Page 137 of Dual
“Connor.” The name feels right on my tongue. Strong. Irish. A name with history. “His name is Connor.”
“Connor Callaghan,” Moira says, testing it out. “Good name. Strong name.” She pauses. “You’re a dad.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I’m a father. This tiny person shares my blood, my DNA, my legacy. And hers. Whatever wildness lives in her, whatever darkness she carries, it’s in him too. The thought should terrify me. Instead, it fills me with fierce pride.
“We should call Dr. Patel,” Kira suggests. “Have him checked properly. And you’ll need supplies beyond what’s here. A crib, a proper changing table, a?—”
“Kira,” Isaak says gently. “One thing at a time.”
She flushes. “Right. Sorry. I just—babies need so much.”
Connor chooses that moment to announce his own needs with a thin wail that goes straight to some primitive part of my brain. My son is crying. My son needs something. The urgency of it bypasses all rational thought.
“He’s probably hungry,” Kira says. “The formula?—”
“I’ve got it.” The words come out harsher than intended. “I can feed my son.”
But my hands shake as Isaak helps me prepare the bottle, following the instructions with exacting care. The temperature has to be right. The measurements precise. This tiny person depends on me getting this right.
“Here,” Kira demonstrates the proper angle, how to test the flow. “He needs to be upright enough to not choke but comfortable enough to relax.”
Connorlatches onto the bottle like he’s starving, tiny hands flexing against my fingers. The formula disappears at an alarming rate.
“Slow down, little man,” I murmur. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“He’s got your appetite,” Moira observes. “Remember when you used to steal my food?”
“You never finished it anyway.”
“That’s not the point and you know it.”
This. This normalcy in the middle of earth-shattering change. My sister bickering with me while my son—myson—drinks from a bottle in my arms. The world has tilted off its axis, but somehow we’re still here, still functioning.
“She’s coming back,” I say, needing to voice it. “The note says?—”
“Of course she’s coming back,” Moira interrupts. “I told you she would. She loves you.”
“Then why—” I cut myself off. Not in front of Connor. He doesn’t need to hear his father’s doubts and fears.
Bane clears his throat. “Maybe we should give you some time. This is... a lot to process.”
“No.” The word comes out too fast, too desperate. “Stay. Please.”
I need them here. Need witnesses to this miracle. Not to mention I’m fucking terrified to be left alone with the baby. What the fuck do I know about babies?!
Connor finishes the bottle with a satisfied sigh that’s too big for his little body. Kira shows me how to burp him,the gentle but firm pats that bring up surprisingly loud belches.
“Definitely your son,” Moira laughs, eyes shining.
“Do you want to hold him?” I ask her, the words surprising me. But she’s my sister. Connor’s aunt. Family.
Her eyes go wide. “I—are you sure? I don’t really do babies.”
“Neither do I,” I admit. “And I just saw you hold Kira’s baby earlier.”
“Lily’s bigger!”
Still, she takes him carefully, like he might explode. Connor regards her with solemn eyes, apparently unimpressed by his aunt’s nervous energy.
