My eyebrows shot up, taking half my face with them. In the dead of night with the yellow light from my torch to guide me, I could see the little boy had dark hair, and dark eyes like Rami’s.
Holy…I searched my brain for memories of him mentioning a child, but there were none. Never. I’d had no damn clue.
Stunned into silence, I took hold of his arm again, relieving him of the bag he’d slung over his shoulder, and guided him away from the stricken car. He didn’t lock it, and I didn’t correct him. It wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was he any time soon.
The thought alone was enough to send my head spinning. Whisky haze forgotten, I steered him through the gate his half-buried car was blocking, past the rope swing I’d swung on as a child, and up the narrow driveway that led to my house. It was a short walk, but into the wind. My face was numb by the time we reached my front door, and I knew any questions I had would have to wait while we got the tiny boy safe and warm.
I shut the door behind us and pointed to the living room where the wood stove was lit. “There’s a guard if you’re worried about him wandering around. Bathroom down the hall if you need it. I’ll get the kettle on.”
The whisky bottle was on the kitchen counter. I took my coat, boots, and hat off, and considered offering Rami a drink of the hard stuff, then figured he probably had other things on his mind.
I boiled the kettle and made tea, remembering from the few cuppas we’d shared at work that he took his strong and rosy, just a drop of milk. Good man. I was the same, though, thanks to how brutal life on the mountain could sometimes get, I’d regressed to having a couple of sugars since my time at HMP Manchester. Manual work meant I needed the calories. The gym bunny I’d once been shuddered in horror, but I found far more joy in a mug of builder’s brew than I had tubs of protein powder, so I didn’t much care.
“It reallyisyou.”
Rami’s low voice—man, that voice—made me jump. I spun around. He was right behind me with the pyjama-clad toddler in his arms, thumb jammed in his mouth while Rami nuzzled the top of his head with his cheek. It was quite the picture and my heart stirred, warmth and longing flaring, along with the bright lights of the connection we’d once had. “How old is your son?”
“What?” It was his turn to blink in surprise.
“Your son,” I said gently. “How old is he?”
Rami held the boy tighter. “He’s not my son.”
“So what are you doing up here with him in the middle of the night?”
Rami shot me a sharp look. “Worried I stole him?”
A short laugh escaped me. “Should I be?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m hallucinating because you being in my kitchen makes no sense.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Rami drifted forward and peered at the tea I’d made, selecting the one without the sugar as if we encountered each other like this every day.
He backed up. My heart somehow followed him, but I made myself stay put. “Tell me what’s happened,” I tried again. “Make it make sense.”
Rami set his tea back on the table and tightened his arms around the sleeping boy. “This is Charlie. My nephew. I’m taking him up to my sister’s place.”
“Up?” I computed the simple words and matched them to the only woman I knew who lived anywhere remotely“up”from our current location. “You mean Safia McCade?”
“She was Safia Stone once upon a time, but yeah, that’s her.”
If I’d thought my world had turned upside down ten seconds ago,man, it had nothing on the chaos going on right now. I eyed the child again and shook my head. “He isn’t Safia’s son—oh. He’s Damon’s, isn’t he? She told me about him.”
Rami flinched. “You know my family?”
“Of course I do. They’re my only neighbours.”
Disbelief crossed Rami’s face, and I knew the feeling. The plot was thickening by the second and I suddenly longed for the whisky bottle again.
Rami shifted Charlie to his other shoulder. I studied their shared dark features and sadness washed over me. If I’d matched the right information together, then the little guy’s father—Rami’s brother—was dead.
“I’m sorry, dude,” I said quietly.
Rami shrugged. “It was a long time coming.”
“How so?”