Never Been Ready (Ready #2)(75)

Leah couldn't speak.

After a few minutes, she said, "My whole life I thought she'd left because I'd done something or because I hadn't been good enough. But she'd left to protect me. I remember...I remember that night she left. She paused at my bedroom door on her way out. I always found it strange, but it suddenly makes so much sense. She loved me?"

"Yes, babe, she loved you. She spent the rest of her life trying to get you back until she died a few years later of pneumonia."

"But who put up the gravestone for her?" she asked.

"That's been a hard one. I was hoping there was a family member, someone you could reach out to, but the investigator says the plot was purchased by a woman who worked at the hospital your mother died in. She probably took pity on her and wanted her to have a nice burial plot."

"I can't believe you did this," she said, "I would have never known. My father never told me."

I kissed her forehead and then her cheek, kissing away the tears that stained her skin. "Now, you have no reason to doubt yourself. Your mother loved you. But even if she hadn't, you have enough love to overcome anything."

She threw her arms around me and cried tears of joy and relief. Years of thinking she was less than worthy of a mother's love evaporated in an instant because of a small cardboard box. Why her father had kept it, I would never know, but that small box saved a part of Leah, and to me, it was a miracle.

"Thank you, Hotshot," she said, pulling back to give me a weak smile.

Giving a quick grin, I replied, "Anytime, muffin."

Chapter Twenty-Six

~Leah~

"Oh my God, Connor. My feet are going to fall off, and then you will have to carry me all the way home," I whined as we entered the fifth store of the day in search of the perfect bedding for his new room.

I thought girls were supposed to be picky. Apparently, boys could be equally so.

After visiting probably close to a gazillion houses, we'd finally found the perfect one to call home. Connor had thought house hunting was excellent.

He would always run inside every house we visited and yell, "My room!" when he'd found the one he wanted.

It didn't matter if the house had been a dump. He had always called dibs immediately. The idea of having a house he could call his own again excited him. Sarah and Devin had always treated him like a son, and he'd had his own room at their house, but for whatever reason, I didn't think he'd ever felt at home there. Maybe it was because his room had once been their guest room, and he had known that because he used to sleep there on visits with his mom. In any case, he couldn't wait to get a room of his own.

Declan and I had very different views when it came to houses. He was a man. I had thought he'd walk into a house and say, "Whatever you want, honey," like most men do. As long as it had a garage and a place to put a big TV, what man cared? But no, not my man. The granite had been too dark, or the cabinets had been too light. He hadn't liked the way the carpet felt under his toes. He had driven me insane. I'd scream in frustration and catch him smirking out of the corner of my eye, which had made me wonder if he had done all of this shit just to mess with me. But the instant we'd walked into the house on Maple Lane, I had known he was really that damn picky.

When we'd stepped inside, we'd both gasped. It was breathtaking. There were hardwood floors throughout, a kitchen any chef would die for, and a master bedroom fit for a king. The best part? The other four bedrooms were way down the hall. A bit of separation between Connor and our bedroom at night would be a good thing, especially when he got a little older. Nothing worse than walking in on the parents. Yuck.

We'd signed on the dotted line immediately, and our offer had been accepted. We'd officially moved in yesterday, and as Declan sat at home, unpacking, I'd taken Connor out to find bedding for his Iron Man–themed room. After four hours, I was starting to think Amazon would have been a better option.

"What if we got a solid red bedspread and painted the walls in an Iron Man theme?" I suggested brightly.

He gave me a look suggesting that was the lamest idea in history as he moved on toward the bedding section of store number five.

"What if we just bought a ton of Iron Man posters? Or glued a bunch of Iron Man action figures to the walls?"

"Le-ah!" he said, exasperated.

I laughed, messing up his hair, until he giggled.

"Okay, okay. I am at your service. Iron Man bedding or nothing! We will find it if we die trying!"

"That's the sprit!"

We walked through the bedding section, seeing every beloved childhood toy and action figure, except for the one we needed.

Connor sighed.

"Would you consider Bob the Builder?" I teased.

He gave me a goofy look and stuck out his tongue as we made our way out of the home section.

"Hey, Little Man, think I could interest you in an ice cream cone?"

"Is it vanilla?"

"Whatever floats your boat, dude."

We headed for the exit when a man came out of nowhere and collided with me. I immediately reached for Connor and righted my purse.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," I began to apologize as I righted myself.

"You always were a bit of a klutz, weren't you, girl?"

Even though I hadn't heard it in almost a year, I'd recognize that ragged voice anywhere. My eyes lifted and fell in line with the hard, icy gaze of my father, the man I thought I'd never have to see again. He looked a bit cleaner, and his clothes were newer. But beyond the apparel, that same man I'd grown up hating was there. The blurred eyes and haggard demeanor told me he hadn't changed his lifestyle at all since leaving town.