Eight Years Ago

Their faces were all over the news. I think I always knew, deep down, that the MacManus brothers were the Saints. I just didn't want to accept it. I perched on the edge of my chair, eyes wide as I watched the recorded coverage outlining exactly what they'd done. How did they get in so deep? I thought I knew them, knew him. It turns out I didn't know them at all. A lot of people called them heroes. Said they were cleaning up the streets of Boston. I could understand that.

But I didn't like it.

The cool plastic of the remote rested against my lips as I stared on in horror. That mob boss had been a bad man, but that didn't mean he deserved to die.

A harried knock sounded at the door. I set the remote down on the coffee table in front of me. "Just a minute!" I called. I had very few visitors these days. No doubt it was someone selling something. I tucked my robe around my small form more tightly, tying the sash at my waist tight. I shook my hair out of the towel holding it back, rubbing the moisture out of it. I smoothed it down with my fingers. The knock came again, louder. "Okay! I'm comin'." I crossed to the door and unlatched the chain and then unlocked the deadbolt. Before I could even open the door after unlocking the knob, it was flying open and a tall person darted into the apartment. "Hey!" I took a step back, my pulse beginning to race in my ears.
"Charlie," he breathed, his back against the door as he looked at me. His clothes were dirty; his breath was coming in short spurts.

"Connor?! What the hell are you doing here?" He secured the lock on the door and took a broad step toward me. I stepped backwards, bumping into the couch in my living room.

"Be quiet," he said, putting his hands up as a sign of peace. My brow furrowed.

"Be quiet? You're joking, right? You bang into my apartment and then tell me to be quiet?" Connor's eyes were dark as he took another step in my direction.

"I needed to talk to you."

"Six months, and now you wanna talk?"

He nodded. "Will you…sit down at least?"

My body was rigid as I did what he asked, perching again on the edge of my chair, in case I needed to make a run for it. I didn't think Connor would hurt me, but then again I didn't think Connor would ever become a killer. "I'm sorry for just barging in…" He ran a hand nervously through his hair and paced the floor of my living room, before stopping before me and kneeling on the floor. "I should have done this a long time ago." He rifled in his pocket for a moment before he held his hand out to me, a ring held between his thumb and forefinger. "Marry me, Charlie."

I stared at him, dumbfounded by his words. My brow furrowed, I stood up and crossed the room. "Six months ago, you walked out of this apartment, telling me that I was crazy for wanting there to be an us. And now…you're here—" I turned sharply to face him. "—proposing to me. After you just murdered a man in public?"

Connor stood, turning slowly to face me. Regret flashed through his eyes. "I've done a lot of dumb things, Char. The dumbest of all was walking away from you." The Irish lilt to his voice sent my heart pounding in my chest. I'd loved him, fiercely. Here in Boston, he was stuck in a dead-end job. I wanted to move to New York. Start fresh. Be together. All he wanted to do was drink with his friends and barely make ends meet. He stepped toward me, his gait purposeful and slow. "When I think about what makes me happy in life, it isn't the drinking or the killing, it's you." He reached out, taking one of my hands in his own. His hands are warm and calloused, just as I remember, from the hard days working in the factory. Those hands have always been purposeful and tender when he used them on me. Those were the hands I imagined holding our future children, the hands I imagined would keep me close every day for the rest of our lives.

"Why now?" My mind went through the trail of bodies he and his brother had left behind the last several weeks. Had the killing changed him? Was he even the man I loved anymore? He tipped my chin up to look at me. His sea blue eyes implored me, begging me to give in.

"Because it's too late for yesterday." He wrapped an arm gently around my waist and leaned close to me. Even though his clothes were a mess, I could tell he'd tried to clean up before coming here. Connor MacManus had never been very good in the romance department. But, God, he knew the right things to say to me.

"And if I've moved on?" I questioned breathlessly.

"Then I'll kill the man who thinks he has a right to lay a hand on you."

He kissed me then, pressing me between the hard wall at my back and his toned body at my front. I remembered the day he left. He came to my apartment for the weekend. We spent hours together, doing everything and nothing at the same time. On Sunday evening, as we were settling into bed for the night, I asked him the one question any woman who loved a man as much as I loved him would wonder: are we going to get married? He didn't even hesitate. He just flew off the handle at me, telling me it was a stupid idea to get married, that I was crazy to want that.

Connor deepened the kiss, his hands trailing down to the hem of my robe. I flattened my hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. "Do you really mean it?" I asked. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath. His mouth hung open.

"Of course." He reached into his pocket once more, pulling the ring I'd barely looked at out. He slid it onto my finger. It sparkled in the fading light of my apartment. Connor covered my hand with his own, gripping my fingers. "It was my mother's."

It was beautiful. Not something one would call traditional. It had a simple gold band with a small cushion cut sapphire. There were small diamonds surrounding it. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. He moved forward once more, his lips crushing against mine in a bruising kiss. Much as I remembered our fight that day, I also remembered the times when we were like this, just the two of us. We never even needed to leave the apartment. After three years, the fire in him still hadn't died out. I felt his hands at my waist, at my back, at my shoulders. He untied the sash of my bathrobe and slid the fabric from my shoulders, baring me to the cool air of the apartment. I gasped as ripples of gooseflesh popped up on my skin.

Connor's mouth broke away from mine, trailing kisses from my mouth, across my cheek, to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. He ran his tongue over my earlobe, using his teeth to nibble gently on the delicate skin there. My hands dug into his back as fire erupted, hot in my belly. I took fistfuls of his shirt and yanked it over his head, needing to feel his skin against my own. Connor hooked his hands beneath my legs, pulling me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his desire pressing deliciously back against me. My mouth found his.

This was like riding a bike. A sexy, rock hard bike, but a bike nonetheless.

He carried me to the small dining room table and set me down, allowing his mouth to go back to work. The kisses trailed lower, down my neck, across my collarbone. I ran a hand through his hair, cradling him against me. He flicked his tongue across my nipple, and I bit my lip to keep from moaning out loud. Connor brought his mouth back to mine. "Don't stifle it," he whispered, giving me that mischievous grin of his. "I want you to tell me exactly how you feel." I smirked at him, pulling him to me for a hard kiss. He broke away once more, using his hands to lay me back on the table. His lips and tongue trailed between my breasts, dipping in my belly button, before his hands gripped at my thighs, spreading them apart. He ran the tip of his finger between my folds. My entire body shuddered at the contact.

It had been so long. It had been too long. He pushed his finger inside of me, and I let out a loud gasp. His eyes flicked up to look at me; his lips curled into a smile. Part of me had hoped he would just go for it; I needed to feel him inside of me. But that devious smile on his face told me that he intended on taking his time. On teasing me and making me beg him for more.

For Connor MacManus, I would whimper like a bitch and be glad for it.

I watched his muscles shift as he leaned over me on the table, his hand stroking my sweetest parts. He kissed me, long and slow, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across my clitoris. My body shuddered again, not used to the sweet contact. Connor kissed me. My arms wrapped around his neck to keep him there as he pressed two fingers inside of me. I moaned into his mouth, unable to hold it back even if I wanted to. "You're all ready for me, I see," he said, coming up for air. "You'll have to wait a little longer, Anam Cara." Soulmate. I remember the first time he called me that. I thought he'd forgotten the promises he made to me, the way he made me feel. I bucked my hips against his hand, begging without words.

We could take our time later, what I really wanted was him. Now.

"Shhh, it'll be worth it," He smiled and kissed me again, the strokes of his fingers quickening. That feeling in the pit of my stomach was growing. I wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. Didn't he understand that?

Connor pulled his hand from between my legs. I whimpered displeasure, but didn't have too long to stew on it, because his mouth replaced his hands. And he wasn't being gentle, either. His tongue flicked the sensitive bud, forcing sounds out of me that even I hadn't heard in months. He always knew how to pleasure a woman. My hips bucked up off of the table. I couldn't hold on. My thighs clamped around his head as fire erupted beneath my skin, spreading from between my legs to my extremities. He slowed his pace, using his tongue in low, gentle strokes.

My chest heaved as he pulled back, coming up for air. My toes were tingling, and I'm pretty sure my legs had gone numb. Connor ran his hands up the sides of my thighs, over my hips and sides. Though I was still recovering from the orgasm, I could feel the desire building once more in my gut. He pulled me up to sit on the edge of the table once more. I tasted myself on his tongue as he kissed me again. All I knew was that I could never get enough of him. I never had before. As he stood between my legs, my hands went to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. "Hey," he whispered, tipping my head up to him. He kissed me slow. "There's no rush. Not tonight." He smiled and kissed me again. I returned his smile, slowing my shaky hands. Once his belt was undone, I pushed the fabric down. I had planned on taking time with him, too.

My hand reached beneath the waistband of his boxers and I gripped him then. "Fuck," he let out. I slid off of the table to stand, kissing him, stroking him, teasing the tip of it with my thumb. "Fuck it," Connor said, shoving his boxers down and grabbed me hard. In the next instant, my legs were wrapped around his waist and my back shoved against the wall. He buried himself inside of me in one long, hard stroke. I cried out, a mix of pleasure and pain. Connor pulled back and did it again, rattling the pictures on my living room wall. I dug my nails into his skin. I knew he was trying to hold back, but I could see that fire in his eyes.

"Let go," I whispered, running a hand through his hair. He shifted my weight in his arms. Then we were stumbling down the hall. Or, rather, he was. We landed, a mess of limbs and mouths, on my mattress. Connor wasted no time finding home again. He moved my hands above my head, securing them so I couldn't move. While he assaulted my sweet spot with his dick, his mouth found my nipple. He'd foregone any sense of gentleman. His teeth bit down on one and I cried out, shuddering beneath him on the mattress. I could feel myself climbing higher with each stroke.

Connor's goal was always to give me as many orgasms as he could. He never let me feel guilty about it either. God, I loved him.

His strokes were fast and hard now. The only sounds other than my moans were his breathing and flesh slapping against flesh. He released my hands and gripped at my thighs. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him down to kiss me again. I liked to feel the full weight of him on top of me. Our mouths broke apart. I could see he wasn't far off; I wasn't either. "Char, I can't-" I dug my nails in again, encouraging him to let go. My back arched beneath him as the second fire of the night blazed across my skin. I felt Connor stiffen above me. He groaned (never really was a vocal one) as he felt his release.

A moment later, he relaxed above me, leaning down with a content smile on his face. He kissed me, long and slow. His hand cupped my cheek. "Charlie MacManus," he whispered, his forehead against mine.

"Charlie MacManus," I echoed, pulling him back down to kiss me.

He settled beside me on the bed, tucking me in tight against his chest. We fell into a peaceful silence. I rested my head on his shoulder, falling into my thoughts as Connor stroked my hair. "There's just one other thing," he said, his voice soft. "You wanted to move." I picked up my head to look at him, a smile threatening to take over my face. "What about Ireland?"

My expression dropped. "Ireland?"

Connor nodded. "I can't stay in the states. I'm a wanted man, Char. You could pack a bag and leave with me. We're getting on a boat tonight-"

"I have a job, though, and bills. I can't just go," I said, resting my head back on his shoulder. He was quiet. "Not today at least." I picked my head up again to look at him. "How about this?" His eyebrows perked up at me. "You go ahead, with your brother and I'll get my affairs in order here."

"Really?"

I nodded. "Really."

"How long do you think?"

I pondered that for a moment. My lease wasn't up for a couple of months at least. Then there would be a matter of my job, packing, selling what I couldn't bring with me. "Three months."

He smiled and pressed his lips for my forehead. "And then we'll have forever." We shared a secret smile. It was a lot, to give up my home for a man. But Connor MacManus wasn't any man. He was the man, my soul mate.

My Anam Cara.

Present Day

The streets of Boston were much busier than a normal Wednesday. By the time I was up and out for the day, most people were already at work. Today, it seemed as though the streets were full of people. I spotted a crowd near the Catholic church. Hmph. Maybe it was some holiday I wasn't aware of. It was the same way on my way home for the day as well. Certainly it wasn't just some holiday?

My curiosity got the better of me. I tugged my jacket closer, feeling a chill from the recent cold snap slip up my spine. Maybe it was the cold, or maybe it was the fact that I hadn't stepped foot on hallowed ground in nearly a decade. I was born Catholic, but I didn't practice anymore. My sins were my own to bear.

As I neared the crowd, I noticed the television vans parked on the street. There were police officers at the front of the crowd, blocking off the entrance to the church. I could see it would be impossible to get further than the edge of the crowd. I grabbed a man by the arm. "What's going on here?" I asked him, confused.

"You haven't heard?" The man asked in a thick Boston accent. I puckered out my bottom lip and shook my head. "They're back!" He was excited.

"Who?"

"Sheesh, lady, weren't you living here eight years ago?"

My blood ran cold. Eight years ago.

The man noticed my hesitation. "It's the Saints! They killed the priest." The world shifted around me. That wasn't possible. There were a number of reasons that it wasn't possible. The man steadied me on my feet. "Lady, are you okay?"

I offered a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." I turned my back on him and walked away from the crowd.

News reports about the MacManus brothers filled Boston's news stations for months after they left the states. It wasn't until the anniversary of the Yakavetta murder that they stopped reporting altogether. I rushed home. The news stations were polling people, asking if they thought it was the Saints. Some said yes, others no. If it was them, why would they come back? Why now? Why would they kill a priest in a church?

None of it made sense. I shoved my way into my bedroom and then to my closet. I turned back to my bed, lockbox in my hands. I unlocked it with shaky hands, then pulled out the Glock pistol Connor had left that night.

Eight Years Ago

"I wish you could come now," He said, folding me into his arms. The sun would be up in two hours, and he had a boat to catch before that. I molded against him, trying not to be sad. It would only be a few months before we would be reunited. I leaned up, kissing him quickly on the mouth.

"Soon. Three months will pass in a blink," I said, wrapping my arms around his neck. "And then we have forever." He pressed his forehead to mine.

"Forever sounds pretty damn good, doesn't it?"

I nodded and pressed my mouth to his. "You need to get going. I don't want you to miss your boat." He pulled from my arms, grabbing the bag he'd brought with him and setting it on the table.

"I have to ask one thing of you, Char." He rifled in the bag and produced a small, black handgun. "Take this." My eyes were wide. I didn't like guns. I'd never even used one before.

"No, I don't need that."

"Char-" He admonished. His tone said one thing, but his eyes were pleading with me silently. "You can stick it up in the attic, you can throw it in the river after I leave. But please take it." He held it in his hand, resting on his palm.

"I don't even know how to use it."

"Hopefully you'll never have to." I reached out, touching the cold metal of the gun. He showed me the proper way to hold it and what I needed to do to load and put the safety on and off. I did it for him, because he'd asked it of me.

To humor him, I put it in the drawer in my bedside table, with plans of moving it once he was gone. If it gave him some sense of peace, then I would do it. I'd do just about anything for him. "I love you." He turned to me at the door. Though his smile seemed genuine, I could see the sadness in his eyes.

"I love you." I leaned up and kissed him.

I should have held on to him a little bit longer.

The gun felt as cold and foreign in my hand as it had the first time I held it. I glanced over my shoulder, before darting toward my bedside table and stowing it in there. While I had no intentions of using it, I did feel a little more peace knowing that I had it there in case I needed it. When I returned to the living room, the news was playing an interview with some random person who claimed to know the Saints personally, said he was even there for one of the killings.

I'd never met the guy in my life. He was a fraud. And it only pissed me off, the things people would do for their fifteen seconds of fame. So I turned the television off, poured myself a glass of wine, and climbed into a hot bath.

From what I'd gathered of the case, it didn't sound right. Connor and Murphy were incredibly religious. Even if the priest had been some sort of crime lord, they would have never killed him on hallowed ground. Their faith was so devout, they would never even consider it. No, this was something else. Something darker.

Something else altogether frightening.

Eight Years Ago

"What the fuck are you doing, Connor?" Came a voice from the door. Connor turned to find his brother standing in the entryway, a look of horror on his face.

"What do you mean, Murphy?"

"I thought we were gonna go live with Da in the cottage?"

"Charlie should be getting here any day now. I already told Da, but-" He hesitated. They were twins. They'd done everything together since they were born. He'd been dreading this conversation. But he was certain his father had sent Murphy here so Connor would finally have it.

"Charlie? You mean from Boston."

Connor nodded in response. "We're getting married," he announced. A look of horror crossed his brother's face.

"Married? But...that's not the plan."

"It is."

"Since when?"

"Since before we left. That night, when we got on the boat, I went to see her. I asked her. Now, I won't have her living in some cottage in the middle of nowhere."

"Oh, so you're too good for us now, are ya?"

"Murph, that isn't what I meant-"

"Fuck you, Connor! Da sent me with this." He threw something down toward the floor and turned his back, leaving the house.

No, Connor didn't feel he was too good for his brother and father. Charlie was too good for any of it. He wanted her to have a comfortable life here. The cottage wasn't but a half hour away. He leaned down, picking up the envelope his brother dropped on the floor. It was addressed to him in a tidy scrawl. There was no return address. But it was post marked Boston. A smile crossed his face and his heart leapt in his chest.

This would be Charlie's finalized plans. He couldn't wait to see her again.

"Federal Bureau of Investigation," a male voice answered the line. My hands were shaking. It was late, far too late to be calling anyone, but I had to find out more about what the hell was going on in Boston.

"Agent Paul Smecker, please." I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Who is this?"

That wasn't Agent Smecker. This was the number he'd given me all of that time ago, but that definitely wasn't his voice. "My name is Charlotte Byrnes. I'm an old friend."

"I regret to inform you Miss Byrnes, but Agent Smecker is dead."

The phone dropped from my hand and to the floor. Certainly I would have heard something about it? Then again, I did stop watching the news. I wanted to pick the phone up and ask the man how he died, but I didn't. I hung up the phone and turned it off.

Eight Years Ago

We met in a non-descript park on the outskirts of Boston. There was one bench in particular that overlooked the pond. It was my favorite place in the park. My father used to bring me here as a little girl and let me feed the ducks in the springtime. Agent Smecker was already seated on the bench, waiting for me. I sat on the opposite end. "Thank you for meeting me," I said just loud enough for him to hear.

"It's nice to finally meet the woman who stole a Saint's heart." I felt nauseous.

"I need your help." I intended on keeping this brief. "I was supposed to go to... I was supposed to be leaving on a plane to be with him." I felt the man's gaze as he turned to look at me. "Something's happened. Things change. I'm not safe where I am now. I need your help to hide away."

"From MacManus...or someone else?"

Even after eight years, I never had an answer for him. He'd given me a card with his private number on it. He said he was the only person I could trust when it came to the brothers. And now he was dead. I didn't know what to do. There was no one else I could trust in this city. I double checked the locks on the doors before retiring to my room. I grabbed my glass of wine, draining the rest. I had just enough to take off the edge, release the tension that had been in my body since the first mention of the Saints return to Boston.

It was enough to get me to relax into my sheets. Not that sleep would find me. No, that night, all of those years ago, played over and over again in my mind. Everything had changed since then. I was living in a different apartment, but that didn't stop people from being able to find me.

Still, I couldn't get rid of Connor's face from my mind, the way he looked at me that night. Charlie MacManus, he'd said. I'd never seen such joy in his eyes, than at the prospect of being his wife. I'd never felt such joy. It was a simple time, when promises could be made. When I still had the freedom to choose. There were a lot of lonely nights, but they were worth it.

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't holding on to a little hope that someday, somehow...

I finally fell asleep somewhere around one in the morning, the gun tucked beneath the pillow on the other side of the bed, and I dreamt of days in the sun in the hills of Ireland with him.

My dearest Connor,

An ocean is between the two of us.

The space has given me time to think, time to focus on what I truly want.

Your life will always be dangerous. But mine doesn't have to be. I have a choice.

I love you. But I can't be with you.

I made you a promise. Three months. Three months and we could have forever.

I'm sorry.

Your Charlie.

Something woke me up from a dead sleep. From the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow on the other side of my window. I slid my hand beneath the sheet and under the pillow beside me, my hand resting on the cold steel there. The window creeped open. If I wasn't such a light sleeper, I'd have never heard it. Feet hit the floor and I yanked the gun from beneath the pillow, cocking it and pointing it at the intruder.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded, standing up on the bed. The shadow in the corner straightened. Streetlights from outside filtered through the window.

"Put the gun down, Char."

My hand shook. No. No. It wasn't him. The man took a step forward, his face coming into full view through the blinds.

Connor MacManus was in my bedroom.

I crossed to the opposite side of the bed, gun still pointed at him. "Why are you here?" Connor's hands were up; he was unarmed.

"Please put the gun down, before you hurt yourself."

"Oh, don't talk to me in that patronizing tone," I snapped at him. "A priest is murdered in the church, and then you show up here. What are you and your brother up to now?" I stood with the door at my back, in case I needed to make a run for it.

"I will explain everything. Just put. The gun. Down."

"You're here to kill me, aren't you? You're so angry at me that you're willing to kill-" I didn't have a chance, he moved so fast. The gun was out of my hand. Connor snapped the safety on and tucked it at the back of his pants.

"I would never hurt you." His hands were up once more and he took a step toward me.

"The priest?"

"It was a set up. Yakavetta's son did it to get back at us." I peered toward the window.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes." I didn't know what to do. I needed to get the hell out of here, but my feet wouldn't move. "He targeted the father to draw us out of hiding. God, Charlie, you're more beautiful than I remember." My entire body was shaking. I knew I'd be useless if it ever came down to actually having to defend myself.

"What do you want?"

"I was worried that Yakavetta would come after you, too," he said in a low voice. He took another step toward me. "I had to make sure you were safe."

"I'm safe. I'm right here. No one's come for me."

"But if I could find you this easily, surely anyone else can."

I regarded him for a moment. The years had been kind to him. I didn't know what kind of things he did with his days now, but his form was still the same. He had stubble around his jawline. It reminded me of long days spent alone with him.

"How did you?"

"Doc." My eyebrows lifted. "He says you invite him over on his birthday to cook for him." It was true. Doc was the one contact I'd kept from those days. The rest of them, I didn't care about. But Doc was how I met Connor, and I would always be grateful for that. "Can I...can we talk? Or am I gonna have to stand here worried you'll claw my eyes out?"

"Fine. But not too loud." I pulled open my bedroom door and turned my back on him, trying to force the tension from my body. I flipped on the lights in the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water.

"This is a nice apartment. When did you move?"

"After you left," I said.

Connor stared at me. Not just stared, he looked at me as though he could see into the depths of my soul. I turned my eyes down, to the glass in my hands. Guilt roiled around in my stomach. "What happened, Charlie?" I knew exactly what he was asking of me. But I couldn't tell him the truth. I didn't think he'd ever understand. He walked toward me, purposeful, long strides, until he was in front of me. He tipped my head up to look at him. "I asked you to marry me, and you said yes."

"That was before-"

"I told you about Ireland. I know. But you promised. You said three months." Tears formed as I looked at him and saw the sadness in his eyes.

"My letter-"

"I got your letter," he cut me off. "That letter wasn't you. I was so desperate to get back that Murphy and my father had to tie me down for a week before I agreed I wouldn't come back. I thought you were kidnapped." I shook my head. "Something happened. I know you. You don't break promises."

"I told you, your life will always be dangerous-"

"You're safer with me. What's dangerous is moving apartments, not telling me where I could find you, leaving me without so much as a chance to convince you otherwise..."

"If I'd have given you the chance, you would have!" I said, my voice louder than I intended. I covered my mouth with my hand as cold tears slipped down my cheeks. "It was easier to break my promise since I didn't have to see you." His mouth opened to respond, but I didn't let him. "I was safe. Smecker helped me get set up here. I've been safe this entire time."

"Smecker?"

"I approached him after you left, asked for his protection."

"Smecker's dead."

"I know," I said, trying to force my body to be still. Every single fiber in my being wanted to reach out to him, to let him hold me, to make me feel better, even if it was just for a little while. "I called his number tonight, someone picked up."

Connor's eyes widened. "Someone? Who?"

"I-I don't know. Smecker said he was the only person I could trust. So when the news broke about the priest, I called him to find out what the hell was going on."

There was a knock at the door. "We need to leave," Connor whispered, grabbing me by the arm. Why? I opened my mouth to ask, but he shook his head. The person banged on the door, rattling the chain that was meant to keep it secure.

"Miss Byrnes?" A deep, male voice called from the other side of the door.

"We'll go out the way I came in." I planted my feet and yanked my arm out of Connor's grip. "What are you doing?" I heard the creak of a door.

"Momma? Who's banging on the door?"

A little girl, with Connor's dark hair and bright blue eyes stood in the doorway to her bedroom, looking up at me with fear in her eyes.

Eight Years Ago

"Congratulations, Momma," the nurse said as she placed the newborn baby on my bare chest. She whimpered for only a moment, before settling in against my skin. "Is Daddy here?" I brought my eyes to the nurse's. She was new; I'd never seen her before. I just shook my head. No, the father was across the ocean, in some non-descript location. He would never know he had a daughter.

It was for the best.