I’m too nervous to leave the baby alone for too long so I forgo the shower for now and dress in a pair of tight jeans and a loose pullover, and then I pick up Coda from the bed and we head downstairs.
“See, I told you that would work,” Loren boasts when we walk into the dining room. “No one can break someone out of a funk like a baby can, and our son happens to be the cutest, smartest fucking baby there ever was.”
The long table is full of every breakfast food you can imagine, and I have a feeling it’s all for me. I say good morning to everyone and seat Coda in his high chair on the other side of Rich. I even get a glimpse of the possessive hand Loren has on Rich’s thigh as I walk around the table and take my seat next to Brax.
“Stop sayingfuckaround the baby,” Rich scolds. “For fuck’s sake, he’ll be fucking talking soon.”
“Not to mention your theory only works when you can give the baby back to the parents after,” Houston dryly retorts.
Braxton, who is currently buttering a bagel with averysharp knife, pauses to flick sharp eyes toward their lead singer. “Are you saying our kid doesn’t cheer you up?” Braxton inquires softly.
It’s fucking comical the way Houston’s eyes flare as he drops his fork to gape at his wife.
Something tells me that out of the three, he frequents the doghouse the most. Sadly, I can’t help but think how much he reminds me of Thor.
“Of course, he fucking cheers me up, Bambi. He’s myson.”
Rich and Loren snicker at their best friend in the hot seat, and Houston quickly redirects his ire on them. “And did you seriously throw our son in her room like a smoke grenade and run out?” he asks Rich.
“What? It fucking worked, didn’t it? She’s out.” Jericho glances at me like he wants me to back him up. I stare at him over the rim of my glass and take a sip of my orange juice without saying a word. I’m enjoying seeing them give each other a hard time too much. It reminds me of happier times in the wilds. “Wow,” he says, catching on with a chuckle. “Fuck you too, Relly.”
Loren immediately points his knife at him. “No. Relly is mine. Get your own nickname.”
“Please,” I object while holding up a hand. “No more nicknames. I have quite the collection already.”
Loren’s knife drops from his hand and clatters onto his plate as they all sit forward at the first hint of finally learning something about what happened to me. Even Houston, who I can’t imagine engaging in gossip at all. “Oh? Do tell. What are these nicknames and who gave them to you?”
At first, I hesitate, and then I remember these last weeks and how they never gave up on me. I’d say it’s earned at least a little of my trust.
“Well… There’s Sunshine,” I utter, thinking of Seth. “Princess and Goldilocks.” I get choked up when I think of Thorin. “Songbird. Wolf.” Without thinking, I relinquish the most damning one of all. The one I never fully claimed until now, when it’s too late. “Mine.”
Under my lashes, I see the members of Bound glance at each other.
“And the who?” Braxton presses.
“That,” I say with blurry eyes and a strained smile, “I’ll save for another time.”
She nods, and they all go back to eating. I force myself to get something down since I’ve been puking my guts up every day, sometimes twice a day, for weeks. Soon, they’re all done eating, which means I’m done pretending I want to eat.
“Hey, superstar,” Houston says to me after they’re all gone from the table, and I contemplate what to do with the rest of my day. I’m out of bed. That’s as far I’ve planned. “You’re with me. Come on.”
I stand and follow him downstairs like a mindless drone, but I perk up unexpectedly when I step inside their huge practice room slash recording studio. The red padding on the walls was no doubt soundproofing now that they had a baby in the house. There are guitars of every kind all over the place along with a drum set, keyboard, a few microphone stands, and a worn leather sofa pushed against a wall.
And there are awards and certifications too. A fuck-ton of them. I have more, but their number is quickly catching up to mine. The real difference is that I’ve never felt like I deserved mine. Not a single one. I could sing and dance better than the rest of them, it was true, but the part that’s always been missing from it all is me.
Houston takes a seat at the table with the mixing board, so I join him. On the other side of the glass is a sound booth, and I think about how long it’s been.
Suddenly, I’m itching to get inside one now, but there’s just one problem.
There’s no song in my heart that doesn’t include them.
It’s been weeks since my return, but Oni still wanted me to lie low while she finished putting all the necessary pieces in place. She’s already released a written statement on my behalf requesting grace and time for healing and yada yada yada, and it seems to have cooled the rising flames for now, but I didn’t have to check online to know that time was running out. I won’t be able to hide for much longer—not from my uncle and not from the world.
“What am I doing in here?” I finally ask as he pulls over a fresh legal pad and plops a black pen on top of it before sliding it in front of me.
“You’re going to take whatever it is you’re feeling in here”—he points at my chest—“and put it on here. And then, you’re going to release it all in there.” He points at the sound booth.
“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I whisper while staring at the pad.
