The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (14 page)

“In my hand, Mr. James, are the paternity results that you requested.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to control my shaking leg. I want to reach across the desk and rip that paper out of his hand and read it. Quinn squeals, catching my attention. I rub my hand on top of his head, his baby fine hair standing on end. He puts his chubby hand in his mouth and start sucking.

“The child known as Quinn James is yours. You’re ninety-nine point nine percent his father.”

I bend over and let out the breath I had been holding. My mom rubs my back as I fight back the sob that is threatening to take over. Five months ago when he showed up, I didn’t want him, but now I’d never let him go. He’s my son.

“I have more news,” my lawyer says. I stand up and give him a slight headshake for him to continue. “Miss Tucker has been located,” he says as he turns back to his desk. I freeze at the one name that can change anything. He sets his hands in front of him, his fingers forming a tent much like my guidance counselor at school when he’d speak to my mom about me not being social enough for his liking.

My lawyer may be pissing me off, but he’s been very upfront with my rights. Alicia can come back and take Quinn from me. All she has to do is claim some type of depression shit and I’d lose my son. He says the courts side with the mothers first and listen to the father’s later. I don’t want that.

“And?” I encourage him to continue. I need to know. I need to hear the words out of his mouth.

He extends his hand, holding a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Miss Tucker has signed away her parental rights. Quinn is yours and available for adoption by your wife when you choose to marry.”

“I’m never getting married,” I mumble as I read over the document saying she’s relinquishing all her parental rights. “He’s mine?”

“He’s yours, honey,” my mom says. She’s crying into my shoulder, but I know they’re happy tears because I’m shedding them as well.

“He’s mine.”

“Do you miss Meghan? If you do, I can call her and see if she’ll move here.” Maybe moving away from all the women in his life wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I didn’t think he would need them. Maybe I don’t know what an eight-year-old needs.

“No, it’s okay. I just...” he shrugs again. I reach forward and still his hand with mine. He looks up. I raise my eyebrow, waiting for him to answer me. “I like Katelyn. She’s nice to me.”

I sit back and study my son... the matchmaker, who knew? I like... no I fucking love that she’s nice to him and nothing would make me happier than for her give us a chance. I look out into the courtyard and watch a few people while I compose my thoughts. Dads and moms with their kids all getting ready for school, and here I am living the single life because I’m afraid to love anyone, except her. There’s something about her and I don’t know if I can say it’s just one thing. I love her hair, her eyes, or maybe it’s the way her lip curls when she’s really happy. She doesn’t know that I watch her like I do. That I take in her presence every chance I get.

I don’t know how to answer my son. For the first time ever, I’m going to clam up and keep my thoughts to myself for fear of what I might say. “Come on, let’s go to Noah’s. You can play and I can work for a bit.”

Quinn cleans up and carries the tray to the garbage can. He walks a bit slower. He’s either tired or thinks he’s done something to upset me. I bump him lightly, earning a grin, one that hasn’t changed from when he was a baby.

I can’t get Quinn’s comments out of my head. Pounding on the drums doesn’t do anything to alleviate my stress either. Every time I close my eyes I see her beneath me and hate that it’s all in my imagination. I need to get over her, to move on and get her out of my system.

The song that I had been working on during the tour is on replay in my mind. I pull the lyrics out of my pocket and pick up a pen. I know Liam has written songs about Josie and continues to do so. He says it’s one of the best things about them. He writes and sings to her and she’s instantly dropping her panties for him. Not that I want Katelyn to do that... right away, but it would be nice for the hot and cold to stop. I feel her heart race when we’re together, I know she wants it, but refuses to see that we can be anything more than what we are. Maybe if she doesn’t want to see how I feel, my words can convince. Maybe if she hears words from my heart about how I feel, those are from me and meant for her, she’ll stop and think about what we could be together.

“What are you working on?”

I spin on my stool to find Liam picking up his guitar. There’s no point in hiding the lyrics from him any longer, not if I want Katelyn to hear them. I hand him the paper, he takes it and starts moving his head up and down. He can already hear himself singing the words.

“When did you write this?”

“That night after the bar.”

“This is really good. Want to give it a go?”

“I don’t know. It’s about...” I shake my head and pick up my drumsticks. “I like her. Quinn likes her. I don’t know what to do.”

“She’ll come around and if she doesn’t, move on. Her loss.”

He strums his guitar and starts with the first line. He writes down some notes and starts over until he’s found a melody that will work.

“Why the change of heart?” I ask.

“I’ve known Katelyn for a long time, but have spent all my adult life with you. I want to see you happy and if it’s her, great and if not, great. But I’m not going to get in the middle. I’ll just encourage. Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Katelyn,” he says without taking his eyes off the paper.

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you think she can do this job or not?”

I spin my drumstick between my fingers while I contemplate his question. Technically, no, I don’t think she can do the job, but we hired her knowing she had no experience.

“I think she’ll learn. I think that we threw her into the tour without any experience and the things that happened, do you really think she double booked us like that?”

Liam looks up. His eyes steady on mine. “No, but I’m not sure I can get over it.”

I nod. “Yeah, I hear ya.”

I don’t know what we’re going to do. Liam fired Sam and I was okay with that, but I’m not willing to let the band suffer for lack of a manager. We left Los Angeles assuming we could make it here, but maybe we can’t. Maybe we need to spend more time in L.A. working. The band is too important to let shit slide.

“Maybe things will get better.”

Liam smirks as he writes down a note. Maybe I’m just the eternal optimist and don’t want to give up the slight hope I have of making her see the real me. Not the guy she kisses and walks away from.

CHAPTER 16

Katelyn

For a week I’ve avoided the Westbury household. Not because I’m mad at Josie, or upset that Liam yelled at me, I deserved the verbal berating I received. But because that is where I work, or used to work, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not cut out for the music industry or any industry for that matter. The tour was a joke, a complete and utter disaster that ended with DeVon’s manager calling and giving me her own tongue lashing and threatening to sue the band for misrepresentation. I’ve had enough. I can’t take anymore. So I’m going to quit before Liam fires me. Save face that way and keep our friendship intact. I should never have taken a job with him, but once again, my mouth got the better of me and now, here I sit with the
Wanted
ads and a red pen, circling potential jobs. Red because I need the reminder that my life is nothing but a downward spiral and I’m losing control, I’ve lost it completely.

I lay my head down on the cool ground, the grass tickling my cheek. I fight the urge to cry, and not just cry, but to throw a good ole temper tantrum about how unfair life is. I didn’t sign up for this. I never thought I’d be sitting here at twenty-nine years old worrying about a job. A year and half ago everything was so much simpler. My biggest concern was wondering what I’d make for dinner. We weren’t well off by any means, and we lived paycheck to paycheck, but it worked. We didn’t fight or struggle with making our minimum payments. We just lived.

I roll over and look at the clock. It’s after midnight and Mason still isn’t home. There’s a pounding sound coming from the living room. I get up slowly, realizing that I’m still in my clothes from earlier. Tonight’s game had been two hours away. A team trying to make a name for themselves asked if we’d come play them. Mason, never one to turn down a game, obliged happily as did the rest of the team. They loaded up the bus, plus two additional ones for fans and made the trek. The girls and I went, but left early because it was cold.

I walk out into the living room, its dark, but blue lights flash through the window. The pounding starts again. It’s the front door. Mason probably locked himself out.

“Crazy man,” I mutter. I open the door and am met by Paul Baker, the local police chief. “Paul, what are you doing here this late?”

“Hi, Katelyn,” he says as he tips his hat. I push the screen door open and look out into the driveway for Mason’s truck. It’s not there. I try to keep the feeling of dread from creeping in, but it’s there. Something’s wrong.

“I need to take you down to Beaumont General.”

“What for?” I don’t give Paul a chance to even tell me why before I’m asking.

Paul takes off his hat. His eyes are red showing evidence that he’s been crying. “Mason’s been in an accident. You need to come to the hospital.”

My knees buckle. Paul catches me before I hit the ground. “I got you. Come on Katelyn,” he says as he rights me. “Call Josie, tell her to come and sit with the girls. They’ll be okay until she gets here. Roberta will sit outside. We gotta go.”

I nod and walk on shaky legs to the phone. It takes me four times to get her number right. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I hang up and try again. “Hello?”

“Josie, I need you to come watch the girls. Mason... he’s had an accident and I need to go. Paul’s here.”

“Okay I’ll be over.” Josie hangs up, but I stay on the phone listening to the buzzing sound. Mason’s been in an accident. An accident. The word plays over and over again in my head, but I’m not grasping the meaning. What kind of accident? Paul’s hand presses down on my shoulder and the other takes the phone from my hand. He sets it down so gently I barely hear it click.

“Come, Katelyn we need to go.”

“Is Mason alive?”

Paul doesn’t say anything as he guides me out of the house. He shuts the door behind me and pushes me toward his car. The blue lights blinding me the closer I get.

“The girls...”

“They’ll be fine. Roberta is right there, see?” I follow the direction he’s pointing and see another police car sitting in front of my house. My neighbors are standing on our property line in their robes and slippers, holding hands. I don’t want to know what they’re thinking when Paul helps me into the front seat and pulls out of the driveway.

We drive through the empty streets and even though he’s speeding, it feels like the fifteen-minute drive is taking an hour. My hands are wringing in my lap. My stomach turns and threatens to empty itself all over the floorboard that my feet rest on. Paul turns into the almost empty parking lot and right up to the emergency room entrance. I look out the window at the sliding glass doors and see a few people walking around. Everything looks calm inside, yet everything inside of me is burning and on edge.

Paul opens my door and holds my hand until I’m standing. Everything is moving in slow motion. I hesitate at the door, afraid to cross the threshold. The last time I was here was to give birth to the twins and something is telling me that I’m leaving here by myself. He nudges me, his hand guiding my back as we walk through the quiet halls. A door clicks and we are in the center of the action.

“Mrs. Powell,” I look at the doctor standing in front of me. His blue scrubs look clean, fresh out of the laundry. I nod, unable to find my voice. Paul motions for us to sit down. I can’t move. I shake my head. I need to know what’s going on.

“Where’s Mason?”

When the doctor looks at me I know. He doesn’t need to say the words. My hand covers my mouth and my head starts to shake back and forth. Paul’s arm comes to rest on my waist holding me up.

“Mrs. Powell, if you’d like to see your husband I can take you to him. He doesn’t have much time left. I’m sorry. We’ve cleaned him up and he looks like he’s sleeping. The machines are keeping him breathing, but he can’t breathe on his own and he has very little brain activity.”

“He’s alive?”

“At the moment, yes.”

The doctor turns and I follow with Paul beside me. He pauses at the door separating me from my husband.

“What happened?”

Paul clears his throat. “He was sitting at the bottom of the hill, waiting for the light to change when an eighteen wheeler came behind him. The truck’s brakes gave out at the top of the hill and he couldn’t slow down. The driver said the light changed, but by then he was already too close and hit Mason. He says he honked, but you and I both know Mason probably had the radio turned up, so he probably didn’t hear him.”

Paul takes deep breath. “As soon as he hit, Mason lost control. He hit the wall before jumping the guardrail and hitting a tree.”

I don’t acknowledge Paul or the doctor. I push the door open. My hand covers my mouth as a sob takes over my body. My husband... my school sweetheart lays before me with a white sheet covering his body. His arms are down at his side. His face... his beautiful face is bruised and covered in cuts. I can’t tell if this is my husband or not. I take tentative steps to his bedside and run my fingers up his arm. I bend slightly and look at his shoulder, unable to control myself, I lay myself on top of him and cry. This beat up man is my husband and he’s dying.

“Mason,” I say over and over again waiting for a sign or some type of response to show me that the doctor is wrong. My husband is strong. He can pull through this. He just needs to know that I’m here and that I love him. I cup his face, lean in and kiss his lips. They’re cold and uninviting. I run my hand over his hair. He has an appointment tomorrow morning so he can get a trim. Every six-weeks like clock work.