Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  I reach into my purse and take out my bottle of pain pills. The only way I make it through the days now is by swallowing as many as I can at a time while remaining functional for Chloe. I had to stop breastfeeding before I started chemo. She’s eating food now, holding her own bottle. I’ve wept so many times I can’t count. I hope there’s love in Pierce. I hope there are things I never saw, never got a chance to see.

  Right now, we’re in a lawyer’s office in the Bowery, and Chloe is bouncing happily on my knee. Her thirteen-month birthday was yesterday. I won’t make it to see her turn two. I’m trying not to look directly at her, afraid I might burst into tears. Again.

  “I need you to draft papers that designate all parental rights to my daughter to her father. They need to take effect immediately, and I need you to arrange to have her brought to him as soon as possible.” The words come out in a horrible rush. I hope he doesn’t make me repeat myself again.

  The lawyer, a squat little man with sausage fingers and a mustache, looks at me like I’m crazy. “Miss, far be it from me to turn away someone who needs help. But have you thought this through? Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. ‘This too shall pass,’ as the poets say.”

  I roll up my sleeves and show him the multiple holes in my yellow skin from all of the injections and IVs I’ve had in the last three months. I pull back my knit cap to reveal my patches of missing hair. “Mr. Bailey, my doctors said I had three-to-six months to live. We’re just past three months today. I’ve informed them I want to stop chemo, because it’s obviously not working. My family is in no position to take care of my daughter, and her father is. He comes from a wealthy family, and he can give her the life she deserves. I want to make sure she’s provided for, and doesn’t end up in foster care. So, this is the way it has to be. If you won’t do it, I will find someone who will.”

  The lawyer can’t make eye contact with me anymore. As soon as people find out how sick I am, they usually resort to awkward platitudes or completely shut down. I’m not going to give this man the chance. I don’t have time.

  “Sir, I need you to do this today. I have all of her things with me. It is important that she be settled with him as soon as possible. But I also have a very important caveat that you must make sure is included in the papers.”

  He looks up from the desk with one eye, then quickly looks back down and shuffles papers nervously. “What would that be, Miss Blanchard?”

  “Pierce can never know who Chloe’s mother is. It’s for the best. I want them both to move on with their lives. I know he will want proof Chloe is his, and that’s fine. But there is no reason for me to be involved in the equation. Is that understood?”

  Bailey looks up in earnest this time. “Miss Blanchard…”

  “Arie, please.”

  “Arie. I have to be honest with you. I’m troubled. What possible harm could there be in Chloe’s father knowing that you are her mother?”

  I cough, and the cough causes excruciating pain in my abdomen. I am so tired of being sick, and I’m tired of being tired. Everything is weighing on me, and the only thing that is keeping me going is Chloe. I know once she is safe, I can finally stop fighting this. And that’s all I want right now.

  “Mr. Bailey, I am poor. I am beyond poor. I have been forced to borrow money from some very questionable men just to pay for my medical treatments. I have gone to great lengths to ensure that those men have no idea I have a family, let alone a daughter. Once I am dead, there is nothing they can do to get their money back, no one they can hurt. If Pierce doesn’t know who Chloe’s mother is, he can’t make any connections that might get him, or Chloe, hurt. So, please. Just do this for me.”

  Bailey sits back in his chair and crosses his arms. “All right, Arie. I will help you. But let’s make one thing very clear. I don’t want any dirty money making its way into my accounts. Nothing that started out in the pocket of a loan shark. So… I’m going to do this pro bono.”

  Tears well in my eyes, and I feel guilty for being suspicious of him. “Thank you, Mr. Bailey.”

  He nods. “Call me Roger. We’re going to get this sorted out for you, Arie. We’re going to make sure your little girl is safe.”

  It’s the first piece of good news I’ve had in months, and for a moment, I feel at peace.

  Pierce

  New York City, 2016

  It’s my first day at CSL, and I feel like everyone is treating me with kid gloves. My dad has appointed me head of Overseas Logistics and Security Maintenance, which sounds a lot more complicated than it is. But truthfully, I’m far more qualified for it now than I was before, when I had nothing to my name but a degree earned with straight C’s and a bad attitude. At least now, when people contact us looking for help organizing security details in Europe and the Middle East, I have the experience to advise them properly.

  It doesn’t change the fact that I feel like I’m in over my head, especially since I have no assistant yet. My father’s assistant keeps running back and forth, trying to help me acclimate. It’s not even 10am, and I’ve already had a total of seven people come in and out of my office, expecting me to know answers to questions I don’t even remotely understand. My head is spinning, and my leg is starting to ache a little more than I care to admit, so I opt to take a few seconds just to set my head on my desk to regroup. I hear an insistent cough from just outside my office door. I know I should sit up, and be professional, but I just don’t have it in me.

  Instead, I raise my voice enough that they can hear me even though I’m still face down.

  “Whatever it is, if you could take it down to Melody at James Cochran’s office, I’d appreciate it. Just a little swamped at the moment.” I’m sure I look like I’m full of shit, but hey. It’s my first day. But the person just coughs again, and doesn’t move.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re Mr. Pierce Cochran, correct? Mr. Pierce John Cochran?”

  I finally look up, and when I do, I’m not entirely sure what to make of the scene that lays before me. A man stands in my doorway, a chubby man in an ill-fitting suit with the twirled mustache of a cartoon villain. And he’s holding a little girl. She’s somewhere between one and two years old, and she has curly blonde ringlets, and huge green eyes. Eyes that look a lot like my own.

  “I am. I mean. Yes? The company daycare is on the third floor. I’m not sure what I can do for you up here.” Even as I say the words, I know that’s not why this man is here. Everything in my heart is telling me that my day is about to get a lot more complicated than dropped phone calls and missed staff meetings. The man walks into my office and sits down without being asked, as the little girl smiles and giggles in his lap. He looks equal parts exhausted and amused.

  “Mr. Cochran. My name is Roger Bailey and I am a private practice attorney that handles mostly real estate and the occasional wills and trusts. But recently, I had a new client come to me with a very interesting request, and given the nature of that request, and the timeliness of it, I couldn’t turn them down. So, Mr. Cochran, here we are.”

  I try to remain calm, and focus on the lawyer, instead of the little girl, who I swear is looking straight through to my soul. “And may I ask who exactly the other half of ‘we’ is?”

  He bounces the little girl on his knee, and she laughs in a way that feels familiar, yet entirely foreign. “This is Chloe Louise Cochran, your daughter.”

  The silence that fills the room is louder than anything I could possibly say. I’m not even sure how long I am sitting there, just staring at the little girl. Eventually, the lawyer gets impatient and clears his throat. “Mr. Cochran?”

  “My daughter? That’s ridiculous. She’s what? Two-years-old? Where has she been all this time? Who is her mother? And how do I know I’m really her father? This could be a shake-down.”

  Bailey reaches into the briefcase at his side and pulls out a stack of papers, sliding them across the desk to me. “Ridiculous or not, Mr. Cochran, it’s the truth. You are welcome to ha
ve a DNA test conducted to prove parentage but I’m sure you’ll find that everything is in order. As far as the identity of little Chloe’s mother, I’m afraid that’s confidential.”

  “Confidential? What the hell do you mean confidential? You have to tell me who her mother is!”

  Bailey points to the paper at the top of the stack. “I don’t, actually. You see, the mother was in a very… precarious position that left her unable to care for the girl, and it was her wish that Chloe be allowed to move on without you coloring her life with memories of her mother. So, you will find that all traces of the little girl’s parentage unrelated to you will be impossible to find.”

  “How did you manage that?” I sputter out.

  “Never you mind. All that matters now is that Chloe is cared for, per her mother’s request of me. And I am quite sure that you don’t want to see this sweet little angel, your daughter, end up in the system. Can I count on you to make sure that doesn’t happen, young man?”

  I sit, staring at this squat little man, holding a perfect little baby with my facial features, and have no idea what to do. I can’t even remember ever holding a baby, let alone considering becoming a father. I feel like I’m going to be sick, and can’t seem to be able to form any kind of coherent sentence. Everything coming out of my mouth is gibberish.

  “I don’t. I can’t. Where. How. I’m just. I’m here. You. But she. You. Me. Why. Uh… yes?”

  The next thing I know, Chloe is sitting in my lap, Bailey is handing me his business card, and walking back out my door as suddenly as he appeared. I look down at Chloe, her long eyelashes fluttering and her little hands reaching out to me, and I do the only thing I can think of. I pick up the phone on my desk and dial.

  “Mom? Can you come to the office?... No, now. It’s… an emergency.”

  Part Two

  Arie

  New York City, Present Day

  I’m curled up in a hospital bed in Sloane-Kettering hospital, frantically pressing the release button on the device that administers my pain medications, but nothing is happening. I know it’s too soon for another dose, but the drugs aren’t working anymore. It’s taking more and more of them to even make a dent in my pain. The doctors are absolutely baffled by my condition at this point, mostly because I was supposed to be dead six months ago. Yet, here I lay, hospital bills mounting, pain getting worse, and no closer to any answer than I was when this whole nightmare started.

  Worst of all, I haven’t seen my daughter in six months. I have no idea how she is doing, if she is happy and healthy, whether Pierce is taking good care of her. I made Mr. Bailey promise to cease all contact with me after he handed Chloe over to Pierce, but now that I seem to be clinging to life in spite of every diagnosis, my dreams are plagued with thoughts of the little girl I gave away. What if I did it for no reason? What if I live to be a hundred, just miserable and in pain the whole time? Is that any kind of life for a little one anyway?

  If I’m not thinking about Chloe, or how sick I am, I’m thinking about the loan sharks from whom I borrowed money to pay off the first round of bills. I put all my chips on being dead before I’d have to pay them back, and now…I’m still here. Not only do I owe some very violent men close to $75,000, but I’ve added over $100,000 to my mounting debt. So far, the hospital has been cutting me some slack because I paid off the initial bill — they certainly didn’t care where the money came from the first time. But I don’t think their generosity will last forever, and the longer I live like this, the more money I am going to owe. Being sick and terrified? That’s no way to get better. If getting better is even an option for me.

  My day nurse, Alicia, comes into my room with a syringe and a bowl of broth. I feel my body go stiff at the thought of eating, but they keep trying to make me eat anyway, even though most of my nutrition comes in the form of IVs these days.

  “Honey, you’re never going to force that machine to do anything it doesn’t want to. But I got permission from Doctor Gould to give you a little booster. She’s going to be down soon to talk with you. In the meantime, is there any chance today you can take a few spoonfuls of this broth? Even one?”

  I shake my head and curl up into a tighter ball. “No, thank you. Just the medicine.”

  Alicia sighs. We have the same conversation every day and I never change my answer, but it doesn’t stop her from asking. “All right, sweetheart. Here is your shot,” she says as she injects the drugs into the IV line. “Close your eyes until Doctor Gould gets here.”

  It’s only seconds before a wave of dizziness washes over me, and I don’t care about my pain anymore. All I care about is sleeping. The drugs make it impossible for me to keep track of trivial things, like the time, or what day it is, so when I hear my name, I have no concept of how long I’ve actually been asleep. I open my eyes and see Doctor Melanie Gould sitting next to me on the bed. Her long red hair is swept up in a stylish braid, and her usually tired eyes seem to be alight with an excitement I’ve never seen in her before.

  “Arie, I need you to wake up. I need you to confirm you’re with me. We need to have a talk.”

  I shake my head a little, trying to wiggle loose the cobwebs of sleep. “Yes, I’m awake. What is it?”

  “Arie…I have something very important to tell you. You don’t have pancreatic cancer.”

  For a second, all of the blood in my body stops flowing. “I… what?”

  “I’m going to be straight with you, Arie. If you had pancreatic cancer, you would have been dead by now. So, I’ve been running some tests and looking through all of your scans and charts. I believe you have something called intestinal ischemia, or more specifically, acute mesenteric artery ischemia. Basically, you have blood clots all through your intestines, causing blockages. It has all the same symptoms of pancreatic cancer, but it takes a lot longer to do you in. You had a mass in your pancreas, but once that was removed, that part of your illness was all resolved.”

  I try to sit up, but the pain stops me, so I just prop myself on the pillow and reach out for Doctor Gould’s arm. “What does this mean? Am I still going to die? Is there a way to treat it?”

  “We’re going to have to do surgery to confirm, and if I’m right, we’ll have to remove the clots, and possibly remove damaged sections of your intestine. You may have to be on medications to prevent infections, and future clots from forming again. But Arie… if this is the answer, then you won’t just live. You’re going to feel 99% better again in less than a month.”

  She barely finishes her sentence before I burst into tears. I never imagined a future in which I’d be alive, let alone feel normal again. The concept is so overwhelming I can’t even process it. A flood of thoughts and emotions overtake me all at once, and then, two thoughts win out.

  Oh god… the loan sharks.

  Oh god… my Chloe.

  Pierce

  New York City, Present Day

  I hear the sound of a crash from the kitchen, then a scream, and I almost knock over my laptop trying to scramble up to my feet from the couch. The last time I saw Chloe, she was sitting safely in the confines of a playpen just on the other side of the living room, playing happily with her blocks. I took my eyes off her long enough to answer some emails from the office, and apparently, that was all she needed to jimmy open the lock on the playpen gate and toddle her way into the kitchen. By the time I get to her only seconds later, I find her on the floor, covered in the flour and sugar she has somehow knocked off the counter by yanking down a dish towel. She looks up at me with a grin, and I have to stifle down every ounce of exasperation I’m feeling at having to give her a bath for the third time today.

  If it isn’t already clear, I have no idea what I’m doing. In fact, I have less than no idea. Sometimes, I think I might have been reverse engineered to the point I am incapable of taking care of a child. On the day the lawyer dropped Chloe off at the office, I’d called my mother to come help. Of course, little did she know, I had intended to hand her Chloe and request
that she watch her. Just until she was eighteen or so. Mom had walked in my office, cooed and fussed over what a beautiful baby Chloe was, said how happy she was to have a grandchild, and then smacked me across the back of the head with a well-manicured hand.

  “You made this mess. You figure it out. I’m not a babysitter. And I’ve already raised two children. I’m happy to be a grandparent, but you’re the father.”

  Dad had not only backed her up, but made it crystal clear that anything other than welcoming my child into the family with open eyes was going to be a PR nightmare (thanks, Dad). So that night, Dad had all my things moved over to a penthouse apartment owned by the company in a newly-renovated high-rise in midtown, bought me a bunch of baby stuff I had no clue how to use, shook my hand, and told me, “Good luck, son! See you at work tomorrow. Be sure to utilize our fabulous company daycare program!”

  Seriously. Thanks, Dad.

  I wish I could say I feel like Chloe’s father, that there was some kind of instantaneous bond and I knew she was mine from the moment I saw her. But the truth is, sometimes I still feel like I’m living with a tiny roommate who screams at me for food and wakes me up in the middle night for no reason. Of course, the family insisted on a blood test, which unequivocally confirmed she is mine, but there are days when I look at her and she feels like a stranger.

  Maybe if I’d had time to adjust to the idea of being a father. But as it stands, she may as well have been left on my doorstep in a basket. I know things will change, maybe even soon, but right now? Being a single dad sucks. After work, all I want is a nap, a beer, and five minutes to myself to watch a football game. Instead, I have this tiny creature literally crawling into my lap and biting me. Which she has done. Several times.