But despite his original question about Callie, he didn’t seem interested in her the same way that I was. Relief extinguished the jealousy.
Tony and Ben eventually had to go home.
“How ’bout we go visit your mom and get some lunch?” I said to Logan on the way to my car.
He jumped up and down like a cheerleader buzzed on caffeine. “Yay! Chocolate milkshake and fries.”
I chuckled at his enthusiasm. “Okay. Milkshakes and fries it is.”
The diner was busy when we arrived, with several people waiting ahead of us for a table. The place resembled a restaurant from the fifties, but more recently renovated. In the far corner was an old-fashioned jukebox, but I couldn’t tell if it worked or was just for display. It wasn’t currently playing any music. White and black tiles covered the floor, like a giant checkerboard. Bright red chairs and booth seats added a splash of color. The only things out of place were the dozen framed photos with a windy-weather theme, including a picture of a guy standing in the wind with his umbrella inside out. Some had a more comical feel, while others showcased the emotion behind the high winds in the pictures.
A woman with chin-length blond hair smiled at Logan. “Hi, honey,” she said in a faded Texas drawl as she ruffled his hair. “You come for the usual?”
Logan nodded enthusiastically.
“All right. I’ll get you a table in your mom’s section as soon as I can.” She winked at me and walked off to the kitchen, stopping briefly to speak to Callie.
Callie looked in our direction and smiled at us. Despite the exhaustion that was clearly weighing her down, her smile was bright and warm.
We didn’t have to wait more than five minutes before the woman, whose name, I learned, was Alice, led us to a booth. Logan sat and I took the seat opposite him.
Alice handed me a menu and Logan a coloring page with the kids’ menu at the bottom. “Callie’ll be with you in a minute.” She walked off, leaving me to study my menu.
“Other than fries and chocolate milkshakes, what else do you recommend?” I asked Logan. I removed my guitar pick from my pocket and flipped it between my fingers and across the back of my hand.
He shrugged and started coloring the elephant with his favorite color of crayon—green.
“Do you like burgers?” I asked.
Before he had a chance to answer, two chocolate milkshakes were placed in front of us. A tall swirl of whipped cream with a cherry sat on top of each shake.
“If I remember correctly,” Callie said to me, “you used to love chocolate milkshakes.”
“Still do.” I just couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one. You tended not to go for drinks with the guys and order milkshakes. Beers were the drink of choice when the band went out.
“I see you haven’t changed much.” She gestured at the guitar pick.
I’d started playing around with my picks back when I was first learning to play the guitar more seriously. Strumming the instrument somehow grounded me, but when I didn’t have my guitar with me, this did the trick. It had gotten to the point where half the time I did it unconsciously.
“Do you know what else you would like?” Callie pushed back a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger with bacon.”
“Do you want fries or a salad with that?” She grinned, knowing full well what I thought of salad. In my opinion, the only time lettuce should be on my plate was in a burger or sandwich. Lettuce was for rabbits, not people. She left without waiting for my answer.
“Can I try?” Logan pointed at my guitar pick, and I spent the next few minutes helping him with the trick.
“Don’t worry,” I told him after he dropped it on the table for the tenth time. “It just takes practice.” I took the pick from him and slipped it back into my pocket.
Callie returned ten minutes later, placed our plates in front of us, and set a plate of fries and a club sandwich next to Logan’s. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned minus her tray and sat next to her son. “Alice insisted I take my lunch break while you two are here.” She hugged her son. “How was preschool?”
Logan mumbled what sounded like “good” around a mouthful of fries.
I sampled a fry. “Okay, these have to be the best fries I’ve ever tasted. How am I only learning about them now?”
Callie laughed. It was amazing how much a person could miss hearing a laugh, especially hers. “Had a lot of experience with fries, huh?”
“You better believe it. You forget I’ve traveled extensively around the US and Canada. Although I must admit poutine is up there too.”
Lines formed between her eyes. Who knew a frown could look so adorable? “Poutine?”
“It’s fries, gravy, and cheese curds. It’s really good.”
She screwed up her nose. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
We spent the short time she had left for her lunch break eating and talking. The tension from the past few days, since I first bumped into her, had eased slightly, though it still lurked under the surface. For a second, the urge to kiss her senseless and convince her to tell me what was really bothering her pulsated through me, but I suspected that even then she wouldn’t tell me.
“Okay, buddy, are you ready to watch the band play?” I asked as Callie got up to return to work.
She kissed him on the cheek. “I have to work late tonight, but I’ll be home in time to tuck you into bed.”
“Aren’t you gonna kiss Jared?” he asked.
She gave a nervous laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“’Cause he got hurt at the playground. You have to kiss him all better.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you okay?” she asked me.
“I’ll survive. I wasn’t paying attention while Logan was swinging and ended up on my as—I mean, my butt.”
She chuckled and began walking away.
“No, Mommy. You have to kiss him.”
I held my hands out to the side. “You heard him. You’re supposed to kiss me.” I might have also smirked, challenging her. Why, I had no idea.
She leaned down and gently pressed her lips against my cheek. I’d expected a quick peck, like my great-aunt gave me when I was a kid. Instead, Callie’s soft lips lingered for a moment before she slowly pulled back. My breath halted in my chest, heart beating louder than Mason’s bass drum.
I ached to grab her back and taste her lips on mine, but she was already out of reach.
“You feel better now?” she asked.
No. “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll see you two tonight.” And with that, she walked away—leaving me still craving to taste her for real.
13
Jared
I parked behind Kirk’s jeep on the street in front of Mason’s building. Mason lived in a studio loft that had once belonged to a musician. The man had soundproofed the place, which meant it was a perfect location for us to practice.
I knocked on Mason’s door. Logan and I didn’t have to wait long before it opened.
Mason’s gaze dropped to Logan. “Is there something you’ve been keeping from us?”
“Logan, this is Mason, the drummer,” I said. “Logan’s the son of one of my friends. She has to work and her babysitter is sick.”
Mason raised an eyebrow. “So you thought you’d fucking bring him to work, like one of those spend-the-day-at-your-parent’s-job events?”
“Fuckin’,” Logan repeated.
Shit. “Logan, we don’t use that word,” I gently admonished.
That caused Mason to snicker. “If you didn’t want him talking like you, why the hell bring him here?”
“Fuckin’.”
I grounded my teeth together. “I’m seriously going to kill you, Mas.” Right before Callie killed me.
He grinned at me. “You’re welcome.”
We entered the loft, Logan holding tight to my hand. Mason lived on the top floor, in one corner of the bu
ilding. Large windows filled most of the space on the two exterior walls. Mason wasn’t much into furniture and went for the minimalist look, which meant there was plenty of room for our instruments and amps in the center of the room. Much like Callie’s parents, Mason had great taste in furniture. But unlike Callie’s parents, Mason’s taste ran more modern.
And yes, I’d finally pieced together why Callie’s furniture looked more expensive than what I would’ve expected a twenty-two-year-old to own, and why it had looked familiar. She had inherited it when her parents died.
“Hey, man.” Tomas gave me his standard head nod, his lips stretched into a wide grin.
“Congrats. I heard you’re now drumming for Burning Wire.” They were a new band that had started to generate buzz in the L.A. music scene. They weren’t bad, but Tomas was much too talented for the band.
“Thanks. They’re a great bunch of guys.” He peered down at Logan. “Hey, buddy.” He gave the four-year-old a fist bump, which Logan happily returned. Then to Mason and me he said, “I’ll let you guys get to work. See ya later!”
The introduction of Logan to the rest of the guys in the band went a little more smoothly than it had with Mason. Hailey had the day off and was sitting with Nolan on the black leather couch.
“Logan, this is Nolan, our lead singer, and his girlfriend, Hailey.”
“You have puppy, yes?” he asked them, his small body pressed against my legs.
“Would you like to see a picture of him?” Hailey asked.
Logan took a tentative step forward. “Yes. Please.”
She removed her smartphone from her purse and handed it to him. On the screen was a fluffy, nine-week-old golden retriever puppy, snoozing on Nolan’s shirtless chest. The puppy wasn’t the only one sleeping on the couch. Nolan looked pretty out of it.
“His name is Rocky,” she said. “He’s a golden retriever.”
“Why the fuck is our lead singer half-naked with a dog sleeping on him?” Mason asked. “Who the hell removed his nuts and gave him ovaries?” He laughed. I glared at him, my message clear. He abruptly stopped.
Kirk and Aaron looked from Mason to me, amused.
“My sister makes me cough up a quarter every time I swear around her kids,” Aaron said.
“Not a bad idea.” I pointed at Mason. “Every time you swear, you have to pay Logan a dollar.”
“Why the fuck do I have to pay him a dollar when Aaron only has to pay a fucking quarter?”
“Oh, look at that, Logan,” I said, doing everything in my power not to strangle our drummer. “Uncle Mason owes you two bucks. By the time practice is over, you could be a millionaire.”
The guys and Hailey laughed. All the guys but Mason, that is. He reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet, then handed Logan the money. Logan’s face lit up.
“Do you wanna feel some music now?” I asked him.
“Don’t you mean f—uh, hear music?” Mason said, frowning. I had no idea if that was because not being allowed to swear would kill him or because my question confused him.
“Logan’s deaf.”
“If he’s deaf, why’s he wearing a hearing aid?”
“It’s not a hearing aid. It’s a cochlear implant, but he doesn’t like how music sounds with it. So I thought that maybe instead he could feel the vibrations through the floor while we play.” At the volume we practiced at, he was bound to feel something.
“Wanna feel music,” Logan said, pointing to the drum set.
I crouched down to his level. “I want to feel the music,” I corrected. Christ, I was beginning to sound like his parent. “Can you say that for me?”
“I want to feel music,” he enunciated slowly. Close enough.
“I’m going to remove the processor now. All right?”
Logan nodded, and I repeated the steps Callie had showed me this morning so that the sound waves wouldn’t be transmitted to his brain, to be converted into sound.
“He can’t hear now?” Mason asked.
“Nope. Now he’s completely deaf.”
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Sorry. Just needed to get those out.”
Kirk slapped Mason on the back. “That’s four bucks.”
“How the fuck do you figure that? The kid can’t fucking hear me.”
“Yes, but maybe he can lip-read,” Kirk said. “Besides, we didn’t say Logan had to hear you in order for you to owe him. Read the fine print.”
“Promise me, puck boy, that you’ll never have kids.” Mason removed ten bucks from his wallet and handed it to Logan. “There you go, kid. Now I’ve got a four-cuss credit.”
Logan looked at me and grinned, having no idea why he had just earned the money. The bigger question was how I was going to explain his sudden windfall to his mother. Either way, she would be less than thrilled at how much Logan’s vocabulary had grown in one afternoon.
I indicated for Logan to follow me to my guitar. I lifted the strap over my head and turned the guitar on, then indicated for Logan to sit near me on the hardwood floor. Watching his expression, I strummed a few random chords. His eyes widened and he placed his hands on the floor. I played some more, and his face lit up brighter than before.
“I wanna try something,” I said to the guys. “Each of you play a couple of bars from ‘Take Me Tonight,’ but one at a time. I want him to feel the vibrations from the different instruments.” The lyrics weren’t exactly kid-friendly, but Logan couldn’t hear them, so it didn’t matter.
I indicated for Mason to go first. Logan bopped his head in time to the drum beat. This was followed with Kirk on the bass, Aaron on the keyboards, and finally me on the guitar again. The drums and bass got the biggest reaction from him.
“Told you drums are the best,” Mason said. “You know, if it weren’t for the part where he obviously likes drums better than the guitar, I’d swear he was your son.”
“Idiot. I’ve already told you he isn’t my son.”
“I heard what you said, but are you sure you’ve never banged his mother?”
What the fuck? “Of course I haven’t.”
“Maybe you’ve just forgotten it. You were drunk or something.”
“I’m positive I’ve never f—uh, slept with her.”
“Then how come he looks a lot like you?”
Logan looked back and forth between us. Fortunately, he couldn’t hear Mason.
“Just because he and I both have dark brown hair doesn’t make him my son. Kirk has brown hair too.”
“Yeah, but Kirk’s hair isn’t wavy and Kirk doesn’t have dimples. You and the boy have the same dimples.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s my son.” God, sometimes I wondered whether Mason’s mother had dropped him on his head shortly after he was born.
“What color is his mom’s hair?” he asked.
“Red.”
“What color are her eyes?”
“Blue.”
“Dimples?”
Callie’s smile popped into my head. “None, but that doesn’t prove anything.”
Mason shrugged. “Whatever you say. But I still think he looks a lot like a mini-you.” He snorted. “As if one of you isn’t already enough.”
Logan signed something, but I had no idea what it meant. Seeing that I didn’t understand, he said, “No play?”
Everyone’s gaze shifted back and forth between Logan and me, but I couldn’t tell if they were buying into Mason’s way-off theory.
“For the last time,” I said, “he’s not my son. So let’s drop it and play.”
Mason got the hint and began playing the opening beats of our upcoming single. We all joined in soon after.
We continued playing for the next few hours. Surprisingly, Logan didn’t get bored watching us. At one point he got up and bounced around like he was dancing, the way little kids do. The light steaming through the windows shone on him, like he was the real star of the show. Hailey joined him. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
For
a moment, I imagined that Hailey wasn’t the one dancing with Logan, and that it was Callie.
A sudden longing for the girl who’d been in my thoughts a lot lately—more than she should’ve been—came close to knocking me onto my ass for the second time that day.
14
Callie
I quietly unlocked my apartment door, in case Logan was already asleep. Light spilled from his room, as did Jared’s deep voice as he read from one of Logan’s favorite picture books.
I closed my eyes for a moment and let his sexy voice fill me with love, desire, and a wish that everything was different between us. That instead of Jared reading to my nephew, he was reading to our son.
But I had long since learned—after Jared started dating my sister, after my parents died, after Logan got meningitis—that wishes came true only in fairy tales.
Or maybe they just didn’t come true for me.
Tiptoeing so as not to disturb them, I walked to the doorway and peered in. Logan was under his covers. Jared sat next to him on the bed. The two together—father and son—made an adorable picture. And that made my heart squeeze tightly, both in joy and in sadness. How would Jared feel if he knew Logan was his son? What would he do if he found out that I had known all these years and never told him?
But I couldn’t have even if I had wanted to. I couldn’t break the promise I’d made to my sister. I had loved her too much to go against her wishes. She had been there for me whenever I needed her. She had taught me how to apply makeup. She had helped me with my math homework. She had encouraged me with my artwork whenever I got frustrated because something about the picture I was working on wasn’t right.
Even though she had died and I was struggling to figure everything out myself, I couldn’t tell Jared the truth. Maybe part of that had to do with how long it had been since I’d last talked to him. And what would I have said to him anyway? Talk about an awkward conversation. In the end, it had been easier pretending Logan’s father didn’t exist.
My Song For You (Pushing Limits Book 2) Page 9
