I told myself that later I’d look back on that moment andblame what I did next on pregnancy hormones, but the truth was I just couldn’t stand the guy.
My fingers balled into a tight fist, my arm cocked back as I continued toward the elevators, and, without even breaking stride, I punched Garrett Wilder, famous drummer of Civil Corruption, right in his perfect, straight, model-worthy nose.
“Dude!” I heard one of the other guys laugh as I climbed onto the elevator they’d just exited. “I think I’m in love with your baby mama!”
I waited until the doors closed to cradle my hand and winced. “Motherfucker!”
Who knew punching someone could hurt so damn bad.
FOUR
NOW
“Liddy!You have exactly three minutes to get your pajamas on! I mean it this time!” A loud squeal of little girl laughter rang through the tiny apartment, quickly followed by Corrine’s cry of “Quick! The floor’s made of lava! Jump on the bed!”
So much for going to bed on time tonight.
“Corrine!” I shouted from my place at the kitchen sink, “Stop riling her up!”
I rinsed the last dirty dish and sat it in the drying rack on the counter. Most nights, after a long day spent working and then coming home to chase my baby girl around, I lamented the fact that our tiny apartment didn’t have a dishwasher. But having to financially support myself and my daughter cut into unnecessary luxuries such as dishwashers.
There’d been a time during my pregnancy when I let myself fantasize about a larger apartment with more amenities, but being the manager of a coffee shop, I wasn’t exactly bringing home the big bucks. Liddy and I were still living in the same apartment that I’d moved into with Corrine when I came to Seattle nearly four years before. It was small, and my bedroom was almost the size of a postage stamp, but we were happy. Thatwas all I cared about. And Corrine, being the amazing friend she was, had gotten herself a one-bedroom in the same complex so she could stay close and help me out with Liddy as much as possible.
“Mommy! Mommy! Da floor’s made a lava!”
I barely had a chance to brace against the kitchen counter when my three-year-old bundle of energy came barreling into the kitchen and proceeded to try climbing my body. At least she was dressed in her pajamas.
“So I heard.” I picked my giggling girl up and propped her on my hip, smiling down into her bright green eyes. “But it’s bedtime, so you need to wind down, monkey.”
“But I don’t wanna go to bed,” she whined, poking her bottom lip out in an adorable pout. Too bad for her I’d grown immune to that pout over the years.
Placing her on her feet, I turned her by the shoulders and began shuffling her toward her bedroom. “Go pick a bedtime story. I’ll be there in a second.”
“’Kay.” Crestfallen, she dropped her head dramatically, but did what I’d told her to do.
“Sorry,” Corrine said, coming around and dropping onto the couch, not looking sorry in the slightest. “She’s just so much fun to play with.”
I chuckled at my friend and reached in to pull the plug and drain the sink. “You’re a terrible influence. I feel like I’m raising two kids.”
“What can I say?” She grinned. “I’m awesome like that.”
I was in the middle of drying my hands with a dishtowel when my phone rang from its place on the kitchen counter. Leaning in, I groaned at the sight of the name lighting up on the screen.
“Let me guess,” Corrine said, standing from the couch andcoming to join me on the other side of the small counter. “It’s Douchey Von Dickhead.”
“The one and only.” I dropped the towel by the sink and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Gwen?”
“Yeah, Garrett, you called my phone. Who else would you expect?”
Corrine waved to get my attention and mouthed, “I’ll read to her tonight,” before moving toward Liddy’s room.
In the years that had passed since my one and only night with Garrett Wilder, things had grown no less icy. I communicated with him as little as possible, only ever discussing our daughter. The distance was easy to maintain, seeing as Garrett hadn’t slowed down with his pathetic rocker lifestyle at all since the birth of Liddy. He toured, partied, got drunk and laid, all of which was plastered across every available media outlet. Hell, the prick had even shown up at the hospital stinking of stale booze and perfume when I was in labor. Corrine had done a stellar job of kicking his ass out of the delivery room, refusing access until he’d showered some of the skank off.
He’d call to talk to Liddy a few nights a week whenever the band toured, but those conversations barely lasted more than three minutes. Whenever he was in Seattle, he maintained just enough of a presence in her life to make her think her daddy walked on water, but the truth was he behaved like nothing more than her fun uncle—there for the good times and conveniently absent for the moments that mattered.
But I kept telling myself that as long as Liddy was happy, I would be too. And seeing as she was too young to realize what a colossal douchebag her father was, she was happy. I thanked my lucky stars every night that she was still too young for anything bad to touch her. My girl still didn’t even realize her father was a famous rock star. I’d managed to convince her that he simplytraveled a lot for work, but that was a conversation I dreaded having in the near future.
