10. Declan
TEN
DECLAN
I wasn’t thinking anymore. The singular thought in my head was the fact that I was in desperate need of Thea Calloway in my life. Otherwise, Lena and I wouldn’t survive each other.
"I want you to come live with me," I continued. I ignored the way she pursed her lips and the way she squinted her eyes. "Just for a while. Until Lena gets comfortable in my house."
Thea laughed. She looked from side to side as if she were expecting a camera crew to jump out. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
"Declan, I'm sure you can afford all the help you need as a billionaire — night nurses, nannies, a full staff. You don't need me."
"I tried all of that. Nothing is working. See for yourself." I pointed at Lena in her arms. “You’re the only one who can quiet her down.”
She shifted Lena in her arms. The baby stirred, nuzzled deeper into her neck. "That doesn't mean I'm the answer."
"What else could it possibly mean? Look…I don't usually do this, but my daughter needs you, and I’m going crazy."
Thea's face changed. The amusement drained out of it, replaced by a solemn look. And then, her eyebrows pulled together, and her lips turned downward. "Absolutely not."
"Thea — "
"No." She stepped back into the doorway. "You should go."
"I'll pay you. Whatever you need. You run a nonprofit. I'm sure the funding is — "
Her eyes went dark. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I didn't mean — "
"You show up at my door at three in the morning, and your solution is to throw money at me? Like I'm…what? A service you can purchase? I am not for sale. My time is not for sale. You can take your money and your penthouse and your entire world and…"
She reached forward and put Lena in my arms. Lena started screaming. I barely heard it over the sound of my own disappointment.
"Go."
"Thea, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I wasn't trying to — "
"Go."
I hesitated, but Thea wasn’t backing down. She raised her hand and pointed toward the street. I had no option but to turn around and head back to the car.
Thomas saw me coming, got out, and opened the back door without a word. I buckled Lena into her car seat. My hands were clumsy on the straps. She screamed the entire time.
I got in beside her and closed the door.
Thomas looked at me in the rearview mirror. He didn't start the engine. "Sir?"
"Just…give me a minute."
I sat there. My daughter was screaming three inches from my face. I didn't know how to hold her, didn't know how to calm her, and didn't know how to do a single thing that mattered at that moment.
“Thomas, maybe we should — ”
A knock on the window cut me off. I looked up. Thea was standing outside the car in her robe. I opened the door.
She reached past me, unbuckled the car seat straps, and lifted Lena out. The crying stopped.
Thea glanced at me. Her eyes were red. Her jaw was set. "I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing it for her."
She turned and walked back to the house. I sat in the car, watched her go up the porch steps and through the front door. I was still sitting there when she came back out five minutes later, carrying a bag over one shoulder and Lena against her chest.
I got out to take the bag. I put the bag in the trunk. She climbed in the back seat with Lena. I climbed in beside her. There was a foot of space between us on the leather seat, and neither of us crossed it.
"Thomas, take us home, please."
The car pulled away from the curb. I saw Thea looking out the window. I looked straight ahead. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking about that night. If walking into the same apartment where she unraveled beneath me would trigger memories.
That was why I watched her closely when we walked into my living room, but there was no hint on her face. Her body revealed nothing.
The night nurse appeared from the hallway. Dominique — mid-thirties, recommended by the pediatrician. She took one look at Lena asleep on Thea's chest, and her mouth pressed into a line.
"I see she's settled."
"Thank you, Dominique," I said. "That'll be all for tonight."
She nodded and retreated into the nursery.
Thea turned to me. "Where are the baby's things?"
I led her down the hallway. The nursery was the second door on the left — a room Mrs. Parrish assembled in a single day after the DNA results came back. White walls. A pink crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair.
Thea walked through the room. She opened cabinets, checked drawers, and found the breast milk storage containers alphabetized in a cabinet — a system Dominique had organized — and closed the door without comment.
She checked the room temperature, felt the crib mattress, and ran her hand along the railing. She pulled a blanket from her bag and held it out to me.
"Where did you get that?"
"She came wrapped in it. I thought it was yours. Those are your initials, right?"
I took it and turned it over — DJH. My initials. But the blanket wasn't mine. I'd never seen it.
"I don't know where this came from." I held it for a moment, then set it on the rocking chair. Something to figure out later.
Thea was already moving. "Emergency exits."
"I'm sorry?"
"Emergency exits. Where are they?"
"You're on the fortieth floor of a building with a twenty-four-hour concierge and a state-of-the-art fire suppression system. The exits are — "
"We're on the fortieth floor with an infant. I want to know where the stairs are."
She wasn't joking. Her face was completely serious. I led her to the stairwell access at the end of the hallway, showed her the door, the push bar, and the illuminated exit sign above it.
"Pediatrician's number," she said. "In case of emergencies."
I pulled up Dr. Kaplan's contact on my phone and turned the screen toward her. She typed the number into her own phone. Her fingers moved fast.
I led her down the hall to her room. It was the guest suite — large, clean, with its own bathroom.
I kept some of my things in the closet because it was the room closest to the kitchen, and I sometimes changed there in the mornings when I was running late.
The closet door was open. My shirts were visible on the rack.
Thea stopped in the doorway. She turned to face me. Lena was asleep on her shoulder. Her eyes were narrowed.
"What do you think is going on here?" she whispered. “You think this is some sort of sleepover party?”
"What?"
"This is your room."
"It's not…” I chuckled. “I keep some things in the closet, but I don't sleep here. My room is down the hall."
"So you're not trying to…"
"No." I held up both hands. "That's not…I wouldn't…no."
"Well." She adjusted Lena on her shoulder. "I apologize for assuming."
"Noted. My room is the last door on the left. This one is yours. The nursery is between us." I stepped back. "Good night, Calloway."
"Good night, Mr. Hale."
She closed the door. I stood in the hallway and stared at it.
Mr. Hale. She was going to be the death of me.
Lena lasted nine minutes in the crib. I was in the nursery doorway seconds after the crying started — sharp, sudden, the same furious wail from the car.
Thea was there before I crossed the threshold.
She picked Lena up, settled her against her chest, and the crying stopped like someone had flipped a switch.
"She doesn't want to be put down," Thea said. "Not yet. She needs to feel someone."
"What do we do?"
"We hold her."
She sat in the rocking chair with Lena on her chest. I stood in the doorway, useless. I took a step into the room. Then another. Thea was adjusting the blanket, checking the temperature of Lena's forehead with the back of her hand.
She looked up. Caught me.
"Go to sleep, Mr. Hale."
"I don't want to leave."
"Then sit there or make yourself useful."
I decided to make coffee. I used the machine in the kitchen. I carried both mugs to the nursery. Thea took one look at the color, set Lena on her shoulder, walked to the kitchen, and adjusted the machine with one hand.
She didn't say a word.
The coffee from the second attempt was dark, rich, and perfect. I drank it in the chair across from her while Lena slept on her chest.
"Does the penthouse have enough emergency exits for you?" I asked.
She scoffed.
“It’s never going to be enough as long as you’re here.”
She didn't like me. That much was clear. She was here for the baby, not for me. I was going to change that. I didn't know how or when, but I was going to find the crack in that wall if it took me the rest of the year.
Lena was finally asleep. Deeply, this time. Thea slowly laid her down in the crib. She stepped back. We both held our breath. Lena didn’t make a sound.
"I'll stay up…" I whispered. "I'll watch her. If she wakes up, I'll come get you… You should sleep. I'll sit right here on the couch. I won't fall asleep. If she makes a sound, I'll…"
I fell asleep before I finished the sentence. My head dropped back against the cushion, and the last thing I saw was Thea standing over the crib with her hand on Lena's back, and then there was nothing.
I woke up with a stiff neck and the taste of bad coffee still in my mouth. I didn’t realize I was that exhausted. The nursery couch was not built for sleeping.
Morning light came through the curtains. I was confused for a second. Then I remembered where I was and what was real.
I groaned and slapped a hand on my forehead. I told her I wouldn't fall asleep. Seven hours in, and I'd already proven myself a liar.
My phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out. Six messages from Graham. Two from Julian. A calendar full of meetings starting at nine. I called the office.
Graham picked up on the first ring. "You have the Breslin call at nine. The Lassiter compliance review at ten. And Julian wants — "
"I'll be late."
"How late?"
"I don't know."
I hung up without explaining. I got up and followed the sound of singing.
It was coming from the nursery bathroom.
The door was open. Thea was inside, kneeling beside the small tub on the floor, one hand supporting Lena's head in the water.
She was singing, and Lena was staring up at her with wide blue eyes and the most perfect, gummy smile.
Her small hands slapping the water, and her focus was locked on Thea's face.
I leaned against the doorframe. I didn't announce myself. The image was too good to interrupt — the steam rising from the tub, the singing, the baby's smile, and Thea's loose curls falling over her shoulder as she leaned in.
She lifted Lena out, wrapped her in a towel, and turned.
She saw me.
"Well, look who's alive." She settled Lena against her shoulder and rubbed her back through the towel. "You lasted approximately forty-five seconds before you were unconscious. Very impressive."
"I was resting my eyes."
"You were snoring."
"I don't snore."
She shrugged. "If you say so."
She walked past me to the changing table and laid Lena down. The baby kicked her legs and grabbed at the air, making small, happy sounds that were nothing like the screaming from last night.
"Can I do it?" I asked.
Thea looked at me. The surprise was brief — a flicker in her eyes, there and gone. She stepped to the side. "Sure."
I stood over my daughter. "Okay." I reached for the diaper. "How does this work?"
"Hold her ankles. Gently. Lift her hips."
I held her ankles. My hands were enormous against her legs. My fingers felt thick and clumsy.
"Pat her dry with the towel. Then the new diaper goes underneath — tabs in the back."
I fumbled the tabs. They stuck to each other. I pulled them apart and tried again, and the diaper sat crooked on Lena's body like a bandage applied by someone with no medical training.
"Here." Thea reached over. Her hand closed over mine, guiding my fingers to the right position, pressing the tab flat.
Her palm was warm. Her fingers were smaller than mine and steadier.
She smelled like lavender, and she was close — her shoulder almost touching mine, both of us leaning over Lena, and the curl at her temple was right there, inches from my face.
Neither of us moved.
Lena chose this moment to spit up. Directly onto my hand. A warm, milky eruption that ran down my wrist and pooled in the cuff of my sleeve.
I jerked back. "Jesus…"
Lena gurgled. Pleased with herself. Thea laughed. She leaned down and tickled Lena's belly, and the baby squirmed and kicked.
"Is that…is this normal?"
She nodded. "Uh-huh… Welcome to fatherhood."
She turned to grab a cloth from the shelf behind her.
I wiped my hand with the handkerchief on me.
My wrist. The sleeve of my shirt, which was now officially ruined.
While I cleaned up, I noticed a book sitting spine-up on the changing table.
Bright cover. A couple on the front, locked in an embrace.
The title was something about a duke and a secret.
I picked it up and flipped to the page she'd left open. My eyes landed on a line halfway down. I read it. My eyebrows climbed. I read the next one. My face twisted.
"This is what you read?"
Thea turned, cloth in hand. She saw what I was holding. "Put that down."
"'His hands traced the map of her desire'? Calloway, this is — "
"Put. It. Down."
I set the book back. But not before I flipped it over and noted the author's name on the spine. I was going to make up for the spit-up stain. That was a debt, and I always paid my debts.
She handed me the cloth. I finished wiping my hand and the edge of the book, which had caught a drop of the damage. She took the book from the changing table and held it against her chest.
"If you tell anyone about this book, I will make your life very difficult."
I held up my hands. "Your secret is safe with me."
I was in trouble. I was in so much trouble.