Inappropriate - Vi Keeland Page 0,99
Leilani, if that’s okay. It doesn’t justify the way I treated you, but it might help you understand why I did what I did.”
He had my attention now. I looked over at him with a sad smile and nodded.
Grant took a few minutes to collect his thoughts and then spoke softly. “Leilani May was born on August fourth. She was eight pounds, four ounces.” He smiled. “Eight four on eight four. She had big blue eyes that were so dark they were almost purple. Pops nicknamed her Indigo because of it. She had a mop of dark hair that looked like a wig.”
He paused, and I suddenly forgot all of my anger. Reaching over, I took his hand and squeezed. “She sounds beautiful.”
Grant cleared his throat and nodded. “The only time she really cried was when she needed to be changed. And she loved to be swaddled so tightly she couldn’t move her arms.” He paused. “And she loved it when I would sniff her feet and tell her she smelled. They say most babies aren’t really smiling until they’re a few months old, that it’s just a reflex. But Leilani, she smiled at me.”
Grant got quiet again. This time it was him who looked away. He stared out to the lake and setting sun. I watched his face go from warm to somber, so I knew I needed to brace for the next part of his story.
His voice was barely a whisper when he started talking again. “I’ve told you that Lily was a foster care placement with my family. Over the years, she bounced around back and forth from her mother’s house to ours. Her mom suffered from mental illness, and the state would intervene and remove her at least once a year when her mom went off her meds. Lily was always different. But I didn’t recognize it for what it was until we were older. And by then, it was too late. I was all-in with her.”
A pang of jealousy chimed inside of me, even though it was ridiculous.
Grant hung his head. “Doctors say she’s bipolar like her mom. And that, mixed with postpartum depression, made her…” He shook his head, and his voice cracked. “She…”
Oh my God. No!
Grant had said there was an accident, but no…not this. Please God, no. Don’t make him have endured something so inconceivable. I crawled from my spot to kneel between his knees and cupped his cheeks in my hands. His eyes were closed, but tears streamed down his face.
He swallowed, and the look of pain he wore sliced right through me. It felt like someone had stabbed a knife into my chest.
Grant shook his head. “We were arguing. I fell asleep. I should’ve known better. When I woke up, Lily was sitting on the deck crying, and Leilani was gone. She…threw…” He started to sob.
I pulled him into my arms. “Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay. You don’t need to say any more. I’m so sorry, Grant. I’m so, so sorry.”
We stayed that way for a long time, both of us crying and holding each other as if our lives depended on it. In the moment, I thought maybe his did. Maybe he needed to get this out in order for his life to move forward.
Eventually, he pulled back and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry I walked out on you. You didn’t deserve that. And I’ll never do it again. I promise.”
I was such an emotional wreck, I was afraid to believe he was telling me any more than he’d said—afraid to get my hopes up that his apology was a promise of a future and not just an explanation of the past.
He looked into my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ireland. I’ve felt buried these last seven years, buried in darkness in the ground—until I met you. You made me feel like maybe I hadn’t been buried after all, but planted in the ground, waiting to grow again.”
I gulped in a breath of air to stop the last of my crying. “Please don’t apologize anymore. I understand. I’m sorry this happened to us and stirred up all these difficult memories.”
Grant shook his head. “No. Don’t say that. Don’t be sorry you’re pregnant. I’m not.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head again. “I’m scared shitless. I don’t feel like I deserve another child. I’m worried something will happen again. But I’m not sorry you’re having my baby.”
Hope bloomed inside of me. “Are you sure?”
Grant pulled my face to his until our noses