Page 91 of Mending Hearts

Turning my back on her, I dialed Taryn’s number. Pasha veered to the side of the road.

Taryn answered while Pasha dragged my mother out of the backseat, and I said, “I’ve fired Laura as my manager, and I’m firing her from being my mother. I need your help to cut her out of my life for good.”

“That might be tough, but I’ll help in any way I can. If she has access to bank accounts, phone numbers…” Taryn droned on while my mind spiraled out of control at the impossibility of the task. By the time we got home, Laura would be ten steps ahead of us. I didn’t know how anything worked.

When Pasha’s door opened again and he slid into the driver’s seat, Laura’s enraged screams followed him. He passed my mother’s purse to me. “I have phone, too.”

“You got her phone and her purse?” I glanced over my shoulder at Laura’s livid expression outside the rear window.

“Cut her out,” Pasha said. “Then you be happy.”

That seemed so simple. Was it really that easy?

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Tyler

One week.She’d been gone for one week, and my heart was ragged, worn out, in desperate need of mending. If I didn’t have Victoria, I’d have dipped into the alcohol, succumbed to the haze. As it was, I was getting less and less sleep.

Each time I sank into unconsciousness, she visited, the sweetest torture. Sometimes, she was flirting, at the edge of the stage, a show just for me. Other times, we were lounging in bed, highlights of our pillow talk playing on a loop long enough to make me believe the dream might be real. Eventually, something would tip me off—an action, a word she wouldn’t use—and I’d be yanked out, woken up. I’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, so full of wishes I expected a genie or the devil to materialize so I could make a bargain for my heart to return.

When I fed Victoria and rocked her back to sleep, I saw Mia in every expression, every movement. Never before had I been this fulfilled and empty at the same time.

In some ways, her absence was an echo of something I experienced before. Unlike with Katie, I understood Mia’s conflict. Mia asked me not to call, not to text, not to reach out while the Kenny Connors trial stormed around her. She didn’t want me dragged into the turmoil.

I didn’t need to be dragged; I would have walked into the eye of the storm with her hand cradled in mine.

As it was, I’d lumbered through the week in a fog of sleepless nights and long days trying to figure out how to tend to a newborn. YouTube videos and frequent calls to my mother and Emily had gotten me by, but it was draining to juggle the baby, my shop, and my fraying feelings for Mia.

I’d thought I’d see her splashed across social media the day of her deposition, but somehow her team managed to keep her out of the press. Their ability to shelter her wasn’t that surprising. I knew from the tour how her core group circled her in times of need with Laura cracking the whip. Trust almost no one, and leaks of information were nearly impossible.

During the long nights, I often played Mia’s music or watched old interviews and tried to convince myself it was so Victoria would know her mother’s voice if she ever came back. I hated that her return was an “if” and not “when.”

The doorbell rang, and I had to readjust Victoria so I could keep the bottle propped in her mouth while I answered the door. She wailed if I removed it before she was done. Since Mia had given the warning about the paparazzi coming for me and Victoria, I never answered the door blind. On the other side, Katie had her medical bag slung over her shoulder, her scrubs fluttering in the light breeze.

I closed my eyes. It was Monday. How had I forgotten it was Monday? My gaze darted around the house, taking in the clear signs I wasn’t coping. Dishes in the sink. Clothes strewn over chairs. Burp cloths on almost every surface. The sour stench of soiled diapers from the garbage was a reminder that I wasn’t dumping the can frequently enough.

Most people might not notice the disorganization or put it down to the newborn learning curve, and maybe that was part of what was happening. My instinct was to run around hiding all the signs. But I suspected Katie still knew enough to see through any façade I tried to present. Even if I had the energy to pretend this week, I might not next time. Might as well face the music today.

Swinging open the door, I plastered a smile on my face. “Gotta be honest. I forgot you were coming.”

“It’s fine.” Katie waved me off. “I’m just coming to see how you’re getting along and to make sure Victoria is progressing. First babies are hard.” She slipped past into the house and stopped in the foyer. “Oh,” she said.

“Yeah. Like I said, I forgot.” I gave a nervous chuckle.

“Is Mia here?” She peered around me to the hallway, her long brown ponytail swaying. “Or any of the people she hired to cook and clean for you?”

So, she’d heard about that. As soon as Mia had started to show, she’d fired all of them, but for those first few weeks after Mia arrived, I’d appreciated the good food and clean house accomplished by someone else’s hard work. Although, I was perfectly capable of doing both…normally. “Uh, no. Um…she’s not here.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine. You said you forgot, so perhaps she did as well. I can wait or come back.” Katie clenched her hands in front of her, and I was sure she was appalled by the mess. I was tidy, but Katie had been almost militant about order in the house. “I could…I could help you get a little more organized while we wait.”

“No.” I shook my head. “No.” I could picture how pissed off Mia would be to know Katie had offered, had felt I wasn’t capable. “I haveto finish feeding her or she’ll scream bloody murder, but we don’t need to wait for Mia.”

Besides, we’d be waiting a hell of a long time.

“Right,” Katie said, setting down her bag and digging through it. “Have you been having any problems with feeding? Diaper rash? Questions about bowel movements?”

“No, everything has been great.” My voice was too bright, false.

---