She’s seen the test.
All the tears that have been welling up spring free, and I can’t hold them in any longer as I walk into her arms.
Her hands run up and down my back as she whispers, “It’s gonna be okay. It will all be okay.”
I hope she’s right.
Chapter Seventeen
Zander
I don’t know which way is up right now.
As I walk around the vineyard, guilt coats me like a fine mist for leaving Romy behind. I feel bad that she’s seeing my back once again. And on top of it, at the worst time. But I need to wrap my head around this news before I do or say something stupid.
That’s my track record, right? I push people as far away as I can. I’ve been through my hours of therapy. Sat in that chair while the therapist told me over and over how I can’t keep living my life without any meaningful connections. He gave me exercises and taught me what to do and how not to be such an angry person, how not to expect the worst from everybody. I know it’s conceivable that not everybody will abandon me or use me. But still—a baby. A kid. A kid who will rely on me.
I have so many fucking people who already rely on me—from my road crew to Beau and DeSoto, my entire security detail, music producers, songwriters, my band, concert promotors, to every food vendor in the packed arenas. Many of them support their families because of me and my success. All those people look to me to make a difference in their lives, to make sure they can put food on their table and clothes on their kids. But that’s different. I’ve learned to live with the pressure to keep producing hit after hit and keep everyone’s bank account flush.
But a baby needs comfort, love, and nurturing. How am I ever… I’m not meant to be a father.
No one would ever say, You know, Zander Shaw, he’d be father of the year. Nobody would ever look at me and be like, That’s who you should choose to have your baby with—good job, Romy. I mean, sure, there are women who have wanted my baby over the years, but they just wanted the checks to roll in. They wanted the lifestyle and notoriety they thought would come with their kid being Zander Shaw’s. Their motivation had nothing to do with me being a father to a child.
Goddamn it. I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father. She’s so sure. And god, I would never ask if it’s mine. I’m sure it’s mine. Romy isn’t the kind of woman to try to pull one over—of that, I’m sure. I mean, I probably should ask the question, but how offensive is that? To ask, Are you sure it’s mine? How ridiculous would that be? She already hates me. She’d hate me even more if I did that.
I stomp away from the vineyard, which—who the fuck has a vineyard in Nebraska? I can’t believe they make their own wine. I guess that’s something I should entertain incorporating into the video. I should ask Romy because it seems like a pretty romantic area for the video—but that’s for another time. I need to push business out of my mind and start worrying more about how I’m going to provide love and care to a baby.
So, I go back to The Getaway Lodge, and I don’t go to my room. This is why Beau gets paid the big bucks. He’s gonna talk me down. He’s gonna tell me it’ll be okay. He’s gonna tell me how we navigate this.
I’m so overwhelmed I don’t even realize I’ve knocked on his door until it swings open, and Beau stands there, still dressed in his damn slacks and button-down. Talk about a wound that needs healing.
Beau grew up with nothing, maybe even worse off than me. I remember the holes in the bottoms of his sneakers, the worn-out jeans, and shitty T-shirts when I first met him. Now he always makes sure the first impression anybody gets of him is how well-dressed he is. How expensively dressed he is, to be more precise. He wants people to know he’s no longer that down-and-out kid with nothing to his name.
“What’s up, man?” His gaze runs up and down my body.
I’m sure I look like shit. The guy knows me probably better than I even know myself at this point.
I push in past him. “She’s pregnant.”
He stands in the doorway for a second before he shuts the door and flicks the lock. He’s ultra-paranoid about anyone having access to us. “What are you talking about?”
“You worried someone is going to bust in here and see my sorry disheveled ass?”
He follows my line of sight to the lock on the door. “Always better to be safe. So, talk to me like I’m four… Who is pregnant?”
“Romy.”
His mouth falls open, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. His laptop sits open on the desk because the man works more than he does anything. One day, I hope he actually finds someone to share his life with, but that’s for another time.
“Yeah, you heard me. I’m gonna be a fucking father.”
My anger isn’t about being a father. If anything, when the words first came out of Romy’s mouth, I couldn’t process what she was saying. Then I just thought, Hell yeah, I’m gonna be a dad. I’ll give that kid a great life. One I never had, that’s for sure. But then reality snapped into place. My lifestyle is tailor-made to tear apart that particular dream. My career has given me status, security, and money, but it ruins everything else I’d ever want.
“Shit, man. I mean, why the fuck didn’t you use a condom?”
I shouldn’t be surprised that Beau’s first reaction is judgment. He’s always warning me against situations like this. Think with your head, never your dick. I always agreed with him, always been right there alongside him.
But that time with Romy… I don’t know what to say except that I damn well lost all control. I was singing the encore, a ballad to close out my concert. I glanced to the side stage, and she was swaying back and forth, standing next to Beau. I just thought, I could spend the rest of my life with her. That’s just the thought that popped into my head. And something about that didn’t scare me like I would have thought. It exhilarated me. I couldn’t end the concert and get off that stage fast enough. I grabbed her hand, lead her to the tour bus, and told Beau to keep everybody out.
