Lost, p.1
Lost, page 1
Lost
Renée Shantel
Copyright © 2023 Renée Shantel
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Print ISBN: 978-1-958673-50-8
Cover design by:
Perrin of The Author Buddy &
Rachel Christley of Christley Creatives
www.theauthorbuddy.com
Published by Silver Shell Publishing
www.silvershellpublishing.com
For the little girl who started out writing fanfiction
and the readers who encouraged her.
CHAPTER ONE
It had to be a mistake.
Zack couldn’t even remember her, this woman he’d supposedly slept with. Samantha Maverick wasn’t a name that he recognised, and he made a point of trying to remember the names of all the women he’d taken to bed over the years. The first he’d heard of this one had been a week and a half ago, when his lawyer had called him requesting a DNA sample so she could prove beyond all reasonable doubt that he had not fathered the woman’s child. It was an idea he and the guys had laughed about that same night, right before he’d pushed the matter to the back of his mind and promptly forgotten. Nothing ever came of these accusations, and this one would be no different.
But the test had come back positive.
Zack slipped the phone back into his pocket automatically, his body numb with the news. Positive? How could this have happened? Disbelief laced his every thought, but he knew Maria would never have delivered the life-altering news unless she was absolutely certain. She would have looked at this from every angle until she’d exhausted all options. There wouldn’t be a single doubt left in her mind.
He had a son.
The boy was fifteen years old and had just lost his mother. According to Maria, the kid’s maternal grandparents were dead, he had no uncles or aunts, and there was no step-father or other legal guardian in the picture. He had named Zachary Bennett as his father, and hadn’t baulked at all when threatened with a DNA test. He’d known what the results would be.
And now that it was proven it was expected the boy would be coming to live with him. Zack blew a deep breath out through his nose. He’d been given two days to prepare himself for the boy’s arrival. Two days to prepare himself to be a father.
If the unopened bottle of whiskey in the kitchen hadn’t been inviting before, it certainly was now.
Zack’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He knew there were people who became parents as teenagers and adapted to their new roles, but at thirty-three he still wasn’t ready — and he definitely didn’t appreciate being thrown into the deep end. And fifteen?! He’d felt a stab of anger when he’d heard that, when he’d learned Samantha Maverick had kept the existence of the boy from him for that long, but maybe being blissfully ignorant had been better. Anything had to be better than this.
Two rooms away, his friends were oblivious to the complicated mess his life had just become. Their conversation went on, undisturbed by anything but the occasional clink of glass as somebody set their beer down on the marble island counter. Zack hated the thought of shattering that peaceful atmosphere. But what choice did he have? With only two days to prepare for the arrival of his son, he was going to need all the help he could get.
He made his way back into the kitchen.
Aaron was the first to notice his re-entrance. The young drummer smiled a welcome, but his easy expression slipped when he saw the look on Zack’s face. His dark brow furrowed, blue eyes filling with concern. The rest of the band swiveled their heads to follow his gaze, Chris still with a beer raised to his lips.
Zack eyed the whiskey across the kitchen. He made for it immediately, strolling past all four of his friends and their questioning chorus of “Zack?”, and cracked it open before anybody had a chance to stop him.
Pat got to his feet immediately, six-foot-three of undiluted worry. He crossed the kitchen in three long strides to reach Zack’s side and grab for the bottle. Zack had already swallowed several mouthfuls of whiskey by the time the singer managed to take it from him.
“Sit,” he ordered. He left no room for protest.
Zack sat, absently running a hand through his mess of dark hair. Pat watched him for several moments before he returned to his own seat, the bottle now a safe distance away, the lid back on securely.
On his other side, Brendan had one eyebrow raised. He was the only one of their group not drinking alcohol, opting instead for a glass of iced water that was sweating rings onto the counter. He was absently tracing circles through them with his middle finger.
“You okay, man?” He eyed Zack warily. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Worse, Zack wanted to say. He would have preferred seeing the ghost of his dragon-lady grandmother brandishing her rolling pin over this.
“You guys remember that call I got from Maria last week?” he asked. His throat was dry. “About the woman who said her kid was mine?”
There were nods from all around. The incident hadn’t been all that memorable — just another accusation to add to the always-growing list — but it was recent enough that Zack didn’t need to go into more detail. Brendan swallowed a mouthful of his water, looking like he knew exactly where this conversation was going. It was a look that Pat shared as he met the guitarist’s eyes, though neither man made to interrupt. Chris and Aaron both waited expectantly.
“Turns out it wasn’t just some chick looking for money. It’s the real deal.”
Chris sucked in a sharp breath and choked on the sip of beer he’d just taken. Aaron’s eyes grew wider than Zack had ever seen them, in an almost child-like way, and he had to remind himself that this sort of thing was new to the twenty-seven-year-old. In his four years with the band, he had been lucky enough to escape having to deal with these sorts of things. For his sake, Zack hoped he never got an accusation. What a nightmare.
Pat’s head was bowed as he rubbed at his temples, elbows planted firmly on the counter. Brendan ran a hand through his shaggy hair in much the same fashion as Zack, leaving it somehow more messed up than it already had been.
He gave Zack a long, calculating look. “Are you sure about this, man? She could be a convincing liar with connections.”
The thought had crossed Zack’s mind. It was one of the first concerns he’d voiced to Maria. She’d been a friend to his family for a long time, and his first choice as a lawyer when he had come to need one. He trusted her as much as he trusted the men sitting in front of him. If she said it was ironclad, he believed her.
“Maria’s positive,” Zack said. “Said she’s checked it out, they’ve run the tests. It’s legit.”
Chis let out a low whistle. Yeah, that about sums it up.
“So what does she want?” Chris asked. “Fame and fortune? You gonna pay her off?”
Zack was shaking his head before Chris finished asking. That had always been the joke they’d made together: that they would pay these women to go away. He could have handled giving a desperate woman her fifteen minutes of fame. He could even handle having to pay off all that missed child support, since the boy was really his. But this? This was something he was not prepared for.
“She’s dead,” he told his friends. Was it the words that tasted bitter on his tongue, or was that the aftertaste of the whiskey? “About two weeks now.”
Silence, much heavier than before. He rose again, heading back to the bottle while his friends processed what he’d told them. He twisted off the cap as he examined their faces. Pat and Brendan shared hard looks, a silent conversation darting between them. Chris looked sympathetic. Aaron couldn’t hide his confusion.
“So...what’s that mean?” the young drummer asked, looking between the rest of them. “Does that mean...?”
“He just inherited a kid.” This explanation from Pat, closely followed by, “Jesus Christ.”
Zack raised the bottle before taking another deep drink from it.
Two days. He had two days to prepare for the boy’s arrival. Nowhere near enough time to prepare for being a parent. Even thinking the word made him grimace.
What could he even do to prepare? It wasn’t like he could follow a New Child Checklist and put together a nursery and supplies. He had a guest room already equipped with furniture the kid could use and, at fifteen, he was sure the boy already had a heap of clothes and personal belongings he would be bringing along. Was he supposed to put locks on the liquor cabinets? Put his cigarettes somewhere the teen wouldn’t be able to reach them? He set the whiskey bottle down and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“A fifteen-year-old boy.” He ran another hand through his hair. “He gets here in two days. That’s all I know right now.”
“Two days?!” Chris practically choked on the words.
“Fifteen?” Brendan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve had a kid for fifteen years and you’re only just finding out?”
Zack nodded. There would be time to unpack that particular can of worms later. For now, he needed to focus on the boy that would be moving into his space. A boy he’d never met, who probably already resented him for being absent, who was only coming because neither of them had any other choice.
He couldn t do this.
He couldn’t do this.
Most of the colour had drained from Aaron’s face. Chris watched the rest of them with interest, though didn’t contribute to the conversation. Zack didn’t blame him — neither of them were ready for children. That was always a conversation best left to Pat, who was trying, and Brendan, who already had an eight-month-old daughter. That was the way they liked it. That was the way it was meant to stay, at least for the next few years.
Zack’s stomach roiled; his head spun. He was going to be sick.
“Just relax,” Pat said. Easy for him to say. His life hadn’t been flipped upside down. “The kid’s fifteen — he’ll practically take care of himself. All you really need to do is keep a roof over his head and make sure there’s food in the house. Anything else, you figure out along the way.”
Zack could only hope.
Somebody presented him with a beer, and he cracked it open without a second thought. He would need it, he reasoned. Telling his friends had only been the first step — there were still his parents and his wife who needed to be told. Georgia was going to be the hardest to deal with. How many times had she begged him to start a family with her? How many times had he declined?
And what would the kid be like? If he was anything like Zack had been at fifteen, there was going to be trouble. How many times had he come home bruised from fighting? How often had he snuck out to drink himself stupid and smoke whatever he could get his hands on? His mother had always said karma would come back to bite him once he had children of his own, but he’d never actually believed her.
“I oughta head off.” Chris slapped Zack on the back as he stood. “Good luck, man. You know where I am if you need anything.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Zack simply nodded.
He opted to clean up while Chris made his exit. He’d never minded the mess of empty bottles and cans before, but now he couldn’t help but think on how it must have made him look. Brendan’s house was always spotless — nothing less than perfect for his little Melody. Would that be expected of Zack, too? Would somebody be coming to check his house to make sure it was a suitable environment for the boy? His kid.
He cleared away the bottles faster.
He heard Pat say something to Brendan and Aaron, and within seconds the pair were saying their farewells to Zack, Aaron scrambling for the door while Brendan wished him luck and reminded him that they would be there whenever he needed them. He nodded his thanks and watched them go, leaving him alone with his oldest friend. His back was to the man as he dumped several bottles into the trash, but he could feel Pat’s eyes on him.
“Sit,” Pat instructed again.
Zack didn’t have the energy to protest.
His hands went back to his dark hair, making fists. Breathe. Just breathe. It was a joke, he decided. It had to be. He had never heard of Samantha Maverick, and there was no way in hell he could have a fifteen-year-old son without having known. This was some sick, twisted prank that somebody was pulling, and Maria was obviously in on it. He swallowed. If that were the case, he’d fire her so fast—
“We’ll call Maria,” Pat said, the voice of reason cutting through Zack’s thoughts, “and get all the information you’ll need. I’ll help you get things sorted.”
He didn’t want to get things sorted. He wanted to pinch himself and wake up. Pat went on to say something more, but Zack couldn’t focus on the words. He took several deep breaths to steady himself, to calm the swirl of emotions in his chest. He pushed them aside one at a time — disbelief, anger, utter helplessness. He needed to think. He couldn't think.
If this was a joke, it would come undone eventually. He could let it play out until then. If it was real, he couldn’t even yell at Samantha Maverick for having kept this from him. She was dead, and that was that. There was nobody to confront. There was nobody to blame for this mess.
Nobody but himself.
Pat had made his way across the room and was already on the phone, presumably to Maria. Zack was silent as the older man spoke, using the time to consider his next move. Calling his mother was probably a good first step. But how was he going to tell her he was suddenly a father? Surprise, Mom! You always said you wanted more grandkids! He could only imagine what she was going to think of him. Disappointment, for sure — because he should have known.
The sound of the front door opening was like ice water on his back.
His wife was smiling when she stepped through, shopping bags in hand, and Zack hated knowing he was about to ruin her perfect day. She dropped her keys on the table by the door and stepped into the kitchen, where she deposited her bags on the floor before swooping down and pecking her husband on the cheek and saying a quick, “Hi, love.” She gave Pat a little wave; he responded with a respectful nod.
Still on the phone, he gave Zack a look that said it was now or never. Zack hated him for it, but Pat was right. Blonde curls bouncing, Georgia grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and an apple from the counter — a perfect picture of health. At least somebody in their house was doing something right. Zack didn’t want to think about his own pudge or the tattoos that covered it.
“Georgie?”
“Mm?”
Zack was used to nerves — got them often enough, living the lifestyle that he did — but this was something else entirely. This was a disaster waiting to happen. He bit down on his lower lip, searching for piercings long removed. Georgia recognised the habit at once.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
Why was this harder than getting up on stage in front of thousands of strangers? Georgia was his wife. She’d been by his side through everything, knew every horrible thing he’d done in his life and still married him. But unlike those strangers, she could judge him and it would matter. Hell, she could leave him for this. On the scale of things he’d done in his life to deserve to be hated, this was right up there. He didn’t want to hurt her, but there was no way around it if that was how she was going to feel. Whatever the consequences, he would have to deal with them. Take it like a man, Zack.
With a defeated sigh, he gestured for her to take a seat.
“You might wanna sit down. I have something important I need to tell you.”
CHAPTER TWO
It was mid-afternoon when the plane touched down at John Wayne Airport.
Mrs. Corte hadn’t said much on the trip, and that had suited Lysander fine. He’d spent the majority of the three-and-a-half hour journey staring out the window, ignoring the curly-haired brunette, taking in the bird’s eye view with little enthusiasm. California was nothing special. It looked like every other stretch of the country they’d flown over, just with the addition of the long stretch of ocean along its side. Big deal. He was already counting down the minutes until he’d be back on a plane and leaving again, headed back to Wisconsin.
He couldn’t wait to escape the company of the lawyer. For days she’d been acting like she was his best friend in the world — telling him how much he was going to like his new home, how excited everybody was to meet him, how much his new family were looking forward to his arrival. Like he was little orphan Annie heading off to live with Daddy Warbucks. He had taken to speaking to her only when absolutely necessary, and avoiding her like the plague the rest of the time. Where had this best friend persona been when he’d needed her last week? She’d treated him as a nuisance then. Like a squashed bug on the bottom of her expensive heels. Now she claimed to have his best interests at heart, but he already knew her better than that. The only person she cared about was her client.
Lysander’s forever-absent father.
It wasn’t Zachary Bennett’s fault he hadn’t been around. Lysander knew that. His mother had told him as much when she’d finally revealed the man’s name. It had been her choice to exclude the rockstar from their lives, and Lysander had respected that — at least for the most part. There had been a few occasions when he and Dakota had gone to one of Zachary’s band’s shows, his sister in the hopes of being able to finally meet her father — and the rest of the band that she so adored — but it had never happened.
