~Declan~
The next morning, I awoke before the sun broke over the horizon. The room was still dark and gray. Leah was curled against my side, her breathing quiet and even, and her honey-colored hair was splayed wildly across my chest. I very rarely awoke before she did. As a nurse, she worked odd hours, and usually, she woke up before the sun did. Moments like this, I treasured. She looked softer and innocent when she slept, giving every ounce of trust to me as I held her through the night.
This week had been one of the best and worst of my life. I'd spent hours doing research on proving paternity and obtaining custody, and I had spoken with Sarah and Devin. They were in agreement with me, and they'd fully supported my decision. As much as they loved Connor, they wanted him to be happy, and they believed that I could provide that for him. Even though it wasn't what Heather wished, Sarah felt a child should be raised by a loving parent whenever possible. I was so incredibly touched by their willingness and dedication to Connor. At any point in this journey, they could have slammed the door in my face, and that would have made everything a giant mess.
I hadn't said a word to Leah. Through so many phone calls, research, and paperwork, I hadn't told the one person I cared about the most —the woman I lived with and loved with my entire being. Why? I was scared to death. What would she say? Would she hate me for making such a huge decision without her? Was she ready to be a mother? She could leave me. I couldn't live without her, but I couldn't ignore my duties as a father. I couldn't treat my son the way my father had treated me.
"Declan," Leah said, her voice soft and sleepy, "what are you doing awake?"
"Couldn't sleep," I simply stated.
"Are you okay?" she asked, lifting her head to meet my gaze.
"I want Connor."
"We get to see him this weekend," she encouraged, bending down to gently kiss my shoulder.
I should have said something. I should have talked to her before I contacted anyone. She should have been my first priority after Connor, but I'd panicked.
"I don't mean it like that. I mean, I want custody of him. I want all of him, all the time. I can't keep saying good-bye," I said without looking at her, afraid of her reaction.
Did she expect this? Would she be angry? God, I'd never been so f*cking scared in my life.
"Say something," I whispered in the darkness.
"What do you want me to say?"
"That you won't leave me; that you'll stay."
"Is that what you're worried about?"
"Yes, this is a lot to ask of you. We aren't even married, and I'm asking you to be a mother to my child. How can I do that?"
"Declan, look at me."
I turned finally, and I saw none of the reactions I'd expected. Her eyes were not filled with anger or rejection. She wasn't turning to run or flee. She looked at me with nothing but love and compassion, reminding me of all the reasons I'd fallen for her. She was selfless in every way.
"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not going anywhere. Am I scared that I won't be enough for him? Yes. I've worried about it every day since I saw that picture in your drawer. Since I was a child, I never planned on having children because I figured, after the upbringing I had, I could never be the type of mother any child deserved. What does a motherless child know about raising another?"
"You don't have anything to worry about. Don't you see it?" I asked, grasping her chin in my hand. "You're already there. You've been doing it ever since Connor came barreling down those stairs that first day...hell, ever since you sat with him in that hospital. Who do you think I've been learning from all these months? You might not be his mother, but that child adores you."
"I just...I don't know. I will always, always doubt myself," she whispered. "Why did she have to leave me, Declan? Why?"
It always came down to her mother. Every fear she had stemmed from the fact that she believed there was something innately wrong with her. Leah had come to the conclusion that this is the only reason her mother would have left.
I hadn't wanted to share this with her yet because I wasn't done with my investigation, but she needed it. She needed to know what I'd found since that day I sent her father packing.
"Get up," I commanded.
"What?"
"Get up, and put on your robe. We're going up to the attic."
"Why?" she scoffed.
"I have something I need to show you."
Five minutes later, she had her robe and signature fuzzy slippers on, and she was climbing the ladder to the attic.
"I hate this f*cking ladder, Declan, so whatever is up here better be good." I gave her a quick kiss and a slap on the ass pointing to the ladder. She groaned, but started climbing and I followed behind. I won't lie —I checked out her ass the entire way up.
As soon as we made it through the tiny entrance, we stood, or crouched rather, as Leah took an appraising gaze over the dimly lit space.
"Okay, you want to tell me what we're doing up here, Hotshot?"
"Before we sold your dad's house, I had him give me everything that belonged to your mother," I said, motioning to a small box near the Christmas decorations.
There hadn't been much, but what was there was enough to make a major impact on Leah's life.
"What? Why would you do that?" she asked, staring at the box as if it were going to jump up and attack.
"I wanted to know if there was anything else...anything we could find out about her to give you closure," I explained.
"But why are you just now telling me this?"
"I hired a private investigator who was going to go deeper and try to look up court documents. I wanted his work to be finished before I told you anything, but I think you need to know now."
"Need to know what?" she asked, taking a step toward the box and then a step back.
She was warring with herself, unable to decide if she wanted to open Pandora's box or leave well enough alone.
In less than ten seconds, she would have her answer.
"Your mother didn't abandon you."
My words hit her like a gust of wind. Her knees shook before she quickly knelt, planting herself on the ground. I quickly joined her on the dusty wood floor and took her hand.
"What?"
"From what I can gather from the letters she sent your father, she tried to sneak the two of you out of the house one night, but your father caught her. She didn't love your father. She got caught in a bad situation and wanted out. She tried to save you both. When he found her, he kicked her out, saying he'd kill her if she ever came back. I think he kept you as a sick way of getting back at her. She left that night, but she never gave up on trying to get you back."
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."
~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.
"You have some balls coming back here," I said in a steady voice even though my heart rate had just kicked it into high gear. I felt like I was going to collapse.
Remembering I needed to stay calm for Connor, who was my number one priority, I took his hand and pulled him behind me, sheltering him with my body.
"I've been hanging low in Florida the last few months. I rented an apartment there, a nice one, thanks to your boyfriend. Figured I'd go someplace warm since I had spent my entire life living in a shithole because of you," he spat.
"Why did you come back? You weren't supposed to come back."
"Was at the store, getting some essentials," he said. Essentials was his key word for alcohol. "And imagine my surprise when I saw my baby girl on the front of a magazine, holding hands with the man who had run me out of town."
"No one ran you out of town," I corrected. "And I'm not your baby girl. Declan offered you money, and you took it."
"Yes, but I didn't realize he was a famous movie star and all. I'd say I was a bit shortchanged, don't you think?"
"What do you want?" I asked, grasping Connor's scared hand behind my back.
He hadn't said a word, but I knew he had to be frightened. I suddenly remembered the last store we'd visited. We'd seen a flowery pink sofa, and I'd taken a picture. I'd sent it to Declan and joked that I'd found a perfect addition to our living room. I'd slid my phone into my back pocket, waiting for his snarky reply, and it was still there.
Loosening my grip on Connor's hand, I pinched my phone between my fingers. Connor must have caught on because he grabbed it and took over.
"I want more money —a lot more."
"We're not giving you any more. You need to leave," I said.
"See, for a few days now, I've been watching you and that little boy you have behind you. Well, I'm guessing he's important to that boyfriend of yours. Wouldn't want anything to happen to him, would ya?"
"You wouldn't," I seethed.
"The gun tucked under my coat says otherwise," he sneered.
Any belief I'd had that there could be an ounce of good hiding somewhere deep down in my father was completely shattered in that instant. I knew he'd never cared or given two shits about me. I'd had enough run-ins and blowouts with him over the years to make that abundantly clear, but I had hoped that somewhere in that ice-cold, whiskey-soaked heart of his, there was some humanity left.
As I watched him look down on us with those familiar hazy eyes, now filled with hateful determination, I knew...he would always be the villain. Nothing could ever redeem him. When someone threatened the life of a child, there was no coming back from that. My father was a shell. He was nothing but a soulless alcoholic, intent on finding his next bottle, and nothing would ever get in his way.
"I think it's time the three of us took a little trip," he said, patting his hip, with a wicked smile.
With that gun in his possession, I was backed into a corner. Every molecule in my body was screaming to turn, run, and yell for help. But I looked at the man in front of me, and I didn't trust him. I didn't know what he would and wouldn't do. Would he turn and run? Or would he shoot? One thing my father had proven today was that he was unpredictable.
I should have known better after reading those letters he'd saved from my mother. I'd always cast him aside as a lifeless drunk, but behind those vacant eyes lay something much more sinister. Feeling Connor's small body behind me, knowing I was his sole protector in that moment, I knew I couldn't risk doing anything bold.
I gave a slight nod, squeezing Connor's hand, as he quickly shoved my phone back into my pocket.
"All right, Dad. You win. We'll go with you."