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I already know where she lives, thanks to Callum bragging about finding a new tenant to fill Lumi’s condo so she could move in with him several months back. Even if Cal hadn’t boasted about it, I’ve seen her take a tipsy Fitzy home in her car at the end of the night enough times to be aware she’s living at Fitzpatrick place. Not for nothing, but pouring Fitzy into a car at the end of the night is nothing new around here. For an octogenarian, the woman parties like a rockstar and has the fan base to go with it. She’s owned Fitzpatrick place, a luxury condo property, for years. A staple of the Bourbon community, she’s a treasure we all adore and look out for, even though she’ll claim she’s the one looking out for all of us.
No one stops me as I storm through the front of the club. It’s early enough the evening is just getting started. The girls won’t ascend into their cages until after happy hour is nearly finished. For now, they’re setting up their props, making sure there’s a water bottle near the entrance to each platform and towels for blotting sweat folded beside them.
I scan the early crowd for Fitzy, knowing the feisty matriarch of Bourbon loves hanging around Loft. She says it reminds her of how clubs were when she was young. Based on the shenanigans I’ve seen her get up to with my own eyes, it’s hard to imagine what kind of shit she must have pulled as a young woman. It figures the one night I’m most hoping to catch her so I can pump her for information, she’s nowhere to be seen.
The drive to Fitzpatrick Place passes in a blur. If I hadn’t been in such a desperate rush to get to Sirena, I could have walked there. I charge through the public areas, ignoring a surprising number of people milling about and enjoying their neighbors. I haven’t lived in an apartment since college, but even then, there wasn’t this feeling of community and neighborliness.
I hurry down a hallway to get to the door I know is Sirena’s and knock before I even catch my breath. I have no idea what I’ll say when she gets to the door, assuming she’s home. I just know I need to lay eyes on her as soon as possible. I need to know she’s okay.
Time passes slower than logically possible. Sirena never misses a shift. She’s prompt and a great team member for everyone around her. Whatever’s going on to cause her to call out with no notice has to be a massive crisis. Over the racing thump-thump of my heart, I hear the sound of a safety chain rattling as it’s unfastened. Then the snick of a deadbolt being turned. Finally, fucking finally, the door opens wide enough for me to get a look at my love.
“Jonah? What are you doing here?” Her rich dark brown eyes are wide in shock, but dark circles under each tell the story of a rough night. Her face looks drawn and stressed, her lips pressed thin together in an anxious frown. Her gorgeous face is free of the makeup she typically wears for her shifts. She’s still heart-stoppingly beautiful, but without the artfully applied winged eyeliner and rich red lips she looks terribly young.
I know she’s younger than me by a dozen or so years, but right now, she looks so youthful I feel like a bastard for all the fantasies I’ve had about her. I remind myself, no matter how young she looks, I’ve seen the IRS paperwork that guarantees she’s over twenty-one. Barely.
“You’re not at work. I was worried.” So many words crowd in my throat right now, but the picture behind Sirena suddenly snaps into focus and steals every single one of them, along with my air.
“Mommy, who’s that big man?” Every word is punctuated by either a wet sniffle or a deep wracking cough. The little person in a SpongeBob nightgown is a pint-size clone of the woman in front of me.
The woman none of us knew had a daughter.
CHAPTER4
SIRENA
“That’s a kid.” Jonah looks so shocked I’d find it funny if it wasn’t also freaking terrifying. I don’t keep Lavender a secret. Not really. But I’ve learned to keep being a mom completely separate from being a dancer. Sure, things at Loft are all aboveboard and classy, but old habits die hard.
The strip clubs I worked at before I turned twenty-one and became old enough to work in actual bars were dangerous places to let on that a girl has obligations. Unscrupulous bosses will use any leverage they can to squeeze more hours or deny them. Whatever they want to do. Knowing I have a child to provide for put me at their mercy.
No, I don’t believe Jonah is that type of boss. My coworkers absolutely seem like great people. My duty is to Lavender, though. Until I knew it’s absolutely safe, I’ve kept the fact I spend my days mommying and my nights dancing a secret.
“Go lay down in Mommy’s bed, Lav. I’ll be right there.” I force myself to project calm with my voice. Calmness I definitely do not feel at this moment.
“You have a kid, and she’s sick.” He still sounds shocked, but now, concern threads into the words. His left hand cards through his thick hair, tugging at the strands in need of a trim. He doesn’t look horrified, though, which is good.
“Now you see why I’ve turned down your invitations? Everyone’s invitations? I work, and I come home to relieve the babysitter. My days are for my daughter. It’s a boundary I can’t cross, Jonah.”
It’s not an apology, because I’m not sorry. Lavender is all I really have in this world, and she needs me. Krissy and Dwight might try to step in if things get really dire, but I can’t ever expect it.
“That’s not important right now, Bunny. We’ll sort out everything and talk later. Right now, tell me how I can help.” He doesn’t cross the threshold, simply waits for directions. My hands flap around uselessly. I have no idea what would be helpful or even how to ask for help.
“I…I don’t know?” The truth is, I’m still trying to figure out exactly what’s going on with Lavender. She’s typically so healthy she could walk through a flu outbreak and not get a sniffle. She woke up this morning with a raspy voice and an upset tummy. The day’s gone downhill from there.
“She got a fever?”
“Ummm, yes.” That much I know. The forehead thermometer read one hundred and two this afternoon. I’ve given her children’s Tylenol and a lukewarm bath. Unfortunately, Lav being such a healthy kid means I don’t have a whole lot of experience with illness. Her fever came down some, but it’s still right at a hundred.
“Do you have enough sick day snacks?” he asks as if I have a freaking clue what ‘sick day snacks’ are.
Growing up, illnesses needed to be ignored because my parents weren’t going to miss work to take care of me. Krissy and Dwight would have taken care of me, for sure, but they were already giving me a place to live, so I sure wasn’t going to be a whiner when I wasn’t feeling good. Especially when it was my own damn fault I had morning sickness or a strained back from carrying Lavender’s gigantic unborn baby self.
“I don’t know what those are.” Admitting I don’t know something my daughter might need is hard. I search Jonah’s eyes for criticism and find none.
“Oh, Bunny, let me help with that part then. Any allergies or foods she hates?” One of his hands braces on the doorframe as if he’s holding himself back from storming inside, but I don’t feel anxious about it. It’s wild, but it sort of feels like a weight off my shoulders that Jonah knows about my baby girl.
Even if it means he’s done flirting with me and asking me out. Keeping secrets from him has been harder than it’s been to hold that boundary with anyone else. Maybe…maybe, Jonah can be a friend to us.
“No allergies. She doesn’t like anything apple, but other than that, she’s an easy kid to please.” She has to be. When money is as tight as it is for us, accepting what we can afford means personal preferences take a backseat.
