I worked so hard to get my master’s degree, and I have no idea when I’ll ever be able to use it. At least I don’t have to worry about keeping a roof over my head at the moment, but all the plans I had for my life are now in limbo. But I can’t focus on that right now. A job isn’t possible on bed rest. At present, I have to focus on giving Ryder bad news.
Resisting the urge to hold his hand, I say, “Maggie and I had a long talk today.”
Something shifts in his blue eyes. He doesn’t look nearly as friendly as he did a second ago. I imagine she has a lot of dirt on him, stuff he doesn’t want me or anyone to know.
“Something she told me is the reason I could finally move past what happened.”
Still nothing from him. Not an “okay” or even a blink of his eyes.
“When I tell you what she said, try to remember she is the reason we’re getting another chance.”
I leave out that she’s the reason we missed the first chance. He shifts his weight slightly, but still doesn’t say a word.
A few butterflies swirl around in my stomach. Here goes. “Maggie took that picture of us kissing in the rain. The press never had it. She just told you that, so you’d leave and finish out your concert tour.”
Ryder is a big guy, solid muscle. I brace myself, half expecting him to go into a rage after the outbursts I’ve already witnessed, but he’s stone cold silent. The silence is actually scarier than any temper tantrum could be.
Maggie lied to him. She is the reason he wasn’t with me when I found out I was pregnant. She’s the reason I cried over him. She’s the reason we missed countless kisses, nights together.
God, he looks so pissed. In this moment, I wonder whether he’s also trying to balance his thoughts, remembering that Maggie’s part of the reason he is the musician he is, the star he is.
He doesn’t ask me questions. He simply takes what I told him at face value, believing I’m telling him the truth. I certainly am, but I also know that sometimes people find the truth hard to believe, hard to accept, so they lash out. Like I said, I was expecting the rage, not the pissed-off silence.
He gets to his feet, heading for the door. “Ryder,” I call after him, but he doesn’t stop. “Don’t make me get up and follow you.” That does the trick. He stops, but keeps his back to me. “I know Maggie and I aren’t the best of friends. But I don’t want you to fire her. She thought she was protecting you, just like you thought you were protecting me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
By summer,
I called it quits
Ryder
It’s midnight, the sky a dark blue, shimmering with stars like tiny diamonds in the sky. Guess this is what the color midnight blue is—dark—but with hints of light.
Staring out what will be my son’s or daughter’s bedroom window, I’m not sure how to feel. Tonight, I got another shot with Kailey.
The cost—Maggie.
My dad used to say, “There’s only room for one woman in my life, and that was your momma.” Maybe he was wiser than I thought. It seems there’s only room for one woman in my life, as well. That’s Kailey.
Maggie’s not gone. Per Kailey’s request, I didn’t fire her, but things won’t be the same. Since I’m not touring at the moment, there will be less going on, less for Maggie to deal with. The paparazzi still hang around, but since we’re homebound, they’ve been mostly quiet. Kailey and her pregnancy are not something I want as front-page news, so no public appearance or interviews, either. This means Maggie’s presence in my life will be greatly diminished, and I don’t want her around Kailey. She’s done enough damage.
When I think of all the shit Maggie stirred up, it makes me want to ram my fist through a wall. The only thing that kept me from losing my shit was Kailey. No stress, that’s what the doctor said. And I’m pretty sure me going fucking ballistic would cause her some stress, so I’ve held it in. Maggie got a good earful, though.
As much as I wanted to fire her, I know I can’t. Maggie knows things about me. She long ago signed a non-disclosure agreement, but I’m not worried about her exposing me. There are things Maggie handles for me, does for me, that no one else knows about. I can’t just kick her to the curb, which is probably why she felt like she could come clean to Kailey.
Fuck! Nothing is going to settle me tonight. Despite what some country songs say, a bottle of whiskey isn’t going to work. I’m also not one to reach out and call someone when it’s been a shit day. I know my brother, Knox, would want me to do just that—to call him. But I’m the older brother. It’s my job to be there for him, not the other way around. Still, I know I owe him a phone call. Tomorrow.
Tonight, I need my guitar. Some people listen to music as they fall asleep. I play myself to sleep. I’ve woken up with my guitar next to me in bed more nights than I care to remember.
My six string is my mistress.
Grabbing my guitar, I start to strum, but stop myself. Kailey’s probably asleep by now, but I should check on her. I should probably apologize for the way I stormed out of her bedroom, too. Guitar in hand, I make my way across the house to her bedroom, finding the light still on.
She’s got a notebook beside her, scribbling on it. For a second, I wonder if she’s writing in the shit or the shine notebooks. Before I even say a word, she looks up, catching me admiring her. “It’s late,” I say. “What are you still doing up?”
She shrugs. “It’s hard to be tired when all you do is lay around all day. So I’m making a list of things for the baby.”
She motions with her hand for me to come over. There must be three sheets of paper full of items. I look down at it. Something called a Boppy Pillow tops the list.
“Babies really need all this stuff?” I ask, leaning my guitar up against the bed.
“I guess so,” she says. “It’s overwhelming.”
“Well, we’ll have plenty of time to pick things out and research the safest equipment,” I say.
“Did you talk to Maggie?” Kailey asks.
“I didn’t fire her, but she won’t be around as much,” I say, not wanting to get into it all. “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you don’t need anything.”
“Some company would be nice,” she says, smiling at me. She knows I can’t resist her smile. “Maybe we could watch a movie.”
“A movie?”
“Yeah, your brother’s pretty cute,” she says, smiling brightly.
“In that case, no movie. I think I prefer reading to you instead,” I say, raising an eyebrow, remembering her riding me like a pro this morning. God, was that only this morning? It’s been the longest day.
“No more books,” she says, making room for me on the bed and motioning to my guitar. “Sing to me.”
“Requests?” I ask.
“Well, since the only country artists I know are you, early Taylor Swift, and Garth Brooks, I guess . . .”
“We have to do something about your country music knowledge,” I say, taking a seat on the bed. “I’ll play a song. Then you tell me who you think sings it.”