“Daddy loves you,” I say through the tears streaming down my cheeks. “And Nick loves me.”
My mom grits her teeth. “Hewillleave you the instant you tell him about the baby.”
“No, he won’t.” I shake my head so fiercely, tears fling off my cheeks.
“Yes, he will. He’ll leave you, and you’ll be left raising a baby that every single time you look at her face, you’ll see his face reflecting back at you.”
“Nick would never do that to me; he loves me.” My tone is quickly switching from upset to angry.
“Your dad said he loved me too, and where did he go? He left! He left me! He left you! He left us!”
Her eyes widen as her hand clamps her mouth. I stand still, frozen in shock as everything she said replays on repeat in my head.Your dad left. Your dad left me. Your dad left us. My eyes burn from a sudden rush of moisture forming in them. Through quaking legs, I dart out of my room and run down the stairs, screaming my dad’s name.
My mom follows closely behind me, pleading for me to stop. She assures me that she didn’t mean what she said, and that she’ll explain everything once we’ve calmed down, but it’s too late, my dad is here now. He ran in from the garden so fast, he’s still wearing muddy gloves. My screams must have really panicked him.
“Is it true?” I angrily brush a stupid tear off my cheek. “Am I not your daughter?”
My dad’s face cracks as his eyes fill with tears. The grief on his face confirms what my mom just said. “You’llalwaysbe my daughter.”
When he moves toward me, I angrily shake my head, halting his steps. “You lied to me for years,” I whisper fiercely. “Both of you!”
My wild eyes bounce between the two people who are supposed to protect me from anyone trying to hurt me, yet they’re the ones hurting me the most. After dashing back into my room, I angrily yank a suitcase down from my closet. I grab everything my hands can hold and shove them inside my bag.
I need to leave. I can’t stay here. It hurts too much.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nick
My eyes rise from my hands when Cormack gestures for the band to enter the boardroom. When we enter, he introduces us to a lady I swear I’ve met before. Her name is Delilah Winterbottom, and she’ll be responsible for all public relation matters for the band. She’s a little snappy at Noah at the start of our meeting, but the rest of the band remains fairly unscathed. Her fierce daggers and vicious snarls have my thoughts returning to the run-in I had with Jenni’s mom this morning. I still can’t believe she wanted to pay me off. Who does shit like that anymore? We’re not in the 50s.
My focus returns to the meeting when Delilah informs Noah he can’t publicly declare he’s engaged because she wants the band to appear attainable to our fans. Noah is as shocked by her demand as I am. When he tells her he’s not hiding Emily away, I sit on the edge of my chair, primed to back him up. It’s taken me months to woo Jenni, so you can be assured now that I’ve fallen in love, there’s no chance in hell I’ll hide my relationship. I was hoping with Jenni’s approval that we could tell the band this weekend that we’re a couple.
“Noah.” Cormack’s gentle eyes urge him to calm down since he pretty much just told them to go fuck themselves. “We’re not saying you need to break up with Emily. We just can’t have the public knowing about your relationship.”
“This is bullshit,” I jump in, startling Cormack and Delilah.
Believing Noah is the only one in our group in a relationship, their attention was fixed on him.
They’re fucking wrong.
“We don’t make music so immature idiots can daydream about marrying us. We do it because we're fucking good at it.” I stand from my chair and splay my hands on the table. “You don’t get to pick who you love, so leave them alone.”
The veins in my neck bulge with every word I speak. I’m sick of people believing they have the right to tell people who they can and cannot love. I’ve dealt with it for months, and I’m fucking over it.
“This is not negotiable. You either agree to our terms, or the record deal is off the table!” Delilah rises from her chair and storms out of the office.
Cormack tries to calm the rocky waters by advising us that this type of agreement is nothing new in the music industry, and that it's a publicist’s job to let the public know only what they want them to know. I’m not fucking buying it. There are thousands of musicians in the world who are married, and they still sell millions of CDs every year.
“Fuck this shit! This is bullshit, Noah; you can’t let them do this,” I plead when he remains quiet, like he’s considering their request.
Noah’s dark eyes scan my face. I can tell the exact moment when realization dawns on him. He sinks into his chair as a blistering smile spreads across his face.
“Shut up, Noah, just shut the fuck up,” I demand, pissed at his arrogant smirk.
When his smirk grows, I storm out, kicking one of the boardroom chairs on my way. I’ve finally fallen in love, and now my career wants me to hide it away like it’s a dirty little secret. Fuck that. I’m not doing it.
Needing some air before I do something I’ll regret, I push open the glass door at Destiny Records’ head office with force. When the warm air fails to settle my anger, I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial Jenni’s number. Her voice will calm me down. It always does.
