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“All right. That’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
“Okay.”
“Presley?”
“Yes?”
“Everything is going to be okay. I want you to know that. I’d like to be there for both of you, and I’m sorry about the way Aurora handled things.”
“Okay.”
She was killing me with these one-word answers. But I probably deserved it. Once we were in the same room, I’d find a way to show her I wasn’t always a jerk.
“See you soon.” I disconnected and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. A metaphor for all the fucking stress in my life. I desperately needed release, but I didn’t know what kind. The last thing I wanted was sex, and I was never, ever sleeping with Aurora again.
Kingston had warned me it was a bad idea, but she was attractive in more ways than one. Older, didn’t have or want kids, had the band’s best interests at heart—usually—and had a busy career that kept her from being too clingy. We’d hooked up on and off over the years, but she’d had a serious boyfriend for a couple of years. Then suddenly she was single again and I’d been desperate for a distraction from everything going on. I’d never imagined she was keeping something so big from me.
The band had voted against me when I’d asked them to consider firing her. They had a point because while it wouldn’t be difficult to find someone else to represent us, it would be complicated as fuck to break the contract. Then whoever it was had to get up to speed on all the irons we had in the fire, which were a lot, so practicality had won out. We’d sat her down, though, and laid out very detailed parameters about the things she could handle and things she couldn’t.
We’d also had a team meeting with the entire crew and support staff. Though we didn’t talk about the specifics, we’d been clear that anything to do with our personal lives needed to go through us, even if they thought it was bullshit. If someone showed up backstage saying they knew us, the roadies and security needed to let us know. Ultimately, we needed to be able to make the decisions.
Hopefully, these types of rules would keep something like this from ever happening again.
16
Presley
I’d fantasized about the day Zeke would meet his son, but now that it was here, I was a nervous wreck. I changed clothes three times, put on makeup, took it off again, and finally opted to leave my face bare. I didn’t really care what he thought of my looks and just wanted to get this over with. He’d sounded contrite on the phone, like he really was sorry about the way things had gone down, but I wasn’t sure I believed him. He’d never given me any reason to trust him.
“You look pale as a ghost,” Aunt Meg chided me when I came downstairs. “And what are you wearing?”
I looked down. “Jeans? What should I wear? A cocktail dress?”
She shook her head. “You look like someone life has beaten down. Is that what you want him to see?”
“I don’t care what he sees,” I said quietly. “All I care about is making sure he’s good to our son.”
“I guess we’re about to find out,” she murmured as the doorbell rang.
Nervousness shot through me with such force it made me lightheaded. Fuck, why was this so hard? I walked to the door and unlocked it, slowly pulling it open.
And there he was.
He looked… amazing.
Dammit.
Big and strong and gorgeous.
Still.
Just like the last time I’d seen him.
He was holding two big shopping bags and a teddy bear the size of a small horse.
“Hi.” His eyes met mine and neither of us spoke for a moment.
“Come on in,” I said at last. The last thing I needed to do was look into his eyes and think about the last time we’d been in the same room together.
