“No, Romy. I don’t need proof.” He shuts me down quickly, his tone leaving little room for argument.
“You might not, but maybe Beau does, and I’m fine with taking it.”
His hand slips out of mine, and he runs it along the back of his head, tugging at his neck. “It’s unnecessary. I told him no.”
“Why? It’s a simple test. It’s not a big deal.”
“No, Romy. Jesus.” He looks out toward the lake, then his gaze lands on mine, but there’s something I can’t read in it. “I just… I don’t want you to have one. I believe you and trust you. If we’re going to make this whole co-parenting thing work, then we need to have that between us.”
Now I understand. “Okay. Okay then.”
“I don’t give a shit what Beau wants. I know that baby’s mine.”
“Paternity test is off the table then.”
His shoulders relax, and the tension between us dissipates. “But as far as the other stuff, yeah, we need to figure some things out. I’m gonna start a bank account, and there’ll be money in it for you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want your money.”
He huffs and turns his gaze away from me once again. “It’s not a buy-off, or that I think you need it, but at this point, I don’t know where I’m going to be living after I leave here. I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”
I frown. “What do you mean? Won’t you go home to Nashville?”
He laughs for the first time this walk, and it loosens something in my chest. “You think I live in Nashville in some big mansion or something, right?”
I shrug. “Isn’t that where all country stars live?”
He laughs again. “No, Romy, they don’t all live in Nashville.” He grins. “And now I don’t want to tell you where I live.”
My eyebrows furrow. “Why? You worried I’m going to become some kind of stalker? Newsflash, I’m having your baby. You’re kind of stuck with me for at least eighteen years.” I try to joke because the reality that I am pregnant with a man’s baby and I don’t know where he lives is an uncomfortable one.
He sits on the ground and pats the spot next to him. “You can stalk me whenever you want.”
“Well, you’re welcome to stalk me anytime you want too. Then why?” I sit next to him, the solid ground cool against my behind, and cross my legs, picking at the weeds.
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “I don’t have a home.”
The weed slips through my fingers. “What do you mean you don’t have a home? Everybody has a home.”
“No, Romy. I don’t. I don’t have a home base. I don’t own any real estate. I live out of hotels on tour or the tour bus. When I’m recording, I rent a house wherever I’m at. And if I have a short amount of down time between the two, I’ll just go somewhere and do the same. I’ve never—I don’t have a mortgage.”
“You mean you have, like, no things that belong to you? No couches, no… no bed… no pillows, no dishes, or stuff like that?”
He chuckles, and I wonder if he’s laughing at my naïveté. “I know what kind of pillows I like, and Beau just gets them wherever I’m at.”
“Okay, but that’s not the same, Zander. Everybody needs a home.”
“I don’t need one.” He stands and walks to the path again, not helping me up, which is how I know I’ve struck a nerve. “Don’t give me that sad fucking look, Romy. This is why I didn’t want to tell you. It’s my choice. My decision. I could afford ten houses in ten different countries if I wanted.”
“I know,” I say, getting up off the ground and dusting myself off. “I just… I’m not giving you a sad look.”
He doesn’t turn around, and I break the distance.
“I just… I want you to have a home.” What I really mean is that despite myself, I want to be his home, but I’m never saying that. If I do, I might as well get used to the view of his back.
His gaze stays on the lake. “I don’t need a home, but I do want my kid to have one. I want you to build a house on this land, and I want that to be our kid’s home. I know that I’m the dad, and I’m going to want to spend time with him or her. And I’m hoping we can come to an arrangement on that. But I’ll come back here, and I don’t care where I stay. I’ll stay in that motel down the highway if I have to.”
“No. You would stay here.”
