Chapter 5 - The Man Who Followed the Boys.
Peter Sloan had spent most of his career existing in the spaces between other people’s signatures.
That was how Gabriel described him.
Not powerful enough to own anything important.
Not visible enough to attract attention.
But always close enough to the paperwork to know where the bodies were buried.
I hated the expression the moment Gabriel used it.
“Please choose a different metaphor while my sons are sleeping nearby.”
His eyes flicked toward the bedroom door.
“You’re right.”
It was becoming unsettling how quickly he said that now.
Five years earlier, an argument with Gabriel had been a trial in which he served as judge, attorney, and jury.
Tonight, he kept admitting when I was right.
It should have made him easier to deal with.
Instead, it made me wonder what losing five years had done to him.
Marcus placed Sloan’s photograph on the table.
He was older than I remembered.
Late sixties now.
Thin silver hair.
Narrow face.
A man you would forget before the elevator doors closed.
“I met him twice,” I said.
Gabriel looked at me.
“When?”
“At your father’s office.”
“Before we married?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say to you?”
“Nothing memorable.”
Marcus nodded toward the screen.
“That was his specialty.”
Gabriel folded his arms.
“Find him.”
“We are.”
“Quietly.”
Marcus gave him a look.
“You don’t want police involved?” I asked.
Gabriel turned to me.
“I want evidence before someone who has lived in the shadows for forty years realizes we are asking public questions.”
“That sounds like a convenient excuse to handle this your way.”
“It probably does.”
“Because it is.”
He took a breath.
“Then let me be specific.”
“I do not want anyone frightened, threatened, or harmed.”
“I want Sloan located, observed, and brought to a conversation if he agrees.”
Marcus lifted an eyebrow.
Gabriel looked at him.
“Those instructions were for you too.”
“Understood.”
I was not sure whether to be relieved or suspicious.
A knock sounded at the suite door.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Marcus checked the camera feed.
“It’s the doctor.”
I frowned.
“At one in the morning?”
Gabriel answered.
“For the paternity test.”
I stared at him.
“You arranged it already?”
“You said tomorrow.”
“It is technically tomorrow.”
“That is the most irritating thing you have said tonight.”
“For what it’s worth, I agree.”
Dr. Evelyn Park entered carrying a small medical case.
She introduced herself as an independent physician who worked with the foundation and several family courts.
I checked her credentials on my own phone before letting her near the boys.
Gabriel waited without complaint.
That mattered.
The boys woke reluctantly.
Noah wanted to know whether the cheek swab would hurt.
Eli wanted to know whether DNA was smaller than germs.
Owen wanted to know whether Dr. Park liked paper airplanes.
She handled all three questions with more grace than either Gabriel or I deserved at that hour.
Gabriel gave his sample first.
Then each boy did the same.
Owen watched the swab disappear into a labeled envelope.
“So that tells if he’s our dad?”
Dr. Park smiled.
“It can tell us whether you are biologically related.”
“What does biologically mean?”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
I answered.
“It means the parts of you that came from your mom and your father.”
Owen considered this.
“So if he’s our dad, did he give me my eyebrows?”
Gabriel looked at Owen’s eyebrows.
“They may be mine.”
“I don’t know if I want them.”
Noah laughed.
For several minutes, the room relaxed.
Then Dr. Park sealed the samples.
“I can have results by late afternoon.”
Gabriel nodded.
“No calls.”
“Bring them in person.”
Dr. Park looked at me.
“Is that acceptable?”
The fact that she asked me instead of assuming Gabriel decided everything earned my trust.
“Yes.”
After she left, the boys returned to bed.
I sat beside them until their breathing slowed.
Owen still held the paper airplane under one arm like a stuffed animal.
When I returned to the sitting room, Marcus was gone.
Gabriel stood by the window again.
“Where did he go?”
“To coordinate security.”
“I thought this was temporary.”
“It is.”
“What does temporary mean in Gabriel Cross language?”
“Until I know who photographed the boys before tonight.”
“That could take weeks.”
“Then weeks.”
I stared at him.
“You cannot reorganize our lives without asking.”
“I’m not asking you to move into my house.”
“No, you are surrounding us with men in dark coats.”
“Two men.”
“That is not better.”
He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
I remembered the migraine medication I once carried to his office.
The memory arrived without permission.
“Do you still get them?” I asked.
He looked confused.
“What?”
“Migraines.”
“Yes.”
The answer felt too intimate.
I regretted asking.
He seemed to understand.
“I have medication.”
“Good.”
Silence settled between us.
Five years ago, silence in our home had become a weapon.
Tonight, it felt like two exhausted people realizing they had run out of safe subjects.
Gabriel finally spoke.
“Why triplets?”
I almost laughed.
“You think I ordered them?”
“That came out wrong.”
“It did.”
He sat across from me.
“Tell me about the pregnancy.”
The request was so simple that I nearly refused on instinct.
Then I realized he was asking for history he could never recover any other way.
“It was difficult.”
“How difficult?”
“I was hospitalized twice.”
His face changed.
“For what?”
“Preterm contractions.”
“When?”
“Twenty-seven weeks and thirty-one weeks.”
He stared at me.
“You were alone?”
“My sister was with me.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
His voice roughened.
“You could have called.”
“I know.”
That time, I was the one forced to admit it.
He looked down at his hands.
“Were they born early?”
“Thirty-four weeks.”
“How long in the hospital?”
“Noah twelve days.”
“Eli fifteen.”
“Owen twenty-two.”
“Why Owen longer?”
“Breathing issues.”
Gabriel closed his eyes.
For the first time, I understood what five years could do in reverse.
I had lived every frightening day one at a time.
He was receiving all of them in minutes.
“He’s fine now,” I said.
Gabriel nodded.
“I know.”
“He runs faster than the other two.”
“I noticed.”
“You noticed in an hour?”
“He ran from the chocolate bowl to the paper airplane six times.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
“He does that.”
Gabriel smiled too.
Then it disappeared.
“What were their first words?”
“Noah said light.”
“Eli said more.”
“Owen said dog, even though we did not own one.”
Gabriel laughed softly.
“What did they call each other?”
“For months, all three called everyone No.”
“That must have been efficient.”
“It was chaos.”
He leaned back.
“Tell me everything.”
The words were quiet.
Not a command.
I looked at him for a long time.
Then I began.
I told him about three bassinets lined against the wall of a small rental house in Connecticut.
I told him how Noah could only fall asleep to the sound of a vacuum cleaner.
I told him Eli refused every green food until he turned three.
I told him Owen once escaped his crib and woke both brothers because he believed freedom should be shared.
I told him about their first snowman.
Their first haircut.
Their first day at preschool.
Gabriel listened without interrupting.
At some point, the city beyond the window began turning gray with dawn.
I stopped when I realized I was crying.
Not dramatically.
Just tears I had not noticed until one reached my jaw.
Gabriel did not move toward me.
That restraint was a mercy.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what part?”
“All of it.”
“That is too much for one apology.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the bedroom.
“But I have five years of them and five years of you to apologize for.”
I wiped my face.
“You cannot make up five years.”
“No.”
“I can only stop wasting the next one.”
Before I could answer, his phone vibrated.
Gabriel looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Marcus?”
He listened.
“Where?”
Another pause.
“Do not approach him.”
Gabriel stood.
“Send me the image.”
He ended the call.
“What happened?” I asked.
His phone chimed.
He opened the photograph.
Peter Sloan was sitting in a twenty-four-hour diner in Queens.
Across from him sat a woman in a cream coat and dark sunglasses.
Even from a blurry security still, I recognized Serena’s mother, Vivian Vale.
But that was not what made Gabriel’s face go white.
A third person sat with them.
Only the back of his head was visible.
Gabriel enlarged the image.
“No,” he whispered.
“Who is it?”
He looked at me.
“My uncle Vincent.”
The man he believed had been living in Florida.
The man connected to North Lake.
The man who had once told me that love made Cross men weak.
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THE THREE BOYS GABRIEL CROSS NEVER KNEW
