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I shrug, staring out the window. "One day," I murmur, watching as the cornfields stretch in for miles and miles, and I settle back in my seat.
Five Years Later
“Hey!I’monmyway, I swear,” I breathe into the phone, shoving my foot into my heel, instantly regretting the uncomfortable shoe.
But you know what? These heels make my legs and ass look amazing. And I’m all for feeling a little more confident in my skin these days. Ever since my baby girl graced me with her sassy appearance, my body has massively changed from the nineteen-year-old girl I was before. I’m a full woman now, blessed with wider hips, stretch marks, and a baby pooch that will never leave, no matter how many sit-ups I do. Whatever. I’m still me and damn proud of who I am.
“Uh-huh,” Seger snorts into the phone. “Just, uh, meet us in the main office, okay? We have something we want to talk to you about.” I raise a brow at his serious tone and peek out the window to the mansion across the street, biting my bottom lip.
“Is this about Break?” I ask, cocking my head. “They did it to themselves. They signed the pledge contract, and they blew it.” I gave them many chances to clean themselves up from the booze, parties, drugs, and debauchery. They promised me in a contract that this was their last chance, and they blew it out of the water last night.
My eyes track the twenty movers across the street in fascination as they start tugging out Break’s equipment, clothes, dishes, and whatever else they moved into the Band House with. The band shamefully watches with their heads hung low, berating Aiden, their lead singer, for his lack of self-control.
Shaking my head, I recall the surprise visit I paid the band last night at their first concert after moving into the Band House across from me. Call me their babysitter or the new manager, but most people call me The Fixer these days. Give me any band, and within six months, they’re either making hits again or hitting the road with their tails tucked. Hence Break, hitting the damn road after breaking their contract with me and West Records.
I knew they were done when I walked into Aiden’s backstage greenroom and witnessed him snorting drugs out of some groupie’s asshole and then fucking her into oblivion. Nothing says tear up my contract more than breaking the rules within the first month of said contract being signed. So, after Aiden finished his little show with a shout, I let him know they were over by clapping my hands from the chair I sat in, watching as he fucked himself and his band over—literally.
Seger snorts again, bringing me back into the conversation. “Yes and no, you fucking ball buster. Shit. I can’t believe that dumbass fucked his whole future up after signing a contract saying he’d give up the drugs, chicks, and improve his music,” Seger growls, most likely ready to punch something or someone.
“Ballbuster? I resent that, asshole. I’m just doing my job, bro. You know, the fixer?” I roll my eyes, searching the kitchen for my missing tiny human. “Fuck, it’s quiet in my house. Listen, we’ll be there in about an…”
“An hour?” Seger quips at my lateness.
Shit. I never used to be late until I had my baby girl, Lyric. Now, I’m a perpetual hot mess, constantly late to everything–even work. Zepp says I’d be late for my funeral, and yeah, I think he’s right.
“No! Not an hour. I have to find Ly, and then we’ll be there! She’s excited to see Maggie again and have a sleepover. So, she should stop hiding now!” I shout louder than necessary, greeted by crickets.
Great. She’s probably slathering lipstick all over her face and giving herself a mustard face mask. Again.
“Yeah, see you at nine. Drive safe and all that fucking good stuff,” Seger says as we say our goodbyes, leaving me with a suspicious feeling bubbling in my gut, feeling an awful lot like suspicion. My brothers don’t call me into their office very often. Usually, it’s to talk to me about a band or assign me another group.
“Lyric!” I shout for what seems like the millionth time this morning from the kitchen, tapping my heel with impatience.
I sigh, walking into the family room, and heading toward the little girl standing in front of the large screen TV with her head cocked to the side. Fuck. My heart sinks when one of the men who haunt my nightmares walks across the screen, bombarded by paparazzi.
Her long black locks hang past her shoulders, brushed straight, and her little nose scrunches in disappointment.
“Why is Daddy leaving another hotel with another lady?” she asks with a heavy sigh, turning to look at me with disappointment ringing in her beautiful mismatched eyes. Big, blue eyes stare up at me, making my heart sink into my ass. A dark brown streak takes up a portion of her right eye, similar to the man currently on the screen.
It’s a kick in the gut to stare at this little human who baked in my belly for nine months and shot out of my vagina with no help from him—them—but turns into an exact replica of the man waltzing around on the celebrity gossip channel with another woman under his arm.
Huge sunglasses sit on Kieran’s face, and a grim expression crosses his lips when he holds up a hand and tells the cameras to fuck off. He’s been out of my life for five years and hasn’t changed much in the looks department. He’s still as delicious as he was years ago with those muscles and dark hair. But fuck. Loathing builds inside me as I stare at the same man who denied my child and walked out of my life without a second glance.
“Mommy. Why? This is…” She scrunches her brows, looking down at her fingers as she counts down the number of women he’s been spotted within the past two weeks. “The fourth one. Daddy is a ho.”
I choke on my spit, grabbing my throat, wheezing as she stares up at me, blinking like she didn’t say the funniest thing on the planet.
“Ly, where the hell did you hear the word ho? You know what? Nevermind. Yeah, your daddy is a ho, but that’s okay. That’s the lifestyle he wanted, right?” I raise a brow when she shrugs, turning to look at him with sadness.
Every other kid in her kindergarten class has a daddy, everyone but Lyric. She has her four uncles who have managed to step up and wheedle their way into our hearts. But to Lyric, it’s not the same. She wants him—them—in her life. And I can only hold out for so long before she gets some stupid idea about running away at midnight.
I’ve never lied to Lyric and never sugar-coated our situation. One day I knew she’d ask who her father was. So, I gave her the best possible solution—Whispered Words. They helped create her, but only one sperm won the frantic, impossible race. Sometimes though, when I watch her, I think their sperm merged into one massive bundle of cells and created my beautiful Lyric.
Sometimes my heart hurts when she laughs just like Rad or uses her brain just like Callum. The looks she gives me when she’s upset were plucked straight from Asher’s mean-ass scowl. And her attitude? Straight from the man who actually helped create her.
“We gotta get to mommy’s work,” I say, quickly shutting off the TV and grabbing her hand. Looking down at those gorgeous mismatched eyes, I sigh, tucking a strand behind her ear. “I know this is weird and hard to know who they are, but…”
Lyric bites her lip, seeming more grown up than any five year old I’ve ever known. “It’s okay, Mommy,” she mutters, looking to the ground with resignation.
