Reparation (The Kane Trilogy Book 3)

by Stylo Fantome

  “Shut up!” Jameson roared from behind her.

  “Tatum, please,” Sanders whispered.

  “... but I hope it does have his eyes. God, he has amazing eyes. And her bone structure. It would rule the world with those kind of looks. But it can't call me Auntie. Probably best if I'm not here when it comes over for visitation rights. That would be double weird. I'm not mad, Sandy. Do I sound mad? I'm fine. I'm fine.”

  Sanders actually picked her up. Scooped her up off the couch, like she was a baby. Jameson was yelling into his phone while she was carried away. He had his back to the room, slicing an arm angrily through the air.

  “No! No! I want this stopped, now! Any kind of lawsuit you can think of, just shut this bullshit up! I want a paternity test. I don't care, she can't claim it's mine without pro-,” he was ranting, but then Sanders whisked Tate through the door.

  “You're awfully strong, Sandy. Do you work out?” she asked, resting her head against his chest, trying to catch her breath.

  “Pilates. I also run every morning. Weight training in the evenings.”

  “Pilates, huh. I wish I would've known. I love pilates.”

  “I would be very glad to work out with you sometime.”

  “Can we stop talking now?”

  “Of course.”

  Tate closed her eyes while he carried her up the stairs. Clung tighter to his shoulders. When they got to the bedroom, he tried to sit her down, but she wouldn't let go. He wound up sitting on the side of the bed, resting her against his chest.

  “He has never lied to you,” Sanders whispered.

  “Except one very important time.”

  “Technically, he -,”

  “A lie by omission is still a lie, Sanders,” she snapped. He took a deep breath, and his arms around her got tight.

  “He is not lying,” he insisted. She took a deep breath.

  “I know. I know, I'm just ..., upset. I'll be fine,” she whispered.

  “Please. Please, just talk to him,” Sanders urged. She nodded, not lifting her head from his chest.

  “Of course. Of course I will,” she replied.

  “You need to trust him. You said you loved him,” he reminded her.

  “I know what I said.”

  That's what makes it so much worse. Why did I have to say it out loud?

  By the time Jameson stormed up the stairs, she had gotten off Sanders' lap. Though she was holding his hand. Jameson burst into the room, glanced at them, and continued on into his closet. Sanders and Tate glanced at each other.

  “We're going to New York!” he shouted.

  “Excuse me?” Tate asked.

  “You fucking heard me. Pack a goddamn bag,” he growled. She let go of Sanders and stood up. Took a deep breath. Walked into the closet.

  “What's in New York?” she asked.

  “My lawyers.”

  “I don't need to be there for that, I can just -,” she started in a calm voice. He whirled around and he was so angry, she was actually startled. As he stalked towards her, she quickly backed away, bumping into shelving.

  “Pack. A fucking. Bag,” he hissed. “I don't have time for this, for any of your crazy shit. I will deal with us later, but for right now, this moment, I have to stop this fucking publicity train. Got it!?”

  He was leaning over her. Looming. She stared right up at him. Licked her lips, then pressed her hand against his chest. Jameson had always been a little psychic, so she knew she really had to sell it. She let her eyes wander over his features, cementing them in her memory. She always loved him best when he looked angry.

  Always loved him, always.

  “Jameson, I'm fine. I'll just slow you down. I'll be here when you get back,” she insisted in a soft voice, gently rubbing her hand over his chest. He narrowed his eyes.

  “No, you won't. You always run away,” he said. She shook her head.

  “I will be here, I promise. I'm fine. Go, do what you need to do. Like you said, we'll deal with us later,” she assured him, pressing herself against him.

  “I don't believe you.”

  “I don't really care. You're wasting time right now, arguing with me. Go,” she urged.

  He suddenly leaned down and kissed her, and it was all she could do not to cry. She had always loved his kisses. This one was soft, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue gentle against her own. His hands came up to cup her jaw, molding her to him. She sighed into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “Promise me you'll be here when I come back,” he breathed against her, resting his forehead to hers.

  “I promise.”

  Note he never said anything about later ...

  *

  Jameson was only gone for two days. Long enough to slap Petrushka with so many lawsuits, her management team was spinning in circles. A cease and desist was first and foremost. She could not talk about him in connection with her pregnancy, or she would be sued. But that didn't really matter, because there was nothing he could do about the media. He was requesting a paternity test, to see if she was telling the truth. She was fighting it. That one would take a bit longer.

  Requesting a paternity test to see IF it's true. Requesting proof to prove that it IS true. Doesn't sounds like he's as positive as he likes to pretend ...

  Jameson was wary of her. Eyeing Tate as if she was going to explode at any minute. Fair assumption to make. She teased him and laughed at him about the whole thing. Even Sanders looked at her like she was a little crazy.

  “Do you want me to freak out? I mean, it can be arranged,” she laughed one day. Jameson put his forearms on his desk.

  “I want you to be truthful,” he insisted. She swallowed thickly.

  “I don't think either of us is ready for that right now. Later,” she replied. And he nodded.

  Petrushka even called one day. That was some awesome icing on the cake. Tate answered his phone. Syrupy sweet German words dripped down the line, laced in venom. Tate just shrugged and handed the phone over to Jameson. He looked astounded at her for a minute, then like he was going to strangle the phone in the next. He called Petrushka so many impressive names, Tate almost thought it was foreplay.

  Maybe it is.

  The final straw came a couple days after he had gotten back. Everyone had settled into the library for a nice, awkward evening of not speaking to each other, when Tate's cell phone started ringing. It was Ang. She hadn't told him about everything that had gone down. She answered the phone, worried that he would hear it in her voice.

  “Hey, how are -,” she started.

  “It's time.”

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “Ellie. Having the baby. Driving to the hospital,” he spat out. Tate leapt out of her seat.

  “But she's got like another month, or something!” she yelled.

  “I know. Apparently no one told the baby. Get down here.”

  She was halfway out the door when Jameson stopped her.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded. She laughed, hopping into a shoe.

  “Apparently the whole fucking world is having a baby, not just your girlfriend. Ellie's in labor.”

  She really didn't want him there, but he had become like her shadow. Afraid to let her out of his sight. He insisted on going with her, so Sanders drove them both to the hospital. When Tate got to the waiting area, Ang was sitting in a chair with his head in his hands.

  “She called you?” Tate asked, hurrying up to his side. He looked up at her.

  “She was actually at my place. She had left some stuff, from before, and had come to get it all. We were just kinda chatting, whatever, you know, stuff, and she went into labor. Fucking scared the shit out of me,” he breathed. Tate laughed.

  “'Stuff'!? Ang, were you two getting it on?” she asked. He groaned.

  “I'm scarred for life.”

  Normally, a first time birth took hours. Not Ellie Carmichael. That baby wanted out, and it wanted out now. Ellie didn't want anyone in th
e room while it happened, her modesty was firmly in place. Tate wasn't exactly surprised. What did surprise her, though, was seeing her mother and father strolling down the hallway.

  “Fuck,” she whispered under her breath. Jameson went to hold her hand, and without thinking, she yanked away from his touch. He cut his eyes to hers, but before he could saying anything, her father was upon them.

  “Kane. Surprised to see you here,” Mathias O'Shea barked out. Her father did not look happy to see them – the last time they had parted ways, Jameson had said some very choice words. But money talked, and Jameson had more of it than her father. Mr. O'Shea knew when to eat shit.

  “Yes. Tatum got the phone call, we came straight here,” Jameson stood up, shaking hands with the other man. Her father didn't even look at her. Tate glanced at her mother, who appeared to be swaying. Classy.

  “Ah, yes. Tatum. You two are still ...,” her father grumbled. Tate was tempted to shout 'fucking', but Jameson beat her to it.

  “Yes. We just got back from an extended vacation in Spain, last month,” Jameson filled in.

  Not dating. Not together. Just got back. So perfect.

  “Been a long time now. I never thought you'd put up with -,” her father started.

  “Yes, it has been a long time. And time well spent.”

  The innuendo was not lost on anyone. Tatum dropped her head into her hands.

  She wondered how her life had gotten to that point. Jameson Kane on one side of her. Her father on the other. Neither of them speaking to her. Her feeling small. Insignificant. A mistake. That's what she felt like; like one big mistake. It was horrible.

  “Tate,” Jameson suddenly said. She glanced over to find him staring at her. “I want you to know, I meant -,”

  “Is there a Tatum here?” an important looking nurse shouted out. Tate leapt to her feet.

  “That's me! Thank god,” she groaned, trailing after the woman.

  “The baby is fine. Ten fingers, ten toes, a beautiful little boy. Your sister said you could see her now, but only you,” the nurse informed her.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Ellie looked tired. A kind of bone weary tired that Tate couldn't even begin to imagine. But she also kinda looked relaxed, and happy. She smiled at Tatum and gestured for her to sit down on the side of the bed.

  “I'm glad you're here,” Ellie said through a yawn. Tate smiled.

  “Of course I'm here. Everyone's here. Sanders is passing out water like we're at a cocktail party,” she joked.

  “Good, I'm glad. Ang? Is he okay? He looked kinda green,” Ellie told her.

  “Yeah, he was a little upset. Tell me, did your water break when you were on top of him?” Tate teased.

  “God, you two are disgusting. No,” Ellie grumbled. But then she smiled. “But a minute or two later, and it would have.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Do you want to see him?” Ellie asked softly. Tate nodded, and Ellie gestured to a sterile looking crib that sat against the wall.

  “Is he okay? Isn't he early?” Tate asked, walking towards it.

  “Only a little bit, the doctors said I was farther along than they nthought,” Ellie replied.

  He was beautiful. So beautiful. Tate picked him up and cuddled him to her chest. She normally wasn't a baby kind of person, not much into kids. But when he stared up at her with his dusky blue eyes, she felt her soul melt a little. A tear splashed onto his baby blanket, followed by another.

  “Did you name him?” she managed to ask through her sniffles.

  “I was thinking Shamus, after Daddy's brother. I always liked him. Shamus O'Shea Carmichael,” Ellie said, yawning again.

  “Christ, he's never gonna be able to pronounce it,” Tate snorted, stroking her finger down one of Shamus' fingers.

  “Don't use that kind of language in front of my son,” Ellie corrected her.

  “God, he's perfect, El. Good job, good for you,” Tate breathed.

  “At least I did something right,” Ellie laughed.

  The baby had big eyes. Beautiful eyes. Both Tate and Ellie had brown eyes, so he must have gotten his eyes from his daddy. A misty blue, almost like Sanders', but huge. He was very quiet, too, and he stared right into Tate's eyes. She felt like he was staring straight through her, straight into her soul.

  I want this.

  The thought came out of nowhere, and some more tears fell. She had never thought about having kids before, it was always more of a “someday” kind of thing. But she was twenty-six. “Someday” really wasn't that far away. And here she was, caught on repeat with Jameson. He would never want to have kids. He wouldn't even call her his girlfriend, how could he have kids with her? He would never marry her, he had said so himself. It would never be anything more than what it was, right then.

  What if I want more?

  She'd had the thought before, and now she knew it would keep coming back. Keep coming, until it ripped them apart. Just as bad as Petrushka, if not worse. Yes, Jameson liked her. Yes, he cared about her, to a certain extent. But not as much as she wanted. As much as she needed. She laid the baby back down in the crib. Wiped at her eyes.

  “Yes, Ellie, you did something very right with this little guy.”

  When she wandered back down the hall, everyone was standing. Her father was demanding to know how the baby was doing. Ang was demanding to know how Ellie was doing. Her mother was demanding to know where the bathroom was, and Jameson was demanding that everyone calm the fuck down. Standing apart from everyone was Sanders, calm and quiet.

  She burst out crying and fell into his arms. Pandemonium broke out around her. Was the baby sick? Was Ellie hurt? What the fuck was wrong with Tatum? What was going on? Say something, say something!

  “She's fine,” Tate managed to choke out. “The baby is beautiful.”

  Then Sanders led her off down the hall, hugging her to his side. She cried harder, so hard she could barely walk right.

  “I know, Tatum. I know,” he said softly.

  “You ..., always ..., do,” she managed to get out.

  He chuckled, then led her further away from everyone else.

  ~11~

  Tate went to visit her sister the next day, all by herself. She was able to sneak out of the house and steal the Jag without anyone catching her, though she did get several angry text messages from Jameson. When she got to the hospital, she was glad to see that no one else was there, either. She carried a small bouquet of flowers and tiny stuffed bear.

  “You awake?” she whispered, peeking into her sister's room. Ellie nodded, but held a finger to her lips.

  “Yeah, but he just fell asleep,” she explained softly, gesturing to the crib. Tate nodded and crept across the room.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “Good. I actually feel pretty good. They're releasing me later today,” Ellie replied.

  “That's great. Do you have a ride?”

  “Yeah, my friend is gonna come get me. Believe it or not, Mother is going to stay at the apartment with me, till I get settled,” Ellie laughed. Tate laughed as well.

  “Oh god. Well, I guess that's a good thing. I was gonna offer to stay with you, but I probably wouldn't be much help,” Tate put out there. Ellie nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  They made idle chit chat after that; Ellie shared some of the more disgusting, lesser known facts about childbirth. Tate tried to hold down her lunch. They turned on the TV and watched some crap reality show, made fun of the contestants. But after about an hour, Tate grew restless.

  “Ellie, I have a favor to ask,” she started.

  “Sure, what is it?” her sister responded.

  “I hate asking when you're like this, in the hospital, but I really need your help,” Tate continued.

  “You're kind of freaking me out. What's up?” Ellie asked. Tate took a deep breath.

  She asked Ellie if she could borrow some money. She hated doing it, especially after the
little show she and Ang had put on, but she didn't have anyone else she could ask. She couldn't ask Sanders, he would tell Jameson, and she certainly couldn't ask Jameson. Luckily, Ellie agreed to it with very little questions asked.

  “Are you sure you're okay? I feel like I'm doing a drug deal,” Ellie commented, handing Tate a check for $3,000.

  “I'm fine,” Tate laughed.

  “I saw the baby stuff, online. About Jameson. I'm sorry,” Ellie said softly. Tate shrugged.

  “No biggy. I mean, we're not really together, and we certainly weren't together then,” she replied, but when she looked up from putting the check away, Ellie was frowning at her.

  “It would be hard for me, if you suddenly said you were pregnant with Angier's baby,” Ellie added. Tate laughed again.

  “Who says I'm not?” she teased, winking at her sister. Ellie didn't laugh.

  “What are you planning?” she suddenly asked. Tate sighed.

  “Nothing you need to worry about. I'll talk to you later,” Tate replied, getting up and kissing Ellie on the forehead. Her sister grabbed her hand.

  “Be careful, Tate,” she warned her. Tate chuckled, and it sounded vaguely evil.

  “I always am.”

  She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to the baby's forehead, then waltzed out the door. She made a brief stop at her bank, cashing the check before she headed back to the house. Back home.

  Well, back to his home.

  Being sneaky around Jameson was difficult. He was very smart and very intuitive, and on top of all of that, he watched her like a hawk. She had to execute her plan in stages, usually when he was out of the house. Which wasn't often; he'd barely left at all since “The Petrushka Incident”.

  “Baby girl,” he whispered one night, sliding into bed beside her. Tate had been trying to act like she was asleep.

  “Hmmm?” she mumbled, trying not to slither away when his arm went around her waist.

  “I know what you've been thinking. And it's not true. You promised me, remember. You promised you wouldn't freak out,” he reminded her. She sighed.