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The song ends and Isla jumps to her feet while clapping as hard as her little hands can. “You were awesome!”
“I wrote this song for your mom.”
My eyes widen. He wrote this song? Fender doesn’t write songs. He plays the bass and is all grumpy at press conferences.
Fender hands the microphone to Cash before approaching me. “Can we talk?”
“Talk to him, Mom,” Isla urges. “He loves you. He’s sorry.”
Fender holds out his hand and I place my hand in his. He pulls me to my feet and leads me to the back door.
“Watch, Isla,” Fender orders his bandmates as he draws me into the house.
“I’m sorry,” he blurts out the second the door closes behind us.
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m not going to make this easy for him. “Sorry about what?”
“Sorry, I jumped to conclusions. Sorry, I didn’t give you a chance to explain. Sorry, I was a jerk.”
“A jerk?”
“An asshole?”
“Getting closer.”
“An asshole jerk.”
I nod. “Good enough.”
He frames my face with his hands. “Do you forgive me?”
“I need an explanation. Why did finding those pregnancy tests flip a switch in your mind?”
He blows out a breath. “I told you about Vicki.”
And he compared me to her. I scowl.
“I know you aren’t her. I’m sorry I said you were.” He kisses my forehead. “You’ve asked about my mom.”
I nod. I have. And he has refused to tell me anything about her.
“She wasn’t very different from Vicki. She spent her life screwing around with famous men, hoping one of them would marry her. She never got married. The only thing she ended up with was me. A baby she resented since I didn’t bring her the man she wanted.”
I wrap my arms around his waist. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought I’d dealt with it, accepted it, but those pregnancy tests brought it all back.”
I can only imagine. At least my parents pretended to love me until I got pregnant. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle telling you better.”
He growls. “Don’t you dare apologize. I was the asshole. Not you.”
“I can’t disagree with you there.”
“Will you forgive me? I wasn’t lying in the song. I love you and I can’t live without you. You and Isla.”
“Forgive him, Mom,” Isla yells through the door.
Fender reaches behind me and opens it. My daughter rushes inside and joins our huddle.
