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into a grimace as he thought about it. What would he do, if that turned out to be the case?
    Marc was his spawn, his child. Under normal circumstances, he would never be anything else. Could Conrad accept him as an equal? Could he cope with so vast a change? Could the beast?
    “And yet, I cannot help but notice she wanted my rooms and now she has them,” Damian continued, unmindful of the direction Conrad’s thoughts had taken.
    Conrad sighed. “She never asked for your rooms, Damian.” He forwent pointing out that Georgia did not actually have Damian’s rooms yet either. “She merely asked to bring Christian here—a request she was well within rights to make. The choice to give her your rooms, to have you here with me rather than at the other end of the hall, was mine.”
    “Is that so? The timing of your request would seem to suggest otherwise.”
    “Are you calling me a liar?” Conrad’s eyes widened.
    Damian dropped his gaze. “No. No, of course not. Never.”
    Conrad doubted there would ever be an “of course” about that, much less a “never”. Nor should there be, if he were honest. However, for the moment, he was happy for them both to pretend. “All right then. Good. And now, perhaps, we can have an end to this discussion.” He slanted his mouth over Damian’s. A kiss was as good a way of shutting Damian up as any other Conrad had found, better than most, in fact.
    As he finally settled into Conrad’s arms, Damian asked, “I wonder if Marc will still be attending the party, now that he’s moved out.” His tone suggested he was making an effort to change the subject. Conrad appreciated the intention but, unfortunately, he found this topic no better than the last.
    “I sincerely hope not.”
    “ ¡Querido! ” Damian glared reproachfully at him. “You don’t mean that.”
    “Actually, my dear, I’m fairly confident I do. Things are…complicated between the two of us just now. I think a little time apart would serve us well.”
    “You’ve had ten years apart. Was that not enough?”
    “Obviously not,” Conrad snapped. “Or I would not have suggested otherwise.” Then he stopped and shook his head. “Come, my friend, let us not revive that argument again for there’s naught to be gained by discussing it further. They’re here now, for better or worse, and we must all learn to deal with it. For all that they look to be fully grown, I fear the future will be no more certain than the past. There are doubtless many changes yet in store for them, and many challenges for us.”

Chapter Three
    July, 1975
    “There, there, chiquita ,” Damian murmured tenderly as he wiped the tears from Julie’s face with a soft cloth. The little girl sat on the counter next to the kitchen sink where Damian had put her while he washed the blood from her scraped knee. “It’s all right, little one. Dry your eyes. Does it still hurt very badly?”
    Julie shook her head, but her lower lip continued to tremble and the occasional sob still wracked her slight frame. “N-no. Not too bad.”
    “That’s my brave girl.” Damian saw no sense in driving home the point that the cause of her upset, the small cut she’d received while riding her bicycle, was already healed. He understood how she was feeling. He too found it difficult at times to recover his equilibrium once it had been sufficiently disturbed. His tendency to stay upset long after he ought to have recovered was something Conrad had never understood or properly appreciated.
    “I told you we should have gone to the park,” Marc observed from his perch on one of the kitchen stools. “We almost never fall off when we ride our bikes there.”
    Damian nodded. “Yes, Marc, you’re quite right.” The local park, with its smooth pavement and gently graded paths, was much easier for beginning cyclists to navigate than the uneven terrain and brick patio in their own backyard. On the other hand, there were usually other parents at the park, too many of