“Never.”
Silence enveloped us, the darkness alive with our turmoil.
There’d be no sleep tonight.
When Shea began to quietly sing, I clutched her to me.
I strained to make out the words that passed languidly between her lips, a tickle to my ears, something like heaven and honey and all things sweet.
So, so sweet.
My heart clenched as I swam in the power of the words.
She was singing Lullaby by The Dixie Chicks.
I only knew it because my mom had loved the record it was on. She had listened to it constantly before everything had gone to shit—before my family had lost it all.
As I held on to Shea and listened to her pour the words out into the night—like mourning, like praise—I had the intense urge to weep.
Instead, I buried that feeling with my rage, made it count, added it to the debt Martin Jennings was going to pay.
But Shea?
Shea wept.
Wept unlike anything I’d heard since my mother had wept when the sea stole Julian.
A mother’s pain.
A torment I’d prayed I’d never hear again.
And I just held her. Held her and held her and made a million silent promises that I’d never let her go.
“I sang that to Kallie every single night. I don’t ever want to stop,” she finally managed to whisper before she slipped back into silence.
Long moments passed with just the sound of our breaths, before I pressed a soothing kiss to the top of her head. “Tell me a story, Shea from Savannah.”
She stumbled over a soggy laugh, and pulled my arms tighter around her. “What kind of story do you want to hear, Sebastian from California?”
“I want to know who taught you to sing.”
HEAT PERMEATED THE SMALL church. It was stuffed full of people and Shea was all dressed up, wearing a frilly white dress and white patent-leather shoes. A matching ribbon was tied in her curly hair. Little pebbles of sweat beaded at the base of her neck.
But Shea didn’t mind.
Her grandma squeezed her hand where she stood beside her in the pew, and Shea began to sing with the choir.
Amazing Grace,
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
Her grandma had taught her how to play it on the piano, had taught her all the words, and it felt like their song. Somehow, standing there in church singing it beside her grandma, Shea got the feeling she was doing something really, really important.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind,
But now I see.
Pride filled her as she let the words free.
Let them float, high and lifted up.
Just like her grandma had taught her to do.
Her grandma was always telling her she had the prettiest voice she’d ever heard. Just like a morning bird, she’d say. She told Shea that God had given it to her as a gift, and nothing pleased Him more than hearing it used to praise His name.
So Shea sang her praise, thanking God she got to be right there, because Shea’s favorite places were the ones where she got to be with her grandma.
After they finished singing, the pastor said a prayer before ending the service.
Shea was sure her grandma had to know just about every person who lived in Savannah, because countless people stopped them to say their goodbyes as they made their way out of the busy church.
“Look at you, precious girl,” her grandma’s friend said. “I could hear you singing all the way across the sanctuary. Just like an angel.”
Shea felt the blush rush to her cheeks. She swayed softly as she held onto her grandma’s weathered hand. She whispered, “Thank you, ma’am,” because her grandma taught her to do that, too.
“We’d better get you home,” her grandma said, excusing them from the little group congregating around them. She helped Shea slide into the worn leather backseat of her car, pressed a kiss to her forehead as she helped her buckle in, then smiled down at Shea.
The wrinkles crisscrossing on her face got deeper and deeper the bigger she smiled, and Shea smiled right back.
A map.
All those lines on Kalliana Whitmore’s face made up the map of the life her grandma had lived.
At least, that’s what she told Shea.
Shea wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but sometimes when she traced the lines on her face right before she fell asleep at night—when she got to spend the night at her house—her grandma would tell her the best stories about how she got those lines. Those stories made her laugh and smile. Sometimes they made her sad, too, but no matter what, they were her favorite.
She promised Shea one day she’d have all her own stories that would line her own face. That was the best part.
Shea couldn’t wait.
Her grandma climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.
“Take me to your house, Gramma,” she begged through a toothy grin. Her grandma’s house was her favorite place in the whole wide world.
“Not today, sweet girl. I have to get you home. Your mother has big plans for you this week.”
Shea frowned, but didn’t say anything while her Grandma drove them across town and pulled to a stop in front of the small blue house where Shea lived with her momma and daddy.
For some reason, though, her daddy hadn’t been around all that much lately.
Her grandma shut off the car and got out, held open the back door, and Shea scrambled out. Shea took off up the sidewalk and up the two concrete steps, hoping her momma was happy today.
Hoping to see her smile.
Her momma was so, so pretty. Shea was going to be just like her one day.
Shea burst through the front door. “I’m home!” she called.
Her grandma emerged behind her. She handed her the small bag Shea packed when she went to spend the night at her house. “Go on and put your stuff away in your room.”
“Okay.” Shea grinned and ran down the hall, tossed the bag on her floor, and flew right back out.
Though she slowed when she heard the voices in the kitchen.
Those voices were upset and low.
Shea slinked quietly across the living room and pressed her back against the wall close to the kitchen, wondering why her gramma and momma were so mad.
“You can’t go putting your dreams on the shoulders of your daughter. She’s too young for you to be pushing her into all that mess.”
Her mother huffed, and Shea could hear things banging around in the kitchen, like her momma was angry and just needed to throw something.
“She’s the one who ruined those dreams.”
“You’re going to blame a child for you not making it? That has to be the most selfish thing to ever come out of your mouth, Chloe Lynn. It wasn’t her fault you went and got yourself knocked up doing anything you could to get your foot in the door.”
Her mother’s voice dropped real deep. Angry. Angry. Angry. “Don’t you dare,” her mother seethed.
Shea pressed her hands to her ears and wished she could drown it out.
But their words were still there.
“Then don’t you dare treat that little girl as anything less than the gift she is. Maybe God put her with you to keep you from continuing down the destructive path you’d been following for too many years. Maybe it’s time you listened.”
“I’m not a little girl and I definitely don’t need to listen to your naggin’ anymore. She’s my daughter, and I’ll damn well do with her as I please.”
A beat of silence. In it, Shea’s tummy filled with something sour.
Then her grandma’s voice got quiet. “Do with her as you please? She’s not a possession.”
Her momma laughed, but it wasn’t a pretty sound. “Really? She belongs to me, so I’d say that pretty much sums it up.”
Shea pressed herself closer against the wall, wishing she could disappear. She always wanted to make her momma p
roud, but lately, she always seemed to be so mad.
Her momma said it was Shea’s daddy’s fault.
Shea sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes real tight when footsteps creaked across the kitchen floor. She opened them when she couldn’t help it any longer, because she felt someone close, and she found her grandma kneeling in front of her.
Her grandma looked sad, and she tilted her head to the side, her voice soft.
“I want you to remember something, sweet girl. You sing when you feel it in here.” Her grandma placed her hand over Shea’s hammering heart.
“When it feels right and good and makes you happy. Don’t ever do it for any other reason.”
Then she stood and walked out.
DOWNSTAIRS, THE FRONT DOOR rattled. It jarred me from where I’d crawled along the periphery of sleep. Never quite grasping it. Hovering somewhere between reality and a dream. A dream where I’d been haunted by a little girl with a mane of unruly blonde hair and the voice of an angel.
Couldn’t make sense whether it was Kallie calling out for me to save her or if the little girl chasing me in those dreams was the woman who now lay safe in the security of my arms.
Still curled around Shea, I blinked and tried to orient myself to the muted morning light. Last night, neither of us could sleep, so I’d thrown some of Shea’s things into a duffle bag and driven her over here to the house on Tybee Island. I’d told her Anthony would be here, and it’d be good for us to be here first thing in the morning so we could get straight to work on getting Kallie back.
But really, I knew Shea couldn’t be there in her grandmother’s house without Kallie in it. The walls ached with her absence.
Sucking in a breath, I attempted to clear the cloud in my head and the ache clinging to my chest.
Everything inside me demanded I stand up for them.
Stand for them.
It was time.
Careful not to wake her, I untangled myself from her and slipped out of bed. I tucked the covers up over her shoulders.
I pulled on the jeans I’d left discarded on the floor. Tiptoeing as quietly as I could, I edged out the door and softly snapped it shut behind me.
A blaze of reds and oranges lit the horizon where the sun climbed up from the edge of the ocean, the emerging day stretching its fingers through the wall of windows that took up the back of Anthony’s beach house.
And I knew it’d be Anthony’s arrival that had pulled me from my shallow sleep.
I ambled downstairs, trying to rub some of the exhaustion from my eyes. I hit the landing and rounded through the living room to the open kitchen.
In a suit, Anthony stood facing away at the far kitchen counter. He fumbled with the buttons of the Keurig machine as if his life depended on the brew.
Taking in a deep breath, I pressed my hands onto the top of the island separating us.
Had no idea what to expect from my agent and friend.
No doubt, this shit had to be getting old.
Dragging my ass out of every disaster I got myself into.
Taking flights clear across the country in the middle of the night.
Still, he did it time and time again.
When he felt my presence, Anthony looked over his shoulder. “Baz.”
It sounded weary. Just about as weary as the expression on his face.
I forced a grin, needing to break up some of the tension clogging the air. “You look like shit, man.”
Shooting me a smirk, he turned around to lean up against the counter. “And I wonder why that might be?” he drew out, all sorts of incredulous.
With my palms still pressed to the counter, I gave him a shrug. “Dunno. Could have something to do with the fact one of your asshole clients once again got himself in deep and you had to pack it up and race halfway around the world to dig him out of it.”
Although maybe this time…
Maybe this time getting myself in deep was exactly where I was supposed to be.
A short chuckle rumbled from him. “Could have something to do with that.”
Anthony sighed like he knew it was time to toss off the lightness passing between us, because fucking around wasn’t going to get Kallie back. He focused on pouring a shit-ton of sugar into his coffee and dousing it with cream.
“Thanks for being here,” I muttered honestly.
“It’s my job,” he said like there weren’t a whole lot of other options, but then he looked at me seriously as he took a tentative sip of his coffee, his tone changing. “And I want to be here. You know I’m not going to leave you high and dry in the middle of this.”
“I know. You know how much I appreciate you being here, don’t you? I don’t expect any of this from you.”
Yet, he was always willing.
There as a friend.
“Of course I know that.” He pushed out a strained breath and set his coffee aside. “This is messy, Baz.”
“You think I don’t know that?” It came out sounding more bitter than intended.
But fuck, this was a disaster.
Like he was searching for an answer or maybe restraint, he looked to the ceiling, before he dropped his attention back to me, gaze penetrating.
“You have to be straight up with me, Baz. Did you know Jennings was Kallie’s father? The press is all over this shit this morning.”
Just the thought of Kallie belonging to that piece of shit spiked my pulse.
“No. Not until CPS showed up and handed her over to him last night.”
Glancing at his feet, he shook his head as his tone filled with disbelief. “So you’re telling me you’ve been seeing this girl for what…close to two months…and you never thought to ask her who the baby’s daddy was?”
He kept right on talking as he began to pace, like each step would help make each piece in this fucked-up situation add up.
“One minute you tell me you’re back in California permanently because you can’t stay in Savannah for a second longer…during which time you’re acting like a fucking bear because you’re so miserable. Next thing I know, you’re packing the band up again and heading back here because of a girl I know nothing about.”
He paused and pinned me with his stare. “Which is all fine. I’ve already made it clear I want that for you. But I didn’t even know there was a kid involved until my phone started ringing off the hook at 4:00 a.m. yesterday about the pictures on the beach that had hit the tabloids. Then last night?” The words dropped flat.
He huffed in frustration. “Every time I turn around, I’m blindsided by something else involving you, Baz. I can’t keep up. How am I supposed to protect you and this band if I don’t have the first clue what’s going on?”
There was no missing the edge biting his words.
Anthony knew next to nothing when it came to Shea. Guess it was no surprise considering Shea and I were just finally breaking down the walls that’d kept us separated.
Exposing us.
Even though Shea was right.
We knew everything that mattered.
I swallowed hard. I knew how this was going to sound. Anthony didn’t understand Shea the way I did, and I knew this sounded fucking bad. I had to push the words out. “She told me Kallie’s father was dead.”
Anthony blinked back at me in a you’ve got to be kidding me way.
I inhaled, doing my best not to get all pissy with him, because not one goddamned part of this situation was his fault.
“Look…things were complicated between me and Shea. Neither of us were looking to start something up.”
I gestured between the ceiling and myself. “We never expected this, and we both went into this the wrong way, thinking things were only going to be temporary, so we didn’t get into all the shit complicating our lives.”
Both of us desperate to feel something good.
I’d thought all I wanted was for that gorgeous girl to make me forget…just for a little while.
Little did we know how our lives were getting
ready to be ripped up and reshaped.
“She and I have both been keeping enough secrets to sink a ship. This lands on both of us. She only just found out who I really am the night before I ran back to California the week before last…”
We all knew how that ended.
When I remembered the blow I’d received last night, my throat grew thick. “It was only last night I found out she was Delaney Rhoads.”
My brow twisted with all the restraint it took to admit this aloud. “Found out Jennings was Kallie’s father in the same damn second.”
“God,” he swore below his breath, rubbing his index finger back and forth over his top lip.
“You can’t put any blame on Shea for this, Anthony. She did it because she was protecting her little girl. Trying to survive and live a normal life. I promise you, there was zero malicious intent behind it.”
Questions took hold of the silence.
Another shock of realization slammed my mind, and I finally muttered, “All of this can’t be a coincidence.”
A heavy sigh blew from him, and he raked a flustered hand through his hair. “No, Baz, you’re right. It’s not a fucking coincidence.”
My stomach churned with nausea, and I clenched my fists on the counter.
Waiting.
Feeling it coming—the need to tear something or someone apart.
He looked me square in the face. “I had no idea who your girl was, Baz. But yesterday morning when we got the pics, I couldn’t shake the feeling she looked familiar. About halfway through the day, it finally dawned on me she was Delaney Rhoads. I was tied up in knots wondering if she was playing you…stringing you along as a way to get back into the business, wondering how in the hell I was going to break it to you because I knew how messed up you were over her.”
“What?” I gripped my hair. “Fuck…no, Anthony. It’s not anything like that. She doesn’t want anyone to know who she is.”
Relief slid across his features, but his words were filled with speculation. “Are you sure you really know this girl? You really trust her?”
Anger surged at the insinuation, but I curbed it. Anthony was only looking out for the band. Looking out for me. I knew that well enough. Just like I knew Shea.
“Yes,” I said without an ounce of hesitation.
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