Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ryan stared at the hospital door. The one that had just shut in front of him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” a nurse said, pulling on his elbow in a way that was gentle yet firm. “If you don’t have custody of the child, and the mother has asked you to leave, then I’m afraid you can’t be here right now.”
Ryan wanted to protest. Kick down the door. Scream that that was his kid in there and he had every right to see her. That the woman he loved was hurting and it was his job to be there, to hold her, to protect her from harm.
But Claire’s words echoed in his ear.
Go home.
He may have carelessly shot his load some five years and nine months ago, but everyone knew he wasn’t the father in any meaningful sense of the word. And since he was the one who’d poisoned their daughter, he sure as hell had no right to be with her in the hospital now.
He’d thought he was doing the right thing, or at least not the worst thing, when he’d told the guys he’d meet them. When he’d started thinking about how to make a music career in Washington. When he’d gotten Maya excited about music and playing the drums.
But was he doing the right thing when he ignored her when she said she was hungry? When he had his back to her while he was conferring with Cam, entirely focused—once again—on himself and his own career?
He’d tried to prove that he was different from the guy he used to be, that getting sober and leaving his band had changed him, made him better. Made him the man he knew he was deep down inside. The one he wanted to be.
But here was his proof. What kind of recovering alcoholic took a five-year-old to a bar to meet up with a group of guys he didn’t even know well anymore? What kind of irresponsible father thought that was even remotely okay?
Claire already thought he was a monster, and she only knew the barest outline of what had happened. She didn’t know that when Maya had told him she was hungry, he’d ignored her, told her it would only be a few minutes, turned his back on her to talk to Cam because at that moment he was right back to who he used to be, when all he could see was the need to prove himself, to show that he was still in the music game and nothing could tear him away.
In some twisted way, Seth had been looking out for Maya more than he had, by at least giving her a snack. He couldn’t blame Seth for giving her the peanuts. Seth had no way of knowing. Ryan was the one who was supposed to have known. He was the one who was supposed to have been looking out for his daughter.
His daughter.
That first moment he’d laid eyes on Maya, he’d felt his heart grow in a way he’d never known was possible. He’d once been selfish, small, but seeing her made him…bigger. That was the only way he could put it.
But he wasn’t bigger. He wasn’t better.
He was the same person he’d always been. A few tattoos, a better haircut, a commitment to drinking nothing stronger than sweetened black coffee didn’t change who he fundamentally was inside.
He didn’t deserve Claire, and he certainly didn’t deserve Maya. Claire had known that five years ago when she’d left him to have a baby on her own. Being by herself was better than being with him, and it was clear that she still felt that way.
She’d rejected him all over again. Only this time, she wasn’t the one walking out. She was the one telling him it was over, there was no more space for him here.
Claire had her life in Gold Mountain—her business, family, friends, a great house she’d turned into a home. He had nothing to offer. Which was why she was right.
He had to leave.
He didn’t think about what he was doing. He went straight to his hotel, packed his bags, and checked out. He wanted to linger, to see the mountains one last time. But it was dark now, and there was nothing to see. Nothing worth waiting around for.
He still had one of his guitars over at Claire’s place, but he’d leave it as a present for Maya. Maybe someday Claire would tell her about her father. Even if she didn’t, maybe Maya would grow up playing and think of him sometimes.
Hopefully in a good way, as someone who was once friends with her mother and taught her a few chords on that guitar. Not as the person who’d done nothing but let her down.
He called Eddie, who was so relieved Ryan hadn’t fallen into a black hole that he picked up on the first ring.
“Thank God you’re coming home, man,” Eddie said, breathing an obvious sigh of relief. “I didn’t think I could put the rest of Little White Lie off for much longer. I’ll get you a flight tonight and tell them you’ll be in the office tomorrow, yeah?”
Ryan was too worn out to think. “Sure,” he said. “Whatever.”
Eddie would tell him what to do, where to go. What to sign. Even if he didn’t have his family, he’d have his career. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along?