Chapter 67 67
Lucas didn’t slow down. He yanked the back door of the SUV open and dropped into the seat.
“To?” the driver asked, glancing in the rearview.
Reyes slid in beside Lucas, voice low and careful.
“Just drive to the address we pulled on Blair Rivers Hernandez. The one from the utility records. She’s got a small apartment on the east side of sub-town. That’s where she’ll be.”
Lucas stared straight ahead, jaw locked so tight it hurt.
His hands were fists on his thighs.
The folder with the birth report was still tucked inside his jacket, burning against his chest like a brand.
“Drive,” he said quietly.
The black SUV rolled to a slow stop in front of a narrow, weathered two-story building squeezed between a laundromat and a shuttered corner store.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror, voice hesitant.
“Sir… are you sure about this? You might get some terminal illness walking into a place like this. Looks rough.”
“Enough,” Lucas cut him off, low and final. He didn’t look at the driver. His eyes were already fixed on the door.
Reyes cleared his throat from the passenger seat.
“Address checks out. House number 3, left side. That’s it.”
Lucas opened the door before the car fully settled. Cold night air rushed in.
He stepped out, boots crunching on loose gravel, and walked straight to the door. His hand rose—hesitated—then knocked. Three firm raps.
A few seconds of silence.
Then the knob twisted slowly.
The door creaked open a crack.
A small face peered out—dark curls falling into wide, curious eyes. He tilted his head up, up, up until he met Lucas’s gaze.
“Dad?” the boy said softly, testing the word like it was new.
Lucas’s knees buckled before he could stop them. He dropped to one knee on the worn welcome mat, eye level with the child now.
Recognition slammed into him like a fist to the chest. Those eyes—deep brown, slightly tilted at the corners, the same stubborn spark he saw every morning in the mirror for thirty-five years.
He’d met this kid before.
A few blurry, half-remembered times.
How could he have been so blind?
The boy’s face lit up, innocent and amazed.
“Mommy said you were coming. Are you… Daddy?”
Lucas reached out slowly, fingers trembling as he touched the child’s cheek—softly. A tear slipped down his own face before he could catch it.
“I was so blind,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I couldn’t see the eyes… they’re mine. They’re mine.”
Behind the door, hidden in the narrow sliver of shadow, Blair stood frozen.
Her back pressed against the wall, one hand clamped over her mouth to stifle the sob rising in her throat. Tears streamed silently down her face, hot and unstoppable.
Why did that monster have to find us? It’s over. He’ll take my son. He’ll take Mave. I have to do something—anything—before he rips him away from me.
Her free hand fisted in her sweater, nails digging into her palm hard enough to sting.
She watched Lucas, crying in front of their child—and felt her heart fracture all over again.
Mave—reached out and patted Lucas’s wet cheek with a tiny hand, confused but gentle.
“Don’t cry, Daddy. Mommy cries sometimes too. But she says it’s okay if you love someone a lot.”
Lucas let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob.
“Yeah, buddy. It’s okay.”
He looked up then—past the boy, into the dim hallway.
Straight into Blair’s tear-filled eyes.
Lucas’s hand closed gently but firmly around Mave’s small one. The boy looked up at him with wide, trusting eyes, tiny fingers curling around his father’s thumb.
Without a word, Lucas stepped over the threshold, pulling Mave with him into the narrow hallway. The apartment smelled faintly of baby powder, cheap coffee, and the kind of quiet desperation that had lived here for years.
Blair was still pressed against the wall, tears streaking her face, arms wrapped protectively around her middle like she could hold herself together.
Lucas stopped in front of her.
He looked down at her—really looked—for the first time in five years.
Her hair was shorter now, messy from sleep. Dark circles under her eyes. A faded hoodie that swallowed her frame. The same stubborn mouth he remembered, the same eyes that once looked at him like he hung the moon.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Mave tugged lightly on Lucas’s hand, confused but quiet.
Then something in Lucas cracked open and bled rage.
He shoved past Blair roughly, shoulder knocking her back against the wall with a soft thud.
“Get out of my way, you whore,” he snarled, voice low and venomous. “You hid this from me for years. You kept my son in this shithole while you—while you danced and fucked your way through half the city. Get me my son’s luggage. Now. I’ll write you a cheque—big enough to keep up with your whore lifestyle. Just stay the hell out of our way.”
Blair’s breath stopped. She stumbled forward, reaching out instinctively.
“What are you saying, Mr. Brooks… I—”
“Shut the fuck up, Blair,” he cut her off, turning on her with a glare that could’ve burned through steel. “And get out of my way. I need to get my son out of here. He doesn’t belong in this.”
He moved toward the tiny living room, scanning for anything that looked like a child’s belongings—a backpack, a suitcase, toys. Anything.
Blair lunged after him, grabbing his free arm with both hands, nails digging in.
“Let go of him, Lucas Brooks!” Her voice cracked, raw with panic and fury. “You have no right—no right—to just walk in here and take my son!”
Lucas stopped, but he didn’t turn.
His shoulders were rigid, every line of his body screaming control.
“Your son?” he repeated, dangerously soft. “You mean my son. The one you hid. The one you never told me about. The one who just called me ‘Dad’ like he already knew who I was.”
Mave looked between them, small face crumpling.
Blair’s knees nearly gave out.
She dropped to the floor in front of Mave, pulling him gently against her chest, shielding him with her body even as Lucas still held his hand.
Tears poured down her face as she stared up at Lucas—
"You want him? You’ll have to go through me first. And I swear to God, Lucas… I will fight you with everything I have. You don’t get to storm in here after five years of nothing and claim him like he’s a piece of property.”