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Oh the feelings, they were intense, and she set the photo back down, closing her eyes and picturing her father, Trent Barker. He’d been so frail when she’d visited him the week before—frail, and agitated, and more than a little confused.
He’d had no idea who she was and Billie wondered when last Trent Barker had looked at any one of his daughters and felt that invisible bond? That fierce intense connection that only a parent could feel for their child?
She exhaled and cleared her throat. “Enough of that shit, Billie,” she muttered. No use dwelling on something that wasn’t going to change.
She would see her father on Christmas Day, along with her sisters and Gramps. The chances of Trent remembering any of his daughters were slim, but they could at least be there with him. He was well looked after and that was all anyone could ask for.
In the meantime she had to get through her day. The boys’ dry land training was finished, but she still had two
private lessons and then a power skating class to teach. After that? A soft smile played around her mouth as she glanced at the frame on her desk once more. Well, after that she had plans of her own and no baby with a sore mouth or a freaking winter storm was going to ruin it.
She picked up her phone. Her sister Bobbi’s cell rang five or six times and then went to voicemail. Billie frowned and tried it again. And again. And again.
She was just about to give up when Bobbi answered.
“What the hell, Billie?”
That her sister was obviously annoyed didn’t matter all that much to Billie. Not at the moment anyway.
“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” she asked, waving to Debra Bergens and her sons as they walked into the complex. She pointed to her watch and held up five fingers.
“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’m busy?” Her sister was out of breath, but Billie ignored it. She was still focused on Debra. The woman was standing there looking confused. What part of watch and five fingers did she not get?
“Hold on, Bobbi.”
“Are you kidd—“
Billie held the phone away and slid open the partition glass that separated her office from the main entrance. “I’ll be out in five minutes, Debra.”
The woman nodded. “Oh, good. I’ll get the boys ready.”
“So what are you doing?” Billie asked, sliding the glass closed. “Are you with Gramps?”
“No, I’m not with Gramps.”
“Oh,” Billie replied. “So where are you?”
Bobbi cursed so long and loud that Billie winced, and it was then that she truly understood how pissed off her sister was.
“I’m at home,” Bobbi exploded into her ear.
“Well, shit. You don’t have to take my head off.”
“Oh but I do. You more than anyone know how rough it’s been for Shane and me these past few weeks.”
“But what’s that got to do—“
“We’re at home, Billie. Together. As in he’s waiting for me right now, naked and horny as hell because I have no underwear on.”
“Oh,” Billie said softly.
“And let me tell you it’s pretty damn hard to get in the mood when Livin La Vida Loca keeps playing like it’s on rewind or something.”
“Your ringtone is Ricky Martin?”
“What?” Bobbi snapped.
“Your ringtone. Ricky Martin.”
