Never Been Ready (25 page)

"So, why did we stop by a Mexican joint in a limo, sporting formalwear?"

"This is not just any Mexican food. This is the best Mexican food ever."

"Um, okay. That's some serious passion about Mexican food. You know we have Mexican food in Virginia, right?" I argued.

"No, no, you don't. You have food that pretends to be Mexican food. This? This is the real deal."

"Okay. You sound a bit crazy, but I'll try it."

He was right. It was better. The smug bastard laughed, too, when I moaned after biting into a taco. Of course, that moan was also his undoing, and I threw a couple more in there for the fun of it. He lost it and tackled me to the ground, the food completely forgotten. We rolled around, kissing and laughing, until suddenly, Declan sobered. He rose above me, his eyes full of passion and purpose.

"You drive me crazy —all day, every day. I can never get enough. You are my first thought when I awake and the last as I drift off to sleep. I can't imagine how I existed without you, Leah, and for once in my life, I don't want to be alone anymore. Don't ever leave me. Please."

"How can you leave your own soul, Declan?"

He kissed me then, an earth-shattering, love-defining kind of kiss that shocked my very core.

"Make love to me," I begged.

He stood, picked me up, and carried me in his arms, heading out the double glass doors onto the wide deck facing the ocean. It was dark, but we could still hear the waves crashing against the shore.

He placed me on a chaise lounge and laid his warm body on mine. Rising to his knees, he slid my panties down my hips and dropped them to the ground. Needing to feel all of him, I peeled away his boxers, loving the way the moonlight highlighted the toned muscles of his body.

"I love you," he said softly as our bodies became one.

"I love you," I answered back.

Then, he kissed me fiercely, claiming me with his body and heart.

We made love under the stars, loving each other's bodies for hours. Afterward, I lay in his arms, enjoying the sounds of the ocean and the beat of his heart.

"I'm going to sell my house," Declan said, breaking the silence.

"What? Why?" I asked, panicked, rising to face him.

"Because I'm moving. That's what people generally do when they move."

"You're moving? Where? When?"

Panic started to seep into every molecule.
He was moving? Where? Why didn't he tell me?

"Leah, I'm moving to Virginia —permanently."

"What? How can you do that?"

"Does it matter? My life means nothing if you aren't in it."

Tears blurred my eyes, and I felt them falling down my cheek.
Why did this man always make me cry?
"But what about directing? Your career?"

"I'm figuring it out. I've got a couple of things lined up. One thing I do know is that they have these fancy inventions called planes, and I can fly here if I need to. Plenty of actors and directors live outside of L.A., and they do perfectly fine. I can, too."

"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.

Heather was gone. And I was possibly a father.

Saying both by themselves was difficult, but saying both together was nearly impossible. I hadn't been in love with Heather for a long time, and I'd lost my anger toward her several years ago. Even at twenty-four, we had been young. I'd wanted more, and she hadn't. I'd asked her for a new life together, and she hadn't been ready, so we'd gone our separate ways. It was one of the hardest parts of my life, but I'd gotten over it. Had it not happened, I would have never found Leah, and she was the life I wanted.

But knowing Heather's life was over hurt, and I didn't know how to grieve for someone I barely remembered —especially after learning she could have borne my child and never told me.
Why would she do that?
I had been nothing but caring, loving, and dedicated with her. I would have stayed with her, given that child everything I could, but I hadn't even been given a chance.
Why?

I was a father.
Was I?
Leah had seemed to think so, but I needed to know for sure. If that child was mine, I needed to know.

Finding my way back to the house, I quietly entered the back door and made my way up the stairs from where I'd fled hours earlier. Leah was curled up on the couch facing the panoramic window that opened out to the ocean. She had fallen asleep after probably waiting up for me. I bent down, pulled her body into mine, and carried her upstairs to our bed.

She stirred as I laid her down. Her eyes fluttered open, and she immediately pulled me into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Declan." She sobbed into my shoulder.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm sorry I scared you. I just needed to process everything, and I bolted. It was a jackass thing to leave you here."

"No, it's okay. I understand. Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I don't really know what to think right now. You said they were both in the accident? Was he injured?" I asked, realizing I'd naturally assumed he was okay until this moment.

"He was unharmed. He just had a few bumps and bruises from the seat belt."

I nodded before pulling her body against mine, needing the physical reminder of her love.

"What's his name?"

"Connor."

"Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"I need to find him."

~Leah~

We cut our trip a day short. Neither one of us felt like frolicking on the beach after the bomb I'd dropped the night before. Declan had let me sleep most of the day, and then we took a red-eye flight out of LAX, leaving in the dead of night with little notice. It was a good thing, too. When we arrived in Atlanta to catch our connecting flight, Declan grabbed us some coffees while I stopped at a store in the airport to pick up a magazine, and then I saw my own smiling face staring back at me.

We were everywhere. The news that Declan was in love had made the front page. Suddenly, the up-and-coming bachelor actor was the source for hot gossip again.

People
magazine had us front and center with the caption,
Declan James Finds Love in Virginia!

The photo showed us in our elegant evening wear, close together with our foreheads touching, as we shared a private moment —a private moment that was now everywhere. It was a beautiful picture —one that I would have normally loved to frame and display on the mantle of our fireplace, so we could see it every day as we cuddled on the couch, watching movies or eating take-out at the coffee table.

Our fireplace. Declan was moving in with me. We were going to live together.

Oh God, he was still moving in with me, wasn't he?

What if he had changed his mind? What if what I told him last night changed everything?

He hadn't said anything against it. But he hadn't mentioned it since either. I suddenly felt panicked over my future —a future that, not twenty-four hours ago, was secure and bright with so many possibilities. Now, I saw nothing but murky waters and uncertainties.

As much as I'd wanted to dispute that I could have been wrong, that the child could have been anyone's, I knew. Looking back, I remembered those eyes and the way I'd felt when sitting with Connor. He'd seemed so familiar, and I couldn't place it at the time. I had spent six months desperately trying to forget Declan, so it was no wonder I couldn't place the face at the time —not that it would have done any good. I didn't know Heather. I didn't know their history like I did now.