Chapter 10 - THE DOOR SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO OPEN
Hannah did not open the door.
Not immediately.
She stood in the hallway holding Thomas against her chest while Grant waited outside.
“Why are you here?”
Her voice carried through the wood.
Grant answered softly.
“Your attorney called mine.”
Hannah frowned.
“Why?”
“She thought you needed help tonight.”
Hannah almost laughed.
Of course.
Earlier that evening she had sent her attorney a sleep-deprived message asking whether the postpartum nurse arranged through the federal program could come one day early.
Her attorney, apparently believing Grant Whitmore was now an emergency domestic service, had made an executive decision.
“I didn't ask for you.”
“I know.”
“Then go.”
A pause.
“Okay.”
Footsteps moved away.
Hannah stared at the door.
That was it?
No argument?
No Grant placing a hand against the frame and deciding the house belonged to him because his wife was inside?
No command?
No dramatic speech?
She looked through the peephole.
Grant was walking toward a black sedan.
His left arm was still in a sling.
He looked thinner.
Tired.
Human.
Thomas cried harder.
Grant stopped beside the car.
Hannah hated herself.
Then opened the door.
“Grant.”
He turned.
For several seconds, neither moved.
The last words Hannah had spoken to him face-to-face were still the same.
Take her on our honeymoon.
Now she stood barefoot on a Connecticut porch holding their son.
Grant's expression collapsed.
Not dramatically.
Just a tiny break around his eyes.
“That's him?”
Hannah almost smiled.
“No, I borrowed a random baby at three in the morning.”
Grant laughed once.
Then covered his mouth.
Hannah looked down.
Thomas squirmed.
Grant remained at the driveway.
He did not approach.
“Can I come closer?”
The question nearly broke her heart.
Hannah nodded.
Grant walked slowly.
When he reached the porch, he stopped six feet away.
Thomas made a tiny angry noise.
Grant smiled.
“He's loud.”
“You should hear him at two.”
“I'd like to.”
Hannah's expression changed.
Grant immediately added, “Someday. If you want.”
Better.
She looked at his shoulder.
“How is it?”
“Annoying.”
“You were shot.”
“Still annoying.”
“You never change.”
Grant's smile disappeared.
“I'm trying to.”
Silence.
Thomas began rooting against Hannah's robe.
She sighed.
“He's hungry.”
“I can go.”
Hannah looked at Grant.
“You came all this way.”
“I came because they said you needed help. If seeing me makes your night harder, I leave.”
She studied him.
Months ago, Grant would have decided for both of them.
Now he waited.
“Come inside.”
Grant entered the house like a guest.
That mattered.
He removed his shoes after seeing hers beside the door.
That almost made her laugh.
The most feared man in New York stood in socks inside a modest Connecticut house while Hannah prepared a bottle of pumped milk.
Grant stared around.
“You like it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“That sounded like you bought it.”
“I didn't.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to make sure you knew.”
“I do.”
She handed him a burp cloth.
Grant looked confused.
“What do I do with this?”
Hannah stared.
“You've never fed a baby?”
“I've held Ethan.”
“When he was three.”
“Still a baby.”
“No.”
Thomas cried.
Grant panicked.
Hannah almost enjoyed it.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
“Arm like this.”
Grant followed.
“Support his head.”
“I know that.”
“You're holding him like a suspicious package.”
Grant frowned.
“I'm trying not to break him.”
“He's a baby, not crystal.”
Hannah placed Thomas into Grant's arms.
Everything changed.
Grant stopped breathing.
Thomas settled against his chest.
One tiny fist rested beneath Grant's chin.
Grant stared down.
“Hi.”
His voice broke.
Hannah turned away.
She could not watch this.
Not after everything.
Not without wanting what she no longer trusted.
Behind her, Grant whispered,
“I'm your dad.”
Thomas yawned.
Grant laughed softly.
“I know. Underwhelming.”
Hannah's eyes filled.
Grant looked at her.
“Thank you.”
“You're his father.”
“I know.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“I know.”
She met his eyes.
“Stop saying that.”
“Sorry.”
Thomas began drinking.
Grant watched every swallow as if it were miraculous.
For twenty minutes, the house felt strangely peaceful.
Then Thomas fell asleep against him.
Grant did not move.
“My arm is numb.”
“Good.”
“I've been shot and this hurts more.”
“You're dramatic.”
Grant smiled.
Hannah sat opposite him.
“Why Sloan?”
The smile vanished.
There it was.
The question they had avoided.
Grant looked at their son.
“Because she wanted nothing from me except the worst parts.”
Hannah frowned.
“That sounds like an excuse.”
“It isn't.”
“Try again.”
Grant inhaled.
“With you, I had to be a husband. A son. An uncle. Someone decent.”
“And that was difficult?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Grant continued.
“Sloan made me feel like I didn't have to be accountable to anyone. I mistook that for freedom.”
“You slept with her because being married to me required effort.”
“Yes.”
Hannah looked away.
“That's ugly.”
“I know.”
She glared.
Grant corrected himself.
“Yes. It is.”
“Did you love her?”
“No.”
“Did you love me?”
Grant's eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“That makes it worse.”
“I know.”
“Grant.”
“Sorry.”
He looked down.
“I loved you selfishly.”
Hannah became still.
“I thought because I provided everything, you would always be there. I thought loyalty meant you absorbing whatever I did.”
She swallowed.
“And when I found Sloan, I convinced myself it didn't touch our marriage.”
“Did you hear yourself?”
“Not until the house was empty.”
Silence filled the room.
Thomas slept between them.
Hannah finally asked,
“If there had been no kidnapping plan, would you have come back from Italy and ended the affair?”
Grant did not answer quickly.
She appreciated that.
Finally:
“I don't know.”
Pain moved through her.
Grant closed his eyes.
“I wish I could tell you yes.”
“At least that's honest.”
“I think I would have returned and expected you to forgive me.”
“You're probably right.”
“I hate that man.”
“He's still you.”
“Yes.”
Grant met her eyes.
“And I have to live with that.”
Hannah stood.
“I can't promise anything.”
“I didn't come for a promise.”
“I may never trust you again.”
“I know.”
She glared.
He almost smiled.
“Sorry.”
A tiny laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Grant looked surprised.
So did she.
Then Thomas woke and began screaming.
The moment broke.
At sunrise, Grant prepared to leave.
Hannah walked him to the door.
He turned.
“Can I see Thomas again?”
She took a breath.
“Yes.”
Grant's eyes closed briefly.
“Not whenever you want.”
“Of course.”
“Through me.”
“Yes.”
“No security at the house without permission.”
“Yes.”
“No surprise visits.”
“Yes.”
“And Grant?”
“What?”
“If you lie to me once, we're done.”
He nodded.
“One lie.”
“One.”
Grant stepped outside.
Hannah watched him reach the car.
Then his phone rang.
His expression changed.
He answered.
Hannah saw the old Grant return for half a second.
Cold.
Alert.
Dangerous.
He turned toward the house.
“What happened?” she asked.
Grant ended the call.
“Sloan's transport was attacked.”
Hannah's stomach tightened.
“Damian?”
“In custody.”
“Then who?”
Grant looked at Thomas through the doorway.
“We were wrong.”
“About what?”
“Damian wasn't the person giving the orders.”
Hannah went cold.
“Who was?”
Grant's face hardened.
“Sloan just named the person who planned everything.”
May you like
He looked directly at Hannah.
“My mother.”
