I searched him. “How? Why?”
He swallowed. “We were safe, the one time we slept together. After a show in Mendocino. Once, just once. I had a condom—I wore a condom. It didn’t break. Didn’t fall off. I think…I think she poked a hole in it, or something. I didn’t have one, she did, and so we used hers. I shoulda…shoulda known better. I fought her for fuckin’ years. Fought to be there—to be in Isabela’s life. To see her, once a month even. Fucking ever. Once she had my kid, Maria went feral on me. She’s…she’s fuckin’ nuts, man. Turned out she had been obsessed with me, or some shit. There was a whole investigation, and it showed all this shit. But the court still sided with her, since I’m just an itinerant rock star who does drugs and fucks around, which means clearly I’m no good. Not fit to be around my own kid. To even fucking lay eyes on her.” Bitter, so bitter. “She just wanted to get a kid out of me. And money. I was ordered to pay three grand a month. I send ten. I send cards, gifts, all that shit for every holiday, every birthday. It all gets returned. The money doesn’t. So it’s what I can do—I send money, a lot of it, every month. But I’ve never once laid eyes on my daughter.” A harsh laugh. “When we had sex that one time, she was like, talking afterward about us, about all these plans she had for us, and I’d made it clear before anything happened that it was just fun. She was like, uh-huh, I got it, I understand. Then, soon as it was over, she was talking about us, like she had this whole story made up in her head where I’d fallen for her, and she believed it, had herself convinced it was real, and when I was like, I’m sorry, there is no us and never will be, and I thought that clear, she…she went crazy. I had to get Tommy and the other guys to get her off the bus. I thought that was it. Then a year later, I got this thing in the mail about child support, and I was like, child support? What the fuck?”
I was dizzy. “You have a daughter. And you never told me.”
“I…” A hoarse clearing of his throat. “I didn’t know how. I’m not in her life, I never see her, never see Maria, it’s just a check in the mail once a month.” A hoarse, choked sound. “I have never once even seen her face. Not so much as a photograph. And I wanted to, but I wasn’t allowed.”
The officer who’d spoken cleared his throat. “Isabela has no other kin. Maria’s family is in Mexico and can’t be reached. You are Isabela’s only family.”
“Where…where is she?”
The other officer spoke for the first time, jerking a thumb at the door, the driveway. “Out there. Waiting to know what you’re gonna do.”
“What I’m…what I’m gonna do?”
I stood up, and looked back down at Titus. “What you’re going to do about Isabela. You’re her father, and now Maria’s wishes that you never see or know your daughter are moot. She needs a home, a family. Care.”
He met my eyes. “She needs a home.”
I closed my eyes. Sucked in a breath. Let it out slowly, shuddering. Walked away.
“Where are you going?”
I gestured at the spare bedroom. “I have to move all our stuff. She’s going to need a bedroom, obviously.”
“Laurel—”
I stopped in the hallway outside my—our—bedroom door. “I need a minute, Titus. And you need to go meet your daughter.”
“I just…we just…” He looked to the officers, to the door and the hint of the other car, back to me. “My daughter.”
I nodded. “Your daughter.”
“How is this happening?”
I laughed, unsteady and shaken. “I really don’t know, Titus.” I walked back to him, took his face in my hands. “But it is. And we have to deal with it. So go meet your daughter.”
“We?”
I nodded. “I’m going to need some time to process this, but yes, Titus. We. You and me. I’m mad as hell that you kept this from me, but I understand. Shit, there’s something I haven’t told you, yet. But I’m not going to…panic. Or bolt, or dump you, or whatever you’re thinking. This fucking complicates things, but I told you I love you. I told you it was no matter what. And I meant that shit. Well, no matter what is here, it seems. So, here we go.”
He stood up, followed me to the threshold of our room, took my hands. “You didn’t sign up for this.”
“Neither did you.”
“No, but it’s my mess to deal with.”
I laughed. “What, you’re going to bring your daughter to live with you on a fucking tour bus? Or rig, or whatever you want to call that thing you were living on? Or you’re going to send her into the system because you can’t deal? No, Titus. We live together, you and me. For all of, what, twelve hours? But here we are, right? And we have the room. So yeah, she’s living here, I guess.”
He let out a breath. Addressed the officers. “Bring her in, then.”
I arched an eyebrow at Titus. “Maybe we should get dressed, first?”
Titus glanced down at himself, loose gym shorts hanging low, revealing as obvious the fact that he wasn’t wearing anything beneath them; then to me, with my baggy men’s button-down draped around my bare thighs, the sleeves rolled half a dozen times and hanging at my elbows. “Yeah, good point.”
I shot a glance at the officers. “Just give us a minute to get dressed properly, okay? Two minutes.”
They nodded and stood to exit. “We’ll talk to Isabela and the social worker.”
Alone in our room—god, it was so odd to say that, think that, that my room was now our room: I’d never shared a bed, a room, any space, with anyone, ever; even overseas at the academy, my parents had made sure I had my own room rather than having to share—I stood in my closet and gathered myself. Or, tried to.
I felt him behind me. “I’m so sorry, Laurel. I know—I know I should have told you. But…how? When? I just…it was never a good conversation, a good moment to be like, so hey, I have a daughter I never see. And no matter what I say, people will always assume I’m a deadbeat dad, right? It’s the stereotype, and for good reason. But if she’d have let me, I’d have been there. I travel a lot, but with my pop-up system I’m usually only gone for a few weeks at a time at most. I run out to wherever I’m gonna play, do a few shows in that area, and then come home again. I’d…I’d have been there for Isabela. I wanted to be.”
I turned and faced him. “Titus, I know.” I could see the torture on his face. “I believe you.”
He blinked, swallowed, seemed close to tears of relief. “You do?”
I touched his face with my fingertips. “You can’t fake the emotions I see in you right now, Titus. And the way you talked about your own childhood, yeah, I believe that if you were given a choice, you’d have been there to whatever degree you were allowed to be.” I sighed, shook my head with a toss of my hair. “I wish you’d told me—at any point. But I understand, really I do. I’m more shocked than angry.”
“You don’t have to tell me now, because shit, there’s enough happening right now, but…you said you had something haven’t told me.”