On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,110
dragged through the muck,” he says.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
“Fine. I care, too. But it’s the best thing. That little girl. Your little girl.”
For a moment, he just sits there. Then he scrubs his face with his hands and stands. “I want to do right by her,” he says. “I don’t want to be the father I had, and I don’t want her lost in scandal. But the truth is I don’t think I can stop that movie no matter what I do. I wish I could, and god knows I’ve tried, but I can’t even file a defamation action. The things they want to say are true.”
“It will be horrible.”
He nods, looking miserable. “But if you have people around you who love you, it’s bearable.”
“Is it?”
“Look at Nikki and Damien.”
I frown, but have to concede the point. They’ve survived all sorts of shit. I rise, then go to him. “So what do you want to do now?” I lean in close, my body thrumming with the beat of his heart.
“I’m going to see Ronnie. I want my attorney to set a court date. I want my daughter, Sylvia. And I want to bring her home.”
He bends his head and kisses the top of my head. “I’m hiring Evelyn and however many PR people she thinks I need. If the movie gets made, we’ll deal with it. But as soon as there’s even the slightest hint that it’s been green-lit, I want to get in front of it. Minimal focus on Ronnie. And whatever we have to do to keep the sensationalism down. This is her life, not a circus. And I’ll pay whatever it takes to keep it from spinning out of control.”
I nod my head, my eyes closed. I know that he wants all those things, and I understand now how deeply he feels about Ronnie—about being a dad—and I’m just a little bit in awe about how much he’s put her first. About how he’s preparing for the worst, essentially building a little citadel of paternal protection around the child.
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow,” he says. “I talked to Damien. He’s letting me have the use of one of the jets.”
“Oh.” I feel guilty for feeling sad, but we’ve only just gotten back together, and already he’s leaving. “Well, I think that’s great,” I say brightly. “How long will you be gone?”
“Just a few days. I’ll have to go back once the hearing is set, but in the meantime, Ronnie can come here with me. I should probably see about renting a house. I don’t suppose the boat is particularly childproofed.”
“I can look for you,” I say. “I don’t mind.”
He frowns at me, and my stomach twists. I want to be involved, and if he’s uncomfortable with me helping him look for a rental, how comfortable will he be with me in Ronnie’s life?
“Won’t that be hard?” he says.
I cock my head. “Um, why?”
“Long distance, I mean. From Santa Fe.” His brow furrows. “You’re going with me, aren’t you? For the weekend at least. And Monday if you can work from the road.”
The relief that sweeps over me is warm and sweet.
“Sylvia?” He brushes my cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“Sorry.” I wipe away a tear. “I’m just—I guess I hadn’t thought that you’d want me there.”
He pulls me close and holds me tight. “Sweetheart, I will always want you. More than that, I need you.”
twenty-seven
Jackson stood in the jet’s open doorway before descending the stairs. Above them, the sky burned as blue and bright as a sapphire, contrasting the browns and greens and reds of the mountains that rose in peaks and crags around them.
On the ground, the black tarmac spread out around the plane, like a smooth blanket covering this valley. He glanced around, but didn’t see a car, and both fear and disappointment cut into him.
“Are they here?” Behind him, Sylvia put her hand gently on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “No. Nobody.”
“Maybe the timing didn’t work out.” Sylvia moved into the doorway with him, her hand finding his and their fingers twining together. “Herding kids can be tricky, and Betty’s older. She could have easily gotten waylaid.”
He’d called Betty, Ronnie’s great-grandmother, before they left LA and suggested that she come meet the plane at the Santa Fe airport. Jackson had always flown into Santa Fe on commercial planes before, and he thought Ronnie might get a kick out of touring the private jet and maybe even sitting in the co pilot’s seat.
He hoped Sylvia was right