Page 52 of Edge of Heaven

He shakes his head. “Nah. Not her scene. That’s why I thought you girls might do some shopping or something. But she can just stay at the hotel.”

I can stay at the hotel?

Since when?

I don’t say anything in front of Ryleigh, but something about that rubs me the wrong way. He always wants me at his side, showing me off. So making me stay behind on a day that will undoubtedly be full of opportunities for him to be in the press makes no sense. Not that I care about any of that, and staying behind is actually a relief for me—but I know him well enough to sense there’s another reason he doesn’t want me there.

Has he met someone else?

That would be great if not for the four remaining payments for Toby.

Christ.

I have to tread carefully, but I need to know what’s up.

“What’s going on with the golf event?” I ask him once Ryleigh’s gone. “And since when do you want me to stay at the hotel?”

He shrugs. “It’s not your scene. It’s going to be at some swanky country club. I mean, what would you even wear? Your whole wardrobe is out of that Rock Vibe crap. And that’s not the atmosphere of the event at all.”

I open my mouth and close it again.

He’s ashamed ofme?

The last time I tried to wear a cute little summer dress with cap sleeves and a moderate hemline he laughed so hard I thought he would hurt himself. Then he made me change into something short and skimpy.

I love clothes—all kinds of clothes.

I have suits and summer dresses and khaki shorts that go down to my knees. I have heels, boots, sneakers, and sandals, in all different colors and heel heights. Yet Callum doesn’t let me wear anything except the highest heels, the slinkiest clothes, and the most outrageous items in my closet. I know I look like a stereotypical rock and roll groupie most of the time, but it’s just become part of my life that I accept because it’s almost over.

I’m embarrassed about the situation I’m in, but I always keep in mind that I wouldn’t be here—and certainly not doing the things I do—if not for Toby.

But Callum’s comment leaves me feeling a different kind of shame.

That I’ve become someone I don’t recognize.

Someone who’s so inappropriate that even my rock star boyfriend doesn’t want to be seen in polite company with me.

How the hell is a judge going to grant me custody of my child if that’s my image?

At the same time, I can’t get custody of a child who’s dead. I’d rather him be alive and healthy and thriving, living with my mom, than me getting custody of a child I can’t afford to properly take care of.

“You told me to dress this way,” I say, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. “You make fun of me whenever I wear something more modest, less rock and roll. And now you don’t want to be seen with me? That’s rich, Callum. Even for you.”

And because I’m hurt and angry and dealing with a plethora of emotions I know he won’t be sympathetic to, I turn on my heel and stomp in the other direction.

“T—wait!” He only calls me “T” when he knows he fucked up.

But I don’t care.

I’ll make nice later.

Right now, I have to lick my wounds in private.

Before I say or do something that will come back to bite me later.

Chapter17

Mick

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