Chapter 14 #2
Even cooking chicken pasta for dinner together was fun. Chicken and pasta were two of the foods River could eat without any repercussions to his health. Fawn prepared a creamy sauce, rather than a tomato one, for the same reason.
Fawn and Declan stopped to kiss often as they moved around the kitchen, totally in synchronization with each other, as if they had been cooking together for years.
It was…heaven.
Perfect in every way?—
“Dear God…!” Declan’s hissed outburst was accompanied by him dropping the basket of garlic bread he had been carrying across the kitchen to put in the center of the table. Their four places were already set in readiness for eating their meal.
Fawn had turned at Declan’s initial exclamation, her eyes widening as she watched the bowl fall from his hand and the garlic bread scatter across the floor.
Declan’s face was completely white, his gaze transfixed as he stared across the kitchen to where River and Danny had just entered the room.
“Connie…?” Declan choked.
River stared back at Declan, myriad emotions passing over his face, far too swiftly to be accurately analyzed. But the predominant one seemed to be puzzlement. His face was still bruised but no longer swollen, clearly revealing his normal youthful features.
Features that Fawn now realized bore a striking resemblance to the white-face man staring at River with such intensity.
They might have stood there forever, caught in a tableau of…
Fawn wasn’t sure what this was.
But then River spoke. Just one simple word that threatened to change all of their lives forever. “Da?”
Declan was shocked. Stunned.
So much so that he couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
At the same time as he felt a tsunami of euphoria rolling over him, threatening to completely consume him.
The man standing near the door had blond curls, not dark. The babyface bore the sharp angles of a man. And he was so tall, almost as tall as Declan.
And yet…
“Connall…?” Declan breathed the name a second time, a name he had been sure he would never be able to say again without creating yet another painful chasm in his heart.
The younger man swallowed, his deep-blue gaze as fixed on Declan as his was on him. “I don’t understand… You… Why did I just call you Da when I know your name is Declan?”
“Because I believe that’s who I am to you,” Declan stated hopefully. “I have no idea how you can be both Fawn’s younger brother and also my son, but I believe that’s exactly who you are.” Tears of happiness began to fall unchecked down his cheeks.
“Declan?” Fawn sounded as puzzled as River.
Sounded, because Declan was afraid to take his gaze off River for even a second. In case he disappeared in the same puff of smoke as he seemed to have appeared.
Could this really be his missing son?
After all these years?
How was that possible when he was also Fawn’s brother?
The doubts immediately began to bombard Declan. Relentlessly. Like arrows piercing his chest, one after another, until he almost staggered from the never-ending pain.
Even after all these years, he had never given up hope of one day finding Connall alive.
But maybe that intensity of need had coalesced and become something that made him yearn for the impossible? Until it had resulted in this single moment of him thinking River was Connall?
The disappointment Declan felt at that possibility caused his legs to start to buckle beneath him before he reached out quickly and grasped hold of one of the kitchen units to stop himself from falling.
But still, he couldn’t stop staring at the young man he knew had to be River Meadows and yet looked so much like the age-progressive drawing Declan had once had done of what his son, Connall, might look like as an adult.
That drawing had been the spitting image of how River Meadows looked right now.
Fawn had absolutely no idea what was going on, but she was really alarmed by the pallor of Declan’s face. It wasn’t just white, it had now turned a sickly shade of gray. His eyes also looked dark and haunted, and he couldn’t seem to stop staring at River.
As if he had seen a ghost.
A ghost he obviously believed was his missing son, Connall.
But that wasn’t possible.
Was it…?
Staring at them, and being so emotionally connected to both of them, Fawn could feel the euphoric hope rising inside Declan and the increasing puzzlement inside River as the two men continued to stare at each other.
She could also, now that she knew of the possibility of a familial connection between them, see their likeness to each other. The same Irish-blue eyes. River had dark curls, where Declan’s were salt-and-pepper. But they had the same high cheekbones. Those matching strong jawlines.
But how was that possible?
She gave Danny a pleading glance, only to find his gaze was also fixed on the other men.
Because he saw the same likeness between them that Fawn did?
That would definitely appear to be the case.
Okay, so, if they all thought there was a strong likeness between the two men, what were the ways in which that might be possible?
Fawn knew that both her parents had been only children, so there was no way either of them had been closely related to Declan.
She also knew that her mother had been deeply in love with her father, so there was no way she’d had an affair and produced River.
Produced…
Fawn stilled.
She’d already told Declan her childhood had been…different. Lonely too. Until River’s arrival.
She’d never thought of this before but… “Declan, you said Linus had put away the photographs of Connall you have in the apartment.”
He glanced at her, face still deathly pale. “They’re in the drawer of my bedside table.”
She moistened the dryness of her lips. “Could I see some of them, please?”
He glanced at River, as if he were loath to leave the room, even for the few seconds it would take to get those photographs.
In case River disappeared while he was gone?
Fawn moved to Declan’s side to place a gentle hand on his forearm. “We’ll all still be here when you get back.”
He looked at her, devouring her with those deep-blue eyes. “I love you.”
“I know.” She gave a tremulous smile. “I love you too. Now go and get those photographs for me, hm?”
He swallowed. “What if?—”
“Get them, Declan,” she encouraged softly. “Whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.”
He gave an abrupt nod before striding across the kitchen. He paused in front of River, taking in each bruised feature, before leaving the kitchen after Danny had moved out of the doorway.
“Sis?” River prompted.
She smiled, but the hot tears swimming in her eyes prevented her from seeing him clearly. “You called him Da.”
He gave a dazed shake of his head. “I did. But I have no idea why I did.”
“Children in Irish families often call their father that.”
“But—” He broke off as Declan came back into the kitchen, a pile of framed photographs held tightly in hands that were visibly shaking.
“Thank you.” Fawn gently released the photographs from the tightness of Declan’s grip.
A single glance at the top photograph, of a dark-haired Declan and a golden-haired little boy lying on the floor together, playing with a train set, was enough to cause all the blood to drain to from Fawn’s head and drop to her toes.
She would have collapsed completely onto the tile floor if Danny hadn’t crossed the kitchen in two strides to reach out to grip her firmly beneath both elbows and stop her from falling.
“Okay?” he prompted gently.
Fawn didn’t know what she was. But at least her hands had tightened around the photographs rather than let go of them.
Because that top photograph was very obviously one of Declan and his four-year-old son Connall.
Except what Fawn was seeing was Declan and an almost four-year-old River, the way she remembered him, with the blond curls he’d had as a child.