Page 89 of To Believe In You
No. Because Matt himself had been blindsided.
Tim propped his elbow on the armrest and leaned his head against his hand, partially shading his eyes.
Matt drew the kind of breath he’d need at the top of a high dive and took the plunge. “It sounds like I probably have an eight-year-old kid somewhere.”
The news pushed Gannon back a step.
John palmed the back of his neck.
“I didn’t know it was a possibility until last week. We’re still trying to find Nadia for more information, but I wanted to be upfront about it.”
“An eight-year-old …” John lowered his hand, expression pained with what Matt hoped was sympathy. “How’d you find out?”
Matt restrained himself from looking to Tim. “Someone who knew us back then finally told me she was pregnant when she disappeared.”
“Me. I’msomeone.” Tim’s voice came out at a growl. “I paid her to go because you”—he jabbed a finger toward Gannon—“would’ve fired him over it.”
Gannon widened his stance.
Matt tensed his arms to keep from fidgeting. “If that’s still the case, now you know.”
The singer inhaled, chin lowered.
John braced his hands on the back of a chair. Though he turned his face away, Matt caught the worry there.
Gannon crossed his arms. He seemed to weigh his options of who to address first, then settled his attention on Matt. “The news must’ve thrown you for a loop. How are you coping?”
The singer’s stance remained unyielding, his voice gruff, but the words themselves? Understanding in a way Matt hadn’t expected.
“It’s been a rough week.”
“Did you relapse?”
“No.” And finally, all the little decisions that had maintained his sobriety seemed worthwhile.
Gannon gave a single nod. “Who are you talking to about all this?”
From the couch, Tim watched with an intensity that suggested he shared Gannon’s questions. Wait. Was concern for his sobriety the reason Tim had been shadowing him whenever possible and pelting him with questions the rest of the time?
“I went to an extra meeting, and I’ve been checking in with my sponsor each day since I found out.”
“Smart. Is there anything you need from us?”
“Ah.” He’d been primed for disappointment. But acceptance and support? He laughed. “Just a chance, I guess.”
Gannon crossed deeper into the space and picked up a guitar before tipping his head toward the waiting basses. “Pick your poison.”
“You still want to go through with this? You don’t have more questions?”
Gannon turned to John. “You have questions?”
John paused putting in his in-ear monitors to shake his head.
Gannon adjusted his mic. “We’re concerned about your sobriety. Otherwise, assuming what you told us hasn’t changed your mind about Awestruck, it hasn’t changed our minds about you.”
Tim hunched forward. “But it would’ve nine years ago.”
Gannon speared him with a sharp look. “Youmight want to lie low for a while.”
