Chapter 51 #2
“Her boyfriends, which I realize now were her customers,” he said, his jaw clenching at the omission, “offered her money or drugs if they could spend time with her son. She only told me she loved me before she left me with them. Her love meant pain. I learned that quick enough.”
Gray stood so fast that the heavy wooden chair flipped backwards, crashing into the floor. “No, Ciar. Stop. You don’t have to.” Her hands covered her mouth in horror. Her eyes begged him to stop.
“It’s okay, Gray. I need you to know who I am and how I became…me. From almost four years old to eight, Mama gave me to her friends to abuse for drugs. They never spoke Russian, so Mama’s words were the only ones that I could understand.
“I love you, she would say before leaving me with a stranger, and while they hurt me, she would take the money and go get high.”
Gray and her mother were sobbing quietly at this point. Ciaran, her father, and brother were stone-faced and furious.
“One night, I think it was my eighth birthday, because Mama filched a cookie from a Dublin open market and gave it to me and said, “Happy eighth birthday, Gavriil.” I remember my body hurt everywhere. My privates were,” he leaned his head back briefly, “sore, and my eyes were swollen, my lips split.
“I remember being so thankful for that stolen cookie, though. I’d seen birthday parties on television, the wrapped presents and the cake and candles.
That cookie was as close as I ever got to what I thought a party must be like.
I imagined it was like opening a present.
I never ate it, just stuffed it in my pocket to take out and look at.
“It was late, and Mama was taking me down busy streets toward one lined with pubs. The music was playing loudly in a few of them. I remember the beat of drums felt heavy against my bony chest.
“Mama stopped outside a pub that was busier than the rest. Through the glass I could see people drinking and dancing and laughing. I couldn’t remember ever laughing like that. Maybe when I was really little.
“Before I turned four.
“Mama kneeled on the pavement outside the packed pub—I know now that it was Murphy’s, Dad’s—and she used a diaper pin to attach a note to the collar of my stained t-shirt. I remember being so ashamed of how dirty I was.
“She kissed my cheek and told me that she loved me. She told me to go inside, that my father was waiting for me. She said she couldn’t take care of me anymore.
“The note had my name, Gavriil Morozova, and that I was Ciaran Murphy’s son. A patron found me wandering through the lively crowd and took me to the kitchen, where my dad was working at the time.”
Gray watched as Ciaran stood and clasped Ciar’s hands to his chest. “The best night of my fucking life, boy.”
“Mine too. I didn’t understand a word you said to me, but I instinctively knew you were good.
Safe. Dad took me in, even though he didn’t know if Mama’s claims that he was my father were true.
He asked one of his Russian customers to translate, so I knew that Dad wanted to take me to a hospital.
That’s when,” he hesitated, “Dad found out about the abuse.”
Gray forced herself not to wail and scream from the pain beating against her chest. If Ciar was brave enough to speak of his abuse, she’d damn well be brave enough to listen.
“He had a DNA test done that proved he was my biological father, though he said he would have kept me regardless.”
“Damn right, I would have,” Ciaran cut in.
Ciar smiled at his father before turning back to Gray.
“I never saw my mother again. Police showed up not long after I moved in with Dad to say that Anna Morozova was dead. She was found in someone’s basement with a needle still in her arm.
Dad had already spoken to the hospital staff, the police, and a solicitor, so they knew where I was.
“Dad got me tutors to teach me English and everything else I didn’t have a clue about.
He got me medical care and counselors—though I suppose they never were able to absolve me of my shame, of feeling emasculated.
Less than. Dad gave me a new first name, Ciar, because it was part of his own name, and Gavriil became my middle name.
“I met Daniel and Jonathan when I turned nine, when Dad gave me my first birthday party. They were a few years younger than me, but they became my first friends.” He looked over his shoulder and grinned at his father.
“You and those wee O’Faolain shits snuck some Guinness, and you puked your damn guts all over the floor.”
Gray smiled softly. Ciaran still sounded pissed.
“I met you, Gray, and Mags, Blair, and Bébhinn when you were but little things.
But you grew up, and I wanted you to be mine.
I think I hesitated because I knew it would eventually come to this.
My biggest fear has always been losing you, and even without telling you my history, I managed to do just that.
“I was too much of a coward to tell you about Imogen and why I wouldn’t, or couldn’t, walk away. What if she were given to someone like my mother or the men she sold me to?
“I pictured myself telling you a million or more times why I adopted Imogen, but the words would freeze each time. How could you want a man who had begun his life in such a dirty, filthy way?”
Gray refused to stay seated another second and went to Ciar, hugging him tightly, their son settled between them. He sighed above her head, cupping her head and gently bringing her cheek to rest against his chest.
“I named her Imogen because it was your middle name, and my dream was that you would adopt her and become her real mother. Imogen’s middle name is Alya, the name of my Mama’s younger sister.
“Alya visited Mama and me a few times, and those were the brightest moments of my childhood. She knew her sister had issues, but she didn’t know about the abuse or that I wasn’t in school. Because of finances, she wasn’t able to come in those last years.
“I tracked Alya down, and she and her twin daughters came to Dublin and are staying with Dad. It was, I suppose, not healing exactly, but it was nice to hear stories of Mama before the drugs.”
Gray asked the only thing she could manage. “You thought I wouldn’t want you if I knew about your childhood?” Her voice was thick with tears and disbelief.
“Dad made me do therapy for years, but that feeling like I’m dirty, unworthy—it’s a hard thing to let go of. You didn’t sign up for all my baggage, or Imogen, or any of it. It was easier to let you hate me for a deserter than to risk the truth.”
“I would never have turned my back on you. I wouldn’t then, and I won’t now.
You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I’m wrecked that you had to go through so many horrible things, Ciar.
I thought you were strong before, but now I’m humbled at how truly formidable you are.
” She leaned her head back and kissed him softly.
“Do you believe me?” Gray asked.
Ciar chuckled. “I don’t think it’s quite hit me yet that I finally told you and you’re in my arms again.”
Her family stood, and Gray’s dad interrupted, asking, “Do you love my daughter, Murphy?”
Her dad’s eyes were red-rimmed with emotion, but he honored Ciar by not treating him like he was broken. Thomas MacGregor spoke in a growling voice, and his eyes never wavered from Ciar’s.
“According to Jo, you’ve never told her. Seems strange when you claim to want to be a family with her.”
Gray felt the breath leave her body in one long exhale and felt her body stiffen against Ciar’s body. She tried to move out of his arms, but they tightened insistently.
“Please stay, Gray,” Ciar said, his voice roughened.
He’d been through it today, had opened up to her and her family about the deepest scars on his heart, she didn’t want him put on the spot about her.
“Dad, enough, please.”
“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered in her ear. “He has every right to ask after what I’ve put you through.”
Ciar loosened his arms enough to take her hands and hold them above her belly. “I do know what love is, I suppose, so I can’t use that as an excuse. I love Dad, and he loves me. If it comes to it, I would say I love our friends, though two weeks ago I would have said I only cared for them deeply.
“That was the bullshit I tried with you. I think,” he stopped and closed his eyes and shook his head before continuing, “I think Mama broke something in me for years where I couldn’t bear to hear the words spoken to me, let alone repeat them. But I wanted them. I know that.
“I love you meant pain and abandonment. You’ve said those words to me before, and I let you down. I never wanted you to leave me, so I didn’t acknowledge them.
“In my bid to become a better man for you, and a father for our children, I realized that I had to take a chance that you do, in fact, love me as I love you. I hope you still love me, anyway,” he added sheepishly.
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen, you jackass. Glad to see you’re finally catching up.”
“I love you, and,” he pulled their joined hands to kiss her knuckles, “I came prepared in case you didn’t run.”
Gray watched with increasing disbelief as he produced a ring from his pocket and shoved it in her face. Gray had to use his wrist to move it back far enough to see it properly. He blushed adorably and apologized.
“Sorry, I’m nervous. Your father got your mother gray diamonds, and I wanted to do the same.”
Gray gasped as she realized that it was a simple yet stunning thin white gold band with gray diamonds surrounding it. “An eternity band,” she breathed.
“Yes, because that’s how long I’ll love you. Will you marry me, Gray Imogen MacGregor?” He quickly added, “I would have asked your father for permission, but I knew the stubborn bastard wouldn’t give it unless he saw for himself what you mean to me.”
Gray and Ciar both looked toward her father, who shook his head and pulled her mother tight to his side. “I hoped you would deserve my daughter, and you do. I’m proud to have you in our family.”
Ciar looked at Gray again. “Well?”
She was still reeling from Ciar’s story and feeling extraordinarily lucky to love and be loved by such a strong man. “Of course, yes.” She bit her lip to stop more tears from falling. “You’ve made me so happy,” she whispered as he slipped the ring on her finger.
“I want to get married next week. You’ve always told your friends that you wanted something simple with a grand reception. Let’s get married before our son—”
“Colm Gavriil,” she interrupted. She’d been tossing Colm around for weeks, but when she heard Ciar’s original name, his Russian name, she knew.
Ciar’s jaw clenched, but he nodded agreement. “Let’s get married before Colm Gavriil Murphy arrives, and then your mom and Grandma Mary can plan a reception.”
“Perfect,” she practically squealed. He took her into his arms and gave her the sweetest kiss, not nearly long or deep enough, but considering their audience, perfect.
The kiss was everyone’s cue to move. Animated congratulations and hugging, and kissing commenced. Ciaran hugged her and welcomed her to his family, saying he couldn’t wait to call her a Murphy.
Perhaps one of the most poignant moments came when Lochlann approached Ciar, and instead of extending a hand to shake like Gray thought he intended, her brother wrapped his arms around her fiancé and squeezed him tight.
“I’m sorry I judged you wrongly,” Loch said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ll be proud to call you my brother.”
That sweet moment brought tears to her and her mom’s eyes once more. Then Ciaran took Ciar by the shoulders and asked him how he was feeling. “Do you feel lighter for it, son?”
Gray watched Ciar’s face closely. He nodded after a moment. “I feel lighter. Probably more than I ever have. I hated lying and keeping things from you, Gray.”
Gray took his hand and made sure she had his complete attention.
“You had every right to keep those things from me. Now that I know, now that I understand why you made certain decisions and why you struggled with being honest, there is complete forgiveness, Ciar. You are mine, and I am yours, and the sooner we are married, the sooner I can adopt Imogen.” Tears threatened Gray once again at the thought of being that sweet girl’s mother.
“And in not so many years from now, our son will make us so proud playing for the Irish Rugby Union.”
There was a beat of silence before Ciar’s words registered. Ciaran whooped a cheer. Her dad…did not.
“Over my dead body, Murphy. Lochlann,” her dad swung his gaze to his smirking son, “call Uncle Colly and Laith. This needs to be settled here and now.”
“Neanderthals,” her mom grumbled.