by S. M. West
Fuck, her sobs are soul crushing. I clench my jaw, tighten my abs, and inhale as I wrap my arms around her trembling frame and bring her to standing.
Anchoring my feet to the slick, tiled floor, I tighten my grasp around her and carefully step from the shower, wrapping a towel around her.
My mind’s scrambled but also slowly letting the pieces slide into place. The letter. She opened it. Without looking at the official results or even the email I received from the lab, based on her current state, I know Costa isn’t Henry’s father.
I place her on the bathroom counter, and she shivers uncontrollably. Her neck bows, head sinking to her chest, and she is unable to look at me. But at least the crying has stopped.
“Daze. Daze.” I run the towel across her drenched head and down the sides of her face, then lift her chin to look into her eyes.
“Gray?” My name is a broken whisper.
She’s a trembling mess, and her teeth start to chatter. Her gaze is hazy, unfocused as if she questions if I’m really in front of her.
“Tell me what happened.” The question is to get her talking, focused on something more than anything else. I’ve already figured it out.
Using one end of the towel, I wipe at her neck, removing the water droplets on her. She says nothing.
Fuck. I’m going crazy. I just need her to come back to me.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” At the sound of my voice, she rests her forehead against my chest, fingers now gripping the front of my shirt.
Slowly, almost with difficulty, she widens her legs, drawing me in between her thighs, and all I can do is hold her tight. I never want to let her go.
But her clothes are soaked, and she’s an ice cube. So cold that I’m now chilled just holding her.
“Come on. You need to change.” My hands rub up and down her back and arms, the towel drying her skin.
She’s waterlogged, and the only solution is to peel off her sopping clothes. I make quick work of it and wrap her in another dry towel once she’s bare. My actions seem to settle her.
The last of her silent tears finally cease, and her shaking lessens somewhat. It will take a while for her core temperature to get back to normal and the tremors to stop.
Literally freezing from the outside in, her skin is frosty to the touch with blotches of red and stark white, and her lips are a purply-blue. Her once clear blue eyes are now bloodshot and swollen. Who knows how long she’d been crying?
Dammit, I want to yell and break something.
Once she’s completely dry and changed, I drag the chair from her bedroom into the bathroom. She sits in front of the mirror, and it’s cramped. The room is small, but that’s also good because I’m generating a decent amount of heat.
I rummage around in the cupboard underneath the bathroom sink until I find the hair dryer, and the warm air beating down on her head not only dries her hair but also helps to warm her up some more.
Daisy sits, wrapped in a blanket I snatched from her bed, and stares into the mirror, unseeing. She doesn’t even blink.
I haven’t tried to talk to her. There’s no point with the noise from the hair dryer, and once done, I strip off my damp clothes, down to only my boxers, and put her in the bed with me.
With the covers over us, my body wraps around hers, arms and legs securing her to me. I cling to her, needing her more than anything, even more than confirmation by reading the letter she received or the email to tell me her worst fear has come true.
She doesn’t know who Henry’s father is or how that happened.
“Daisy.” Her name is a silent prayer in the quiet darkness of the room.
She shifts backward into my front and murmurs. Does she hear me? Is she slowly coming out of this trance?
“If you don’t talk to me, I’m going to take you to the hospital. You’re scaring me.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
I’m already scared, and there’s only one other time in my life when I felt like this. Not even the horrific death of my father compares to this. It was a long time ago, another lifetime, when I was just a boy. And I never wanted to feel like that again. Never.
My lips brush against the back of her neck, and she quivers. “I know and I’m here.” My arms carefully squeeze her middle, needing her to talk. Say something. Anything.
Slowly, she spins in my arms, turning to face me. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and her eyes are clear, blinking up at me a few times, and then her hand reaches out to lightly brush the side of my face.
“Costa isn’t Henry’s father.” A single tear rolls from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t sleep with anyone else.”
“I know.” My thumb wipes at her damp eye. I wish I could say more, but there isn’t a single thing I can say to make this go away.
“You believe me?” Shock carries her words.
“Of course I do.” I’m alarmed at the question or that she even needed to ask. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I feel like I’m insane, doubting myself like maybe I forgot what happened or made it all up.” She drops her hand between us on the mattress. “And if I haven’t lost it then we both know what this means.”
She watches me carefully, her lips parted and eyes shuttered, her expression blank. “I was sexually assaulted.”
25
Gray
A vile human
The days and weeks following the DNA news are emotional, exhausting, and interminable…and at times, crushing.
Daisy tries to go back to normal, not quite shrugging off the reality of her altered world. She refuses to talk about what might have happened, of how she became pregnant, or at least, she won’t talk to me about it.
Sasha is the only one she’ll even broach the topic with and even at that, the conversation usually ends in frustration. Neither of them is able to remember anything of significance, and they emerge from their torturous traipse down memory lane with no further clarity or new information.
For the first week or so after that fateful day, Daisy carried through on already scheduled photo shoots and deadlines, including booking new work and arranging numerous nanny interviews.
She’s robotic and numb, but the cracks in her foundation slowly began to show and spread despite her efforts at grasping normal.
It’s been three weeks since the test results, and some days, she won’t get out of bed. Strangely, a few photo shoots fall through for one reason or another and she doesn’t care. Instead, she fills that time with sleep.
And if she is up, she’s zombie-like, going through the motions. Jerome still calls, and I run interference, or at this point, we both ignore him. Given she isn’t working, he can’t understand why she won’t do his stupid photo shoot.
I’ve pretty much moved in with them, and while that’s fine with me, I don’t know if I’m helping or making things worse. Henry senses something is different, maybe even wrong, but he’s too young to clearly express himself, and I try my best to fill his days with happiness.
Both Pansy and Sasha help out where and when they can. Sasha isn’t used to taking care of a child, but she’s here nearly every day and spends hours with Henry.
She has even postponed some of her work and plans to relocate. Daisy’s current state has only strengthened her desire to move to Los Angeles.
My attempt to uncover something with the private investigators was fruitless. Nothing unusual or questionable came back on Costa, his wife, or the doctor, which isn’t surprising based on the DNA results.
As for reconstructing that week in Paris, the investigator came up with nothing significant. But he did provide an accurate timeline of events which I’ve shared with both Daisy and Sasha.
Sasha also spends a lot of time contacting people from back then, trying to figure out what’s missing or to find answers. So far, nothing.
I even took off a few days from the album, which went over really well with Silas and India. For the most part, Silas was understanding, and he even tried to be a buffe
r with India, but she was out for blood.
Since time is money, I told her to find someone else, and I even gave her a few names of drummers who were willing to make themselves available right now, but she wouldn’t agree to it. She insisted she wait on me, that she only wanted me on drums for her album, and while flattering, I’m convinced she also wanted a reason to be angry. A reason to throw temper tantrums and call me, screaming obscenities.
On my way home from what was my first full day back in the studio, I call Sasha.
“Hey, how’s it going? I’ll pick up dinner and be home in about an hour.”
“Hi, Gray.” Sasha lowers her voice. “One sec, let me just go into one of the rooms. Sorry, Daisy and Henry are playing in the backyard.”
“How was she today?” I inch forward on the highway.
“Okay, for the most part. She went for a run, did some work, and arranged a final interview with Jocelyn.”
We’ve decided on a nanny—Jocelyn Mallard. Both Daisy and I have met with her twice, and we both agree she’s by far the frontrunner. All that’s left is for an initial meeting with Henry. We want to see if the two gel before we hire her.
Now more than ever, we need someone to take care of Henry during the days, and we can’t keep relying on Sasha and Pansy to help out. They have their own lives.
Once I’m home, Sasha leaves and the three of us have dinner. Daisy and I clean up and get Henry ready for bed. At a little after nine thirty, it’s just the two of us. Alone.
I lead her to our room. Generally, she’s more open, easier to talk to, in the hour or so before we sleep. I think it’s the dark and intimacy between us. Naked and in bed.
We get ready for the night, turn out the lights, and meet in the middle of the mattress, lying face to face. A strip of moonlight sifts through the thin curtain, illuminating her soft features enough that I can detect any subtle shifts in her expression while we talk.
“It’s time we find a place with more space.” My finger trails the arch of her blonde brow and her lashes flutter. “The beach.”
She smiles, eyes closed. It’s a tiny smile, a little lopsided with a faint dimpling to one corner of her mouth. But I’ll take it.
“That would be nice,” she murmurs, opening her eyes.
My hand curls around the nape of her neck, and I draw her in, my lips brushing her forehead. We lie like that for a few more minutes, her once serene features tightening and shifting as she nibbles on her bottom lip.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” My fingers knead her shoulder, coaxing her to talk.
“Henry.” Her son’s name sounds both adoring and anguished.
“What about him?” My mind whirs, anticipating what she’ll say next or what’s bothering her.
“He’s my son…but we know nothing about his…” Unable to say the word, her eyes drift shut once more on a shudder.
“True.” My hand slides down her shoulder, then her arm, and eventually, it rests on her hip. “It’s frustrating not knowing, but what about it? You don’t feel differently about him, do you?”
“No.” Her voice is as sharp as a blade, cutting off any doubt of her feelings. “Never and I’ll always love him. I don’t think there’s anything he could do to make me not love him. But his father…”
“No, father isn’t the word.” It comes out harsher than I intend, and I soften my expression.
“You’re right. So right. This is harder than I thought.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me anything.” I’m moved that she’s finally broaching the topic and not wanting her to clam up again.
“I don’t know who his father is, and while Costa wasn’t perfect…. And I’m far from perfect, but at least I knew what kind of man Costa was. Despite how much of a bastard he was to walk away when I told him about the pregnancy, he isn’t a horrible person.”
I disagree. Costa may have been scared, and I’d even give him a pass at initially walking away, but nearly three years later, he was still out of the picture. And I doubt if we’d have heard from him, ever, if he wasn’t infertile.
As if detecting my opposition, Daisy says, “At his core, he’s a good person. But Henry’s father…he assaults women. I don’t know who he is, but he’s a vile human being. My son is part him, has that man’s blood in him.”
“It doesn’t matter. Henry will never be like that.”
“How can you say that? We don’t know for sure.”
“I do.” Elbow bent, I prop my head in my hand, staring down at her, and continue with my voice definite. “DNA, biology, that’s only one part of who we are, and I don’t think it’s the most important. I’m going to tell you something about my childhood that I haven’t told you before.”
She pushes up to my level, now also on her elbow, and her gaze is perturbed and intrigued. “What is it?”
I shift to sit, my back against the headboard, and pull her up next to me. “I never told you this, not because it’s a secret but because it’s in the past. It happened before I turned seven.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. “Seven? You were adopted when you turned eight, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. I feel like I’ve lived many lives. There was the time before the adoption, then the years with my parents after they adopted me, then Trojan, and now.”
She nods, expression understanding, and I remind myself that as much as I hate talking about those first six years of my life, even more so than the year in the home, waiting and hoping for a new family, Daisy needs to hear this.
And truthfully, I had always planned on telling her everything. “Now is the best of my life.”
My hand cups the side of her face, and the tips of her fingers glide over the scruff of my jaw. “Tell me, please.”
“Before the adoption, there’s only one thing, one person, I will never forget, and all the rest was worth letting go and that’s what I did. And I think it relates to how things are for Henry.”
She traces idle circles on the inside of the wrist of the hand still holding her cheek. “Really?”
“My father…my biological father was gone before my second birthday. That was no loss. He was an abusive, violent man and while I was very young, all I remember of him is crying. My crying, my mother’s. And things were harder once he left. My mother had me, barely two, and my sister, a baby.”
“You have a sister?” This is news to Daisy.
I’ve never spoken about my birth parents or my sister. Not to anyone, not even Daisy or Eli.
“Yeah.” This time the smile on my lips hurts, snagging on the memories of my younger sister. “Her name was Robin. She was just a year younger than me.”
“Robin.” Her hand moves to the bird inked on my forearm. “Where is she now?” Her question is a dagger to the heart although to be expected.
I rub at the center of my chest and briefly shut my eyes, maybe to shut out the past, but I have to go forward. The door is opened and there is a point to this, a purpose and meaning Daisy needs to understand.
“She’s dead. She drowned when she was five.”
Daisy lets out a mournful, “Oh no.”
“My mom wasn’t much better than my father. She had a temper, and her needs came above all else. If money was scarce, which was all the time, she’d sooner spend it on liquor and cigarettes than food for us.”
Her body tenses, expression darkening, and I nod, understanding all too well how upsetting it is to hear something like this. Especially when she’s the best kind of mother there is.
“We were a burden to her, and when my father left, the only thing that mattered was finding another man. Another meal ticket. We were left alone more times than not, and even at my age, I took care of my sister.”
I roll my neck to lessen the mounting tension. “As soon as Robin could walk, we’d hide out in a little fort I’d made out of cardboard, leaves, and twigs, not too far from the trailer. I also found an old cooler and would hide food in there. It was safer…better to be out of Mama’s way.”
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br /> “Gray, that’s horrible.” Her touch is tender, and I’m grateful for the light in her eyes—even if it’s sad, it’s something.
“Yeah, and there were times when I wanted us to run away, but we were too young. And truthfully, I was scared. Robin would have run, gone anywhere with me. She had the ultimate faith in me. Trusted anything I told her to do. My biggest regret is second guessing myself and letting fear paralyze me. We should have run.”
I shake my head, not knowing if things would have been better but believing maybe we’d have had a better chance.
“If we had, my sister might still be alive today.”
“What happened?”
“My mother hauled us with her on a weekend camping trip. She’d found a new boyfriend. Another asshole.” Bitterness sinks its teeth into me. “And she wanted to play house. He didn’t care about kids, but there we were, out in the wilderness, and we got put in this small rowboat. Just Robin and me. She wanted some alone time and figured it would get us out of her hair.”
Daisy’s already shaking her head, hand inching toward her mouth. She sees where this is going. It isn’t hard for anyone to see that.
“Yeah. We had life vests, and at first, we had a great time. We were laughing and singing, then Robin stood up. She was dancing, and even though she was a little thing, the boat listed to one side and then another. I didn’t know anything about boats. Shit, I didn’t even know how to swim. Neither of us did.”
“Gray…no.”
“The boat capsized. The life vest pulled me up to the surface of the water, but my sister was nowhere. I waited, thinking the same had to happen for her. She had to pop up from the water, but she didn’t and I didn’t know what to do.
“I was screaming, waving hands in the air, and I saw my mom on the shore. At first, she was running toward us. But then she stopped and watched as other adults came to our rescue. People dove into the water, and someone tried to free Robin from the boat. The life vest had hooked onto one of the oars, and it was holding her down. She was stuck.”