Page 46 of Before Broken Vows

What does he look like? Does he have my eyes? My chin? How old is he?

I don't know anything.

All I know is that there's someone out there who carries half of my blood, and I didn't even know he was alive.

Jesus. I've missed everything. First steps. First words. Birthdays. Everything.

She took that from me.

But did she? My father knew. My own father threatened her, forced her away. Made her believe I wouldn't choose her—choose them—over unspoken family arrangements. Family business.

Would I have?

"Goddamnit!" I slam my fist into the dashboard this time. Pain shoots up my arm, but it doesn't come close to touching the agony inside.

I think of all the ways I looked for her. The money spent. The leads that went nowhere. The nights I drank myself numb trying to forget her face.

And all along, she was raising my child. Alone.

Because my father decided.

I go back and forth, my mind unable to make up if she stole him from me or my father did.

No matter what, he carries some of this.

He destroyed everything. Took away the only woman I've ever loved. Denied me my son.

And for what? The family? The business? Some fucking alliance?

For years, I've helped carry this family. Done his bidding without questions. Fuck, I'm out here trying to avenge his death.

And all along, he'd already betrayed me worse than anyone.

I lean back in the seat, rubbing my forehead as if it will wipe away my swirling thoughts.

"I should never have let her in," I say to the empty car. "I should've known better."

And yet, if I hadn't, would I ever have known? Would I have lived my entire life without knowing I had a son out there?

An image forms in my mind: a little boy with my eyes. Maybe with her smile. Walking. Talking. Growing up without me.

What's his name?

The question circles back, lodging itself like a bullet in my chest.

I close my eyes and see Stassi the day we met. The way she looked at me across my crowded Athens bar making a tongue-in-cheek joke about the napkins.

With her, I thought I knew who I was then. The strategist. The middle brother. My father's most loyal son.

Now, I feel reduced to a father who's never held his child.

I still can't believe she left with my son still inside her.

She let me grieve her. Hate her. Miss her.

And all this time, she was protecting something I didn't even know I'd lost.

She could've told me.