Chapter 6
Goldie
My head pounds as I drift in and out of sleep in the back seat of Davis’s gorgeous truck, my right hand resting on Lily’s belly, making sure she’s breathing in her new rear-facing car seat that Davis bought and buckled in next to me. The thing is built like a tank and must have cost a pretty penny. I hope he can return it after he drops us off since Dad doesn’t have a car and we won’t have any use for it.
I hardly got a wink of sleep in the hospital since nurses and staff were constantly in and out of my room. I pray that Lily will nap for at least two to three hours so I can as well as soon as we get to Dad’s. A little thought at the back of my mind whispers about how much better the nap would be if Davis were to stay and sleep next to me…
I slip a hand into my backpack to pull out one of the few photos I have of Dad and me when I was a kid, turning toward the window so I can see it better in the dreary weather. I must have been around five or six years old, hair frizzy and blowing wildly on what must have been a windy day as I sat on top of his shoulders with a playground behind us. Maybe I was younger, actually, since Dad wasn’t nearly as skinny as the last time I saw him after years of drug abuse finally caught up to him and wrecked his health before he got arrested.
I smile through my headache, anticipating seeing him after all this time. Although he didn’t pick up the phone when I tried calling him a few times after leaving the hospital, from our previous phone calls, I could tell by the sound of his voice that he’s just as excited as me to be back in contact and that he’s doing better. Happy. Much healthier. I can’t wait to see it all in person. He may be years older, of course, but I bet he’s put on the pounds since going to prison, getting clean, and getting three square meals a day.
I carefully slide the photo back into my backpack and slump lower, cat-napping through the last twenty miles of the two-hour drive to Dallas, almost wishing it were two hundred miles just so Davis and I wouldn’t have to part ways so soon.
Davis
My stomach had plummeted when I stood outside the hospital and handed Lily to Goldie to buckle her into her car seat when it was time to go, knowing the short road trip to Dallas would probably be the last time I see the two of them. Passing through those sliding glass doors painfully severed the fantasy of Goldie being my woman and Lily being my daughter from our reality, in which Goldie and I are strangers despite sharing such an extraordinary, life-changing experience.
I flick my eyes between the road and my rear view mirror damn near every thirty seconds throughout the drive. The view of Goldie slumped low in her seat, her lips parted as she sleeps, keeps drawing my attention. The navy blue of her hoodie looks good on her, and my dick twitches when I picture the black nursing bra I bought that I know she’s wearing beneath it, cupping her full, luscious tits.
I only wish I could see Lily as well, but she’s facing the back. That’s probably a good thing, or else I wouldn’t be able to keep my eyes forward and focused on the road at all. That little girl of mine with her red hair, so much like her mother’s, is something special.
Damnit . I did it again. She is not my daughter , I remind myself, even though I played pretend long enough at the hospital for it to feel like she is…and put my name down on her birth certificate, which I’m pretty sure means the law considers her mine, too, at least until a DNA test proves otherwise.
Shit , I’ve really gone and done it now. Goldie is going to freak out the minute she gets the birth certificate in the mail, and I’ll have to come clean about the absolutely insane—and possibly illegal —things I’ve done since meeting her two days ago.
The GPS directions lead me to a rundown apartment complex on the outskirts of downtown Dallas. The gray paint, whether it started that color or not, is peeling in large sheets from the siding of each building. At least half the units on the ground floors have rotted wooden privacy fences around their patios that are either leaning over, dangerously close to collapsing, or simply missing in sections altogether. Plastic grocery bags and other debris gather along the bottom of the chain link fence surrounding the entire property, with weeds slowly reclaiming the parking lot, growing tall and scraggly between the wide cracks and potholes in the pavement.
This can’t be the right place. At least, I don’t want it to be, even though I know that it is since we double-checked the address before pulling up the map on my phone before we left the hospital. I have half a mind to make a U-turn and head back the way we came, but I force myself to slow the truck and pull into a parking space at the front next to a beat-up sedan with mismatched red and gray parts pieced together.
My stomach churns when I notice a couple of guys I don’t like the look of sitting on the stoop of the concrete staircase leading to the second floor of the building to the right. They eye my truck when I put the gear in park but don’t immediately get out. One of them is sagging against the black railing, its paint also peeling, revealing rust-eaten metal, the man’s pink balding head hanging limp on his shoulder.
My hand hovers over the gear shift, flexing with the need to put it in reverse and take my family home. I swear I’m seconds away from doing just that when Goldie yawns from the back seat, smacks her lips, and sleepily asks, “We’re here already?”
“Yeah.” Unfortunately. “You sure this is the right place, honey?”
She frowns in the rear view mirror as she surveys the complex, double-checking the name on the faded white banner tacked to the front of the largest building in the middle. “Yeah.” When she meets my eyes in the mirror, her brows are creased, and she chews the inside of her cheek, as apprehensive as me.
I clench my jaw and follow Goldie around the back to the passenger side after helping her out of the truck, shooting a warning glare at one of the guys who whistles like a creep when she unbuckles Lily. My blood boils when another cat calls her, the two of them cackling before coughing up whatever poison they’ve got fogging their lungs. I’d love nothing more than to stomp over there and kick their teeth out.
Except, I won’t leave Goldie’s side, not in this place, not for a single second.
With her backpack slung over my shoulder, I leave the rest of her bags to bring in later after she gets settled. I put an arm around her, blocking the guys’ view of Goldie and Lily as I search for her dad’s apartment number. Reluctantly, I lead her down the broken sidewalk toward the building on the left, thankful he’s on the ground floor so we don’t have to push through any other assholes who may be lingering on the stairs.
I battle the impulse to scoop Goldie up and race back to the truck when we get to her dad’s grungy white door. There’s a putrid bucket of soggy cigarette butts on the ground, along with a broken lawn chair straight out of the nineties to the side of it.
My head and heart pound when Goldie knocks on the door softly at first, then harder when no one comes to answer it for a long minute. I nearly explode when a man with patchy gray stubble and sunken cheeks dressed in a graying undershirt and sagging jeans finally opens the door, and we’re blasted with the cloying stench of cigarette smoke.
And then, for a split second, I fool myself into thinking that we do have the wrong address because this can’t be it. There ain’t no way this man, who looks like he’s knocking on death’s door, is the man Goldie has been so excited about being reunited with after a decade apart. We’ll apologize for the mix-up and head back to the truck, then call up her dad to get the right address.
But then I see the color of his eyes when they scrunch with delight, and my hope crumbles to dust. They’re a bluish-gray, a near copy of Goldie’s. Fucking hell , where is the man who got clean and has been on the straight and narrow? Because this sure as shit can’t be him.
Goldie’s face falls, and she shrinks at my side. “Dad?”
“Marigold! Holy shit, you’ve gotten big,” he booms, startling Lily, who does that newborn reflex thing where she throws her arms out in fright and starts crying. “Come give your daddy a hug.” He steps out of the apartment in his bare feet and pulls Goldie into a hug that swallows her whole, though he’s not much taller than her with his shoulders stooped.
She stands stiff in his arms, angling away to protect Lily, and goddammit , I want to peel his skinny arms off her and pull her back into mine. He finally lets her go when he starts coughing, doing so directly in her face and on Lily before he turns away to finish hacking his lungs up. What the goddamn fuck is wrong with this guy?
Lily is still crying, and Goldie tries to soothe her when her dad steps back into his apartment and motions for us to follow him inside. “Come in, come in.”
Goldie’s eyes are watery when they connect with mine, but she swallows and quickly looks away before stepping through the door directly into the living room. I nearly knock her over when she stops short in front of me at the sight of his equally rundown apartment. It’s littered with crushed beer cans and energy drinks, and there’s another overflowing bucket of cigarette butts on the filthy wooden coffee table to our right that’s cracked down the middle.
“Goldie, you can’t—” stay here , I finish silently when I’m interrupted.
“Let me get a good look at ya.” Her dad grips her upper arms and leans back. “Damn girl, you look just like your mama now. How the hell have you been?”
Instead of answering him, she looks around the dirty apartment and starts, “Dad, I thought—”
He sets his hands on his hips after yanking up his waistband, only for his jeans to sag again on his thin frame. “Dad? When did you stop calling me ‘Daddy’?”
If there’s one good thing that’s come from this, it’s that my Goldie no longer calls him Daddy . He doesn’t deserve it.
She goes on as if he hadn’t spoken. “You said you were clean. This…the alcohol…”
His narrow face twists, and I don’t like the look he gives her when he says defensively, “I am clean. Alcohol ain’t got nothing to do with it.” He even thrusts out his forearms, flipping them over and back up. They’re pale and littered with old scars but clear of fresh track marks.
A quick glance at the coffee table, then to the kitchen counters—nothing but a ten or fifteen-foot distance from the front door—confirms the absence of any visible needles or drug paraphernalia. Getting clean and staying clean is just about the hardest thing a person can do, so I’ll give him points for that.
On a dime, his expression changes again, and he smiles. “Ah, don’t you worry none about it. A few beers never hurt nobody. And I’ll get this all cleaned up right quick. You’ll see.”
Goldie bobs her head nervously but drops the subject. She also avoids looking at me when I wave to the cigarette butts and tell him none too kindly, “You can’t smoke in here. Not with the baby.”
He’s got some kind of Jekyll and Hyde thing going on because he shoots me a dirty look. “Don’t you think you know better than me. Marigold did just fine when she was a kid, that’s right. The baby will, too.” He points at Lily, whose tiny chin quivers.
Goldie’s eyes are brimming with tears as she rolls her lips between her teeth and bites them. She takes a deep breath, clearly regretting it when she immediately starts coughing. “Um, I need to change Lily’s diaper and feed her. Which one is my room?”
“Sure, sure! Your room’s right on in here.” He points to the first door on our left—one of only two doors in the whole apartment. The other door, which is on the back wall to the left of the tiny kitchen, leads to an even tinier bathroom with a filthy vanity and equally filthy mirror. I don’t even want to think about the state of the toilet and shower.
My hand clenches tight around the backpack strap when I step into the bedroom behind Goldie and take in the bare, stained mattress shoved in the corner of the matchbox-sized room with a single pillow sans pillowcase. The purple bedding set still in its plastic packaging at the foot of the bed is probably the cleanest thing in this apartment, and I bet it already reeks to high heaven. The walls don’t look like they’ve received a fresh coat of paint in the last twenty years, smudged and scuffed with dirt and spilled liquids. The nightstand next to the bed looks like it was pulled out of a dumpster, and it, too, is littered with ash and an overflowing pint glass with brown liquid and cigarette butts.
“You can’t be fucking serious. This is where you expect them to sleep? On that nasty mattress?” Regretfully, I startle Lily again with my raised voice, making her flinch. I press myself to Goldie’s side, reach around her to hold and stroke Lily’s clenched fist, then whisper, “Sorry, pumpkin.”
Goldie’s dad sucks on his teeth as he eyes me up and down. “What, you think this ain’t good enough for my daughter? Just who the fuck are you, pal?”
“I’m the man taking care of your daughter and her baby like you should have been doing all along. And no, this isn’t good enough for her or anyone else for that matter.”
“ Her baby?” He barks out a laugh. “If you ain’t even her daddy, why the fuck do you care?” His humor dissolves in an instant, and he rubs his jaw. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Just get the fuck outta my house.”
Silent tears roll down Goldie’s plump cheeks, and her voice is thick with emotion when she says, “You said you had a room ready for me. That you were going to decorate it and…and—you lied. About everything.” She steps between her dad and me, which I despise since it puts her in the line of fire, drawing his attention and ire. I grab her waist, pull her back carefully so she doesn’t stumble over her feet, and then angle her behind my shoulder.
“Goddamn girl, you don’t gotta sound so ungrateful. I’m taking you in, letting you stay here for free, giving you my bed while I take the couch. Didn’t know you were gonna act like a selfish—”
“Don’t you talk to her that way, asshole.” I step fully in front of Goldie, blocking his view of her. At my height and probably seventy-five pounds heavier, I don’t hesitate to use my size to crowd him until he steps back, his back thumping against the bedroom wall. Without taking my eyes off her dad, I tell Goldie, “We’re leaving. All of us.” And we are. I’ll drag her kicking and screaming out of here if I have to.
It’s radio silence behind me as she leaves the room, and I’m relieved for all of two seconds until her dad sneers and steps up to me like he’s some kind of tough guy. “Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m her daddy, not you! And what I do and say to my own goddamn daughter ain’t none of your fucking business.”
I jam my finger in the middle of his chest. “You’ve got no right calling yourself her daddy when you let your pregnant teenage daughter hitchhike across four fucking states on her own.” I straighten my back, giving myself another inch as I roll my neck, ready to pounce on him if need be. “So fuck you—I’m her Daddy now, and I’ll do a hell of a lot better job than you, you drunk piece of shit.”
He shrinks, just like Goldie did when she got her first look at him. Once again, the relief is short-lived when Goldie screams my name from the living room. The sound sends ice-cold fear shooting down my spine, adrenaline rushing through my veins.
I turn my back on her dad and stomp into the living room, zeroing in on some grimy asshole with unwashed long brown hair who has her backed into the corner between the couch and the wall to the right of the open front door. Lily is wailing in her arms, held tight to Goldie’s chest, while Goldie tries to shield her from the creep advancing on them. Goldie’s eyes are swollen and red, and her terror is tearing up my insides.
“Ah, come on now, princess. I’m a nice guy. Don’t gotta be afraid of little ol’ me.” The guy lifts his hand to brush his fingers along her cheek.
Goldie snarls and slaps his hand away, bracing her back against the wall for balance to lift her leg and kick him right in the groin. The man must be on something to dull the pain because he barely reacts to what should have sent him howling to his knees, clutching the family jewels.
He whips his arm out, shouting, “You fucking b—”
I drop Goldie’s backpack and grab his bony shoulder to spin him around to face me before he can make contact with Goldie’s soft skin. The color drains from his cheeks before I punch him square in the nose, which crumples under my fist, and then shove him over the arm of the torn-up, faded-brown couch. He lands on his back on the flattened cushions and bounces off onto the dark carpet, stained a variety of suspicious colors.
Goldie screams my name again, and I turn around in time to dodge her dad’s fist flying at my face. He stumbles with the forward momentum when his punch doesn’t land, and I shove against his shoulder, speeding along his descent so that he crashes on top of the guy on the floor. They both grunt as the wind is knocked out of them.
“We’re leaving right the fuck now, honey.” I sling my arm around Goldie’s shoulders to pull her into me away from the wall. She’s shaking so hard that I drop my arm around her waist, supporting her when she leans against me as we cross the few feet to the front door.
I briefly remember to snatch her backpack from the floor with all her important documents before we step outside and quickly make our way back to my truck, which thankfully still has all its tires and windows intact. Though it’s risky as hell, I don’t bother to stop to put Lily in her car seat. I doubt Goldie would let her go right now anyway. The sound of the two of them crying rips my heart to shreds as I open the front passenger door and boost them in, toss the backpack in the footwell, then reach across Goldie’s lap to buckle her seat belt.
A blink of an eye later, I’m in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot with my girls in tow. In my rear view mirror, behind the cloud of dust my tires kicked up, I can just make out Goldie’s dad yelling and waving his middle fingers in the air from the sidewalk. I take a deep breath and force myself to slow down as soon as I’m on the main road since Lily isn’t in her car seat.
After driving aimlessly for ten minutes, taking random turns as I go to make sure we’re not being followed, I pull over into a pawn shop’s empty parking lot and throw the gear in park. If I weren’t so worked up, and if Goldie weren’t holding Lily, I’d pull her onto my lap and hug her tight.
With trembling hands, Goldie unbuckles her seat belt and pulls her hoodie up. She fumbles while unhooking the top of her nursing bra, and it takes a few tries to get the baby to latch properly. The silence in the cab is only broken by Goldie’s sniffles and my heavy breathing as I try to calm my racing thoughts.
Fuck it . I pull on the lever and slide the solid bench seat back before slipping one arm under Goldie’s legs and the other around her back to lift her up and maneuver her sideways onto my lap with her knees pointed toward my door. Lily startles when Goldie yelps, but Goldie guides her mouth back to her chest and soothes her with quiet shushing noises. I don’t know if she realizes I’m doing the same thing to her as I rub Goldie’s back and echo her shushing.
I recoil from the smell of smoke when I bury my face in Goldie’s loose hair, needing a little soothing of my own. We were in the apartment for thirty minutes max, and she already reeks. That means I do, too. Even worse, so must Lily. Any hope of bringing my heart rate back down from a dangerous level instantly shatters.
The girls are quiet by the time Lily finishes nursing and falls asleep. Goldie won’t look at me as she tries to hook her nursing bra with unsteady hands, unable to clip it in place the first two tries. She sucks in a breath and holds it when I push her hand out of the way and clip it myself, then gently work her hoodie back down to cover her breasts.
It’s awkward climbing out of the truck with her in my arms, but I manage to do so without making Lily flinch. Goldie lays the baby down on the back seat for a quick diaper change, then buckles her into her car seat somehow without waking her. Instead of climbing into the back to sit next to Lily as before, I close the back door, then boost Goldie into the front and buckle her into the middle of the bench next to me.
It’s not until we’re on the highway headed away from the city that Goldie finally speaks. “Where are we going?” Even though she’s not crying anymore, her grief filters through her quiet voice.
I don’t know if she realizes yet that I’m holding her hand on my lap as I rub my thumb over hers, back and forth. I don’t know if she realizes that she keeps scooting closer, either, or that our thighs are pressed together.
“I’m taking y’all home with me.”