by Jade Powers
DRAKE SWORE.
An image of Hannah McKay surprised by the press played on an obscure news channel. It didn’t matter how obscure. If Drake saw it, he knew that somewhere, the person who kidnapped Hannah and turned her into a human experiment was now keenly aware of her exact location. And her connection to the press. If she talked at all, they would kill her.
Sven and Drake watched the screen together. Sven was dressed down in a sweatshirt and jeans.
“Maybe they’ll leave her alone. She doesn’t have any of the tech left inside,” Sven offered. He didn’t know what to say to his friend. After everything that had happened, the connection between Drake and Hannah was well-severed, at least in Drake’s mind.
“They don’t know we took it out. For all they know, she’s walking around with their technology inside ready to talk to the next reporter.”
“Didn’t look like she was that fond of reporters to me.” Sven said. With Hannah’s image long gone and the news onto the next big thing, Sven turned off the television. He said, “If you think they’re going after her, you need to go. I’ll handle this.”
Drake swore again. He said, “Hannah doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
“She hasn’t exactly had an easy time of it. Who can you send that she would trust?” Sven asked.
It was mostly a rhetorical question, but Drake answered, “No one.”
Drake made the arrangements. He was flying to Maine.
HANNAH SAT ON HER BED feeling out of place. Her mom had borrowed a corner of the room for her projects, installing a recliner and sewing basket on one side, a television on her dresser. The worst was that quiet way her mom watched her. She wanted time alone without her dad, but he was hovering as well. She couldn’t tell her mom what had happened. Her dad would jump in, say that Hannah was making up stories to cover for running away from cancer.
Only she hadn’t.
Her mom knocked on the door.
It was time. Somehow Hannah had to tell her about the baby, before she found out some other way. God, then she’d have to listen to her dad complain for the next four months.
“Come in,” Hannah called.
Her mom pushed the door open a few inches and peered in. “Do you want company?”
“Yes. It’s okay, Mom. You can come in.”
Her mom was a big one for respecting privacy. Hannah pulled her teddy bear closer. It was an old one she’d gotten for Christmas when she was five.
“You’re just sitting up here alone? Would you like to do something? Go somewhere?” Her mom sat on the bed next to her, again careful and slow in her approach.
That was her mom, the go-getter. Always wanting to take a shopping trip or visit the salon together or have their nails done. Hannah disappointed her mother pretty severely by being an introvert.
“I’m thinking.” Hannah said.
“Look, I know you’re facing some scary stuff. We’re here for you.” Her mom fidgeted, her eyes on Hannah. She would want Hannah to ‘talk’ about it. She had no idea the things Hannah really wanted to say.
“It’s not that,” Hannah said. The words stuck in her throat. She tightened her grip on Fluffbottom, a name Mom and daughter came up with together for the teddy bear so very long ago, back when her mom was at least trying to be a mother.
“What is it?” Her mom was frustrated. She didn’t like illness or weakness. Boy, was she going to have trouble if Hannah lost her hair or started puking on everything.
Hannah really had to tell her. The words choked in the back of her throat. She shrugged and said, “It doesn’t matter.”
“Please.”
She wasn’t hiding from anybody. Hannah figured the confession she had for her mom wasn’t going to be the one she expected. Still, she took courage in the fact that she only had to say it once. Finally Hannah said, “I’m pregnant.”
“Oh.” Her mother nodded. She sank deeper on the bed with a sigh. She said, “How will that affect your cancer treatment? Are you planning to keep it?”
“I am. Or at least I’m going to try,” Hannah said.
“How far along?”
Hannah squeezed her eyes shut and tried to do that math. Finally she said, “I hardly know what day it is. I think I’m five months.”
“What you said about being kidnapped. Was that true?” It was strange watching her mother pick at the comforter, the perfect woman who dressed in business skirts and made tons of money in corporate negotiations. If her dad didn’t believe her, her mom certainly wouldn’t.
“Yes. It’s true.” Hannah allowed her mother to take her hand. They weren’t a demonstrative family. It was actually a little strange that her mom took just that little step forward.
“Were you raped?”
Hannah had been expecting this question. In all the parental scenarios she had played out in her mind, the question had come up every single time. “No. I met someone. He saved me, and I thought he was really cool.”
“Does he know?”
“Mom, I don’t want anything from him. This baby wasn’t supposed to be a trap. It was an accident because I’m an idiot. I had just been diagnosed, and I wanted to experience love before I died,” Hannah thought it was a good thing that stuffed animals couldn’t be strangled because she had a death grip on hers.
“Honey...” Her mother admonished.
Hannah pushed off the bed, pacing the room. “I didn’t use protection. I didn’t even care. I thought I was dying anyway so what difference did it make? How did my life get so screwed up?”
“You were acting out. I understand that. We’ll make this work.” Her mom was not a grandmotherly kind of woman. She looked half her age with dyed hair and an optimistic spirit. Hannah wondered if she’d hire a nanny to step in as a grandmother.
“You have to get Dad to stop. I’m not going on the news. I don’t care if it earns business for your firm.” Hannah felt a little sick thinking of it.
“You know how he gets. Don’t worry. It will all blow over.”
In her pacing, Hannah stopped at the window and lifted the blinds. When she peeked out the second story window, reporters were milling around the sidewalk waiting. Prodigal daughter comes home. It didn’t say much for her relationship with her father that Hannah didn’t know if the whole ‘college woman with cancer disappears’ headline was generated to help find her or because her dad was a media whore.
“I hope so,” Hannah murmured.
She had nowhere else to go.
DRAKE DROVE BY HANNAH’S house twice before deciding to pull into the driveway. It took a lot of patience to wait for all of the reporters to get out of the way. He finally got through. A more impatient person might have run over the lot of them.
It was nine o’clock in the morning, certainly not early for a guy like Drake. Now that he was out of the car and walking toward the house, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hannah would be awake at this time of day. Most college students were natural night owls unless a job forced them into an early morning routine.
He rang the doorbell.
No one opened the door.
From the street the reporters yelled questions at him. They asked if he knew Hannah McKay and what his relationship was to the family.
A muffled male voice from the other side of the door asked him what he wanted.
Drake said, “I need to speak with your family.”
“Hannah doesn’t want to talk to the press.”
He heard a fervent plea in Hannah’s voice and then the door opened. Hannah’s father was in his early fifties with graying temples. He was going bald on top of his head, but otherwise acted like a man in his prime.
Her father opened the door and said, “Hurry, before the press starts taking pictures.” The only problem was that he didn’t sound like he meant it.
Drake rushed through the door. Hannah’s father locked it behind him. Hannah wore pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Over the t-shirt she had thrown a sweatshirt with a hoodie.
Hannah s
aid, “What are you doing here?”
“We never finished our discussion.” Drake stood awkwardly in the entryway of the home. He couldn’t hug Hannah, not when she was hugging herself and looking at him like he were her worst nightmare.
“I said everything I needed to say, and you left,” Hannah watched Drake for any sign of feelings. Thing was. He wasn’t emoting at all. He just stood there with a stern expression and a distance that seemed insurmountable.
Drake pressed his lips together. He could lead strike teams and make million dollar deals, but he couldn’t have a simple discussion with the woman he loved. He said, “I’m helping to raise the child. That’s all there is too it.”
Hannah’s face flushed to a vibrant red.
Her dad turned and looked at Hannah and said, “Child?”
Her jaw clenched, Hannah said, “I told Mom. We were waiting for the right time to tell you.”
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?” Hannah’s dad looked like he was going to throw Drake outside...through a window. Hannah had never seen him so angry.
She said, “Dad. Stop.”
“No. You disappear for three months after a cancer diagnosis and show up on my doorstep pregnant? And then some guy I’ve never met follows you here? You even refuse to give a simple statement that will generate business for me and your mother. This is not how we McKay’s handle things. I expect more from you.”
“And I expected not to be used as the next great media tie-in to Mckay and Windthrop, but look what I got.”
Hannah and her father squared off against each other—Hannah was clearly angry and hurt. Drake stepped in before it got ugly. He said, “Can we sit somewhere and discuss this?”
Before Dad could move Drake to his den, Hannah said, “We will sit in the kitchen on the bar stools.” She led the way. The house was large. Upper middle-class big. The kitchen had an island that jutted out in the middle with a row of bar stools along the island and a cabinet hanging down from the ceiling above.
Hannah took a seat in the middle and patted one of the stools, “Drake, can you sit here?”
Watching Hannah, Drake realized that he had no idea how to win her. He was keenly aware that he wanted to. All of those months and he hadn’t been able to shake her memory. He smiled ruefully and slid next to her. “I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted to happen or how.”
“Look, I don’t want you to feel guilty or sorry for me. I knew what I was doing, and I stand by my decision.” Hannah ignored her dad who grabbed a stool and slid it around to the other side of the kitchen so that he could face her and Drake.
Her dad was an obstacle. He was leaning forward, eager to cash in on this latest development. Drake read people pretty well, and in this instance, he was reading a lot of greed and not so much concern for Hannah coming from her father.
“You can make this go away. If you don’t want to raise the kid, her mother and I will,” her dad said solemnly.
Hannah flushed. Her chin lifted as she stared across the table at her father. With a rage Drake knew had come out of those mountains, Hannah said, “You need to leave. You have nothing to add to this discussion.”
“The hell I don’t. Who do you think is going to raise this baby? Certainly not you. You’ve saddled your mother and me with another eighteen years of chasing after a selfish brat.”
“If I die, I’m not leaving the baby to you or Mom. You’re not getting saddled with anything. I wouldn’t do that to a child of mine.” Hannah retorted.
“You ungrateful...”
Drake leaned forward, “Sir. Stop before you say something you’ll regret.”
It didn’t take Drake long to figure out the discord and dysfunction of Hannah’s family. He watched while her father mirrored Hannah’s expression but with cunning and an edge of darkness that had not yet tainted Hannah’s soul. Her father boasted, “I never wanted children. We are honest in our family. I don’t lie to save Hannah’s feelings. Let me tell you this, I’m not going to raise your bastard, even if she gave him to me, which apparently she is not going to do.”
Hannah hardened. That was the only word to describe it. She did not cry. Her eyes went distant and withdrawn, the same thing she did in the recovery room. Drake hated her father at that moment. He hated that her own memories of not being wanted would make her think that Drake wouldn’t want her either.
Drake said, “Hannah, you didn’t trap me. You see how easily your father slips out of responsibility? If I wanted the same, do you think I’d be sitting here now?”
Hannah’s hair was still mussed from waking. When her green eyes met his, his breath caught. Even in her distress, she was beautiful. Perhaps more so because she bore up so well under insults that must have drilled deep. She said, “No. I can see that you’re taking this as seriously as I am.”
“I am. The rest of this conversation needs privacy. Hannah, could I take you somewhere for breakfast?”
“I’d love to. Let me get dressed.”
Hannah fled the room. There was no other word for it.
Drake studied Hannah’s father, his penchant for drama, his rich taste in clothes, the slight sneer on his face as he also studied Drake. Her father asked, “What’s your game?”
Without more than five minutes with her father, Drake knew that anything he told this man now would be twisted into something else, honed into a weapon to hurt the woman he loved. He could admit it to himself, even if he hadn’t quite gotten around to telling her. He loved her. All the way. He said, “Why do you hate her so much?”
Surprised, her father said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yeah, you do.” Drake hated the awkwardness of the bar stools. This was the kind of conversation that needed both parties to be standing face-to-face. His spine was as straight as a flag pole when he added, “Your performance was off. Your wife loves Hannah, but you truly hate her. I’ve never seen a father treat his offspring with such disregard.”
“You’re a fool. I wish you luck on your choice.” Hannah’s father extended his hand.
It was a strange thing. He insulted Drake, but even now was extending an olive branch of sorts. Drake shook his hand, coming to a rather startling conclusion. For Hannah’s sake, he could shake the man’s hand.
When Hannah walked down the stairs, she wore jeans and a deep green sweater that set off her eyes. He missed the mussed look, but her hair was curled with tendrils framing her face, and she wore light makeup. Drake held out an arm to her.
The smile warmed her eyes and she took his arm with a joy that Drake had not seen since their night on the airplane. He said, “You look beautiful.
Hannah swallowed nervously as they approached the front door. Her hand kneaded his jacket. He whispered, “Walk tall. You have nothing to hide.”
As they stepped onto the porch, the assault of camera flashes and shouts washed over them. Drake walked Hannah to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for her.
Getting out now that the press knew Hannah was in the car would be tricky. Drake walked carefully around the front of the car, his attention on the video cameras. He was the face of AIT and didn’t need secrecy. Still, he didn’t want anyone with a journalistic bent digging into his company at this particular point.
He strolled down the driveway as if unimpressed by the crowd or the cameras. At the end of the driveway, he said, “I’d like to make a statement.”
Had he been new to the publicity game, the focus of all of those lenses would have been disconcerting to say the least. He picked out the most expensive video lens and spoke to it, guaranteeing that his audience would hear him, “I fear this is much ado about nothing. My girlfriend recently quit the university to live with me. There is really no story here.”
“Why did her father go on the news thinking his daughter was kidnapped?”
“Her parents were estranged. She of course had no idea that they would think anything drastic had happened to her. She came forward as soon as she realized what
had happened. If you wouldn’t mind clearing the driveway...”
“All of this is a hoax?” One of the cameramen asked.
“A misunderstanding. Thank you for your time.”
Drake turned around, walking slowly back to the car. That was part of the plan, not to act as if he were running, but not to give an opening for more questions either. He had no doubt Hannah’s father would somehow sabotage his response, but for now Drake knew he had defused the situation. Many of the photographers were already scattering to their next target.
If Drake wanted to eat breakfast, he sure wasn’t going to do it in Hannah’s neighborhood where an ambitious cameraman might decide to lie in wait. He took the freeway and started driving north. It would give them plenty of time to talk.
Drake hated that lifted chin, the way Hannah stared out the window as if she would break if she let any emotion in to cloud her mind. He said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Was that before or after the baby?” Hannah asked. Drake supposed it was a fair question, although one thing didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other.
Drake tapped his thumbs along the steering wheel. He felt exposed. That was one word. The last time he was this honest was two years back. He wanted a family. Lauren said that wasn’t going to happen, that the baby had miscarried. It broke his heart. Both for the child and for the love he thought they shared. He suspected her of aborting the child and said as much. That was the end of their relationship.
Lauren worked in the lab at AIT until the aftermath of the Spokane attack. She would never forgive him for the assumption. Lauren had always been a girl who liked to dress up and go to parties. Somehow she seemed a perfect fit for the corporate life; motherhood, not so much. He was glad now that they had broken up. Now that he met Hannah, he couldn’t imagine another woman in her place.
Drake said, “Before. No one sticks in my mind like you. When you disappeared off the grid, I was frantic.”
“Really? You didn’t say anything,” With a sigh, Hannah leaned her head against the window. She said, “I’ve never had anyone stand up for me before.”
