Chapter Three

RYAN LOOKEDdown at his sleeping son, his bald head peeking out from under the covers. Ryan tucked the quilt around Leo and kissed his forehead before he left the room. He went down to the kitchen, where he poured himself a glass of whiskey, downed it, and refilled his glass. The amber liquid burned a trail into his belly. He set the glass on the kitchen counter and pushed it away with a heavy sigh. No amount of drinking could numb the shock of the news he’d received today.

For many months now Ryan had watched helplessly while his son underwent chemotherapy without much improvement. When Leo’s medical team recommended stem cell treatment, Ryan knew his son’s mixed-race heritage made finding a suitable bone marrow donor a challenge. Discovering the Be the Match registry had given him a sliver of hope, even though the chances were slim. That hope turned to shock when a match turned up immediately. Leo’s doctors were thrilled but confused. Why hadn’t Ryan let them know Leo had an uncle?

He hadn’t told them because he didn’t know. The doctors confirmed the results of the original sample Leo’s uncle gave while Ryan called a private investigator.

Within an hour, he had a cursory report on Dylan McKenzie, Lindsay’s twin, whom Ryan had been told died tragically from a drug overdose. Dylan was anything but the troubled child Lindsay and her parents had said he was. A second-grade teacher in Los Angeles, he wasn’t a drug addict, just gay. Which, to Lindsay’s parents, was worse. According to the report, Lindsay’s brother had a small group of friends and lived a quiet life. Dylan became emancipated after being kicked out. He was given a full scholarship to Wesleyan University and graduated with honors, receiving bachelor’s and master’s degrees. What Dylan had achieved without the support of his parents was impressive as hell. And had Ryan seeing red.

With shaking fingers, he reached for his phone and called his mother-in-law.

“Was a lie more important than the life of your grandson?” he asked without a greeting when she answered.

The beat of silence on the other end of the line told Ryan everything he needed to know.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lindsay’s mother finally said, doing her best to sound innocent.

“Don’t. You lied to me. Your son did not succumb to addiction. He’s a schoolteacher in LA, and he’s a match for bone marrow donation. A perfect match.”

His mother-in-law sucked in her breath. “He can’t be a donor. He’s gay. He’ll give him diseases far worse than the cancer. Prayer works, Ryan. You have to give it time. God will work miracles—”

“Shut up.”

She tried to continue in a placating tone. “Ryan, you’re upset. It’s understandable. Don’t forget we lost our only daughter.”

“And could have killed your only grandson.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I didn’t agree with your religious beliefs when I married Lindsay. I put up with it because I wanted to respect my in-laws. But I didn’t realize that you would put hate over the life you pray about in your fake church on Sunday. Let me make this clear. I will not let you kill my son with your hate.”

If there was a response, he didn’t hear it. Ryan disconnected and slammed the phone onto the counter. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep, shuddering breath. His phone vibrated with an incoming call. Seeing Lindsay’s father’s name flash on the screen, he rejected the call. He may have been able to forgive the lie, but not endangering Leo’s life.

He bypassed the massive living room that he never used. With its cream-on-cream-on-cream décor, it looked more like a doctor’s waiting room than a home. With two exceptions, the same theme flowed throughout the house. Only his office and Leo’s room showed any sign of life. When he reached his study, Ryan sat in the leather armchair by the window with a view of Lake Washington. He’d put his foot down when it came time to decorate his office. He chose a soft gray for the walls. A rug in swirling shades of gray and brown covered the wood floor. In the center of the room, his desk sat facing the window. It was a custom-made piece by a local artisan, crafted from cherry wood and meticulously sanded and polished. But it was the chair by the window where he spent most of his time in this room.

Ryan opened his laptop and read through the private investigator’s report again, then clicked on the link to Dylan’s Instagram account. A picture showed him sitting on a low chair, reading to a group of children all looking up at him with rapt attention. He had an animated expression, holding the picture book up so the kids could see the brightly colored illustrations. Ryan studied Dylan’s face. There was no mistaking the resemblance to his wife. Dylan shared the same warm brown skin that was the legacy of their Black father, along with light hazel eyes. Only his eyes appeared kind and compassionate, where Lindsay looked at every situation with a calculated gaze, wondering how to take advantage to her benefit. Dylan wore a blue-and-green plaid button-down shirt with a pair of khakis. Ryan knew from the report that Dylan was a swimmer, and it showed in the glimpse of his toned arms where his sleeves were rolled up.

Ryan snapped his laptop closed and let his head fall back. The man who’d been rejected by his wife and in-laws was now Leo’s best hope. Ryan could only hope that Dylan didn’t hate them so much he’d refuse to help.

THE NEXTmorning, the lake and surrounding waters of Puget Sound disappeared as his private jet ascended into the clouds. Ryan’s skin itched under the starched white shirt he wore. He reached up to loosen his tie and dropped his hand, clenching his fist. He hadn’t worn a suit since Lindsay’s funeral. He hadn’t left Leo’s side since then either. This journey was important and the only reason he’d allowed himself to leave. Two and a half hours later, he touched down in Los Angeles. He checked in with Leo’s nanny and nurse, Rebecca, while he waited for Dylan’s school to let out for the day, watching the school children play with a pang of anguish. Would Leo ever be able to play like that again?

There was a text from his sister that he ignored. Stephanie and his parents insisted that he’d been too harsh with Leo’s grandparents, and he couldn’t cut them out of Leo’s life. That wasn’t Ryan’s intention, but he was still angry. Arlene and Clay had crossed a line that would make it impossible for Ryan to ever trust them again.

Children started running out of the school with an end-of-the-day burst of energy, dragging backpacks and shouting with glee. A now familiar face appeared. He recognized his wife’s twin from the pictures he’d seen, but also from the resemblance. Ryan jumped out of the back of the black SUV when he saw Dylan heading toward his car.

“Excuse me, Mr. McKenzie?”

Dylan stopped, those light hazel eyes gazing at Ryan curiously. In person, they were much more striking, almost golden in the sunlight, with flecks of dark brown and green.

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Ryan asked.

Dylan hitched the strap of his messenger bag higher on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, are you a parent? I don’t think we’ve met before. If you’d like to talk about your child, I’m afraid you’ll have to make an appointment.”

His voice had a warm quality. He spoke firmly but without a trace of frustration or disapproval for being intruded upon.

“I’m here to talk about my child, but not one of your students.” He held his hand out. “I’m Ryan Blackstone, your sister’s husband.”

Dylan’s smile faded, and his face paled. His gaze flickered between Ryan’s hand and his face, clearly wary. When Dylan did take his hand, it was brief, but his grip was firm.

Dylan swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the slim column of his throat. “Does my sister know you’re here?”

Ryan froze. It hadn’t occurred to him that Dylan wouldn’t know about his sister’s passing. Suddenly the conversation took on a gravity beyond his original urgent mission.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“There’s a coffee shop a few blocks away.” Dylan shook his head when Ryan gestured to his car. “I’ll meet you there. You can follow me.”

Ryan kept his eyes on the red compact car ahead of them over his driver’s shoulder. He’d been worried Dylan might try to escape when they’d left the school parking lot, but as he’d said, Dylan pulled up in front of a coffee shop not far from the school. Ryan jumped out and waited on the sidewalk while Dylan parked. His expression remained wary as he came toward him.

“What would you like?” Ryan asked when they went inside.

“I’ll get it,” Dylan replied, the warmth Ryan had heard in his voice when he introduced himself tempered to a polite coolness.

Ryan followed Dylan to a table in the corner. As soon as Dylan set his tea on the table and settled in his seat, he asked, “Why are you here, Mr. Blackstone?”

“There is no easy way to tell you this. Your sister was killed in a car accident.”

Dylan gasped. He blinked rapidly, his eyes filling with tears that he did not allow to fall.

“When?” he asked in a shaky whisper.

“Almost a year ago.”

Dylan dropped his chin to his chest. When he lifted his face, the pain in his expression had Ryan wanting to reach across the table and take his hands in his. “I see,” he said with a tremor in his voice.

“Dylan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you were alive. Your parents….” His jaw ticked. There was no point in doing any more harm than necessary.

“I know what my parents told people about me.” He gazed out the window with a wistful expression. “It’s funny. I always thought I’d know if something happened to her. Like I would feel some kind of twin bond or something. I should have known better. That bond was severed a long time ago.” He looked at Ryan again. “You didn’t have to come all the way here to tell me this.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Lindsay and I had a son, Leo. He survived the accident, but when they examined him after they found out….” He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Leo is sick. He has leukemia.”

Dylan’s eyes grew wide with realization. “I’m the match.” He drew in a deep breath. “I got the call a couple of weeks ago. They asked if I was willing and available to donate, but they didn’t tell me anything else.”

Ryan nodded. “You’re the match. A perfect match. I didn’t know what to think when the doctor chastised me for not letting them know Leo had an uncle who might be a candidate for a donation. I was—shock wasn’t the word for it.”

“Do my parents know you’re here?”

“They know I’ve found you. They don’t know I’m here.”

Dylan frowned. He stared down at the cup, twisting it between his hands. “This is a lot to take in,” he finally said.

“Will you do it?”

He looked at Ryan, his eyes narrowing. “Of course. This isn’t about me, my sister, or my parents. I would never make a child pay for the lies they told.” He cleared his throat. “I signed up for the registry, wanting to help anyone who needs a bone marrow transplant. I didn’t put conditions on my donation. That’s not who I am.”

The steeliness in his voice couldn’t hide the pain. Ryan couldn’t imagine how it would feel knowing your parents would go so far to deny your existence. He was still having a hard time with the realization that Lindsay’s parents’ lie could have killed Leo.

Ryan exhaled. “Thank you.”

“There are still tests—”

“I’ve made all the arrangements to have the tests expedited.” He glanced at his watch. “How long will it take for you to pack?”

Dylan put his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not going anywhere with you. I can do the tests here. When it’s confirmed that I’m a match, I’ll come to Seattle for the transplant.” He leaned forward and pushed his cup aside before clasping his hands in front of him. “I get the impression that you are used to being able to wave money around and get whatever you want, but that isn’t going to work with me. You’ll get my help, and my bone marrow, but you don’t own me, Mr. Blackstone.”

He met the anger he saw in Dylan’s eyes with his own indignation. The saying “the truth hurts” came to mind. Ryan thought that was the root of the irritation he was experiencing. He’d assumed he could dictate what would happen by treating this as a situation he could manage with a big check. For the last few years he’d found he could avoid conflict and make his life easier by spending money, and with his son in jeopardy, Ryan was unwavering and unwilling to make any compromises.

Dylan’s expression softened. “These last few months must have been…. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through. I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll do everything I can to help, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to drop everything and come with you to Seattle. It’s not fair to my students to leave them unless I have to, and right now the next steps don’t require me to be there.”

“Don’t you want to meet your nephew?”

Dylan looked surprised. “You—I assumed you wouldn’t want me to see him.”

“He’s your nephew. Of course I want you to meet him.”

“What did my parents say?”

“I haven’t spoken to your parents since I found out about you. I’ve been too angry,” he confessed. “It doesn’t matter what they think, Dylan. I want you to have a relationship with Leo.”

Dylan pressed his lips together. “I just found out my sister is dead and I have a nephew. I need some time. I’d like to meet my nephew, I would. It’s just… I’d gotten used to the idea of not having any family and now….” He shook his head.

Ryan fought the urge to reach across the table and take Dylan’s hand. His own family might frustrate him, but they were there for him.

“Okay,” Ryan said with a resigned sigh. “Once we get the results from the next round of tests, we’ll figure out the next steps.”

Dylan nodded, standing up as he offered Ryan his hand. “Thank you. I’m sorry we’re meeting this way.”

THE DAYSthat followed his meeting with Dylan seemed endless while they waited for the test results. Ryan spent most of them haunted by the pained look in Dylan’s eyes and wanting to replace that hurt with something else. He’d felt off-kilter since meeting him. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but it wasn’t someone who was the complete opposite of his twin. Someone whose eyes filled his dreams after Ryan returned home.