Even before she found out about the baby, she wanted a reconciliation. No matter how she’d tried to snuff out her feelings, she still loved Ciar Murphy—add to that a baby, and she was beginning to feel twinges of desperation.
He’d better cough up every secret he’d ever hoarded.
He’d better want their child.
He’d better still care about her.
thirty
CIAR
Ciar hadn’t sleptfor more than two hours a night since Jonathan’s call three days ago. Jon had promised to let him know when Gray was back in Dublin.
The plan was to fly out immediately and then tell her everything. He refused to do that over the phone.
It had been a shock to find out that his friends knew he had a child. Jonathan had every right to be angry with him. There was nothing that Jonathan said that Ciar wasn’t already castigating himself for.
His mind had been circling itself, considering the best way to make Gray understand that he cared for her deeply, but that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—walk away from an innocent child.
Ciar compounded the shitstorm that he’d created with his silence to the point where an explanation that sounded plausible was nearly impossible.
Would he give her the same benefit of the doubt if the situation were reversed? He wasn’t sure, and that’s what had put an acid ball in his stomach for weeks on end.
Gray should have been home yesterday, so surely today was the day. It was seven in the morning, and Imogen was already rocking her hungry squawk. The bottle warmer dinged, and as he positioned his daughter in the crook of his arm and grabbed the bottle, flicking off the cap with one hand, a knock sounded on the door, followed by the bell.
“What the hell?” It was a little early for a damn grocery delivery, but knowing the lovely Tina, she planned the obnoxious timing on her night off.
Tina wasn’t expected for another thirty minutes. “Hag,” Ciar muttered as he made his way to the front door.
He was already opening the door, explaining, “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting a delivery this morning.”
It wasn’t a delivery.
It wasn’t Tina either.
“Gray.”
She stood still, as stunned as he was. He noticed she wore slouchy jeans and an oversized tee, the handle of a rolling carry-on gripped in one hand.
Her hair was loose, and her face was clean and fresh and stunning. It had been months of indescribable pain being away from her, and now here she was. On his doorstep.
She was looking at him with her mouth parted in surprise, and he was looking at her in desperation.
He wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other, but finally, the sound of Imogen sucking greedily on air, having finished her breakfast in record time.
He pulled the bottle from her mouth and, with the skill of a single father, propped her up against the oversized burp rag that never quite caught all the spit-up. He gently patted her back while Gray remained frozen in place.
“Gray, please, come in,” he implored.
“You have a…child.”
“Yes, but please come in and let me explain.” Imogen’s loud belch made Gray flinch and Ciar moan in desperation.
“Jon was to tell me when you were back in town, and I planned on coming to you. To explain everything. You’re here now,” he fumbled to get the right words out, “so I can do it now.”
“Jonathan knows about,” she swept her hand up and down his body, encompassing his daughter, “this?”
“Only just. He would have told you if I didn’t, which I planned to do,” he added quickly. Again, he tried to urge her forward. “Come in.”
