“Um, okay? I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
But before I can do anything else, my phone vibrates on my desk, my mom’s name flashing on the screen. Brows pulling together, I pick it up immediately. If Mom wants to ask a question or let me know something she usually texts. If she’s calling … “Mom? Everything okay? Did something happen?”
“Everything’s fine,” she reassures me, her voice extra soothing in a way that’s not soothing at all. “We’re fine. I just wanted to let you know that Maddie just threw up.”
“Oh, no.” Poor little thing. Throwing up is the worst.
“She’s okay. I got her cleaned up and changed her into the extra set of clothes you always keep in her backpack. She’s tucked up on the couch watching a show with Papa. But I know she was supposed to go see her father tonight.” There’s still a slight hesitation in her voice when she references Aaron. Despite me telling them more than once that Aaron never abandoned us, it’s hard for them to let go of years of anger. Which adds another layer to the guilt that’s become a persistent weight on my shoulders. Impossible to ignore now that Aaron’s back. They’re trying, though. Being supportive of my choices as much as possible. Like this, letting me know as soon as there’s a problem that will disrupt Maddie’s time with Aaron so I can let him know.
Sighing, I mentally rearrange my evening. I might be watching movies in my PJs, but I won’t be alone, won’t be eating junk food, and won’t be watching one of the movies in my Netflix queue I’ve been saving for a night without Maddie.
“Alright. Thanks for calling, Mom. I’m almost done here. I’ll finish up and come get her.”
“Everything okay?” Kyle asks, and my head snaps up at the sound of his voice. I’d forgotten he was still here.
First I nod, then shake my head. “Maddie’s sick.” I give him a crooked smile. “So much for my grand plans of spending a Friday night alone, huh?”
“Let me know if you need help, okay? Soup and crackers, medicine, an extra pair of hands on clean up duty, whatever. I’m your man.”
Filing the last of my paperwork in the appropriate folders, I grab my jacket, phone, and purse and stand. Patting Kyle on the arm, I move past him. “Thanks, Kyle. You’re a good friend. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
He covers my hand with his, looking down at me like he wants to say something. I wait, but he just gives my hand a squeeze and lets go. “Okay. I hope she feels better soon.”
“Thanks, Kyle. See you next week.”
And with that, I’m off to get my sick little girl, my phone already pressed to my ear to cancel her evening with Aaron.
Chapter Twenty
Aaron
The steady tick of the metronome app on my phone is interrupted by a call, Sam’s name and number appearing on the screen.
Hitting the power button on the electric piano, I shut it off and scoop up my phone. “Hey! I’m all ready for tonight. I’ve got her favorite dinner choices lined up and ready to go, plus those tiny ice cream cones she loves for dessert. And I know you don’t like that I keep buying her stuff, but I saw another unicorn at the store, and it was only a few bucks, and I thought a new stuffy would help take her mind off the fact that she’s here without you for the first time.”
Sam’s sigh sounds like frustration, disappointment, and condemnation all rolled into one wordless expression. My jaw clenches in reaction. “Look,” I start before she can even get a word in, “I know you think I’m trying to buy her affections, but that’s not what it is. I just like making her happy. I’m her dad. I can buy her toys if I want to.”
“No, Aaron. That’s not—”
“No? You’re saying I can’t buy her toys if I want to?” Maybe I’ve been spending too much time with Maddie, because I suddenly sound like a belligerent preschooler. But I can’t seem to stop myself in the face of Sam’s judgment.
She sighs again. “Maddie’s sick. I wasn’t calling to lecture you about buying her toys. I was calling to let you know that she won’t be able to come over because she just puked at my parents’ house. She’s not up for a visit tonight.”
I’m momentarily speechless, feeling like an ass for misjudging Sam, but also rebelling against the idea that I won’t see Maddie tonight. Or Sam. Not that I would’ve spent much time with Sam anyway, since she was just going to drop Maddie off and then go … do something else. But I would’ve seen her for a few minutes at least.
“Aaron?”
“I’m here,” I say, my voice gruff, my mind racing. “I’ll come there, then. That way I still get time with her, like we agreed, but she can be in her own space and be comfortable while she’s not feeling good. You can still go out if you want—” I cut off at her snort.
“I wasn’t going out. My plan was to stay home and watch a movie by myself, and it was going to be glorious.”
“Oh. Um. You could come here?”
“Nah,” she says on an exhale. “Maddie’s extra clingy when she doesn’t feel well. She wouldn’t let me leave.”
“Oh,” I say again, because what else is there to say?
“I’m on my way to pick her up from my parents’ right now. I’ll text when I have her and see how sick she is with my own eyes, okay? If she’s puking everywhere, you might want to stay away, though. No need for you to get sick too.”
“I take my vitamins.” That’s one of Blaire’s rules. She makes sure we all take a variety of vitamins and supplements designed to boost our immune function since we run ourselves ragged on tour.
Sam chuckles. “You do, huh? Good for you. No amount of vitamins can help when a kid pukes all over you or coughs in your face repeatedly, though.”
“So you’re already assuming you’ll get sick?”
“Yup,” she says cheerfully. “I almost always do. It comes with the territory, though.”
“Who’s going to take care of you if you get sick then?” The question is out before I can think better of it, sounding impossibly intimate and warm. Which is a bad idea. From so many angles. She doesn’t want me. Doesn’t really want me in their life. Doesn’t want me around while Maddie’s sick. She’s not going to want me around when she’s sick. Vulnerable. Miserable. I make her life hard enough, barging in and demanding things she doesn’t want to give me even if I’m within my rights to do so. Her irritation is enough to make me leave her alone for the most part, but not enough to keep me away from my daughter. Maddie doesn’t deserve to think her father abandoned her when I didn’t even know she existed. That’s not fair to Maddie, regardless of what Sam thinks or wants.
“Never mind,” I say quickly before she can respond. “Forget I asked that. Just let me know if you need anything, alright? I’ll come over and help or just spend time with Maddie, even if it’s sitting in a kitchen chair while the two of you sit on the couch. I’ve already missed out on everything. I don’t want to miss more if I can help it.”
A long stretch of silence greets me, but at last she says. “Okay. I’ll text you.”
I have no choice but to accept that. After we say goodbye, I try to go back to the piano exercises I was working on, but I can’t focus. All I can do is wait for Sam’s text. The verdict over whether I’m allowed to spend time with my own child or not.
And I hate it.
An hour later, I’m knocking on Sam’s door, taking in the chipping paint in the corners of the door, the spiderwebs in the spaces between the stairs, the crunchy leaves left over from fall still gathered in the corners. I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose. I don’t have a right to judge. She’s a single mom working full time. She has expenses I don’t and not nearly the bank account I have. But upgrading her and Maddie’s living situation is moving closer to the top of my list of priorities. The trouble will be getting Sam on board, since she’s resistant to accepting any help from me. If I even hint at the idea of making an appointment with a mediator to nail down our custody and child support arrangements, she quickly changes the subject.
She’s touchy and g
un-shy, and I’m hesitant to push anything when we’ve been getting along so well. She’s bringing Maddie over several times a week. I’m getting to see both of them, and even though there’s been a last-minute change of plans tonight, it’s not Sam’s fault. She couldn’t predict or plan for Maddie getting sick on the night she was supposed to be at my house on her own the first time.
And she did text me and ask me to swing by the store for some children’s Pepto, saltines, and fresh ginger.
Maybe a slightly odd shopping list, but I wasn’t going to question her in the slightest when she texted it to me. She’s asking for my help.
When she opens the door, tendrils of sandy blonde hair are falling out of a messy bun on top of her head, her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are squinty and pale and tired. “Hey,” she says, weariness underlining the simple greeting. Pushing the door wider, she gestures me inside with her head. “I’m just starting a load of laundry. Make yourself at home.”
“Mommy,” comes a plaintive wail from the couch behind her. “I want to hold you.”
“Just a minute, sweet girl,” Sam calls over her shoulder. “Aaron’s here.”
“Daddy,” I correct quietly.
Sam looks at me, eyes wide. “Right. Daddy’s here,” she repeats. “Can he cuddle with you for a minute while I start the washer?”
“Nooo,” she wails, and it breaks my heart for so many reasons. Because my daughter is rejecting me, even if it is because she’s sick, and why would she want anyone but her mom anyway? But also because Sam’s obviously worn out already, the droop in her shoulders at Maddie’s refusal of me for even the thirty seconds it takes to dump in some detergent and push buttons broadcasting the fact that she needs a break. She was looking forward to a night off as much as I was looking forward to one-on-one time with my daughter.
With a sigh, she goes to the couch, leaving me to stand in front of the closed front door and take in the place. It’s homey. Nicer than I expected from outside. Sam’s decorated the walls with a combination of framed posters and prints and Maddie’s artwork. The couch is soft and dark brown, cozy looking, especially with the nest of pillows and blankets surrounding Maddie and now Sam too. Maddie’s little arms cinch tight around Sam’s neck, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
Maddie doesn’t hug me like that. Not yet, anyway.
I drag my gaze away. I’m new in her life. She’ll come around. She’s already greeting me with hugs and big smacking kisses on the cheek and saying goodbye the same way. But a nagging voice in the back of my head wonders if I’ll ever matter even half as much to her as her mom. Because while I’m on a break from the tour, in a matter of weeks I’ll be on the road again.
I’ve been convincing myself that we have plenty of time, but really two months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. And the first month is already almost over. Six weeks until we all meet up in Charleston to start the next leg of our tour.
Setting the plastic grocery sack on the kitchen table that occupies the open space near the front door, I consider tearing into the Pepto I just bought to see if that’ll settle the sick, sinking feeling that’s yawning in my own gut.
But no. I bought that medicine for my kid. I’m not such a selfish bastard that I’ll take it before she can. Hell, it might not even be strong enough for me.
Not to mention that my nausea isn’t from a virus.
The dining area leads directly to a small kitchen. It’s a nice place. Open. A breakfast bar delineates the kitchen from the living room. The small entertainment center takes up the wall adjacent to the breakfast bar. There’s a couch and a recliner in the living room, a child-sized couch on the floor and a variety of toys scattered around it. A couple of plastic bins overflowing with toys sit under the breakfast bar. The whole space is smaller than my living room, but it feels like a home. Cozy and warm and lived in.
And while I want to move them into nicer digs if Sam’ll let me, I also want to just stay here and be part of this. Live in this cozy warmth that I’ve missed since my dad died and I’ve exiled myself from home.
Draping my jacket on the back of a dining room chair, I busy myself pulling out the medicine, crackers, and ginger that Sam asked for, setting them on the table and opening the package of Pepto chewables.
Sam turns to see what I’m doing. “Oh, thank you so much. I couldn’t leave her on her own, obviously, and she doesn’t need to puke in a store.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help,” I reassure her. Because I am. Whatever they need, I’m here for it. At least for the next handful of weeks.
I bring her the bottle of medicine, now divested of its safety packaging, and hold it out for her. She takes it and shakes a tablet into her hand, offering it to Maddie, who at first refuses, but after some gentle persuasion finally consents to put the tablet in her mouth.
“Will you get her some water?”
“Of course.”
I go to the kitchen and open and close cabinets looking for a cup when Sam says, “Next to the dishwasher. On the right.”
I open the cabinet in question to find a colorful assortment of plastic dishes, grab a pink cup and fill it halfway with water from the tap, crossing the room in long strides to get Maddie the water as quickly as possible.
She drinks half of it and hands the cup back to me before snuggling into Sam’s neck again. I stand there feeling like a helpless outsider while Sam strokes Maddie’s back.
“What can I do?” I whisper.
Sam meets my eyes, her lip caught between her teeth as she thinks. Then she shakes her head, just the barest movement so she doesn’t disturb Maddie, but a negative all the same. “It’s okay. I can get it.”
I blow out a breath of exasperation and cross my arms, staring her down and daring her to not let me help at all. “Laundry?”
She stares at me for another beat, not flinching under my glare. But then she rolls her eyes and deflates a little, lifting her hand to gesture at the doorway in the wall next to the entertainment center. “The door’s open. You can’t miss it. Detergent and OxiClean are on the dryer. First line on both of them. Normal wash, cold, extra rinse.”
I nod, glad my parents made me do my own laundry growing up because otherwise I’d be totally lost. Or I would’ve been when I moved into my row house, anyway. I’ve been doing my own cleaning and cooking and laundry since I got here. On the road, we have a wardrobe assistant to look after our clothes. And at my place in LA, the guys and I hire a service to take care of all those things for us.
The smell from the open washing machine is pungent, and it’s obvious why Sam was getting a load of laundry started. Maddie threw up again. Poor kid. I hope the medicine helps.
I follow Sam’s instructions and get the laundry started. Don’t want the puke smell settling in. It’s almost impossible to get out.
That done, I take a quick peek around, noting the bathroom and the two bedrooms, Maddie’s obvious from the explosion of toys and the My Little Pony bedding rumpled on the twin mattress on the floor. My brows draw together at that. Can Sam not afford to get her a bed frame?
Sam’s room has a slightly larger bed on a simple frame, but at least it’s off the floor. Scrubs and clothes litter the floor, and I pull back, not wanting to intrude more than I already am. She didn’t invite me into her bedroom. And she likely won’t again. Ever.
That thought makes me inexplicably sad. Followed by a wave of jealousy when I wonder how many men she has invited into her bedroom. Because some part of me still thinks of Sam as mine. It’s stupid, I know, because we’re ancient history. And hypocritical, because I’ve had my share of groupies and hookups, not to mention the ongoing arrangement I have with Blaire.
But I’m a rockstar on tour. It’s expected. Not a single mom with a kid in the next room.
And yes, I know exactly how fucked up and misogynistic that sounds, but …
Is Maddie around these hypothetical other guys? Is that why she won’t call me daddy? Am I just another man pass
ing through?
Forcing myself to take deep breaths to calm down, I think about other things. Like the fact that Maddie hasn’t mentioned any other guys except for Uncle Kyle, who Sam assures me is a friend of hers from work who sometimes babysits when her parents aren’t available. I haven’t gotten the sense that there’s anything more than friendship between them, but why would she tell me if there were? I haven’t told her about my sexual history in the years since we were together.
The fact is, I don’t really have the right to quiz her either. She’s a good mom. She hasn’t given me any indication that she’d do anything to put Maddie in danger, either physically or emotionally. And based on her hesitation to bring me around, she’s probably not entertaining a steady stream of men.
That should make me feel better. And it does. Kinda.
Uncurling my fists and unclenching my jaw, I paste a bland expression on my face and head back to the living room. “Laundry’s started. What else? I came to help,” I remind her when she hesitates again.
“Have you ever made ginger tea before?” she asks. “From real ginger?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“It’s pretty easy. Cut off about an inch of the ginger. Peel and slice it. Put it in a saucepan, cover it with about two cups of water, and let it simmer for half an hour. I add some brown sugar, and it’s pretty tasty and helps settle an upset tummy.”
“On it.”
I rummage around in the kitchen, coming up with a small saucepan and a knife to get the ginger tea started. Every time I glance at the couch, Sam’s darting her eyes away from me to the show for Maddie on the TV. Stifling a smile, I return to peeling and slicing ginger. I rummage for something to store the rest of the ginger in while waiting for the pan to come to a boil so I can turn down the heat. Wrapping it in a Ziploc, I stash it in the door of the fridge, then lean against the counter to wait.
This time when I look at Sam, she holds my gaze, her eyes tracking over my shoulders and arms and down before returning to my face. I quirk an eyebrow at her brazen perusal, and she blushes a pretty pink.
Everything I Want Page 12
