26
My son ain't going to be miserable, because he's going to be the child of a rock star, the end.—Noel Gallagher
A glissando of synthesized notes announced a new text message, but Rhett refused to let herself glance at her phone.
Instead, she kept her attention focused on the monitor of her laptop as though reconciling her bank statement was of national importance.
Her eyes scanned the scant information it contained while she listened with half an ear to the rerun of the television show Mel was watching.
Garcia and Morgan flirted back and forth but Rhett wasn’t in a frame of mind to concentrate of the storyline.
The phone chirped at her again to remind her that a text had come in. Like she could forget. Again, she pretended to ignore it.
Abrupt silence descended as Mel muted the TV, and Rhett braced herself.
"You're not going to check that?"
Without taking her eyes from her computer, Rhett shook her head. "Not right now."
"When's the last time you talked to him?"
"Last week, the day he left."
"Have you even responded to any of his texts?"
"A couple."
Mel didn't respond for a moment but indicated her exasperation with a sigh worthy of a soap opera diva.
The sounds of Criminal Minds came back as Mel un-muted the sound but was cut short when she turned the set completely off right in the middle of a sexy murmured "baby girl" from that super-hot Shemar Moore.
"Look," Mel said. "I get it. You're pissed off. But he deserves better than this."
Rhett glanced at her sister but had to look away from the compassion she saw in her eyes. "I'm not pissed off. Not at him, anyway," she added under breath.
"Then why won't you talk to him?"
"Because I can't do anything about it." Rhett logged out of her bank's website and shut the lid of her laptop.
Mel huffed out a sound of impatience. "Not if you don't talk to him or read his texts."
After a glare at her sister, Rhett picked up her phone and turned on the screen.
One of these days I'm going to quit trying, you know.
A quick, sharp pain stabbed her heart, and she put her hand over her eyes. "Maybe you should," she whispered.
"What'd he say?" Mel asked.
In answer, Rhett tossed the cell phone to her so she could read the text from Rhys.
When Mel spoke again, her voice lost its lecturing tone. "Is that what you want?"
"I don't know." Rhett drew in a deep breath and lowered her hand. "But I guess letting that happen would be the coward's way out, right?"
"Damn skippy." Mel turned the television on again, and sat back in her chair, signifying she was through talking.
Rhett chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment before she scooped her computer up and went into her bedroom.
She climbed onto the bed and arranged the pillows behind her back.
Leaning down, she grabbed the power cord off the floor and plugged it into the laptop and opened the lid.
Staring at the desktop wallpaper, she wondered why she hadn't changed it.
The photo of the backstage pass from Boston taunted her every time she opened her computer.
Lips tight with irritation at her waffling, she double-clicked the video call icon, and then Rhys's name.
As the call was connected, she had a moment of panic.
What if he decided to teach her a lesson by ignoring her call the way she'd done?
If he did, she wouldn't blame him. It appeared Rhys was the bigger adult, though, because a blurry square popped up on her computer screen.
After a moment, it sharpened and Rhys was there, his face solemn and wary.
"Are you still angry with me?"
Rhett couldn't detect any emotion in his neutral tone to indicate whether or not he was going to blow up at her.
"I'm not mad at you," she told him. "I never was."
"Hm." He sipped from a squat glass of amber liquid, and Rhett could almost smell the Johnnie Walker. "It certainly felt like you were. Or maybe you were just punishing me by not answering my calls or texts."
Stung, her voice gained volume. "I wasn't punishing you, either."
"Really?" He arched a brow. "Tired of me, then?"
No, he wasn't going to blow up, but he was definitely mad. Maybe not at her, but he was ticked off.
"I'm not tired of you," she said, the spurt of momentary anger draining away. "I just didn't know what to say."
He looked away for a moment, and the muscles of his cheek jumped as he clenched his jaw. "She's my daughter, Rhett. What else was I supposed to do?"
A number of responses came to mind, but Rhett kept them to herself and her face calm. "You did what you felt you had to do."
"What now? Are you going to keep giving me the silent treatment? Do you want me to quit contacting you?"
Rhett swallowed and tried to control the tremble in her lips. "You don't have to if you don't want to. But what's the point?"
"What's the...?" Rhys lifted the glass to his mouth again and drained the contents.
"You're going back in the studio in a couple of months, and then you'll be on tour again, right? When you lived here, we could spend some time together, but you've moved almost a thousand miles away. When are we supposed to see each other?"
Rhys closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "What does that mean, Rhett? Are you calling it quits with me?"
As she stared at his beautiful, precious face, every bit of happiness and light drained out of her and left her cold. Tears slowly filled her eyes at the realization that it was over.
When she didn't answer, he opened his eyes.
Whatever he saw on her face made his jaw clench again.
The next thing Rhett saw was the screen of his phone being slammed repeatedly against the cushion of whatever piece of furniture he was sitting on.
Wincing at every blow, she waited it out.
For a few moments she got only a view of his ceiling and the sound of his voice growling out every profanity ever invented.
When he looked back into the camera, Rhett drew in a quick, sharp gasp at his hard expression.
"Fine, then," he bit out. "Keep my numbers handy, and maybe one day we'll talk again."
"Okay," she managed to croak. "Goodbye, Rhys."
The last thing Rhett saw was a confused blur of his apartment rushing by before the phone slammed against the wall and disconnected the call.
When the name Sienna flashed across his phone's screen, the first thing Rhys did was check the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist. Fifteen minutes before she was supposed to be at his apartment for pizza and movie night, and true to form she was calling to cancel.
Well, she was in for a surprise if she thought she could blow him off again.
His fingers fumbled over the phone in an attempt to locate the correct button to answer the call.
It was his fourth cell phone in three months, and he still wasn't used to it.
Finally, he got the bloody thing to work and put the phone to his ear.
"Forget it," he said without preamble. "You're coming over here tonight, and that's an end to it."
"But Dad..."
"No buts."
It was like she hadn't even heard him. "It's the last night Hannah and Karis and I are going to be together before we go to college, and—"
"And it's my last night in town, too," he interrupted. "In case it's slipped your mind, I'm off to L.A. tomorrow, and then to Europe from there. So get your ass in your car and get over here as planned, got it?"
There was a moment of fuming silence before she snapped, "Fine."
Rhys didn't need to hear a click to know she ended the call.
Just as well. He wasn't sure how to turn his fucking phone off, anyway.
The minute he got to Los Angeles he was going to get a phone he knew how to operate.
He still wasn't sure why he'd been buying other brands instead of replacing the one he broke the night Rhett called.
The minute the phone hit the wall that night, Rhys started kicking himself.
Rhett breaking things off with him was the proverbial straw, but she couldn't know that, and he'd probably scared the hell out of her.
With the intent of ringing her back to explain, he picked the phone up from the floor but saw immediately that it would be impossible to make any call.
By the time he'd gotten his new phone up and running the next day, he figured it was too late for explanations, so he didn't call her.
God, he should have called her. She probably thought he was a fucking maniac and that she was well rid of him after the way he behaved. But when she let him know it was over between them, everything came to a head.
After Sienna's impassioned pleas that she wanted and needed to spend more time with him before leaving for college, she managed to get out of ninety-nine percent of the plans he made with her.
In the three months since he moved back to Chicago, he'd seen her a grand total of five times.
And each of those times he had to insist on it, the way he'd just done on the phone.
Pressured to spend what she obviously thought of as wasted time with her father, Sienna maintained an air of glum silence, punctuated with bored sighs and much rolling of the eyes.
The night Rhett called, Sienna canceled dinner plans with him, the third such cancellation in a week.
He was already dissatisfied with the apartment he'd been forced into, rather homesick for Dallas, and missing Rhett like hell.
And then she broke it off with him. Looking back, he was lucky the phone was the only thing he destroyed.
The pizzas and his daughter arrived at the same time, but the food was the only thing that was warm.
Unable to eat in the oppressive Martyred Teenage Girl atmosphere, Rhys gave up after one slice and sat in silence as the movie ran on the Blu Ray player.
When the credits rolled, Sienna rose from her chair.
"Can I go now?"