“Miss Abbott?” I look up to see the stiff, middle-aged secretary hovering just feet from me. “Mr. Thoma will see you now.” She gives me a tight smile, waiting for me to stand before leading me to the double set of doors that sit to the right of the reception desk.
I give her a nod when she holds the door open and points to the first office on the left side of the hallway.
“You can head on in.” Another tight smile and she’s gone, leaving me alone in the long corridor, my heart pounding violently in my chest.
I made this appointment last week when I learned that Everything After was in town for the summer. Knowing facing Gabe would be a definite possibility, I just wanted to cover my bases. Of course, that was before last night and more importantly, this morning.
I step inside the large office to see Mr. Thoma, my father’s attorney, sitting behind a dark mahogany desk, his glasses down on the bridge of his nose as he watches me walk in.
“Raelyn, how are you, dear?” He stands, extending his hand to me from across the desk.
“I’m well. How are you?” I take his hand, giving it a firm shake.
“Please.” He gestures to two leather chairs sitting behind me. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” I set my bag on the floor next to me and then fold my hands into my lap as I sit.
“So tell me, what can I help you with today?” He takes his glasses off and sets them on top of the desk.
“I need some legal advice,” I start, not sure how much I want to divulge or how much information he will need in order to give me an accurate response.
We’ve known the Thoma family for years. Charles has been my father’s attorney for as long as I can remember, and he was the one person I knew could seek advice from. Given the confidentiality between attorney and clients, I also knew there was no risk of anyone finding out what I was about to tell him.
“Of course.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of himself.
“It’s about Landen,” I start, my nerves showing through in my voice. “Well, about his father, more specifically.”
“Okay.” He waits for me to continue.
“Well, as you know, Landen’s father has never been in the picture. What you don’t know, what no one knows, with the exception of my family and a couple close friends, is who the father actually is.”
This gets his attention and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the large desk in front of him as he waits for me to continue.
“The reason I’m here is because very recently he came back into town.” I pause, thinking over my next words. “He doesn’t know that Landen is his, and I plan to keep it that way. What I need to know from a legal standpoint is that if he somehow finds out, what can I do to keep him from gaining rights to my son?”
“Well, first let me ask you this. Is there a specific reason you don’t want him to know the paternity of your son? Do you feel like he may present a threat to Landen’s safety?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t really know.” I stumble over my words.
“Here’s the thing.” He intertwines his fingers, resting his hands on the desk. “If you have reason to believe that he could possibly pose a threat to the child’s well-being then we at least have a leg to stand on. If not, however, I’m afraid that severely complicates things if he chooses to pursue rights.”
“What if I have proof of drug and alcohol abuse? Would that be a reasonable concern?” I hate to even bring this up, but at the end of the day, my job is to protect my child at all cost.
“What kind of proof are we talking here?”
Reaching into my bag, I pull out a manila folder stuffed full of magazine clippings and articles I printed off the internet.
“Would this work?” I drop the file on top of his desk before settling back into my chair.
I watch his eyes widen as he flips through the various pictures and articles in front of him. I guess it’s not every day that he’s presented with a paternity case involving a famous musician, though I doubt he’s ever heard of Gabe or the band. He doesn’t seem like the type that keeps up on his rock music.
Sliding his glasses back on to get a better look, he examines each item closely before flipping to the next. I made it a point to collect everything I ever came across pertaining to the Gabe and the band.
Honestly, a part of me was just grasping to be a part of it all, a part of him, to know what he was doing and how he was doing. I had myself fooled for the longest time, pretending one day he would come back and make everything between us okay again.
It just so happened that what I found instead turned my stomach and made me rethink ever wanting him to know that he’s the father of my son or having him in my life at all for that matter.
It’s not like I didn’t try to tell him about Landen. In the beginning, I did. I tried to contact him for weeks after I found out I was pregnant. Unfortunately, his number was changed shortly after he left so I had to resort to leaving messages with the label. He never made any attempt to contact me back and after leaving the tenth message, I finally accepted that he wasn’t going to.
It wasn’t until I had already accepted that this was something I was simply going to have to do on my own that I started seeing the pictures in the tabloids. The articles with titles such as: Another Rock star turned drug addict?—a picture of Gabe in a club, a white substance on the table in front of him. One is never enough— a picture of Gabe standing on the curb after one of their shows, kissing a cheap looking blonde while two others are draped across his body, waiting their turn to pounce. And then there’s my favorite, a picture of Gabe standing on top of a crowded bar chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels while giving the photographer the finger.
Father of the year.
“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Preston will question the paternity of your child?” Charles pulls my attention back to the present.
“No.” I clear my throat, not liking how weak my voice sounds. “I doubt he would care enough to put two and two together. I just want to be prepared on the off chance that he does.”
“Well, given the man’s reputation, we definitely stand a chance. Though there’s no telling when dealing with cases like these. Not that I’ve ever dealt with a celebrity case before,” he adds, stuffing the articles and photos into the folder before sliding them across the desk toward me.
“Are you sure keeping this from him is the best thing?” His question catches me off guard.
“Did you see the pictures?” I snag the folder up. “Does that look like the kind of person I want helping to raise my child?”
“All I’m saying is that you need to think of Landen and not base your decision on the fact that this man has had some bad press over the last few months. People are not always as they appear.”
“I am thinking of Landen.”
The fact that he would insinuate otherwise boils my anger to the surface.
“I’m not saying that you’re not.” He instantly moves to soothe over the comment. “I’m simply trying to make the point that before you choose to fight this, if it comes to that, you need to be one hundred percent that Landen’s life would be better without him in it. Growing up without a father is not an ideal situation for any child.”
“You think I don’t know that? Nothing about this situation is ideal. I have spent more time thinking about this than I care to admit. Trust me, I’ve weighed every option and they all end with my son getting hurt. I won’t take that chance. Gabe Preston doesn’t deserve to know my son.”
Even as I say the words I can feel the doubt and guilt seeping in.
Am I judging him based on my experience with him?
Am I afraid it’s Landen he’ll hurt or me?
Would it really be such a bad thing for him to know Landen, for him to be given the chance to make things right? But would he actually make things right or would he just make things worse?
“Well then, if you’re sure.” Charles cuts into my inner battle. “My advice to you is to limit any interaction between him and your son. I would also advise putting as much distance between the two of you as possible. You don’t want to give him any ammunition against you should this turn into a fight.”
“Okay.” I let out a slow sigh.
“Nothing is a guarantee when it comes to cases such as this. The fact of the matter is Landen is his son just as much as he is yours, at least in the eyes of the court system. The fact that you kept the paternity of your son a secret from him doesn’t play in your favor. If this is the route you want to take, I advise you do everything in your power to not let it get to a point where you must fight him in court. I’m not certain you’ll win, but I promise to do everything in my power to help you should it come to that.”
“Thank you, Charles.” I stand, having heard pretty much all I need to hear.
“Please don’t hesitate to call the office should you find yourself in need of my services.” He stands as well, once again extending his hand to me.
“I will. Thank you.” I shake his hand once more before gathering my things and quickly exiting the office.
I don’t know what I came here seeking. I think I just needed someone to reassure me that Landen is mine and that no one can take him from me. If that’s what I was hoping to find, what Charles had to say certainly did not put me at ease.
Pushing my way out into the early afternoon heat, I take a deep breath in and slowly blow it out.
How did things become so complicated so quickly?
Pulling my phone out of my bag, I pull up Dad’s number and click call. Holding the device to my ear, it rings twice before his voice comes across the line.
“How’d it go?”
“About how I expected if I’m being honest,” I admit, taking off down the sidewalk toward the parking lot next door. “How’s my little man?”
“Napping. I think old Pop Pop wore him out.” He chuckles into the phone.
“And Gabe?” I ask, the question eating me from the inside out.
I’ve been sick to my stomach and have worried all morning since leaving Landen at the diner knowing Gabe was there. It took everything I had in me to do it, but I know any odd behavior would only raise suspicion.
“He was still at the diner when we left. Don’t worry. Nanners was with me the whole time.” He uses his nickname for Landen which instantly brings a smile to my face.
That boy is my reason for living.
“Thanks again, Dad.”
“Anytime. That’s what fathers are for.”
The comment sends another pang of guilt through me, but once again I try to push it down.
“You headed home now?” he questions.
“Yeah, I’m getting in my car now,” I say, seconds before pulling open the driver’s side door of my Jeep Liberty and climbing inside. “Should be there within twenty.”
“Okay, well, be careful. I’ll see you in a few. Love you, Rae.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I end the call and toss the phone into the passenger seat. It no more than hits the seat before it starts vibrating against the tan leather. Snatching it back up, I watch a number I don’t recognize dance across the screen.
I contemplate answering it but then decide against it, swiping decline before tossing it back down and firing the engine to life. If it’s important then whomever it is can leave a message.
It takes me a little longer to get home than it normally would due to getting stuck behind a tractor for a good two miles. When I finally pull into the driveway of my dad’s house, I feel mentally and emotionally exhausted. Not sure if I have the capacity to deal with anyone right now, I send my dad a text asking him to let me know when Landen is awake.
It isn’t until then that I notice the number that called me earlier did, in fact, leave a voicemail.
Heading into the pool house that my dad converted for me and Landen about six months ago, I drop my keys on the coffee table before collapsing onto the fluffy gray couch that sits along the back wall of the living area.
Dad’s house is plenty big enough for all of us, but with my sister and her friends always hanging around, it’s nice for me and my little man to have a place just to ourselves. It isn’t much; a small little two-bedroom, open floor plan that’s about the size of a small apartment, but it’s perfect for us. Originally it was more like a studio, everything in one big room, but dad built rooms along the back, making the space more like a home.
Clicking on the voicemail, I drop my head back onto the couch and cover my face with my arm as the message begins to play. The moment I hear his voice I shoot upright, my heart ending up somewhere in my throat.
“Hey, Rae. It’s Gabe. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from the waitress at the diner. She didn’t want to give it to me at first, but I talked her into it.” He chuckles lightly. “Anyway, I wanted to see if maybe you would like to have dinner with me sometime this week. Just call me back, okay?”
The voicemail ends and the line goes silent, but it’s still several long moments before I finally manage to lower the phone away from my ear.
Every part of me wants to play the message again, just to hear his voice; the playful rasp that makes it so damn mesmerizing. I hate how much his invitation excites me. I hate that he still has so much power over my emotions, but my days of letting him know it are over.
I toss my phone into the chair on the other side of the room, convinced that if I don’t get it away from me that I’m going to crack and end up either calling him back or replaying his message over and over again while obsessing over every detail of it.
He’s probably just looking for one thing. Then again, this is Gabe Preston we’re talking about; the man who can practically melt the panties right off a girl with just a smile. I doubt he’s even the slightest bit interested in me now.
He went off and became a famous rock star, and while he was out conquering the world, I was here trying to piece together the shambles he left my life in. Of course, he doesn’t know any of this.
Staring up at the ceiling, I try to fight through the flutter of butterflies the thought of him causes. One minute I hate him. The next, it’s like the last two years never happened, and I’m still that giddy love-sick girl only Gabe Preston can make me be.
This is going to be so much harder than I expected…