41
A complication
“There’s a … complication,” Mrs. Bronson said, fiddling with the edges of the binder in front of her.
Of course there’s a complication. When’s my life ever without complication?
“A complication?”
She opened the binder and picked up a photo, placing it before him. It was a baby. Well, toddler, really. A chubby girl, slightly older than Siobhan’s twins. Wispy dark hair, hazel eyes, pouty lips. “Who’s this?”
“Connor’s sister.”
“Connor’s sister,” he repeated, blinking. “Sel— Sarah had another child?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the father?” he asked.
“Sinead’s birth—”
“Whoa! Did you say—?” He stopped, swallowed hard, and stabbed a finger at the photo. “The girl’s name is … Sinead ?” He rubbed a hand over his chest, over the angel wing, over that name tattooed on his skin.
“Sinead will be three in September. Now, I know this is a shock—”
“Where is the girl’s father?” He enunciated each word.
Mrs. Bronson muttered something under her breath. “As I was trying to tell you, Sinead’s birth certificate states her father as unknown. I’ve asked around, but Ms. Robinson’s friends have no idea who the man is. She never had a … significant other in her life.”
No father. He exhaled a sigh of relief.
Then frowned. Why the fuck was he relieved?
He traced a finger over the delicate features of the girl. “What’s going to happen to … Sinead?”
“Well, I was hoping you had some information regarding Sarah’s family. We need to contact them.”
“She had none,” he answered truthfully. “She grew up in an orphanage.” In Rio de Janeiro. And met Oliveira soon after leaving. Scraping by as a waitress, the bastard had taken advantage of her vulnerability, drawing her into his life by offering her an escape to the USA.
“Well, then. That makes things easier.” Mrs. Bronson scraped her throat. “I have a couple who’s willing to adopt them. Financially stable, churchgoers. They already have an adopted four-year-old and want to expand their family. They will care for Sinead and Connor as their own.”
“Connor?”
She beamed at him. “It’s a perfect solution. They’re a lovely couple, Mr. Lawson.”
Over my dead body.
Rafferty paced the small conference room, trying to make sense of his confusion. All he knew was that the notion of relinquishing his claim on Connor and his little sister was … distasteful.
What is wrong with you, Raff?
There’s a family who wants them both.
Here’s your out. Take it. Take it, you fool.
But Selena named her daughter Sinead.
Selena chose you to protect her son, Brandy-Lyn’s words from a few days ago came to mind.
And her daughter? Why hadn’t she made him the girl’s guardian? Or even put his name on her birth certificate.
He swung back to face Mrs. Bronson, hands on his hips. “You mentioned a letter? From … Sarah?”
Maybe Selena gave an indication about her wishes for the girl in the letter? Mentioned the father. He needed to know. Before he did something reckless — like claim the child. At least he hadn’t killed the girl’s father.
“Ah. Yes. The letter.” Mrs. Bronson fiddled with the folder and removed an envelope tucked into the side pocket. “Here,” she said, placing it on the table.
He looked at the white rectangle with his name written in neat block letters. What would he find in there? Words to absolve? Or ones to bind him even further? He’d not know until he read the damned letter. “Can I have some privacy?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Bronson stood and left the room.
He sank back to his seat, tore open the sealed envelope, and scanned the words filling the page.
Rafferty,
My son was born today, and thanks to you, he was born free. Free from the legacy of blood. Free to be whoever he wants to be. As I held him in my arms for the first time, I vowed to teach him that love is the way to live. That kindness and compassion are the cornerstones of life.
If you are reading this, it is because I can no longer do what I promised my son to do.
There is only one person I trust to continue what I started — you, our hero, the wonderful and brave man who risked so much to rescue us from certain hell.
I am trusting you, Rafferty Lawson, to teach my son how to become a good man.
You are his protector. His guardian angel. His true father.
S
Rafferty let go of the letter and drummed his fingers on the wood.
Selena had penned the letter just after Connor’s birth, therefore no mention of her daughter.
But naming the baby Sinead?
Dammit, Selena.
He wasn’t blind to the implied significance. Fuck .
Selena trusted him to keep her daughter safe, too.
Trust, he inwardly scoffed.
When last had someone trusted him?
A horse? Yes. A deer? Sure.
But a human? Years ago. He had failed Charlie. And then he’d exacted revenge. Fallen deeper into the dark.
The sound of a gloved fist hitting flesh, of bone and cartilage breaking.
The bellows of an unconstrained avenger finally meting out his form of justice.
Blood spurting, misting him in sprays of slick red liquid, the metallic scent mixing with stale sweat and spilled alcohol and rotting vegetation.
Incoherent cries of a drunken excuse of a human being begging for mercy growing weaker and weaker, a savage cartel soldier reduced to a pile of broken flesh and bones.
He blinked away the memory and glanced over the scrap of pristine white paper.
Protector. Guardian angel. Father.
The words mocked him.
Add murderer.
Because that’s what you truly are, Rafferty Lawson.
No less savage than the man he had tracked and killed.
Teach my son how to become a good man.
Oh, Selena. I’m the last person to do that.
His best option was to relinquish his claim on the boy and let another man — one far removed from violent tendencies, a good man, a churchgoer, for God’s sake — raise the child.
But while Kamila still breathed, she posed a danger to Connor.
And the boy had a baby sister, making her a target, too.
It was imperative to get both children to a place of safety, namely Lawson’s Landing.
“I’m no hero, Selena, and I snuffed out any good in me years ago. But I will honor your wish.”
He heaved a weary sigh and called Mrs. Bronson back in.
“I want them both,” he said the moment she stepped inside, before he could change his mind. “When I leave Nebraska, I’m taking Connor and Sinead with me. Make it happen.”
Her mouth fell open. She reached toward him, aghast. “Mr. Lawson, be reasonable—”
“I am being reasonable, Mrs. Bronson. It’s perfectly reasonable for a father to want his son. And keeping siblings together is preferable. You said that yourself.”
She stiffened. “You have a violent history. Dishonorable discharge. Biker clubs. Prison. And—”
He cut through her disdain. “My MC ties and time in prison were part of my undercover work. My record’s been expunged. The military’s just taking longer to amend my discharge. And I’m drug-free.”
“But…” Her lips pursed, drawing her face into a pinched frown. “Mr. Lawson, I mean no disrespect, but—”
He cut her off. “I am very serious about this matter. Connor is my son. You can’t stop me from taking custody. And I will fight for Sinead.”
“You’d deprive them of a stable, normal life?”
“I have a large family, Mrs. Bronson. We live on a ranch that’s been in our family for generations. Connor and Sinead will have stability. A good life. One filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins who love them.”
Would Aidan forbid his boys from interacting with them? Surely not?
“You’re single.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“The children deserve a dad and a mom.”
“But life is unfair, and their mom died.”
Mrs. Bronson huffed. “The couple—”
“Yes, yes,” he cut in. “Your financially stable churchgoers will provide the children with two parents.”
“Exactly,” she exclaimed and beamed a smile at him.
He frowned, finding her triumphant attitude annoying. An idea jumped to mind.
Nah. That’s just plain crazy.
Yet he found himself saying, “Would it change your mind if I tell you that I’m with someone.”
*
She answered on the first ring. “Hey, you.”
“I … uh … need your help, Red.”
“Anything.”
Rafferty gave a nervous laugh, dragging a shaky hand over his face. “You might not be so agreeable once you hear what I’ve done.”
Understatement.
Brandy-Lyn’s going to roast you.
“What have you done?” she sighed.
“I met with the social worker. She dropped a bomb— Connor has a half-sister. A little girl. Two and a half years old. No dad in the picture. And Mrs. Bronson went on and on about this couple willing to adopt both Connor and Sinead, and—”
“Did you say … Sinead?”
“Yep. Selena named her daughter Sinead. Can you believe that?”
A beat of silence, then she gave a soft sigh. “She trusted you, Raff. But you said you need my help?”
“I do.”
I told her we’re together.
The words sat on the tip of his tongue when he realized he didn’t want it to be a lie.
Them together.
It felt like something ordained long ago, maybe the moment Dónal sent his Saoirse away.
He wanted to marry Brandy-Lyn.
But not like this.
This was contrived. Desperate.
Which, let’s face it, he was.
He scraped his hand over his face.
“Rafferty Lawson. Just spit it out.”
Here goes. “I … might’ve suggested that we … uh … we…” He sucked in a breath. “I told her we’re a couple.”
“A couple?”
“Well, I actually said I’m with someone,” he rushed on. “And then she pressed me on what that meant, and I said we’re secretly engaged. Waiting till after Sully’s wedding to go public.”
Silence.
He filled it. “Mrs. Bronson kept going on about how it’s better for them to have two parents, and it just …
burst out of me.” He quickly relayed everything.
The meeting, the adoption pitch, his intent to take custody of Connor and adopt Sinead.
“She kept circling back to my past — rehab, prison — and the fact that I’m single, so I …
” He trailed off, kicking himself for being so impulsive.
“Told her you’re engaged. To me,” she said flatly.
He ran a hand through his short hair. “I was desperate. Am desperate.”
But I do love you.
“Rafferty.” Just his name, soaked in exasperation.
“Help me. Please.”
She muttered something unintelligible before asking, “And what, exactly, does ‘help me’ entail?”
It wasn’t an outright no.
That was hope.
“I have a plan.”
“Can’t wait to hear it,” she muttered.
“Mrs. Bronson wants to meet you. Online is fine,” he added quickly. “You don’t have to come here. She just wants to make sure I’m not conning her.”
“As noble as this scheme of yours is — it’s also reckless. What if it backfires? You lied to children’s services, Rafferty. That could cause more harm to kids who’ve already been through enough. Wouldn’t it be better to let CPS place them with that family?”
“Not while Kamila’s alive. I can’t leave them unprotected.”
She sighed. “Things are never simple with you, are they?”
“No. But I’m trying to do right by them.” He swallowed. “Will you help me, Brandy-Lyn? Please?”