Never Been Ready (Ready #2)(57)

"Oh my God, are you sure? You have to be sure...because I'm not giving you back," I said, unable to believe this was happening.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, but one thing..."

"Anything," he answered, chuckling.

"One, don't sell the house," I pleaded.

"Why?"

"It's too pretty. I seriously love this house. Let's keep it as a winter house or whatever the hell you want to call it. You'll need some place to stay when you fly in anyway. Just don't get rid of my view...I mean, the view."

He laughed but agreed. We spent the next hour making plans of when, how, and what he would move. I'd never lived with a boy before. That would be fun.

We made our way inside and started getting ready for bed even though it was bordering on morning now.

"Hey, can I borrow a sweatshirt? I'm freezing from being outside for so long."

"Yeah, second drawer."

He continued to talk about his moving plans as I rummaged around in his drawer, getting caught up in all of his old sweatshirts —college sweatshirts, team sweatshirts. He even had a Planet Hollywood sweatshirt, which I found adorable. I chose that one and pulled it from the bottom of the stack, making a mess. Stuff spilled out of the drawer, and I bent over to pick it all up.

Several photographs fell during my epic mess-making, and I gathered them up before stuffing them back into the drawer, but the one on top caught my eye as I was shutting the drawer. The face —I recognized it. I pulled the photo back out and stared at it.

She was beautiful with long light brown hair and bright eyes. She looked younger than when I'd seen her. But where did I recognize her from? And why would I recognize someone Declan had a photo of?

"Hey, Declan. Who's this?"

"Oh, that's Heather, my ex-girlfriend from college," he answered, joining me from across the room.

I stared at it a second longer as Declan watched me. I was sure he was worried that I was going to go all jealous girlfriend on him, but I couldn't figure out that face.

The photo was haunting, and I couldn't place where I'd seen that face before.

The photo...a memory started to surface at the edge of my mind.

The boy...the boy in the hospital...the photo he'd had in his hand...the one from the fair of him and his mother.

The mother that had died. It was her.

Heather was dead, and I needed to tell Declan.

An image of the boy's eyes flashed through my memory, and I suddenly felt sick. I remembered sitting with the boy, thinking his eyes looked so familiar.

I turned and looked into Declan's eyes —the eyes I'd stared into a million times, fallen in love with, and memorized, so I could dream of them when I slept.

Oh God, they were the same.

"How long ago did you break up?" I asked, feeling my hands begin to shake.

"Uh, hmmm...well, I was twenty-four, so about eight years ago, a little less maybe. Why?"

Just then, he saw my hands shaking and my panicked expression.

"Leah, what is it? You're freaking me out here."

"I think you have a son."

~Declan~

I would have thought it was some sort of joke, but Leah looked destroyed as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

"What are you saying? I don't understand," I asked, taking her shaking hands in mine, trying to make sense of the fright and panic in her eyes.

Her chest was heaving so hard, I thought she might hyperventilate. I pulled her into my arms and sat us on the bed as I stroked her hair while tears fell from her eyes.

She took a deep breath and began her story. "It was the night you came back into town. I was just getting off my shift at the hospital. Logan called me and said there had been a horrible accident, and the woman driving had died. Declan, it was her. It was Heather. I didn't know at the time, but I recognize her now from this picture."

I hadn't seen Heather in eight years, but hearing she was gone killed me. "How?" was all I could manage, my voice coming out rough and gravely.

"Trucker fell asleep at the wheel and veered off into oncoming traffic. Heather didn't have a chance. She tried to save them, but she ended up driving head-on into a tree."

"Them? It was more than just Heather?"

"Declan, she had a child with her —your child."

"I do not have a child. I would know," I said adamantly. "I haven't seen or heard from her in eight years. She would have told me, came to me, included me."

Leah looked at me with such sad eyes as she placed her hand gently on my cheek. "He had your eyes, Declan. He was seven, and he looked like you."

"No," I whispered. "No!" I shouted, rising from the bed, needing space.

"I'm so sorry, Declan. I'm so sorry."

I couldn't deal. I started throwing on clothes and shoes, not having any idea of what I was doing. I needed out. There was too much to process —Heather's death, a son. My mind shut down, and I ran. I tore down the stairs to the bottom level and out the sliding door to the beach where I kept running. I ran until my lungs burned, and my face was numb from the constant wind. When that wasn't far enough, I ran farther.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I stopped. I looked around, but nothing looked familiar. I must have run for miles. I didn't even have a watch or cell phone on me to see how long I'd been gone. Leah must have freaked out with my psychotic departure. I owed her an apology, but I just needed out, and I needed a bit of time alone —time to grieve, time to wrap my head around my new reality.