To my great relief, my old bedroom welcomed me with open arms that night. I’d been afraid she’d be standoffish after I’d abandoned her for so long, but after a quick, but effective, hot shower, I climbed into bed next to Killian—who had indeed required a new diaper—and pulled his sleep-warmed little body up against my belly, curling myself protectively around him the way I’d done since I’d first learned I was pregnant. I used to lie in bed, my knees drawn as close to my growing stomach as possible, my shoulders curved forward, my arms wrapped securely around my baby. After he was born, I’d lie in bed the same way, my knees drawn up and my shoulders hunched forward, my tiny baby boy wrapped securely in my arms. It was our favorite way to sleep, even now.
I lay there in the dark, wrapped around Killian, my room and my memories wrapped around me. I was worn out, and I knew I was going to sleep like a baby. Or like my toddler.
Except I didn’t. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the events of the day that led up to me being here, lingering on that kiss, and then on my outburst in the kitchen and his cruel comeback. How dare he make so blatant an accusation about Marek in front of Tish and Sebastian? Maybe he thought he knew something about my life, but the reality was that was all he knew. Something. He didn’t see the sacrifices Marek had made in taking me on, in giving up his freedom to care for me—a practical stranger—and our son. He didn’t have to claim Killian; a lesser man would have laughed in my face. But he had, and over the years, he’d made sure we both had a bed to sleep in, clothes to wear, and food to eat. So maybe our life was a bit unconventional, but that didn’t mean Jordan had the right to criticize it. Maybe Marek had become a little possessive of me over the years, but he had a lot on his shoulders, too. He was responsible for keeping our troupe in the circuit. He had many more than just mine and Killian’s mouths to feed. If he didn’t keep us booked, we’d all be in a bad way. So what if he released his frustration and high stress levels on me now and then? At least he never took it out on Killian.
Even as I let those thoughts play out in my mind, I recognized how unreasonable they sounded. Marek hadn’t hurt Killian… yet. But he’d threatened to. Mostly just when he wanted something from me that I didn’t want to give him, or when he didn’t like the way I acted toward him in public. I knew he loved the notion of ruling over his own little kingdom, but in reality, I was the only person he really ruled over. The rest of the troupe could come and go as they pleased, and although most of them loved the bohemian lifestyle and chose to stay long term, it was an unspoken truth that he had no power over any of them. No one except me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I also suspected he couldn’t actually force me to stay, either, but he didn’t have to. I wasn’t going anywhere. As trite and cliché as it sounded, I was damaged goods now. Not because of Killian—not by any means!—but because I’d paid for my room and board in Marek’s trailer with the only currency I had—my body.
He’d gotten his money’s worth and more before Killian was born, knowing he couldn’t get me pregnant.
What little value I had now, I clung to like some deep-seated treasure. There was still part of me that longed to love and be loved, but I poured every ounce of it into my son—our son—so he’d never have to wonder how precious he was to me.
Especially once Marek had gotten over the thrill of having a son. After strutting around with Killian held aloft like some trophy, he’d quickly grown tired of spending time with him. Killian cried too much. He smelled bad. He threw up on Marek’s embroidered shirt only once, but that was one time too many. He didn’t listen. He didn’t talk in a clear way. There was always some reason Marek could find not to be around.
And predictably, once I was no longer pregnant, Marek’s concern that I would become so again had brought me a reprieve. He just made me pay in other ways. Sometimes, it seemed, with a pound of my flesh, but most times, it was the lesser price to pay.
But that was none of Jordan’s business and he’d had no right to presume so much about the way things were.
And yet, because he was my friend, because he’d been there for me all this time, even in such a limited capacity, maybe he did have a reason—if not the right—to interfere. I knew now without a doubt that he would have stepped in long before now if I’d allowed him to.
Once again, I’d circled back to me being the problem here, not Jordan.
Jordan had sat at the table while I made the call. Tish and Sebastian left the room together after some unspoken agreement passed between them, but I could hear the rise and fall of their muted conversation from somewhere else in the house. I’d had to call our phone service provider to find out how to use the caller ID block, and even then, it had taken three tries before I actually dialed through without hanging up.
Marek didn’t answer. Probably because the ID was blocked. “Marek, it’s me, Savah.” I left a message and used my Gypsy name, hoping it would soothe his hackles a little. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you before I left, but my mom was in a bad car accident, and I’m with her now.” I took a deep breath and turned my back to Jordan, not wanting to see his reaction to my next words. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came home. I’ll know better how things are in the morning, but Mom came through surgery and her prognosis is looking good. I promise to call you tomorrow, but I won’t be back to do the show this weekend. I don’t know about next weekend, either. I know it’s our last performance, and I’m really sorry to let you down. And everyone else, too. I feel terrible and—and I’m sorry.” My hands were shaking again, and I hurried to finish. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sorry.”
I heard Jordan’s quiet grunt as I pushed the off button. I didn’t turn around, but leaned against the counter, trying to get my agitation under control.
“Five times, Savannah. You said you were sorry five different ways.” His words stung, but his tone was gentle and sad.
“I need to get some sleep, Jordan. Thank you for everything you did tonight.” I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and turned to face him. “I really appreciate it all, and I’m really sorry I can’t—”
He surged out of his seat and rounded the table to stand directly in front of me, his fingers pressed to my lips. “Don’t apologize to me, Savannah Clark. Not in that voice, not like you just apologized to him. You’ve done nothing—nothing—that requires an apology tonight, do you understand?” He withdrew his hand and I turned my face away, resisting the urge to step back into his arms. I could feel the tension in him, too, that magnetic pull that had once again flipped, so that it was becoming impossible not to press into each other.
I sidestepped him and left the room before I made an even bigger fool of myself than I had already.
I hadn’t heard him and Tish leave, so they must have slipped out while I was in the shower. As I drifted off, I wondered if he’d be back in our kitchen in the morning.
Hoping he would be.
Praying he wouldn’t.