18. Sarah
18
SARAH
“There's a complication with my blood which makes me ineligible to donate bone marrow for him.” That's the bullshit I told Peter and Lauren the moment I walked out of Amanda's office.
The doctor in charge of my father's case wasn't on duty, so she had to take over. To say I was happy about that huge development would be an understatement.
While I was tense, Mandy tried to calm me down, assuring me that I was in safe hands, which I believed.
She took me to a lab and got the tests done on me in under ten minutes. She told me that the first test to come back was the blood test, and when it came, the look on her face before she went over the results told me shit's about to hit the fan.
Safe to say I won't be able to donate bone marrow to my father or anyone for at least another couple of months.
The news rocked me, but I already know what I'm going to do with it.
When Ian and I get outside of the hospital, I look back to see if Peter and Lauren are still following us.
They aren't.
Thank God for that.
They were so upset when I told them I couldn't help our father live. I feel bad for them. I really do.
But what's happened is beyond me.
Ian leads me to his truck, and I smile at the sight of the thing again. It's beaten up as hell. I can almost swear it's the same one he was using years ago, but I can't say for sure. I don't always remember the details.
My mind goes to the joke he cracked last night about being a broke billionaire, and I wonder if he was indeed joking. It's not like him to joke about things that are important, though.
The loud sound of the truck’s engine soon fills the space between us and drags my attention to him. There's a questioning look on his face, and it kills me to not be able to tell him what the truth really is.
But I don't think he's ready for that right now. Hell, I’m not ready for it, either.
“I'm fine, Ian,” I say, at least to assure him.
“Just tell me that the problem was with him and not you so I can drive you safely to the hotel without going crazy with worry.”
“I'm fine.”
He groans, one of his big palms landing on the steering wheel. “That's not assuring, Sarah, at all. What happened in there?”
I can't tell him the truth. Not now.
“Please?” He presses on.
Sighing, I start to think of something to tell him just to keep him calm. Nothing is wrong with me. Not in the way he's thinking, anyway. Maybe I can tell him that.
“There's nothing wrong with me, okay? It's just some complications with our blood match.”
“You guys don't match?” he asks.
That's not what I said. Or maybe it is. I don't know. I'm not good at lying. But I can already see the wheels turning in his head. He's jumping to a conclusion already.
“Ian,” I say hoping to interrupt his line of thought.
“Sarah, are you saying he's not your father?”
No. But I do understand why he would come to that conclusion.
“That’s not what I'm saying… I'm just… You know what? I'm not saying anything at all apart from I'm fine and you have nothing to worry about. Now can you please get us out of here before Lauren and Peter come out and decide to make my life a living hell?’”
Shaking his head at my words, he pulls at his shift stick and starts to steer the car out of the parking lot. I can tell he's not happy with my explanation, but he doesn't push it, and for that, I am grateful.
I look out the window, trying to calm my racing heart down. The day is not going as well as it started at all.
When I woke up this morning in Ian's arms, I was happy. Although I had no idea where we really stand, I felt we were in a place we've never been before.
We were at peace with each other.
He even opened up to me, with very few words, and there's the fact that he spoke in his dreams, giving me an inclination to where his actions come from.
I felt maybe I could talk to him about it later today, make him understand that I don't care about his history with people leaving him, but I won’t unless he asks me to.
But all that is now gone with the wind. It's impossible to have that conversation with him without telling him the truth. The truth that I'm scared will drive us further apart.
Just when we are about to get to the hotel, I notice that the crowd outside has tripled from earlier this morning.
Oh no.
“Can we go to your place, please? I just don't want to have to deal with the media right now.”
He doesn't say anything about my request, but he continues driving and he passes the hotel, going to the next turning point.
A few minutes later, we're at his place, and I feel a little better than I did at the hospital.
No one will know I'm here.
We climb down from his truck, and he leads me to his apartment’s door. He opens the door, and we enter.
“Did you just move in?” I ask him as soon as we enter his place.
I just can't help it. The place is empty. Looks like a lair for someone on the run. Looking straight ahead, I see a kitchen with a cabinet open and some utensils.
There's a TV on the wall. One sofa and a bed in the middle of the living room, which is very big. The place looks like a warehouse. Except for the kitchen that’s separate, and the bathroom too, it's literally an open space.
Ian laughs at my question and shakes his head. “I just haven't gotten around to make it look like…”
“Home?” I provide when I see he's struggling for words.
“Yeah, that. Anyway, make yourself at home,” he immediately laughs at the irony of his words and rolls my eyes dramatically.
“Are you hungry? Because I am hungry.”
I nod at his words. I can definitely use food. Although I'll have to be more careful with my intake with this new discovery. But it's still early.
“Yeah. Um… Do you have something we can eat?”
“I can make us chicken soup and some rice. Would you like that?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He goes into the kitchen, and I busy myself with doing my best not to drive myself insane with worry. It's hard, though. Every thought that pops into my head leads me back to this new discovery.
What am I going to do about it?
I'd like to believe that I know what to do with it, which I do. There's no other option, really. I'm still scared.
Can I do it alone if Ian is not okay with it?
Would he really let me handle it all on my own?
I don't think he's that kind of man. But the truth is, I don't really know the kind of man he is. Sure, there's history between us. But it's been years since we were last close. And even then, he barely opened up to me. What I know about him are mostly things I had to pry to get insight on and find out for myself.
What's my life going to be like if I do have to do this all on my own?
Sure, I'm rich. But money is not everything. And I already have Olivia. She’s my entire world—my little girl who depends on me for everything. I'm doing my best to keep her safe as it is, and sometimes it feels like it's not enough. How do I deal with another addition to our life?
Shit. This is not good.
But I can't help but already feel like it's a blessing in disguise. I'm too much of an emotional person to not look at the advantages of the situation after looking at the disadvantages.
If Ian does decide to be supportive, that could be huge for both of us. It could be an opportunity to properly build a life for us, maybe forever.
But what if he disagrees?
Ugh!
Minute after minute, I drive myself mad about the possibilities and impossibilities of my situation. Eventually, when I feel like I can't take it anymore, I go to join Ian in the kitchen. He won't let me do anything, so I'm left with no choice but to watch him dominate the kitchen.
He's an amazing cook. Chopping veggies and stirring soup like it's something he was born to do.
When the food is ready and I have my first taste, I officially decide that maybe he was born to cook.
“This is delicious,” I say as I take yet another scoop of my soup.
I hear no response from him, making me raise my head so our eyes meet. He's looking at me while he plays around with his food.
“What?” I ask, trying to pretend like I don't already know what's bothering him.
“What happened?”
“Can I just enjoy this food? Please. I'll tell you eventually. I just need time to gather my thoughts,” I plead.
It's not exactly a lie, and I'm glad he lets it go.
We both eat in silence, and when we're done, I do the dishes regardless of how hard he protests against it.
Against his advice, I turn on the TV, tired of not knowing what's being said, and I find out that I'm being crucified.
“Just turn it off. You don't need to hear what they're saying. They don't know you. They don't know what's really going on, so why bother listening to what they have to say?”
He speaks so passionately I want to kiss him for being so thoughtful. So diplomatic even, because let's face it, he doesn't know what's going on, either. But here he is, standing up for me.
Ian is a good man. Sometimes. Well, most times, if I'm honest.
I open my mouth to tell him that, and my phone chooses that moment to ring.
Huffing, I bring it out of my bag. It's been stuffed in there since earlier today.
The name flashing on the screen immediately makes my heart start to beat fast, but I try to stay calm. I don't miss Ian's curious eyes following my every move, so I pick up the call.
“Hello Auntie,” I say so he'll know who's calling and, as expected, he relaxes.
“How are you dear?”
“I'm okay. How about you?”
“I'm good. Where are you?”
Something about the way she asks that question tells me my earlier suspicion hadn't been wrong.
“I'm somewhere I can talk. What's going on?”
There's a long pause on her end, and I know it's because she's thinking of the best way to break the news to me.
Oh God. My heart beats so loudly in my chest it's a wonder it's not out on the floor.
“Auntie?”
“They found your place here, honey.”
Fuck.
“How?”
“I can't say. I was at work when Jolene called and told me that there's paparazzi all over the street. They think you might be coming back.”
God, if they find out where I live, what's to say they've not found out about my daughter, too?
“They did…“ I trail off and glance at Ian, who's not even pretending that he's not listening to my conversation. I clear my throat and lower my voice a little, selecting my words carefully.
He can't know.
Not about Olivia or the current situation. Not right now, anyway.
“Did they find her?” I whisper.
“No, they haven't. There's been no call from the school so far, and I spoke with them last night after my shift. She's fine.”
I sigh in relief.
The media doesn't know about my daughter for now, but how long until they poke around and find out the truth, and everything goes bad?
This is why I keep my life as private as possible.
What am I going to do now?