by Kylie Scott
Sam smiled. “Kids get pretty obsessed with shows. This one’s been his favorite for a while.”
“Talking dogs are pretty cool, I guess.”
For a moment, he just stared at me.
“Have I still got yogurt in my hair?”
“No, I got it all out.”
I nodded, turning my attention to my hands. It was easier than looking at him or dealing with all of the confusion his presence inspired. Time for a new manicure. One of my thumbnails was even chipped. To be fair, it kind of matched the whole food-fights-with-an-infant theme I had going on. Stylists and influencers would be so jealous.
“You never used to be nervous around me,” he said quietly.
“Nervous around you? Seriously?” I scoffed. “Maybe if you weren’t crowding me...”
The man didn’t move an inch. Jerk. “We didn’t get much of a chance to talk last night. What bought you back to the West Coast?”
“I wanted to see my family.”
“That all?”
“Is that honestly so bizarre?”
“Combined with volunteering to look after Gib, it is a bit, yes.”
I bit back the word asshole. Just. “What is this, an interrogation? Are you worried that I’m a security threat or something?”
“Of course not. My job is to make sure that everyone’s safe,” he said. “That they’re okay. And that includes you. You’re part of the family too.”
“Well, thanks but no thanks for your professional concern. I’m fine.”
He just looked at me.
“Don’t you ever switch off from your job?” I asked.
“I’ll switch off when the world’s a safe place and nobody needs me around anymore. But we both know the world’s not a safe place.”
“That’s very Superman of you, Sam. Anyway, I’m not sure I’ll be around that long.”
“Guess we’ll see.” He rose to his feet and without another word wandered off toward the hallway. Thankfully, Gib was too engrossed in his show to be paying attention to the somewhat awkward conversation. Not that I was intimidated by a small child or what he thought of me. Or of an executive protection officer’s opinion, for that matter.
I was fine. Everything was fine. With a deep calming breath, I turned my hand, hiding the chip in my polish. I’d fix it later.
I stared mindlessly at the contents of my closet. The next job on my list of not particularly necessary things to do alone in my room. First had come the pedicure, facial, long soak in the tub while catching up on the entertainment industry news on my smart phone. Followed by eyebrow maintenance, some replying to emails, and my moisturizing routine. Now for this…how much exactly to unpack was the question. Outfits suitable for the New York party scene were less appropriate for wrangling small children and my previous work gear pretty much fell under the same category. None of it would stand up to the kind of rough usage a toddler could provide. Food fights. Shuffling around my knees picking up toys and such. Chasing after short, evil children on the run from their vegetables and bath time.
Fair to say I no longer quite recognized myself or my life. But I’d needed a job. More importantly, I’d needed to come home.
“Hey,” said Lizzy, wandering in without knocking. Guess it sort of was her house. “What are you doing?”
“Just organizing myself.” Caught out minus the heavy makeup, I kept my face angled down. Hopefully, with the low lighting, Lizzy wouldn’t see anything.
“You didn’t come down for dinner.”
“Not hungry.”
“You know where the kitchen is if you change your mind,” she said. “We were going to watch some TV. Did you want to come join us?”
“Sort of busy right now,” I hedged. Because while I might have reluctantly realized I needed to be around my family, actually giving in to the need was another thing entirely. “But thanks for asking.”
“Okay. So long as you know you don’t have to hide out in your room.”
“I’m not hiding.” I took in the baby monitor attached to my sister-in-law’s waist and sighed. “Should I be wearing that?”
She snorted. “We don’t expect you to be on duty twenty-four-seven, Martha. Sheesh.”
I just shrugged.
“Is that how things normally go in your line of work?” Lizzy sat on the end of the bed, making herself comfortable.
“Mostly I do a mix of PR and executive assistant type functions. Usually for people with delicate egos, lots of money, and busy planners. Entertainment industry, mostly,” I said. “Being summoned at four in the morning isn’t unheard of.”
“My baby boy can be high-maintenance all right. But any four in the morning nonsense can be handled by me or his father.” She grinned. “Is the room okay?”
“Yes, it’s lovely. Bigger than my whole apartment back in New York.”
“Good. Glad you like it. We want you to be comfortable here.”
I leaned back against the antique closet, arms crossed over my chest.
“Maybe you could even be comfortable enough to tell me about that bruise on your face sometime.”
“Lizzy…”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “While I might be freaking out internally, I’m not going to push you for answers you’re not ready to give. And I really am freaking the fuck out internally, FYI.”
“Thank you for not pushing.”
“Yet.” Her shoulders rose on a deep breath as she took her time, obviously thinking over what to say next. How damn awkward. “Martha, your brother’s missed you, you know? You’re pretty much the only family he has.”
“He’s got the guys.”
Lizzy shook her head. “It’s not the same. You’re his sister, he loves you, and we’ve barely even seen you since Gibby was born. Plus my child should have an aunt he can actually recognize on sight. That would be nice.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
“Yes, but for how long?” She eyed the still mostly packed suitcase sitting open on the floor. It was a mess. A fitting description for my life right now. “Come on, hang up your clothes, Martha. Settle in and give us a chance.”
My laughter sounded brittle and false to my own ears. I doubted Lizzy would be swallowing it. The whole psychology degree thing had to get in the way. While she might not be grilling me about the black eye, her gaze kept returning to the ugly mark just the same. At least she wasn’t showing me any pity or other such unwanted weirdness.
“I’m serious.”
“Regardless of what it looks like, I don’t need protecting. You can’t really want me living here constantly in your face all the time,” I said. “The house is big, but it’s not that big. Trust me, it’ll get old.”
“Are you kidding? Since Jimmy and Lena moved and the studio got relocated to our place, it’s been designated band headquarters. People are over all the time. It’s a big part of why we got this place.” She crossed her legs, kicking one foot idly. “Unless it’s running into the guys all the time that has you worried.”
I said nothing.
“And then there’s Sam, of course.”
Still nothing. My trap could have been wired shut.
“And all of the assorted wives.”
“Are you seriously trying to head doctor me right now?” I asked. Her sudden smile was beatific, making it hard for me to hold on to the grumpy. Luckily, I had a lot of experience with being in a bad mood. “Please don’t.”
“Just because you have a complicated history with people doesn’t mean you can’t have positive future interactions with them.” After my comment, she’d clearly decided to move into full-throttle psychologist mode. “Apologies and a little attitude adjustment can go a long way.”
“Sweet baby Jesus, just strike me down,” I said to the plain white ceiling. “Take me now.”
“That’s a lot to put on a baby, don’t you think?”
“After chasing around your child all day, I believe he’d be up to the mission.”
She smirked. “You
see, Martha, I feel like we’re not only sisters-in-law. But we have the potential for besties here and it would be a shame to see that potential wasted.”
“Oh, do you now?”
“I do. And if nothing else, imagine how much it will irritate your brother to have us ganging up on him.” At this thought, she outright evil-giggled. The woman’s ability to tolerate no bullshit and yet still have fun was impressive.
“Valid point.”
With all due grace, Lizzy rose to her feet and meandered over to the door. “Tell me you’ll think about it.”
I didn’t say a word.
“Damn, you’re stubborn. Just like your brother.” She pushed my bedroom door wide open as if she was inviting the whole damn world in. “You’re going to think about it and then you’ll decide to stay. Imagine it, Martha, you won’t have to be alone anymore.”
I frowned, unhappy at the choice of words. “I’m not alone exactly. There were people I spent time with. Acquaintances I guess you could call them…and I was casually seeing someone for a little while.”
Mouth shut, the woman just watched me. So much judgment in her eyes. How ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly know no one had even bothered trying to call me since leaving the East Coast.
“I’ll have you know I appeared on numerous society pages and influencers style blogs almost every other week. My life was very full until this little upset.”
“Wow,” she said flatly, obviously unimpressed. “So you basically had some fake friends, a dude you did it with once or twice, and a job that made insane demands on you and did your head in. What a full, rich, and complex life indeed.”
“You didn’t used to be this sarcastic.”
“You didn’t used to be this bruised.”
I swore extra quietly beneath my breath. Guess spending time with a kid had already started to rub off on me. “Take your shrinking skills elsewhere. I do not need a therapist, Lizzy.”
“No? What about a friend?” And with that parting shot, she was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
A moment, that’s all it had taken. One short moment when I was deleting the bulk of my New York contacts off my phone and the child had disappeared. Of course the problem was, the great room where we generally hung out to watch dog cartoons on repeat and spread his huge collection of toys far and wide didn’t have a door. Instead, it joined a hallway running the length of the house. The same hallway I now ran along looking for the short evil one. And we all know where he got the evil from. That’s right, his mother. Not my side of the family. No way.
“Gib?” I called, looking into rooms as I passed. “Gibby, where are you?”
For two and a half days we’d gotten along okay, my nephew and I. Mostly due to my bribing him with his favorite foods. Chocolate chip cookies (made by the housekeeper who came in during the day, Greta), chicken nuggets, and grapes. A not completely unhealthy diet. After all, the five food groups were all roughly represented. Today, however, no amount of bribery worked. Gib was in a foul mood for some reason and hell bent on taking it out on me. Reminded me of a few years back when I’d been working for a big time fashion model and she’d thrown a next-season Louboutin at my head. Lucky me, we’d been the same shoe size. So it served her right that I caught the shoe and took its mate as an unspoken apology for the incident.
But back to child wrangling.
From the not-so-far distance, the sound of voices, the strumming of a guitar, and the tapping of a drumbeat drifted this way. It was like a rock ’n roll siren call. Especially to a two-and-a-half-year-old who pretty much wanted to hang out with anyone but me. “Oh no.”
On account of the left hand side of the house where the studio and band practice area, games room, home theater, wine room, gym, sauna, and second kitchen (because didn’t everyone need a second kitchen?) were located having its own entrance, I’d happily missed out on the bulk of all of the Stage Dive comings and goings. Even Sam lived in the two-bedroom pool house out back with Adam the musical genius. Apart from my needling head doctor of a sister-in-law and idiot brother, I’d pretty much kept to myself. Because there was nothing wrong with alone, no matter what Lizzy said. Alone was perfectly fine and actually quite safe. Especially given the bulk of the people who tended to visit the house.
And there they all were.
Jimmy sat sprawled on one of the leather sofas, watching his brother David, sitting on a large amp opposite him, tune a guitar. Mal, the blond-haired maniac, sat behind a drum kit, keeping up a relatively quiet though steady beat. And Gib was in his father’s arms, safe and sound. Thank God.
I tightened my slightly sloppy ponytail and stood taller. Jeans and a tee wasn’t my usual slick day wear. But at least there were currently no food groups represented in my hair.
“But you’re supposed to hang out with Aunty Martha. We talked about this,” said Ben with a frown. “What if she gets lost? She hasn’t been here that long. She doesn’t know the house like you do.”
“Aunty Martha there.” Expression decidedly unconvinced by the argument, Gib pointed at me, standing in the doorway.
I lifted a hand in greeting. “He got away from me.”
Mal snorted, the jerk.
Ben just nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. He’s like Houdini when he gets an idea into his head that he wants to be somewhere else. Kind of impressed you kept him occupied for as long as you did, actually.”
Phew.
“Keeping track of children isn’t as easy as it looks,” said Jimmy with a small smile. Not a smirk, however, which was interesting. It might have almost been kind. Marriage and fatherhood must have mellowed him plenty.
“I’m finding that out,” I said.
David just jerked his chin at me. Not awkward at all.
With an electric guitar in his hands, the new kid, Adam, stood waiting nearby. He looked a little wide eyed at the company he was keeping. Fair enough. Any no-name baby rocker like him would give up valuable parts of their anatomy to be hanging out with Stage Dive.
“What did you think?” he asked Ben, gaze hopeful yet braced for the worst.
Mal cleared his throat. “So you’d label that maybe a standard sort of rock, pop, soul, with a dash of Americana-type sound, yeah?”
Adam just blinked. “Ah, well—”
“Don’t get me wrong. While there’s nothing particularly fresh or interesting about what you’re doing, you don’t completely suck. Not completely,” said Mal, all seriousness. “I hope you can find something to cling to in that, son.”
“Ignore him,” groaned David. “Unless you want to hit him with something. That’s fine too.”
“Hey!” Mal held up his drum sticks, making the symbol of the cross. “Stay back, fiends. I’m a ninja master with a set of sticks in my hands. I could take you all down without even raising a sweat.”
A hand rubbing tiredly over his face, Ben nodded in agreement. “Definitely ignore him. God knows we do. Your sound is fine, Adam. In fact, it’s damn good. That’s why you’re here.”
Brows drawn tight, Adam looked around the room. “Okay.”
Mal grinned. The man truly was the Puck or Loki of rock ’n roll. Pure mischief with a side order of annoying as all hell. “Actually, the truth is that you’re killing it. But we hate any sort of genuine competition and the only way we could think of crushing your talent was to have Ben produce your next album.”
Ben quietly grumbled something rude, given the small ears no doubt listening.
“So I’ve decided I’ll play on your album, Adam. But like under a pseudonym,” said Mal. “This is going to be great. I’ll use a cool fake name like Captain P. Niss. Get it?”
“You’re an idiot,” said Jimmy flatly.
Surprisingly enough, the drummer actually looked vaguely wounded. “Anne thought it was hilarious.”
“Your wife is an incredibly kind and gracious person.”
“Enough. You can play uncredited,” said Ben, ending the discussion.
“You can’t hide
talent that easily. The true musos will still recognize my style. They’ll be like, ‘no way that’s anyone but Malcolm Ericson on the drums’. Tell them, Marty.”
“Ben, you guys are working. Let me take him.” Ignoring Mal, I wandered over to my brother, arms extended for the two-year-old terror. Gib of course scowled and turned away, hiding his face in his father’s thick shoulder. Like I was the worst. Sigh. To think, I’d actually imagined he and I were bonding sort of over the last few days. Sure, it was based on an illicit chocolate chip cookie enticement system, but you had to start somewhere.
The doors to the outside pool and garden area opened, Sam slipping inside. Immediately, I tensed up further. This was just not my day.
“Done a full sweep of the surrounding area, Sam the Man?” asked Mal. “We under attack from rabid teenage girls again or what?”
The red had faded from my right eye, but I kept my face angled downward just the same. What with the amount of concealer I’d been using, no one could possibly see the bruising. Still, the bodyguard tended to notice things others didn’t.
Sam’s expression never slipped from his business-as-usual demeanour, regardless of the drummer’s ribbing. God knows where he found the patience. Though he had been working with the band for years. Guess he was used to it by now. “A few fans and some paparazzi are hanging around the front gate. Ziggy’s keeping an eye on them. Otherwise, you’re as safe and sound as I can make you, Malcolm.”
“Does that happen often?” asked Adam. “The rabid teenage girls thing?”
Sam shook his head. “Nah. Their fan base has grown up with them. These days, they’re more likely to just want to have a chat and take a picture. It’s the odd one who’s unbalanced that we have to watch out for.”
“Like the chick that broke into Jimmy and Lena’s place last year. The woman used their shower then took a little nap in their bed,” said Mal. “Crazy town.”
Adam’s eyes opened even wider.
“My bed I could have understood, but Jimmy’s? That woman needs help.” Mal paused, remembering. “Then there was the dude following me around last year and sending me poetry. He actually wasn’t bad.”
