by Heidi Rice
They walked down the corridor together to the children’s ward. Maureen left her at the door with another hug and an admonition not to worry.
But still the anxiety threatened to choke her as she rushed in to see Nico. What if the donation wasn’t about generosity, but about control? She didn’t trust Lukas Blackstone as far as she could throw him.
And what had he meant by saying she would have serious questions to answer?
CHAPTER THREE
ALEXEI HAS A SON. A son who is seriously ill.
Lukas kept his face carefully impassive. But his mind was reeling with shock at the news... And the strange hollow space in his chest was not helping.
So Darcy O’Hara hadn’t lied. And neither had her sister. But any charitable feelings he might have felt for the women—particularly Bronte—were quickly quashed. She’d kept the boy’s existence a secret for three years. What if the child hadn’t gotten sick? Would she ever have told him about his brother’s son?
Doubtful.
He remembered the defiance in her eyes and he let the welcome wave of temper consume the black hole in his stomach.
‘The DNA results don’t just confirm a ninety-nine per cent probability that your brother fathered Nico.’ The young doctor smiled. ‘They also suggest a very good likelihood of a match between you and Nico for the purposes of his treatment. We’ll have to do a proper work-up, which will take approximately twenty-four hours, to check all the specifics but, given that you and his father were identical twins, the chances are you will be a perfect candidate, if you’re willing to give your consent?’
‘Of course,’ he said. If his bone marrow could save the child, he’d have to be a monster not to agree to do it.
Especially as Alexei had always longed for a child. It was the news that he would never father one that had sent Alexei into a tailspin of destructive behaviour as a teenager. While Lukas had stamped out any and all emotions that could make him vulnerable as a child, Alexei had done exactly the opposite—determined to live life on the edge, test every boundary and embrace the recklessness that had eventually killed him. The irony didn’t escape Lukas now—the woman he had blamed for his brother’s demise had actually given Alexei a life after his death.
For that reason alone, this child must bear the Blackstone name.
‘Would you like to meet your nephew?’ the doctor asked. ‘While we wait for the blood work?’
Lukas felt the hollow sensation grow. He wanted to say no. The one thing he had no desire to do was bond with this child. But he supposed it would be necessary to at least meet the boy.
‘Certainly, but I have business to attend to first.’ He needed to start putting the wheels in motion—to make sure he controlled this situation from here on.
He stood up and tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. ‘I’ll come back in later today to meet the child.’ Once he was fully prepared for the encounter.
The doctor sent him a tentative smile, obviously confused by his reluctance to meet his nephew immediately, but she didn’t comment except to say, ‘I’d like to inform Bronte of the news—she’ll be overjoyed to hear that you may well be the partial match we need.’
He nodded and then left the room, making the first call to his lawyer.
Somehow he doubted Bronte would be overjoyed for long.
The boy was a Blackstone now—and, once the news got out, even his devoted aunt wouldn’t be able to protect the child from the fallout.
* * *
‘So this is good news?’ Bronte felt something break open inside her as Dr Patel smiled benevolently and nodded.
‘It’s excellent news, Bronte. Obviously we have to do a full work-up, but already the signs are phenomenally good.’
‘And Blackstone has agreed to donate his bone marrow?’ Bronte asked, the joy starting to roll through her, smashing through all the barriers, all the walls she had constructed against the worst of her fears for so long. She’d had to stay strong for Nico, had refused to admit defeat or to shed a single tear through the long hours of treatment. So much so that this new glimmer of hope felt like a massive relief.
‘Yes, he has,’ the doctor repeated, not for the first time.
‘Did you tell him how gruelling it is?’ Bronte asked again, not quite able to believe Lukas Blackstone was the saviour she’d hoped for.
‘Yes, as I said, I’ve talked him through the procedure and he didn’t even bat an eyelid before agreeing.’
Bronte’s knees began to shake, the exhaustion rising up to smash through the numbness. She felt as if she were floating—floating on a wave of hope—as a single tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Bronte, sit down.’ The doctor sounded firm as she pressed her into one of the hard plastic chairs in the children’s ward waiting room. Then she handed her a tissue.
Bronte blew her nose loudly and wiped the foolish tear away, trying to take it all in. A laugh, the first real laugh she’d managed in longer than she could remember, burst out. ‘I can’t... It’s such good news I can’t quite believe it.’
Dr Patel sat down beside her and patted her arm. ‘Obviously we’ve still got a long way to go, but all the signs are good now and in our favour.’
‘I know... It’s just...’ She turned to Dr Patel. ‘I thought he was such a jerk. I’d convinced myself even if he were Nico’s uncle he’d refuse to help him.’ She screwed up the tissue in her hands, suddenly feeling guilty about her doubts and desperately ashamed of her behaviour.
She’d judged Lukas Blackstone without knowing him, had assumed he was an arrogant, privileged, entitled jerk. And now he’d agreed to do something totally amazing, and not inconsiderable, for a child he didn’t even know. The guy was a hero, whatever way you looked at it.
She sniffed, letting hope seep into her soul and forcing herself to acknowledge the truth.
Why not admit it? She hadn’t just been conflicted about alerting Lukas to Nico’s existence because it would mean breaking her promise to Darcy. But because for so long she’d been Nico’s only relative. And while she’d been desperate to find a donor for him, a small, insecure little part of her heart had wanted Nico’s saviour to be her.
She stood. There was no time for tears now either, or recriminations. She needed to speak to Lukas, to thank him for all he was doing, and for all he’d agreed to do, the way she hadn’t done properly when he’d agreed to fly his private jet over the Atlantic just to substantiate her claims.
Yup, that was a pretty big clue right there that he wasn’t a total jerk, Bronte, you dope.
She almost winced at the ungrateful way she’d behaved on the flight over, resenting his presence and creating all sorts of nightmare scenarios and ulterior motives while ignoring the obvious answer—that Lukas Blackstone had wanted to help the boy who might be his nephew.
She let out a deep breath as she followed Dr Patel back onto Harry Potter Ward.
Lukas Blackstone was Nico’s uncle. It was official now. And she was going to have to get over any and all irrational fears about letting Lukas into Nico’s life. Because, of course, Lukas would want to get to know his brother’s child. He would want to play a part in his life. It was highly likely that the billionaire was going to be responsible for saving her baby boy’s life—which gave him certain rights. Lots of rights.
Nico sent her a sleepy grin as Bronte walked to his bedside.
‘You’re awake, Nikky!’ she said, grinning at him as she stroked the short silky curls of hair that had started to grow back after the latest round of chemo.
Her heart juddered. Maybe it would even be his last round of chemo.
‘I know,’ he said and she laughed.
He stretched out his arms and yawned. And she gathered him into her arms to hug him. ‘How are you feeling?’
His breath felt warm against her cheek as he snuggled into her embrace. ‘I’m ti
red,’ he said.
‘Okay, but I’ve got some important news for you. Maybe I should wait till tomorrow to tell you. I don’t want you to fall asleep.’
He pushed out of her arms and his little face screwed up in a frown of disgust, which only made her smile more. The resemblance to Lukas Blackstone was stunning, especially when Nico looked grumpy, she thought, stupidly tickled by the observation.
‘I’m not going to fall asleep,’ Nico said. ‘I’m not a baby. I’m going to be three and three-quarters next week.’ He yawned again, contradicting his assertion somewhat. ‘What’s the ’portant news?’ Nico asked dreamily.
‘There’s someone who has come all the way from New York to meet you. Which is a long way away, across an ocean. Remember I told you I was going to look for him, when I had to leave you?’
She’d made her trip into a story—a story which she had been careful not to imbue with too much hope—but it was hard to contain her optimism now.
‘The man with the special bones? Who’s going to make me better?’ Nico’s head lifted. The sparkle of excitement was something she hadn’t seen for a long time in Nico’s brown eyes and she realised that however non-committal she had tried to be, however careful, and however hard she’d tried not to hope too much, Nico had hoped for both of them. ‘Did you find him?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I did. Remember I told you he’s your daddy’s brother?’
‘My daddy that’s dead?’
‘That’s right. Lukas is a very special brother to your daddy called an identical twin, and he’s come all this way to meet you, and hopefully to help you get better.’ If the treatment didn’t work she would deal with it, but right now she wanted to feed the glow in Nico’s eyes. Whatever else Lukas Blackstone did, she would always be grateful to him for giving Nico hope.
Her eyes stung again when Nico’s lips crinkled into the cheeky smile she’d missed so much. ‘Is he a superhero?’
‘Yes, he is. He’s your own personal superhero—that’s pretty cool, isn’t it?’
‘Is that the Superman?’ Nico pointed over her shoulder. ‘He’s super-big.’
Bronte glanced over her shoulder. The blood rushed to her cheeks. And pounded hard in her chest. Despite the deliberately bright and airy surroundings of Harry Potter Ward, Lukas Blackstone looked as austere and forbidding as ever as he approached the bed with two men in dark suits and a woman in high heels holding a smartphone and busily typing things into it.
Keeping her hand securely on Nico’s narrow shoulder, Bronte got off the bed to face him, disconcerted by the huge height disadvantage. She knew she wasn’t a tall woman, but did he have to be quite so enormous?
‘Hi, Lukas, we’re so happy to see you,’ she said, trying to put as much friendliness and warmth into her voice as she could for Nico’s sake. If she found the man intimidating, how would a three-and-three-quarter-year-old feel?
‘Are you?’ Lukas said, the cynical lift of his eyebrow making her feel unbearably self-conscious before his gaze transferred to the child.
‘Yes, absolutely,’ she lied, wanting desperately to mean it. Clasping Nico’s hand, she was about to introduce them when Nico—who was clearly much braver than her—pushed up in the bed.
‘I’m Nico,’ he said. ‘Auntie Bronte says you’re my superhero. And you’re going to make me better.’
Lukas glanced her way before saying to the boy, his voice even gruffer than usual, ‘I’m going to try.’
With a burst of energy that reminded Bronte poignantly of the little boy he had been, Nico leapt forward and scrambled across the bed to wrap his arms as far as he could around Lukas’s waist and bury his head in his shirt front. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ the little boy declared. ‘I hate being sick—it’s horrid.’
And then he began to cry, deep heart-wrenching sobs that tore at Bronte’s chest as she gripped his shoulders, trying to soothe him, desperate to draw him away from Lukas, who had tensed and lifted his hands—looking for a split second both shocked and wary...and completely lost for words.
Clearly the big bad billionaire had zero experience with kids.
The situation would almost be comical if Bronte hadn’t been feeling so over-emotional herself. Scooping Nico up, she placed him back in the bed and tucked him under the covers, careful not to put any more strain on the line in his arm.
Ignoring Lukas, who was still standing stiffly by the bed, she smoothed Nico’s hair back from his forehead as the boy bit back the sobs which he must have been keeping in for a long time. ‘It’s all right, Nikky. Cry as much as you want.’
He hiccupped slightly, the tears passing. ‘But I don’t want to cry. I want to be a brave boy.’
‘You are a brave boy,’ she whispered against his face and gave him a little squeeze, making him smile through the last remnants of his tears. ‘Even if you cry, remember?’
He nodded but his eyelids were already drooping, the brief spurt of action having exhausted his frail stamina. ‘Can the superman stay with me?’
Bronte glanced over her shoulder to see Lukas still looking shocked and wary. ‘Of course he can. He’ll stay until you fall asleep, okay?’
Lukas gave a terse nod.
‘’kay,’ Nico murmured, apparently soothed by Lukas’s austere presence. This child wasn’t just brave; he was heroic. But he was still just a little boy—a little boy who had been forced to deal with far too much already. A little boy who desperately needed her to be the brave one right now. As if to confirm the thought, Nico stuffed a thumb into his mouth and gripped a chunk of her hair in his small fist, the way he had done ever since he was a baby. ‘Sing me Puff,’ he said.
She sang his favourite nursery song about a magic dragon, imbuing the notes with all the love she felt and the new sense of hope, until he fell asleep.
Snuggling against him, she breathed in his scent. Even tinged with the chemical scent of the hospital ward, it still gave her the essential rush of love she’d felt the first time she’d held his tiny body in her arms.
‘You’ll be better soon, Nico. I promise,’ she whispered.
Kissing his cheek, she got off the bed, her weariness buoyed by a new wave of possibility. But when she caught sight of Lukas Blackstone, still standing by the bed staring down at Nico, she felt a jolt of panic and even fear.
No matter what happened now, their lives would be irrevocably changed, having this man in them. And right now she’d never felt less ready to deal with that change. And him.
She straightened as his gaze moved from the bed and locked on her—the jolt became hot and fluid, disconcerting her. He studied her with that cool dark gaze and she struggled to contain her response. Her visceral physical reaction to this man was something she needed to control—not least because it made no sense. And it would only make this situation more difficult.
‘He’s so small,’ he murmured, surprising her.
‘Actually, Nico is tall for his age,’ she replied. ‘Despite his illness.’
Probably because he’s related to you, she thought, having to crane her neck to address him. Her gaze took in those broad shoulders and the tall, lean, intimidating frame. Even with his jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up he seemed forbidding—she tried and failed to imagine Nico as a young man. Would he be that tall? That handsome?
The scar on Lukas’s cheek tensed as he returned his gaze to the bed and the child sleeping peacefully on it.
He studied Nico for a long time, clearly taking in every aspect of the child, but his features registered little or no emotion.
One thing Nico wouldn’t be, Bronte silently promised herself, was so arrogant and cynical—so devoid of warmth. She wondered again what had happened to him to make him so determined to keep his feelings so closely guarded. Because something must have happened. However imperturbable he seemed, she had seen the shocked emotion cross his face when Nico had
hugged him, making her sure he had feelings—he just didn’t want to reveal them.
‘Why did you tell him I was going to save him?’ he said at last. ‘There’s no guarantee that I will be a suitable match and, even if I am, this is an experimental treatment.’ There was no censure in the question, the tone pragmatic, but still Bronte felt the flicker of criticism, the need to defend herself. She bit back the caustic response though, as she spotted the plaster on the inside of his arm, covering the small bruise forming where the doctor had taken his blood for testing.
Lukas Blackstone was here—and prepared to do the right thing—for that she would give him as much encouragement and cooperation as she possibly could. It was also pretty obvious he had absolutely no knowledge of kids, which gave her the upper hand. Not that they were in competition. But she could guide him, if she handled the situation sensibly—instead of going in with all her insecurities blazing. The dull red mark on his chin made her feel ashamed of her previous interactions with him.
‘Right now, what Nico needs is hope,’ she replied. ‘And while it’s an experimental treatment, they’ve had terrific results so far. The doctor also said already that the blood work suggests you’ll be a near perfect match.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘But in the future could I suggest you don’t mythologise me too much. I’m unlikely to have much interaction with the boy once this is over.’
‘You won’t?’ she blurted out, forgetting that having him in their lives wasn’t something she particularly wanted. ‘But you’re his uncle.’
‘I realise that,’ he said, the flicker of acknowledgement oddly gratifying. ‘But I’m not particularly good with children.’
She had gathered that much already but, before she could point out that he could learn, the way she had, he added, ‘And I have no aptitude or desire to learn.’
The statement was so unequivocal she felt desperately sorry for him. But instead of saying the first thing that came into her head—that Nico had already made an attachment to him, and that his life would be so much richer with this little boy in it—she stopped herself. It wasn’t her job to tell this man what his relationship with his nephew should or could be. And she’d certainly be much better off not having to deal with him on a regular basis.