His hand reached behind the headboard, under the lamp, under the nightstand…nothing. Then it hit him. He reached down the side of the bed and lifted the dust ruffle so he could slide his hand along the space between the bed frame and box spring. Bingo. He’d found Carly’s phone. The phone Ivy had been hiding.
All he could think about was getting back to her now that he finally had her back. But this, it kicked him in the gut and set him back a step or two. Why would she need this, and who was she contacting? It lent to her guilt and not her innocence that he so desperately hoped for. Even if there wasn’t a future for the two of them, there was a little boy out in the world who was going to need her.
Dace caught himself imagining this dark, twisted fantasy of the three of them together, even if she was guilty of whatever crimes landed on her. He decided it was easy to imagine because he knew in his heart of hearts that she was the victim, not the villain. And he’d prove it by connecting the dots that led to the real monster behind whatever was going on.
He needed the truth – all the truths – if he was going to make that happen. Dace went to the bag he’d brought for her and pulled out the framed picture of their son and placed it at her bedside. From his pocket, he pulled the two images he’d claimed and propped them against the frame for her to see. The final act in the hand he was playing tonight was the cell phone he’d found, placed right in front of the pictures on the bedside table.
Dace knew what was on that phone, where it had come from, and why she had it. He wanted her to know that they knew what she’d been up to. It was like a game, and he was showing all his cards in hopes she would reveal hers. Then he left the room, closed the door most of the way behind him, and made himself comfortable on the couch.
Then he waited.
He heard the shower turn off, followed by the bathroom door opening a few minutes later. Drawers opened and closed, and he imagined her arranging the things he’d brought home for her just the way she wanted them. Then a sob. The pictures.
Grief didn’t require death. You could grieve a loss without loss of life, and he was certain that was what Ivy was doing — grieving the loss of their son. Hell, he was grieving their son too, and he’d yet to meet the child and had only known about him a handful of days. But that was the odd thing about grief. It lay dormant in your heart and only came out when your heart broke a little…or a lot, depending on the circumstance.
There had to be guilt woven in her emotion. There was no way to miss that phone, and seeing it meant she knew that he now knew she’d stolen it. Another lie. Or maybe it was more deceit, but either way, she wasn’t forthcoming, and that was a problem and left him doubting her once again. The waffling between guilt and innocence was taking its toll on him – as it probably was her.
Dace remained on the couch and played the past few weeks over and over in his head like a highlight reel while searching for a missed clue at every stage as it raced through his memory. Surely there was something there, something right under their noses, and he prayed it would just appear while the sounds of her sobs from the other room haunted him. Those sobs weren’t an act. She wasn’t trying to convince anyone of anything. It was a private moment he was intruding on while she broke down in a million pieces. Pieces he wanted to pick up for her, but couldn’t. Not yet.
It was all he could do not to go to her. He didn’t know the ache she felt as a parent. He mostly felt curiosity and wonder where their son was concerned as he was still wrapping his mind around the idea he was someone’s dad. He understood the pain in her sobs related to loss because that was a pain he knew and knew it well. He’d lived with it every day she was gone and wondered if it was the same thing.
Dace stood in front of a decorative mirror on the wall and stared back at the man before him. Every tattoo, every piercing – he stared and judged, wondering if he was worthy of her…of their son. He studied the symbols of his journey to her, to ultimately find them. What it all really meant: was he ready to fight for what he knew or what he didn’t know had been waiting for him? He silently voted for the latter. Defining the fight was important, but the reward, in the end, not so much. If all he walked away with was his son, who he’d only known from pictures at this point, he’d be okay because all those years of searching and wondering would not have been for nothing. They’d be okay. But damn, he hoped Ivy was a part of that reward too.
Whether they were meant to be a family in the traditional sense or not, Dace didn’t know. Whatever was meant to be, would be…as cliché as it sounded, and he was okay with that. He didn’t have to know his son to know he was an O’Reilly, and they belonged together. O’Reillys fought for each other and protected one another and that now included Cashel. He imagined that would end with loving each other too.
What Dace was feeling was a little like love, and perhaps, in some unfamiliar way, that was exactly what it was. How did you love someone you’d never met? That part baffled him, but he was fully subscribed to it. It gave him, and all he had done in the past years, purpose. Perhaps all this time, he hadn’t been chasing Ivy but been chasing the son he didn’t even know about. Life was funny that way.
CHAPTER 22
It was well after midnight when Ivy finally came out of her room to find Dace dozing off on the couch – his questions and wonderment becoming dreams while he slept. Though she was quiet and didn’t disturb him, he jolted awake simply by sensing her presence. Years of training in his field of work did that to you.
“Are you okay?” he asked, noting how slowly she seemed to be moving as if she was sore.
He stood to his feet when she didn’t answer and remained still, barely acknowledging him.
“You startled me,” she said with an easy chuckle. “I think I pulled something that I shouldn’t pull.”
He took up beside her. “Let me help you to the couch.”
“No, I’ll go back to bed, you were sleeping.”
“Ivy, I wasn’t sleeping. Not really. You came out here for a reason, so have a seat.” Dace wrapped an arm around her waist and held her hand as he walked her to the sofa. “Just lean on me. I’ll get you there.”
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” she teased. “I guess I should start listening.”
Dace snorted. “It would certainly make everything a lot easier. Can I get you anything? You thirsty?”
“No, I’m fine. Really. I just…couldn’t sleep. You really play hardball, O’Reilly.”
“How so?”
Ivy turned her body to face him and leaned into the back of the couch where she played with a loose string on the pillow. He could tell she was trying to find the right words – not just those which were true, but also those which he would believe.
“The kid?” he asked, hoping it would jump-start the conversation, and it worked.
Ivy pulled in her bottom lip as her brow furrowed and nodded. Her chin began to quiver, and her already swollen and bloodshot eyes began to well with emotion.
“I just miss him so much.” She whimpered. In quick motion, she looked up and wiped her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hands while sniffling. “He was my everything, ya know?”