LITMIR.BIZ

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moved on automatic pilot, putting himself between Daisy and the door. And all the while, he couldn’t take his eyes off the child.

      The boy was Vass all over again. Alex’s heart squeezed in his chest. His throat tightened. He couldn’t swallow. He barely had a toehold on his composure when Daisy finished talking to the nurse and turned—and saw him.

      She stopped, rooted right where she was.

      Their eyes locked and he watched her color fade. Her lips parted and trembled. Her arms tightened around the boy in her arms and she glanced around as if looking for another way out.

      Bad luck, Daze, Alex thought grimly. Nowhere to go but through me.

      She understood that, for a second later she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin and walked straight toward him.

      “I told you that you didn’t need to wait.”

      Alex felt a muscle in his temple tick. He swallowed, seeking words. There were none. Only a well of pain.

      How could you? His eyes asked her. The boy—his son!—was close enough to reach out and touch.

      He balled his fingers into fists, every fiber of his being wanted to reach out to the little boy, to take him in his arms and never let him go. But the boy didn’t know, wouldn’t understand. Even Daisy seemed to think he was behaving oddly.

      “Are you all right?” she asked when he didn’t reply.

      She had no idea. Didn’t realize what he knew. Of course, she wouldn’t. She had no idea Charlie could’ve been Vass’s clone. Alex managed a curt nod. “Fine.” Poleaxed, in truth.

      “Good.” She smiled briefly. “It was kind of you to bother,” she said. “But not necessary.”

      It was necessary. Alex knew that down to his toes. He just looked at her. For a moment neither of them spoke, neither moved.

      “Mommy.”

      Daisy shifted at the sound of the small plaintive voice. She hugged the little boy close. “This is Charlie,” she said. “Charlie, this is Mr. Antonides.”

      Your father.

      God, how he wanted to say the words. He didn’t. He just studied the boy up close. His cheeks were fuller than Vass’s had been. But at that age, maybe his brother had had round cheeks, too. Alex would have been too young to recall. But Charlie had the same freckles across his nose that Vass had had, the same long lashes.

      “I got a brok’n arm,” the boy told him in a froggy little voice.

      Alex nodded and met his chocolate gaze. “Yeah, I see that you do.”

      Daisy shifted under the boy’s weight. “I need to get him home. Thank you. I’m sorry that the evening ended this way.”

      I’m not. Alex didn’t say that, either. He dragged his gaze away from the boy long enough to meet hers. It all made sense now—her distance, her coolness, her determination to shut him out.

      But he wasn’t out any longer—and he had no intention of ever being out of this child’s life again.

      “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you into a cab.” He stepped back to let Daisy go through the door. It was late, well after midnight, and the snow was still falling. Charlie couldn’t put his arm in his jacket, and Daisy was trying to pull it more closely around his shoulders.

      “Let me.” Alex took the boy’s puffy red down jacket and settled it around small bony shoulders. His hands trembled as he brushed them over him, then tucked the jacket close between Charlie’s body and his mother’s. “There you go.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded hoarse.

      “Thank you.” Daisy flicked him a quick smile.

      There were no taxis right outside. So he strode off to the corner to flag one down. He half expected Daisy to have vanished by the time he got back with it. But sanity must have prevailed. Either that or she was too shattered by the events of the evening to pull a disappearing act.

      Alex opened the door to the taxi. “After you. I’ll take him.” He held out his arms.

      “I can manage.” She tried to get in with the boy in her arms, but she nearly lost her balance, and Alex scooped him away.

      And the moment the boy’s solid body settled in his arms, Alex felt something in him change. Something strong and protective took root, dug in. Instinctively he moved his face closer to the boy’s soft hair, drawing in the scent of antiseptic, bubble-gum shampoo, laundry soap and earthy little boy.

      His breath caught, his grip tightened.

      “I can take him now.” Daisy’s hollow-eyed gaze locked with Alex’s as she held out her arms to the little boy.

      Slowly, carefully—reluctantly—Alex settled him on the seat next to her. Then, not giving her a chance to tell him he didn’t need to come along, he slid into the backseat as well and shut the door.

      There was silence except for the taxi’s public service babbling. The car didn’t move.

      “You’ll have to tell him where we’re going,” Alex said at last. “I don’t know.”

      Daisy hesitated for a split second, then in a low voice gave the cab driver the address. It was the same address as her office.

      As the cab lurched forward, he narrowed his gaze at her. Daisy kept hers focused straight ahead. Charlie huddled between them. Alex could feel the little boy’s bony shoulder pressed against his arm. He angled his gaze down to see the top of the boy’s head, the burnished gold of his hair, the sharp little nose and what looked like a stubborn chin. Looking at him, Alex felt his throat tighten with so many emotions he couldn’t name them all.

      Charlie.

      His son.

      Alex turned the notion over in his mind. Tested it. Tasted it. Wrapped his entire being around it. Then he lifted his gaze and looked over the top of Charlie’s head at the woman who hadn’t even bothered to tell him and felt his whole body stiffen with anger.

      As if he were aware of something wrong, Charlie stiffened, too. He edged closer under his mother’s arm.

      Was he scared? Certainly he sensed something was amiss. Kids could do that, Alex remembered. He certainly had.

      He’d read his parents’ body language for years. He had sensed their worry about Vass, even when they’d tried to say everything would be fine. He’d felt their pain, their hurt at his brother’s illness. He’d felt, without needing words, their emotional withdrawal.

      He didn’t blame them. His brother had been his idol. His hero. He knew as well as they had that Vass was the best person in the world. And he instinctively felt what they felt: that if they had to lose one of their sons, it should not have been Vass.

      Moody, temperamental, fidgety, less-than-perfect Alex was the one who should have died.

      Of course no one said so. No one had to. Kids could read body language. They could hear the feelings in the silences—as Charlie could no doubt hear his now.

      Consciously Alex relaxed his body and stopped glaring at Daisy. Instead he shifted slightly away so that he could look down at Charlie more easily.

      “I’m not Mr. Antonides. I’m Alex,” he said.

      The boy flicked a quick glance up at him and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

      “Want to shake left hands?” Alex asked.

      Charlie’s gaze lifted again to meet his. Alex could feel Daisy’s eyes on him, as well. Wary, suspicious. Charlie hesitated a moment, then nodded and stuck out his left hand. Small fingers gripped his.

      And Alex knew that this first mutual touch was momentous, and that the feel of that small warm hand in his was a memory he would carry with him to his grave.

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