Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(72)

She had Show’s attention, at least, but she didn’t know whether the anger that had returned to his eyes was for her or for Jeff.

“So, yes. I lied about knowing the father. But I’m not sorry about that.” She swallowed. “Not unless it makes me lose you.”

He shook his head; she didn’t know what that meant. “Fuck, Shannon.”

She didn’t know what that meant, either.

He sighed and rubbed his head, shifting his beanie. “None of this explains your crazy earlier. Why are you so afraid to see her?”

That answer, Shannon had at the ready. It was a mantra that had filled her head for months—years— afterward. “What if she had a terrible life? What if she was abused? What if she was poor or hungry? What if her parents were junkies or criminals…”

Show raised his eyebrows at that, and she froze. Dammit. “No, I mean—”

“I know what you mean. Go on.”

She shrugged, exhausted. “I don’t want to know that I handed her off to a horrible fate. I can’t deal with that. I can’t.”

“Don’t think you have a choice anymore, hon. If it was a closed adoption, I’m not sure how she found you, but I damn sure know that’s her.”

“She hired a private detective. He found me in Tulsa last year. He must have finally traced me here.”

She could see it when the last dot connected in his head. “And that’s why you moved here. Was it the same? Did you just up and pack your bags then, too?”

“No. I stayed in Tulsa until I found a job. I just found one as fast as I could.”

“You knew your girl was looking for you, and you ran.” The statements he made were so much worse that the questions he asked. In those, she could hear the judgments forming.

Unable to meet his eyes, she instead looked at the unfinished sandwich on her plate. “I told you it was bad.”

He took a breath and blew it out, slowly. “You run. When things get hard, you run.”

“Not from you.”

With a bitter laugh, he said, “You were running from me an hour ago, hon.”

“No—no. That’s not—no. I was—” She had no way to explain, and she stopped trying.

“It comes to the same thing.” He stood. “I need to get my head straight. I’m gonna stay at the clubhouse tonight.”

He came around the back of his chair and put his hand on her neck, leaning down to kiss her head. “I hope you’re still around when I come back.”

Shaking, she grabbed his arm. She was losing him. She’d managed to make the man who stayed leave.

“Please don’t go. I love you.”

“I need some time. I’ll be back.”

No, he wouldn’t. She knew.

He twisted his arm out of her grip and left her apartment.

He hadn’t stayed.

CHAPTER NINETEEN



As he rode, everything Show had learned about Shannon’s past careened wildly in his head. She’d given up her baby. She’d lied to keep the father out of it. And she’d run. She run from home, she’d run from Tulsa, she might be running right now. She was a runner.

She’d gotten pregnant when she hadn’t wanted to be, and she’d given the baby up. Now, she was afraid.

Afraid that she’d made a mistake. Afraid that she’d left her daughter to an awful life. Afraid to face that possibility. Afraid to know. Running from it all.

In similar circumstances, Show and Holly had made a different choice. They’d married and had Daisy.

And he didn’t have to wonder what kind of life his child had. He knew: far too short, and with a vicious, horrifying end. Maybe if they’d made the choice Shannon had, their daughter would be living a quiet, normal, safe life right now. Happy. She died because he was her father. There was no getting around that bare, brutal fact.

But if they’d given her up, he wouldn’t have known his Daze. If he hadn’t stuck it out with Holly, he wouldn’t have Rose and Iris, either. He could not sort his feelings out. He felt angry and guilty and sad and sorry. He felt grief and pity and fury and regret. He couldn’t figure out which fact went with which emotion.

Was he angry at Shannon or at himself? Both? Was he angry at her for giving her girl up or for running from that choice? Both? Did he feel sorry for her fear or angry at her cowardice? Did he regret keeping Daisy? How could he regret keeping her? Because he hadn’t kept her safe—but did that make the years she’d lived meaningless?

Christ. His head screamed and rebelled.

Feeling confusion so acute it made him dizzy, Show walked into the clubhouse, blinded by the dimness after the bright sun of the spring afternoon. The place seemed deserted. He went behind the bar and grabbed an unopened bottle of Jack. Wrenching the top off where he stood, he tipped the bottle to his lips and drank the whiskey down in long swallows, like water. When he pulled the bottle away and wiped his hand across his mouth, he’d taken the amber liquid down by nearly a third. He grabbed another bottle and went back to his room. Thinking was off the menu for the rest of the day.

oOo

He woke before dawn, the intensity of his hangover shouldering his confusion and anger to the side, demanding all his attention. He wedged himself into the shower and tried to wash the drunk and pain away.