by J. A. Coffey
“How old is she?”
“Ten months.”
“Walking?”
“Not yet.” So, I haven’t missed everything. The tight band I’ve worn around my heart since I’d arrived in Seattle begins to loosen.
“She’s beautiful,” I repeat. I don’t think I can stop saying it.
“Yes.” Beth nods and smiles. Her gaze hawks over me and the baby. “She’s got your eyes.”
“Bet that burned you up.” I shift position as my arms get used to Cadence’s chubby weight. “Looking at those every day.”
“Actually no. I’ve always loved your eyes.” Beth waggles her fingers at Cadence who gurgles happily. “Isn’t that right, my love?”
“Muu muuuu,” Candace babbles back.
“She talks!”
“Of a sort.” Beth beams.
On impulse, I lean down and kiss my daughter’s velvety soft brow. She squeals and laughs. “She isn’t scared of me.”
And, surprisingly, I’m not afraid of her. No stabbing fear that I’ll somehow screw things up or hurt her or…
“She isn’t afraid of anything,” Beth says, watching us. “I’ll have to keep a sharp eye on her as she gets older.”
I hold her gaze. “We both will.”
As soon as I say it, I know it’s true. Everything in me screams that it’s the right thing to do—no matter what the band or DeSilva or anyone else might say.
Beth flushes and turns away to pick up the gift bags. “Are these for her?”
“For you both. You can unwrap them if you like.” My daughter’s warm, soft presence is so comforting, so sweet. She smells like a baby should, all warm milk and laundry detergent. A scent, I realize now, that had clung to Beth’s hair the first time I saw her in the pub.
Cadence wriggles, so I set her carefully on the floor, peeling off and smoothing back her blankets so she has room to crawl. I stretch out next to her, tickling her belly and pulling funny faces just to watch her expression melt into pure joy. “Open the small one first.”
Beth does, and finds the small gray velvet box from the jewelry store downtown. “Liam?” Her voice is fraught with panic.
“Don’t worry. Just a little something to say thank you.” But I want to do right by her, so I’d been tempted.
Her face visibly strained, she opens the box and finds a golden pendant in the shape of a musical note. It’s a triple note, symbolizing her, me and our baby. Not pricey, but precious. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Liam.” She relaxes a fraction. “Thank you.”
I don’t have to explain the symbolism to Beth. She gets me instantly. It’s part of why we’re so good together. “Do you want to put it on?”
“In a bit. Cadence has a tendency to yank on these things.”
These things?
I realize now that she doesn’t wear necklaces or dangling earrings anymore. Just a pair of silver studs. Maybe I don’t quite get her after all. “Ah. Sorry.”
“It’s beautiful, really. I love it.” Her fingers brush over it one more time, and she sets the box aside. I’m glad to see a little longing on her face. “I’ll wear it another time, I promise.”
She’s not the type to break promises. That’s my department. I rub the back of my neck, feeling sheepish.
The shopping bag rustles as Beth pulls open the packages to reveal a set of frilly dresses in every color of the rainbow because I couldn’t decide. “You got her dresses?”
“I wasn’t sure what size to get, so I got one of everything.”
“So fancy…and so many of them.” She holds up an armful of stiff, crinolined gowns. “She usually wears onesies. These are pretty.”
I glance at my daughter, clad in some kind of long-sleeved cotton jumpsuit. I’m an idiot. Sprawled out next to my little daughter, I can tell the starched ruffles will swallow her up. “With room to grow, I guess?”
“Yeah, up to 3T. Great.” She smiles brightly at me, but strained lines form at the corners of her eyes. “I’ll have her pictures made in them.”
So she can email them to me? As if I won’t be around to see them?
“That’d be nice,” I lie and sit upright. The hell it is.
It isn’t nice. None of this is nice.
The awkward silence again.
Cadence babbles more with various consonant sounds. “Gee geee, deee deeee.” Then she fusses with a whimper that tears at my heart.
“What’s wrong with her? Did I do something?”
Beth’s gaze darts away from me as Cadence starts to squirm and wriggle. She scoops the baby up, placing a fresh white cloth diaper under her chin and patting her back, gently, rhythmically like a drum beat. “Probably a little gas. She’s usually very happy.”
Cadence gives a big belch and we both laugh nervously.
“She seems happy to me. You’ve done a great job, Beth.”
“Thanks.” She cuddles Cadence, her face alight with love and tenderness.
I swallow past a dry throat as our baby snuggles in the blankets towards Beth’s chest. I’d been dreaming of those curves, but I hadn’t wondered about them. Not once. I am a supreme asshole.
“Do you need to feed her or anything?” That weird, primal sensation that screams these two ladies are mine latches on to my heart and doesn’t let go.
“I should put her down for a nap,” Beth offers. “She’s already been fed, so she’ll be sleepy.”
“Are you sure? I could play with her for a bit longer.”
Beth bites her lip. “I think it might be best to keep her on her schedule.”
“Right.”
Beth whisks my daughter out of the room with a brisk efficiency borne of long months of practice. It’s part of her personality, the way she handles everyone and everything. The pub. Her mother. The baby. All I do is bang on the skins and make DeSilva money.
She disappears down the hallway and I sink against the arm of her sofa. I’m surprised at how cold and empty the room feels when they’re no longer here.
This is not going the way I’d imagined. Not that I’d ever, ever imagined that I’d be meeting my daughter. I drag my fingers through my hair, feeling more unsettled than ever.
“Now what? Do you want some coffee or something?” Beth reappears, looking as uncomfortable as I feel. She taps her toe, clearly hoping I won’t stay.
“Sure. Sounds great.” I stand. She’s not shutting me out. “I’ll help.”
I push past her.
“Liam, wait,” she protests.
“No, Beth. I’m not going to wait. I want to do this.”
“But Liam.” She puts a gentle hand on my arm to stop me.
“You’re going to let me help you with Cadence. You had no right to keep her from me, and now you’re going to have to suck it up and accept that I’m a part of her life—and yours.” The words fly out of my mouth before I realize it. A stunned silence fills the room.
Her cheeks flame. “That’s the door to the bathroom.” She jabs her thumb in the opposite direction. “This is the way to the kitchen.”
Yep, I’m a total idiot.
I swallow my embarrassment and follow her to a small kitchen decorated with ivy print towels, as green as Beth’s eyes. I wait until she pulls out a container of coffee grounds from a small pantry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
“I deserve it.” Her hands measure a careful spoon for every cup of water. She’s so precise, so perfect. What makes me think that she needs my help with anything? “I know you’re right, but that doesn’t mean this is going to be easy.”
“You make everything easier, Beth.” Too easy. For me to walk off and leave everything behind, except my feelings for her. I put my hand over hers, spilling coffee grounds on the counter.
“I’m not convinced this is a good idea.” She brushes the grounds into her cupped palm and dumps them into the trash under the sink.
“Not convinced about what?”
&
nbsp; “You.” Her word sounds hopeful and bitter at the same time. “This.” She gestures helplessly.
“Us?”
“There is no ‘us’, Liam.” Her tone is flat. “Not anymore.”
I catch her hand in mine again. “There could be.”
“We tried, remember? Didn’t fit.”
“We fit better than any two people should. We could make this work.” And I realize I want her back in every sense of the word.
“Except there aren’t two of us, Liam. Baby makes three. There’s our daughter to think of.”
How could having her parents together be a bad thing? “I want to be in her life.”
“Visit us.” Her tone is reasonable, but it makes my chest ache. “In between your busy concert schedule and your band promotions and...” She windmills her arms. “Whatever else you do.”
“That’s not good enough.” I push back from the counter. “I’ve already missed too much.”
My daughter has a multitude of firsts ahead of her. Her first steps. First word. First day of school. Is life in a rock band really worth missing out on all that?
Beth fists her hands on her hips. “What are your grand plans, then? Are you going to get us a separate suite of rooms in every hotel and drag us along with you? Is that how this plays out?”
“If I have to. DeSilva will make sure that—”
“Marco DeSilva is probably the reason you left me in the first place. Do you think I’ll put any trust in him?”
It’s not entirely true, but it’s true enough to squeeze the air out of my lungs.
I’d gone along with Marco’s suggestions, which means I have a lot of making up to do—both to Beth and my baby. I want to hold them both, to reassure Beth most of all. Instead, I’m muppet-flailing in her cramped kitchen. “We can make this work.”
She cocks her head skeptically. “I don’t think so. Look what’s happening to Finn and Trish.”
Maybe what’s happening with Finn and Trish has nothing to do with Marco. I don’t know; I try to keep my nose out of my band brothers’ love lives. And right now, they’re the least of my concerns.
“Bethany.” I slide my arms around her, hugging her close. “Please. I know you’re worried and you have a million other things to think about. I don’t want to pressure you. I’m begging you to at least let me try.”
“I’ll think about it.” The kitchen fills with the smell of fresh coffee and a chance for redemption. I want to crash a few cymbals to celebrate. She hasn’t said no.
I open various kitchen cabinets until I locate a pair of coffee mugs. “That’s all I’m asking.” For now, I finish in my head.
Chapter Seven
Beth
Since Cadence’s birth, I’ve been afraid that Liam would find out about our baby. Once I’d blurted the truth, I was afraid of how he might react. Not that he’s ever been anything but loving and gentle with me, but still, I should’ve known he’d understand why I’d done what I’d done. He understands me better than anyone ever had or ever would.
My eyes drift over to the golden charm necklace, still in its box. It’s so pretty and perfect that I’m afraid of wearing it because he’ll see how little I resemble that golden note. It reminds me of everything else I’ve left behind.
“Nice place.” Now that the tense talk is over, he sets his second cup of coffee on the table and lets his gaze skim over my sparsely-furnished apartment.
“It’s all I can afford with my savings tied up in the Auld Rogue. I guess home decorating isn’t really my thing.” I laugh. “If it’s not baby-proof, it doesn’t come through my door.” I gesture to the mess of baby toys, playpen and second-hand baby swing in the corner. It’s a stark contrast to the fine, frilly gowns and the giant stuffed giraffe straight from Market Street.
“You’re a great mom.”
“But?” I know there’s one hiding in there someplace.
He smiles. “But you’re also a woman, Beth. There’s more to you than just being a mom. A lot more.”
The words hit so close to my heart that it takes my breath away. “Most days I feel like a milk cow.”
He reaches over and strokes his fingers down the side of my cheek. He’s wearing that lopsided grin that used to tear my heart into pieces. “What do you do, when you aren’t taking care of Cadence or your mom or the pub? You still play the violin a little, right? Even if it’s not serious?” Sounds like he’s hoping I haven’t thrown it all away.
“Um, sorta.” I glance away.
“You completely stopped playing?” He smacks his hand over his forehead, as if it’s blasphemy. “Tell me you still have your instrument at least.”
“Of course I do.” I tug it from the bottom of the coat closet, where I’d stuffed it out of sight after my last guilty round of staring at it. “See?”
Relief flickers across his face. “Play me something.”
“What?” Could I? Should I?
“C’mon. Make me some sounds, woman.” He’s smiling, encouragingly. It’s so tempting, almost as tempting as Liam himself, that for a moment, I’m breathless. “Do it.”
“I shouldn’t. Cadence is sleeping. I haven’t played in almost a month.” Somehow my shaking hands are cracking open the latches on the black leather case and taking out my bow to tighten the strings. “What do you want to hear?”
“Surprise me.” His light eyes crinkle at the corners. “I haven’t heard you play in ages.”
He hasn’t been here in ages.
“Feels like a lifetime.” I grip the cake of light rosin in my left hand, stroking the bow hairs a few times.
“What is rosin anyways?” He’s fiddling with his drum sticks, rolling them on the coffee table and watching the short, jerky motions I use to stroke the rosin onto the hairs. I suppose it’s kinda raunchy, the way my hand cups the bow while the other moves in quick motions up the length of the shaft.
It reminds me of how I used to turn him on, and I have to swallow back memories of our fumbling attempts at making love. I wonder if he’s more experienced now.
Liam’s eyes take on a keen shine, which sends prickles of awareness sizzling through me. I feel like I’m playing with electricity.
“Rosin?” I waggle the cake, then go back to applying it. “Hardened tree sap.”
Liam makes a choking sound and reaches for his coffee. “Hard, huh?”
A real, live innuendo? Man, how long has it been since I’ve teased someone? Since I’ve been teased myself? A deliciously naughty shiver travels up my spine.
I laugh. “Don’t get too excited. It’s sticky. Helps the bow grab the strings.” I do another pass, making sure the tip and frog ends are more heavily rosined than the middle. “It’s not lube.”
Liam freezes, cup halfway to his full lips.
Well, now we’re both definitely thinking about lubricants.
I clear my throat, wetting my dry lips with the tip of my tongue, thoroughly enjoying the way Liam’s eyes widen as he watches me.
“Been awhile since you…played?” His hands fiddle with his drumsticks, rolling them beneath his long fingers.
Back to the cloaked insinuations.
“Mhmm.” I tuck my violin under my chin and try not to focus on the thick muscles flexing in his biceps. Playing with Liam is liable to get us both into trouble. “About nineteen months.”
“So you never…after we…” He can’t finish and I don’t want to answer him, so I let the conversation drop and focus on making music.
I position my arms and, after a few experimental pulls, launch into Mozart’s Violin Concerto No. 3. It’s an easy, soothing melody—something I haven’t played in years—but it won’t disturb our sleeping daughter. My hands guide the bow across the strings. It’s like riding a bike. God, it feels so good, stretching muscles I haven’t used in forever. I have to bite back tears as the notes waver in the air.
When I finish, Liam tucks his hands behind his head and says with o
bvious enjoyment, “I forgot how incredible you are.”
The chin rest presses into my skin, so I reposition. “You forgot about a lot of things, Liam.”
His playful expression vanishes as I switch to a sonata by Bach, in a minor chord. My bow sings as his expression changes. He’s hypnotized by the gut-wrenching ache portrayed in notes on a staff of music.
When I finish, he sighs. “Nothing better than the classics.”
“No? Not even a chart-burner from Wylde Ryder?” I know all of his songs by heart.
“What we play…isn’t really a work of art.” He chuckles. “And it’s not really made for the strings. Even ones as talented as yours.” He taps his sticks on the stack of magazines, then alternates with the edge of the wooden table. His foot thuds the carpeted floor like a bass drum.
I nod, recognizing the highly-syncopated opening drum beat to “I Wanna be Urs,” which is last year’s Number One hit. I inhale, dragging my bow against the strings, sawing the notes along with his rhythm.
“Hey!” Liam startles, then recovers, a slow grin spreading across his face as I prove him wrong. “You know this one?”
“I know all of them,” I admit.
“You do?” He beams. He slows down the tempo, making the tune more ballad than bravado, and I shift along with his lead.
Wylde Ryder is no Mozart. I improvise a few notes to complicate the tune a little.
“Oooh, that’s nice.” He nods. “Yeah, real nice. Finn would love it.”
“Really?” Most musicians are territorial about their own sound. “Finn does the song writing?”
“I think that’s part of what’s bugging Zane these days.” Liam scratches his head. “But, yeah, Finn would dig your improvisation.”
I wonder how much Marco DeSilva would like me improvising his band’s hot tune, but since there’s no way he will hear me play, I’m not too bothered. “Only part of what bugs Zane? What’s the other?”
“Dunno. Maybe being single? Ever since Trish came into the picture, he’s been touchy.” Liam taps a final flourish on the stack of circulars, sending the magazines slipping to the floor. We both reach for them, hands and heads connecting on the way down.
