Never Been Ready (Ready #2)(61)

We had other options. Declan could prove his paternity and fight for visitation, but he would much rather go this route, believing it would be easier on everyone involved. The last thing we needed was the press getting wind of this and having Connor's picture all over the headlines. Sarah would never let Declan see him.

As we were leaving, Sarah pulled Declan aside and whispered something in his ear. He looked at her and silently acknowledged with a slight nod. I didn't know what was said until we were in the car and about to leave Williamsburg.

He said, "Could you take a right here? There's somewhere I want to go before we leave."

Five minutes later, we were at a cemetery.

"Sarah said this is where they buried Heather. Since custody of Connor was given to Sarah and Devin in the will, they decided it would be best to have her final resting spot closer to where he would be raised. I wanted to..."

"Go," was all I said. I knew he needed this —to say good-bye, to grieve for a life he had never had the opportunity to have.

I followed close behind as we quietly walked through the old cemetery. It was nearly empty, only a few people wandering around due to the cold. I pulled the belt of my coat tighter and carried on. Just ahead, we found it. The headstone was new and gleamed against the sun, proudly displaying the name Heather Brooks. Declan didn't have any flowers, but he knelt to the side, careful not to disturb candles and notes.

One in particular caught his eye, and he hesitated a bit before picking it up.

It had Mom written across the front, and on the inside, it simply said, I miss you, in messy little boy handwriting.

Declan stared at the words for a moment, rubbing his thumb over them, before placing the note back exactly where it had stood earlier.

"I don't know how to do this," he said. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. It's just you and me, Declan. Say whatever you want or say nothing at all."

"I'm just so...I'm just so angry with her. Eight years, Leah. Eight years went by, and she couldn't have picked up the phone and bothered to mention that I had a f**king son?" His voice turned harsh, and I could hear the raw hurt.

Something had been taken away from him, and he had no one to blame, no one to be angry with, except for a headstone.

"I wanted so desperately to ask Sarah if I could see a photo of him just to see what he looked like. But then I thought, What if they say no? What if I never get to meet him? Then, I'd have an image of him for the rest of my life, and nothing to go with it. Nothing. Just a ghost of what could have been if Heather had just chosen to do the right thing."

I knelt down and wrapped my arms around him. He fell back into me, and we sat down on the dirt together, me cradling him as he let go. All the pent-up anger and tense disposition he'd been holding on to gave way, and he sobbed. He turned in my arms, so he could bury himself into me as he released everything he'd bottled up.

I could do nothing but stroke his hair and be there for him. When women cried, they wailed and moaned. Hearing a man cry was agonizing. When men cried, it was ugly and raw. It was guttural and visceral, like someone was ripping them into two. It was like they were both fighting and giving in to the emotion all at once.

He clung to me like his life depended on it, gripping the fabric of my coat so hard that his fingers were turning white.

"Do you think I'm ready to be a father?" he asked when his tears had finally dried up and his breathing had slowed.

"I think you are one whether you are ready or not," I answered.

"Never in a million years would I ever be ready for something like this."

"I think you can do anything," I said against his ear.

"Let's go home, babe," he said, giving me a ghost of a smile.

We made our way back to the car, hand in hand, wandering silently down the path.

"You know, you really suck at pet names," I said suddenly.

"What? What's wrong with babe?"

"It's totally unoriginal."

"Well, I guess I'll have to work on that then, honey buns."

"Nope, try again."

"Sweet bottom?"

"No!"

He laughed, and it was the first laugh I'd heard in what felt like years. It was like music to my ears. He threw an arm over my shoulder as we walked.

He kissed my head. "Thank you," he whispered.

I didn't ask why. I knew he meant for this, for the last two days, for being in that hospital that night. As hard as this discovery was, I had known he needed to know, and I knew he would be better because of it.

~Declan~

Five long agonizing days —that was how long I had to wait for a phone call back from Sarah. I'd gone back to sucking at work, and I was once again known as the diva asshat on set. I'd f**ked up my lines and cussed out a PA for getting in my way. I was a disaster.

Patience was not my thing. I hated waiting for anything. By day three, I was pacing the floors like a f**king psycho. By day four, I was convinced Sarah had brushed me off and would never contact me. Leah had done her best to prove to me that Sarah and Devin were just taking their time, and it would all happen eventually, but I was a pessimist to the core, and I'd already convinced myself of the worst.

When the call actually came in, I was on break at work. I answered the call on the first ring, seeing Sarah's name show up on my phone.