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But how did she agree to any kind of relationship with a man she didn’t trust?
* * *
Nolan broke with his general practice and had a beer during the first set. He just needed a little help to relax, to slide deeply enough into his music to give the audience what they’d come to hear.
On break, he switched to ice water. He was swabbing his horn when his phone buzzed a text, and he was on it in a heartbeat.
Thank you, son! See you soon!
His mother. Responding to his text from earlier in the day.
He opened the text from Lizzie again, checked again to see the notation that his response had been delivered...and saw nothing further from her.
We have to talk wasn’t usually a good thing.
He swabbed his horn again, checked his low EB pad for moisture when his phone buzzed again.
His heart tripped a beat when he saw the new text icon on his screen.
She’d sent a picture of him holding Stella—obviously taken the day before since that was the only time he’d ever held the baby. He hadn’t known she’d snapped the shot, wanted immediately to set it as his wallpaper, but he’d told her he wouldn’t say anything about having a daughter.
So he spent the rest of his break looking at his phone, again and again, studying the picture of that tiny bundle in his arms, so filled with love for her he could hardly breathe, and trying to convince himself that whatever talk he and Lizzie needed to have had to be okay. He hoped to God she wasn’t planning to tell him goodbye.
* * *
Lizzie tried to be asleep before midnight. Stella ate at nine and was out. She shouldn’t be up again for another three hours at least. The night before she’d made it almost all night—maybe because of all the daytime stimulation she was getting.
She drank chamomile tea—her doctor had told her it was a healthy herb for both her and Stella while she was nursing. The usual calming effects were lost on her that night.
A hot bath didn’t help. It just made her hotter for Nolan.
And Carmela had gone to bed early because she had to be up at six to help with some project at the architectural firm.
At a quarter past twelve, she gave up trying to fight with herself. The talk had to happen. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. When a bandage needed to come off, it was best just to rip it quickly.
She climbed out of bed, pulled on a fleece robe over her white cotton pajama pants and short matching T-shirt, headed into the bathroom adjoining her room, turned on the fan and shut the door. No point in risking waking Stella. Dropping down to the thick, shaggy beige throw rug on the floor, she opened the text message she’d sent to Nolan and hit Call.
“I’m just heading out of the club,” he told her, picking up on the first ring.
At least he wasn’t already back at the hotel—in bed, which was what she’d feared if she’d put off the call too long.
Picturing him dressed in the jeans and black T-shirt and leather vest he wore to play, walking down a street filled with bars and partyers, was much better on her brain.
“First, I’m sorry I’m being so possessive where Stella is concerned,” she said, getting the words out almost exactly how they’d been rehearsed. “No matter what, she’s your daughter, too, and if you want to hold her, you have every right to do so.”
“I’m barging in after the fact, Liz. You’ve done all the work, have the routine. You’re the one who takes care of her. It’s your say.”
He was too damned understanding. Too nice. And if that was the father Stella knew, if, during their times together, whenever he could make it to Austin, this was the only side she ever knew of him, would that be so bad?
“Is Carmela home??
? he asked when she just sat there, wishing she knew what to do.
“Yes.” That one was easy. She had her protection right there in the next room. No way he could come up and climb into her bed with her.
“Good. Then can you come down? I’m outside.”
He’d walked to her place rather than his hotel? Trembling overtook her again.
