“Alicia.”
“Alicia, what?”
“Tucker. Alicia Tucker. We met about ten months ago.”
I’m not stupid. I can do the math. I know it takes nine months for a baby to do its thing.
“Looks like you’ve been busy since we met.” This comment causes her to rip her sunglasses off her eyes. If looks could kill, I’d be dead right about now and she’d be cleaning out my checking account.
“We met ten months ago after one of your shows. I was backstage and we went to the bar. I bought you a drink and you brought me back here.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure what else to say. I can only imagine what happened when we came back here and sad to say it, but it wasn’t memorable.
“Anyway, this...” she points to the carrier on the floor. “Is yours.”
The last two words hang in the air. I heard her loud and clear. I don’t need her to repeat herself. I look at her and the carrier. The baby is mostly covered, except the face. I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl. I really don’t care. This chick is nuts. I always wrap my junk.
“What makes you think he’s mine?”
“Because we slept together and I got pregnant.”
“Not possible. I don’t drink so I can avoid situations like this. I always wrap my junk. Your kid isn’t mine.”
“It is.”
“It? Do you not know what you gave birth to?”
She rolls her eyes and places her hands on her hips. I stare at her, not willing to give an inch. Her phone rings. She takes it out and looks at it, smiling. How can she be smiling? This isn’t anything to smile about. She’s blaming her mistake on me. She pockets her phone and looks at me.
“Listen. I had a crush on you. I went to your show, got backstage and met you. I bought you a drink and we ended up here. I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“What are you thinking about, dad?”
I blink a few times, wondering why I was remembering the day he came to me.
“Not much, bud. We should probably get going.” He nods and climbs off the bed. I watch as he moves around the room with ease. He’s so used to this life and I sort of hate that for him.
We arrive at the venue in time for sound check. The artist who is opening for us finishes as we arrive. The kid shakes our hands, raves about our music and goes on and on about how thankful he is. I leave Liam and Katelyn to talk to him, although I want Katelyn to come with me. I could show her how to play the drums, while she sits on my lap. I hate what she’s wearing. Her skirt is shorter and her shirt is one of our band shirts. I want to tear it to shreds so I can get to what she’s hiding underneath and that skirt would look fine on my floor or up around her waist.
I start my sound check, playing a few of the first few bars of our songs so Tyler can figure everything out. This will be his first major gig and I’d like to make sure it goes off without a hitch.
Liam finally joins us on stage and starts going through his list of requirements. He sings the first verse of each song on our set list for tonight. For the most part sound check goes fairly well. It was Tyler who didn’t like the way a few of the songs sounded, but the adjustments were made and we finished in time for the doors to open.
I walk out front and check in with Luke at the merchandise table. I hadn’t had an opportunity to see everything that Katelyn ordered for our shows. We have the standard band shirts with our new album cover, keychains, lanyards and five different images of me, Liam and JD. This is new, usually it’s just been Liam on the images, but now it’s all three of us. I have to say I like that she’s included JD and me.
I look up when my name is called. A few girls start coming toward me, but it’s not them who catch my attention, it’s Katelyn. She’s looking for me.
I can’t help but grin from ear to ear as I walk toward her.
I should have an IV drip of coffee inserted deep into my veins today. I don’t know if I can do this. Liam made everything sound so easy and yet here I am about to jump off a cliff because I haven’t a clue as to what’s going on.
At first, when I opened the dressing room door, I thought this was normal. This being red roses everywhere. We are talking on every surface. I thought this venue was just being nice. A bit over the top – yes – but ass-kissing nice nonetheless.
That was until I heard the yelling, followed by the breaking of glass. I’ve never been in a violent home. My father dotes on my mother who would rather have something on her body lifted than to raise her voice. And Mason, he never raised his voice unless he was yelling at the TV. So this bone-chilling sensation running down my spine is rather unnerving and honestly, I’m a little freaked out and afraid to open the door.