CHAPTER 28 Rowan
CHAPTER 28
Rowan
“ W hat the fuck?” I whisper. My brain’s all fuzzy, and I can’t think. I slump with my head in my hands. “No. No, this is impossible.”
Remi shakes his head sadly. “It’s not impossible. I have missed out on so much with you.”
“With all those resources, you still couldn’t find me?” I snarl, lifting my head high and glaring at him. “If you’re Remi St. Thomas , don’t you have enough money to fund an excursion to the moon with a bus full of investigators to search there or anywhere else in the galaxy? I’ve been in LA the entire time. How, exactly, have you been trying to find me?” Sweat is starting to gather at my hairline and down my back, and I want to punch something. Kick something. Stab something. Instead, I flatten my lips and crack my knuckles.
Remi—it’s hard to think of him as my father—lets out a theatrical groan. “The note didn’t give us much to go off of, and it was days before I actually received her letter. We called every police station in the greater LA area, in Las Vegas, San Francisco, but no one had reports of a baby being dropped off.”
“And why the kidnapping tactics? Why couldn’t you just knock on my door?”
Although I’m the one who chose to mug Charlie instead of asking for help, so maybe it’s a weird family thing.
Remi pinches the bridge of his nose, and spots of color infuse his cheeks. “That’s the last thing I wanted to have happen.”
I frown. “What?”
“I put Lonnie on you, but you were never alone so he could talk with you. We weren’t going to announce to any witnesses that you might be my son. Lonnie says when you did talk to him, you pulled a knife on him.”
“Lonnie wears an Adidas tracksuit?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of PI wears a tracksuit?”
Remi tugs at his collar. “His uncle Albert provided security for my family for decades, and he was excellent. Right before Albert passed, he asked me to give Lonnie a job. We tried Lonnie in several positions, but he seemed more fitted for being out in the field than working in an office or in another capacity. This investigation seemed well aligned with his skill set.” Remi swallows hard. “I couldn’t go back on a deathbed promise. But then he had his associates pull a gun on you, and that was one step too far. He no longer works for me.”
So Remi is loyal. Interesting. “I don’t understand why he even thought it was an option.”
“While I’m not sure what was going on inside his head, I had impressed upon him the confidentiality of this issue. Imagine if you weren’t my son and we approached you saying that you could be a child I had out of wedlock. If we were wrong, there’s the risk that you would contact the press or demand payment anyway, even if you weren’t entitled to it. We had to be sure.” He reaches in his pocket and hands me another piece of paper. After a moment of studying it, I realize that it’s results from a paternity test. “We’re sure. While you were unconscious, we swabbed your cheek and used a rush lab test.” He gives me a wry smile. “It usually takes longer, but money buys speed.”
I look at the test results. Fifty percent of me is a match to him. He’s absolutely my father.
“I sent in my DNA, looking for a match,” I whisper, squinting at it. “There was nothing. Not even a remote relative.”
Remi swivels his head as if he’s looking for backup, then remembers it’s only him and me in here. “I’m not on any ancestry sites, and no family members are, either. We don’t want anyone showing up and claiming they’re an heir. We have enough headaches as it is.”
I open my mouth to criticize him again, then shut it. Then I tug at my shirt. “I’m still fucking pissed you kidnapped me. Like, what the hell?”
“I know, and I apologize. I asked Lonnie to prioritize discretion, but he took it in a way I didn’t intend.”
“This is … I don’t even know how to describe this.” I kick at the floor, feeling younger than I’ve felt in a long time.
Remi’s voice is quiet. “I can imagine it’s a lot to take in. And there’s more to tell you.” He smiles, and it’s weird. Not quite warm and friendly. Not quite cutthroat and dishonest. More like he’s unused to smiling. “Most of our family’s money is held in my grandfather’s trust. I’m already taking steps to acknowledge you as my son, so you’ll be the beneficiary when I pass. You have a legacy you need to learn about.”
It’s all too much. I’m starting to shake, and I pull my knees up, not wanting to show any weakness. “Legacy? For the practically homeless kid from the foster system? The kid who drives a ShareARide even though he’s technically too young?”
“I do want to talk with you about every part of your history,” he says. “For now, do you have a place to live? You’ve been staying with your boyfriend, correct?”
“He’s letting me stay with him, but I feel like I’m freeloading,” I admit, not contradicting Remi’s description of Charlie, even though it probably exaggerates our relationship status.
Well, not from my perspective. As far as I’m concerned, we’re mated for life. Charlie might think we’re not that far along in our relationship. I don’t care; he can be wrong.
Also, I’m studying my father—ugh, that’s such a weird word—for any sign of homophobia. But he seems not to be focused on the boyfriend thing.
What would it be like to not have to depend on Charlie? To not be living from meager paycheck to meager paycheck?
“You don’t have to feel like you’re freeloading anymore. You’re going to have family money.”
“Not that I earned that, either,” I interrupt. I should shut my mouth.
He sighs. “Don’t worry about that. For now, do you want me to put you up in a hotel? Until we can get you a place to stay permanently, of course. I can also give you access to one of the houses.”
It’s tempting to have my own place. But Charlie’s more important.
I shake my head. “No, I want to go back to my boyfriend.” If he is my boyfriend. I think he is.
“Very well. But we will be putting a security guard on you before you leave—it won’t be any of the people who brought you here today; don’t worry. I’m sorry, but that’s not negotiable.”
“Why do I need security?”
“With your standing comes increased danger.” He glances at me, likely taking in that I’m barely holding it together. “We’ll have time to talk about that later. Right now, I have a credit card for you so you can get anything you need, and we’ll have a bank account for you shortly.”
“Holy shit. I’m not asking you to do any of that,” I say, even though I should be quiet and let him do what he wishes.
“I think you’ve gone long enough living without,” he says. He passes over a black credit card that says “Rowan J. Jones” on it. “We had this account set up for you. There’s no spending limit. Go shopping. Buy whatever you like. New clothes. Fancy food. A television. A video game console. Hell, buy a car. Get yourself the things you never had. Do you want to drive your own car back, or do you want to use one of ours until we get you a new one? I’m happy to give you anything you desire. I hope you know that.”
“What I want is a family,” I blurt. “To belong to someone in this life. To know I’m not all alone. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He jerks his head back, his posture suddenly stiff. Then he nods. “Then we’ll go out to lunch. Tomorrow.”
I can see what kind of man he is. Busy. Willing to pay for what he wants, because money is meaningless to him. I don’t know if I should be happy that he suggested going to lunch with me or if that’s a way of keeping me from getting too close—anyone can get up and leave a restaurant. But maybe he’s simply giving me privacy and time to sort this out, because this is too much of a mindfuck for my poor brain to handle.
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you,” I say. Remi crosses his arms over his chest, but he’s listening. “I never had that much as far as stuff, but all I really needed was food and a roof and clothes. Nothing more. It can be hard to get the basics when you’re being shunted from foster home to foster home.”
Remi winces. “Your days of living like that are over. No more. You will always have proper clothes, enough to eat, a good place to stay, and anything else you desire. I promise you. Do you have any questions I can answer right now? I’m sure you have plenty.”
“Were you ever married?”
“Yes. Hilary, my ex-wife, left me and had children with someone else, but I never remarried.”
“What happened with my mother?”
“I tried to track her down after I learned of your existence, with no success. One investigator heard a rumor that she took her own life after she gave you up, but I’ve never been able to confirm it, so for all I know, she could be living somewhere. Maybe she changed her name or is going by a different one. No searches have ever been able to find her, and we’ve tried, although we gave up when all the trails went cold. Not being there for her is the biggest regret in my life next to my unsuccessful search for you.” His face looks a little gray—grayer—and he coughs, pulling out a handkerchief. “Excuse me.”
I want to soothe him, but he finishes coughing and gives me a pitying look. Like he’s aware of everything I didn’t have because he didn’t find me sooner.
Something in me splinters.
I need to leave. Now. It’s too much. Fuck all this shit. My throat is thickening again, and my face is tingling. I can’t meet his eyes.
Eyes that look like mine.
I’ve spent much of my life trying to find this man, and now I need to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.
“I want to go home,” I say to my Vans. “I need to think about all this. And I want my plant.”
Taking a chance, I glance up at Remi, who gives me a sad smile. “I can understand this is overwhelming.” He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a brand-new phone, still in the box. “This has my number and the numbers of your drivers, my assistants, and your accountants, among others. Do you want to take one of my cars?”
“Something that runs better than my piece of crap?”
“Yes. It’s new. Let me have your items transferred.” He pulls out his phone and texts someone, coughing again. “They are moving your personal belongings.” Digging in his pocket, he hands me a car key. “Until you pick out a vehicle you like, take this one. It’s bulletproof. Just in case.”
Wow, he’s paranoid.
Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.
I hold the key in my hand, turning it over. It’s for a BMW. It probably has a tracker in it or some such tech. Accepting it means that I’m going to be accepting this new way of life. Eventually.
He looks at me with sincerity in his eyes. “I know it will take some time to sink in, but I’m going to make sure you understand how much power and influence you have now. You don’t have to be on the bottom anymore.”
What if I want to be? my brain snarks, thinking of Charlie.
“Okay,” is all I say, and I kick myself for being so … passive.
But what else can I do? I’m not foolish enough to say no. This man can afford a hundred of me. More. And apparently he thinks he needs to atone.
“Rowan, I’m so sorry it took this long to find you. You’ve had to do without. But you don’t have to do that anymore. You can have whatever you need.”
“Including getting to know you?”
He smiles. “Yes. We can start that tomorrow at lunch, if you like. I’ll text you the address of a restaurant.” He looks me over one more time. “I can’t believe I’ve finally found you. I’m going to take care of you.” A dark look passes over his face. “For as long as I can.”
“Thanks.” I don’t know what else to say. It’s too enormous for me to process.
“Come on.” I follow him out the door.
I think we’re in an office building, judging by the corporate art in the hallways and the closed doors. “Where are we?”
“This is the headquarters of St. Thomas Communications,” he says.
“Why did you bring me here, of all places? And why the hell do you have a secret interrogation room?”
“This building has good security and hidden entrances. We can get people in and out without them being noticed.” I open my mouth, and he continues, “In case I was wrong about you and the paternity test came back negative, we needed to have control of the situation. Again, I’m sorry that the security team used tactics that frightened you. ”
“I wasn’t frightened. Just annoyed.”
He looks at me appraisingly. “You really are a St. Thomas.”
He leads me down some halls, then down a flight of stairs and into a parking garage full of fancy cars, all shiny, with tinted windows. He beeps one of them and points me to it. “Use this one to get home.”
Wilbur is sitting in the passenger seat. My lip trembles. “What’s going to happen to my car?”
“It’s over there.” He gestures down the row of parked cars, and yep, there’s my car sticking out like a rat turd in a jewelry display. “I asked them to put your personal items in the BMW’s glove compartment, and you can have your car moved wherever you wish.”
What’s it like to just say something and know it’s been done?
“If you like this car, feel free to keep it. If you want a different one, just let me know, or pick one out yourself if you prefer. You’ll also have a driver at your disposal.”
“Okay, thanks. I want to go back to my …” My Charlie. “My boyfriend now.”
Remi and I stand there, awkwardly, looking at each other. He coughs harshly into his elbow.
Has he really been trying to find me my whole life?
Wow.
I can’t even articulate how this changes my world view. I thought I was all alone.
My throat is starting to feel scratchy, and my eyelids are hot.
Do I give him a hug? He’s a total stranger, and I’m not particularly affectionate to anyone but Charlie.
Finally, I shake his hand, feeling ridiculous, and climb into the car.
It’s nicer than the nicest place I’ve ever been. Sparkling clean. Leather seats. Digital displays of everything. It takes me a moment to get the seat adjusted—hey, I’m short, and Remi must have tall drivers—and to put the mirrors in the correct position .
I roll down the window, my chest tight. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, son.”
Son.
The world seems to wobble and slow down. No one’s ever called me “son.” Not even my kind foster parents, because they knew I wasn’t really theirs.
So many years. So much lost time. So many things I’ll never have, because of circumstances beyond his control. Beyond our control. I’m not going to hold it against him that he couldn’t find me, because it sounds like he tried. But I’m still pissed.
My vision’s blurry, and my chest aches.
I never got a birthday party with my father. Or a day spent at a park. I never got to show him my report cards or to go to the same school the whole way through. I didn’t get to talk with him about any of the questions I had growing up—about how the world works, my sexuality, how I was going to make it through life. What I was interested in.
Fuck. I missed out on a lot.
I back up, my hands shaking. I’m feeling extremely self-conscious, and I don’t want to scrape this expensive car on anything in the underground parking garage. I emerge into the night and find I’m in the middle of Los Angeles. Charlie’s address is already programmed into the GPS, which creeps me out a bit, but obviously Remi knows where Charlie lives, if he sent tracksuit guy—Lonnie?—to watch me there. I follow it home on autopilot. Scenery streams by, but I’m zoning out and don’t register it.
A keening noise comes from somewhere.
Me. It came from me.
I’m starting to hyperventilate.
I think this is what it feels like to have my heart break.
When I spy Charlie’s house, I’m overcome with the urge to get the fuck out of this car. I park it haphazardly across the driveway, grab Wilbur, and race inside. As I do, I notice a black Escalade pulling up across the way, and the driver gives me an up nod .
So now I have a bodyguard. A constant shadow.
I wanted a father for twenty-three years. I was so alone, but now I have … too much.
I can’t fucking handle it. I can’t fucking breathe.
When I get Charlie’s door open, I slam it behind me, set Wilbur in the bathroom sink, and run down the hall to Charlie’s bedroom. I pace, throwing my hands in the air, then go over to the door and bang my forehead on it. I clench my hands into fists and shake.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting with my ass by my heels. For the first time since I was a teenager, I burst into tears.