Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-one
ISAIAH
I’m a mere three paces inside the living room of my open-concept house in Nashville when a pissed off Vespa verbally accosts me.
“You do not pay me enough for this kind of shit,” she grouses, stomping down the floating staircase.
I already knew my assistant’s knickers were in a twist when I took her call right as Cassidy and I were getting ready for the New Year’s Eve party. But I’d put off dealing with it.
The way you put off dealing with everything. I scold myself.
At Kingsbrier, I felt like the luckiest bastard in the world. Cassidy was all mine. Now, she no longer is. I’m paying the piper for shirking my duties and having hope for my future.
Cassidy looked stunning in the dress she chose for our date. I can’t get past the crushed look I put on her face when I canceled our plans. I even asked her to come with me, deciding I’d wing what I’d say once we arrived in Nashville if she agreed.
The soft “no” she replied with plays on a loop between my ears. Perhaps thinking I imagined Cassidy’s hesitancy is a coping mechanism.
Kylie once told me I didn’t listen to her. I wonder if all there is to Cassidy’s refusal to come with me is that I’m too stupid to read between the lines. She lives, works, and plays in a small town. When we met, Cassidy flat out told me she had no reason to leave.
And tonight I told her I had no choice but to go.
I didn’t know how to say goodbye to Cassidy tomorrow, anyway. I spent the better part of the last week trying to merge the fantasy of her as a potential girlfriend with a reality I haven’t wanted to take part in. Jetting off, without a second thought to her feelings, I’ve blown the possibility that we could be more.
Vespa must’ve been watching out a second-story window for me to arrive. My assistant isn’t going anywhere tonight. Yet her heels—high enough that they’re registered as a deadly weapon— echo with each step from the staircase to where I’m standing in the entryway. She thrusts the snotty pink bundle she’s carrying toward me.
Monty appears at my side, putting a suitcase down by my feet.
“At least watch your language, V. There’s a kid in the room,” he mutters, returning to the car to retrieve the rest of the bags.
We’re both fatigued from the one-eighty our night took. I’m as big an ass for ruining Monty’s evening as Cassidy’s. I made him abandon his family on New Year’s.
I huff, shaking my head in agreement with my bodyguard.
Vespa needs to tone down her irritation. I have a few choice words for her on my tongue. Except the wailing baby takes one look at me and turns beet red, screaming louder.
Shit. Now I’m perturbed at Monty for not sticking like glue and protecting me from the fans who’ll come up to us on the street corner and shove their child into my arms. Then they snap away with their cameras like I’m Santa posing at the mall for a commemorative photo. I’m sure those kids love the lifelong remembrance of screaming bloody murder while a celebrity holds them like they are a freaking bomb about to blow.
This kid? She’s even worse. She cries whenever I’m around.
The first time she cried was on a day I visited her in the NICU. The nurse told me as much. I told her I was sorry for her loss and that her mom loved her, even though I’m not sure that’s true. As soon as the baby heard my voice, she howled. Whenever I went back it got worse. I swear she’s developed radar or sonar or whatever-the-fuck-dar, since she doesn’t even have to see me anymore. Just my proximity tips the scales and as soon as she cries, my hackles go up. I became conditioned to turn away from her nursery before I visited Texas.
The initial request from my PR team to do the interview with Gatlin held little appeal. I searched for ways to push it off and my therapist reminded me I had control over when the interview happened. They encouraged me to rip the bandage off. I’d been living under a dark cloud, anyway. I shouldn’t continue letting it weigh me down.
Once I was the hell away from Nashville, staying away rooted itself in my bones. Forget the six or eight hours traveling and putting on a composed front for the DJ. I needed twenty-four hours without a reminder that someday being raised by an idiot like me is the reason this little girl is going to have her psychotherapist on speed dial.
As if her blaming me for her mother’s death wasn’t enough.
“Give the baby to me, man. Her diaper’s probably wet.” Back from the driveway, Monty snags the baby around the waist.
She angrily kicks her feet in the air until the big lunk cradles her. Her cries turn to gasps and the shaking subsides.
I stare in amazement.
“What? I spent the whole time we were in Texas with my sister’s kids. You think I can’t change a diaper?” He pats her bum twice, baby talking to her as they disappear back up the stairs to her nursery. “Ah yeah. That’s it , huh, Aria. You n’ me. We’re gonna get a new dipey and maybe I’ll snag a brewski while you have your bottle and then we’ll watch the ball drop on the TV. Whaddya say, girlie?”
“Monty’s better suited to care for her than you are.” Vespa crosses her arms.
“I doubt my security guard wants to moonlight as a nanny. Maybe you could explain why the hell you couldn’t find a replacement?” My anger and sorrow rises.
“Child care is hard to come by on New. Years. Eve.” Vespa punctuates the words with haughty derision. “More people than Isaiah Roomer want to have a good time without their kids around. And it isn’t my fault the baby’s nurse fell and broke her elbow this afternoon. Would it kill you to be grateful that she wasn’t holding Aria when she slipped?”
I level my assistant with a stare. Vespa’s toe tapping, waiting for my response, becomes lighter and lighter until her foot stills.
She’s correct that Monty’s better with Aria than I am. But I don’t appreciate the dig. And I don’t appreciate her implying I’d want anyone’s child hurt. Not when I’ve done everything in my power to keep this child safe. She’s helped me keep this child’s existence a secret, and she’s aware my intentions were good.
“You can’t tell me that none of your connections could come through in a bind, Vespa.”
I had less than ten minutes to pack before Monty picked me up. Which means Vespa set everything in motion before calling me. No wonder she refused to take no for an answer.
Can you blame her? The blonde you intended to spend the night with wasn’t a six-month-old either.
“What difference does it make? You’re here now and…” Her arms flop to her sides.
I tilt my chin. “And?”
Unwilling to look at me, Vespa strides toward the wet bar. “The gig was up. Vacation. Your extended romp in the hay. Whatever you want to call it. You would have been back a few hours from now. Tour prep is supposed to be your focus. Not women… Or babies. Starting tomorrow, we have work to do.” She grabs a full bottle of bourbon and a tumbler. “So, if you’ll excuse me, this unopened bottle of Macallen is going to waste. It’s been calling my name. And after the afternoon I’ve had, I intend to drink the whole damn thing and pass out.”
“Vespa! Who is supposed to take care of the baby?”
She turns on her way up the stairs, touching her nose: the universal “not it” sign. “Aren’t you the one who insisted I take the holidays off? Happy fucking New Year.”
After she’s gone, I stand there with my thumb and the knuckle of my forefinger pressed into my eye sockets. I’m tired and hungry and I miss Cassidy already. What kind of man misses a woman he’s just met?
What kind of asshole parent leaves a baby alone at Christmas? I’ve been trying to figure that out since I extended my trip.
The scent of popcorn reaches my nose and I follow it to the kitchen as the microwave beeps.
Monty and I got stuck in traffic on the way to the airstrip. Then the flight hit turbulence and the flight attendant had to buckle up. Because of that, neither of us has eaten. I’m not sure what Monty’s plans were for New Year’s Eve, but mine included a four course dinner. I skipped lunch and now my stomach is eating itself. I don’t want food from the microwave, though. I want for Cassidy to show me how to cook and then for us to sit down at the table and eat together.
I bring the steaming bag into the den where Monty is relaxing on the couch. He has the baby cradled in one arm and a beer in the other. The widescreen TV plays on low volume. Times Square revelers are bundled up, braving the cold.
I sit and shake the bag at him. “Dinner is served.”
“Thanks, man. Here, hold her.” He sets his beer on the coffee table and pushes the baby at me.
“She’s sleeping. I’ll hold the popcorn for you.”
“Take the damn kid,” he grumbles.
“I thought there was no swearing in front of her.”
“She’s sleeping. And you have to get used to Aria at some point. It’s been half a year. This kid’s not going anywhere.”
Lacking confidence, I grudgingly agree. “If I screw this up, I’m handing her back. So eat fast, baby whisperer.” The few times I’ve checked on Aria in the middle of the night, she’s popped wide awake.
I put my feet up on the coffee table and settle back with Aria on my chest and try to slow my breathing so I don’t disturb her. It’s hard because she’s got herself rolled up in a lump with her bum sticking up and she’s also heavier than the last time I held her. I inhale deeper. She squirms and I have to put my hands up so that she doesn’t slide.
“Infants don’t bite. Toddlers do. You can touch her.” Monty chuckles.
“I am.”
He laughs, tossing back a few kernels. “Want me to save you any?”
“No.”
“Want a beer while I’m up?”
“No.”
“Wanna gas up the jet and get back to living your life instead of acting like a grumpy asshole?”
“Yeah, yeah I do.” I stare into space, unaware I’ve been honest about my feelings until Monty prods my foot with his shoe.
“What’s stopping you?” he asks.
I want to lash out at him. That nudge could have woken Aria up. Instead, I Vanna White the lump of six-month-old sacked out on my chest. “What’s Cassidy going to think when she gets a load of this?”
Monty shrugs. “I meant touring might get you back out of this funk. But sure, let’s talk about Miss. Cavanaugh. Since you brought her up, I’ve gone out with plenty of single mothers, boss. It isn’t as if they parade their kids out on the first date.”
“But you knew about them?”
“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes they didn’t play that hand until it came up in conversation. Nobody wants their kid to seem like baggage.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
“You had plenty of reasons to stay mum. What do you think Miss Cavanaugh would say? Does she like kids?”
“Cass is great with her niece and nephew.” I acknowledge, thinking back to Christmas Eve.
“Food for thought: Despite what I just said, this kid won’t be around forever. You get eighteen years with her. But while she is around, don’t you think Aria’d be happier if you were?”
I’m between a rock and a hard place. If I want Cassidy, then I have to tell her about the baby. But if I tell her about the baby, then I risk losing my chance with her.
I go to ask Monty if he means Aria would be happier if I were around or if I was happy. But the room is empty. Noise from the TV catches my attention. Party-goers cheer, kissing one another, ringing in the New Year.
A lump forms in my throat. My heart is still back at Kingsbrier… And I’m here with a weight on my chest.