The bar was exactly what he needed tonight. Dark. Dingy. Someplace no one would ever expect to find Killian Jones. He'd been invited to many parties, all at trendy places a few miles to the west in hipper areas of Boston, but tonight he just wanted to drink around real people with real lives and real problems. Not people whose sole purpose in talking to him was to see what he could do for them. To see if any of that "Killian Jones" magic could transform their lives. It couldn't. He couldn't help anyone.
He'd turned his sorrow and skill with a guitar into a successful career, but that was it. It has brought him no happiness, and he had nothing to share with anyone else.
Most of the other patrons hadn't even looked up when he entered, and those who had didn't seem ready to hop out of their seats for autographs. Everyone in the place was there for their drink and nothing more.
Including the woman seated at the bar. He'd noticed her instantly. In a sea of dark faces and huddled conversations, her red leather jacket and shining blonde hair were a beacon calling to him. Though his initial thought in coming out tonight had only been a drink, or four, if this woman were willing to agree to more he'd happily change his plan for the evening.
He seated himself a stool away from her, so as not to put her off before he'd even had a chance to try. The bartender recognized him. He could always tell who did by the way their eyes grew ever so slightly wider before they tried to hide it. He was glad of it though, the attempt to hide it. His order was poured and he trained his attention on the TV above the bar, trying to ignore the face reflecting back at him in the mirrored backsplash over the counter. She was beautiful, but he couldn't be caught staring. Not yet.
He let the first drink seep into his bones, letting it dull the voices in his head demanding more than he was willing to give. The price of success had been steep, and so often he wasn't sure any of it was worth it.
He finished his drink just as she took the last pull of her beer, and taking the timing as an opening, he signaled the bartender.
"Another Mr. Jones?"
"Yes, thanks. And whatever the lady is having if she would like."
He tipped his glass toward her, and she nodded at the bartender.
"Gin and tonic, Emma?"
"Yeah, thanks."
She turned toward him with an inquisitive smile. It was a good sign that his advances would not be deflected. "Mr. Jones? What, do you own the place?"
Even in the low lights of the bar he was sure she could see the blush he felt spreading across his face, and he tried to stop himself from reaching for his ear, his telltale sign of embarrassment. But it was too late. If she were one of the woman at any of the parties he had been invited to, he would have felt much more sure of his approach. But here, in what he considered the real world, every bit of social awkwardness from his teenage years came back. Years before he could cover his loss with a song and smooth words. Years before puberty had been kind.
As he scratched at his neck hoping he would come off more smooth than flustered, he did his best to explain without too much fanfare.
"Ah, well, I'm a bit famous. And some people tend to be a little, well, proper with me. Hence the Mr. But you can call me Killian." The last bit was said with a wink as though it were a challenge.
She swiveled her chair toward him and leaned in, and he was completely gobsmacked by her. "And you," she said, lifting her glass in a toast, "can call me Emma."
His hotel wasn't too far, but with his absolute need for this woman, and the chill in the air, he called a car hoping it would be faster. He could barely restrain himself as they waited, and she wasn't making it easy.
He'd known earlier at the bar, as her hand slid its way up his thigh, that he was in trouble. Even then it took everything in him not to pull her into the dark hallway and make quick work of ensuring they were both satisfied. But that wouldn't be enough, and when she suggested they retire to someplace else for the evening, he threw money at the counter and pulled her through the door as though he would burst.
At least once within the confines of the car he felt comfortable enough to pull her into him and explore her. He noted as her breathing grew more rapid, making note of exactly what affected her as his hands continued to wander, but he stopped before moving to where he hoped she wanted him most.
"Asshole." She whispered in his ear, as one hand moved back down toward her knees and the other pulled her in closer to his side.
He threw his head back in a deep laugh.
"Oh, don't worry Emma. I just prefer to keep the noises you were making all to myself. That was certainly not the end. In fact, that was just a preview."
"Good." Was all she said, as her hand found its way into his lap. Emma's mouth on his was his only saving grace at keeping his moans to himself, as she worked him through his jeans, in what he could hope was just a preview as well.
The light streamed in through the window cruelly rousing him from his dream. He sighed at the small reminders than he was waking in a bed that was not his own. Such was his life, almost never two nights in the same place, alone so much more often than not. No matter what he did, he could never make life on the road feel like anything more than a life on hold.
At least this trip wasn't a tour, and his day was his to do with as he wanted. And he wanted nothing more to spend it with Emma. The woman from the previous night had turned into so much more than just a warm body to share his bed.
The passion from the car had not dissipated once they entered his room, and he couldn't remember when he had last felt so fully satisfied with a one night stand, and it hadn't been just the sex.
Sweaty and with her hair in complete disarray, Emma began dressing to leave almost as soon as her breathing had returned to normal. He had to do something to keep her there, hoping a round two, or three could be in store.
"Stay, love. I assure you, there can be a second act."
She smiled in return.
"Thanks, but I'm starving, and I really should get back to my place."
"Does your place have 24 hour room service?" As soon as he heard the word starving he was across the room, menu in hand. "I've stayed here before and they do up an amazing wood fired pizza. Or I'm sure they even have gluten free options if that's your preference."
He would have liked to think it was the sight of him naked that enticed her to stay, as he had made no effort to dress, but the way her eyes darted towards the menu made him question himself.
"What I'm really dying for is a burger."
He turned to the phone to hopefully hide the smile on his face, and called in the order, and he heard her turn on the TV behind him. This was his usual hotel routine. Room service. Bad TV. Only this time, he had someone to share it with.
When he got off the phone, he settled into the bed next to her, close, but not touching. Not 5 minutes earlier she'd been ready to walk out the door. He wanted to give her the chance to warm up to him. He wanted her to be there without lust as the driver.
"Magnum P.I.?" Late night television viewing choices were limited, especially on hotel cable TV, but he wasn't expecting this.
"I've always liked it. I watched a lot of TV growing up, but I wasn't ever really the one in charge of the channel. This was always something that I did like whenever it was on. Maybe it's why I became a detective."
He knew she worked for the Boston police department, but other than the barest of details, they hadn't traded life stories. Earlier in the evening, when he'd pried her profession out of her, he responded with a blatant innuendo about something in his pocket he would like her to investigate. It was no longer the time for such talk.
"Ah, same. TV was my second best friend growing up. It was one of the only constants." It was more than he would usually admit to anyone, but with Emma, he would have told her anything she wanted to know.
The night faded into conversation and as he fell asleep, their bodies tangled in each other, he for once felt like there was hope that there could be more to his life than writing songs to be the soundtrack for other people's lives.
He stretched and started to slowly open his eyes to the harsh light, the thought of Emma within arm's reach was immediate balm to his soul.
But she was gone. He should have remembered her instinct to run the night before and not allowed himself to hope. Now all that was left, was the vacant space where the dream had begun to grow.
Another night. Another city. Another woman. Still an empty life.
Thumbing through the notifications on his phone was always painful. Questions. Fighting fans. People who loved to hate him.
But he'd been told by management and his agent under no uncertain terms that not maintaining Instagram and at the very least Twitter, was out of the question. Occasionally he'd see a notification from an old friend, or a band he'd played with long ago, and like a photo, or follow back.
Today's surprise was a notification of a photo he'd been tagged in. He almost never looked at those, as they were fan edits, or things that really had nothing to do with him. But it was the account name that called to him. "Emmafromthatonenight." It could be any Emma. "That one night" could mean anything, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but he clicked on the photo and was met with a tiny face.
Of a little boy.
With dark hair, fair skin, and blue eyes so like his own, he'd swear he was looking at a photo of himself as an infant.
The photos on the account went back a month. Only the first one was captioned. It was a newborn laid across his mother's chest, clearly moments old. He couldn't see her, but the blonde hair draped over her shoulder, leading to the face that was just out of view was enough to let him know it was her.
I don't know if you'll ever see this, but I thought I'd try. We don't need anything. We're fine. We don't want anything. This is in case you want to know.
Of fucking bloody course he wanted to know. He had a child. His flesh and blood. And while the photos showed a boy who was obviously well cared for, that wasn't enough.
Every day of his childhood had been a struggle, regardless of how hard his older brother, Liam, tried to shield him from the truths of life. His mother's early death and the abandonment by their father soon after left them both to grow up too quickly. Liam was ill-equipped to provide for a boy only a few years younger than himself, and Killian found himself in and out of foster care until Liam's life was more stable.
No matter what Emma said, no matter how well she could provide for him, his son needed to know that he had a father. A father who would do anything for him. And had not willingly left him. It was shocking to him how quickly the boy in the photos had taken ahold of him. If he knew where Emma lived, or how to get ahold of her, he would be on a plane already.
But all he had was the Instagram account. He had been thinking of her since that night in Boston. Their night had stuck with him. And now he knew it was fate.
He had never been careless with women. Not with their emotions, and certainly not with anyone's safety. They'd used condoms that night, he was sure of it. But after 10 months of thinking of her, here she was back in his life, thanks to the boy on the screen.
He took screen caps of all of the photos on the page so that he had them saved and could scroll through them whenever. Hitting follow would be dangerous. His fans tracked his online movements, and every photo he liked, every account he followed, was subsequently hit with several hundred more followers. He couldn't do that to her without a warning, and he didn't want the world knowing about his son. The only thing he could do for now is send a direct message and wait for her to see it.
Emma, he's beautiful. Which I suppose is an odd thing to say when all I see in him is myself. Why didn't you tell me sooner, love. I would have been there. I wish I had been there. Please tell me what you need. I have to know you're both alright. When can I see him?
Please, for your sake, make your account private. The second I hit follow you'll be swamped with people wanting to see your photos, and I want to make sure we do whatever necessary to maintain your privacy.
What's his name?
He sat waiting, watching his phone for any indication there was a reply.
A full day passed. Nearly twenty four hours after first finding the account, he clicked on it for what must have been the thousandth time, and this time he was locked out. Finally he knew that Emma had seen his message. He requested to follow, but his heart sank at the realization that he'd had no notification of a direct message. There was nothing in his inbox. Nothing from Emma at least. There were lots of messages that he spent time cleaning out, all from fans with the same messages usually found on the photos. We love you. Come to our city. I hate you. You suck. Again, all he could do is wait. And hope.
Now without access to her account at all, he went back to his camera roll, grateful he'd saved the photos. The tiny fingers. The wisps of hair. Was he too big, or too small? Desperation brought him to Amazon, and soon there were a half-dozen books on infants and child rearing on their way to him.
Finally a notification came through. "Emmafromthatonenight" has accepted your request to follow. He lunged for his phone, and went straight to her account.
There were four new pictures. The boy yawning. Another of him asleep. One of him in her arms, and a video of him cooing softly. He wanted to cry. William. The caption just said "William."
There was no way she could have know it was his brother's name. He'd always been able to keep his brother out of any personal information shared. For all that the public knew, he was raised in a foster home, and had gone on to college on a music scholarship. Nothing more. There was no need for his tragedy to become fodder for gossip magazines, only to be dragged out every time he had a new record. They could find something else to discuss. Liam's death was his private sorrow, not to be shared with the world.
But that out of all names, she chose William. It was fate again.
It was a week before he convinced her to move to text messaging.
"Love, please. Instagram is impossible. I get more notifications than you can understand, and so I'm constantly staring at my phone hoping I don't miss one from you. Please, just text me photos. You have my number."
She had refused to give him her number. He didn't even know her last name. He could have started searching out Emmas who worked as detectives in the police department, but that may have raised some eyebrows and he was still intent on maintaining privacy. There was a limit to his patience though.
William was his son and while nothing had been settled legally, he had a right to more than just a daily photo update.
At least once they moved to text it allowed for more of an open dialogue. He knew enough of her to imagine the expression on her face every time he texted a photo of something he was just sure his son needed.
"Killian, I have a bouncy seat already. How do you think I take a shower?"
One part of his brain immediately went to how he would have answered that question the night he met, but he didn't think that answer would get him an introduction to his son.
And so it continued. He tried to buy them things. She refused. It was as though she was determined to show the world that there was nothing she couldn't do alone. He admired her tenacity, while cursing it at the same time.
"Emma, what if I wanted to send something to William that was my own? You can't tell me you'd deny our son a hand-me-down." He waited as he saw the three dots appear, and disappear several times before he had his answer.
"Oh fine. But you can't buy us anything. Promise me, Killian."
"I swear, Emma."
Finally he had a last name and address. And her trust. He wasn't going to show up at her doorstep just yet. Even to himself he hadn't given her a deadline. He would become a part of their lives whether Emma liked it or not. But he knew Emma. He would prefer she liked it.
Giving up Greg would be painful, and if he were being honest with himself, he hoped he could shortly reclaim the battered brown bear. Maybe William wouldn't take to him, or already had developed an affinity to another piece of stuffed fur and this could be symbolic. But he knew he had to do it. There was more at stake than a stuffed animal.
Son,
My deepest wish is that by the time you're old enough to read this letter, you'll already know the story. I hope that you've grown up with me as a part of your life, being able to tell you everyday how loved you are. But if that's not the case, please know that it was never my intention to be absent from your life.
What you're holding is my dearest possession, Greg the Bear. Greg has been by my side through every rough point in my life, and there to share every joy as well. I know it will seem odd for a grown man to care so much about a bear, but when he's the only reminder of something you love so deeply, you hold tight.
Greg was given to me by my brother, Liam. William, actually, but your mother didn't know. He was the best brother a man could ever know. He has been everything to me, even after he was gone.
You see, our mother died when I was just days old, leaving us in the care of our father. Two young boys were more than he could handle, and he left us after just a few years. When we were younger, the system tried very hard to ensure we were placed together, but no place lasted. We moved from house to house to house, never staying anywhere for very long.
I know you will never know what it is like to endure that kind of life. Your mother and I will never allow that to happen. You will never know that when you are unwanted, you only ever receive the necessities of life. Clothes were always cast offs and toys were never ours to keep. Until Liam came across some money one day. I was seven years old. He was fourteen. There were a lot of things a fourteen year old would have loved to buy for himself, but as I've said, he was the best man. It was more important for his younger (little he would say) brother to have something of his own. And he spent every cent buying me a bear of my own.
Liam died much too young. Too young for me to come to terms with losing the only family I had and certainly too young to have lived the life he deserved. I've always liked to have Greg by my side, watching over me, proof he loved me.
But now it's more important for me to pass Greg on to you. Proof you are loved. Proof that you have a father who wants nothing more than to be your dad.
Please cherish this bear as much as I have. As much as I cherish you.
Your father.
He tucked the letter into the envelope, but didn't seal it. Every word of it was meant for William to read someday. Every word of it was true. But he hoped that Emma might be tempted to take a look herself. He wanted her to know why it was necessary for him to be a part of his boy's life. With one last hug to his bear, and a sincere wish they wouldn't be parted for long, he sealed up the box.
The photo she sent of William with Greg tucked in next to him became his new lock screen. If he couldn't be there with them, at least they were always with him.
It was late afternoon, and in his mind nothing could have been more perfect. Blue sky with wisps of white clouds, doing no more than providing intermittent shade to the children as they rode their bikes down the sidewalk. Crisp fall air had taken a chill off of the day's earlier heat. It could have been frigid and raining and he still would have thought the day the most perfect. Emma had finally agreed to a meeting. He'd been nothing but patient for the past month, knowing that she didn't truly know him, and had no reason to trust him. But his patience was wearing thin. He didn't want to resort to lawyers. There would be no way to keep it out of the tabloids once it reached that level. So he rejoiced at Emma's message that week indicating she was ready. It took an iron will to not get on the train to Boston immediately and await further instructions.
It all started a week earlier. She had posted a 30 second video of the boy asleep on her chest, and for once it was Emma's face that captured his attention first. There were deep circles under her eyes, and if he had to guess, she'd been crying not too long ago. The clip was meant to show the boy's lips as he worked away at finding his thumb, and finally captured the digit with a sigh, but it was Emma he concentrated on. He could tell she was near collapse. If this video was any cry for help, he wanted her to again know that he was there.
"You don't have to do it alone, love. I don't want you to have to do it alone. Please let me be there."
"I'm fine. We're fine. I promise. it's just been a long week and he hasn't been sleeping. I'm sure it's a phase and he'll get back to a pattern soon."
"And if he doesn't?"
"You'll be the first person I call. Promise."
It was the first time she ever indicated that there was a chance for him. If his son had to not sleep for a week in order to get him in the door, he'd selfishly pray for that. But two days later Emma posted a photo of the boy asleep in his crib, Greg clutched in his elbow, thumb in mouth, and captioned "never happier."
He wasn't sure if she meant the boy or herself, but when his phone lit up a few minutes later with a text from her, it could have applied to himself as well.
"Maybe you should meet him."
The text sent him jumping off the couch in excitement before he could even respond.
"You know I want nothing more. Please, don't toy with me."
She hadn't been joking. It would have been cruel if she had. She agreed that he could meet them on Saturday and figured it would be best if he came over to her apartment, rather than risk being seen in public.
"He's asleep just now." She said as she answered the door, but had the boy held close to her chest, and was able to pass him over.
A month after finding out he was father, he finally got to hold his boy in his arms. His heart clenched as he felt William squirm slightly at the change in position, and for the first time he worried about whether or not the boy would take to him. So much of his time had been spent thinking of whether or not he'd ever meet the child, he hadn't stopped to think of what could go wrong.
His concern must have been evident, because he heard Emma reassure him instantly.
"Look, you're a natural."
"I can't believe I'm finally holding him. I thought that would never happen." He wanted to be embarrassed at the tears streaming down his face, but couldn't be. There was one perfect thing in his life, and now that he'd met the boy, he couldn't ever imagine letting go.
He truly hadn't meant to admonish Emma. Bringing up her unwillingness to let him see his son was surely no way to gain further access.
She guided him to the sofa, showing him how to turn the boy and cradle him so he could look at his face. He knew it by heart. Every photo she had sent was seared into his memory. But it was different, watching William grimace as he tried to adjust the boy into a comfortable hold.
He found every expression mesmerizing, wondering what was on the boy's mind, and he could have sat like this all day. Emma offered him something to drink, and he didn't remember answering until he saw her set a glass of water in front of him on the table.
"He's perfect, Emma. Truly perfect."
"I think so. Maybe not when he's screaming at three in the morning. But then he falls asleep again and I think he's pretty great."
As if he knew he was being maligned, the small bundle in Killian's arms started to squirm, the earlier sighs and snores turned to faint cries, and for the first time he opened his eyes. No photo had captured their color, but Killian wasn't surprised. It was the same piercing blue he saw every day in the mirror. But more on his mind at the moment was the increasing decibel at which his son was voicing his displeasure with the world.
"Let me take him. He probably needs a fresh diaper. Come here, kid. I've got you." She took the boy from his arms, and while William was only two months old, it was clear Emma was a natural. His instinct was to follow her when she disappeared through a doorway in an alcove, but didn't want to push any boundaries. This was her home, and he had been invited to meet his son, not pry into their lives.
The cries had quieted and Killian used the time to take a look about the living room. From every indication, Emma wasn't lying when she said they were taken care of. The apartment was spacious, and while not overly decorated, it was clear that William would want for nothing. There was a swing that he knew from his research William wouldn't be ready for for at least another month, a pop-up crib, a foam seat, books, toys, and more.
No matter what, even if Emma had never told him about William, the boy would have everything. And that brought him a certain amount of peace. He wasn't looking to shirk any responsibility, not in any way. But it was satisfying to know that his son would be provided for by a mother who cared. He smiled further when he saw her walk back into the room, placing a kiss on the boy's head.
"Sorry we took so long. He was hungry and I figured I would feed him while we had a chance. Just like any growing boy he's much happier on a full stomach, aren't you, William?" She tickled his belly and smiled, and he smiled back. "He's too young to laugh," she said to Killian, still focused on William, "But we'll get there, won't we?"
His heart swelled watching Emma interact with him like that. Not only was William taken care of. He was loved. More than anything that was his wish for his boy.
"William, this is your father." She turned him toward Killian, fully ready to deposit the boy back into his arms. There was a bit of a protest: he wasn't ready quite yet to be given over to a complete stranger. But Emma kept talking to him, and her voice soothed the transition. "Oh, William. Be nice. He's your dad. Come on, now."
Finally he was back in his arms, fully awake, and taking in the sight of this stranger. It was a bit weird for Killian, to be observed this way. His own wide eyes looking right back at him, occasionally glancing back to Emma for reassurance.
"Go on, talk to him. He's your kid."
She was right. This was what he was there for after all.
"Hello, William. Well, like your mother said, I'm your father. Bit late here, but better now than never, right lad? Suppose I should tell you a bit about myself." Initially as he spoke, William simply stared, taking him in, but eventually the boy placed his head on his chest, and worked his thumb into his mouth, letting out a sigh. He looked over at Emma, and she was beaming.
"I think he's decided you're okay."
He wanted to ask, "And you? What have you decided?" But stopped himself. He'd been there less than an hour. It wasn't the time to press her regarding visitation rights.
He was amazed when two hours had passed and they'd done nothing more than sit on the couch and talk, occasionally shifting William between them, tickling his feet, talking to him and talking to each other. It had grown dark, and he knew he should mention getting back to his hotel, letting them get on with their evening, but he didn't want to leave. This time was too precious.
William fussing broke the spell. Emma realized how late it was and explained it was time for him to eat leaving Killian at a loss as to how to approach seeing them next. He'd booked his hotel on an open-ended reservation, and he would stay as long as she'd allow him to come back.
It wasn't just William whose spell he was under. It was theirs. Emma and his son. This was everything he wanted for himself as a boy. A family. Here was a woman who hadn't planned on a child, and yet she loved him and was protecting him fiercely. He couldn't have asked for anything more, and all he wanted for himself was to be part of their world.
"Stay awhile," she called over her shoulder as she headed into the nursery. "You can help me give him a bath." And when a bath turned into staying for dinner. And dinner turned into holding him again as Emma cleaned up the dishes, his last thought before falling asleep holding his son on his chest, was how perfect life could be.
He awoke in a fright, simultaneously startled by the cry of his son from afar, and the sudden realization that the boy's weight was no longer pressing on his chest.
As he entered William's room, the boy quieted, confused at being greeted by the not yet familiar face. Killian lifted him from his crib and cradled the boy, hoping soothing words would calm him from any further protests.
"Shush my boy. You're alright. I've got you. I've got you." The silence was short lived as the boy started to whimper, clearly disturbed by the fact that this was not the person he was expecting. "Oh you're alright, son. None of that. Let's let your mum sleep, please, love?" He paced back and forth in William's room, hoping the gentle motion would soothe the boy back to sleep, but he would not be appeased.
Killian flipped on the lightswitch in order to find changing supplies, thinking a clean diaper would do the trick. Nothing however, would quiet the boy. A stuffed bunny, singing, his reflection. Nothing he'd read about in any book, no amount of bouncing or cooing, stopped the tears that were flowing.
He hated that he would have to wake Emma. If his presence could allow her even one interrupted night of sleep, he hoped it would show her how valuable he could be in their lives.
He didn't have to worry about waking her though. The boy had done that already. He found her entering the living room as he left the nursery with William, still trying to quiet the boy's cries.
"Sorry, Emma. I've done everything. But he won't stop crying. I'm not sure he likes me very much."
It was late, and he knew the thought was ridiculous. The boy had only just met him, and couldn't really have strong feelings one way or another. But he felt worthless, not being able to make his own son happy.
"It's two AM. Nothing you could have done would have helped. Not unless you have breasts." She reached for the boy, and sat on the couch. "He's hungry." He was in awe as she released a few of the buttons on her top and lifted the boy to her chest. Instinctively William latched on, and the cries stopped instantly. Watching as Emma fed his son, he realized it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. But he grew awkward as he realized he was staring, and didn't know what to do.
"Sit." She patted the sofa and he joined her. "Tomorrow I can make up a bottle so that you can try feeding him. He's never liked it, but we can give it another try."
He liked the idea of that. Anything that would give Emma a break and allow him time with his son. The longer they sat, the less determined William's feeding became. He had been watching over Emma's shoulder as the boy sucked at her breast, with one little hand slowly opening and closing, clutching harmlessly at a lock of her hair. When the motions stopped completely, he turned to Emma with a smile, and realized she was as sound asleep as their boy.
He tried not to wake either, knowing Emma needed every moment of rest she could get, and not sure he could quiet William if he were startled at this time. He moved the boy from her arms, and returned him to his bed taking more than a few moments to appreciate the joy of watching his son sleep.
The question of what to do with Emma came next. While he was sure this was not the first time she had fallen asleep sitting on the sofa, he knew she would be more comfortable in her own bed. He wasn't thinking of himself. He could sleep sitting in the side chair; there was no need to move her. But she was light and he was strong. As easily as he'd moved his son, he carried Emma into her room, tucking her into the blankets.
As he turned to leave, he wasn't expecting to hear her call out.
"Stay." It was quiet. Almost as though she hadn't really meant to say it. "Sorry, stay. Please?"
He didn't know what had motivated the request, but he wasn't going to deny her something so simple, and something he wanted so much for himself.
"Of course, love"
He climbed into bed careful to leave space in between them, unsure of exactly what she was looking for when she asked him to stay. As he pulled back the covers and adjusted the pillow his hand brushed against something he would know anywhere.
"Emma, love, why is my bear in your bed?"
She paused before answering, and while it dark, he felt sure she was blushing.
"Sometimes I'm tired and I just put William on the other side of the bed so that I don't have to get up all the time."
That really was not an explanation and a smile spread across his face.
"And William has grown so fond of Greg that he needs his bear in here with him when he sleeps."
"Yes." It was muffled, almost as though she were answering into her pillow.
"But he doesn't need Greg when sleeping in his own bed?"
"FINE. I was sleeping with your stupid bear. Are you happy now?"
He laughed loud, before worrying he could wake his son and then pretended to cover the bear's ears.
"Shhhhh, Greg. I'm sure she didn't mean to call you stupid. She'll apologize someday. I'll be sure of it." Emma made a move to pull the bear away from him, but he was too fast and held tight. "I gave this bear to our son. If William doesn't want him, I'm just going to have to take him home with me."
"NO!"
"What's this, Greg? I think Emma likes you. I should have come in and had a little chat with you as soon as I got here. I'm sure you've got all her secrets by now, don't you?"
Emma was in a huff on the other half of the bed, as he continued his conversation with Greg. It was the middle of the night and he knew he was being ridiculous, but at the same time, there was something about the bear that had gotten to Emma, and he wanted to find out more.
"I like him okay. He felt loved."
"Well, he is that, love." He pulled the bear into his chest for a hug, as he'd done almost as long as he could remember. "You read the letter? I haven't had the happiest of lives. This bear was a piece of joy for me."
"I didn't either." Her statement was quiet. Matter-of-fact. "But I didn't have a bear. I was a foster kid, too. I know about toys not being your own. William's not going to have that. He's going to have everything."
There it was. Maybe he should have realized earlier. The reason that everything about Emma just felt so right. He could feel in her the understanding for everything that had come before. She'd been a kindred spirit. But fate brought them together to give them the family they had never had, but so absolutely deserved.
He silently handed her Greg, and pulled her into his arms. "Yes, love. He's going to have everything." He couldn't be sure what Emma meant by that, but he knew it meant two parents who loved and cherished him and would do anything to protect him.
When he finally felt Emma relax her head against his chest, he felt home. It was too soon to tell her. But he knew. With her by his side and with his son safely in the next room, he fell asleep knowing this night was just the first of the rest of his life.
He awoke, as he so often did, with the sunlight streaming in on a bed that was not his own. But this time Emma was wrapped in his arms, and she must have woken at some point in the night because William took up the other side of the bed. The boy must have been dreaming; the tiny little grunts were adorable. Selfishly, he reached across Emma and the pillows she'd set up to barricade him and picked William up, returning to his place on the bed.
"He's perfect, isn't he?"
"Truly, yes love."
The both lay silent, focused on their son, but deep in thought.
"I can't ever let him get hurt."
He heard her words but understood her meaning. Her confession last night, the admission that she had been a foster child, but never had her own bear, spoke volumes. She'd never been adopted and never been with a family who truly cared. She couldn't let herself get hurt.
"Emma, William is the most important thing in my life. I will do any to make his life better. I could never hurt him. Or you. Please give me time to prove that to you both."
Emma was quiet, not answering and concentrating on running her fingers through William's hair as he slept. But he felt the bed shift, and Emma propped herself up on her elbow and looked him in the eyes.
"I wanted to stay. That morning in the hotel, I wanted to stay. But that scared me so I ran."
He nodded in understanding, that instinct to protect yourself when everyone else has let you down. "And now it's not just me. It's us." He understood that too. Liam would protect him from everything. Even when it meant sacrificing something for himself. "But you want to be here. And you won't hurt him." He shook his head.
"I'm here Emma. I'm in this for the long haul. For both of you." She nodded. "And for the record, I wanted you to stay." She nodded again, and a small smile crossed her face.
He didn't know who made the first move. She leaned down at the same time his hand reached up to cradle her head, and their lips met for the first time since that fateful night.
They barely had time to enjoy it before the bundle on his chest protested in a loud shriek.
Emma laughed before taking William. "Welcome to parenthood, Killian."
Emma had let out the longest and most profane series of obscenities he'd ever heard. It would have put even the most seasoned sailors to shame.
"You kiss my son with that mouth?" he teased, hoping to distract her.
"Yes, but I'm never kissing you again if this is where it leads." The contraction passed and he breathed in and out slowly as he'd been coached to do, hoping she'd take his cue. He laughed, glad she still had her sense of humor. The pregnancy had mostly been easy, but there were nights the hormones took their toll.
She squeezed his hand lightly as though it were an apology for the death grip she previously had on it. "Still upset you missed all this the first time?"
He had worried she would bring this up. Of course they had their fights. Every couple did. And at his worst, he'd thrown it back at her that he missed the birth of his son. That she robbed him of a moment he could never get back.
"Love, I'm upset I couldn't be there for you." There was more to it than that, of course, but as he watched her in pain, pushing through in order to bring new life into the world, he knew it was no time to discuss it.
Any resentment he had ever felt was all forgotten when the nurse placed the wrinkled, pink, screaming newborn into his arms for the first time as Emma looked on, almost too tired to smile. It was more than he could handle without crying, but didn't want to even lift one hand from the child to brush away the tears so he let them fall.
Emma reached up from the bed and wiped the tears away and he lay his cheek in her palm.
He still believed it was fate. Fate that brought him to that bar. And fate that led Emmafromthatonenight to become everything. The mother of his children. The love of his life. Emma of every night.