Bitterness assails me. No one really cares about my life. This is all to appease Mom and avenge her bruised heart and ego. My nostrils flare. After allowing another contraction to slide through me, I glare. “If helping her along means giving up my baby, then I’m not doing it. Disown me.”
Grandma clenches her jaw and huffs, tapping her fingers on the rocking chair’s wooden arm. Seeing I’m not backing down, she offers a terse nod and reiterates, “No more contact with Sloane.”
Weak and exhausted, I capitulate even as I wonder what makes her think Sloane would accept a call or visit from me. Humiliation aside, he supposedly used me to get back at Mom. Yes, he and Mom slept together, but I don’t believe he ever cared for her as much as he did me. However, with Grandma’s unyielding stipulations on me, I better understand Sloane’s ability to walk away from me when Grandma demanded it. That still doesn’t explain her renewed determination to make him suffer.
“Seeing you and Sloane together will only send Cassandra into another spiral.”
“Mom has Dad,” I point out. “It shouldn’t matter.”
“It does.”
“Grandma—“
“It’s your choice,” she interrupts. “His future, his career, is in your hands.”
Sloane’s music is his life. If there’s any chance for his band to be saved, I have to take it. “Whatever you want. Just help him.”
Satisfaction gleams in her eyes. I turn away, unable to bear it.
The baby kicks as my uterus squeezes and contracts and another groan falls from my lips at the hard wave of suffering. I second-guess my decision for a natural childbirth. Once I deliver, I’ll never think about having another baby again, or having sex again, or falling in love again. Sloane’s it for me, no matter how easily I was replaced. I understand his actions. I do. My age, his secrets, and lifestyle doomed us from the beginning.
Another pain hits me and I groan, tears slipping down my cheeks. Throughout it all, I wait for my hospital door to open, but it never does.
I’m alone, except for Grandma to torture me, but without my baby’s father at my side. A small photo of him and me is tucked away in my wallet, a selfie I snapped when we were happy and free, secluded at his Denver mansion. It helps to forget his hatred of me. Not that I really blame him.
I single-handedly ruined one of rock’s favorite sons and the baby inside of me is the proof.
Chapter One
Sloane
Mesh shirts have never served me better on this hot, humid night of July in Houston. The heat’s one of the many things I dislike about the city. On the surface, it’s a banal disdain. Deep down, my aversion is personal and painful.
“Smile, Sloane!”
The girl’s voice catches my attention and I dutifully follow her directive as she presses her body against me. We’re standing beneath the outside lights of the mansion where I’ll repay some of my sins by recording our next album in the home studio. To appease me, someone planned this exclusive party, although it does little good to repair relationships. Maitland, Adam, Quint, and I are scattered in all directions of this monstrosity of a home, determined to stay out of each other’s paths. Kiln stands on a second-floor balcony, drink in hand, surveying the crush of people with infuriating coolness. A dickhead dictator with unwillingly leashed power.
His tumble from his perch would be too fucking easy for me. No, my life has always led me down the path of most resistance.
Were Kiln to meet with an unfortunate accident, I’d still have Jaeger to deal with. And my father.
My jaw clenches, but I push my resentment and hostility aside. This isn’t the time to take issue with the chokehold the band has placed me in.
I’m not blind to their position in this shit. Hell, I’d force one of them to the wall, too. But I’d fucking do it for more reasons than money. I’d do it because we’ve known each other since we were boys. I’d fucking do it to keep one of my friends from fucking OD’ing again. Mostly, I’d do it because too many lives have been already destroyed by the secrets and lies.
“Want to party with me?” Ms. Selfie asks, encouraged because I’ve stood in silence as we’ve posed for countless snapshots.
Hers isn’t the first offer I’ve had in the three hours since the party began. I’m just not certain yet who I’ll choose, too restless to settle on entertainment for the remainder of my evening.
“Not now,” I tell her, close to her ear. “Maybe, later.”
She bats her eyelashes and gives me a disappointed pout, but I ignore her and walk away, photo bombing girls who have their phones raised above their heads for pictures. They squeal at my antics and attempt to engage me. Acknowledging their offers, I continue moving, not interested at the moment.
The shit’s all the same. Wherever I go, tall, buxom blondes are thrown at me. There’s an abundance of them tonight. Same game, new place. I just parted ways with more of the same who entertained us on the plane.