Page 169 of Love Felt Like This

“Just look at ’em,” he spits out.

“Or maybe we shouldn’t?” Royce asks from the couch, pressing a button on the remote that lowers the blinds and automatically turns on the side table lamps.

I stretch out my legs and grunt, “Thanks,” but the lamps aren’t the warm, dim light in the Larks’ den or in Beverly’s room at night.

Behind me, Jimmy paces in the kitchen with his phone pressed against his ear. We were supposed to leave for the studio ten minutes ago, but he answered a call that seems more caustic than usual. So far, we’ve heard, “Well, I don’t care what he thinks” and “Harassment, my ass.”

Poe smirks. “You tell ’em, Jimbo.”

Jimmy lifts his middle finger.

“Didn’t you miss all this?” Royce asks me with a grin.

Dom snorts. I do the same.

Poe whispers, “Do you think he’s on the phone with Beau’s manager?”

“You look far too excited about that,” Dom grunts out.

Poe gives a Cheshire cat grin. “Because I am.”

Almost to himself, Dom smiles. “Me too.”

After I came back, the entire band sought out Beau’s number to give him a piece of their minds, and all of them were subsequently blocked—though, it was only after Poe saved his call for three in the morning. I heard talks of an air horn, too, but who’s to say? Beau demanded—in the most childlike whine, might I add—that we stop harassing him. It’s hard to feel sympathetic when we weren’t afforded that luxury.

There have been endless interview requests for me and Ava. Countless toddler modeling agencies clogging up Jimmy’s inbox. Never-ending paparazzi outside our window.

In the corner, Ava plays with her wooden bird, bouncing it up and down so the felt wing flaps against the wood. This is the happiest she’s seemed in days. Two-year-olds can’t process what a temporary goodbye means, and it took less than twelve hours for her to realize her new friend B wasn’t stopping by.

The first night of sleep was nonexistent, and no amount of guitar playing calmed her down. We ended up on the reliable living room couch with overnight sitcom reruns. Finally, she got some sleep last night, but who knows how long it will last?

Ava stands up and toddles over to me so fast she bumps into my leg. She rests her head on my knee. I run my palm over her bangs. She looks too much like me right now—exhausted and sad—not enough like her mom. So I tickle in her ear with my finger, and she laughs. Albeit reluctantly.

We share a beat of silence. She sighs at the same time I do.

How bad did I mess up, Ava?

I wish I could ask her. I wish she understood.

Did I move us out there, only to break both of our hearts?

When we landed two days ago, I immediately texted Beverly. She responded a few hours later, saying she got caught up working. But I didn’t see that text until a couple of hours after because I was swept up in talks with Jimmy.

With our combined schedules, we’ve texted maybe six times over two days.

I hate this.

“How about some snack time?” Dom asks, slapping his knees and standing from the couch with a grunt.

Ava looks to me. “Go?”

I smile. “Yeah, go on. Uncle Dom will get you something.”

Ava runs to the kitchen as quick as her little legs will take her, with Tom the wooden bird clutched tightly in her fist. When Dom passes by me, he claps my shoulder.

I exhale yet another “Thanks.”

After reaching into my back pocket for my phone, I click the lock screen on and off again. I don’t know why I bother. My chest aches every time I do.