Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Zander
I don’t know which way is up right now.
As I walk around the vineyard, guilt coats me like a fine mist for leaving Romy behind. I feel bad that she’s seeing my back once again. And on top of it, at the worst time. But I need to wrap my head around this news before I do or say something stupid.
That’s my track record, right? I push people as far away as I can.
I’ve been through my hours of therapy. Sat in that chair while the therapist told me over and over how I can’t keep living my life without any meaningful connections.
He gave me exercises and taught me what to do and how not to be such an angry person, how not to expect the worst from everybody.
I know it’s conceivable that not everybody will abandon me or use me.
But still—a baby. A kid. A kid who will rely on me.
I have so many fucking people who already rely on me—from my road crew to Beau and DeSoto, my entire security detail, music producers, songwriters, my band, concert promotors, to every food vendor in the packed arenas.
Many of them support their families because of me and my success.
All those people look to me to make a difference in their lives, to make sure they can put food on their table and clothes on their kids.
But that’s different. I’ve learned to live with the pressure to keep producing hit after hit and keep everyone’s bank account flush.
But a baby needs comfort, love, and nurturing. How am I ever… I’m not meant to be a father.
No one would ever say, You know, Zander Shaw, he’d be father of the year.
Nobody would ever look at me and be like, That’s who you should choose to have your baby with—good job, Romy.
I mean, sure, there are women who have wanted my baby over the years, but they just wanted the checks to roll in.
They wanted the lifestyle and notoriety they thought would come with their kid being Zander Shaw’s.
Their motivation had nothing to do with me being a father to a child.
Goddamn it. I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father.
She’s so sure. And god, I would never ask if it’s mine.
I’m sure it’s mine. Romy isn’t the kind of woman to try to pull one over—of that, I’m sure.
I mean, I probably should ask the question, but how offensive is that?
To ask, Are you sure it’s mine? How ridiculous would that be?
She already hates me. She’d hate me even more if I did that.
I stomp away from the vineyard, which—who the fuck has a vineyard in Nebraska?
I can’t believe they make their own wine.
I guess that’s something I should entertain incorporating into the video.
I should ask Romy because it seems like a pretty romantic area for the video—but that’s for another time.
I need to push business out of my mind and start worrying more about how I’m going to provide love and care to a baby.
So, I go back to The Getaway Lodge, and I don’t go to my room. This is why Beau gets paid the big bucks. He’s gonna talk me down. He’s gonna tell me it’ll be okay. He’s gonna tell me how we navigate this.
I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even realize I’ve knocked on his door until it swings open, and Beau stands there, still dressed in his damn slacks and button-down. Talk about a wound that needs healing.
Beau grew up with nothing, maybe even worse off than me.
I remember the holes in the bottoms of his sneakers, the worn-out jeans, and shitty T-shirts when I first met him.
Now he always makes sure the first impression anybody gets of him is how well-dressed he is.
How expensively dressed he is, to be more precise.
He wants people to know he’s no longer that down-and-out kid with nothing to his name.
“What’s up, man?” His gaze runs up and down my body.
I’m sure I look like shit. The guy knows me probably better than I even know myself at this point.
I push in past him. “She’s pregnant.”
He stands in the doorway for a second before he shuts the door and flicks the lock. He’s ultra-paranoid about anyone having access to us. “What are you talking about?”
“You worried someone is going to bust in here and see my sorry disheveled ass?”
He follows my line of sight to the lock on the door. “Always better to be safe. So, talk to me like I’m four… Who is pregnant?”
“Romy.”
His mouth falls open, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. His laptop sits open on the desk because the man works more than he does anything. One day, I hope he actually finds someone to share his life with, but that’s for another time.
“Yeah, you heard me. I’m gonna be a fucking father.”
My anger isn’t about being a father. If anything, when the words first came out of Romy’s mouth, I couldn’t process what she was saying.
Then I just thought, Hell yeah, I’m gonna be a dad.
I’ll give that kid a great life. One I never had, that’s for sure.
But then reality snapped into place. My lifestyle is tailor-made to tear apart that particular dream.
My career has given me status, security, and money, but it ruins everything else I’d ever want.
“Shit, man. I mean, why the fuck didn’t you use a condom?”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Beau’s first reaction is judgment. He’s always warning me against situations like this. Think with your head, never your dick. I always agreed with him, always been right there alongside him.
But that time with Romy… I don’t know what to say except that I damn well lost all control.
I was singing the encore, a ballad to close out my concert.
I glanced to the side stage, and she was swaying back and forth, standing next to Beau.
I just thought, I could spend the rest of my life with her.
That’s just the thought that popped into my head.
And something about that didn’t scare me like I would have thought.
It exhilarated me. I couldn’t end the concert and get off that stage fast enough.
I grabbed her hand, lead her to the tour bus, and told Beau to keep everybody out.
I wanted her naked. My lips were on hers, my hands everywhere.
It started as fucking, but my pace slowed, and I looked into her brown eyes as I slid in and out of her.
Then the next thing I knew, I was coming, and I didn’t even realize it because of the intensity of the situation, but I’d forgotten to put on a condom.
I assumed Romy would be on the pill or have one of those things put in her arm.
I thought for sure she’d be protected. But she told me no.
And then I thought to myself, what are the chances when I pulled out at the last minute?
You know, the chances of me actually… it would be, like, one in a million.
But apparently, as Romy said, those health teachers were right because now I’m going to be a dad.
“It just got out of hand.”
Beau’s face screws up. “You can’t let it get fucking out of hand! Goddamn it. Do you know what this is gonna cost you?”
I press my palm to my forehead, run my hand over my hair, and tug on the back of my neck. “It’s not gonna cost money. It’s gonna cost me.” Gonna cost my child for having me as a father, I think but don’t say. “But fuck, man—I’m gonna be a dad.”
Beau must hear the weight in my voice, the unsteadiness, the fear. He sits next to me on the edge of the couch, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Zan.”
I hear it in his tone, the question that most people would ask in my situation.
“I’m telling you, it’s fucking mine.”
“But—”
“No. It’s mine. Romy isn’t like that. I’m sure she hasn’t… she would never tell me if she wasn’t sure. If there was an inkling it was someone else’s, she wouldn’t.”
“Yeah, you knew her for—what? Did you see her three times? She came—”
“It doesn’t matter. I just know. I know her, and this baby is mine.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I think you should at least think about a paternity test. You have things to protect. Assets, reputation, you. None of this works without you. Could you imagine if you go through this whole thing, and it turns out the baby was never even yours?”
I’m not going to have this conversation with him. He’s just doing his job, so I can’t really fault him for wanting me to get a paternity test. He probably already has a list of to-dos in his head about where we’re going to go, what we’re going to do, what legal paperwork we need.
“I don’t know, man. I just—I gotta wrap my head around this. This is huge.” I turn to look at him. He stares back at me and nods. “I mean, things are going to have to change.”
And even as I say the words, I have no idea what exactly that means. I’ll have to work harder. I have to make sure my kid never wants for anything—ever. He or she will never be the kid people make fun of and say they smell or the kid who goes to school in ratty clothes, half-starving.
“All right, all right,” Beau says, standing, putting his hands in the air.
This is stage two of Beau in the midst of any crisis.
This is the we-are-gonna-get-it-handled Beau.
This is the part where he wants me to let him do the worrying for me.
“We got this. I’m gonna figure this out.
But first things first—how did the conversation end with you two?
Is she mad? Is she angry? Is she upset?”
“Aren’t all three of those things the same emotion?” I arch an eyebrow.
He gives his bored look telling me to stop fucking around since we’re in the middle of a crisis.
“I don’t know. She seemed… okay. Upset, I suppose.
She was crying. And—I don’t know. I gotta talk to her more about this, but I just needed some time.
I needed to figure this out for myself.” I blow out a long stream of air.
“A fucking father. A baby. A kid. Eighteen years this kid’s gonna rely on me, and what kind of role model am I going to be? ”
“You’re going to be a great role model. That’s what you’re forgetting, Zan.
” He sits in a chair across from me and leans in real close to make sure I look at him.
“You’re the best guy I know. You’re gonna be an amazing dad, and you’re gonna make your child feel loved.
Maybe you’ll coach Little League, and I know you’re going to teach them to play guitar.
You’re gonna talk to them, and you’re gonna make them feel secure and supported.
You’re gonna give that child everything we didn’t get, and you’re gonna do right by them.
This kid’s gonna be amazing, and they’re gonna be grateful and happy that they got you as their dad. ”
I wish I could believe him, but he’s painting a picture of a life that doesn’t exist for me.
“But what about the months spent on the road when I’m on tour? What about how I get lost in the process when I’m recording an album, and I end up disappearing for months?”
Beau shakes his head. “Yeah, man, I’m not gonna lie, that shit has to change. But it’s okay. It’s all right. We’ll figure it out. I promise you. First thing I’ll do is get you some books. We can have them loaded onto your phone, and no one has to know, okay?”
And for some reason—maybe because Beau knows everything I’ve been through in my life, and we’ve shared most of that trauma with each other—I believe him. I somehow believe that I can have both. That I can be a country music star and a father.
“Thanks, man,” I say, looking at him. “I really hope so. But I gotta say—I’m scared shitless.”
Beau rocks his head back and laughs. “Fuck, man, so am I.”