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So it’s one of the photographer’s assistants that’s got Violet in her arms when I approach. Holly isn’t paying her any attention, powdering her nose in a compact mirror.
“It’s about time, Reese,” she snaps without looking up. “You’re acting like we don’t have things to do.”
“It’s almost like this is stupid as fuck,” I mutter.
“Pardon?” Holly eyes me suspiciously. The only thing I give her in return is a deadpan stare of my own. Whatever she’s looking for, she doesn’t find it in my eyes. She smirks and takes my arm in hers, tugging me where the photographer will want us.
“Miss! The baby?—”
“I’ll hold her.”
I say it before Holly can make some snide bitch comment—or worse, dare to hold Violet herself. There’s nothing I want less than Violet and her mother having prolonged physical contact with each other. I’d rather take a full-on skate to the face before I let her bond in any way to my daughter.
As far as I’m concerned, Olivia’s her mother. That’s never gonna change.
Besides, my little girl has no desire to be held in Holly’s arms. She hides her face in my neck and her tiny fists ball up in my shirt. People like to downplay what children know. But I think Violet has the right idea.
Holly frazzles, but she’s good at recovering. A painted smile cracks along her face. “That’s fine. It looks good to have her father so involved with her.”
Yeah, well. It’s not like her mother has been.
The photoshoot is agony and drags on to two more locations before we’re done. There’s nothing more I want to do than faceplant beside Olivia, holding her tight against me while we watch some sing-song nonsense on TV.
“Alright, Mr. Dalton,” the photographer says as she’s packing away heaps of equipment into what looks like hundreds of different black cases. “I can get these edited back to you by the end of the week?—”
“Oh, send them to me,” Holly interjects. “I’ll know better which ones to pick. Woman’s mind and all.”
The photographer glances at me, as if asking for permission. I sigh and roll my eyes. “Do whatever you want, Holly.”
Hoisting Violet up onto my shoulders, I leave Holly behind with the photographer since she wants to take the reins on it so bad. In the meantime, I walk Violet over to the car with me and start to put her inside. It’s almost therapeutic, really. Getting to have this ritual uninterrupted. Violet helps ground me, just like Olivia did…
“I’d appreciate it if you put a little more effort into having a good time with me.”
I stiffen. Holly’s behind me. When I turn around, she has her arms folded over her chest.
“Sorry you decided to trap a hockey player, not an actor,” I snark back. “Gotta work on my line delivery, clearly.”
“I need you to do more than ‘work on it.’ I need it perfected. I didn’t go through all this trouble for there to be cracks in the image, you know. I worked hard to get here. Your bad attitude isn’t gonna fuck that up.”
“It’s just hard to pretend to be in love with a frigid, spiteful bitch.”
An ugly, deep scowl smears its way across Holly’s face. She goes to open her mouth to say some more shit I don’t wanna hear, but before she can, another voice calls over to me.
“Reese Dalton?”
I turn. It’s a young kid, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He seems surprised to see me out and about here. He’s the spitting image of what you’d picture as Dallas youth: cap turned backwards on his head, light-washed Wrangler jeans, and polished cowboy boots—and a Dallas Bulls jersey on, with my name and number printed on the back.
I give Holly a warning glance. The last thing I need is her fucking up an interaction with a fan. An impressionable young one, at that.
“Hey, kiddo.” I nod down at him, grinning.
“Whoa, it really is you! I’m used to seeing you with that Olivia girl, so, yeah.” He glances over at Holly and then quickly back to me. “Uh, can I?—”
“We’re together, you know.” Holly steps closer to me, getting into my personal space. “Reese and I.”
The kid looks at her like she’s got two heads before blinking and looking back at me. “Right… anyway, can I get an autograph? I really like you, dude. You’re my hero. I grew up in the same neighborhood you came from and everything.”
I smirk a little. “That so? Means you’re gonna do great shit one day, kid. I know it.”
