Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
S avannah
“But you didn’t. That’s all that matters.” Ian leans forward and takes my hand in his and pats the back of it. “C’mon. Let’s get something to drink. I saw some vending machines down the hall.”
Vending machines.
Inside I snicker. That’s where all of this started; me and Ian. One crazy concert, two drunk people, and a night that would change both our lives.
I’ve convinced myself that keeping Gigi’s parentage a secret was a badge of honor for me.
Single mom.
Don’t need anyone.
I can do this myself.
Those were the justifying statements with which I lied to myself. The truth is that keeping the identity of Gigi’s father a secret was because I was afraid. I could tell myself another lie and say that I didn’t know without a DNA test who her dad was, but that thought was laid to rest the moment I saw them together. They look too much alike and I know Sam saw it the night of the spaghetti incident—well, the first spaghetti incident.
I shouldn’t let it but that thought tickles me inside. I feel an instant pang of guilt because this is not the time for amusement. Truth is Gigi is as much like me with her bit of temper, as she is like Ian in her looks. If Ian hadn’t arrived when he did that night, Sam would have called me out on it. The only reason he didn’t was because he wanted a private interrogation. That’s when Ian showed up.
One good thing came out of that night with Ian. The best thing.
Though I’ve kept her all to myself, maybe I’ve done an injustice. Knowing now what happened to Ian that night, it makes what I’m about to do easier. Both of us had a terrible thing happen at a nearly identical time. While I realize that Gigi was my saving grace, Ian had no such sweet miracle to help him heal. He’s done it alone. I need to change that.
“Ian, I need to tell you something.”
How do I say words that will alter him forever?
He says nothing until we’re standing in front of the machines.
“I’m listening. What do you want? Soda? Water?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say dismissively. There are a few tables with chairs. A myriad of scenarios jumble through my thoughts like a traveling carnival. Like acrobats, they roll and tumble, each one trying to take center stage. But nothing about this is funny, and I struggle to compose my thoughts.
The canteen area is small and the weight of what I’m about to do suffocates me. As I walk over to a small table and take a seat, my knees are shaking. Ian is close behind me. He slips his leg over the chair directly across from me, sits, and pops the top of two soda cans. He slides one across the table to me.
“Drink it. The caffeine will help your headache.” He grins and butterflies flutter inside me. “So, what do you want to tell me?”
Tears sting my eyes, and I suck in a breath. Despite my best efforts to blink them back, twin tears race over my cheeks. Exasperation hits me, and my head falls back. Disgusted with myself, I wipe them away, then drop my chin and face him. He reaches for my hand, but I pull it back.
“There’s so much I want to say, but don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning. That’s always a good place,” he states flatly. As I hesitate, concern lines form on his face.
I try to steady my nerves as I gather the courage to speak. “There’s no easy way to say this.” I slowly raise my eyes until they’re locked with his. “Gigi’s your daughter.”
The news stuns him with its slap and his eyes widen with shock. “What?”
“She’s yours.”
His brow knits and his eyes bore into me. A second later his gaze falls to the can he’s holding, his fingers digging into the metal. “Bullshit.” He shakes his head as he looks away. “How?”
I reach across the table and curl my hand around his fingers. “Gigi was conceived the night we met. The night of the concert.”
His eyes meet mine. “That’s impossible,” he insists.
“I wouldn’t joke about something like this.” My stomach twists into angst-filled knots. I can’t read what’s going on inside his head and I’ve never had a fondness for the unknown.
“How the hell?” He looks away as he wipes a hand over his face, then collapses back into the chair, giving me his full attention. “Explain.”
I swallow hard. Anxiety builds as I shuffle words to lay out a palatable explanation. Interlacing my fingers, I place my hands on the table in front of me like a child sitting properly in school.
“My friend, Candace, rented a room for my birthday. We wanted to drink and party it up that night. It was her present to me. When I won the contest, I received two VIP passes, and she was my ‘plus one.’ We didn’t know the band was staying at the same hotel.
After I met you, I was really down.” I force a weak smile. “I had a huge crush on you at the time, and the Meet and Greet was a disaster.”
His brows perk. “I can only imagine.”
“Candace and me … we drank so much that night. So much.” I close my eyes, slightly shaking my head in subtle disapproval at the memory. “I drank so much I was dehydrated. We were already drunk; we’d had more than our share at the concert. When we got back to the hotel room we had even more. Candace passed out, but not me. I couldn’t sleep. We’d already downed the waters in the room, so I went in search of the vending machines. You were there.” I look up at him.
“And?” He presses.
“It wasn’t until you came to town, and I saw you two together that I couldn’t deny it anymore. Drake was over, and I was regular like clockwork. I knew.” I pause for a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never expected to see you again. Was terrified someone would have seen us on the elevator and would pull me in for questioning. I was already going through so much because of my parents and, when Gigi came, she was …”
“Perfect.” The word falls from his lips like a whispered prayer.
Remorse hits me with tsunami strength. “I should have said something. I was so immature. I was scared. You’d overdosed and I thought there might be footage from hotel security that showed you with me. All I could think was that I wanted to talk to my mom. I needed to talk to her and tell her what happened. I knew she’d be furious, but I thought I could possibly be in big trouble, so what was a little more? Even though I knew she’d be pissed, I also knew she’d know the right thing to do. Knowing I was probably the last person to see you that night was terrifying. I didn’t know if I should go to the police or wait and see if they contacted me—I just didn’t know.”
“Were you questioned?”
“No.” I shake my head, wishing away the memories that followed.
“And you never got to talk to your mom, did you?”
Ian waits patiently for an answer as I struggle to stay composed. Finding a speck of courage, I look deeply into his eyes, seeking compassion and understanding as I try to make this right.
“I thought I was afraid when I left the hotel but nothing about that night seemed important once I got home. I don’t know when the police got there but they were all over my house. They might have asked a question or two because they asked where I was, but I remember little. The questions I do remember were more like what I was doing before I came home and found my parents …”
“Murdered? Holy shit.” He gives me an incredulous look.
“Yes.” My voice becomes whisper soft as my thoughts walk over their graves. Silence looms as we struggle with our thoughts.
“Gigi’s my daughter.” He whispers.
“Yes,” I reply softly.
“And there’s no chance Drake?—”
I cut him off. “I’m sure. Drake always used a condom. Even if it had broken when he raped me, the timing would be off. Besides, you have a birthmark on your hip. I saw it tonight. Gigi has the same mark. If we did a test?—”
“Stop.” He runs his hand through his hair. “And you’ve known this since she was born?”
“Subconsciously, I didn’t want to think she belonged to anyone but me. I didn’t need or want financial help, and I’d just lost my family.” I shrug. “I don’t know … Gigi was my lifeboat.”
“And you didn’t want me to sink it.”
“Yes—well …”
“And you never thought to come to me?”
“How? Why? Every television station and major network was hunting you down and I didn’t know I was pregnant until seven weeks after. I was grieving. I thought my period was off because of shock. Once I realized what was happening, Sam told me my parents had a hefty life insurance policy and I had set up a trust for me. And why would I look for you? You were an addict in rehab. Who knew how long you’d stay clean? Once Gigi made her entrance, she was my world. I didn’t want you in it. Besides, if I approached you for DNA confirmation, the press would have made my life, your life, and Gigi’s, a miserable hell. At the time, I didn’t care what you did with your life, but I wasn’t going to let you screw up hers. I was damned and determined to give her the best one possible—and you’ve heard that cliché about momma bears and cubs? I never thought myself capable of violence, but I would do anything to keep her safe. Anything.”
He studies my face for a moment. “That’s why you acted like a bitch the night I came to Mad Dogs.”
“Yes, and I won’t apologize because I was in a completely different headspace at that time. I didn’t want you here. I didn’t know your connection to Sam. There was a small thought—both from excitement and fear—that you somehow remembered me. My imagination ran wild. Then, when you didn't recall me or the song … well, let’s just say my pride made me livid.” I steady my thoughts, trying to carefully choose my words. “It’s obvious I don’t feel that way anymore. Ian, I don’t expect anything from you. Gigi and I are?—”
“My family,” he interjects. “So, stop before you say something stupid.”
“Are you angry?”
“Damn right. You could’ve told me.”
I throw my head back as a quiet, mocking laugh erupts. “Right. Like you would’ve believed me.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he shrugs. “I might have insisted on a paternity test, given the stories I’ve heard about guys in other bands, but I had a right to know.”
Instantly, my mood changes. “Rights? You didn’t have any rights,” I angrily insist. “You were a junkie in rehab. You weren’t ‘father’ material. I didn’t want anything from you, and I didn’t want any of that mess around my baby.”
“I could have sent money.”
“I didn’t—and don’t— need your money. Gigi and I are fine.” I look away and take a few cleansing breaths to abate the tension between us. “Look, the fact is, you weren’t good for us then. You weren’t even good for yourself. But there’s a world of difference now. I’ve seen it. More than that, I believe it. I wouldn’t have told you if I thought otherwise. Gigi is the most precious thing in the world to me.” I pause. “Speaking of Gigi, I need to go check on her.”
“I’m going to call Sam. I’m sure he’ll see this on the news, and I want him to know everything’s okay.” He pauses. “Does he know I’m Gigi’s father?”
“I never came out and said so but, when he came to help me after the murder, I went on a crying jag. I blurted out everything. It was like I was emptying my soul. I’m sure something came out about me sleeping with you. In the purge I said things about Drake, the concert, and everything that happened that night … like I said, I was hysterical, and I don’t know what did or didn’t make sense to him, but Sam’s pretty good at piecing things together.” I press my lips together, my posture quickly deflating. “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”
He looks at me through tired eyes, yet I see no animosity there. “It’s a lot to take in but we’ll figure it out.”
I push myself away from the table and exit the room, leaving Ian alone to process all that I’ve told him. We’re so different than we were that night. I have no clue what happens next but all we’ve been through has made us the people we are today, and I like who we are. That’s what I hang my hopes on.
I travel down the hall to check on Gigi, lost in my thoughts. When I reach her room, I see an empty crib. Puzzled, I turn and walk to the nurse’s station.
“Excuse me.” A nurse behind the counter looks up. “My daughter, Guiliana, isn’t in her room.”
“Let me check with her nurse.” The woman pushes away from the desk and disappears through a doorway. A few minutes later she returns with another nurse, one I recognize from earlier when she came in to check on Gigi. She approaches me with a puzzled expression.
“Ms. Grace, Gigi’s father said he was taking her to the playroom.”
My heart seizes as terror strikes me like a lightning bolt. I run down the hallway, barely hearing the two women running after me. There’s a pounding rush in my ears as I race toward the playroom doorway, barely catching myself as I skid to a stop and capture the attention of stunned children and parents. I don’t see Gigi.
“Did any of you see a little girl with blonde curls come in here?”
One answers “no” while the others shake their heads. I turn to the nurse who followed me, panic evident in my raised voice.
“How could you let something like this happen? I thought you had strict identification protocols.”
“We do, Ms. Grace,” she says, confused. “Her father was wearing a badge. He said he’d just come from the airport.”
“Whoever he is, he’s not her father!” I shriek.
“Oh, my god. I’ll call security.” She rushes down the hall.
I search for the door to the stairway, spot it, then run to it. Without thought I sail down the flights of stairs and through the lobby. Seeing no signs of Gigi, I sprint through the automatic doors, my lungs screaming for air as adrenaline rushes through my veins for a second time tonight. I sprint to the end of the crescent-shaped driveway and find myself lost in a sea of cars in the main parking lot. A black Mercedes slows beside me. A dark, tinted window lowers enough so I see Gigi lying unconscious in the back seat. A scream rattles my insides and, just as it's about to unleash, the front passenger window sinks enough for me to see Drake’s haughty sneer. Suddenly, the unvoiced scream strangles me. I’m living a nightmare.
“Get in the car, Savannah.”