His Secret Baby Page 15

  The prison that had become my dwelling place.

  The closer I got to work, the more I didn’t want to go. Two more days of shooting. Two more days of stunts. Two more fucking days on set, and I didn’t want to do it. Three miles from work, and my head throbbed. Two miles from work, and my stomach tied itself into knots. One mile from work, and I wanted to scream.

  So, I made a U-turn and headed for my apartment.

  I felt my phone vibrating against my thigh as I made my way up the stairs. I burst through my studio apartment doors and wrinkled my nose at the smell. The power must have gone out while I was away. Which meant something in the fridge had spoiled. Oh well. The smartest thing I’d done in this entire arrangement was keep the lease of this place intact.

  At least you’re not a complete idiot.

  “This is Gael.”

  I picked up my cell phone as it continued to vibrate against my thigh, call after call, without once leaving a voicemail.

  “Hey, dude. I saw you come into the studio before leaving. You good?”

  Hunter. “Do I have any sick days to use on set?”

  “Not feeling well?”

  “Just answer the damn question.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’d think so. I’ve worked alongside you for a while, and you haven’t taken any time off that I know of.”

  I walked over to my closet. “Good. I’m taking these last two days before Christmas break. Can you handle my stunts?”

  “You know I can. Does Syn know you’re doing this?”

  “Just shut up and tell the right person, okay? I’m a bit busy.”

  Then, I hung up the phone.

  I pulled out a suitcase and shoved some clothes into it. A pair of sandals. Some underwear. The rest of my toiletries. I packed up what I could in the one suitcase I did own, and then pulled out my phone again.

  Ready to purchase myself a ticket home.

  That’s what I needed right now. A place that felt like home. And Hollywood didn’t fit the bill. I needed my actual home, where people looked like me and understood me and held things like respect and honor and truth above all else. After buying the first ticket, I could to the Canary Islands, I locked my apartment up, keeping the smell inside as I traveled down to the road.

  One cab ride stood in between me and some time off.

  And I intended to take every bit of it.

  I had to put some distance between Syn and myself. Even if I stayed in the States, the fact that she’d be on every television and on the front of every magazine wouldn’t help me at all. And I wasn’t a “cabin in the woods” kind of guy. I needed the beach. The sand. The sun. The call of the water birds. I needed to go somewhere where people wouldn’t give a shit about her so I could wash her from my system, purge myself of her before this arrangement died. So I could get over the woman who stole my heart and shattered it.

  Plus, I might as well figure out where I was going to live while I was there.

  Since I severed the deal between the two of us in the first place.

  24

  Syn - Four Weeks Later

  My eyes slid along the lines of my latest script as I pushed my breakfast around on the plate. Only, from time to time, the words blurred. I wiped away a tear before pushing my breakfast away. I didn’t feel much like eating. Hell, I didn’t feel like eating this entire Christmas break. Christmas had been a disaster. Alone, with a twinkling tree and no gifts underneath it. No one to watch Christmas movies with. No one to take a heated swim with. I had been looking forward to finally spending the holiday with someone who didn’t want to simply use the moment as a calculated media experiment.

  But it seemed as if I was the one being the user this year.

  “Ho, ho, ho,” I said through my sniffles.

  I hated crying. I slammed my script down and pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. The entire break, I had been so weepy. I cried at the commercials on television. I cried in the middle of a book I was trying to read. I even cried over this script, and there was nothing to cry over about it!

  “It’s just your period coming. It’s just your period coming.”

  I chanted it to myself to try and shove the memory of Gael away.

  “You don’t miss him. Come on. It was just an arrangement,” I murmured.

  Yet, I did.

  I missed the way he smelled. The way he smiled. And oh, the way he fucking cooked. That crooked little grin of his, and the accent. The way he said my name with that soft lilt. I missed everything about him, from the way his tan skin gleamed in the sunlight to the way he always had coffee made for me. I even missed the way he laughed. Big and bellowing, with a snort at the end if he was really tickled about something.

  Focus. Get out of your head.

  I blinked a few times to get rid of the rest of the tears. Then, I picked up my script. But the more I read my lines, the more I saw Gael in them. I read the stunt requirements. I envisioned all the tricks he might do and the fight scenes he’d film with me. It made me tear up again.

  Which caused me to throw my script across the table.

  “Fuck!” I exclaimed.

  I jumped up out of my chair, abandoning my untouched plate of food. It sucked, anyway. Especially after tasting Gael’s cooking. I picked up my lukewarm mug of coffee and went to go sit in the living room. On the couch that held memories and, somehow still, the smell of us.

  And as I gazed at the Christmas tree, I took in all the unwrapped presents.

  “You’re an idiot, Syn,” I murmured.

  I looked down into my coffee and watched my tears drop into the creamy black liquid. I felt ashamed of myself, more than anything. If I could do things over with Gael, I’d do them differently. I’d tell him how I felt instead of pushing him away. I’d grow a set of balls and tell him what I really wanted from him instead of constantly yanking his chain and trying to be strong all the damn time.

  The New Year was rapidly approaching. And the only thing I had to show for it was a broken heart and a guilty conscience.

  I felt a rumbling in my gut that gave me pause. I furrowed my brow as I set my mug of coffee on the floor, the world tilting around me. Holy shit, I felt sick to my stomach. I took off for the half bathroom in the hallway by the stairwell. And as my stomach ejected itself into the sink, I had just enough time to turn on the water before my entire body locked up.

  “Holy—fuck,” I choked out.

  That’s new.

  I spit into the sink and washed it out with my hand. As I started gurgling with water, I heard my phone ringing back in the kitchen. I splashed some water on my face and washed my hands. I patted myself dry and looked at myself in the mirror. For the first time in weeks, I gazed upon my face. My pale skin. My dull eyes. Hell, even the bags underneath them.

  “You look like shit,” I spat.

  I tossed the towel into the sink and walked to go get my phone. The sight of food made my stomach flip over, so I snatched it up and scraped it into the trash. Whoever was calling, I could call them back. Right now, though, I had to erase the smell of food in my kitchen. Hell, in my entire house.

  Only, my phone started ringing again.

  “Damn it, Madison,” I grumbled.

  I relegated myself to my room upstairs as I picked up the phone.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “All right, new deal time. You ready for it?” she asked.

  “Can’t you give me one moment’s peace for Christ sake?”

  “This media attention swirling around you is making you a hot commodity right now. We need to capitalize on it.”

  “Madison, I’m really not in the mood right now.”

  “I’ve got you interviews booked for next week. One in the morning before you start filming again on Tuesday, and one Wednesday evening. They don’t want Gael, though. So, leave him at home.”

  “Madison, I really don’t want to talk right now.”

  “And then, I’ve got some television talk show appearances I’ve already confirmed for
you. Ready for the dates?”

  “No, I’m not ready.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll email them to you later on.”

  “Will everyone fucking listen to me for one goddamn second?” I shrieked into the phone, and Madison finally shut up. I sat back against the edge of my bed, covering my face with my hand. I heard her breathing, then sighing, trying to come up with what to say. I ran my hand through my hair and cleared my throat.

  “Can we do this another time?” I asked.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Her voice was softer this time, more comforting, and I felt tears already rushing my eyes again.

  “I’m just not feeling well. I’m tired. I’m hungry, but I just threw up. And I just… need a second to breathe, okay?”

  “Does your body ache? Like, your joints? Do you have a fever?”

  “No, no, and no.”

  “Okay, so it’s not the flu.”

  “I don’t have any other symptoms, and I’m feeling better now. You just caught me at a rough time. That’s all.”

  “When was your last period?”

  I snickered. “I’m coming up on it now.”

  “Humor me. When was it?”

  “Let me check my calendar, hold on.”

  I pulled my phone away from my ear and put her on speaker. I navigated to a small application my primary doctor wanted me to keep on my phone. I entered in all the food I ate into it, what portions I used, and I logged things like my periods, duration, symptoms I experienced on a daily basis, and things of that nature so he could better treat me on the fly. It was very handy sometimes, especially during moments like this.

  But once I started counting the days, I felt that sickness return.

  “Madison?” I asked.

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  “Madison, I’m—”

  “Not over the phone!” she exclaimed.

  Holy shit, I was an entire week late for my period.

  “Not over the phone. I’m coming with what we need. Sit tight, and don’t let anyone else in but me. Got it?”

  I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Good. See you in thirty minutes. I’m hurrying now.”

  “Okay.”

  As I sat there on the edge of my bed, my mind swirled. I was pregnant? Was it really possible?

  Of course it’s possible, you nitwit.

  “Oh, no,” I whispered.

  Thirty minutes later the banging at the door pulled me away from my bedroom. I didn’t hardly get the lock flipped before Madison came charging in. She had a bag full of pregnancy tests, a bottle of water, and a bottle of prenatal pills. She shoved the bag into my hands and led me into the half bathroom downstairs.

  “Take two of them right now. We’ll go from there depending on what they say,” she said.

  Everything felt like a blur. I moved like a robot, unraveling everything and concentrating on how much I had to pee. I did what I had to do and put the tests on the edge of the sink. Then, I sat there with my pants around my ankles. I didn’t feel like moving. I didn’t feel like breathing. I didn’t feel like doing anything while they were percolating.

  “So, anything?” Madison asked.

  “Learn some fucking patience,” I said flatly.

  I had the sudden urge to pee again, so I took all seven of the tests that Madison had picked up. They all fell into the sink as I cleaned myself up, moments away from telling me my fate, but as my stomach rolled and my aversion to all things food crept back up; I knew the truth.

  The tests simply confirmed what I already knew.

  “So, what did they say?” Madison asked.

  I opened the bathroom door as I stared blankly at her.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Well, I guess you’re not going to make it to the studio New Year’s Eve party tomorrow night.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, that’s the first thing out of your mouth right now?”

  I shoved past her and made my way for the couch again. A place I had been sitting more often than not over the holidays.

  “Oh, come on. You really mean to tell me you don’t want a joke during a time like this?” she asked.

  “No, I really don’t,” I said.

  She sat down across from me in a chair as I stared off into space.

  Motherhood had never been on my agenda. But as I sat there with the reality of my life hovering over my head, I knew one thing. Getting rid of this baby wasn’t an option. No matter what it did to my career, or my life, I got myself into this mess. I had the capability to take care of a child. I had a roof to put over its head. I had money in the bank, investments that would carry us for a long damn while. I had literally no reason not to have this child.

  “Where’s Gael?”

  “He left.”

  “Like to go to the store?”

  “No, like to go I don’t even know where.”

  She stared at me for a moment, her mouth moving like a fish out of water. “When did this happen?” she finally asked.

  “About a month ago.”

  “A month ago!” she shouted. “How the fuck did I not know this?”

  I shrugged. “Because I didn’t tell you.”

  “What the fuck happened?”

  “We had a fight. He left to go to work, but never showed up. Hunter said Gael had called him, asked him to do his stunts, and just hung up. I have no idea where he is or if he’s coming back.” The reality of that statement hit me harder than I wanted it to.

  Madison shook her head and I could tell she wanted to talk about what we were going to do about it in terms of the media attention, but she mercifully didn’t.

  “Will you tell him?” Madison asked.

  I shook my head softly. “No, I won’t.”

  “Are you sure that’s a smart idea?”

  I snickered. “I don’t know what’s smart and what’s not anymore. But do you know what I do know?”

  “What?”

  “I know he left here four weeks ago and hasn’t been seen at all. Not by Hunter, not by any of the other stuntmen, and not by Voxx. He’s gone. He’s completely vanished. And that alone is why I can’t tell him. I wouldn’t even know how to contact him.”

  “What about his cell phone?”

  “Shoots me to voicemail.”

  “Have you left him one?”

  Tears rushed my eyes. “Enough that his voice mailbox tells me it’s now full.”

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  “And even if I did get in contact with him, I’m sure he doesn’t want anything to do with me. Not after the last fight we had.”

  “Did you ever open that Christmas present?”

  I shook my head. “No. I didn’t have the heart to.”

  Madison came over and sat beside me on the couch.

  “Well, I’m always going to be here for you. Nat, too.”

  She rubbed my back, and it felt so damn good.

  “Thanks, Madison. I really appreciate it.”

  “But now that we’re a bit calmer, we can figure out how to spin this.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No spin.”

  “Syn, come on. We have to make this work for you.”

  I shook my head. “No. Spin.”

  “So, if you don’t want to spin it in your favor, what do you expect to do? Hide from the public?”

  I nodded. “For a while, yes. Then, when the time is right, I’ll tell the truth about my pregnancy when asked.”

  “That’s not a good idea. You’ve worked too hard for what you have now to throw it all away.”

  “Telling the truth isn’t throwing anything away. And I’m tired of being a phony, Madison. I’m tired of not being myself. Of never being myself. It’s time to let the genuine me out. And if the world doesn’t like that? Well, then I’m not cut out for Hollywood anymore.”

  I stood up from the couch and sighed.

  “Even if it dooms my career,” I said softly.

  “As your publicist, I have to t
ell you that’s a stupid idea.”

  I turned to face her. “I know you think so. But there are more important things, Madison. Like growing this life inside me. If anything, I owe to it this child to tell the truth to the world. To bring this child into a truthful atmosphere instead of a false one.”

  She stood. “But as your friend, I want to tell you that you’re right.”

  I smiled as she came over and placed her hands against my stomach.

  “You’re gonna make a great mom, Syn.”

  I sighed. “Happy New Year.”

  She giggled breathlessly. “Yeah. Happy New Year, you crazy bitch.”

  25

  Gael - Six Months Later

  “Welcome to the Canary Islands. My name is Gael, and I’ll be your fishing tour guide for this lovely afternoon. Don’t worry, I won’t be talking your ear off the entire time, but I do want to prep you on some local laws and protections to help you have a safe and legal fishing excursion.”

  Seven months. I had been home for seven months, and ever since then I felt as if I was doing nothing but going through the motions. Dad was shocked to see me on his doorstep when I flew back in, but when he saw my suitcase teeming with clothes, he embraced me tightly. After that, I took things day by day, slowly getting back up on my feet and dreading the day my work visa expired.

  “While you can catch the small shark off our coasts, you do have to put them back. Rays are completely protected, but you can catch all you want of the bream, jack, and grouper we have in throngs in our coral reefs.”

  As I flipped through the pictures of the fish, I saw people preparing their poles, and not listening to a damn thing I was saying. No matter, though. I was still getting paid well to do this. Even though it was boring and annoying as hell. Autopilot felt nice, though. It gave my brain and my body a rest from the insanity my life had been back in Hollywood. I spent a great deal of time with old friends. And with my father.

  But, sometimes, I felt like a part of me was still missing.

  “Beware of the jellyfish that roam our coastlines as well. It’s their season, and I only have so much treatment for stings before I have to turn this boat around,” I said into the microphone.