“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—
Then, it hits me.
Tiffany. Blonde hair. Pretty as hell. Legs that went on forever.
“I remember her. She just stopped coming around all of a sudden.”
“She stopped coming around because she was pregnant. She told me she wasn’t sure at the time if he was your child or Jake’s. But she knows now, and it’s blatantly obvious that he’s yours. He looks exactly like you.”
“If she was fucking me and Jake, she could have been fucking a hundred other guys. No reason to believe this kid is mine.”
“She wasn’t. It was only you and Jake. And she had genuine real feelings for you, Jonny. I’m telling you. Storm is your son.”
That causes me pause. “His name is Storm?”
“Yes. I’m guessing she named him after your band.” I hear her exhale down the phone. “I’m not making this up. I have no reason to make this up. There’s no win in this for me.”
“So, why are you telling me now?”
“I’ve known Tiffany for a long time, and in all that time she never told me who Storm’s father is. Then, tonight…she was upset. She’d been drinking. She told me the truth.”
“And the first thing you do is call me? Some friend you are.”
“I am being her friend,” she says defensively. “She kept Storm from you because of the life you lead. But she struggles every day. She works her ass off to put food on the table for that boy. And I believe that every child should know both of their parents.”
I look down and realize my hand is shaking. I clench it into a fist. “You honestly believe this kid is mine?” I know she does, I can hear it in her voice.
“Yes. I honestly do.”
I can barely believe I’m having this conversation, but something is pulling on the fringes of my subconscious.
There’s always been something missing. Maybe this is it.
Taking a deep breath, I blow it out. “Do you have a picture of him?” I ask quietly.
“I have one on my cell. It was taken the other day.”
“Send it to me now. I want to see him.”