Then he launched into the lyrics of the new song. A song that was beautiful. Heartfelt. Gripping. Painful.
And 100 percent about his ex.
Courtney’s stomach soured, and not because she’d only picked at the oatmeal. Her stomach turned over as though she’d chugged a whole vat of bacon grease, because reality was hitting her upside the head. Knocking her over. Drowning her.
Bax’s lyrics were about Em.
They were sad. Angry. But worst of all… they were hopeful. They were gorgeous.
They were for a love story that shouldn’t have ended.
Everything he’d said to Courtney yesterday seemed to dissolve with the force of his art and she could see clearly that he wasn’t over Em. He could say it, he could promise, but some part of him—a part big enough to write Em a song—wasn’t over her.
And how could he be? The asshole lens of clarity seemed to slap her. He’d loved Em, had only been apart from her for less than 24 hours when they’d hooked-up in the shower and their lives linked together forever.
He hadn’t had time to mourn the loss of that relationship and all that it promised.
She felt a little dizzy at the realization that he loved Em, and it wasn’t entirely past tense. That kind of commitment and promise and love… it didn’t just go away overnight.
Even when you made a baby with the wrong woman.
“Shit,” she whispered, pressing her palm against her chest where it ached. At the same time as she felt that pain, she couldn’t seem to feel anything else.
“He’s really going there, huh?” Becca asked, her hand coming to Courtney’s back and rubbing the spot between her shoulder blades. “You know this isn’t about you.”
Oh, she knew. This was not about her. None of this was about her. That was the problem.
It always was.
Harley kicked, fluttered, and moved at the sound of Bax’s voice. This song.
Courtney swallowed back any residual emotion and did her best to just be there in the moment. Not think about what this meant or why he felt the need to write a heartfelt song about the woman he loved leaving him for a guy in wing tips.
The raw ache in his voice as he sang the lyrics was eerily similar to the way her heart felt at that moment. For entirely different reasons.
Or perhaps—and this was the part that really hurt—for the same reason.
She shouldn’t have expected any different. Expectations bred resentment. She knew this. She understood this.
At some point, she’d closed her eyes to it. Pretended everything was A-okay, and that they were hunky-dory as a little makeshift family.
He’d done the same thing.
But she just woke up from the dream.
Damn.
“Let’s go,” Becca said. “We can head back to the buses. We don’t have to stay here.”
“I think I’m supposed to hear this.” Courtney regained control over the tears that threatened—the problem with pregnancy and the way it jacked with her hormones was that she had a much looser rein on her ability to control her feelings. Which sucked, because that was what made it easier to function in life on the road. Life with Bax. Life in general.
Irina took up the other side opposite Becca, draping her arm over Courtney’s shoulders. “Hey, chickadee.”
“Did you find Oprah?” Courtney asked, willing herself to stay strong until she was in a place where she could fall apart with no one witnessing.
“Yeah, actually.” Irina nodded, leaning her head against the side of Courtney’s. “But then Bax dropped his megaton bomb on the tour, so I figured I should do my job and ensure you’re drinking water and not poisoning the father of your kid.”
“I don’t think she’s gone arsenic yet.” Becca’s gaze met Irina’s, and something passed between them. Courtney wasn’t exactly sure what, and she didn’t care, because just as the song seemed to be ending, Bax really let it all hang out when he finished with “Never could stop with the love part. Even at the end.”
