Page 2 of Not the Bodyguard's Baby
“I’m not married. Adam works at Hastings Security, downtown.” September pulled Adam’s card from her wallet.
The social worker read the card before answering. “When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Adam?”
Over a year, but she couldn’t tell her that, so she shrugged. “A while ago.”
“Are you sure he will take care of your child?”
“I haven’t been too sure of anything these past few hours. Other than that I needed to get help and make sure Harmony was in the safest place I could find. No place is safer than with Adam.” September blew her nose and tucked the used tissue in her pocket. She didn’t need some half-crazed fan trying to sell it online. But with no makeup and her hair in a messy bun, she was sure no one would recognize her, especially with the baby weight she now carried. Her manager would be furious if she knew where September was. Shyla Manning would find a suitable facility in some discreet location, far from prying eyes, but her ob-gyn had been clear during their visit yesterday. Sometimes new mothers needed in-house help to deal with postpartum depression, or PPD. For some, it was a matter of either getting help or becoming a tragic news story. After the few insane moments she’d experienced early this morning, she’d held on to enough clarity to follow the doctor’s orders, knowing something was very wrong with her.
“I’ve heard of Hastings Security. They are bodyguards to some of Chicago’s most elite. But they aren’t babysitters.” The social worker took the seat next to September.
“I’ve known them most of my life. Mrs. Hastings loves children. She’ll help Adam.” She wiped her eyes again, glad she hadn’t worn makeup for days. The dripping-mascara look was never as glamorous as on screen when overseen by a makeup artist.
“Ms. Platt, I am confused. The card you handed me says ‘Mr. Adam.’ You keep calling him Adam.”
“His real name is Adam Hastings. With four brothers working for their father, it gets confusing, so they go by their first names. Mr. Adam, Mr. Alan, Mr. Alex, and Mr. Andrew. Only their sister Abbie used their last name.” Why were random facts like these so clear when ten minutes ago she couldn’t tell the intake nurse her last meal? If her mom were still alive, she would have been as kind as Melanie Hastings. Adam’s mother was the type September wished she could be. Mrs. Hastings would be the perfect surrogate grandmother for Harmony, and she would teach Adam what to do. The thought of Melanie, even more than Adam, had been what prompted her to turn off the car inside the locked garage of her suburban Chicago house and not take her life and the life of her newborn. If Mrs. Hastings could raise her own five children, September could at least be strong enough to call her ob-gyn and admit things were well past spinning out of control.
The social worker tapped the business card on the desk. “I will call in a welfare check on the baby while they finish admitting you. We want both you and your daughter to be safe.”
Did the police do the welfare checks? September didn’t dare ask out loud. Jethro Hastings would not be happy to have the police snooping around his office. Had she done the right thing? Wouldn’t it have been easier to let the car keep running until she never needed to cry again?
September took another tissue from the box and wiped away the tears as she signed yet another form.
2
“Abbie,stop laughing or I’ll end the video call.” Adam used a second baby wipe to try to clean the white ooze from the front of his suit coat. His sister covered her mouth but kept laughing. “I need help, and with Mom out of town, I don’t know where else to turn. September left her baby here, and I’m clueless.”
“Why not call September’s manager or Child Services?”
How could he explain? Most of the music star’s life consisted of an illusion created by her manager. If September hadn’t left the baby with Shyla, he would respect that. The existence of the baby was evidence enough to call in to doubt the “official” story that September had checked into rehab six months ago. The baby looked healthy—a fact he would double-check later. He’d assumed an addict’s baby would be scrawny. “Because September left her with me, and I have to think she had a reason.” Or maybe he just hoped she did. The vague note needed clarification. What did she mean by a “bad place?” After all those years of avoiding the dark side of stardom, had she succumbed to one of the many men who’d dated her with less-than-honorable motives? A rebound relationship to replace him? September wasn’t the first woman he had fallen hard for in his thirty-five years. But she’d been the last. No matter how unsuitable their relationship had been, he wished for a do-over.
“How am I supposed to help you?” Abbie twisted the end of her ponytail.
“You are going to be a mom in five months. You should know this stuff. How do I change a diaper?” Information he needed now.
Abbie frowned. “Wow, that sounded almost as sexist as those guys who didn’t believe I could be a bodyguard.”
Adam groaned and reached for another baby wipe. Offending his four-month-pregnant sister was not a good move, even if she couldn’t take him down in a sparring match at the moment. “Abs, that isn’t what I meant. You have been reading books and hanging out with your friend and her baby and even interviewing some helpers for after the triplets are born.”
“Yes, but I have been reading about dealing with triplets, and the help I have been interviewing is because I’m not an octopus. I can’t hold three bottles at once, and even with both of our mothers’ help... but that is my problem. You’ve been around children before. Haven’t you helped with the Crawford’s detail since Joy was born?”
“I’ve spent almost as much time as Alex has on the Crawford’s security, but that doesn’t mean I know how to change a diaper. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone change a diaper since Mom changed Andrew’s over twenty-five years ago.”
“There has to be someone in the office who can help. Marco is a father—oh, but he is out this week for Valentine’s Day, isn’t he? Elle has lots of nieces and nephews. Isn’t she working today?”
“Elle’s job doesn’t include babysitting, and I’m not crossing Dad to ask her. It’s my problem to solve.” Avoiding the inevitable follow-up conversation with his dad sat at the top of his to-do list, right after the diaper. Adam hadn’t ever told his father, or anyone else, the complete story of why he’d quit the job overseeing September’s music-tour security, allowing a competing firm to pick up the lucrative project.
Abbie crossed her arms. “She is a baby, not a problem.”
“But she isn’t my baby, and that is a problem.”
“Changing a diaper isn’t difficult. Make sure you have a clean diaper ready. Put her on a changing pad if you can find one. It may be the same material as the diaper bag but white and waterproof on one side. Wipe front to back, and don’t let her fall. In fact, you may want to change her on the floor so you don’t have to worry about that. How old is she?”
“According to the note, about six weeks. But who knows?”
Abbie leaned closer to her camera. “You told me you crossed the line with September when you warned me about my last job and getting too emotionally involved with Preston. What exactly did you mean by ‘crossing the line’?”
Falling in love.And not that Abbie had listened to him. His sister had ignored his advice and married her client anyway. At least she got a happy ending.
