when Alex finally got to see him. His brother’s eyes had had dark circles under them. But they had still glittered with urgency and desire.
And Alex had said fervently, “Me, too.”
Now, trying to push aside the painful memory, he smiled at the little boy who was looking up at him with Vass’s eyes. “Did you break yours jumping from a bunk?”
“I was tryin’ to get to the dresser like Rip does.”
“Who’s Rip?” Whoever he was, Alex liked his name.
“One of Finn and Izzy MacCauley’s boys,” Daisy said. “Rip is Charlie’s hero. He tries to do whatever Rip does, in this case, apparently, to get around the house without touching the floor,” she said despairingly.
Alex grinned. “I used to do that, too.”
Charlie’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“It’s something all boys do?” Daisy looked dismayed.
“It’s a challenge,” Alex told her. “Boys like challenges. How old is Rip?”
“Almost twelve,” Daisy said. They were speeding down Central Park West. There was little traffic now and they were hitting the lights. It would be a matter of minutes until they were at Daisy’s office.
“That explains it,” Alex told the little boy. “You’ve just got to get bigger.”
“Mom says I can’t do it again.”
Daisy looked mulish. “I don’t want him killing himself.”
“He won’t,” Alex said. He smiled at Charlie. “You look like a pretty tough guy.”
The boy’s head bobbed. “I am. My dad says so.”
“Your dad?” Alex lifted his gaze to look from Charlie to Daisy. “His dad?” he said to her.
“His dad.” Daisy’s look was even more mulish and her tone even firmer than before. “My ex-husband. Cal.”
Alex’s jaw tightened at the lie. He stared at her.
And just as if she were telling God’s own truth, Daisy stared defiantly back. Their gazes were still locked when the cab turned the corner on Daisy’s street and pulled up midblock in front of her place. He understood it was more than her office now. She damned well lived here, too.
“Here’s where we get out,” Daisy said briskly. She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out money for the cab.
“I’m paying,” Alex said flatly.
Daisy opened her mouth as if to protest, but then shrugged. “Thank you.”
He paid the driver, then opened the door and got out, reaching back in and lifting Charlie carefully up into his arms, settling him against his hip. Charlie looped an arm over his shoulder.
Daisy scrambled out and looked disconcerted to see the boy in Alex’s arms and not standing on the sidewalk where she had apparently expected to see him.
Alex nodded toward the building. “After you.”
He wasn’t surprised when Daisy fished a key out of her pocket and, instead of going up the stoop, led the way through a wrought-iron gate and down the steps to the door below. Her movements were jerky as she fumbled the key, but finally unlocked the outer door and pushed it open, then did the same with the lock on the front door, and turned to hold out her arms for her son.
Still carrying Charlie, Alex pushed straight past her into a tiny foyer filled with jackets and boots and roller skates and the smallest bicycle he’d ever seen.
“Yours?” he asked Charlie.
The boy’s head nodded against Alex’s shoulder.
“Can you ride it?”
Another nod, this one firmer than the last.
“Good for you. I had a bike when I was your age.” Alex smiled. Bikes had been his thing—never Vass’s. And already Charlie rode one. So there was that bit of himself in his son. “We’ll have to go riding.”
“He has a broken arm,” Daisy said sharply.
“Not now.” Alex turned and faced her. “There will be time.” He watched that register in her brain before he said to Charlie, “Plenty of time.”
“Alex,” Daisy protested faintly.
He turned his stare back on her until her gaze slid away.
“You got a bike?” Charlie asked, interested.
“Yep. I race bikes.”
Charlie looked fascinated. Daisy looked dismayed. She shook her head, as if resisting everything. Then quickly and deliberately she stripped off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks in the foyer and crossed the room, holding out her arms.
“Give him to me. He needs to get ready for bed. Now.”
Alex wanted to argue. Wanted to defy her, hang on to his son. But for all that he was furious with Daisy, none of it was Charlie’s fault. But his jaw was tight, his whole body felt rigid as he loosed his grip and eased the boy into his mother’s arms. He took special care not to jar Charlie’s arm. And once he’d let go, he smoothed a hand over Charlie’s hair, letting it linger.
“You’re a brave guy,” he said, keeping his gaze on Charlie.
The boy nodded solemnly.
“We’ll ride bikes together sometime soon,” Alex promised, his smile crooked. “Okay?”
Another nod and a tentative smile.
He could hear Daisy’s indrawn breath. “Good night, Alex.” She paused, then added evenly, “Thank you for … everything.”
For everything? His eyes asked her.
For giving you a son?
“Who’s he?” Charlie asked as Daisy carried him up the stairs.
“A man I used to know. A … friend.” But she was distracted as she spoke, remembering Alex’s narrowed gaze as he’d watched her carrying Charlie across the emergency room.
He didn’t know, she assured herself. He couldn’t.
It was Charlie’s mere existence that had surprised him—that she had a son. And his terseness simply meant that he was annoyed she hadn’t told him.
In Charlie’s room, she flicked on the light and deposited him gently on the bed. She rarely carried him anywhere these days, and having done so now, she was almost out of breath, surprised at how big he’d gotten since she used to carry him all the time.
“My arm hurts.”
“I
