Creation of a Deviant

Ash stared in absolute shock at the paper the young woman handed him. Sure enough, right there in black-and-white, were results of a DNA test proving she was the great-granddaughter of Daniel and Leana Crosswhite, his maternal grandparents. Even though he doubted his grandparents would allow themselves to be a part of a practical joke of this magnitude when they knew it would only leave him heartbroken when he found out, he couldn’t help his skepticism. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried claiming a genetic link due to his fame, although it was normally the mother of a baby or otherwise young child.

He sighed and ran a hand down the length of his face as he slid the sheet of paper back across the table to her. Never in any of his wildest dreams had he ever thought to find out at the age of thirty that he had a child, much less one a mere five, almost six years his junior. Then again, he figured no one on the planet ever suspected to be blindsided with something like that.

“I hope you realize that, while I highly doubt Grama and Grampa would partake in a practical joke of this magnitude, I’m still a bit skeptical,” he said.

“I figured you’d say that,” Sloane admitted. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time your paternity w-as in question.”

“Not since I moved to LA when I was eighteen myself,” the bassist told her. “Although I gotta say, it’s usually by some slut claiming I’m the father of her child.”

“Well, at any rate, I’m willing to go through another DNA test, this time directly with you, if that’s what you want,” she said. “I want nothing to do with my birth mother, now that I know why she’s been in jail since the early-nineties, but…”

“You don’t wanna pass up a chance to get to know your father if you have it, right?” Ash asked.

“Not if I can help it. I’ve been a literal outcast my entire life; whether with a blood relative or potential future husband, I wanna feel a special bond with someone…I wanna feel truly loved.”

“Weren’t your adoptive parents loving? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

“They were both full-blooded Cherokee.” Sloane sighed heavily. “My adoptive father was an abusive man to begin with, but he always hated how my bright green eyes made me stand out amongst the other Cherokee.”

“The bastard!” He couldn’t help but clench his jaw and fists in pure rage.

“Well, you don’t seem too fond of them yourself.”

“I’m not an abusive ass. Besides, I have my own, completely different, reasons for hating bright green eyes like yours.”

Confused, the young woman cocked a brow at him.

“Whether you’re actually my daughter or not, you inherited your mother’s eyes. Seeing bright green eyes like yours always reminds me of your mother…and what she did to me.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t wanna.” The young woman moved to sit beside him.

“Thanks. I’ve never really talked to anyone, not even my grandparents, about what happened.” Ash sighed heavily, resting his head in his hands. “I only recently told my closest friends the basics because I apparently dropped a few more or less obvious hints about it while I was drunk.”

“I’m not surprised by that. Alcohol lowers one’s inhibitions, after all, and doing or saying odd things while drunk are common, too.”

For a couple hours after that point, the pair continued chatting and getting to know one another. They’d already decided by mutual agreement that, first thing in the morning, they’d see about getting another DNA test done. It wasn’t like any labs that could perform such tests would be open before then, and rock star or average Joe, there were some things even the bassist had to wait for.

When he found out his possible daughter was sleeping in her car because she’d driven out here from Missouri, he refused to let her leave. Even if it turned out that the original test was wrong and they weren’t related in the least, he was raised better than that. There was no way Ash would be able to forgive himself if he let her leave to sleep in her car, only to find out later on something bad had happened to her. And all deities forbid that should happen and he later be proven to be her biological father…he’d definitely never forgive himself.

Seeing his point and not wanting to stumble into trouble, Sloane finally agreed to spend the night. The only other clothes she had was a shirt and a pair of jeans she’d worn her entire trip until she stopped at a truckstop to shower and change shortly before finding him. As far as he was concerned, loaning her some clothes and washing what she wore overnight, not to mention giving her a safe, comfortable place to sleep was the least he could do.

After giving the young woman an old T-shirt and sweats, the bassist went to make sure the apartment was locked up for the night while she changed. He normally slept nude, the only exception being during a tour when he slept in his boxers, so he could strip once she was settled. Then again, he didn’t have time to strip and change into a robe before she emerged from the half-bath, his clothes a bit loose on her slightly smaller frame. For once, he wasn’t turned on by the sight of a woman wearing his clothes, but he had a feeling that was due to the possibility that this one was his daughter.

“Night, Sloane,” Ash said, giving her a gentle hug before they parted ways.

“Night…” the young woman responded, clearly unsure of what to call him.

“Just call me Ash for now,” he told her. “Once we know for sure, we’ll figure out if you’ll call me Dad, Daddy, or anything like that.”

“I guess that sounds like a plan to me,” Sloane agreed, grinning as she gave him another hug.

“In the meantime, I say we both get some sleep. Once we get definitive results and feel comfortable, we’ll tell close friends and family,” the bassist said.

“What about the public?” She seemed genuinely concerned about that. “You’re a rock star, after all.”

“We’ll cross the bridge when we get to it.” He tightened the embrace he gave her. “I’m usually good at thinking on my feet, but for something like this…”

“I guess it’d be a real PR nightmare to release a cover story, then the truth later on.”

“It would, not that I want the truth to ever reach the public.”

Sloane’s face fell as a wave of sadness washed over her.

“Sloane, look at me.” Ash forced her to look him in the eye. “If I really am your dad, it’s not because I’m ashamed of you, or ever will be.”

The young woman merely stared at the expressive chocolate pools that were his eyes.

“If I am, then the reason you were even conceived…it’s too personal to me. Only your mother, my grandparents, the cops, and I are the ones who know what happened…unless you’ve already read the police reports.”

“I haven’t. I’d rather hear it from you, but I understand if you never wanna talk about it.”

Ash smiled as they parted again. “Maybe not immediately, and definitely not without my best friends there, at the very least.”

“I can live with that, Ash. I mean, if this test is right and you really are my dad, I’m getting a chance I wasn’t sure I’d ever get, and I’m not gonna intentionally fuck it up,” the young woman swore to him.

With another smile and hug, the pair headed into the master and guest bedrooms so they could head off to bed for the night. In all honesty, the bassist hoped this wasn’t just a cruel practical joke Sloane and his grandparents were playing on him, that she really was his daughter. Granted, while he might have a few protective instincts toward her, if she was, he had a feeling he’d always feel more like her older brother.

But even if they always had more of a sibling relationship than that of a father and daughter, it’d still make him just as happy simply because he got a chance to get to know her.

* * *

Early the next morning, the pair were biding their time in the waiting room of LabCorp in the business district of Downtown LA. They’d brought every shred of evidence Sloane had been able to dig up with them to help explain why two people so close in age would want a paternity test done on them. It wasn’t something that was done every day, after all, and they felt any paperwork they could bring with them would help avoid pulling a stint in the looney bin.

It took a while for someone to emerge from the back and call his name, and by that point, Ash was as nervous as the first time he’d ever gone on stage. This was just as big a life-changing event for him, so it was no wonder his mouth was drier than the Sahara and his heart was thundering against his ribs. It was also no wonder he felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack, something that hadn’t happened to him in ages, as they followed the almost formally-dressed woman down the hall to her office. Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who was nervous, as Sloane seemed to be just as nervous, though hiding it better, which helped him calm down a bit.

“To start off, my name is Camryn Santiago,” the woman said once they were all seated in her office.

“Ashley Purdy,” he responded, taking note of how she grimaced when he held out his hand.

“Sloane St. James,” the young woman at his side supplied as she did the same.

“So what brings the two of you in today?” Camryn asked curiously.

“It was always painfully obvious to me that I was adopted, so when I turned eighteen, I started my search for my birth parents,” the younger woman began. “It took years of going through legal paperwork, but I finally found my mother…in a Missouri jail cell.”

“Really, now?” the other woman asked, now intrigued.

“Yes, ma’am. She put me up for adoption both because she was only fifteen, and to hide the identity of my birth father.”

“And I’m assuming you think you found him, or you wouldn’t be here now. But where does Mr. Purdy come into all this?”

“Apparently, according to old diaries of her mother’s, she suspects I’m her father,” the bassist spoke up.

“You don’t look much older than her, Mr. Purdy,” she said.

“That’s precocious puberty for ya,” Sloane told her. “I was diagnosed with it at the age of five, and apparently it’s hereditary.”

“Her mother’s incarcerated for raping and otherwise sexually abusing me between the ages of four and nine,” Ash admitted quietly. “I just barely remember a period between July and December of ’89 that her mother refused to babysit me, citing illness or something.”

“When is your birthdate, Ms. St. James?” Carmyn asked curiously.

“December eighth, 1989,” she answered.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was pregnant and showing, Mr. Purdy.”

“Looking back on it, you’re probably right. Still, even her pregnancy wouldn’t have given away what she was doing to me after my parents left,” the bassist said thoughtfully.

“And while that’s certainly true, take it from a mother of three…the more her pregnancy progressed, the less she likely felt like chasing after a young child for any reason.”

“You’re right…I didn’t think about it like that.”

“So all in all, it’s definitely possible that Ash is my father, even though he’s not much older than me,” Sloane concluded.

“Well, let’s head to the exam room, and my lab tech will collect the samples they need,” Camryn told them.

Nodding their assent, the possible father and daughter rose at the same time as the case worker, of sorts. Ash made it to the door first, which he held open for the ladies like the gentleman he’d been raised to be, since he was sitting the closest to it. Once they were in the hall, he pulled the door shut behind himself before he and the younger woman followed the other one.

In the exam room, Sloane settled herself on the exam table while he leaned against the wall next to it, legs crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his chest. While apparently shooting off a text, the older woman took a seat on a stool across from them. She looked up at them and made it clear that, because they also did evidence processing for the LAPD, it could take anywhere from a week to six for their test results to be ready. That was even including the time it took to create the DNA profiles from the samples collected by the tech, who should be there momentarily.

Just as expected, a knock at the door followed as soon as Camryn closed her mouth. The door opened to reveal a lab tech pushing a rolling car with all the supplies he’d need for the sample collection. Ash was more than a bit relieved to find out that the only thing he’d have to collect would be a saliva sample. He knew he wouldn’t be able to jerk off in front of others, nor did he think Sloane would be comfortable giving a vaginal swab.

After ripping open the sterile packaging of a long, one-ended Q-tip, the tech approached the younger woman and asked her to open her mouth. She was perfectly happy to comply, not even flinching when he gently swabbed the interior of her cheek. Once he’d collected the sample, sealed it in a sterile tube, and written her name on it, he ripped open another one of those Q-tips. When he turned toward the bassist, he already had his mouth open. The tech gave him a small smile of than-ks as he repeated the process, and he figured he didn’t get that very often. But it was an inconsequential observation; what the bassist really cared about was finding out if he was a father or not.

Notes