Page 29 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
"But what if I do? What if this is all the time we get?" His voice cracked. "I don't know how to do this without her."
"You won't have to," I said firmly, though my own fear echoed his. "And even if… even if the worst happens, you won't be alone. You'll have me, and the kids, and all the people who love you."
He pulled back, wiping at his eyes. "It's good to talk about it, I guess. I just… I feel so helpless."
"Maybe you should reach out to your friends. Nick, or some of the guys from the club. Don't try to carry this alone."
His expression shifted, grief giving way to something harder. The change was sudden and unsettling, like watching storm clouds roll across a clear sky. "My friends. Right. Speaking of which, why do my grandchildren look exactly like Duncan Walsh?"
It felt like he had sucker punched me, like the question had stolen my breath and replaced it with smoke. My breath caught in my throat, and I had to grip the doorframe to steady myself. All the warmth from the evening, all the hope I'd been building, crumbled in an instant. I fought to keep my expression neutral, even as my pulse skyrocketed and my mind raced for an answer that wouldn't be an outright lie.
"Dad, you're exhausted and stressed. Your imagination is running wild." The words felt like ash in my mouth, each one a betrayal of the honesty I'd just shared with Duncan under the apple tree.
"Is it? Because I've been thinking about it for weeks, and those kids have his eyes, Ivy. His jawline. Hell, Elena even has that stubborn chin dimple he gets when he's concentrating." His voice grew stronger, more certain. "I'm not imagining this. I've known Duncan for twenty years. I know what he looks like."
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure he could hear it. The hallway felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in around us. "You're seeing things that aren't there because you're grieving," I said carefully, hating myself for the half-truth. "Right now, we need to focus on Mom. She needs us both present and united, not distracted by… fantasies."
"Fantasies." He repeated the word slowly, as if tasting it. "Is that what you're calling them?"
He stared at me for a long moment, and I could see him weighing my words against his suspicions. Finally, he nodded, though the doubt remained in his eyes.
"You're right. Your mother comes first." He kissed my forehead. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. Tomorrow's another long day."
I watched him disappear into his bedroom, my heart still hammering against my ribs, driving into the bone like a chisel eking away at my soul. How much longer could I keepdeflecting? How many more near-misses before the truth came tumbling out?
In my own room, I didn't bother changing clothes. I simply collapsed onto the bed fully dressed, staring up at the ceiling as my mind raced. The events of the evening played on repeat—Duncan's hands on my skin, his whispered confessions, Mom's gentle wisdom, Dad's heartbreak and mounting suspicion.
The familiar space of my childhood bedroom felt surreal after everything that had happened. The same pale yellow walls, the same white furniture I'd picked out when I was sixteen and thought I knew everything about the world. The woman who had made those choices felt like a stranger now, someone naive and sheltered who had no idea what was coming for her.
I rolled onto my side, pulling a pillow against my chest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities for everything to fall apart. Duncan would expect answers I wasn't ready to give. Dad would keep watching, keep questioning. Mom would continue her battle against a disease that didn't care about anyone's plans or dreams.
But beneath all the fear and uncertainty, there was something else—a spark of hope I hadn't felt in years. For the first time since leaving Boston, I wasn't facing the future alone. Whatever happened next, Duncan was in it with me. That had to count for something.
12
DUNCAN
Iwoke before dawn, restless and unable to settle back into sleep. My mind churned with thoughts I couldn't organize, fragments of worry and anticipation that kept me staring at the ceiling until I gave up entirely.
By the time I reached the office, the sun hadn't yet cleared the horizon. The building was empty, security lights casting long shadows across the executive floor. I switched on my desk lamp and pulled out the documents for today's board meeting, spreading them across the mahogany surface in neat rows.
The numbers should have commanded my attention. Revenue projections, market analyses, acquisition proposals—all of it critical to the discussions ahead. But my focus fractured every time I tried to concentrate. I read paragraphs without absorbing their meaning, my pen hovering motionless over pages that demanded review.
At eight-thirty, the elevator chimed. Voices filtered through the floor as staff began arriving. I forced myself back to the files, determined to salvage what remained of my preparation time.
At ten-fifteen, Ivy walked in. She moved through the outer office toward her temporary desk. She looked tired butdetermined, her posture carrying that quiet strength I'd begun to recognize. She didn't look toward my office, but her presence was more of a distraction than the memory of her beneath me. I kept checking that she was at her desk, watching her work.
The morning crawled by. I attended brief meetings before the main board session, but my attention kept drifting to the woman working quietly outside my office.
At eleven-thirty, the board members began arriving. Nick Martinez was first, his handshake firm as always. Richard Caldwell followed, then Patricia Kim, each settling into their usual seats around the polished conference table.
The meeting itself was standard corporate procedure. We discussed quarterly reviews, debated strategic initiatives, and worked through the agenda items. I participated when required, guided conversations, answered questions, but part of me remained elsewhere.
Through the glass walls of the conference room, I could see Ivy at her desk, completely absorbed in her work.
By twelve-forty-five, the formal agenda was complete. The board members lingered, engaging in casual conversation. I stood near the conference table, listening to observations about market trends, when Richard approached me.
"You should get back out there, Duncan," he said. "Dating, I mean. You've been buried in this office too long."
