Page 65 of Embracing the Consequences

Marcos nodded slowly. “Let’s go out for a smoke. We’ve got hours of waiting still.”

Stone didn’t respond. He stood up and headed for the door, leaving Marcos to trail after his buddy.

They got turned around when they were leaving, took the wrong elevator or something, because they ended up walking through the emergency department on their way out for a cigarette. And it wasn’t the waiting area of the ER—they were in the back where patients were being seen.

He felt like an ass when he saw all the sick and injured patients separated from each other by curtains. He was in his head as he turned a corner and slammed bodily into someone. “Shit.” He swore as his arms came up, hands landing on a woman’s upper arms to steady the poor person he almost ran over.

She let out a small gasp, and Marcos froze as he looked down at the woman in his arms. “Maya.” Marcos gasped, holding her a little tighter as he looked her over in disbelief.

Maya Henderson was as beautiful as she had been the last time he saw her, some ten years ago—when she took a job in Chicago and put Creekton and Mourningside and all of their history in the rearview. Her curly golden-brown hair was streaked with blond highlights. Her amber eyes were wide, and her plump, pink lips were slightly parted. She was both stunning and slightly stunned, by the looks of it.

“Marc,” she whispered, gazing up at him, her wide caramel-colored eyes looking him over. Her eyes shifted past him. “Jase,” she gasped just as softly.

“Hey, Darlin’,” Jason said, his voice a smooth drawl. Whether he was affected by her sudden appearance or not, he didn’t let on.

Marcos watched as the smooth honey of Stone’s voice slid over Maya and made her shiver, just like it always used to. “What are you guys doing here?” she asked, her eyes darting between the two of them.

“Dagger’s in surgery,” Marcos said softly. He realized he was still holding her upper arms and slowly released them, letting his hands slide down her forearms before he finally dropped them to his sides.

She shivered slightly and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Is he OK?” Maya asked, her eyebrows furrowed as concern tugged at her features.

“He’ll be fine,” Stone answered, giving nothing away.

Maya’s eyelids fluttered slightly; his voice always got to her. For a man who didn’t talk much, he used to have Maya eating out of the palm of his hand whenever he spoke softly to her.

“Mom!” a young boy’s voice called out from behind the curtain at Maya’s back.

Marcos looked over her shoulder through the half-open curtain and froze. There was a young boy who looked about ten years old, give or take, and he was the spitting image of Marcos at that age. The resemblance to Marcos, even now, was uncanny. He was a mini-Marcos.

“What thefuck?” Stone’s voice was a crack in the silence, and even Marcos startled at his tone. Marcos stared at the kid in disbelief and awe. There was no doubt in his mind the child was his.

“How?” Marcos asked, not even sure what he was asking. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the kid.

The child in question was staring back at him with equally wide eyes. He had dark black hair and deep brown eyes that matched Marcos’s. His left arm was in a sling, and he was lying back, propped up on the gurney.

“Mom,” the kid called again.

Maya glanced at him and gave him a pained smile. “Just a minute, honey.”

“Mom, I want to meet him,” the boy said. His voice was gentle, still that of a boy, but it was steady and sure. He knew what he wanted.

Maya’s eyes closed and she took a deep breath.

“Maya?” Marcos asked, needing to hear her say it.

“Would you like to meet your son?” she asked softly. She looked at his chest, unable to meet his gaze.

“I would love to meet my son,” Marcos said. He didn’t give Maya a chance to speak. He brushed by her without another word and walked into the curtained space.

The boy was small, but he had a determined expression on his face. “Hello.” Marcos smiled easily at the boy. “I’m Marcos. What’s your name?” He held out his hand in greeting.

“Hi,” the boy said. He put his hand in Marcos’s and maintained eye contact while he firmly shook it. Marcos was impressed. “I’m Lucas. My friends call me Luke.”

“Hi Lucas. I’m sorry I didn’t know about you before today,” Marcos said, pulling a chair up to the bedside.

Lucas gave a faint smile. “Not your fault. You can call me Luke.”

Marcos grinned and nodded. “Alright, Luke. How old are you?”

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