Chapter 25
The wait felt interminable.
Cadi sat on the soft beige couch, her elbows resting on her knees, her head in her hands. The fire flickered in the single stone fireplace, casting shadows against the walls lined with books and plants.
Gray sat opposite her, his leg bouncing—a tell-tale sign of his fraying nerves. Every few minutes, he stole a glance at her, but she was lost in her own world, her fingers rubbing slow, mindless circles against her temples.
The silence was unbearable.
After a while, Gray let out a long breath, got up, and walked into the kitchen.
A moment later, she heard the clink of a mug as he placed it on the coffee table in front of her.
Cadi stared at the steaming cup of tea, her expression unreadable.
She didn't thank him, didn't acknowledge it—but she did wrap her fingers around the warmth, holding it between her hands like a lifeline.
Then came the knock at the door.
Gray and Cadi moved at the same time, but she got there first.
She pulled it open to find Callum standing in the doorway, looking nervous, his hair sticking out at odd angles, as though he had been running his hands through it the entire drive over.
His hazel eyes flickered over her face, taking in the dark circles, the rawness, the exhaustion.
A flicker of regret passed through his expression.
Cadi didn't hesitate—she stepped forward and threw herself into his arms.
Her body trembled as she gripped the back of his jacket, pressing her face into his shoulder, seeking something—anything—that felt solid, that felt real.
"He has the results," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please tell him... tell him the truth."
Callum just held her for a second before looking up.
Over her head, his hazel eyes met Gray's.
Callum's jaw was clenched, his expression caught between dread and something else. Something like envy.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then, slowly, Callum nodded.
"Maybe we should sit down for this."
The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows against the stone walls.
Cadi sat on the sofa facing Callum, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her shoulders stiff.
Gray stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, his fingers digging into his biceps, as if physically holding himself together.
Callum exhaled, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair.
He looked at Cadi first.
"I haven't been completely truthful with you, and I regret that. I am so very sorry, Cadi."
Gray stiffened.
Callum's fingers tapped restlessly against his knee, his throat working as he swallowed.
"The Callahan family," Callum began, his voice quieter now, as if drawing them back into a past he had never lived but knew by heart, "was one of the most powerful families in Derry. Their influence stretched far beyond business and politics, into the shadows of the conflict itself. Arms deals. They had money, connections, and secrets. They lived on an estate outside the city, with summer homes across Ireland and the mainland"
Gray's expression morphed from impatience to one of confusion. This was not what he was expecting.
Gray's frown deepened, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest.
"I know all this." His voice was sharp, clipped. "None of this is news to me. If you're here to tell me that my so-called family had power, or that they had their hands in dirty business, don't bother. I lived it."
Callum hesitated.
His next words were slower, more deliberate.
"You know some of it, Gray. But not all of it."
Something in his tone—something careful—made Gray's spine straighten.
The room felt smaller.
"David Callahan was the youngest of three sons. He was your father."
Gray let out a humourless laugh, though there was no amusement in it.
"That much, I know."
Callum nodded.
"And his sweetheart was Aisling. Your mother."
There was a pause, and when Callum spoke again, his voice softened, almost reverent, as though speaking of something fragile, something too delicate to hold.
"They were like something out of a storybook. Starkissed lovers, meant for each other since childhood. Everyone knew it."
His eyes flickered with something—memory, perhaps.
"Aisling was the first girl he ever danced with. The first girl he ever kissed. The only girl he ever loved."
"They were inseparable." Callum powered on "He used to call her 'Mo chroí,' and she called him her 'wild boy.'"
Gray exhaled sharply, turning his face toward the fire as if bracing himself for what was coming next. He already knew what he was going to say.
Callum's voice turned solemn.
"But when war comes, nothing stays sacred—not even love."
Callum leaned forward, hands clasped together, as though trying to piece the story together in the way it was meant to be told.
"Aisling lost her parents in a bombing when she was still in school. David's mother took her in, and they tried to hold on to what they had. When they married at eighteen, the Callahan family wasn't pleased, but they let it happen. David was already set to join the army, and Aisling had plans to train as a nurse. They were supposed to build their lives together."
Gray's jaw clenched, but he remained silent. He knew that was not how things worked out.
"For a while, everything seemed fine." Callum's voice was quieter now, more careful. "David left for training on the mainland , and Aisling stayed on the estate, waiting for him to come back. But when he finally did... everything had changed."
Gray's fingers dug into the arm of the couch.
Callum looked at him directly now.
"Aisling refused to speak to him. She had shut down. She was three months pregnant."
Callum swallowed hard.
"David ,of course, knew it wasn't his child."
"David came back different," Callum continued, his voice carrying the weight of something unspoken. "Something in him had hardened. The boy who had once called her mo chroí had changed into a man who carried his anger like a weapon."
The silence thickened, pressing against the walls, against the air between them.
Callum exhaled. "She refused to name the father... until Finn came forward."
Cadi felt her pulse pounding in her throat.
Gray's breathing had slowed, but it was heavy, his chest rising and falling with measured control.
Callum looked down, his hands flexing against his knees.
"My father...and yours."
"No..no, it can't be"
The words were torn from Gray's throat. His eyes darkened, his fingers twitching involuntarily.
Callum forced himself to meet Gray's gaze, and for the first time since he had walked into this house, his voice faltered.
"You grew up believing you were an outcast. That you were never wanted, that you were a stain on the family's name. Those early years must have been torture"
Gray's face remained impassive, but his knuckles were white, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Even though he should have been too small to remember those times, he still had flashbacks of memories he would like to forget.
"You know how David was," Callum continued, quieter now. "He never could stand the sight of you."
A flicker of something dark passed through Gray's expression.
"Oh, I remember." he whispered.
The memories were scattered, blurred by time and childhood, but some things never faded. A hand gripping too tight on his arm. A bottle shattering a bit too close. The cold burn of the ground when he was shoved onto it. A voice, once full of love for Aisling, spitting venom whenever he so much as looked at him.
"You should have been his to love, but you weren't." Callum's voice was measured. "And David made sure you felt it."
Callum looked down for a moment, rubbing his hands together like he was working up the courage to speak. When he looked up again, his eyes were gentler, but so, so heavy.
"You always believed you were illegitimate. That you were born because of some scandal, some reckless affair your mother refused to talk about."
Gray said nothing, but his throat worked, his jaw locked.
Callum took a deep breath.
"But you weren't illegitimate, Gray." His voice softened. "You were born out of something much worse."
Gray's stomach twisted, something sick and awful curling inside him. he did not want to hear this.
His fingers dug into his arms, but he didn't speak.
Callum's voice turned low, hoarse, heavy with the weight of words he never wanted to say.
"Aisling never told the truth at first because she was afraid. My father... Finn... he was a well-respected man, a father, a husband, a businessman. But behind closed doors—" he swallowed, his voice dipping almost to a whisper. "Behind closed doors, he was a monster. Someone my mother and I never knew existed."
Gray blinked. Once.
Callum exhaled a slow, unsteady breath.
"She never had a choice, Gray." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "My father hurt her."