12. Twelve
Twelve
Vince
The DNA results sit on Michael Garret’s mahogany desk like a ticking bomb. My daughter. The test confirms what I’ve known since I first looked into those eyes—so like my own. Jasmine is mine.
“Vince.” Michael looks up from the papers on his desk. “You understand that even with proof of paternity, we have some complications here.”
I grip the arms of my chair, leather creaking under my fingers. “Complications? The woman willingly abandoned her baby on my doorstep. What’s complicated about that?”
“Technically, Ms...” He glances at his notes.
“Daisy Turner or Tanner.” Admitting that tastes bitter. You’d think I’d remember the last name of someone I’d spent the night with, but those days are a blur of faces and meaningless encounters. Now, that blur has come back to haunt me in the most life-changing way possible.
“Ms. Turner or Tanner hasn’t legally terminated her parental rights. The note, while damning, isn’t a legal document.”
“She left a six-month-old baby alone on a doorstep.” My voice rises, and I force it back down, thinking of Jasmine at home with Quinn, probably gnawing on the new butterfly teething ring that Quinn bought her. “That’s abandonment.”
“It is.” Michael leans forward. “And that works in our favor. But you need to understand—if the mother comes back, she could petition for custody.”
The thought hits me like a physical blow. Jasmine, taken away. No more morning smiles, no tiny hands patting my face, no sweet weight against my chest as she falls asleep. I can’t believe the emotion that squeezes my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“What do I need to do?” I’m already reaching for my checkbook. “Whatever it costs, whatever it takes. I need to make sure she can’t take Jasmine.”
“We’ll begin the legal filings.” He starts typing on his laptop. “But Vince, you need to be prepared. This could get messy. Your lifestyle—“
“Has changed.” I pull out my phone, scrolling to a picture from the photoshoot with Holly—me placing Jasmine in her crib. “I’ve hired a full-time nanny and set up a nursery. I haven’t been to a club in weeks. Hell, I traded my Ferrari for an SUV with one of the highest safety ratings.”
Michael studies the photo, his expression softening slightly. “That’s good. But we’ll need more. Character witnesses, proof of stability. Your grandmother’s support will help significantly.”
“And these photos?” The publicity shoot feels more important now. “Showing me as a devoted father?”
“Excellent idea. Public perception matters in cases like this.” He makes another note. “But there’s something else we need to discuss.” Michael sets aside his legal pad and leans back, his expression shifting from lawyer to family father. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to really think before you answer.”
I brace myself, already knowing where this is going.
“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want? Being a father... it changes everything. Forever.” He gestures to the framed photos on his desk—three kids in various stages of growing up. “It’s not just about the legal battle. It’s about every single day after that. The sleepless nights, the worry, the constant responsibility. Your life will never be entirely your own again.”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Just a few weeks ago, I was living the rockstar dream and thinking my life was perfect. Now, I’m reading child development books and debating baby food brands. But...” I pull up another photo on my phone—Jasmine sleeping on my chest, her tiny hand curled around my finger. “The thought of losing my daughter? It physically hurts.”
Michael studies me for a long moment. “You know, when my first child was born, I was terrified. Thought I’d never figure it out. But that feeling you’re describing? That’s being a father. That’s the love that sneaks up on you and never lets go.”
“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper. “Jasmine seems so little, so helpless. She depends on me completely. It’s terrifying, yet… it’s also a privilege. I want her in my life. I want to be there for every milestone, every stumble. I want to be the one she calls ‘Daddy.’”
“Good answer.” He nods, satisfaction crossing his features. “Because this won’t be easy. We’ll need to prove you’re the better option—stable, responsible, committed. The press will dig into everything. Your past relationships, your lifestyle, every party, every scandal.”
“Let them.” I straighten in my chair. “I’m not that guy anymore.”
“No,” Michael says thoughtfully, “you’re not. But Daisy’s note mentioned contacting you ‘when she’s ready.’ We need to be prepared for that possibility. Some women experience postpartum depression, or—“
“She never wanted to be a mother. Those were her exact words.” The anger rises again, hot and protective. “She didn’t even try. Just left a helpless, precious baby—my baby—all alone on a doorstep. She didn’t even bother to wait for me to open the door. She just—left.”
“Which works in our favor legally, but...” He taps his pen against the desk. “Have you considered what you’ll tell Jasmine someday? About her mother?”
The question hits me like a slap. Because no matter what happens in court, no matter how this plays out, someday my little girl will ask why her mother didn’t want her.
I rub my face, trying to process the weight of that future conversation. “I don’t know. How do you tell a child something like that?”
“You’d be surprised how resilient kids can be when they’re surrounded by love.” Michael glances at his family photos again. “And from what I can see, Jasmine’s got that in spades. Her father, your grandmother, and it appears you’re getting help from your social media manager...”
“Quinn.” Her name comes out softer than I intended. “She’s been... incredible with Jasmine.”
“Ah.” There’s knowing in Michael’s tone that makes me shift uncomfortably. “The redhead who’s been helping manage your public image through all this?”
“It’s not like that.” But even as I say it, I’m thinking of Quinn’s smile when Jasmine reaches for her, the way her hazel eyes light up at each of Jasmine’s milestones, and how natural they look together. “She’s just... she’s helped me figure all this out. She’s keeping me sane.”
“Mhmm.” Michael starts organizing papers into a folder. “Well, having a stable support system will strengthen our case. Now, here’s what we need to do next. First, we’ll file for emergency custody—that should be straightforward given the abandonment. Then we’ll start the process to terminate Daisy’s parental rights.”
“How long with it take?”
“Could be months. Could be longer if she contests it.” He holds up a hand when I start to protest. “But given her actions and the note, we have a strong case. In the meantime, document everything. Every doctor’s appointment, every significant event. Keep receipts for everything you buy for Jasmine. Take pictures of daily life. Build a record showing you’re an involved, committed father.”
“Quinn’s been tracking everything since day one—more for my social media than anything else. She says it’s important for managing the eventual public reaction.” I stop, realizing I’m mentioning her again.
Michael’s lips twitch. “She seems very... invested in helping you with this transition.”
“She’s good at her job.” I pull out my phone, scrolling through the timeline she insisted I keep—doctor visits, first tooth, first time rolling over. “She knows how to tell a story, how to clean up my public image.”
“Perfect. Keep that up.” He hands me the folder. “I’ve outlined everything we need. Review it, sign where indicated, and we’ll get started. But Vince?” His expression turns serious again. “It’s only a matter of time before the press gets wind of this. And when they do...”
“It’ll be a circus.” I’ve been dreading this part. The headlines practically write themselves: ‘Rock Star’s Love Child Abandoned.’ ‘Wild Band’s Savage Becomes a Daddy.’ ‘Mystery Groupie Dumps Baby on Rockstar’s Doorstep.’
“It looks like you’re doing what you can to get ahead of it,” Michael suggests. “To control the narrative. Those publicity photos you said should hit tomorrow will come in handy, as well as the interview. All those things will help strengthen your case.”
I stand, tucking the folder under my arm. “Whatever it takes. I just need to know Jasmine’s mine. Legally and permanently—no chance of anyone taking her away.”
“We’ll make it happen.” Michael stands, too, extending his hand. “And Vince? For what it’s worth? The way you talk about that little girl... you’re already her father in all the ways that really matter.”
Driving home, his words echo in my head. Father. It’s still surreal how completely my life has changed in such a short time. But as I pull into the driveway, seeing Quinn’s car still there, knowing Jasmine’s waiting inside... I realize I wouldn’t change a single thing.
I push open my front door, greeted by the soft sounds of Jasmine’s baby babble drifting from the living room. The scene I walk in on stops me in my tracks.
Quinn’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing one of my old band t-shirts she’s commandeered as a backup for baby mishaps. Jasmine’s on her play mat, reaching for the stuffed elephant Quinn’s dancing above her head, and the pure joy on both their faces makes my throat tight.
“Look who’s home!” Quinn’s voice shifts to a slightly higher pitch, which she uses with Jasmine. “It’s Daddy!”
Jasmine’s whole face lights up when she sees me, her little legs kicking in excitement. I drop the legal folder on the coffee table and scoop her up, breathing in that baby powder scent that’s become my favorite smell in the world.
“How’d it go?” Quinn asks, gracefully unfolding herself from the floor. There’s a smudge of what looks like baby powder on her cheek, and I have to fight the urge to wipe it away.
“Good. Complicated.” I settle on the couch, Jasmine contently snuggled against my chest. “Michael thinks I have a strong case.”
Quinn perches on the arm of the couch, and I notice she’s already got her tablet out, probably thinking about how to handle the media angle. Always working, always three steps ahead. “What’s our timeline looking like?”
“Months, maybe longer.” I watch her face carefully. “You okay with that? This is way beyond your normal social media duties.”
She gives me that look, the one that makes me feel simultaneously called out and cared for. “Vince Savage, if you’re about to give me some speech about not having to stick around—“
“No, I just—“ I adjust Jasmine as she starts to doze off. “You didn’t sign up for any of this. Late nights, diaper changes, baby spit-up on your clothes...”
“First of all, this is your t-shirt,” she tugs at the worn fabric with a smirk. “And second, I’m exactly where I want to be.” Her expression softens as she looks at Jasmine. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t completely destroy your image while you figure out this whole dad thing.”
“My image?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you said becoming a father was the best PR move I never planned.”
“It is.” She reaches over to smooth Jasmine’s dark curls, her fingers accidentally brushing mine. “But we still need to be strategic about how we handle the media circus that’s coming. Speaking of which...” She pulls up something on her tablet. “Holly’s photos came out beautifully. Emily and I have a whole rollout strategy planned for when we need it.”
I watch her scroll through marketing plans and press release drafts, all while absently humming the lullaby that’s become Jasmine’s favorite. The contrast strikes me—this fierce, brilliant woman who can manipulate media narratives like a maestro also knows exactly how to soothe my daughter to sleep.
“Quinn?”
“Hmm?” She doesn’t look up from her tablet.
“Thank you. For... everything.”
Now she does look up, those hazel eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes my pulse jump. For a moment, something deeper flickers in her expression, but then she breaks it with a playful smile. “What are friends for? Besides, someone has to help the great Vince Savage change a diaper.”
She turns back to her work, but I keep watching her, the way she absently tucks a strand of red hair behind her ear, how naturally she’s fitted herself into our lives. And that’s what scares me more than any custody battle or media circus—this feeling I’m not ready to examine too closely, this dangerous awareness that somehow Quinn is becoming essential to both me and Jasmine. Not just as a friend or social media manager but as... something else. Something I’m not ready to name.
Better to focus on the custody battle ahead. Safer to think about anything except the way my heart kicks into overtime every time Quinn smiles.