Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

37

On Wednesday,my phone wakes me at five in the morning.

I groan as I roll over to grab it. In my haze of exhaustion, my eyes don’t focus on the phone when I accept the call, so the video chat surprises me. I’m shocked even more to see a distraught Savannah on the other end.

I shoot upright in the bed.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Levi...I’m so sorry. It broke a few hours ago, but I didn’t see it until just now. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“What? What broke?”

She sighs and closes her eyes. She shakes her head.

“They know. It’s all over the internet. Pictures of us at the ER. Pictures of you leaving my trailer on Friday. Someone came forward and said they saw Torren return to the hotel the night of the show downtown, so now they know it was you on the roof.”

“Fuck.” I push my hands through my hair and try to control my breathing. “Fuck.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No...It’s not your fault. It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve got a meeting in three hours. I’ll...it’ll be okay. I wish I’d had a little more time, but it will be okay.”

“Levi...”

Her voice breaks, and her eyes are so sad. They’re filled with a regret I can feel even though she’s across the world.

“What is it, Sav?”

“Levi, they’re saying Brynnlee isn’t your daughter.”

The breath is sucked from my lungs, dread coiling around my windpipe and squeezing. I drop the phone on my bed and stand, going straight for my laptop. I open it and go to a web browser, then search Sav’s name.

Every single headline that pops up in the search results is about me. Sav Loveless’s newest “affair.” They think she’s still engaged to Torren, and they’re using the photos from L.A. a few days ago as proof. The comments on some of these articles are vicious. Spewing vitriol at Sav. At me. Wishing death on us both.

I ignore those, though. Instead, I skim the article until I find what I’m looking for. It’s all there. All of it, in bold font on the internet. Every article mentions it. There must be a dozen of them all saying the same thing.

Levi Cooper. Business owner. Widower. Single father to an adopted seven-year-old daughter.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

I slam the laptop closed and stalk back to the bed. I pick up the phone and take in Savannah’s face once more. It’s full of questions. Questions and sorrow. Remorse. I close my eyes and breathe.

“Is she yours?” Savannah asks, and my jaw tightens before I answer.

“Yes. In every way that matters, yes. She’s mine.”

“But...is she...”

“No.”

The silence fills the room, and I wait for her to ask more questions. I want to tell her. I’ve been hiding it for so fucking long, but she doesn’t say anything. Not a sound. So instead, I just start talking.

“It was Julianna who…initiated…the night we slept together. She’d just broken up with this guy a few weeks earlier, and I just assumed it was some sort of rebound thing. I just wanted to get it over with. Having sex, I mean. I was curious, and horny as fuck, and done doing what my parents wanted. But that’s why I was so upset and confused in Miami. I did everything right. Wore a condom. She was on birth control. I looked it up. It’s less than a 2% chance. Turns out, though, she was already pregnant.”

Savannah gasps.

“She...tricked you?”

I shrug and sigh.

“It’s not how you think. Fuck, this is such a mess.”

She waits in the quiet while I collect my thoughts, then I make eye contact and I don’t break it again.

“Julianna was at a party. She was drugged. She would never tell me who the guy was, but I think she knew. She knew, and she was scared. I think she felt guilty, too. Like the pregnancy was her fault. Looking back, there were signs, you know? But I didn’t know.”

I take a deep breath and fight the urge to look away. I’ve beaten myself up over it so much since I learned the truth. There were signs that something wasn’t right. I should have picked up on them, but I thought she was a virgin and was nervous. She was uncomfortable even though she kept telling me she wanted it. Hell, I was uncomfortable. I thought we felt that way for the same reasons.

I was so fucking wrong.

I shake my head and plow forward. Even though it hurts, even though I feel so fucking ashamed, it’s a relief to say it out loud.

“She didn’t want her parents raising the baby, but she didn’t think she could do it alone, so she tried to make it look like I was the father. We went to church together. We were kind of friends. She trusted me. I guess she knew I’d step up.”

“She trapped you. She lied.”

Savannah’s anger mixes with her sadness, and I feel it, too. I felt the exact same thing for a long time. But it doesn’t matter. Jules was right. I did step up, and I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. I nod, because she did lie, but she didn’t trap me.

“This one....” I sigh and close my eyes. “It exists in the gray space, Sav.”

She scoffs, but I keep talking.

“I was there for every ultrasound. Every doctor’s appointment. I was there for the baby shower. We got an apartment together off campus. We decorated a nursery. Fuck, I was in the delivery room when she was born. I picked her middle name. At first, I hated all of it. I did it all reluctantly. Out of duty. But then...I don’t know. At some point during the pregnancy, I started to get excited. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to hold her. I meant it when I said I never fell in love with Julianna, but I respected her, and Sav, I did fall in love with Brynn. I fell in love with her before she was even born. I wanted to be her dad.”

I breathe through the pain. The ache of betrayal rattles through my rib cage, fresh and raw. It’s like ripping a scab off a wound. Tearing open stitches. It fucking hurts just like it did the first time.

“When did you find out?”

“About an hour after she was born,” I say with a dark chuckle.

“How?”

I tap the cleft in my chin.

“I read once that it’s a dominant trait, but Brynn doesn’t have one. Once I noticed, I couldn’t stop thinking about that statistic. Less than 2%. So, I tried to figure out the math of the pregnancy. I’d never done that before. I just trusted Julianna. Then I asked, and she told me the truth.”

Savannah is gaping at me with her eyebrows slanted in concern. Her eyes have welled with tears, and she looks like she’s feeling the pain with me. We’re connected, and for once, I don’t feel like I’m shouldering all this alone. Sav shakes her head in disbelief.

“But you stayed with her?”

“No. I was gutted. I was furious. I wanted Brynn to be mine, Sav, and I was fucking broken. I told Julianna she could keep the apartment, but I left the hospital and moved my shit out that night. I crashed with one of my classmates for the rest of the semester. Slept on the fucking couch. I completely cut her off. I let her keep telling people Brynn was mine, let everyone believe I was a fucking deadbeat. Hell, I felt like one, and it fucked with me for a while, but I was too hurt to go back to Julianna.”

“Until she got sick.”

I nod.

“Julianna’s parents are horrible. Worse than mine were. Obviously, the biological father, whoever the fuck he is, is terrible, too. Jules didn’t want to die and...Anyway, I married her and legally adopted Brynn. Got my name put on the birth certificate and everything. To protect Brynnlee in case Jules died. To make sure she never fell into the Lark’s clutches.”

“Jesus. This is a mind-fuck,” Sav breathes out. Pretty much sums it up. “Levi, the shit you had to go through...”

“I don’t regret it. Not all of it. Brynn is mine, Sav, but Julianna’s parents have been trying to get custody ever since Jules died. They have a life insurance payout that they keep trying to bribe me with. But they don’t have a claim on her—they wouldn’t stand a chance in court. The only person who could...”

“Would be the biological father.”

I don’t say anything, but she’s right. Julianna never told the guy she was pregnant. If he found out and wanted Brynn, he very well could take her from me.

“How’d they find out?” I muse. “I’ve kept it all quiet. The Larks don’t know I’m not Brynn’s biological father.”

Savannah huffs out a small, dark laugh.

“They’re ruthless vultures. Once they got my records from one of my rehab stays. Blackmailed me. I had to pay them to keep quiet. I swear they could solve world hunger if they used their powers for good, but instead they choose to destroy lives and invade privacy in the name of clickbait.”

What a fucking mess.

I wouldn’t put it past Julianna’s parents to try and use this against me, now. For months after she died, I would have nightmares of them breaking into my house and snatching Brynn from her bed. Before now, I didn’t have the money for a lawsuit. I was in debt up to my fucking scalp with all the money I poured into Jules’s experimental treatments. All the money I’d spent on the house and the business. I was barely treading water before the studio contract.

That’s why I kept the secret for so long. Why I wanted to avoid any media attention. Hell, I wouldn’t even do interviews for the local paper after the hurricane. In the aftermath, everyone wanted to know more about the rebuilds and restorations. I made Dustin give updates about the rebuild projects to the local news. I kept my name off the East Coast Contracting website. And there was never any mention of Brynn anywhere.

I’ve flown as far under the radar as I could, but I’m tired of it, and I know I can’t have Savannah without the media. Like she said, they’re a packaged deal, and I could never ask her to leave the band.

“I actually have a meeting with them today. Jules’s parents, I mean. I’m telling them the truth, all of it. My lawyer has helped. I have the money to fight them in court if they want to try. I finally feel secure enough to come clean.”

I laugh and give her a half-hearted grin. I was preparing to face The Larks, but the world? Talk about diving in headfirst.

“I don’t know how this whole sex tape and dating the most infamous rockstar of our generation is going to go over, but my lawyer has assured me that my custody of Brynn is secure.”

She grimaces, like she feels guilty, then changes the subject.

“Does Brynn know?”

“She does. I don’t lie to my daughter. She knows I’m not her biological dad, and that her biological dad wasn’t a very good person. She also knows it’s best if we don’t tell people. She’s never been a fan of her grandparents, so her telling them hasn’t been a concern. Brynn and I know. Sharon knows. My lawyer knows. My father suspected before he died because Jules confided in him after she was raped, since he was the head of our church. And now you and everyone on the internet knows.”

She closes her eyes and presses a palm to her forehead, then lets out a frustrated groan.

“I keep saying it. I know I must sound like a broken record, but I’m so sorry. This never would have happened if it weren’t for me. I should have been more careful. I should have stayed—”

“Don’t say that,” I say, cutting her off. “Don’t you dare say that you should have stayed away from me. The universe brought you back to me for a reason, Savannah. You and me, we’re fated. We have been since you pushed me off the swing set in second grade. I was in love with you before I even hit the dirt, so don’t cheapen this. Don’t downplay it. We’re going to get through it, we’re going to overcome everything, and then we’re going to be together. This? You and me? We’re endgame. You know it. I know it. The fucking universe knows it, and pretty soon, the world is going to know it, too.”

Savannah’s lips turn up into a small smile, her eyes flashing with mirth. Then she sniffles and wipes away a few stray tears.

“I thought I was a brat. I thought you said I was too wild for my own good.”

I drag my gaze over her face. Her gray eyes. Her smirking lips. The smattering of freckles on her nose. Even her messy, untamed silver hair. She’s perfect. My perfect storm.

“You are. But you’re my brat. You’re my kind of wild.”

She laughs through her tears, and it’s loud and raspy and real. Sunshine breaking through rainclouds.

“You know, this possessive side you’re showing could be considered a red flag.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh.

“I think red’s always been your favorite color.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, but she doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t argue.

“Want some potentially good news?” she says after a minute.

There is a subtle lightness in her voice that I know she only half feels.

“I was going to wait to tell you until it was all figured out, but now’s as good a time as any.”

I lie back on my bed and hold the phone above me. Savannah is sitting on a chair on what looks like a porch or a deck of some sort. It’s around noon where she is, and the weather looks beautiful.

“Tell me your good news, Rockstar.”

“I think we’re going to be able to negotiate a new contract with the label. I’ve got the band on my side now. We don’t want to break up. We want to tour more. Keep making music. But we can’t keep going on like we’ve been, you know? Hammond had a new contract drawn up and everything. He’s even threatened to walk and come with us if we leave.”

“He did?”

I’m shocked, actually. From what I’ve heard of him, he definitely struck me as a label puppet. I wouldn’t have expected him to try and help. Savannah nods, eyes wide as she watches something just off the side of the phone screen.

“I know. But in his defense, he did tell us not to sign that first contract.” She shrugs. “Should have listened to him. The new contract requires a year down time between touring and one third less shows. Control of all our masters for the next two albums, and the right to re-record the songs on our previous albums when the original contract expires.”

My jaw drops. That sounds...impossible. Amazing, but impossible. There’s no way the label will go for that. Savannah must read my thoughts on my face because she laughs.

“I know. Ham says they’ll probably try to renegotiate parts of it, but he thinks we have a shot. They don’t want to lose the hottest band in music, especially now that they know we’ll gladly take our talent elsewhere instead of break up, and they don’t want to lose Hammond.”

She scrunches up her nose and bounces a little in her seat.

“We got a shot, Levi. We’ve got a real shot at this working. And then for once, finally, we can do things our way. No more running on empty and killing ourselves for deadlines. No more living in busses and hotel rooms for ten months out of the year. Less stress. Less tension. Just music, and the band. And fuck, Levi, that’s all I’ve wanted since we started this thing. It really, truly, might work.”

I give her a smile. I try to let her excitement fuel mine.

Do I want this for her? I meant it when I said she belongs on that stage. But she also belongs with me. How can we work if she goes back to the band? Touring, recording, and whatever else famous musicians do. How long could we possibly last?

She chose that life over me once. Would she do it again?

“I’m happy for you guys. I really hope it works out for you.”

I say it, but part of me doesn’t mean it.

“How’s Paul Northwood?”

I need a subject change, but I don’t know why my brain went to Hollywood’s golden boy. I want to wince, but I don’t. Instead, I focus on the way Sav’s lips twitch into a smirk.

“Jealous again, Weenie?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but I can’t fight the scoff. She giggles and waggles her brows at me.

“We had a great scene today. I was half-naked. There was red wine and chocolate. It was really sexual.”

I grit my teeth. I did this to myself.

“Or at least it was. Until I stabbed him in the back with a chef’s knife and shoved him off the balcony of the villa.”

I bark out a laugh, and she shrugs.

“You got nothing to worry about, Levi. No one competes with you. No one ever has.”

I smile and work to control my breathing.

No one person, maybe. But what about a stadium full of people? What about a country full of stadiums full of people? Can I compete with them?

* * *

“That child should be with her family,” my mother says into the phone. “It shouldn’t be your responsibility.”

I’m two seconds away from hanging up on her. I don’t know why I haven’t done it already.

“I am her family. She should be with me, and that’s where she’ll stay.”

I’m frustrated, irritated, and exhausted, and my tone reflects that. She’s been calling me nonstop since my meeting on Wednesday with the Larks. I finally caved and answered, just to get it over with, then listened to her berate me for ten minutes about how I should have answered sooner. I’ve had enough stressing me out with all the assholes with cameras camped outside my house. I don’t need another annoyance, and for some fucking reason, I can’t bring myself to block her.

“Helen and William are her blood. They are half of her. You can’t possibly think you could do a better job raising her than they could. Especially not now that that girl has returned. I mean really, Levi, a sex scandal? I always knew she was trouble.”

I don’t bother responding to her comments about Savannah. My mother’s opinions don’t matter. They’re just air.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself? If you had the sense God gave you, you would give the child back to the Larks. It’s better for you. You don’t know what runs through the child’s veins.”

“The child is named Brynnlee, and the lawyers already told William and Helen that she’s staying with me. She is my daughter. What runs through her veins doesn’t matter, and if the Larks try to take me to court, it will just cost them time and money, because they won’t win.”

I check my watch. Sharon should be here any minute to pick Brynn up. She’s taking her shopping for back-to-school clothes. Brynn decided that I’m not cool enough to take her shopping this year. How the hell is summer almost over?

“Trust me, Levi, you’ll be better off if you just sign over cust—”

“Mother. Stop. I’m done having this conversation with you.”

I hear her huff on the other end, then a long slow inhale followed by a long, slow exhale, before she speaks again.

“Everything in this world that I’ve done, it’s been for you.”

I scoff. It’s always shocked me just how strongly my mother believes her own delusions. As if manipulating Bible verses for the sake of controlling me was ever for my own good. She wields her religion as a weapon. She uses it to feel superior, to justify her hatred, and she really believes the shit she’s slinging. In her mind, she really sees herself as a self-sacrificing, saintly mother.

“Okay,” I say flatly.

“Remember that I tried.”

She hangs up. I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. This whole thing is giving me a migraine. I think I’d rather take another jaunt through the fucking rapids than another phone conversation with Judith Cooper.

I hear my front door open, then close, and Sharon steps into the kitchen.

“Good lord, do those people ever leave?”

She throws a scowl behind her, as if the paparazzi assholes on the street can feel it through the walls. I shake my head.

“Haven’t yet.”

I keep hoping they’ll get bored and go away once this whole mess dies down, but as of right now, the media thinks Sav Loveless is still engaged to Torren King, and they see me as the potential homewrecker.

“Have you told Savannah?”

“No.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“No.”

I’m not going to worry her with this bullshit. She’s still filming. She’s stressed about the contract negotiations with the label. She feels terrible about the news of Brynn’s adoption going global. I’m not about to pile anymore shit on top. Besides, Sav and the media go hand in hand, right? If she’s what I want, then I need to decide if this is something I can handle.

Sharon sighs and sets her purse on the counter, so I call up the stairs for Brynn.

“Boss, Ms. Sharon is here!”

Brynn is bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen seconds later. She’s wearing jean shorts and a The Hometown Heartless t-shirt, and she flops down onto the floor and starts pulling on her shoes.

“I know what I want for my birthday.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted the digital encyclopedia membership thing.”

“Not anymore.” Brynn pushes back to standing and flashes me a grin. “I want an electric guitar like Sav’s.”

“What’s wrong with the acoustic one she gave you?”

“That’s different, Dad.” My daughter rolls her eyes and sighs. “She’s your girlfriend now so she can help you a pick a good one.”

Of course. I flick my eyes to Sharon and find her smirking at me. With all of the media attention, the only thing Brynn has focused on is the relationship between me and Savannah. Brynn already knew she was adopted, so that didn’t bother her. But after I explained that Sav isn’t actually engaged to Torren King, Brynn has latched onto me and Sav dating.

It’s times like this I wish she wasn’t such an advanced reader. I can put parent controls on her tablet, but I can’t keep her from seeing the printed magazines in the grocery store checkout line.

Honestly, she’s been handling it all better than I’d expected, but I keep having to remind her that Sav has a life in Los Angeles. That I have a relationship with her, but we’re not exactly dating, and I don’t know what that means for the future. I’m trying to prep my daughter for something I still am not even ready for.

I try to fight the nagging feeling that I’ve set my daughter up for yet another loss. I’m doing the best I can, but fuck, it never feels like enough.

I look back to Brynn.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

No way I can get a guitar exactly like Savannah’s. That thing is custom and probably cost a small fortune. But I might be able to get something similar before the birthday party.

I hand Sharon my credit card and make eye contact.

“Use this for the clothes,” I say.

She takes it with a placating smile, but I know she won’t use it. I’ll just have to figure out how to pay her extra when payroll goes out next month.

“Ready to roll, Boss?”

Brynn grins at Sharon and gives her two thumbs up.

“Ready to roll, Ms. Sharon!”

I follow them to the door, then watch from the porch as they climb into Sharon’s car. The asshats with the cameras mill about and take their pictures, and I glare at them. I called the county sheriff on them on Friday, and since then they’ve been staying across the street. Don’t know how long that will last, but for now, the sheriff has a patrol car circling the block once an hour. We’ll have to come up with something different when Sav comes back.

Ifshe comes back.

I turn and walk back into the house.

One more week in Portofino. Then New York. Then...

She hasn’t mentioned staying in North Carolina, and I would never ask that of her. She’s too big for this small town. I know that. But Sav hasn’t asked me to come with her to California, either. And even if she did, would I?

I walk out to the deck and stare out at the surf. The beach is full of people today. It has been ever since the production crew left and removed the barricades. I put my hands on the deck railing, noting how different it feels without my ring. I took it off the day Sav left.

I didn’t build this house for Savannah. Not really. That would suggest I expected her to come back to me, and I didn’t.

I hoped for it.

Dreamed about it.

But never expected it.

I didn’t build it for her. I built it about her. Every line on the design plans was intentional. Every room has a Savannah-related purpose. Even the colors were chosen with her image in mind. Her moods. Her dreams.

I couldn’t be with her, but I couldn’t be without her, so I built her into the walls. I immersed myself in Savannah in the only way I knew how.

Was it fair to my wife? Probably not. But Julianna and I never tried to make our marriage something it wasn’t. She had her ways of coping, and I had mine.

If I close my eyes, I can picture Savannah here. Practicing her songs in the music room. Hanging her skateboards on the rack on the mudroom wall. Making stacks of pancakes in the chef’s kitchen. Spending long, lazy mornings with me right here on this deck.

But in my fantasy, which Savannah is it? And when the sun sets, where will we end the day? My repurposed guest bedroom, or my dead wife’s bedroom?

I tighten my hands on the banister and squeeze tightly, putting pressure on the base of my ring finger until it hurts. No silicone barrier. No ring.

If Savannah asked me to move California with her, would I go?

A loud knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. I check my watch as I head back into the house. It could be Brynn and Sharon with their hands loaded with shopping bags. Brynn could have forgotten her key.

My hackles rise as another loud knock bangs on the door, and I pick up my pace.

If it’s another one of those camera wielding hyenas, or some random gossip rag reporter, I might lose my fucking mind. I swing the door open just as the person on the other side goes to knock again.

For a breath, I just stare at them and the smarmy grin plastered on their face.

I step out onto the front porch, making my visitor fall back a step, and pull the door shut. I glance across the street and find camera lenses pointed right at me. I clench my teeth and fold my arms across my chest.

“When did they let you out,” I ask gruffly, and Terry chuckles.

“’Bout six months ago. Good behavior.”

I don’t laugh at his joke. I don’t match his creepy fucking grin. I just stare at him with narrowed eyes and work to keep my cool.

“Where is she?” he asks finally, and I stand straighter. Defensive.

I won’t let him within fifty feet of Sharon. She’s worked too fucking hard to let this sleazy ass waste of life try to undo everything she’s done. I drag my eyes over him. New clothes. New shoes. His dark curly hair is still long and stringy, just how I remember it, but he looks like he’s showered recently.

His eyes, though. Something about those beady, yellow-ringed eyes.

Good behavior my ass.

“She doesn’t want to see you.”

He laughs again. Unbothered. Like he thinks this is a game.

“How you know? D’you ask her?”

“I know.” I glance back over his shoulder. When was the last time the police car rolled by? Will they be here any minute or do I have to wait for another hour? I do a quick scan of his body just before hitting him with another glare. “You’ve overstayed your welcome. Leave.”

Without turning my back on him, I reach down to open the door, but he steps forward.

“Back the fuck up, Terry.”

He narrows his eyes angrily at first, then forces a smile.

“I just want to talk to her. I want to say hi. I should get to know her since we’ll be spending so much time together soon, right?”

“Stay away from her,” I say, my voice shaking with the force of my restraint. I scan him quickly once more looking for the outline of a gun or a hidden holster, but I see nothing. “Get the fuck off my property.”

“You can’t keep the kid from me for long. We’re blood.”

Every nerve ending in my body buzzes. Warning signals start to blare in my ears. I hold my breath. This time, when I look him over, I pay attention to different things. Dark brown curly hair. Light blue eyes. No chin cleft. I swallow hard before speaking.

“Who are you talking about?”

His lips break into a wide grin, showing off stained teeth. When he speaks, it’s like he’s told a joke and I’m the punchline.

“My daughter, of course.”

I blink at him and tighten my fist around the doorknob. Brynn.

“You’re lying.”

He shrugs.

“Guess we’ll find out after the paternity test.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The more I stare at him, the more I believe it. Sharon had said Terry had been selling at college parties. Julianna was drugged at a party. She said the guy was dangerous. She was adamant about wanting to move away from our hometown. It’s how I ended up here on the coast, too. When Jules called me and told me she was sick, she was already here. She refused to move back home with her parents. I thought it was just because her parents are terrible, but now...

“It won’t matter,” I say slowly, trying to mask my panic. “No judge in their right mind would give you custody of a child, blood or not.”

I mean it, too. I know it won’t work. It’s going to be hell for Brynn, but I’m almost certain they wouldn’t take her from me and give her to this fuckhead. Terry snorts and rolls his eyes. He doesn’t care about custody. He doesn’t care about Brynn. And then it dawns on me.

“The Larks put you up to this.”

He ignores me and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He puts one in his mouth and lights it up as my thoughts fall off my tongue.

“You don’t want Brynn. They do. What are they offering you?”

He blows a slow stream of smoke out of his nostrils and raises an eyebrow.

“The fucking life insurance money. That’s it, isn’t it?”

His grin breaks, and he winks at me.

“And all I have to do is take a test and stick around for a few court hearings.”

My blood is boiling. They’d stoop this low, scrape the bottom of the fucking scum bucket, just to try and get control of Brynn. They don’t care about what this could do to her. They don’t care about what this would have done to their own fucking daughter.

“It won’t work,” I seethe. “There is no way in hell I’m going to let them take her from me. You can fucking tell them that. Over my dead fucking body will I ever let William and Helen Lark take my kid from me.”

The sleaze bag grin is gone from Terry’s face, and he sneers.

“That can be arranged.”

I’m seconds from hitting him. If he so much as steps toward me, I’ll swing. Then a car comes up the road and we both look toward it. I expect to see a cop car swinging through for their hourly patrol, but instead it’s Sharon and Brynn coming back from shopping.

I know the moment Terry recognizes who’s driving the car, because his body goes as rigid as mine. I stare at the car, willing Sharon to drive off, but she pulls into the driveway instead.

“What the fuck,” Terry growls, then starts stalking toward the car. “Sharon? Sharon.”

I step in front of him and push his chest.

“Back up.” I growl, shoving him again as he tries to push past. “Back the fuck up, Terry.”

“Sharon!” he shouts. “You fucking bitch! That bitch put me in prison. You put me in fucking prison!”

I shove him again, plastering my body against his and he struggles to get past me. He reaches behind his body, and I grab his arm just as he pulls something from his waistband.

A fucking gun.

“Get in the house!” I shout, hoping like hell Sharon and Brynn can hear me. That they can get there faster than this asshole can pull out his gun. “Get in the fucking house!”

Terry grunts as he struggles with me, and I hear the car doors shut just as I kick his legs out from under him. Even plastered to the ground, he doesn’t stop trying to get to Sharon. He’s possessed. He’s fucking psychotic, and the only thing I’ve got going for me is that he’s smaller than me. Has he always been this fucking small?

“Get over here, you bitch!”

He tries to knee me in the gut. I hear clicks around me. People closing in. The fucking paparazzi.

“He’s got a gun,” I shout at them. Fighting with Terry. Worrying about these assholes. They’re going to be the reason someone gets killed. “Back up. Call the cops. He’s got a fucking gun.”

“I’m going to kill her! I’m going to kill you!”

“Shut the fuck up,” I grind out, then let go of him with one hand so I can punch him in the side.

He grunts but doesn’t stop shouting. Doesn’t stop moving. I try to keep track of his hands. As long as I can keep his hands visible, we’re good. Sharon and Brynn are safe inside.

But I feel like I’ve been on this ground forever. I’m sweating. I’m panting. I’m trying so hard not to freak out that I’m starting to freak out.

“Someone call the fucking cops!”

I shout at the idiots surrounding me, just as I hear the siren of a cop car. Then car doors. Shouting and running.

I hear someone shout at the paparazzi, telling them if they don’t disperse off my private property, they’ll be arrested. I don’t pay attention to if they actually comply. I wait for a cop to take control of the asshole with the gun, but they don’t get to me in time.

I must have let up, must have diverted my focus, because Terry manages to twist and catches my jaw with an elbow. The gun goes off, everyone screams, and then Terry takes off running.

I push to my feet and start to run after him, but a cop throws his body in front of me, pushing at my chest.

“Stop. They’ll get him. You stay here.”

I look at the officer in front of me. Max. I’ve known him since I moved here. He’s watched Brynn grow up. His wife stocked our freezer when Julianna’s cancer got worse and we were spending a lot of time in the hospital. They came to her funeral.

“Are you hit?”

I look down at my uninjured body, then glance around at the ground. No gun.

“No.” I nod in the direction he ran. “He’s still armed.”

Another patrol car pulls up. More yelling at the paparazzi. They’ve at least moved across the street now. I watch as two officers discuss something off to the side of my yard.

“Levi. Who the hell was that?”

I look back at Max. His question shocks me for a minute, and then I remember that Terry wasn’t an infamous figure in this town. His arrest was fairly widely known, but it didn’t generate nearly as much attention here as it did in the town where I grew up.

I consider my options. I scan Max’s face and find nothing but concern.

“That, apparently, is Brynn’s biological father. Terry Martin.” I take a deep breath and look down the street where the cop car and Terry have disappeared. I can still hear the sirens. “And I’m going to need to get a restraining order. Probably a few of them.”