Take a Chance(79)

I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could tell from the deep sound of his voice he was worried and being bossy.

“I’m going to have to talk to them eventually,” she said.

“No, I haven’t . . . I know that . . . not your business . . . yes it will . . . just let me handle it . . . I know you are . . . I’ll call if I need you . . . promise . . . okay, love you, too. Bye.” She hung up the phone and let out a heavy sigh.

“I need some alone time to think. Do you mind if I take a bath and soak a little while?” she asked me.

I wanted to soak with her but I understood she wanted to deal with all this shit, and if I was with her we’d have tub sex.

“Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be right here if you get lonely,” I told her.

She grinned and pressed a kiss to my mouth. “Thank you.”

After this was over she would believe me when I told her I loved her. They wouldn’t be weak words. She would believe them because I would have shown her just how much I loved her. There would be no doubt in those big eyes that had hooked me the first time our gazes met.

I waited until the water was running and the bathroom door was firmly closed before I got up and went to look outside again. The crowd hadn’t waned any. It was still there, and so were the cops. This was bullshit. Why was a fucking rock star’s private life so damn important? My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket. It was Rush again.

“They’re still here,” I said.

“They will be until she talks to them. Not sure she needs to, though,” he said.

“Not going to let her.”

“You seen any of the news?” Rush’s tone bothered me. He knew something.

“No, why?”

“Stay away from it for right now. Give Harlow time.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“I’m keeping her from it.”

“You, too. Stay away from it. She needs you right now.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Call if you need me,” Rush said and hung up.

I walked over to the counter and grabbed the television remote and turned the volume on low. Rush was hiding something, and I wanted to know what the fuck it was. If I was going to keep Harlow safe, I needed to know what from.





Harlow


I dried off with a towel and walked into the bedroom to look for one of Grant’s T-shirts to wear. I didn’t have any clean clothes here. I was surprised he let me take that long a bath alone. I wouldn’t have minded him joining me after I got past the conversation I had with Mase.

He said I needed to tell Grant. They were showing pictures of me as a baby in Dad’s arms as he took me from the hospital all those years ago—when the miracle baby had lived. They were talking about how, when his wife was believed dead, he’d forgotten about the child, as did the world.

Pictures of me coming and going from his mansion in L.A. had also surfaced. People who went to school with me were being interviewed. I was now the world’s biggest sob story. My heart condition and my life were being broadcast to the world.

Grant would find out soon. I needed to tell him. I had congenital heart disease and should never have lived. I’d been defying every doctor’s prediction since I started walking at nine months old. My parents had been told I wouldn’t develop as quickly as other children my age.

The fact still remained that my heart was defective. Pregnancy would be impossible for me to handle. I took medication that I kept in my purse with me at all times. I didn’t drink alcohol. I ate healthily. I took care of myself. My grandmama had made sure to do everything she was told to do in order to keep me alive.

I took a deep breath. I had to tell Grant all this. I would be going to L.A. in two weeks to see my cardiologist and have a regular testing. He would tell me how I was, and I would hold my breath until I knew no surgery was needed at this time. I was defying the odds. I intended to keep doing that.

Opening the door, I stepped into the living room. Grant was sitting on the couch with the television remote in his hand as he stared straight ahead. I glanced in horror at the television, but it wasn’t on.

His blue eyes shifted to look at me, and I knew he had been watching it. The knowledge I had kept from him was there in his gaze. Hurt, betrayal, fear—it was all there.

“You know,” I said simply, and walked over to get my skirt, which was now folded and resting on top of a bar stool. I suddenly felt naked and exposed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Grant asked, with such raw emotion in his voice I felt like crumpling to the ground and sobbing at the unfairness of it all. I had wanted to be the one to tell him.

“I never tell anyone. I hate being looked at like a broken person who people are afraid to get close to,” I replied, unable to look at him.