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Something Real

Page 8

   


“Everyone screws up,” she says. “Look at me. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t make what happened your fault.”
I’m so sick of thinking about it, and my body is so tense while thinking about it that I have to remind myself to breathe. “You know what I’ve realized? It wouldn’t have mattered. I had dirty and completely inappropriate online conversations with his father.” Just saying the words makes my stomach crawl up into my throat. I exhale slowly. “It doesn’t matter if that came out sooner or later. We were doomed before we began.”
She nods thoughtfully. “You know what Nate told me? Do you remember that night after I got out of the hospital? We went to Asher’s house and we didn’t know about my history with Nate yet, and you were intent on seducing him.”
I shudder. “I don’t exactly think of my brother-in-law that way anymore, but thanks for the reminder.”
“That’s not my point. Nate said Sam walked up to him that night and pointed you out and told Nate you were his. When you thought Sam was all about the hookup, he was already looking for more from you.”
My stomach does a happy flip at that story, but the misplaced joy hurts more than soothes. It doesn’t matter how Sam felt two years ago. “What’s your point?”
“You’ve underestimated Sam from the beginning. Be careful you’re not doing that now.”
Am I underestimating him? Or is Hanna overestimating his feelings for me?
Chapter 4
Sam
It wasn’t that hard to find out which of Asia’s stories were true and which were lies.
I tracked her down after Christmas—after Liz left and I was desperate to think about anything but the things she said to my father, the things he wrote to her. Instead of facing my feelings about Liz, I asked Asia to tell me the truth. She wouldn’t. More lies. More contradictions. More smoke and mirrors.
But it wasn’t that hard to dig up the truth. She delivered a baby about seven months after she made me believe she’d had an abortion. It wasn’t that hard to track down the family who adopted the child and confirm the little girl was being raised by a family who truly loved her.
What’s hard is not knowing if she’s really mine. What’s hard is believing Connor—and therefore my father—had something to do with taking the choice away from me.
I’ve been sitting here for an hour, parked in front of the little house in a suburb west of Indianapolis. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I have no desire to take my child from them. She’s a toddler now, and they’re all she’s ever known. Sure, I could start some big court battle. But even if I thought that was the best thing for her—and I don’t—any chance I had of winning her back went down the drain when that video surfaced.
But here I am, sitting in a cold car in the dark as the moon climbs in the sky and blankets the house and yard in soft light. The house went dark hours ago. They put the baby down around seven thirty each night, then her parents watch some TV and cuddle on the couch, a snapshot from an ideal life I’ll never have.
I don’t often torture myself by watching their perfect little life. But I’ve had a shitty day—a shitty five months—and if I want to wallow in self-pity for a few fucking hours, I’m going to.
My phone rings. I see Max’s name on the display and send the call to voicemail. He’s worried about me. After I walked in on my dad and Liz in his office on Christmas day, I lost it there for a while.
She left me. Lizzy left me. She took that job with the governor and moved to Indianapolis. We both knew she was running away. What did I expect? I was so fucking pissed. No. I was hurt. I’d given her my heart. I trusted her.
It took a while, but eventually I was able to see that Liz did nothing wrong. She thought I was Riverrat, and when she had reason to believe I wasn’t, she stopped their daily exchanges.
So she left me, and I let her. I couldn’t even look at her. Her face was a reminder of my parents’ sham of a marriage. She played a part in breaking my mom’s heart again. The whole mess made me truly examine, for the first time in my life, what a fucking phony my father is. I thought it was easier to let her go than to deal with that. I was wrong.
And now I’m the phony with the pretend relationship and the lies.
I’ve imagined this little girl tracking me down one day. Maybe when she’s in college and wants to know her roots. I’ll wait until she comes to me, but if I let this scandal blow up, I may look like a freak she never wants to meet. I agreed to help, but not just for the sake of Christine’s campaign. I did it for the little girl who might share my blood.
* * *
Liz
“She’s hot,” the phone bank volunteer says. “I mean, what guy wouldn’t do that with her if she’s game for it?”
“Yeah.” I take a deep breath and try to figure out the best way to explain—again—how he’s supposed to handle potential voters’ concerns about the governor’s daughter’s sex life. I’m not sure why we’re trusting this task to a man whose skinny jeans are tight enough to threaten the future of his family tree. “You see, voters don’t need to know whether or not you’re attracted to Sabrina. What they need is reassurance that Governor Guy condemns the release of that very private video of her daughter and that though she would have preferred her daughter wait until marriage to have sex, she supports Sabrina in all aspects of her life. Sabrina is her own person and she makes her own decisions.”