Chapter 11
PHOENIX
Morning sunlight spills through the window, warming my face and pulling me from deep sleep.
Delicate roses and ivy vines trail across the Victorian B icicles frame the window like cathedral glass.
Through the pane, diamond-dusted snow lies untouched and perfect.
Elle lies curled against me, her copper hair splayed across the pillow, my arm draped possessively over her waist. Reality slams into me with perfect clarity. Elle. In my arms again.
The regret dissolves in this peaceful harmony.
Sold-out arenas and platinum records never filled the void shaped exactly like the woman breathing softly against my chest. My fingers itch to compose this moment, preserve it in perfect melody.
No career demands will steal her away this time.
The industry, the label, the obligations—none compete with this second chance.
Her steady breathing creates a tranquil rhythm beneath my racing thoughts. Early light gilds her skin, highlighting delicate freckles scattered across her shoulder.
Possibilities compose themselves in my mind.
Tour schedules can shift. Video calls during separations.
Weekends in cities where she conducts interviews.
The label owes me enough leverage to negotiate breaks between tour legs.
Complications exist but none insurmountable—not compared to losing her again.
Elle shifts against me, still deep in dreams. The blanket slips lower, revealing the elegant curve of her spine.
I trace the path, marveling at the familiar terrain of her body.
Every response remains intact in muscle memory—how she sighs when touched below her shoulder blade, how goosebumps rise when my breath grazes her neck.
The phone on the nightstand vibrates, illuminating with an incoming notification. Shifting slightly, I catch sight of her lock screen photo.
Everything stops.
A little girl with wild copper curls grins at the camera, missing front tooth creating an adorable gap in her smile. Green eyes—unmistakably, irrevocably mine—crinkle with laughter. The distinctive chin dimple punctuating her joy mirrors the one I see every morning in the mirror.
What the fuck? I sit up straighter, Elle sighing as she shifts against the pillow.
The text preview reads:
Jen: Melody wants to know when mommy’s coming home.
Oxygen vanishes from my lungs. Roaring fills my ears. Time crystallizes into this single, life-altering moment of absolute recognition.
Green eyes. My smile. My dimple.
My pulse hammers in my throat, rapid and insistent.
Elle has a daughter.
A daughter who resembles me with eerie, impossible accuracy.
Certainty locks into place with brutal finality. This resemblance cannot exist by coincidence.
Elle stirs beside me, consciousness gradually claiming her features. Her eyes flutter open, confusion giving way to recognition, warming with a sleepy smile. Unaware her carefully composed world has already begun to unravel.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice husky with sleep. Her hand reaches for mine, fingers intertwining with practiced ease.
The phone vibrates again. Elle’s eyes shift toward the sound, widening slightly as comprehension dawns. Blood drains from her face in an instant.
“Phoenix—” Her voice cracks around my name as she lunges toward the nightstand.
“Is she mine?” The question emerges quiet but unyielding, despite the answer blazing obvious. Four years of absence. Of choices made without my knowledge. Of first steps and words and birthdays unrecorded in my memory.
Elle sits up abruptly, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her eyes widen with panic, mouth opening and closing without sound.
“Phoenix, please.” Her fingers twist the edge of the sheet. “I can explain—”
“Answer me.” I swing my legs over the bed’s edge, nakedness suddenly apparent and vulnerable. “This little girl—Melody—is she mine?”
“I tried to tell you last night.” Tears gather in Elle’s eyes, her voice trembling. “Before we—before everything happened. I wanted to, but—”
“But what?” Calm fractures as anger surges through shock. “Was it easier to sleep with me first? Reconnect before dropping the bomb?”
Elle’s chin lifts, defiance flashing through fear as she pulls the sheet tighter around herself.
I push up from the bed, snatching my sweatpants from the floor and yanking them on with jerky movements. “You robbed me of four years with my kid. Four years I can never get again.”
“Melody.” The name rips from my throat. “You named her Melody. Our name. The one we picked together when we were—” I can’t finish the sentence.
Elle’s face crumbles for a split second before her chin lifts again, defiance battling with something that resembles grief.
“You admitted you were never going to call me back...how long was I supposed to wait?” She scrambles from the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself like armor.
My voice slices through the air. “You gave up.”
“What was I supposed to do? Keep calling someone who clearly didn’t want to hear from me?” She wraps the sheet tighter. “Can you honestly say you would have chosen her over your career? Over your record deal?”
The question hits like a freight train. I open my mouth, but nothing emerges. Would I have? At twenty-two, with my first real shot at everything I’d dreamed of?
I don’t know, and the thought bothers me, frays something at the edges of my morality.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of that terrible uncertainty.
“You took away my choice.” My voice emerges rough, wounded. “You didn’t have faith in me.”
Tears stream down her face. “I did my best. She’s happy and healthy and loved, and I did that by myself.”
The words slam into my chest. Everything I missed. Everything she carried alone.
“You know my history with my dad.” My voice drops, something raw bleeding through. “You know he wasn’t there for me. And you put me in the same position with her.”
Elle’s face crumples, tears spilling faster. “I know.” Her voice cracks. “I’m sorry for that.”
The words hit harder than any accusation could. Not anger—grief. For me. For us. For everything we lost.
I snatch my shirt from the floor, pulling it over my head with sharp movements.
“Where are you going?” Elle’s voice sounds small and uncertain.
“I need air.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
I wrench the door open and step into the hallway, closing it behind me with deliberate control instead of the slam I want to unleash.
The hallway offers no refuge. I lean against her door, steadying myself as the revelation threatens to buckle my knees.
“Well, well, well.” Casey’s voice interrupts my spiral. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame at—”
“Not now, Case.”
“Whoa. What happened?” Concern replaces the humor in his expression.
I push toward my room, grabbing my boots and coat before heading toward the front door, toward escape. Casey follows, grabbing his own jacket with hurried movements to keep up, worry evident in his quickened pace.
“Phoenix. Talk to me, man.”
The B&B’s front door swings open to winter morning, crisp air slapping against my heated skin. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I stride into the yard, frigid oxygen burning my lungs with each inhale.
“Seriously, you’re scaring me.” Casey catches up, gripping my shoulder to halt my retreat.
“She has a daughter.” The confession bursts from me without permission. “Elle has a daughter. My daughter. I never knew.”
Casey freezes, shock widening his eyes. “Holy shit.”
“Are you – are you sure?” he asks cautiously and I know what he’s getting at but this is Elle, my Elle. I nod and he takes that as all the certainty he needs.
“She’s four years old.” The number weighs like stones in my stomach. “Four years of firsts I missed. First steps. First words. First everything.”
Casey runs a hand through his hair, processing. “Shit, man. That’s...” He trails off, shakes his head. “Heavy.”
“Her name is Melody.” The syllables emerge reverent from my lips.
Morning sun glints off the pristine landscape, casting diamond sparkles across untouched snow. The storm has passed, leaving perfect stillness in its wake. In the distance, the Victorian B&B stands sentinel against clear blue sky, containing within its walls the mother of my child.
Casey shifts his weight, studying me. “You should probably talk to her. Figure this out. Calmly.”
“I can’t.” The admission scrapes out of me. “Not yet. I need—”
“Space to process.” Casey nods toward the small coffee shop at the corner, its windows fogged. “Well, the bar isn’t open this early, so coffee will have to do.”
At a minimum, I won’t face this alone, even if it’s Casey who keeps me from spiraling.
Casey’s quiet for a moment, then: “Well, statistically speaking, there might be countless kids out there we don’t know about.”
I shoot him a look. “Dude.”
“What? I’m just saying—”
“Wear a fucking condom.”
“I do!” He throws up his hands defensively. “But I can feel it, man. My sperm are potent. I can’t control that.”
Despite everything, a rough laugh escapes me. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, but I got you to stop spiraling for a second.” He grins, then sobers. “Seriously though? You’ll figure it out as you go. Not exactly expert territory for either of us.”
His honesty provides more comfort than empty reassurances. But the question still gnaws at me—what is she like? Does she know I exist? Has Elle told her anything about me, or am I just a blank space in her life story?
Would she even want to meet me?
The thought hits harder than I expect. Maybe I’m not some missing piece she’s been waiting for. Maybe I’m just the guy who wasn’t there. The one who left her mom. The father who never showed up.
My chest tightens. What if Elle’s built a perfect life for them, and I’m nothing but a complication? What if Melody’s happy without me?
Casey shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips.
“What?”
“It’s just… you, a dad,” he says it like it’s the most ridiculous thing in the world and it breaks something open inside me.
“What if I’m not a good dad?” The question slips out before I can stop it and I realize, there is no way I will not be in her life no matter what happens between me and Elle.