19. Othelia
Chapter nineteen
Othelia
Rian organizes a suite for us when we arrive in Dallas, figuring this will be easier. I can put Layla to sleep during the game and not have to worry about Rian waking me or her when he returns.
The suite has a country chic vibe: lots of exposed rich woods with a mix of vintage repurposed modern furniture and neutral tones that create a cozy feel throughout the space. I feel like I’ve tripped and stumbled into an episode of Yellowstone .
Rian had hoped to bring Layla to the game, but she has been increasingly fussy since we left Chicago, so I decide it would probably be best if we stay at the hotel and watch the game from the suite instead.
My acoustic guitar sits on my lap as I try to sneak in a writing session while Layla sleeps. Anything to get the label off my back.
The emails for new content have become more frequent since it looked like rescheduling the tour was off the cards for the foreseeable future. The guys tried their best to act as a buffer, but at some point, I will need to return to LA.
I run my hand across the design of hummingbirds and flowers inlaid into the pick guard, the sleek black and gray varnish cool against my fingers.
This guitar was my first purchase with my advance from the first album and now it travels with me wherever I go. I haven’t planned on buying a new guitar and the money should have gone toward rent, but when I saw the ebony 2014 Gibson Hummingbird in the window of a music store near my apartment, I couldn’t resist it. It was something out of my dreams.
The minute she slipped into my hands, I could picture myself sitting on a stool in the middle of a stadium, tens of thousands of people singing with me.
So far, our acoustic songs haven’t suited the label’s plan. They want us to focus on harder rock, with edgier lyrics. “Something sexy,” the executive said to us in our last video meeting.
As a woman in a male-dominated genre, I felt like this was the usual response from record labels and it took all my restraint not to get whiplash from my eye roll. We write from the heart, but mine has been repeatedly battered and broken over the last few months. I’m not sure what I have left in me to give at this point.
Absentmindedly strumming a blank page of my songbook in front of me, I find myself just staring out onto the Dallas skyline, lost in thought when Layla’s shrill cry breaks through my trance.
I pick her up from the port-a-crib and bring her to the kitchenette with me.
“Timing, baby girl. Daddy’s game will start soon.” I make her a bottle and we soon settle onto the couch as I grab the remote, switching to ESPN.
Bodies shoot across the screen. The first period has just started, and it isn’t long before I see Rian flying down the ice with the puck. One of the Dallas players is gaining on him, but before being able to steal the puck away, the guy flies into the walls, shoved by a mountain of a Hellhound.
His head whips around, examining the play, and my attention drifts to the back of his jersey. #59 Wills.
His mouth moves, speaking to the Dallas player, hard eyes, nose flaring, before he shoots off again towards the rest of the team.
Wow, he’s fast. In a few seconds, he seems to move from one side of the ice to the other. His jersey covers the muscles that I know are hiding beneath. The memory of the way they tensed on the plane today, warmth spreading to my core, thinking about his last words to me.
He’s an idiot if he thinks he can find better than you.
The sincerity of his voice didn’t match the tenseness of his body. It’s unbelievable how he went from hot to cold in an instant. Just like the day in Marcus’ pool, the heat that radiated off him made me feel like I could melt in his gaze, then just as fast, I was drifting off on an iceberg, left for dead.
He spent the rest of the flight ignoring Mav and me with his headphones in, and when we finally landed, he practically sprinted off the plane while Mav and I organized our overhead luggage.
Just like before, though, I constantly seek him out on the TV, waiting for him to skate back into view.
Layla settled a bit after her bottle, but by the third period, she seems to get restless. Nothing I do seems to make any difference. We play on the floor; she cries. We rock on the couch; she cries. I pace around the suite bouncing her; she cries.
She isn’t wet; she isn’t hungry. Even trying the gas medicine Rian got for her, but still no improvement. At this point, I’m really believing it's me that's the issue. It will be at least another hour until the game is done and Rian can be on his way home, unless he gets held up by the press or coaches.
Time passes, and Layla continues to cry. I lose count of how many laps I’ve completed around the suite, weaving around the tables and couch. By now, the game has finished and I pray to any god that may exist to please let Rian walk through that door.
I can’t do another lap of this room. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me.
In search of a change, I put the hotel swipe card in my pocket, bundle Layla in a cozy blanket, and head towards the elevator.
Hitting the ground button, I continue to bounce and sway as we descend the levels. The door opens into an open lobby with floral sculptures hanging from the ceiling, making it look like blossoms are floating down to the ground like confetti. The alternating back lights make them look like they’re moving, swaying with pink and white light. At least here we have something new to look at.
I continue my slow walk, bouncing Layla, attempting to draw her attention with the wallpaper and lights, anything to distract her from crying.
Her cries intensify. The patrons in the lobby glance my way with disapproving looks. I try to mouth sorry to a few, doing my best to stay away from anyone talking on their phones, not wanting to interrupt their calls.
“Come on, baby girl, what do you need? I’ll do anything!” My arms are dead. I should have grabbed the wrap carrier as I was leaving, but I’m so exhausted by this point, the thought doesn’t even cross my mind.
Suddenly, tattooed hands appear, and without warning, Layla is taken from my grasp. Part of me sighs at the relief—Rian is finally back to help—but I stiffen when the thought hits me that Rian doesn’t have tattoos on his hands.
Spinning around to face the man, my body now on high alert, I’m poised and ready to fight her kidnapper. Instead, I find the kidnapper not running away, but standing mere feet away, rocking her.
My brain can’t seem to register what it’s seeing.
Rook.
Hair still damp from his post game shower, he’s wearing the same suit from the plane, though now he’s added a black double-breasted coat instead of the jacket that he has no right looking so damn good in.
“What the fuck are you doing?” is all I can manage to get out. I lean forward, arms outstretched, attempting to take Layla back. He steps backwards, shushing me, and with a flick of his wrists undoes his coat, slipping his arm out, adjusting Layla to take off the other side.
A gruff “Here” is all the warning I get before it’s thrown at me. I can’t help but inhale the fresh scent of cologne and shampoo that lingers as it hits my chest.
“You’re going to wake the whole fucking city up with the way you’re going,” he sneers at me before adjusting Layla for a third time, holding her like a football tucked on his forearm.
Those muscular forearms flex for a second with the movement, and Layla’s head rests against his bare arm while her legs dangle. His other hand comes up to rub soothing circles along her back and she relaxes.
I, on the other hand, just about internally combust. Wetness pools at my core at the sight of this gorgeous man, soothing a tiny baby.
“Fuck, I’ve got no fucking idea what I’m doing. I’m not even supposed to be here. I should be finishing up the last leg of our tour in Oslo. Sloane was my best friend and Rian is my brother. I would literally do anything for them, but I just feel like I’m constantly in over my head. Just when I feel like I’ve got this figured out, it all comes fucking crashing down again and I’m reminded that this isn’t supposed to be me. It should be Sloane. She would’ve known exactly how to fix this.”
My arms wave in the air like a crazy person and tears burst from my eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m just so fucking exhausted. I didn’t expect this to be so hard. I couldn’t leave Rian to cope on his own, but some days I wonder if I’m actually a fucking help or just making more of a mess.” Slumping down onto one of the soft cream benches, I drop my head into my hands and inhale a few deep breaths.
Exhaling slowly, I sit up straight and push my hair back off my face, wiping my tears with my sleeve. Wills remains in the same position, rocking Layla, his face tense but eyes seeming somewhat softer than when he first approached me.
I stand and take a step closer to him. “Sorry, I shouldn’t dump this on you either. I’ve had no sleep this week, it’s making me over emotional. I think someone could give me an IV filled with coffee. I might be semi-functional.” I try to laugh off the awkwardness and the fact that he hasn’t said a single thing since taking Layla, just intently stared at me.
“Tilly?” Rian’s voice cuts through the tension surrounding us. Wills turns to face Rian, Layla fast asleep on his arm, face squished up against his cuff, I swear my ovaries clench.
Rian puts his bag down and Rook steps towards him, passing off Layla in a swift and precise movement that leaves her still asleep in Rian’s arms. Then without another word, he turns and picks up the bag I didn’t even notice he dropped, before walking off toward the elevator.
I stare back at him. I feel my eyebrows draw together as my eyes narrow. What the hell just happened? I can’t believe I just blurted all that out and then cried in front of him. Nice one, Tilly. Way to show him what a total fucking mess I am.
Rian’s eyes move between me and the closing elevator doors as he remains silent.
“I couldn’t get her to calm down. Everything you gave me didn’t work! I was out here waiting for you when he just showed up and just… took over.”
My brother looked back at the elevators, then back at me.
“He talked to you?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call paying out my baby-whispering abilities talking.”
“The guys have said he hasn’t really been talking much lately.”
Pressing my lips together in a line, I shrug, not knowing what else to say. I don’t know what that was.
“Hey, isn’t that his coat?” Rian points to the coat still folded over my arms and I’m proud of myself for resisting the urge to bury my face in the fabric and inhaling his enticing scent.
“Oh shit, I forgot he threw it at me when he took Layla. I should probably take it back to him. Are you okay here?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking down at Layla. “Looks like Wills might be the baby whisperer. Go, I’m good. He’s in room 1217.”
We walk to the lifts together, hitting the buttons for both our and Rook’s level. I get off first, looking back at the elevator. Rian gives me a wink as the doors close.
“Jackass.”