A moment later, they’ve cleared out.
Remorse, of all things, flashes in my father’s eyes. “It’s best this way,” he says heavily and leaves me, just as Helen and Parnell did.
Alone. In a state of loathing, confusion, and denial. And, more importantly, without Georgiana.
Chapter Twenty Five
Georgie
I’m finally starting to show. On the day I discover I’m having a girl, Sloane is photographed on the French Riviera with a movie star. I cry myself to sleep.
A week after that horrible scene in his house, I called him, but his number had been changed. He never once tried to contact me. I’m crushed, even as my “memento” of our time grows in me.
Grandma doesn’t allow many people to see me. I know Mom is back with Dad, but I don’t know how either of them are. Grandma says it’s best I have no contact with them. I agree.
I eat to keep the baby healthy, but I really don’t care about much. I’ve failed all of my subjects that the tutor Grandma hired for me taught me.
After I see his photo, I can’t sleep or eat. I’m just here.
The weeks slug along but, eventually, my due date approaches.
Ten days before I’m supposed to deliver, my phone rings. I grab it, always with the hope that Sloane has changed his mind. It shows up as Unknown and I quickly answer.
“Georgie?”
Kiln. He’s the last person I expect to hear from, but he’s a confidante of Sloane, so I perk up a little.
I don’t prevaricate and pretend I care about Kiln. “How’s Sloane?” I ask, desperate for information. “Is that actress his girlfriend?”
He releases a breath. He loved to stare in silence at me. In person, it was bad enough. Over the phone it’s unreal.
“I’m having a little girl,” I sniffle. “I’m carrying Sloane’s daughter. Can I talk to him? Please. I just want him to know.”
A huff and a soft laugh, before the line goes dead.
Sloane
We’re partying and I’ve drank half of a fifth of scotch, but it doesn’t take away thoughts of Georgie. Her heartbreak that final day slays me. After months away from her, I detest the fear that stopped me from standing up for her. Fear of her age. Fear of love.
I’ve fucked my way through the European tour, but it doesn’t help. Now, I’m in Adam’s room. I beckon the pretty blonde with the green eyes, tattooed back, and willing mouth. We sixty-nine each other for hours. She makes me come twice before Adam begins to fuck another girl doggy-style. Quint drops a third girl down, who promptly turns on her hands and knees. Adam’s fuck buddy scoots forward, burying her face in the pussy of Quint’s fuck buddy. Quint looms in front of his partner and shoves his dick into her mouth. I pull the blonde to the group and complete the train. I’m the only one on my knees, facing everyone.
This is what my life has become again. I saved Georgie once, but now I’m backtracking into my old lifestyle. I’ve been miserable without her. The temptation to do drugs again lures me, but I don’t. Eventually, it’ll get back to her. I believe—hope—that she expects better from me. The father of her baby. The one who will be born any day. I don’t even know if she’s having a boy or a girl. As long as they’re both safe, I don’t care.
Grunting, I bury my hands in the woman’s hair. And still I wonder about Georgie. How will I live the rest of my life without touching her again?
The thought tortures me.
I’m on the verge of coming when there’s a commotion, and the door bursts open. Cops stream in, guns drawn. The women squeal while we all scramble, attempting to follow their orders.
A flashlight glares in my eyes. “Sloane Mason, you’re under arrest for the rape of Georgiana McCall.”
“What?” I snarl. That bitch, Helen, swore she’d leave me in peace.
“We’ll get Jaeger,” Maitland swears, paling.
The girls are wide-eyed and frightened.
“This is fucking ridiculous. I’m suing your asses for defamation of character, bringing me in on false charges.”
One dickhead pats me down, even though I’m fucking naked.
“False charges?” an officer sneers, yanking me to my feet and cuffing me. “It was her who reported it.”
Her? “Georgie?” I push out, for clarification.
“Georgiana McCall, yes.”
A pair of pants are thrown my way. They aren’t even my pants, but I’m made to wear them anyway. The hallway is lined with official fuckheads, glaring at me. The elevator is waiting for us. Once we board, it seems to take forever to reach the first floor. When the doors open, a crowd roars around me and flashbulbs nearly blind me. Suddenly, an army of security is shielding me from supporters and protesters alike. I have no idea when the story broke, but it’s already big.