Page 20 of Colt
“It’s been seven years.” My voice was steady. I was proud of that. “It hasn’t come back.”
“No.”
“Is it going to?”
Betty was quiet for a moment. “I’m a nurse, not a neurologist. What I can tell you is that the doctors we consulted in those first months saw no guarantee of recovery. That forcing it—pushing her to access things her mind had locked away—carried its own risks.” Her voice dropped, softer. “She had nightmares for years. She’d wake up screaming, couldn’t tell me what from. Just that something was chasing her. Just that she was afraid.” She met my eyes. “I let her heal on her own terms. I stand by that decision.”
I turned and looked at Graham.
He was already watching me. Braced.
“You knew who she was the whole time,” I said. “So why didn’t you tell her?”
Graham exhaled. “I was eighteen, Colt. Barely eighteen.” He shook his head. “What did I know about brain trauma? About what you’re supposed to say to someone who’s just woken up from a coma with no memory and no idea who they are? I didn’t know anything. I was a scared kid.”
I held his gaze. “And after? When she was stable—”
“That was my decision.” Betty’s voice was firm. We both looked at her. “Graham came to me. I was the one with the medical background. The doctors advised strongly against prompting or pressuring her. The risk of further psychological damage was real. And beyond the medical reasons—” Her expression tightened, “I was the one who made the call. Not him. Don’t put this on the young man who saved her life.”
The words landed.
I turned back to Graham. He hadn’t looked away.
“Thank you,” I said. “For getting her out.”
His throat moved. He nodded once, and didn’t say anything else.
I exhaled through my nose and pulled out a chair, sitting across from Betty. My hands were steadier than they had any right to be.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me the rest.”
She opened her mouth—and that was when it hit me. All of it at once.
“My boys.” The words came out strangled, barely recognizable as my own voice. “Those boys are mine.”
“Luca and Knox.” Betty’s expression softened. “They’re wonderful children. Luca is fierce and protective—reminds me of his father, actually, from what little I’ve heard of you. Knox is quieter, more observant. He sees things other people miss.”
“They don’t know about me.” It wasn’t a question.
“Lilac told them their father wasn’t in the picture. It wasn’t a lie—she didn’t remember you. She couldn’t explain what she didn’t know.”
“They hate me.” I saw Luca’s face again, twisted with rage and fear as he swung at me.You’re a bad man. I hate you.“My own sons hate me.”
“They don’t know you’re their father.” Betty reached across the table and took my hands. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Right now, you’re just the scary man who keeps making their mama cry. But if you give them time, if you prove yourself—”
“How?” The question exploded out of me. “How am I supposed to prove myself to them when I’ve spent the last week terrorizing their mother? How am I supposed to be their father when they think I’m a monster?”
“By being patient.” Betty’s voice was firm. “By being present. By showing up and being gentle and letting them see who you really are. It won’t happen overnight, Colt. You can’t undo years of absence in a few days. But you can start.”
I pulled my hands away and stood up.
I’d missed nearly seven years of my sons’ lives. First words, first steps, first day of school. Birthday parties and bedtime stories and scraped knees. All of it, gone. All of it stolen by men I’d called brothers.
“I need to see her.” The words came out before I could stop them. “I need to explain, to apologize, to—”
“Not tonight.” Betty stood too, her tone brooking no argument. “She’s had a traumatic week. The last thing she needs is you showing up at her door in the middle of the night, no matter how good your intentions are.”
“Then when?”
