Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(45)

Then I froze.

Awareness gripped me everywhere. A million tiny needles prickling across my skin.

Pained pleasure.

I pushed onto my hands and tried not to fucking toss what was left in my stomach at the punch of agony coming from my mangled body.

I ignored it, instead swinging my gaze to the side, breath fucking hitching in my throat as everything came rushing back in vivid colors and dramatic scenes.

She’d come to me.

Had been waiting for me.

Had stayed.

My gaze fixed on the oversized lounge chair that was usually under the window that had been pulled up close to my bed.

Girl curled up on it. Fast asleep.

Locks of that hair a shiny river cascading around her shoulders, a mess of blondes and browns that glinted in the light and had me wishing I could reach out and touch it.

Fist my hands in it.

Use it to hold her close.

Her tiny body—way too thin, still too goddam perfect—was contorted where she’d clearly been trying to find a comfortable spot.

A throw that barely covered half of her was twisted around her torso.

So pretty that looking at her hurt like a bitch, too.

Regret hurtled at me.

I’d felt it before, but never quite like this.

Never where I’d thought that maybe . . . maybe I should have made a different decision. Always thinking I’d been doing her the best that I could do her.

Ruining her in a way that would set her free.

Because I’d always known I couldn’t keep her.

My dick didn’t get the memo, though, fucker hard as steel where it was pressed to my bed. I pushed up to sitting, readjusting myself, trying not to moan.

Pain and need.

Pain and need.

Story of my fucking life.

I started to stand so I could slip into the bathroom when she stirred.

Those hazel eyes blinked open, intensity building as she came to the realization that she was right there.

With me.

Probably the last place that she wanted to be.

She scrambled to sit up, discomfort and uncertainty coming off her in waves. Slamming me. Ricocheting back.

Two of us lost to that power that cinched down tight.

The connection that had only been ours.

I scratched at the back of my neck, cleared my throat, barely peeked over at her, afraid that I might scare her away. “Hey.”

She heaved out a sigh and gathered the throw against her chest, clutching it like protection. She was still wearing the same pants that had made me want to come in mine from yesterday, her blouse wrinkled, her tiny feet bare.

Her eyes were sleepy and her lips were pouty, shyness creeping across her pale skin.

Sexy as fuck.

“Hey,” she whispered back. “How are you feelin’?”

A rough chuckle left me. “Like shit.”

“I’m thinkin’ after what happened, we should be looking to the bright side and being thankful that at least you’re here to feel that way.”

There was something in it, something sweet and serious. Something tender that tightened my chest and made my heart beat harder. This boom, boom, boom that was taking to the air in the room.

I dropped my attention to the floor. “My job’s dangerous, Izzy.”

“I know,” she murmured, edging forward, “but it seems to me you went looking for trouble last night.”

Resting my forearms on my thighs, I looked over at her. Full of regret. Not having a fucking clue what to say except, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Those hazel eyes were wide and sincere.

I struggled to swallow around the rock lodged in my throat. “I have a son.”

It wasn’t so much of a question. Just a clarification. Just needing her to look at me and tell me what the fuck had happened. How I didn’t know.

“Yes.”

I forced myself to keep my gaze steady on her. “What’s his name?”

“Benjamin.” She squeezed her eyes closed when she said it while her confession nearly sent me toppling back.

My heart clutched, stalling out, grinding to a standstill. My head started to nod, pain leaking out.

Benjamin was my middle name.

“You named him after me.”

“You’re his father.” She said it like it made sense. Like my entire world hadn’t been tossed upside down.

I sucked in a staggered breath.

Izzy inhaled deeply, sitting forward, and then started to rush, “I know this is so much for you to take in, and you shouldn’t have found out the way that you did. I came here last night . . . to apologize for that. It was wrong. Wrong that I invited you over for a family dinner like you could just slide right into the table like you’d been there all along. I’m sorry that I didn’t find a way to tell you sooner.”

“Why didn’t you?” I asked, that hollowed out space inside of me howling like a bitch.

Unease had her shifting in the chair. “I tried. You know that I tried.”

My mind flashed to the calls I’d ignored. Close to a hundred of them. All coming in within the first six months after she’d left. Then . . . I’d received one . . . a couple months after she’d stopped calling.

My spirit sank. Was pretty sure straight to the pits of hell.

“You called me the night he was born?”