I stop walking. "Tyree, a friend saw it on social media and contacted me. How is it that they knew, but I didn't?"
He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground. "We had a tail. A planned tail. Jon was hoping for a photo op."
I hate him. If I could take Paisley away and never have anything to do with Jonathan Spencer Maxwell again, I would. But he'll never let that happen.She'llnever let that happen.
But I will not let them have this control over my daughter again.
As we round the corner, I'm prepared to see my daughter in the worst possible way. Images of beeping monitors and tubes dance through my head. Relief floods me like a tsunami wave when I see my little blonde moppet sitting up in bed, a cast on her right leg and bandages on the left side of her face. She's talking to Maria, as she always does. Tears of gratitude fill my eyes.
"Momma!" Her voice is strong and clear.
"I'm here, baby." While I want to run and scoop her up, I move gingerly. I don't know what else is hurt. "Maria, what'd the doctor say?"
"She broke her right shin bone. No surgery, just casting."
"What happened to her face?" I whisper this, so Paisley doesn't hear me.
"Flying glass. They stitched her up. She did great. They said she's the bravest three-year-old they've ever had."
"Was it the plastic surgeon or just the regular doctor?"
"Plastic, of course. I wouldn't let anyone else touch her face." She touches my child's shoulder gently.
"Why didn't you call me?"
Maria glances at Paisley in my arms. I'm probably smushing her. Heck, I haven't seen her in over two weeks. I'd be smushing her even if we weren't in a hospital. "I needed to stay with Paisley. He's not in great shape. Mrs. Anastasia is with him. It's …" She breaks off, looking at Paisley. "He wasn't wearing a seatbelt. Paisley was in her car seat."
Thank you, National Transportation and Safety Board for regulating those damn things.
"The other driver …" Maria's voice drops as she shakes her head. "This is going to be a media circus."
"It already is. I had to go around to a side entrance."
"What are we going to do?" She looks at me, her brown eyes wide with concern.
Maria's often the go between as we hand off Paisley. "As soon as the doctors tell me it's okay for her to travel, I'm going to book the first flight back to LA I've got to get her seen by a plastic surgeon out there. I can't let this scar her."
"What about Mr. Jon?"
It's funny to hear him referred to like that. I only ever call him by his three names, as if I'm an adoring fan. I'm not, but despite our shared offspring, we're not at a comfort level where I could call him Jon so casually.
"When we're back in California, we'll all sit down and figure this out. I can't go sneaking around anymore. It's too much. Too hard."
Maria doesn't say anything, only nods slightly. Since she worked for Jonathan Spencer Maxwell and Anastasia Jerome first, I'm never quite sure if her loyalty is to them or me. I know she loves Paisley as much as she loves Nico. They're like her own children.
"It's going to blow up one of these days, and we need to be out in front of it," I justify, in case she sees me as a threat to their perfect Hollywood image.
I'm not a threat, and I'm not the only one who should pay for our transgressions.
Still cradling Paisley, who has drifted off to sleep, I fish my phone out of my coat pocket so I can call my travel agent. I text Angie an update, and after a moment, text Henderson as well.
She's ok. Broken leg, some cuts on her face. Going back to LA.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, thinking about the night we spent together. A pang hits my heart when I realize I probably won't see him again.
We have no reason to.
I guess the song was right. We didn't need tomorrow.
