Chapter Thirteen Something Beautiful From the Pieces #2
Hudson studied his son.
“Do you want children?”
Lucas took longer to answer than expected.
“Yes.”
Hudson nodded.
“I was frightened to admit it for years.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn't sure I knew how to be someone's father without eventually disappointing them.”
Hudson looked at him.
“You will.”
Lucas frowned.
Hudson smiled slightly.
“You will disappoint them.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“You’ll make mistakes. Lose your temper. Work too much some weeks. Forget something important. Say the wrong thing.”
He paused.
“The goal isn't perfection.”
Lucas watched him.
“It’s making sure they never have to earn the right to be loved by you.”
The words settled between them.
Lucas looked away.
Hudson's voice softened.
“I wish I had understood that sooner.”
Lucas swallowed.
“You understand it now.”
“Yes.”
Hudson stepped closer.
“And I hope I have enough years left to prove it.”
Lucas nodded.
Neither man was particularly good at what came next.
Hudson opened his arms awkwardly.
Lucas stared.
“Are you trying to hug me?”
“I can stop.”
Lucas laughed.
Then hugged his father.
Hudson held him tightly.
For once, neither Taylor man seemed worried about who might see.
Adrian was waiting outside Naomi’s apartment when she returned that evening.
He held a small box.
Naomi looked at it.
“What did you buy?”
“Nothing.”
“That box says otherwise.”
“It belonged to Joseph.”
Her teasing vanished.
Adrian entered behind her.
Lucas was still with Hudson, so the apartment was quiet.
Adrian placed the box on the dining table.
“I went through the remaining personal effects from the monastery.”
Naomi sat.
Adrian opened it.
Inside was a pair of old cuff links, several photographs, a fountain pen, and a sealed envelope.
Naomi recognized Joseph’s handwriting immediately.
For the day one of you finds a reason to celebrate instead of survive.
Naomi closed her eyes.
“That man really did leave letters everywhere.”
Adrian sat opposite her.
“He had an unhealthy relationship with stationery.”
Naomi laughed softly.
“Open it.”
“You open it.”
“It says one of us.”
“You found it.”
“You're getting married.”
Naomi carefully broke the seal.
Inside was one page.
She read.
Then covered her mouth.
Adrian leaned forward.
“What?”
Naomi handed him the letter.
He read silently.
His face changed.
Joseph had written it years earlier.
Not specifically for a wedding.
Not specifically for Naomi.
For whichever twin reached happiness first.
He wrote that neither of them should mistake suffering for proof of strength.
That surviving difficult things did not require building a life around the difficult things forever.
That one day, if either of them found love, friendship, purpose, children, art, work, faith, laughter—or simply peace—they should not feel guilty for enjoying it.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
Please live longer inside joy than any of us lived inside fear.
Adrian set the letter down.
Naomi wiped her cheeks.
“I wish he were here.”
“So do I.”
She looked at her brother.
Something occurred to her.
“There’s something I need to ask you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That tone worries me.”
“I need someone to walk me down the aisle.”
Adrian froze.
Naomi continued quickly.
“Evelyn is walking the first half.”
He said nothing.
“Amara is joining her halfway.”
Still nothing.
“And then I want them to hand me to you.”
Adrian stared at her.
Naomi's voice softened.
“I know we didn't grow up together.”
His jaw tightened.
“I know we lost years we can never get back.”
His eyes began shining.
“But I don't want to walk the last part toward Lucas with a ghost.”
Adrian looked down.
Naomi reached across the table.
“I want my brother.”
He covered her hand with his.
For several seconds, he could not speak.
Then—
“I don't know how to do that.”
Naomi smiled through tears.
“You walk.”
“That seems suspiciously simple.”
“You try not to trip me.”
“I can manage that.”
“And when we reach Lucas, you don't threaten him.”
Adrian considered.
“No promises.”
“Adrian.”
“Fine.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I would be honored.”
Naomi stood and hugged him.
This time Adrian did not hesitate.
His arms closed around her.
Strong.
Protective.
Brother.
When they separated, Adrian wiped his eyes and immediately looked annoyed about it.
“Tell anyone I cried and I’ll deny it.”
“I’m putting it in the wedding program.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
He sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
The request from Serrano came the following morning.
No secret message.
No coded symbol.
No mysterious delivery.
His attorney called.
Naomi almost refused.
Then she remembered Amara's words.
Judge actions.
So she agreed to a secure video call.
Lucas sat nearby but outside the camera frame.
Serrano appeared on the screen from a private hospital room in Madrid.
A uniformed officer stood behind him.
He looked diminished.
Not harmless.
Naomi would never make that mistake.
But mortal.
His shoulder was immobilized.
His face was pale.
For several seconds, father and daughter simply looked at one another.
Serrano spoke first.
“I heard you're getting married.”
Naomi's expression stayed neutral.
“You have surprisingly good information for a man under armed guard.”
A faint smile.
“Old habits.”
“Break them.”
The smile disappeared.
“Yes.”
Naomi waited.
Serrano looked uncomfortable.
It was strange seeing discomfort on him.
“I wanted to give you something.”
“No.”
“You don't know what it is.”
“I don't want money.”
“It isn't money.”
“Property?”
“No.”
“Jewelry?”
“No.”
Naomi crossed her arms.
“Then what?”
Serrano looked down.
“A name.”
She went still.
“What name?”
“The one Amara gave your brother before Elias took him.”
Naomi stared.
“Adrian already has a name.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would he need another?”
“He doesn't.”
Serrano looked into the camera.
“But you deserve to know.”
Naomi waited.
Serrano swallowed.
“Joseph helped Amara choose names for both babies.”
Naomi's chest tightened.
“Naomi for you.”
“And my brother?”
Serrano's eyes became distant.
“Isaiah.”
Naomi whispered it.
“Isaiah.”
“He was Adrian before Mercer reached London with him. Elias changed the records before transfer. Mercer kept the name because it was safer.”
Naomi thought of her brother.
Adrian James.
Isaiah.
A child renamed before he could recognize his own mother's voice.
Anger rose.
But Serrano continued.
“Do not tell him unless you believe he wants to know.”
Naomi looked sharply at him.
That surprised her.
“You're not going to tell him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Serrano's mouth tightened.
“Because I have spent enough of my life deciding what my children should know and when they should know it.”
Naomi stared.
He was learning.
Late.
Painfully.
But perhaps learning.
“I'll ask him.”
Serrano nodded.
He looked as if he wanted to say more.
Naomi waited.
Finally—
“I won't ask to attend.”
She hadn't expected that.
“I wouldn't allow it.”
“I know.”
He accepted the answer.
No argument.
No manipulation.
“I hope he treats you well.”
Naomi looked toward Lucas.
Lucas couldn't see Serrano's face from where he sat.
“He does.”
“Better than I treated your mother?”
“Yes.”
Serrano nodded.
“Good.”
Naomi studied him.
There were questions she could ask.
Thousands.
But one came unexpectedly.
“Did you ever love her?”
Serrano's eyes changed.
“Amara?”
“Yes.”
He took a long time.
“With everything good that remained in me at the time.”
Naomi said nothing.
“And with everything damaged.”
His gaze lowered.
“The damaged part eventually became louder.”
There was no poetry in his confession.
Only regret.
Naomi nodded.
“Thank you for telling me about Adrian.”
Serrano looked up.
“Naomi.”
She waited.
“I'm sorry.”
She did not tell him it was okay.
It wasn't.
She did not promise forgiveness.
She wasn't there yet.
Perhaps she never would be.
Instead she said,
“I hope you tell the truth at your trial.”
His eyes closed briefly.