Page 89 of The Celtic Resolution

“You can’t talk.” Saoirse smirks slightly. “You were in prison for years.”

“And look at the mess I caused when I got out.”

“It’s not all a mess.” Her thumb strokes over the top of my knuckles. “You have a baby now.”

“Do I?”

She frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, after everything, do you even want me around him?”

“Bruno…” Saoirse shakes her head. “How I feel is… complicated. I’m jumping at shadows. I can’t lock the door because I’m scared it will never open. I’m texting Cian constantly because I’m worried he’ll vanish. But… These past few days when I’ve come in here to sit with you hoping you would wake up, all I could think was that we never got a chance. Not a real chance. We were sneaking about and struggling against shit we didn’t even know was there until it was too late. And the baby… I ignored it for so long and then was so angry that I didn’t tell you. Maybe if I did, things would have been different.”

She pauses and her nose wrinkles slightly.

“My point is… we never had a chance to be us. We hurt each other badly. We’ve fought and injured and cursed each other out. But we’re still here and we still have a baby together. And I still… like you.”

“Liar,” I murmur with a soft smile as her words paint a better future than I ever could have hoped for. “Youloveme.”

Saoirse’s eyes snap to mine as pink warms her cheeks. “You… you heard that, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Maybe I was just saying that because you said it first.”

“I was dying. I have an excuse.”

Her eyes narrow. “So you didn’t mean it?”

“No,” I say as I turn my hand to take her hand in mine. “I definitely meant it. I just never dared to hope that you have any good feelings left for me.”

“I do.” She threads her fingers through mine. “I’m not saying it will be easy. Maybe it won’t work. Maybe there’s too much bad blood, but… I’m open to trying.”

“Me too.”

Her smile widens and her next sigh is one of satisfaction. “Good.”

It takes a few more days before the doctor permits me to visit my baby. There are some rumbling concerns about my strength, but there’s no motivation quite like the primal urge to meet your baby. So, by the end of the week, I’m able to pull myself into a wheelchair and Saoirse brings me to see our baby boy.

He’s scarily small. Seeing him in an incubator is pretty terrifying with how tiny he is and for a long while, I’m too scared to bring myself any closer.

“Come on,” Saoirse says with a smile, motioning me with her hand as she sits by his side. “Come and say hi.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I know. I was scared too. But I promise you that you won’t.”

Hard to believe when my very presence seems to be the catalyst for disaster, but I choose to put my trust in her. Wheeling closer, I bring myself as close as I dare and study every inch of his tiny body.

He’s real.

A real person.

My baby.

Myson.

“Wow,” I breathe out slowly. “He’s perfect.”