Blake continued, his voice rough.
“I don’t know how to be their father yet. You know their favorite foods. Their nightmares. Which one lies about brushing his teeth. Which one needs the dinosaur before bed.”
“Eli,” Julian answered automatically.
Blake’s lips trembled.
“Eli,” he repeated.
The grief in his voice made my chest ache.
Julian looked away first. “They’re slow to trust,” he said.
“So am I,” I replied.
Both men turned to look at me.
I was exhausted from being at the center of everyone else’s decisions.
“I will decide when and how they learn who Blake is. Not Blake. Not Julian. Not Vanessa. Not a court. Me.”
Blake nodded.
Julian nodded.
For once, nobody argued.
The following morning, the first article appeared online.
¿LOS HEREDEROS DE HARRINGTON SE ESCONDEN EN CHICAGO?
I stared at the headline until the words began to blur.
A photograph of me outside O’Hare accompanied the article.
