“I grew up without knowing my father, Jake. My mother kept his identity from me. And I know how hard it is, not knowing where you came from, always feeling like you’re missing a part of yourself. I didn’t want that for Storm. But Tiffany wouldn’t have it. She didn’t want Storm to be a part of the lifestyle you all led. We disagreed about it. But she told me it was none of my business. Then, she left, heading to bed.
“I didn’t agree, and I knew she was wrong. So…I called up my friend, who—well, it doesn’t matter who he was or how he got Jonny’s number. But he did.
“An hour later, I called Jonny’s cell. It was really late in Queens, around one a.m., but I knew Jonny lived in LA, and I figured he wasn’t the type of guy to go to bed early. I told him about Storm. He didn’t believe me at first. Then, he remembered Tiffany. He wanted to see a picture of Storm, so I texted him one. And after that, he…I think he realized that Storm was his. He demanded that I give him Tiffany’s address, said that he was coming to Queens, catching a flight out, and I couldn’t tell her, so I didn’t. I hung up with him, and I went to bed.
“When I woke up the next morning, Storm was in the kitchen, eating breakfast, and Tiffany was sitting in the living room, staring at the TV, crying. It was covered with pictures of Jonny’s crash.”
She swipes a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I knew it was my fault. He’d left his house that night and gotten in his car because of the phone call I’d made to him.”
I can’t breathe. I push up from my chair and stalk away, over to the outside bar. I refill my glass up to the top and down half of it. My hand is shaking.
When I turn around, Marie is standing by the table.
“He died because of me. But he died knowing he had a son.”
My eyes start to sting.
He knew.
He knew he had a son, and he was going to get Storm, to claim him.
A tear runs from the corner of my eye. I roughly brush it away.
The back door opens, and Tru steps out.
I can’t do anything but stare at her.
“Is everything okay out here?” Tru asks, glancing between Marie and me.
“I’m heading back to Queens today,” Marie says to me. “I understand that you’ll tell Storm. Just…tell him, I’m sorry.”
Then, she turns and brushes past Tru, walking back into my house.
I’m rooted to the ground.
“Babe?” Tru is advancing toward me. “What happened?”
Fumbling to put the glass down on the bar top, I lean against it as she stands before me, reaching for my hand.
“He knew. Jonny knew about Storm.” Another tear breaks free. “Right before he died…that’s why…that’s why he was out in his car. He was driving to the airport to catch a flight. He was going to see his son.” I press the heel of my hand against the ache in my chest. “How the hell am I supposed to tell Storm this? I don’t…” I roughly shake my head.
“Talk me through this, Jake. Tell me everything.” She guides me over to the seats. “We’ll figure this out together. It’s going to be okay.”
“Figure out what?” Tom says, coming through the open back door, pulling my eyes to him.
Denny is right behind him.
“You alone?” I ask them.
“Yeah.” Denny gives me a puzzled look.
“Good. You’re gonna want to sit down. I’ve got something to tell you.”
-Uploaded by Em's EORD-
Eight Years Ago
Jonny
My fingers strum over the strings of the guitar lying across my lap as I stare out at the glittering city below me from my castle in the sky.
For once, I’m alone.
I’m never alone. If I’m not with the guys, there’s always some chick ready to warm my bed.
But tonight, I wanted to be alone.
Recently, I’ve felt like something’s missing. There’s this emptiness inside me, and it’s growing, no matter how much I try to fill it with drugs and alcohol and empty one-night stands.
Picking up the bottle of whiskey from the table beside me, I lift it to my lips, taking a long drink.
My cell starts to ring on the table, pulling my eyes to it.
Unknown number.
I’m just about to ignore it when I realize the area code is in New York.
My first thought is that it must be my folks.
I pick up my cell, answering, “Yeah?”
There’s a brief silence on the line.
I consider hanging up when a soft female voice says, “Is this Jonny Creed?”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Marie. I’m a friend of—”
“Look, I’m sure you’re hot and that you love my music, but not right now, honey, okay?”
“No, wait. That’s not why I’m calling. Look, there’s no easy way to say this, but…you have a son.”
I bark out a laugh.
Then, it dawns on me. Fucking Tom.
“Sure I do, honey. You can put Tom on the phone now. Tom, you bastard, I know it’s you.”
The fucker is always pranking me. I didn’t know he was in New York though.
“I’m not with anyone called Tom. And no one put me up to this, Jonny. This isn’t a joke. You have a son. He’s five years old. His mother’s name is Tiffany Slater. She used to be a groupie, hung around with you and the band about six years ago. You and she used to…you know…be together.”
Tiffany Slater…
I know that name.
Six years ago…
I search through the catalog of women in my mind. I’ve slept with a lot of women, but six years ago were the early days. The women were a plenty, even back then, but we stuck around with a group of girls—