Chapter 3 His not your son

Knox

The sight of Sarah standing on my doorstep at five in the morning hit me like a physical blow.

For three years, I had convinced myself I was over her. I had buried the memory of her smile, her laugh, the way her body had felt pressed against mine in the dark. I had told myself she was just another woman who had walked out of my life, that I was better off without her.

And then she showed up at my door, her eyes red from crying, her face pale with exhaustion, and every wall I had built around my heart threatened to crumble.

"Sarah?" My voice came out rougher than I intended. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She just stood there, trembling, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I need your help," she finally whispered.

I didn't move. I just stood there, blocking the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest.

"You need my help," I repeated, the words flat and cold. "After three years. After you disappeared without a word and now you show up at my door at five in the morning and tell me you need my help."

Sarah flinched, but she didn't look away. "I know. I know I don't have the right to ask you for anything. But I didn't know where else to go."

"You didn't know where else to go." I let out a bitter laugh. "That's rich, Sarah. That's really rich."

She shifted the car seat in her arms, and for the first time, I noticed the child sleeping inside. A small boy with dark hair and a peaceful expression, completely unaware of the tension crackling between us.

"Who's the kid?" I asked, my voice flat.

Her eyes met mine, and something in her expression shifted– something that looked a lot like fear. "His name is Aiden. He's two."

Two years old. The math hit me like a punch to the gut. Two years old, which meant she had been pregnant when she left me. Which meant—

"Who's his father?" The question came out sharper than I intended.

Sarah's gaze dropped to the sleeping child, and for a moment, she didn't answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"His name is Michael."

The name made me froze, I chuckled bitterly Michael, some other man, another life she had built without me.

"Michael," I repeated, tasting the name like poison. "And where is Michael now?"

"He's not in the picture." She clutched the car seat tighter, her knuckles white. "He left before Aiden was born. It's just been the two of us."

I stared at her for a long moment, searching her face for something I couldn't name. A lie, maybe. A crack in the story but she held my gaze steadily, her expression guarded and unreadable.

"So you had another man's child," I said slowly, "You moved on, built a life and now that life is falling apart, you come running back to me."

"I didn't come running back." Her voice hardened. "I came because I had nowhere else to go. I came because I'm scared and desperate and I don't know who else to trust."

"You didn't trust me three years ago."

She flinched again, and I felt a grim satisfaction at the guilt that flickered across her face.

"I know," she whispered. "I know I hurt you. I know I made mistakes. But I'm not here for myself. I'm here for Aiden. He's the only thing that matters."

I looked at the sleeping child again, at his small hands curled into fists, at the way his chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath. He was innocent in all of this. He didn't ask to be born into a mess of broken trust and old wounds.

"There's a man after you," I said. It wasn't a question.

Sarah nodded, her shoulders slumping with relief at the change of subject, which was suspicious. "His name is Marcus. Marcus Whitmore. He's been stalking me for months, he broke into my apartment last night and threatened to take Aiden. I had to run, I drove all night."

"What does he want?"

"Me." Her voice cracked. "He wants me. He doesn't care about Aiden except as leverage. He knows I would do anything to protect my son, and he's using that against me."

I absorbed this information in silence, my mind already working through the possibilities. Marcus was a threat, that much was clear but there was more to this story than Sarah was telling me.

"What else aren't you telling me Sarah?" I asked.

Her eyes flickered—just for a moment before she looked away. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." I stepped closer, forcing her to meet my gaze. "You show up at my door in the middle of the night with a two-year-old and a story about a stalker. You're not telling me everything, Sarah. I can feel it."

She was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she lifted her head and looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Some things are better left unsaid," she said quietly. 

---

Sarah

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

Michael. I had pulled the name out of thin air, a desperate move because of fear and self-preservation. there was no Michael, there had never been a Michael but Knox didn't know that, and if I had anything to say about it, he never would.

I watched the anger flicker across his face, the hurt that he tried so hard to hide. I saw the way his jaw tightened, the way his hands clenched at his sides. He believed me. He believed that I had moved on, that I had found someone else, that I had built a life without him.

It was better this way.

I repeated the words in my mind like a mantra, trying to convince myself of their truth, I kept telling myself it was better if he didn’t know the truth. It was better for him to believe Aiden was someone else’s child than to feel obligated to take care of us.

Because if Knox knew the truth—if he knew that Aiden was his flesh and blood, everything would change. He would want answers, he would want explanations and want to be part of Aiden's life, and that would mean being part of mine.

And I couldn't let that happen.

Not because I didn't want him to know his son. Not because I didn't believe he deserved the truth. But because I knew what Marcus was capable of. I knew how far he would go to destroy anyone who stood between him and what he wanted.

If Knox knew about Aiden, he would try to protect us. He would put himself in danger. He would rally his club, his brothers, his entire world, and he would go to war against Marcus and the Reapers.

And people would die.

I had already lost so much. I had already sacrificed so much. I couldn't bear the thought of losing Knox too, even if he never knew the truth. Even if he spent the rest of his life believing that I had chosen someone else over him.

At least he would be alive. At least he would be safe.

"I'm sorry," I said, and the words felt inadequate. "I know this isn't what you wanted. I know I'm not what you wanted but I didn't know where else to go, and I need your help. Aiden needs your help."

Knox stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped aside.

"Come in," he said. "We'll figure something out."

I moved past him into the house, my legs trembling with relief. The warmth of the interior enveloped me, a stark contrast to the cold fear that had been my constant companion for months.

But as I settled onto the couch, Aiden still sleeping in my arms, I felt Knox's eyes on me. Watching. Suspicious.

He didn't trust me. And why should he? I had lied to him, abandoned him, kept secrets that could destroy him. I had done everything I swore I would never do.

But I had also protected my son. I had kept him safe from Marcus, from the Reapers, from the danger that followed me wherever I went.

If that meant lying to Knox, if that meant letting him believe that Aiden belonged to someone else, then so be it.

I would carry the weight of that secret for the rest of my life if it meant keeping my son safe.

Even if it broke my heart.

Even if it broke his.

"The guest room is down the hall," Knox said, his voice cold and distant. "You can stay there for now. But don't get comfortable. We have a lot to talk about, and I'm not going to let you keep hiding from me."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"One more thing," he added, pausing at the doorway. "I don't know what happened to you in the past three years, Sarah. I don't know what you've been through or what you're running from. But I do know one thing."

"What's that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not the only one who's been hurt." His eyes met mine, dark and unreadable. "And I'm not the same man I was three years ago. If you're going to stay here, you need to understand that."

He turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my sleeping son and the weight of all the secrets I couldn't tell.