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My bottom lip wobbled. “That’s how I feel. The situation. Our baby—”
His hand snagged mine, and he entwined our fingers. “I wish things could be different.”
“Me too.” I gulped, and even though his family were a major problem, all I could think of washer. Because she'd have been a girl for sure. “I wanted to call her Imogen.”
“So we will. Imogen O’Grady.” His smile was tight. As tight as the times we'd named Gray and Lewis—the other babies we'd lost. “I bet she’d have had your red hair.”
The pain in my chest stole my breath as I choked out, “Your blue eyes.”
“Red hair and blue eyes?” He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “I’d have had to fight the boys off.”
Wiping away my tears, I nodded. “All the boys.”
“Especially if she had curves like yours.”
“You’re the only one who thought I was a bombshell.” I sniffled.
“You were hiding out in a bakery, Aoife. I mean, I'm glad you were but you can't say I'm the only one who thought that when you were always working.”
“I didn't hide out when I was in school,” I argued.
“You were in a kitchen.”
“So? There were men in class with me.”
“They were idiots.”
It seemed impossible that I could even contemplate smiling, but my lips twitched.
Here I was, looking and feeling like shit, but he was acting as if Marilyn Monroe were in the bed instead.
“Well, menareidiots.”
He winced. “Yeah. I fell for that.”
“Hook, line, and sinker.”
"Anyway, what's with the past tense? Youaremy bombshell. No 'was' about it." Before I could argue, he gently stroked a hand down Jake's back. “She’d have asked for her ears pierced at seven."
“And I’d have told her she was too young a thousand times by eight.” I swallowed down more tears, weaving the picture of the girl who’d never be in my mind.
God, I loved that he let me do this. Even if it hurt so badly it made each breath I took scorch my lungs with the agony of it.
He squeezed my hand like he knew what I was thinking. “She can live on through us, sweetheart.”
“I’d prefer her to just live.”
The breath that whistled through his teeth told me he agreed with me.
Watching him, I settled my head back against the pillows, and as I stared at his red eyes—proof he'd cried at some point—the way our son clung to his daddy, how Finn weathered the discomfort of the armchair to be with me, as well as how he'd fought to stay by my side, I knew what I had to do.
“Ask Lena if she’ll look after Jake for a few days. I don’t know how long I’ll be in here, and he needs some good rest.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “Are you being serious?”
“Deadly.”
I knew what she’d done, but Jake didn’t. Jake just knew her as Grammy—the only grandmother he’d ever had.
