by Elle Kennedy
“Are we good?” he asks gruffly.
“Always.” I kiss him. With an unprofessional amount of tongue, ignoring the loud reaction of Nice’s friends.
Garrett’s fingers tangle in my hair. He pulls away for a moment to meet my eyes, staring at me with an expression I’ve never seen before.
My breath catches. “What?”
“I love you. Maybe more than I ever have.”
“We’re having a baby,” I say, grinning with both excitement and still a bit of trepidation.
“Bet your ass we are.”
43
Garrett
“Get back in bed. I’ll bring it to you.”
“It’s just coffee,” Hannah tells me the next morning, standing at the machine in the kitchen. “I’m not going outside to clean the gutters.”
“Doctor said to take it easy.”
“I don’t think making some decaf and pouring it into a mug is over the line.”
Turns out keeping Hannah off her feet is damn near impossible. If this woman makes it more than two days working from home before sneaking back into the studio, I’ll be shocked. Already I can tell she’s going to be a pain in the ass during this pregnancy.
Hopefully our friends can rally around me and help keep her in check. Last night we put out the word to everyone we care about, sharing the good news and watching the texts roll in congratulating us. Reading the hilarious messages reminded Hannah we’re not as alone in this as she’d feared.
Grace is already talking about helping Hannah pick out nursery furniture when she gets back from Paris. Sabrina promised to help out too, though it might be harder for her because in that same text thread we learned that she and Tuck had both accepted jobs in Manhattan and will be leaving Boston at the end of the summer. I’m happy for them, but I can’t help but feel bummed that Tucker, the only dad I know, won’t be in close proximity to me anymore.
“I was thinking,” Hannah says as she raises her mug to her lips. “We should get married.”
I’m in the middle of pouring some orange juice, and my hand freezes mid-pour. “Oh yeah?” I keep my tone casual.
She takes a demure sip, then flashes a little smile. “If you’re into it.”
It’s pretty hard not to throw my OJ glass on the floor, dropkick Hannah’s mug out of her hand, and maul her. “Yeah, I could be into it.”
“Cool.”
“You want me to get you a ring?”
“Obviously. Just don’t make it as big as Allie’s. I’m not a psycho.”
I bite my cheek to stop from laughing. “That’s it? That’s our proposal?”
“I mean, we love each other and we’re having a baby. Isn’t that all that matters? Who needs speeches?”
She’s right. “Who needs speeches,” I echo, grinning. “Now. Please.” I take her coffee mug and guide her toward the staircase. “Go back to bed. And don’t you dare get up on the roof while I’m gone.”
“Can I at least do some vacuuming?”
“Swear to God, I’ll send Tucker and Sabrina over here to strap you down.”
“I’d like to see them try.”
Chuckling, I smack her butt to get her walking up the stairs. But I trail after her, because I still need to finish getting dressed. While she crawls back under the covers like a good girl, I search for a clean button-up and slip it over my shoulders. The nerves slowly work their way up from my stomach and into my throat. There’s no part of me that is looking forward to what comes next.
“You never said where you’re off to,” Hannah says. She’s sitting up in bed, flipping through channels on the TV.
“I’m going to talk to the ESPN producer,” I admit. “I ran off the set the other day during taping and haven’t spoken to anyone since. Landon set up a meeting between me and the producer. Just the two of us.”
She looks over sharply. “What are you going to do?”
“What I have to.”
When I get to the studio, Stephen Collins invites me into his office. I decline a beverage from his assistant, trying to charge past all the doting and on to the reason I’m here before I find a way to talk myself out of it.
“I hope it was nothing too serious,” the producer says, sitting on the edge of his desk. Behind his head, there’s a wall of awards and signed sports memorabilia. “Bryan and I were sorry we weren’t able to finish the segment. Got some really great stuff out of the interview. We’d like to get you and your father back on set sometime this week, if that works for you.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” I state plainly.
His polite smile falters. “If we have to push it a week or so, I suppose—”
“I have to pull out of the show, Stephen. I don’t want you to air it at all. Any of it.”
“Impossible. We have a contract. And we’ve already put a significant investment in shooting this. People, equipment.”
“I understand that, and I’m sorry.”
He searches my expression. “Where’s this coming from, Garrett? Tell me what the problem is, and I’ll work it out.”
Over the years I’ve imagined how this conversation would go. Or a hundred like it. When I finally ripped the veil of this charade. In college it wasn’t so difficult, because I didn’t have a lot riding on it. But I’m not some unknown college hockey player anymore. I’m in the national spotlight. Now, my career and my image are at stake. The support and respect of my peers.
So for lack of the right way to say it, I just say it.
“My father abused me as a child.”
Alarm flashes in Collins’s eyes. “Oh,” is all he says, and he waits for me to continue.
Despite my itching discomfort, I do.
I’m not sure I even hear myself when I explain how my dad beat, manipulated, and scared me, barely scratching the surface of his cruelty. It’s bitter and painful coming out. But like a splinter that’s been under the skin so long, you forgot it didn’t belong there, the relief is immediate and overwhelming.
For several seconds, the producer is silent. Then he slips off his desk and takes a seat in the chair beside mine.
“Hell, Garrett. I don’t know what to say. This is…”
I don’t answer. I don’t need his sympathy or pity, just his understanding.
But of course, I wouldn’t be sitting next to someone in the entertainment industry without them trying to spin it for their own benefit.
“Would you be willing to address this in an interview? Forget what we’ve already shot. That’s scrapped. Consider it in the dumpster.” Collins tips his head. “But if it’s something you’re interested in…”
I laugh hoarsely. “Am I interested in telling the world the salacious details of my childhood physical abuse?” I feel sick just thinking about it.
But I underestimate Collins. Yes, he’s definitely trying to use this to his professional advantage, but the suggestion might not be entirely selfish, as he softens his voice and says, “I had a similar experience growing up. Not my dad.” His gaze flicks to mine. “My mother. She wasn’t a good lady, let me tell you. But you want to know the craziest part? Every time one of my teachers called social services and they sent someone to our house to investigate, I lied. I covered for my mother because I was too embarrassed to admit she was hurting me.”
I let out a breath. “Damn.”
“Yeah.” Collins rubs a hand over his chin. “Anyway. Nowadays, if I had the chance, I think I’d say something. But I don’t have a platform and nobody gives a shit who I am. You, on the other hand…” He shrugs. “You’ve got a name and a platform. You could take this crappy piece of your past and try to squeeze some good out of it.”
The words give me pause. I’ve protected Phil Graham’s legacy for so long, but why the hell should I keep doing it? Why am I so afraid of what the world will think?
And what would it say about me as a father if I continued to bury something like this? If I didn’t set a better example for my son and then someday someone hurt him,
and he was too embarrassed and ashamed to tell me?
There are kids out there, adults, who are still living with these same scars. If I can help some of them overcome their fears, then yeah, I can make the sacrifice and suffer a couple of hours on camera pulling open the wounds.
“Yeah.” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “Let’s do it.”
“You sure?” Collins says, a glimmer of admiration in his eyes.
I nod. “Call Landon to set up a day and time.”
God help me, but it’s time to officially sever the cord between me and the past.
At home later, after I break the news to Hannah, she’s maybe more surprised at my decision than I am.
“I can’t believe you agreed to do it,” she marvels, her head in my lap while we watch TV on the couch.
“Trust me, I’m not exactly looking forward to it, but I think I have to do this. You were right. It’s time.”
“Are you going to tell your dad?”
“Nope.”
“Good.”
Picturing him throwing a glass of scotch across the room at the television when he finds out what’s coming for him does get me a little more enthused about the idea.
Hannah sits up to snuggle into my shoulder. “This is a big thing.”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
I kiss the top of her head, holding her tighter.
“So proud,” she repeats.
Those words mean more to me than she’ll ever understand. Truth is, I wouldn’t have gotten this far without her. She was the first person who helped me find some kind of peace with my past, and it’s with her support I’ve found my way to the courage to confront it.
She makes me a better man.
And, hopefully, a good father.
Epilogue
HANNAH
August
Sabrina and Tucker stop by about a half hour before Garrett and I are supposed to leave for the doctor’s office. I’m having an ultrasound this morning and not looking forward to it. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being treated like a sunken ship with lost pirate treasure aboard.
“What are you guys doing here?” Garrett asks in surprise, but he looks happy to see them. Especially when he notices Jamie at Sabrina’s side. “Gumdrop! Ahh! I missed you!”
He scoops up the redheaded toddler, and she flings her arms around his neck. “Hiiiii!” she exclaims happily. “Hiiiii!”
I stifle a laugh. This kid is so damned adorable.
“We’re heading out pretty soon.” I glance at Sabrina, who looks stunning as always in a yellow sundress that sets off her summer tan. She’s got a pair of dark sunglasses atop her head, and an oversized beach bag over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, we only have a minute. We’re on our way to the pool,” Tucker explains. Which explains his striped swim trunks and flip-flops. I notice that his gray T-shirt is stained with something that looks pink and sticky.
Sabrina catches my gaze and snorts. “The princess demanded a strawberry creamsicle on the way here and then decided she didn’t like it and threw it at Daddy. I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”
I also notice Tucker’s holding a very large gift bag. “What’s that?” I ask curiously.
“Jamie picked out a gift for you guys,” he says.
“For your baby!!!” the toddler tells us, beaming.
Garrett narrows his eyes. “Jamie picked it out, huh?”
Sabrina and Tucker nod. Either they’re telling the truth, or they’re the most phenomenal actors on the planet.
“Can we come inside, or should we melt away on your front porch?” Tucker’s Texas drawl kicks in as he flashes his good ol’ boy smile.
“Come in,” I say grudgingly.
We walk inside and go to the kitchen, where Garrett sets Jamie on her feet. Then he and I stare at the gift bag that Tuck sets on the marble island. The only saving grace is there’s no way it can be that horrible doll. First of all, it’s far too large for Alexander. And secondly, Sabrina swore she and Tuck gave him a burial at sea.
“Open it!” Jamie shouts. And keeps shouting. “Open it! Open it! OPEN IT!”
“Sweet Jesus,” Garrett murmurs, “is this what we’re in for?”
“Indoor voices, princess,” chides Tuck.
Sabrina grins. “You should probably open it before she has an aneurysm.”
“All right. Yeah.” I grab a pair of scissors and snip the piece of tape holding the gift bag together. “You guys didn’t have to do this, but thank you.”
“Really nice of you,” Garrett agrees.
“Thank Jamie,” Tuck says easily.
I reach inside, my hand emerging with a box that looks about large enough to house a basketball. An identical one remains in the bag, but Sabrina says I should do one at a time.
Suspicion gnaws at me as I cut through more tape to open the box. I don’t trust them. I’m not sure why, but I just don’t. Something about this entire thing feels very, very off—
“A dolly!!” Jamie shrieks when the contents of the box are revealed. “A dolly for your baby, Auntie ’Annah!”
I withdraw my hand as if I’d just burned it on a hot stove.
My betrayed gaze flies to Tucker and Sabrina, who smile innocently before nodding toward their daughter.
“Jamie saw this adorable little guy in Tuck’s suitcase when we got back from St. Barth’s,” Sabrina chirps.
“Can you believe he floated right back to shore like he couldn’t bear to part with us?” Tuck pipes up.
“It’s like he knew exactly where he belonged.” Sabrina nods. “At first we were going to let Jamie keep him—”
I glare. Because, bullshit. They’d never let their precious child have prolonged contact with a doll housing the spirit of Willie the Gold Rush corpse. Never.
“—but when we told her Auntie Hannah and Uncle Garrett were going to have a baby, she decided she couldn’t possibly be selfish and deprive the new baby of this joyous gift. Right, little one?”
“Right!” Jamie smiles. “Do you like him?”
I stare at Alexander’s smirking red mouth, dread filling my gut.
Then, pasting on a big fake smile, I address the little girl. “I love it,” I tell Jamie. While beside me, Garrett mouths “You’re dead” to Jamie’s parents. He slashes his finger across his neck.
“Oh wait, but there’s more!” Tucker is loving every second of this nightmare.
He lifts the second box out of the bag, and my stomach does a queasy somersault that has nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with whatever new horror we’re about to experience.
Sabrina offers an evil smile. “Last year Tuck and I did some research on Alexander’s history and discovered that he was part of a lot.”
“Oh my God,” I moan.
“No,” Garrett says, holding up his hand as if that’ll achieve anything.
Tucker takes up the narrative. “This particular dollmaker designed ten dolls, each one custom-made but part of the series. We had an alert set if any other dolls in the lot came up for sale. And last week, one became available! I think they call that serendipity. Maybe. I’m not sure. But it’s wild, huh?”
Sabrina nods enthusiastically. “Wild.”
“So we said to Jamie, hey, what’s better than one doll for Auntie Hannah’s baby? And what did you say back, princess?”
“I said two!” Jamie dances around her father’s legs. This poor innocent child whose parents recruited her to do their malevolent bidding. They had to know that if Jamie wasn’t here right now, I’d be trying to shove Alexander in the garbage disposal.
“Two dolls are always better than one,” Tucker agrees, and then he pulls out a second porcelain nightmare and holds it up.
This one is a girl doll, with white-blonde curls that, oh God, look like they could be actual human hair. Her cheeks are like two red apples, her pink lips stretched in a macabre frozen smile. In a blue dress with a white sash an
d shiny red shoes like Alexander, she is creepy and awful and I want to punch Tucker in the face with her.
“Her name is Cassandra,” Sabrina says, grinning at my expression. “And don’t you worry, she comes with a verified biography. It’s in the box. Some fun reading for later.”
Tucker winks. “We don’t want to spoil it for you, but let’s just say while Alexander and Willie were traversing the California Trail, Cassandra here served as a wonderful companion for a child in a German insane asylum.”
“Yayyyyy!” Jamie starts clapping, clearly ignorant to what most of those words mean.
“Yay,” Garrett says weakly.
I glower at our supposed friends. “I’ll never forget this.”
“Wonderful!” Sabrina says, clapping too. “Hear that, little one? Auntie Hannah says she’s never going to forget this gift.”
I glance at Garrett and sigh. We need new friends.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re in the exam room, bickering about the fate of the two haunted dolls we left back at home. I vote we should burn them, but Garrett is too superstitious.
“I think we need to bring someone in to do some sort of exorcism before we burn anything,” he argues. “What if the dead kids’ spirits exit the dolls during the fire and then haunt the house itself?”
“Ahem.”
Our attention shifts to the door, where my doctor stands, eyeing us warily.
“Ignore everything you just heard,” I advise her.
“Snitches get stitches,” Garrett adds solemnly, and I promptly punch him in the arm.
“Ignore that too,” I say.
Chuckling, the doctor moves the ultrasound machine closer and squirts a bunch of cold gel on my belly. I’m still barely showing, but apparently that’s normal. Sabrina had warned me that with her pregnancy, she’d barely had a bump the first two trimesters, until at six months she’d suddenly ballooned. Not that I trust anything Sabrina James-Tucker says anymore.
