“You couldn’t have forced her to stay,” Knox says. “And you made the right call, keeping Rose. Keeping her safe.”
“Jessica is coming over with baby gear,” Drew says. “The nanny is with the kids. We’ll get you set you up, alright?”
I exhale, relieved he was texting his wife, not our coach. I don’t need anyone else knowing about Rose until I figure out what I’m going to do.
* * *
“The Pack ‘n Play will work for now, and there are plenty of diapers, formula, bottles,” Jessica says, snapping a pink sleeper on Rose. She went to Target after Drew texted her and filled her entire Land Rover with necessities. As a mom to three, she knows the drill. Thank God, because if it had been me roaming the aisles, I wouldn’t have had a clue which items to toss in the cart.
“You’re a saint,” I tell her. And she is. Anyone who puts up with Drew’s shit would have to be.
“You sure you don’t want us to stay?” Knox asks as Jessica places Rose in the portable crib.
She turns on a white noise machine and switches off the bedroom light.
My daughter is sleeping right next to my bed and I have a feeling I’ll be staring at her all night. How in the hell am I a father?
“No, I just want to be alone with her. Try and process this. And maybe Aria will show back up.” I walk my friends to the front door. “In the morning I’ll try and find her if she doesn’t come back here on her own.”
“And get a lawyer,” Drew says. “You have to protect yourself.”
I nod, but right now, I’m not thinking of myself at all. I’m thinking of the little girl who is mine.
* * *
After a night of tossing and turning, I get up and take a shower. Rose sleeps like a champ -- and a cold weight in my stomach tells me it’s because she hasn’t been looked after properly. She only woke once during the night, guzzled a bottle, and went right back to sleep.
She’s cooing and kicking her feet when I get out of the shower, so I pick her up, kissing her cheeks.
My little girl.
Tears fucking fill my eyes at everything I’ve missed. How could Aria have done this to me? To her daughter?
As I sit on the couch and feed Rose a bottle, I use my phone to look Aria Ryan up, hoping that I can at least find a social media profile on her. Maybe a few terse DM’s will get her to realize I’m not playing games here. You can’t just abandon your kid as she did.
But a quick search turns up nothing. No Instagram SnapChat or Facebook. But I do find a website. Following it, I’m brought to Tiny Pirouette’s, a children’s dance studio based in Los Angeles, run by Aria Ryan.
My whole body tenses as I realize finding the mother of my child isn’t going to be as hard as I thought.
I text Jessica, asking if she can watch Rose for a few hours this morning, and she replies right away.
Jessica: Of course. Did Aria come back?
Me: No. But I’m going to find her. I just don’t want Rose with me if things go sideways.
Jessica: Drop her off whenever you like. I’ll be here all day.
I don’t waste any more time. I need to talk with the mother of my child face-to-face. After I enter her dance studio address into my phone, I pack Rose’s diaper bag. Strapping her into her infant car seat, I kiss her cheeks, breathing in her newborn smell, needing, more than anything, to do right by her. Who else does she have in this world?
Driving to Drew and Jessica’s feels strange. I keep looking in the mirror, wanting to make sure Rose is okay, but I can’t see her in the rear-facing car seat. I drive extra cautiously, suddenly pissed at the LA drivers zooming by. Don’t they realize I’m carrying precious cargo?
The drive is short and the waves glitter on the ocean spread out before me as I pull up to Drew and Jessica’s waterfront mansion. I love this view. It never gets old. It’s a far cry from my hometown in Michigan, and a hell of a lot warmer than the autumns I spent in Princeton during my four years in college.
The drop-off goes quickly. Jessica has a full-time nanny helping her with the kids. And the moment I set Rose’s car seat on the kitchen table, her own six-year-old daughter, Sarah, starts oohing and ahhing.
“Can I hold her?” she asks, clasping her hands together.
Jessica smiles. “With me, sure,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “Don’t worry, Tatum. Rose is in good care, I promise.”
Drew comes into the kitchen, squeezing my shoulders. “You hanging in there, Pops?”
I fill him in on what I know -- that Aria runs a business not far from here.
“Weird,” he comments. “If she’s using as you said, how can she be teaching dance classes?”
“I don’t know.” I run a hand through my hair. “But I’m about to find out.”
“Call the lawyer on your way,” Drew says, as their housekeeper hands him a cup of coffee. “Thanks, doll,” he says to her with a charming smile that I know gets him what he wants.
My chest tightens as I look around the house. The bastard has everything and he doesn’t even know it. His sons, Milo and Joshua, watch cartoons on the massive flat screen in the family room. His beautiful wife and daughter are fawning over Rose. It’s not just his huge house that makes me feel like my own life is so small. It’s all the other things I’m missing -- family, people to care about, people who care about me.
Sure, I have my parents, my brother, my team. But I want more.
Then I look at Rose, now tucked in Jessica’s arms, and wonder if this little bundle is the blessing I never knew I was looking for. Yeah, it’s fucked up, but maybe it’s a good fucked up. Either way, it’s not like I have much of a choice now.
My daughter is here. And I’ll do everything I can to make sure she’s loved and protected.
“You alright?” Drew asks. “Want coffee before you go? Lucille makes a mean macchiato.”
“Thanks, but I got to deal with this. Now.” I kiss my daughter’s head, then head for the door. All of this seems so fucking surreal.
As I drive to the studio, I consider calling my parents but decide against it. They spent their whole life practicing what they preach -- that family is everything, that commitments should never be shirked. That love, above all else, wins.
I don’t want to let them down, for them to think they’ve somehow failed. I know my mom wants to be a grandma. She’s made enough comments to my brother Ellis and me about settling down and starting our families.
And I know she’ll love Rose no matter what. But I also know that my mom prides herself on values. Love, then marriage, then children.
The last thing I want to do is drop this bomb on them without a full picture.
So instead, I call my lawyer, Miles, like Drew insisted. The call is brief. I’m not a man of many words. I say it like it is; I don’t edit myself. And in all fairness, I need his guidance, not his approval.
I pull up to the Tiny Pirouettes Dance Studio. It’s early still, only nine am, but there’s a car in the parking lot. I kill the ignition and step out of my Porsche.
It’s time I figure out who Aria Ryan is.
Chapter Three
Aria
“Oh God, Ashley, what have you done?” I sit at my desk, rifling through the bills and paperwork in front of me. Tears burn my eyes when I see the damage my sister has done now.
It’s not the first time she has used my name and social security number to access credit cards and loans, but this time the damage is steep. And there’s still the bill from UCLA Medical Center that I haven’t opened.
My little dance school does okay, but just well enough to pay the overhead and the rent on my small apartment.
This is going to set me back years. That’s if I can even manage to pay them off. But what’s the alternative?
I’ve thought about going to the police, but not only do I not want to see my sister behind bars, but I also don’t want the press that will come with her arrest.
The media would love it. Seeing the Ryan sisters once ag
ain pitted against each other. Seeing America’s favorite twins fall even farther from grace.
No. I can’t go through that again. I’ve spent the past ten years doing my best to stay out of the spotlight.
It was Ashley who always loved to be seen. Loved the attention. The glamor. The stardom. And she was so good at it -- the pretend, the acting, the plastic smiles and constant attention that come with being a child actress.
Sure, in a way, it was fun, for a time.
Little girls wanted to be us, and the network did everything they could to capitalize on our popularity. There were even dolls sold in the store with our faces on them.
Ashley and Aria Ryan, America’s sweethearts.
But then everything changed.
A cold shiver races down my spine, and I force the memories away. I ran from that part of my life, and I never want to go back there. But Ashley could never let the fame go, not even when people had forgotten our names, or when we’d been blacklisted from events and shunned by our peers.
She blamed me. And she never forgave me for wanting to lead a normal life. She believed that I ruined her. And in a way she was right. Which is why I probably indulge her more than I should.
But this is too much.
I pick up the phone and dial the last number I have for her, but it goes straight to an operator saying the number is out of service.
“Damnit, Ashley.” I slam the phone down. It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen her. She’d staggered into the studio, drunk or stoned, and I’d given her the cash I’d had in the safe just to make her leave and not cause a scene in front of my students.
You’d think America's Sweethearts would have some money to show for our four years on the hit tween show The Twins Next Door. But my mom, who’d been acting as our manager, had squandered all our royalties by the time we’d turned sixteen.
I try calling her too, but it goes straight to voicemail.
“Hi, Mom, it’s Aria,” I say when the recording tells me to leave a message. I rub my temple and close my eyes. “I need to know if you’ve talked to Ashley. Can you please call me back and give me her number if you have it? Thanks...” There’s probably more I should say. It’s been months since I’ve talked to her, but she hasn’t called me since she moved to the Hills with husband number four and her two chihuahuas, that she ironically called Ashley and Aria. Like the damn dogs can replace us. But I mutter a quick, “Love you,” before hanging up.
I sit back in the chair and close my eyes, trying not to feel sorry for myself. There are people in this world a hell of a lot worse off than me. But I’m so sick and tired of having to clean up my sister’s messes.
And God, there have been a lot of them.
The front door chimes and I see Cleo come in. She’s one of my dance instructors and my best friend, and right now I need a shoulder to cry on.
“Hey, Chica. You’re here early.” She’s twisting her long dark hair up in a bun when she comes into my office, and her usual bright smile falters when she sees me. “Uh oh, what’s wrong?” She sits on the edge of my desk. “Let me guess, boy trouble, mom trouble...no...” She winces. “That look is definitely crazy twin trouble. What did she do now?”
I sigh and hand her the credit card statements.
“Shit. This is insane, Aria. You’ve got to do something this time.”
“You know I can’t.” I push my chair back and stand, then start to pace. Cleo’s the only person who I’ve ever told my whole story to and she knows my reasons.
“I know. But you can’t let her get away with this. And you know she’s just going to keep pulling these stunts. God knows what she’ll do next.”
“I don’t know if she can top this,” I tell her.
The door chimes again, and both Cleo and I frown.
“Sorry,” she says. “I must’ve forgotten to lock it behind me. I’ll deal with whoever it is.”
“Thanks.” Before I do anything else today, I need to call the credit card companies and stop all future transactions on the cards Ashley opened. I sit down at my desk and start making calls, but a few seconds later, I hear Cleo arguing with someone.
“I don’t care if you’re open or not,” a man says, his voice deep, and filled with fury. “I need to speak to her now.”
I hang up the phone, wondering if I’m going to need to call the cops. I’ve dealt with asshat parents before, but this guy sounds almost unhinged, or at least insanely pissed off.
But despite being only five-foot-nothing, Cleo isn’t one to back down from a fight, and I hear her yell back, “Sir, if you don’t leave--”
“If you don’t tell me where the owner of this studio is, I’ll have the authorities here, arresting her for child abandonment.”
What the hell?
When I come out of my office, Cleo has a finger pointed at the man’s chest and is glaring up at him like he isn’t twice her size and weight. “I don’t know what kind of crazy you’re selling, but you’ve got three seconds to leave.”
That’s when the man sees me, and for a moment he looks taken aback.
His scowl turns to a frown as he takes me in and confusion fills his eyes. And God, those eyes. A deep green with flecks of gold and light brown. He looks slightly familiar, but I know I’ve never met him before. Tall, with dark hair and sun-kissed skin, he’s good looking, but not in a playboy way. He looks like he’d be more comfortable on the football field than in a boardroom. The man is gorgeous, in a rugged, all-American way. The way his gaze holds mine, makes my body ache in a way I’m not used to.
He’s definitely not one of the parents of my students. I would have remembered his face for sure.
But the way he’s looking at me now, he thinks he knows me.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Can you help me? Are you fucking serious?” He takes four long strides until he’s standing in front of me. I’m tall, but the man towers me by at least four inches. His build is powerful, pure muscle, meant to intimidate.
I swallow over the growing lump in my throat.
Who is this man?
“I’m sorry, but I--”
“You damn well should be sorry.” His voice is rough, with barely contained anger. “You show up out of nowhere, and drop a bomb like that in my lap, then just take off.”
I’m starting to get the idea that it isn’t me he’s looking for.
Damnit, Ashley.
“I think you have the wrong person,” I say, sighing.
He hesitates and for a second, I see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Sure, you cleaned yourself up. But you are Aria Ryan. Are you not?”
“I am.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, Ashley. What did you get me into now? It’s one thing to use my name to get credit, a whole other thing to get laid. She probably gave the guy the clap or some other venereal disease and now he wants revenge.
“You want me to call the police?” Cleo asks arms crossed, tapping one foot, and looking like she’s ready to toss the guy out of here herself. I love her so much. And I wish in a way I had the same feistiness, the same courage to take on the world without any fear.
“Sure,” the man says, his lip pulling into a sneer. “Call the cops. What do you think the punishment is for abandoning a baby? Two, three years? The only reason I came here was that our daughter deserves more than a mother who--”
“Wait.” I put my hands up, my throat constricting, making it impossible to breathe as I process his words. “Just... wait... a second.”
“Holy, shit,” Cleo says, her eyes widening. “She didn’t...”
But I know she did. And I’m pretty sure I have the proof sitting on my desk.
No, no, no. She wouldn’t be that awful. Would she?
My legs feel like rubber as I make my way back to my office and find the bill from UCLA Medical Center. I tear at the envelope, already knowing what I’m going to find.
“What the hell are you doing?” The man followed me into the office, and he seems to take up every squa
re inch of it. His presence is... overwhelming. Especially, when I think of the implications of what Ashley has done.
I’m shaking as I unfold the letter and skim the contents. “Oh, God, Ashley. Fuck.” I crumple the paper and let out the scream I’ve been holding in since this morning. It comes from the primal spot inside me; a place I’ve shoved all of my frustration and anger into.
Then I see the man take a step back, his eyes widening slightly, but the shock doesn’t last long and his own anger is back just as quickly it disappeared.
“Mind tell me what the hell is happening?” he growls out.
I lean against the wall, wanting to slide down it and fold in on myself, a vortex of emotions, dominated by anger swirling inside me. Finally, I take a deep breath and meet his hard gaze.
“You’re right. I am Aria Ryan,” I tell him, finding some semblance of strength inside me. “But we’ve never met.”
His eyes narrow. “I don’t know what game you’re playing--”
“I’m not playing games. Here...” I open the desk drawer and pull out the last photo Ashley and I ever took together. A rare picture where we both are smiling, our arms over each other’s shoulders. I hand it to him. “This is me, and my twin sister. It’s Ashley you’re looking for.”
He takes the photo, frowning as he studies it and I can tell he still doesn’t believe me. “Let me see your arms.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
I roll up my sleeves and show him my arms.
“Fuck,” he mutters, handing me back the photo. “Then how the hell do I find her?”
“I don’t know. But trust me, I want to find her as much as you do.”
Chapter Four
Tatum
She’s a twin.
Now that she’s said it. Now that she’s showing me the picture of her and her double, I remember the show she was on, The Twins Next Door. But before coming to this dance studio, I didn’t make the connection. Never thought someone would be so deceptive as to pretend to be another person.
Game Day Baby Page 2
