Chapter Forty-Seven
AURELIA
The thick velvet drapes are shut, plunging the gorgeous room into total darkness.
It’s for that reason that I have no idea what time it is, but I’m still in bed when the door creaks open.
It’s not unusual for Braxton or one of her guys to bring me food or try to coax me out of bed, but I hardly eat and their encouraging words always fall on deaf ears.
Sometimes, it’s Oni who struts over to my bedside, with the click of her thin heels, to speak to me sharply, but the tough love doesn’t work either.
I don’t react to their presence as I wait for whoever’s turn it is today—Rich’s, I think—to leave the food, say a few words, give up, and go.
It’s been our routine for weeks now.
What I don’t expect is for Bound to throw out the entire playbook and start from scratch.
I hear the curtains being drawn open and wordlessly turn away from the sun now streaming through the windows. It’s not the first time they’ve tried that tactic. The next time I’m forced out of bed to shower and vomit, I’ll just close them again.
I close my eyes, waiting for them to go already.
Instead, I feel the bed dip and then confusingly, footsteps quickly retreating from the room until they fade. I assume it’s a tray of food, which they usually leave on the nightstand, so I keep my eyes shut until the bed dips again and they fly open.
I feel the sheets shift and still at the realization that someone else is in the bed with me. Slowly, my gaze travels down the length of the bed as my heart pounds and I hold my breath. My eyes are the only part of me I allow to move as I search the now-lit room.
The door was left open, either in invitation or a firm command, something they hadn’t tried before.
“Bah bah!”
And neither was this. My gaze finally lands on the one-year-old currently crawling up the bed toward me. He shrieks happily when he notices my attention and then sits back on his bottom once he reaches my thigh.
“Hey, buddy,” I sit up and pull the baby into my lap. “What are you doing here, huh?”
“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba.”
“Sure, sure… I was just feeling sad. That’s all. It’s really not that weird.” He pauses and looks up at me with his little lips open. “Okay, maybe it was a little weird.”
“Oooooh-ah,” Coda coos.
“Yes, I do think Khalil was being a jerk, but it’s kind of my fault. I hurt him. You see, I left them behind for a reason, and even though they can’t see it now, I still think it was the right thing to do. It was the only way to protect them. My uncle is an evil man, and he must be stopped.”
“Vrrrrrrrrm!”
I nod at the car-like sound. “When you’re right, you’re right, little man. I got to get up.”
Coda squeals and kicks his chunky legs excitedly.
Gathering the pillows, I quickly build a pillow fort around him before I grab my phone from the nightstand and turn it on.
I ignore the messages that come in—mostly from Oni—and text her the name she asked me for the day she dropped me on Bound’s doorstep before I climb from the bed and shuffle into the en suite.
I leave the door open though, since I can see Coda on the bed from here, and then I get ready for the day.
I’m too nervous to leave the baby alone for too long so I forgo the shower for now and dress in a pair of tight jeans and a loose pullover, and then I pick up Coda from the bed and we head downstairs.
“See, I told you that would work,” Loren boasts when we walk into the dining room. “No one can break someone out of a funk like a baby can, and our son happens to be the cutest, smartest fucking baby there ever was.”
The long table is full of every breakfast food you can imagine, and I have a feeling it’s all for me.
I say good morning to everyone and seat Coda in his high chair on the other side of Rich.
I even get a glimpse of the possessive hand Loren has on Rich’s thigh as I walk around the table and take my seat next to Brax.
“Stop saying fuck around the baby,” Rich scolds. “For fuck’s sake, he’ll be fucking talking soon.”
“Not to mention your theory only works when you can give the baby back to the parents after,” Houston dryly retorts.
Braxton, who is currently buttering a bagel with a very sharp knife, pauses to flick sharp eyes toward their lead singer. “Are you saying our kid doesn’t cheer you up?” Braxton inquires softly.
It’s fucking comical the way Houston’s eyes flare as he drops his fork to gape at his wife.
Something tells me that out of the three, he frequents the doghouse the most. Sadly, I can’t help but think how much he reminds me of Thor.
“Of course, he fucking cheers me up, Bambi. He’s my son.”
Rich and Loren snicker at their best friend in the hot seat, and Houston quickly redirects his ire on them. “And did you seriously throw our son in her room like a smoke grenade and run out?” he asks Rich.
“What? It fucking worked, didn’t it? She’s out.
” Jericho glances at me like he wants me to back him up.
I stare at him over the rim of my glass and take a sip of my orange juice without saying a word.
I’m enjoying seeing them give each other a hard time too much.
It reminds me of happier times in the wilds.
“Wow,” he says, catching on with a chuckle. “Fuck you too, Relly.”
Loren immediately points his knife at him. “No. Relly is mine. Get your own nickname.”
“Please,” I object while holding up a hand. “No more nicknames. I have quite the collection already.”
Loren’s knife drops from his hand and clatters onto his plate as they all sit forward at the first hint of finally learning something about what happened to me. Even Houston, who I can’t imagine engaging in gossip at all. “Oh? Do tell. What are these nicknames and who gave them to you?”
At first, I hesitate, and then I remember these last weeks and how they never gave up on me. I’d say it’s earned at least a little of my trust.
“Well… There’s Sunshine,” I utter, thinking of Seth. “Princess and Goldilocks.” I get choked up when I think of Thorin. “Songbird. Wolf.” Without thinking, I relinquish the most damning one of all. The one I never fully claimed until now, when it’s too late. “Mine.”
Under my lashes, I see the members of Bound glance at each other.
“And the who?” Braxton presses.
“That,” I say with blurry eyes and a strained smile, “I’ll save for another time.”
She nods, and they all go back to eating. I force myself to get something down since I’ve been puking my guts up every day, sometimes twice a day, for weeks. Soon, they’re all done eating, which means I’m done pretending I want to eat.
“Hey, superstar,” Houston says to me after they’re all gone from the table, and I contemplate what to do with the rest of my day. I’m out of bed. That’s as far I’ve planned. “You’re with me. Come on.”
I stand and follow him downstairs like a mindless drone, but I perk up unexpectedly when I step inside their huge practice room slash recording studio.
The red padding on the walls was no doubt soundproofing now that they had a baby in the house.
There are guitars of every kind all over the place along with a drum set, keyboard, a few microphone stands, and a worn leather sofa pushed against a wall.
And there are awards and certifications too.
A fuck-ton of them. I have more, but their number is quickly catching up to mine.
The real difference is that I’ve never felt like I deserved mine.
Not a single one. I could sing and dance better than the rest of them, it was true, but the part that’s always been missing from it all is me.
Houston takes a seat at the table with the mixing board, so I join him. On the other side of the glass is a sound booth, and I think about how long it’s been.
Suddenly, I’m itching to get inside one now, but there’s just one problem.
There’s no song in my heart that doesn’t include them.
It’s been weeks since my return, but Oni still wanted me to lie low while she finished putting all the necessary pieces in place.
She’s already released a written statement on my behalf requesting grace and time for healing and yada yada yada, and it seems to have cooled the rising flames for now, but I didn’t have to check online to know that time was running out.
I won’t be able to hide for much longer—not from my uncle and not from the world.
“What am I doing in here?” I finally ask as he pulls over a fresh legal pad and plops a black pen on top of it before sliding it in front of me.
“You’re going to take whatever it is you’re feeling in here”—he points at my chest—“and put it on here. And then, you’re going to release it all in there.” He points at the sound booth.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I whisper while staring at the pad.
“We’re never ready,” he answers simply and businesslike.
I have a feeling he runs a tight ship, and I’m reminded once again of Thorin. Instead of pushing the mountain man from my mind as I’ve been doing for weeks anytime I’m conscious, I hold on to him like a lifeline, and I pick up the pen.
Houston and I work in silence for hours.
I jot down lyrics on the pad, and he critiques them with constructive red slashes and short and to the point notes that hurt my feelings and wind me up at the same time.
Houston’s brutal in his assessments, but I can appreciate that.
Each time he pushes me to dig deeper, the song becomes stronger until it’s hair-raising enough to reach the far ends of the world.
Maybe even the wilds of Northern Canada.