“Which is where I come in.”
“Which is where you come in,” he echoed, lifting his sunglasses to sit on his head and turning to her. “He doesn’t have a sibling and my penicillin allergy means they’re reluctant to even consider me as a match at this stage.” He spoke the last words almost through gritted teeth.
“You need his biological mother,” she said, then bit down on her lip, feeling strange. She hadn’t used that term to describe herself since the day she’d given birth to him and needed to fill out forms. She’d always felt good about giving him to such a loving couple, and considered him Grace and Matthew’s child.
Now, just Matthew’s.
His jaw clenched and released. “In retrospect, it was lucky Grace’s eggs wouldn’t take and we used yours. If they had, our options would be greatly reduced.”
She swallowed. Grace had been hit hard by her inability to carry a child, but finding she couldn’t use her own eggs, that she wouldn’t be the biological mother of her own child, had devastated her. Grace had come to her, offering more money to contribute her eggs, but it hadn’t been the extra money that had swayed her. Having lost a baby when she was younger, Susannah knew the value of the gift of life.
Matthew cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing.”
His tone sent a wave of trepidation through her veins. “Something else is wrong?”
“Not with Flynn. My family—and Grace’s parents—believe that, although we used a surrogate, Grace was…” The shadowed skin of his jaw and throat pulled tight as he clenched the muscles there. “Grace wanted people to believe he was her baby in every way.”
Having seen Grace’s all-encompassing need to be a mother, she wasn’t surprised that this was how they’d handled it. “It’s okay, I understand.”
His dark brows swooped low over green eyes sparkling with an intense honesty. “We meant no disrespect to you.”
“None taken.” She found a smile to reassure him. On this point, at least, she could offer solace. “I’m not a part of his life, and Grace wanted him so very much.”
“She did,” he said, but the words were anything but simple. They carried a crushing weight with them. Her chest ached to witness such pain.
She looked more closely at this man who was raising the child she gave birth to. His broad shoulders were as rigid and set as if they’d been carved from marble. How heavy a load had they been carrying? Every instinct inside her demanded she reach out, to soothe. Instead she folded her hands in her lap to ensure they didn’t move.
“Honestly, Matthew, I don’t mind. I handed over that little baby to you and Grace with love. You don’t need to explain anything to me about the decisions you’ve made.”
“I appreciate that. Because I have something else to ask.” He drew in a long breath and held it for a moment. “If you cross paths with my family, you’ll find they can be…curious. Protective. And if they ask questions, you’ll have the lead-in to tell them about your connection to Flynn.” He turned to her, expression inscrutable. “I need you to keep Grace’s secret.”
Lie about not being the biological mother to keep the stability of a little family intact? With Flynn’s health in question, instability and confusion were the last things they needed.
“Of course,” she said. She offered a small smile to show she truly meant it.
Some of the tension fell from his shoulders and one corner of his mouth lifted in a cheerless version of a grateful smile, then he dropped the glasses back over his eyes and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, her heart bled for the anguish she’d just seen in the depths of his eyes. She forced herself to look out the window—she was here to help the boy, not the father. As much as everything inside her longed to soothe the lines of pain around his eyes, it was simply not her role. Things were too complicated already.
Darkness was falling outside when Susannah made her way down the brightly lit hospital corridor to Flynn’s room. Matthew had told her to find him there when her tests were over, and now she stood for a few moments observing them through the glass panel. Matthew’s face was different with his son—the planes and angles looked softer, his smile easier. Yet the more tender version of Matthew Kincaid was just as compelling, perhaps more so. Her heart picked up speed and she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
The little boy was facing away from her, so all she could see was a mop of dark brown hair and sweet little arms that reached out for his father’s thumbs in whatever game they were playing. Then Matthew looked up and saw her and the tension seemed to pour into his body again until even his smile for Flynn seemed rigid. He said something to his son before pointing to the next room. She looked over and there was an interconnected door to Flynn’s room so she headed over. Inside the anteroom was a washbasin, shelves of neatly folded gowns and boxes of masks and other paraphernalia.
The door opened and Matthew appeared. “He’s being kept in semi-isolation,” he said, answering her unasked question. “Before anyone goes in, they need to wash their hands up to the elbows and put on a gown.” Something of her concern must have shown on her face because he shrugged one shoulder and said, “I’m just grateful he’s not at the stage of needing us to wear a mask like the little girl in the room on the other side.”
She looked through the glass panel to Flynn in his bed, curled up talking to a teddy bear. “He looks too small—too vulnerable—to be here.”
Matthew didn’t reply, but from the corner of her eye she saw him grimace. It must be beyond frustrating for him to watch his son in need and not be able to do anything about it. She fingered the strip of tape and bump of cotton on the inside of her elbow where they’d taken the blood, and prayed she’d be able to help if the transplant was needed.
“They’re checking to see if I’m a tissue match now,” she said, still watching the small boy interact with his teddy. “The woman who took the sample said they’d hurry it through and let us know preliminary results as soon as possible.”
She felt Matthew nod, then they stood side by side for endless minutes, watching a three-year-old boy who’d already known too much pain in his short life, have a solemn conversation with a brown bear. The echoes of her hammering heart reverberated through her body, and the weight of all that rode on her tissue-matching test hung in the air, engulfing them in the small room.
“Would you like to meet him?” Matthew asked, his voice rough.
In one long whoosh, her lungs emptied. Even though she’d come here to help Flynn, she hadn’t allowed herself a second’s contemplation of being given the chance to meet him. Yet now the possibility was before her, as alluring as it was, she could see it was a bad idea. “It would just confuse things.”
“We can keep it simple. We’ll tell him you’re a friend of mine and you wanted to say hello.”
A little flame of excitement lit in her chest. Dare she meet this little boy? She’d willingly handed him to his new parents, never expecting to see him again—the situation of her own childhood had taught her it was better for children to have issues of custody and belonging mapped out and clear-cut.
But, he was within her sight—something she’d never dreamed would happen. And if they could keep it uncomplicated and clear…
The flame of excitement in her chest flickered and grew.
Dare she?
She looked to Matthew for a sign, and he seemed happy enough to allow the meeting. To give her something she could always treasure—a sliver of time with the boy she’d carried for nine months.
A smile crept across her face and she bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to contain it.
“Thank you. I’d love to meet him.”
Two
Susannah tentatively followed Matthew into his son’s hospital room with its sky-blue walls and bunches of shiny balloons. Flynn looked so small sitting on the bed in his teddy-bear pajamas. He had a cannula in the back of his little hand that was bandaged but wasn’t connected to anything at the moment. The idea
of an IV attached to him made her chest clench.
Flynn’s little pale face looked up and he threw out his arms. “Daddeeee.”
Matthew gently swung him up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I told you I wouldn’t be long,” he said with such love it made her heart clench tight.
Flynn’s gaze slid over to her and Susannah held her breath. He was a miniature version of Matthew down to the same shaped eyes, the same full bottom lip, but he had a dimple in his chin. Like the one that punctuated her own father’s chin. Like the one she had. The floor tilted beneath her, but she didn’t take her eyes from Flynn as the reality hit her hard.
This little boy was half her.
She’d been so glad to be able to give the gift of parenthood to two people who were desperate for a baby, and so adamant that she keep everything compartmentalized in her mind, that she’d never dwelled on the fact that Flynn was made from her flesh and blood. A part of the family line that came from her mother and her lost father.
Even when she’d been considering meeting him moments earlier, it had been as if talking about someone else’s child, one she’d heard stories about. Not her mother’s grandchild. Not her father’s grandson.
Solemn blue eyes regarded her, then he asked his father in a loud whisper, “Who’s that?”
And just like that, her heart was captured, and she had to blink back tears.
“This is a friend of mine.” Matthew turned so Flynn was facing her. “Her name is Susannah.”
“Hello, Flynn,” she said past the lump in her throat.
“Hello, Sudann—” he frowned as he tried to wrap his tongue around the name “—Sood…”
“Maybe we could try something easier?” Matthew said, raising a dark eyebrow. It was a simple move, yet it transformed his face into something edgier, more alluring. Her mouth went dry. She looked back to Flynn, determined not to react to the innate appeal of his father, and found another Kincaid male who was hard to resist.
Interlacing her fingers over her belly so she wouldn’t reach out to touch his little face, she smiled softly. “When I was little, my dad called me Suzi.”
“Sudi,” Flynn said.
She couldn’t help but beam, hearing the baby she’d help create say her name. Or something approximating it. “Perfect.”
Matthew put the little boy back down on his bed then leaned close to her. “Would you mind sitting with him for a few minutes?” he asked quietly, his breath warm on her ear. “I have to call the office and it might be tense. Flynn is pretty good at picking up things like that and it’s the last thing he needs right now.”
The crisp, clean scent of his aftershave curled around her, creating a powerful distraction from his words, and, although he wasn’t touching her, the skin near her ear tingled as though he had.
She swallowed. “We’ll be fine.”
“Thanks.” He dropped a kiss on the top of his son’s head and spoke in a normal voice again. “I just have to call Uncle RJ. And while I’m gone, Suzi is going to stay with you.”
“Okay,” Flynn said, looking at her with those large eyes that she suspected saw too much.
Matthew paused at the door and smiled, but there was tension around his mouth, around his eyes. “I’ll be quick.”
After he left, Susannah stared down at the boy who was part her and part Matthew, and wanted so much to bundle him up and hug him tight. Instead she said, “So, Flynn, what can we do for fun in here? Got any good books?”
“A teddy-bear book,” he said as if they were discussing a deadly serious topic.
“Why, I love teddy-bear books! Would you mind if I read it out loud?”
The little boy blinked then climbed down and retrieved a large hardcover with beautifully painted teddies on the front and deposited it in her lap. “It’s an Aunty Lily book,” he said and Susannah saw “Illustrated by Lily Kincaid” on the cover. Then he crawled back up on the bed and sat against the headboard, waiting.
Susannah read the story—sneaking glances at him whenever she could—and at the end, Flynn graced her with a blinding smile—the first he’d directed at her. “Thank you, Sudi.”
Her heart stilled as if it couldn’t take the beauty of that innocent smile, but it didn’t take her long to regroup. She gathered his warm little body closer and pressed her lips to his forehead. Flynn relaxed into her embrace so she allowed herself to hold the kiss longer. Tears welled in her eyes, but she had her lids shut tight and wouldn’t let them escape. She didn’t need forever, but she was going to savor every moment she had with him now.
Eventually, not wanting to make Flynn uncomfortable, she took a breath and released him. He hadn’t squirmed, and now he simply looked up at her with a curious expression. She smiled and blinked away the moisture in her eyes.
“What would you like to do?” she asked, looking at the toys and puzzles piled on a little table. “Would you like me to read you another book? Or we could do a puzzle?”
Flynn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, clearly assessing her before sharing his thoughts. Then he curled a finger, inviting her to lean down. When her ear was level with his mouth, he whispered, “Can you sing me a song?”
Her singing talents owed more to enthusiasm than any semblance of skill, but she didn’t think a three-year-old would mind. “Sure,” she said brightly. “Twinkle, Twinkle?”
Slowly, not losing eye contact, he shook his head. The look on his face told her he had something specific in mind, so she waited.
His finger called her down for another secret. “Do you know Elvis?”
A smile tugged insistently at the corners of her mouth but he was so serious she restrained it. “Not personally, but I know his songs. Would you like me to sing one of them?”
Eyes so filled with hope that it made her heart ache, he nodded.
“Any song in particular?”
“I like them all,” he said and she wondered exactly how many Elvis songs a three-year-old could possibly know.
“Okay, then.” Her mind flicked through Elvis’s songbook and decided to try “Love Me Tender”—well-known and simple. As she sang the first couple of lines, a huge grin spread across Flynn’s face and he snuggled into her side.
At the end of the first verse, she paused. “More of this song, or another one?”
“This one,” he said with conviction. “Sudi, you sing it right.”
She tilted her head to the side—her singing voice was hardly the best he would have heard, so what else could “right” mean? “Who doesn’t sing it right?”
Warily he glanced over to the door then, apparently satisfied he wouldn’t be overheard, he said in a stage whisper, “Aunty Lily sings it fast. And she dances.”
Susannah had to hold back a laugh. Aunty Lily sounded fun. “So we don’t want a dance version?”
He frowned as if that were an obvious point.
“Right, no dance versions of Elvis. Is Aunty Lily the only one who doesn’t sing it the way you want?”
“Daddy sings them sad.”
Without meaning to, she looked at the door where she’d last seen Matthew and her heart twisted. Why would Elvis make him sad? Perhaps an Elvis song had been Matthew and Grace’s personal song? Or did he always sing sadly?
“Can you sing more?” Flynn asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Sure I can, sweetie.” She picked up the second verse, careful not to make it too fast or too sad, and her heart swelled when Flynn cuddled back into her side again.
As Matt strode down the corridor toward the anteroom, he caught a glimpse of a scene that had him slowing his steps then stilling. Susannah sat on his son’s bed, Flynn curled against her slender body as she sang to him. Her head was dipped, her long blond hair partially curtaining them both. He couldn’t hear the words, but knowing Flynn, he’d requested the Elvis songs Grace used to sing him. A chill crept across his skin.
The singing itself didn’t surprise him—Flynn was remarkably proficient at convincing people to sing to him�
��it was his son’s posture. Relaxed. Content. Trusting.
Since Grace’s death, there hadn’t been a single new person that Flynn had become affectionate with before he came to know them.
What had she said to inspire trust so quickly?
Part of him was glad that Flynn had found this ability to trust again, but another part wanted to drag Susannah away before his son became attached. The last thing that little boy needed was to lose someone else he’d come to love. The tight band that had been squeezing his chest for weeks now constricted that much more. Perhaps it had been a mistake to let her in his son’s room.
He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. He’d work out what to do about Susannah and Flynn’s relationship later. For now, he had plans to make. He went in through the side room, washing his hands to the elbows, took a fresh gown, and when he slipped into the room, he found he’d been right about Elvis—Susannah was singing “Blue Suede Shoes.” Her crystalline-blue eyes shone, her voice was sweet and she made him think of crisp, white sheets bathed in sunlight. Of stretching her out on those sheets and tasting the expanse of creamy skin he’d uncover.
Restraining a groan, he clenched his fists and forced the inappropriate thoughts from his mind. Not this woman, who his wife had envied but had understandably resented in equal measure. Nothing would betray his wife’s memory more than him desiring Susannah Parrish.
Besides, between Flynn’s hospitalization and Matt’s recently discovering that his dead father had a second family on the side—and had left stock in the family business divided amongst the legitimate and illegitimate siblings—Matt didn’t have the headspace to deal with one more thing. He needed to stay focused.
Susannah looked up and saw him but her singing didn’t falter. Flynn’s eyes were closed and when Matt crept closer, he saw his son had the deep, even breaths of sleep. He motioned to Susannah with a hand under the side of his head that Flynn was asleep then pointed to the other side of the room.
What Happens in Charleston... Page 2
