46. Jamie
Jamie
Tom’s eyes dart between me and his daughter as he enters the room. I shut the door behind him and watch as he gives Maya’s hand a squeeze before leaning back against the desk.
The awkward silence extends between the three of us, thick and smothering. Finally, Maya breaks it by asking her dad what he’s doing here, perching herself on the foot of my bed.
Coach looks to me, heaving a sigh strong enough to rattle the walls.
“Well, honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about how Mattingly called you ‘Jay’ earlier instead of ‘Booker’ and I couldn’t stop wondering if you’d…
if you’d cut things off with your dad? Or, I guess I just let myself get lost in thinking a lot of different things, and I realized your last game with me is happening tomorrow night.
I don’t want us to part ways how we’ve been.
” He pauses, trying to gather his thoughts.
Tom Winchester is typically so put together, always knows what to say, never stumbles.
But finding his daughter in my room has thrown him for a loop, that much is obvious.
His gaze flicks back to Maya. “Maybe we should start with what you’re doing here…though I think I could guess.”
Maya looks at me, leaning against the wall by the door, not having moved since her dad arrived. For some reason, my body has gone into fight or flight mode. I know Tom is nothing like my father, yet I’m anticipating anger and shouting and violence, even when I know none of that is going to happen.
“Jamie and I…are together. I wanted to tell you, but it was complicated at first, and I was worried about how you’d react…your sobriety.”
My brows crease at that. Sobriety? In all our time together, Maya’s never once mentioned that her dad was an addict or alcoholic. Though, in all fairness, we’ve been avoiding talking about her father since the minute we started seeing each other.
Tom’s eyes bounce between the two of us, heavy and tired. “Jamie, come sit down, son. I’m not upset.” Slowly, I push from the wall, making my way to sit on the edge of Drew’s bed. “Why don’t you start from the beginning,” he instructs.
Maya goes on to explain our story to her dad, explaining how we crossed paths on Halloween—leaving out all the sordid details—but didn’t really start seeing one another regularly until after Christmas.
She explains about Ross, about his abuse, about his blackmail, about why we’ve been keeping our relationship a secret.
I sit silently as Maya recaps all the reasons she was worried about telling her father—that she was worried bringing me back into their lives, only to lose me again, would cause him to relapse.
My stomach turns with guilt, because she was right to be worried about that, for a little while.
But not any more. I’m not going anywhere now. She’s my family. My whole world.
Tom listens with rapt attention as she speaks, and when he hears about the drugs and the sexual assaults and the beatings, his eyes go misty and he has to look away. I can see the guilt eating him from the inside as he processes the trauma I endured at the hands of Ross Booker.
After another tense bout of silence, Tom looks at me. “Can we talk? Outside?”
I look to Maya, who nods. “I’m not going anywhere,” she says with a small smile.
Rising from my seat, still not having said a word the entire time he’s been here, I follow Tom out onto the balcony, each of us taking a seat in the hard plastic chairs.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Jamie,” he whispers into the night air. “I’m so fucking sorry for all of it. I didn’t know.”
I don’t know what to say. I had been thinking that I needed to work out my difference with Tom, both for Maya’s sake and my own.
But having it sprung on me like this, catching me off guard, and I feel like the same angry nine year old boy who was abandoned—like the same eighteen year old kid who came back full of rage and resentment.
“I tried—for years, I tried to contact your father.
I wanted to come visit, to bring Maya to see you and check in on how you were doing.
The social workers, the lawyers, no one could get a hold of you.
Eventually, Ross went so far as to get a restraining order; he accused me of harassment and stalking, and the lawyers told me I had no choice but to stay away from him and his child.
“I saw photos, online and in magazines, and you seemed to be doing okay as far as I could tell, but the media only shares so much about children—even the children of celebrities. Once the novelty of your existence in Ross’s life wore off, they didn’t share much about you until you were old enough to start playing concerts with him.
By that time, you were a teenager, and I thought you were living every teenage boy’s dream.
” He huffs out disbelieving, mirthless laugh, shaking his head and running a hand over his bearded chin in self-loathing.
“It’s not your fault,” I finally say, softly. “It’s exactly how he wanted it to happen. There’s nothing anyone could’ve done; I’ve been trying for years.”
“You were right, that day in my office. Your mom…she told me Ross wasn’t a good person.
One night, early on, we got to talking about our pasts.
I told her about Maya’s mother and how we separated pretty amicably, for the most part.
Gina’s a crazy person half the time, but there was no screaming or fighting involved.
We didn’t keep in touch except to trade out weeks with Maya.
“Lucinda told me about Ross… she was front row at one of his earlier shows—he was playing some sort of local event she was at with her friends, opening for a bigger name artist—and she caught his attention. They were young and hooked up, and it was fun, she’d said.
“But then he became more possessive. He wanted her to come with him on the road and leave her life behind. He’d get drunk or high and he was rough with her. She said he never hit her, but he also scared her. She said he’d get this look in his eyes…
“When she found out she was pregnant, she was scared what he’d do, but she knew that not telling him would risk the baby if he ever did turn violent and hurt her.
What she told you about him—that he found out she was pregnant and left to get his big break as a singer—it wasn’t entirely true.
She ran from him, to protect herself, but also to protect you.
“Her family, your grandparents and aunts and uncles, they were all sharing a one bedroom house, living in unimaginable conditions. She was working full time as a night shift nursing assistant trying to supplement their income.
“She told me they were ashamed she was pregnant out of marriage. They told her she could marry your father or leave. They didn’t want her support or her money, and their pride drove her away.
She left everything behind. She left California and came all the way to Pennsylvania, alone.
And she built everything she had from the ground up, for you.
“When she died, the authorities asked me who your father was, and I wanted to tell them I didn’t know—I knew she wouldn’t want you to go back there with him.
But I also knew there was no way they’d let me keep you when she had legitimate family still living.
My options were to tell them who your father was or send you to live with her parents and siblings in poverty—and more than likely, their living conditions wouldn’t have been deemed safe or stable enough to take in a child, and I was scared you would’ve been sent into the foster care system.
“So, I told them you were Ross Booker’s son, thinking it’d be better to live with a rich father, and I’d know where you were, rather than risking you getting lost in the system and never seeing you again. I was choosing between two evils, and I thought I did what was best for you.
“I told them I wanted you. God, I fought like hell to get them to let me keep you, but it didn’t matter. They contacted Ross, did a paternity test, and there was nothing I could do after that.
“I was young, son. I barely knew what I was doing, trying to navigate the law and her death and raise a kid of my own. I fucked up, and you suffered because of it.”
Tom finishes his monologue, getting out the words he’s been keeping tucked away for the last fifteen years. Tears mar his weathered face as he looks out at the cityscape before us.
I don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond. Somehow, I feel lighter, having heard his piece. He didn’t abandon me voluntarily. He didn’t give me up willingly. The truths he shared tonight are hard to swallow, sure, but they doused the flames of bitterness I’ve been harboring all this time.
Slowly, I stand up, offering a hand out to him. He takes it, and I pull him up from his seat, taking the man who’s the closest thing I have to a parent in this world and wrapping him in a suffocating hug.
Tom squeezes me hard, letting out a shaky exhale knowing this embrace means more than any words I could’ve said out loud. After a moment, he pulls back and put both hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“Me, too. I’m sorry for being a prick all these years,” I reply, pulling a laugh from him.
“I can’t say I don’t understand, knowing what I know now. I just hate we lost all that time,” he admits, and I nod in agreement. “Damn, a conversation like that really makes a man want to have a drink,” he adds, joking and I huff out an awkward laugh.
“Are we going to talk about that next?” I ask, still wondering about the whole sobriety thing, but Tom shakes his head.
“Nah, not tonight. That conversation can wait. I think we need to finish talking about how you’ve been sneaking around with my daughter.”
I can feel my face heat as he shakes his head in amusement, leading the way back into the hotel room where we find Maya curled up, asleep in my bed.
Tom shakes his head affectionately at his sleeping daughter before softly saying, “As a chaperone on this trip, I should make her leave your room…but I’m happy for you two.” He walks to the door, turning to look at me one last time before he goes. “Be good to her, Jamie.”
“Yes, sir. Always.”