mom, I was working undercover for the FBI. Do you know what that means?”
Reagan looked back and forth between her mother and me, then asked with awe in her voice, “Like a super spy?”
“Sort of.” I grinned in response.
“Whateber,” my disgruntled progeny mumbled under his breath.
“That’s two, Rogan James.” Sloane used a tone I’d never heard from her before. “If I get to three, there will be consequences.”
He huffed, though wisely kept his mouth shut. I waited a few more beats before continuing.
“Part of being undercover meant I had to keep my real name a secret from the bad guys.”
“My momma’s not a bad guy!”
Rogan leapt off the couch, hands fisted at his sides like he was considering the ramifications of kicking my ass. Sloane intervened quickly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“That’s not what he said, Ro.”
“Christ, I’m fucking this up.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to reach out and snatch them back.
Reagan gasped. “You said a bad word.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Dat’s okay. Uncle Finn says it lots.”
I snorted. “Oh yeah?”
“Yup. You gotta put monies in da swear jar now.”
“How much is it gonna cost me?”
She tapped a finger against her chin, thinking hard, but Rogan beat her to the punch.
“Twenty bucks.”
His smirk practically dared me to call his bluff. The little extortionist was good, but I was a trained negotiator.
“Ten,” I countered.
“Deal.” He accepted too quickly, then hopped back on the sofa next to his mother.
Shaking my head, my eyes cut to Sloane. “How much does Finn put in the swear jar?”
A smile broke out across her face. “A dollar, sometimes five.”
“That would’ve been great information to have.”
“You seemed to be doing fine on your own.”
Reaching into my back pocket for my wallet, I fished out a ten, handing over the crisp bill to my daughter. Round one went to my half-pint doppelg?nger and with the cursing crisis resolved, Sloane resumed our story where I left off.
“Do you remember the accident I told you guys about?” They both nodded. “Duncan was taking me to our favorite hiking place to tell me who he really was and about his job. Before we could get there, our car crashed.”
Reagan turned to me with a serious look on her face. “You must not have been a good spy.”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?" Her statement threw me off-balance.
“If you were, it wouldn’t have taken you so long to find us.”
Well, shit. There was no arguing with her logic. She nailed it on the head. They were too young to understand how I’d trusted the wrong people and how, because of that, it had cost me seven years with them. Maybe one day we’d explain what happened in greater detail.
“You’re right, Reagan. But I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Where you gonna sleep?” Rogan smirked. “You can’t hab my bed.”
Jesus, this kid. Sloane wasn’t joking when she said Rogan would be the wild card.
He was hurt, rightfully so. I kept having to remind myself to walk a mile in his shoes.
It had to be confusing to suddenly have a father when you never had one before.
They’ve been a family of three, and there I was, asking him to make room for a fourth.
No one expected him to hand over his love or his trust immediately, but he was bound and determined to make me work for both.
I’d do it, without hesitation, because whether he believed me or not, he owned me just as much as his sister did.
Reagan leaned forward, glowering at her twin. “Stop being mean, Ro.”
“I’m not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Their back-and-forth kept going, like a never-ending tennis match.
Neither one of them was willing to admit defeat.
It was maddening. I was seconds away from intervening when Sloane caught my eye then pointed toward the kitchen.
We slipped out of the room, leaving the twins to continue their argument.
“Sometimes, you have to let them figure it out on their own.”
“And if they don’t?” I asked.
She donned a mitt, pulling a silver tray from the oven. My mouth watered when the combined scent of chocolate and peanut butter wafted through the air. I’d always been a sucker for anything she baked.
“Distraction by dessert.” Sloane winked, then hollered, “Who wants cookies?”
I’d never seen anyone move faster than Rogan and Reagan did as soon as the words left her mouth.
They flew to the kitchen, hovering over the tray of gooey goodness like predators protecting their kill.
I would’ve laughed if I hadn’t been trying to figure out how I was going to snatch one or two myself without getting my fingers bitten off.
In the end, Sloane implemented a three-cookie rule, which didn’t go over well with the twins if their grumbling meant anything.
While we ate our snack, I tried to engage the kids in conversation, asking simple questions about their favorite food or favorite subject in school.
Reagan was eager to respond while Rogan did his best to ignore my existence.
There was one final trick up my sleeve, although it was a toss-up as to how it would be received.
With nothing else to lose, I went for it.
“I brought something for you guys. Would you like to see?”
“A present?”
Reagan bounced on her toes gleefully, but it was her brother I watched out of the corner of my eye while I moved to grab my purchases. He was intrigued at least. That was something.
“In a way.” I hefted the bags onto the kitchen counter and began searching until I found what I was looking for. Pulling out two gift-wrapped boxes, I sat them down in front of the kids. “Go ahead. You can open them.”
Note to self: my son loved presents. Despite his previous indifference, Rogan tore through the wrapping paper with enthusiasm.
When he finished, his ice-blue gaze shot to mine, holding me captive.
A myriad of emotions engaged in a war behind those expressive eyes; skepticism, longing, fear.
I knew them well. I’d lived them, though it was the last one which left me raw.
It was like looking into a mirror from my past. He was me, in miniature form.
“You got us a camera?”
Nodding at his quiet question, I held his stare, unwilling to break the moment, even when Reagan squealed loud enough to pierce my eardrum.
“Photo albums too.”
His brain worked overtime, trying to figure out the motive behind my gifts, but––God willing––he’d never know what it felt like to think your future was buried six feet under.
By some miracle, Sloane and I had been given a second chance at the family we talked about having nine years ago.
That was my only motivation, to live the life we always should have had.
Finally, Rogan gave in to his curiosity. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want us to forget a single memory we make together from this moment forward.”
Sloane
Hold it together, Sloane.
Hold. It. Together.
Dang it.
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
All eyes sprang to me. Of course Reagan would be the one who noticed the twin drops falling down my cheeks. My sweet girl saw everything.
“They’re happy tears, Love.”