Chapter Six #3
“Thank you, but kids having their own bedrooms is like a whole thing in these cases. There’s so much shit you have to consider.
” I dragged my hands down my face in an attempt to stop my thoughts from spiraling too far in that direction.
It was too easy to get caught up in all the details that could affect the outcome of the case.
“If there’s anything I can do to help…”
“Would you let me put a ring on your finger?” The words were out before I could properly consider them. Between Mason’s phone call and the chance to open up to someone uninvolved, my usual filters were down.
“Excuse the ever-loving fuck out of me?” Addie reeled back as if I’d slapped her.
I should have stopped right there and taken back my question.
Instead, the thoughts kept rushing from my mind straight to my tongue without halt.
“On paper, I’m a walking red flag. Jobless, never married, impregnated a stylist I barely remember.
There’s about a decade worth of pictures that show me with a different woman every other month, videos from parties I don’t recall…
Apparently I was allergic to wearing shirts for two years of my life, according to the tabloids. ”
She snorted, the shock melting off her face, but she didn’t say anything. In the beat of silence, my proposal unfolded from an impulse into an actual idea. I wasn’t going to marry Addie, obviously, but even the promise of a perfect picket-fence nuclear family had to be better than nothing.
“I’m not really asking you. It would just be pretend. And maybe this is stupid, but I can fix my job situation by buying a theme park. I can fix my surroundings by moving to a mom-blog-worthy, family-friendly small town. My love life on the other hand? I can’t rewrite history, unless…”
“Unless I’m your history?”
“If anyone questions it, we say we reconnected when I came here to visit. That the flame from the tour days never really went out.”
“What flame is that, please?”
“The one everyone thinks we had.”
“Right. That.” She squeezed her eyes shut and her forehead wrinkled. “Just let me get this straight: You want to get married to win a custody battle?”
“No, just…be my fiancée for four months until the court hearing.”
“We’ve not talked in years and—”
“We’ve talked,” I said.
“Brooks, texting twice a year to prove we’re alive doesn’t count. That’s not talking. That’s…Morse code friendship.”
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s on me.”
“I’m not mad. You had a daughter to raise. We were colleagues. I didn’t expect anything from you. But showing up here with a proposal? That’s insane.”
“I know.” I exhaled. “I’m desperate, Addie. And I trust you. You were there the night I found out about Skye.”
“Yeah…” Her voice softened.
That night was seared into my memory. Not the concert, but every minute afterward.
We’d been amped up from the show, stuck on the tour bus, and it was the first and only time we had tiptoed the line of our friendship.
If it hadn’t been for that one life-changing phone call, we would have crossed that line beyond return. God, that would have been messy.
You taste even better than I imagined.
I swallowed as my own voice echoed in my thoughts and shook my head to chase away the memories.
I remembered the weeks that followed, how she’d sent me voice memos of her demos and I’d sent photos of Skye’s new room and our first weekend trip together.
Then life got louder, and I stopped checking in.
Her career unraveled, and she never told me about it.
“I didn’t exactly make an effort to keep this friendship alive either,” she said.
“Whatever you decide, I want to stay in touch this time.”
“Even if I say no to your proposal?”
“I want you in my life. I missed you.”
“Ew.” She grimaced. “That’s so corny.”
“But if you do say yes,” I carried on, undeterred, “I can make it worth your while.”
“I don’t want your money, Brooksy.”
My eyes flew to my open bedroom door. My apology stuffed into an envelope had gotten left behind in the aftermath of the judge switch. Making amends for dropping the tour was good, but what if I could do better by actually righting my wrongs? At least I could try.
“What about exposure?” I asked. “Red carpets and interviews? We’ll put you back in the spotlight.
My team will spin the narrative. I left the industry because of a personal loss, and you were there for me in private.
That’s not too far from the truth. We reconnected recently, fell in love in your hometown, and boom—proposal.
It tracks. We rehearse sound bites. Do a glossy engagement shoot. Sell it.”
“You’re serious about this, huh?”
“I’m Skye’s father. I’m not losing my daughter.”
She flinched. Barely, but I saw it.
I hadn’t thought to consider that the situation might hit too close to home for her. She’d told me about not knowing her father before, and her mom’s struggle as a young single parent.
“I’m sorry. Stupid idea,” I said.
“No, it’s not. It makes a lot of sense, and considering we live in the twenty-first century, that’s stupid.” She sighed. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“But you’re going to get me a stupid expensive ring. And I get to keep it.”
“Addie, are you sure about this?”
“Are you trying to talk me out of it now?”
“No, I just…yes?”
“Yes.”
“God, I want to hug you right now.”
“Ugh, fine. So touchy-feely.” She straightened up on the sofa and opened her arms for me. I swept her into a tight hug, inhaling her vanilla perfume and lifting her slightly to me. Her body pressed into mine, warm and soft and perfectly fitted around me.
“Put me down,” she squeaked and laughed. I’d missed that sound. She had a little rasp in her voice, right at the back of her throat. It gave an interesting edge to her music, but it made her laugh completely intoxicating.
“What about Skye?” she asked once she was back in her own corner of the sofa.
“What about her?”
“Do we tell her the truth?”
“No. Nobody can know, Adriana. No texts, no emails. Don’t put it in writing. We keep it airtight. When we go to court, this has to hold up.”
“Small problem with that.” She clicked her tongue. “My mom’s never going to buy it.”