Page 84 of Ciaran

“Wait there.” She gets up and disappears into our bedroom. A few seconds later, she’s back holding an oblong box. She hands it to me, her teeth worrying her bottom lip again. “I’m nervous about giving this to you. I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”

“You worry too much. I love presents.”

I weigh up the box in my hand. It’s light as a feather, and I remove the top part. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to figure out what I’m seeing. Nestled inside the box is a pair of baby’s booties, and a white stick showing two distinct vertical lines. My head comes up, and my mouth falls open.

“Please tell me this isn’t a joke.”

Her smile wavers. “Definitely not a joke. I’m nine weeks along, according to the doctor I went to see during a free period today.”

An overwhelming surge of happiness rushes through me, taking my breath away. I catch her face between my hands and kiss her. I kiss the ever-loving life out of her. The woman I thought I’d lost forever is mine, and she’s given me the best gift possible. A family. A future. An amazing life to look forward to. If I needed another reason to leave the force, this is it. A baby.

I’m going to be a dad.

“You’re okay about it, then?” she asks, a nervous quiver to her tone. “I know we briefly talked about having kids one day, but the timing isn’t great. It’ll be difficult juggling everything, what with school, my job at the college, your new role, and all the other things we’ve got going on. But I?—”

I kiss her again because it’s the only way I can stop her rambling. When I draw back a second time, I place a finger over her lips in case she sets off chattering once more.

“I couldn’t be any happier. It’s not possible. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and a family of our own will only enhance the love I have for you. Whatever obstacles are thrown our way, we’ll work them out.”

Her features soften; her eyes glistening. If they’re tears, then they’re happy ones. She gets to her feet and holds out her hand. “You owe me a devouring, Mr. O’Reilly. Better take advantage before two becomes three.”

I take her hand and grin cheekily. “And that’s what uncles are for.”

Bonus Epilogue

Nathan

Another eighteen months later…

If I owned a gun, the asshole banging like hell on my door at eight o’clock in the morning when I only got to bed at four would get to see the barrel, up close and personal. Groaning, I roll out of bed and pull on a pair of gray sweatpants.

These night shoots are killing me—killing my sex life, too. Six weeks we’ve been at it, and my director says we’ve got at least another four to go. By that time, my dick will have bit the dust and retired from active duty.

Bleary eyed, I unhook the chain and twist the lock. I live in a fucking gated community, for Christ’s sake, so whoever this is must have gotten past the security guard. It’s times like these I regret my choice to live in a regular house rather than a penthouse with a private elevator that needs a code—one I’d keep to myself.

It’s not like I can’t afford to live someplace like that, but there’s something about living in a house that makes me feel normal. Even though my career in Hollywood has taken off, I don’t want to live where the other A-listers live. I like being surrounded by normal families. It reminds me of what I once had before that part of my life turned to shit.

“What?” I snap before I’ve opened the door the whole way. If it’s the paparazzi, someone’s getting a bloody nose. My reputation as a bad boy is well-earned, and I give zero shits if one more story hits the front page of some rag.

“Special delivery.” The guy who woke me thrusts an envelope in my face. “Needs a signature.”

I consider shoving the pen up his nose until it reaches his brain, but I’m too pretty for prison. Snatching the clipboard out of his hands, I scrawl my name.

“Say, aren’t you?—”

I slam the door before he can finish the sentence. Tossing the envelope on the kitchen counter, I grab an OJ and a box of eggs from the fridge. There’s no way I’ll fall asleep again, so I might as well make breakfast.

My watch vibrates. Bernard. What the fuck does my agent want at this time in the morning? I hunt around for my cell. It has to be in the house somewhere, otherwise my watch wouldn’t have vibrated.

By the time I find it underneath the sofa cushions—no fucking idea how it got there—the call has gone to voicemail. Thirty seconds later, an icon pops up telling me he’s left a message.

I listen to it, a river of excitement running through me. Bernard’s only landed me an audition for a huge movie that Stefan Lowe, one of the most successful directors in Hollywood, is making next year. I love the TV show I work on, and it’s a hugely lucrative franchise sold in over one hundred countries, but the chance to star in a movie directed by one of the best is the dream. I should be able to make the scheduling work and do both.

I’m under contract to make another two seasons of The Liar, but there’s nothing in the legalese that stops me working on other projects. My lawyer made sure of it.

Bernard asks me to swing by the office tomorrow. It’s my usual day to visit, but fuck that. I’m too amped to wait twenty-four hours to talk this through with him. Besides, I always look forward to seeing his PA, a gorgeous little redhead who blushes every time she sees me. I think she’s got a crush on me. It’s cute, but I don’t shit where I eat, and as much as Bernard is an asshole, he’s a fucking good agent. Case in point, the chance to audition for Stefan Lowe.

I take a quick shower, dress, and shovel some eggs into my stomach, washed down with coffee. As I grab my keys, the letter I signed for catches my eye. I half think about leaving it, but it might be important.

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