He raked his fingers through his hair, walking in tight circles at the foot of the undressed bed.
Would he be a good father? Was he capable of being a father at all? Would he be out somewhere and get distracted and forget about his child? Forget he was a dad? In charge of another life? Could that happen? He’d left Maxie the mutt at the park once. Why wouldn’t that happen with a baby?
Cold terror sliced at the raging storm in his head. Could the baby be born with ADHD? Would it grow up to be like him? He remembered how terrorized his parents were by his inability to sit still, to keep his attention on task. He remembered his mother’s frustrated tears and his father’s angry outbursts whenever Noah derailed at an inappropriate moment. Would his child suffer the same fate? Jesus, had he already ruined its life just by being its father? Or would it be calm, like he was with Pepper? Calm was in him. He knew that. Would it be in his child? Christ, would it?
What did he do?
What did he do?
What the fuck did he do?
The questions deafened him, assaulted him. Fast and barely complete before the next one attacked. He scrunched his face against the screaming noise. Against the confusion.
He crumpled to the floor, head buried in his hands when no answers came. When nothing came but more questions. Insistent questions. Bleak questions.
Questions that tore at his sanity.
Questions without answers.
Answers without hope.
Or Pepper.
Chapter Nine
Pepper decided she was going to spend the day with her face buried in her pillow. That way, she could pretend the world didn’t exist. That way she could pretend she didn’t exist. It would make everything so much easier. Really, what did she contribute to the world anyway? Stupid dreams, empty courage and woeful fantasies of a life spent with a world-famous drummer who women lusted after. That’s what she contributed.
Oh, and cold drinks served on napkins.
The memory of Noah sweeping into Rupert’s Bar less than twenty-four hours ago and buying it there and then just so she could sing with the band snaked through her head, and she snorted into her pillow. No, cold drinks on napkins wasn’t part of her offering to the world anymore either. Even if Noah let her keep her job, she couldn’t work there.
So her only option, given that she’d used up all her bravery approaching Noah two and a half weeks ago, was to stay in her room with her head in her pillow. Which is exactly what she’d been doing for the last twelve hours, give or take a few moments of frustrated weeping in the shower and sobbing on the toilet. At least she couldn’t fail at that. Just her and the pillow and nothing else.
Unbidden, an image of Noah came to her, his grin relaxed and playful. Her stomach clenched. She’d attempted to forget all about him since arriving home, but every time she believed she’d banished him from her thoughts, he popped in there again. Apparently she could fail at being alone with her pillow after all. So all round, she was one big failure.
Great. Her mother would be so gleefully happy right now.
The edge of the bed dipped, a warm hand pressing with gentle pressure to the small of her back. “I’m sorry, Peps.”
Pepper twisted on the bed, looking up at Frank where he perched beside her, a steamy mug in his other hand. The scent of freshly brewed coffee with undertones of whiskey filled the room. Repositioning herself on the bed, she took the mug. She never drank alcohol at seven in the morning. Never. Of course, she never lost her heart to a drummer about to become a father, either.
Oh wait, yes she did.
Taking a sip of the laced coffee, she studied Frank over the mug’s rim. “You know what sucks the most about this all?”
Frank shook his head. Consternation swam in his eyes. His normal mischievous flamboyance was nowhere to be seen. “What’s that, sweetpea?”
She sighed, the whiskey in the hot drink slinking its way down her throat into her belly. “Even though the situation is totally out of my control, I still feel like I’ve failed.”
Frank scowled. “Because Noah’s floozy of an ex is pregnant?”
Pepper took another sip of coffee and then shrugged.
“Are you still going to sing with them?”
She pulled the mug away a little, staring into its dark brown depths. “I don’t know.”
“You won’t fail at that.”
She raised her stare to Frank’s face. Perhaps it was the whiskey in her stomach, perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but she felt sick. And broken. “Won’t I?” she asked. “Singing in front of a crowd? I’ve never done that before. Hell, before I sang for the band, I’d only ever done it in the shower, for my singing teacher when I was a kid or for Dad. What happens if I get stage fright? It wouldn’t be the first time. What happens if I choke? When I choke? And honestly, I don’t know if I want to be a singer. I know I always said it was my dream but now I’m—”
Frank shook his head, his smile exasperated. And sympathetic. “You really have no idea how to be your own cheerleader, do you?”
Pepper snorted, gripping the mug tightly. “The bar I work at has just been bought out, the man I’m in love with is about to become a father with his girlfriend of eight years and the band I was going to sing with doesn’t have a manager anymore to organize everything that needs to be organized. At this point in time, I’m thinking I’m more albatross than cheerleader.” She sipped more of the potent brew. “Perhaps I should become a birdwatcher? Surely I’d have some success at that?”
Frank scowled at her again. He opened his mouth, finger pointed at her. And then closed it again at the sharp rap on the apartment door.
Pepper’s heart jumped into her throat.
She shoved it down again, telling herself to stop being stupid. There wasn’t a hope in hell Noah would be here.
With a soft pat on her thigh, Frank rose to his feet. “Let me see who that is and then I’ll give you the lecture you deserve.”
He walked from her room, leaving her alone.
She sipped more coffee, closing her eyes as the whiskey burned its way to her stomach. She wanted to ring Noah. She wanted to hear his voice. No, that wasn’t right. She needed to hear his voice. She’d heard it every day from the first time they’d met in the bar. They’d spoken to each other every day for the last two and a half weeks. She didn’t realize until now how addicted she’d become to it. Not just his Australian accent, but the timbre of it. Its resonance. The way it made her soul smile.
Opening her eyes, she plucked her cell phone from the nightstand. She’d hang up when he spoke. She just wanted to hear him say g’day.
Jabbing her phone awake, she tapped open her contact list.
And closed it again. She couldn’t call him.
Instead, her heart smashing against her breastbone, her tummy warm with whiskey, she opened her web browser and navigated her way to the gossip site Frank had directed her to yesterday.
The main headline was brutal.
Heather Lang and Noah Holden Prepare For Parenthood?
There was an image of Noah and Heather in an airport, the text beneath it telling Pepper it was LAX. Heather’s hand gripped Noah’s biceps, her knuckles white, the small bulge of her belly pronounced in a skin-tight white dress. Noah’s jaw was bunched, his eyes covered by mirrored sunglasses, his unruly, sexy hair hidden under a New York Yankees baseball cap. He looked straight ahead, his expression set. Heather smiled up at him, as if he was the second coming.
Tight agony wrapped around Pepper’s chest. She closed her eyes, biting back a sob.
A soft knock raised her head.
Samuel Gibson stood at her door.
Pepper gaped at him and then scrambled for her robe, all too aware she was whimpering on a bed in her underwear, close to tipsy thanks to Frank’s super-charged coffee.
Samuel strode into her room and dropped onto her bed, just as she shoved her arms into the sleeves of her deep-green silk robe.
“It fucking sucks, doesn’t it?
”
She stared at him, unsure what to say. Her pulse thumped hard and fast in her ears.
He ran his gaze around her room, a small grin tugging at his lips. Pepper frowned and followed his line of sight, her belly fluttering when she realized he was looking at the Nick Blackthorne CD case sitting on her nightstand.
Turning back to him, she swallowed at the thick lump in her throat. “Is he okay?”
Samuel shrugged, his fingers plucking at her duvet. “He won’t answer any calls. Not mine, Jax’s, Levi’s. Hell, he hasn’t even spoken to his agent or his parents. I know because I’ve had all three of them on the phone asking me what’s going on. His mum and dad are worried sick.” He looked at her, his own worry clear on his face. “They never liked Heather and were glad when she left him.”
Pepper let out a ragged breath. She walked back to her bed and sat next to Samuel.
He shook his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “She’s no good for him, Pepper. Never has been. But Noah, he’s almost noble. She played on that when they first met. Gave him some bullshit story the night he first slept with her about being scared to leave his hotel room because her ex was stalking her. They woke up together and she never left his side after that. She loved the attention being with a famous drummer brought her. She hated the rest of the guys. She knew from the get-go being Noah’s girlfriend would be good for her public exposure, and, wouldn’t you know it, a month after they were first photographed together, she landed her first big endorsement deal. And she’s selfish. I guarantee the second she saw those images of you and Noah together she would have been pissed. She didn’t want him any longer, but be fucked if she’d let anyone else have him.”
Sickened dismay ate at Pepper. “Why wouldn’t anyone want Noah?”
Samuel chuckled, the sound wry. “Noah’s not easy, Kerrigan. His frantic energy makes it hard for people to relax around him, and then there’s the way he can be hyper focused on one thing followed by bouts of an inability to string two thoughts together. That’s hard to live with. Plus, his random boredom would get him—and the band—into trouble. Often. It drives most people batshit.”
Pepper lowered her gaze to her knees. “I’m not most people.”
“No, you’re not.”
She shot Samuel a sideways glance.
He smiled at her, and for the first time Pepper realized the man beside her loved Noah as much as she did. And that he’d accepted her. She sighed. “What will he do?” she asked. Damn it, she ached all over. As if she’d been fed through a wringer.
Samuel shrugged. “I don’t know. A part of him will believe he’ll have to go back to her. That he owes it to her.”
Cold grief wrapped Pepper’s soul. “A part?”
Samuel cast her a long, steady look. “The rest of him will want to be where his heart is. With you.”
Pepper lowered her stare to her knees once more. Who would have thought talking to one of the most talented guitarists in the world would be so wretched?
Samuel let out a choppy breath. “Are you still up for singing with us this Friday night? At that gig you organized?”
Pepper raised her head and frowned at him.
His grimace was apologetic. “I know, I’m a bastard. But it may be the only way for any of us to see him. Try and talk some sense into him. He won’t be a no-show for a gig, and I really want to tell him he’s being a fucking moron.”
The thought of seeing Noah again, even in the purely platonic way she’d begged for at the beginning of their relationship, tore at Pepper’s heart. The simple fact he hadn’t called anyone since learning of Heather’s pregnancy told Pepper any future they had fell firmly in the platonic category. She should be happy. It was the best for the band after all, wasn’t it?
But the thought of pouring her heart into song while he pounded out the back beat, his time twists and explosive fills elevating the music to something beyond amazing, just made her crave him even more.
“Will you?” Samuel asked again. “I know it’s not the end you probably envisioned, but it’s the best one I can come up with at the moment.”
She looked at him. “Okay.”
His smile was small, and at the same time warm. “You’ve done an amazing job organizing that gig at such short notice. Better than Daltry ever did, that’s for sure. I don’t think I thanked you yesterday, did I? Before we started?”
She shook her head.
He grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “That’s because I’m brooding, egocentric and narcissistic.”
Pepper recognized her father’s description of Samuel from the article published in Rolling Stone years ago. She opened her mouth, feeling that she should apologize for them. It was clear Samuel was nothing like that. Maybe he had been, but the man standing in her bedroom now, the one worried about his friend, was far from any of those things.
Samuel laughed, as if aware of her intent. “Don’t worry. When your dad wrote that, I was a brooding, egocentric narcissist.” He walked to the door, his long legs crossing the distance in but a few steps. At the threshold, he stopped and turned back to her. “What did you call us by the way? When you booked the gig? I know you didn’t use Synergy or Blackthorne. Noah told me you were planning a cloak-and-dagger reveal of who we are.”
She gave him a wry grin. “The Han Solos.”
He laughed, the sound reverberating around her bedroom. “I knew there was a reason you were perfect for Holden.” He tapped the doorframe once and then left.
Pepper sat on her bed, unable to move.
And before she could stop herself, she reached for her phone and stared at the image of Noah and Heather at LAX again.
If she was going to sing on Friday, having as much tormented grief as possible in her soul was probably a good thing.
Noah studied the text on his iPhone’s screen. The waiting room’s soft sounds of baby gurgles and soothing mothers barely penetrated his focus. His thumb wavered over the Send key. Doubt chewed at the tension in his chest.
Should he send it?
He read the text he’d composed four hours ago. Four long hours ago, in the early hours of the morning while the L.A. moon was still high and he’d lay stretched on his king-size bed. Alone.
We never did get to share that piece of pie.
It was a pathetic, lame text. But no matter how many times he’d tried to delete it, something stopped him. If he deleted it without sending it to Pepper, perhaps his soul would just give up. But if he sent it and she never replied…
He stared at the words on the screen, each letter sharp and clear.
“…listening to me?”
He jerked his head up, Heather’s frown making his stomach knot.
She peered at his phone, her lips compressed. “Who are you texting?”
Noah didn’t answer. Anger warred with confusion at the sight of her.
She’d apologized profusely when he’d met her at the airport. Had cried into his shoulder, her hand on her belly, her tears wetting his shirt. Told him she’d been a fool and that she loved him and hoped he could love her back one day.
She’d told him she hadn’t been able to call him when she first found out she was pregnant, afraid he would reject her. Told him she wanted them to be a family together, a good family, for the baby’s sake.
Her contrition and sorrow had lasted until they reached his home in Beverly Hills. The home they’d once both shared. The home she’d walked out of. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her in. He should, but the invitation wouldn’t come.
His head had been swirling, his leg thrumming, his fingers plucking at anything and everything for the entire limo ride from the airport.
She’d moved to follow him out of the backseat, but he’d shaken his head. “I need to…I just want…some time…I think…”
Grief etched her face, but even now Noah remembered her eyes being dry. Tearless. “We have an appointment with Doctor Newman in two hours,” she’d said.
He’d suppressed the
overwhelming urge to scream, nodding his head instead. “I’ll be ready.”
Watching the limo take her away, his breath had been like a vise in his lungs.
He’d walked inside his home. Studied it. Imagined Pepper there with him.
And then did his best to shut her from his mind.
For the baby’s sake.
Two days of attending every doctor’s appointment Heather made, however, of accompanying her to the most expensive obstetricians in L.A., of listening to her tell them all what an amazing father he was going to be and how glad she was he was in her life again was driving him crazy.
He’d grit his teeth and drive his hands—bunched into fists—into his pockets, saying not a word, and then his gaze would fall to her stomach and guilt would smash over him.
As if aware of his turmoil, Heather’s steady change of clothing had grown more and more revealing, emphasizing the bulge of her stomach. Today, she wore a tight white tank that stopped just above her navel in such a way as to reveal the small bump of her belly, her baggy jeans sitting so low on her hips he would see the black lace of her G-string.
Once, the sight of her underwear used to fill his cock with eager blood. Today, it left him numb.
If it weren’t for the fact his mind constantly wandered, before, during and after the appointments, he’d probably tell her to put something decent on. But his mind did wander. Jumped all over the place in fact. He fidgeted often, earning himself more than one unimpressed glare from the woman he’d believed only a few short months ago his forever-after.
He frowned. If this was meant to be, if he was meant to be with Heather, why did he feel so…chaotic?
“Are you going to tell me?” Perfectly manicured fingers snatched his phone from his hand before he could reaction. “Pie? Since when do you eat pie?”
Grinding his teeth, he took back his phone. “It’s not important.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, their jade-green depths sharp. She’d made a lot of money from her eyes. In magazines they were always sultry and seductive. Right now, they were contemptuous. Releasing a drawn-out sigh, she opened the magazine she’d been reading—one with her and Noah and Pepper on the cover. Noah suspected she’d selected it from the pile on purpose. “I do hope this guy affords us the respect we deserve. I still can’t believe the last doctor made us wait for twenty minutes. And did you see the way his receptionist looked at me? It was like she’d never seen someone famous.”
Steady Beat Page 15
