Michael stands before her, fury oozing from his glistening pores. It takes him a second to speak, his eyes burning a hole through Aunt Morgan’s face.
Everyone but Ash and Aidan move into the living room.
“Is it true?” he demands, his strained voice dripping with disbelief. “Please tell me it’s not true?”
Her head droops, but I can tell she’s holding back the tears. Aunt Morgan always hides her face when she’s about to cry.
She lifts her head back up. “Is what true?”
He takes a step closer, but his hateful glare never waivers. “I just got off the phone with my distraught mother, rambling on about the two boys she’d seen that were a carbon copy of me. Me! She saw them with you, and then realized she’s had grandchildren for the last twenty-one years…and that I’m a father…but no one ever felt the need to tell us.” He turns away, but then looks back to Aunt Morgan. “Please tell me this isn’t true? I told her she was wrong, that you could never do such a thing. She’s wrong, right?” The pleading in his voice tugs at my heart.
His expression softens, staring at the tears billowing in her eyes.
“Yes, Michael. It’s true. I’m so sorry, but it’s true.” Aunt Morgan’s bottom lip quivers the second she pushes the words from her mouth.
His distinct, Italian jaw drops, the color draining from his cheeks. “What? I . . . I don’t understand. How could your family tell me you had a miscarriage? H . . . how could you keep this from me for twenty-one years?” His head sways, trying to control the anger in his voice.
Ash and Aidan abandon the seats keeping them out of Michael’s line of sight. They move closer to where their parents now stand. Together.
“Don’t speak to her that way! After everything you’ve done to her, don’t you dare blame her because you didn’t know the truth,” Ash exclaims, defending his mother in a frigid, protective tone. I’m sure it’s making Michael’s insides shake.
“She gave you exactly what you wanted by not telling you. You knew she was pregnant, but you left her anyway. If anyone should feel bad . . . it should be you.” Aidan points to his father with contempt.
In awe of his mirror image duplicated before him, Michael stands like an ice sculpture, seeing his twin boys for the very first time.
Moments pass as he stares. Morgan steps closer, placing her hand on his arm. “Michael, are you okay?”
She waits, but he doesn’t answer. She tries again. “Michael? I never meant to hurt you. I thought this was what you wanted.” Her voice cracks.
“What did you say?” He turns to her, surprise pinning his eyes wide open. “You thought it’s what I wanted? What in the hell would have ever made you think I would want nothing to do with my own flesh and blood? For god’s sake, Mo, we had their names picked out the very night we found out you were having twins.” Visibly broken, the dark circles and blood-shot eyes overpower Michael’s face.
Aunt Morgan releases his arm, moving so she can stand between her sons. She takes a deep breath, turning to face their father again.
As if being wiped by an invisible cloth, sadness is replaced by one of antipathy as a vivid sneer creeps up her face. “Your letter made it quite clear how you felt about us. You said you wanted nothing to do with me, or the Satan spawn I was carrying . . . and I believed you. Given the fact that you never, not even once, tried to contact me, only proves you meant every word.”
Michael squints, her words registering. “My letter?”
Aunt Morgan’s jaw clenches, a vein pulsating on the side of her lithe neck. “Yes, your letter. You know…the one your father delivered the day after you told him I’m a Witch.”
He shakes his head, a few stray hairs dangling onto his forehead. Staring off somewhere, he seems confused—like he’s trying to recall a memory but isn’t able to. Then, as if he’s just been kicked in the stomach, Michael’s face turns ghostly.
He looks toward Aunt Morgan and the boys one more time, his mouth falling open. “I . . . I have to go . . . .”
Before any of us know what’s happening, Michael runs out the front door where he almost knocks over the returning Hunter.
Unaware of what he’s just walked in on, Hunter scans the room chock-full of surprised faces. “Ah…is everything okay?”
I grab the cake from his hands, setting it down on the end table behind us. “That was Ash and Aidan’s father who nearly plowed you over. Sorry about that.”
Confusion stretches across his wrinkled brow.
“He never knew they existed,” I add in a polite tone.
The second it registers, he presses a smooth hand upon my cheek. “This is clearly a family matter that doesn’t need an outside audience. I’ll leave so you and your family can be alone, okay?”
“That’s really sweet of you. Thanks so much for getting the cake. We’ll save it for tomorrow, okay?”
“No, don’t be silly. Enjoy it tonight. Perhaps something sweet will help ease the bitterness of the night.”
“Okay, just let me get you some money first.” I turn, looking to see where I left my bag.
Hunter grabs my forearm. “The cake is my treat. You guys are always feeding me, so it’s the least I can do.”
“That’s really not necessary, but thank you.” I smile apologetically. “I’m sorry I made you run out, only to have you leave once you got back. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s not a big deal. Honest. You just focus on your family.” He leans down to place a kiss on my cheek. “They come first.”
“Thank you, Hunter. I really appreciate everything.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Chloe.” He turns towards everyone in the room. “You need some time alone, so I’ll get out of your hair. It was nice meeting you guys. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” He turns to Gram. “And thanks for another fabulous meal.”
“You’re quite welcome, dear.” She smiles.
Everyone wishes him a good night as he disappears through the doorway.
Once I hear his car door shut, I grab the cake and we head back to the kitchen.
“So that’s our father?” Aidan asks. “He’s not exactly what I was expecting.”
“Well, I’d just like to know why he was so upset. Sure, I suppose it’s natural to be mad over something like this, but he’s the one who shut you out of his life. I just don’t get it.” Ash shakes his head, stepping out of his flip-flops as he slides onto a barstool.
Aunt Morgan drops down next to him.
“What’s on your mind, Aunt Morgan? What are you thinking?” I sit on the other side of her, wrapping my arm around her slumped-over shoulders.
She shrugs. “I’m not sure. His reaction just doesn’t make much sense. All these years I’ve been so angry, but in a matter of minutes, he made me feel sorry for him. How does that even happen?” She leans her head against my shoulder.
“If it means anything, he definitely wasn’t faking it. In fact, I’d say he was holding back. That man’s heart is broken. I’ve never felt so much pain on one person.” Dru tries to reassure her.
We go over-and-over the events, discussing how his actions are so unexpected. And we come to one conclusion: it must have been regret. I mean, what else could it be? Maybe in his mind he believes he would have taken her back if he knew the truth back then. But even if he regrets his choices, it’s too little, too late.
As we discuss how tired we’re getting, I remember the cake Hunter so willingly picked up. I slide it in front of me, take the lid off, and notice he’d even taken the time to have “Congratulations Ash & Aidan” written on it. Could he be any sweeter?
“I almost forgot.” I tilt the cake towards Ash and Aidan. “Congratulations, boys. You can thank Hunter tomorrow.”
Everyone stands up to look inside the box at the blue and lavender floral cake. “That looks delicious. Please tell me we’re eating it now?” Dhelia puts her hands on her hips.
In a matter of seconds, Gram has a knife, forks, and paper plates in hand. “Boys,
who wants to cut?” She holds out the knife towards the faux guests of honor.
We each have a slice before heading off to bed, not that it helps ease the terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I might not have seen it, but something big is about to happen. You don’t need to have visions to see that one coming.
Tethered (A BirthRight Novel #1) Page 19