Page 85 of Bombshell

I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Shoving my mother’s manuscript into a desk drawer, I toss my phone into my bag and scrawl a hastily written note to Trish. I’m out the door a few minutes later. On my way to my car, I flip through my mental calendar. I promised Sterling I would let him handle things. We’d both agreed to go about this through the right channels, so we’d never risk losing Ellie again. I’m going to keep that promise, but I’m not going to let my brother rewrite history. Not anymore. I’ve let them control the situation far too long.

Ginny’s idea of mothering involves a small army of nannies and over-scheduling. I think she’s convinced herself that if she drives Ellie to dance classes and gymnastics and preschool and then dumps her on someone else, she’s done her part. She’s so obsessed that I’ve never even been allowed to pick Ellie up from a single lesson. Now I’m beginning to realize, it’s not just about the role she’s hiding behind, it’s about keeping me in my place.

Shame. Regret. Helplessness. I’d been so weighed down by them for years that I’d started to believe they were right—that I wasn’t enough and I never would be. I’d boxed up the memories of what happened years ago and tucked them somewhere dark and deep—a place I wouldn’t go looking for too often. Telling Sterling, forced me to return there. Confronting Malcolm, opened the box, and now that it’s open, I can’t keep myself from what's inside.

Winter five years ago

Traveling with an infant is a nightmare. Traveling with an infant this close to Christmas is worse.

The flight from London to Nashville was considerably less comfortable than any other I’d taken in my life. Angus MacLaine made good on his promise to cut me off entirely, even after I announced I’d be bringing the baby to live in Tennessee. Thankfully, Ginny kept her promise as well, helping me get a ticket to fly back. She’d convinced me to take her help rather than ask Poppy. I guess for the first time someone in my family is looking out for me, and now I can come clean to Poppy in person. I can’t imagine telling my best friend that I ran away to London to have a baby over the phone. Some things need to be said in person.

“Adair!” Ginny waves me over as soon as I’m through customs and past the security doors. She hurries over, grabbing my bags. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks,” I say, wondering if I sound as exhausted as I feel. Ellie is the only one of us who got any sleep on the flight, but that’s not saying much. Now she’s curled into a baby carrier, napping soundly on my chest.

“How did she do?” Ginny asks as we make our way to the valet parking station in Terminal Garage One.

“She is not a fan of flying,” I admit.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “And how did you do?”

“I walked the aisles for nine hours trying to keep her quiet.”

“That bad?”

“I think everyone in economy was plotting to throw us out of the airlock.” There’d been a few who managed to sleep through Ellie’s nine-hour-long protest, but not many.

Her Mercedes is waiting for us when we reach the valet station. She tips the man extra. “Thanks for keeping it out.”

“No problem,” he says, staring at the bills like he’s already spending them.

“I got a car seat,” she says. “I mean, I already had one before…”

“Thanks,” I say, feeling uncomfortable suddenly. She’s been understanding about everything—too understanding. It only makes me feel worse about changing my mind.

I climb into the back and try to maneuver Ellie into the car seat. The movement jars her awake and the protest begins again. Ginny gets in on the other side. “I think we need to adjust this.” She wiggles and tucks until the straps are expertly secured around my daughter.

“Thanks. I’m not very good at that yet. She didn’t ride in the car much in London,” I admit sheepishly.

“You’ll get it figured out.” She gets out and slides into the driver’s seat. “Are you going to ride with her?”

“I think I better.” I can’t imagine she’ll ever calm down if she’s back here all alone.

Ginny spends the entire ride to the hotel catching me up on all the gossip I missed while I was gone. I drift in and out, too tired to keep up with who’s getting divorced, been cheated on, or gotten remarried. It will all change next week anyway.

I’m surprised when we pull up in front of a run-down motel on the outskirts of Nashville. Two floors are stacked into a block of rooms. A long exterior corridor lines the top. From the looks of it the metal railing was once painted red, but it faded along with a welcome sign that points to the front office. Next to the office’s door, there’s a vending machine with cracked glass and an ice machine labeled out of order in black marker. There are a fair few vehicles here even mid-day, or I might have thought the place abandoned. It’s not exactly up to MacLaine standards.

Ginny glances over her shoulder, chewing on her lower lip. “It’s the best I could do to keep you close but give you some privacy. I figured you’d want to keep a low profile until…”

Until I find the courage to tell my friends that I have a baby now? Until I face my father? Until I have a plan? I swallow, my tongue feeling thick in my throat, and nod. “You’re probably right. It’s not that bad.”

Maybe it is, but it could also be worse. When Ginny told me she arranged a hotel room for me to stay in until I figured out my next move, I’d naturally assumed she meant at the Eaton. But she’s two steps ahead of me. Of course, I don’t want to show my face there. Not yet. Not until things are settled one way or another.

“It’s only for a few days, right?” she says as if she can read my thoughts. “That gives you time to talk to your friends. Maybe even go to see your father.”

“Yeah,” I agree half-heartedly as I unbuckle Ellie. She wakes up with an ear-splitting scream and I hurriedly press her close, shushing her gently until the crying diminishes to a whimpering mewl.