Page 111 of Rockstar Baby
Maybe she hadn’t. Two messages and that was it. No texts, and I’d checked.
Of course I hadn’t texted her again after mine had gone unanswered.
Until she’d called…
Gripping the wheel, I squinted into the sun and blew out a long, slow breath. It was the middle of June. No threat of snow now. Instead, the heat index was climbing higher by the minute, and I was sweating through my short-sleeved button down. Humidity was a bitch.
Unless I was sweating for other reasons. And not even ones like having to meet her older brother.
Before, that had seemed problematic. I’d just chosen to focus on that rather than the content of her voicemails. I knew full well I might not want to hear what she had to say.
I could call. That would be easier. Less traumatic. For her, I mean. I was a strong, tough guy. It wasn’t as if her news would destroy me. I was just worried because I couldn’t get a refund on the white gold bracelet I’d bought for her.
Right.
And if she’d contacted me because of something serious going on in her life—sickness in her family or job woes or God knows what else—most likely, she wouldn’t want to hear from me now. I hadn’t been there for her when she needed me.
I was a bastard. More concerned about myself than her possible tragedies.
Now I would own up to what I’d done. And what I hadn’t.
Let the chips fall where they may.
I found a spot down the block from the duplex Ivy shared with her brother. I went up to the door and hit the bell, then tucked my hands in the pockets of my trousers. My palms were actually damp.
Was this what it was like to meet the parents, so to speak? I hadn’t done it since Darla. It wasn’t an experience I was looking to repeat.
Yet if Ivy wasn’t with someone new—and didn’t want to maim me with her ice cream scoop—I would be doing it again with her actual parents at some point. She also had another brother.
Bloody big families. Another reason I wasn’t cut out for the coupled up way of life.
Almost on cue, Ian’s singsongy voice echoed in my head.
Anthony says what you focus on determines your results. Focus on what you love about your family. When bad thoughts creep in, smack your wrist to break the chain of negativity.
The asshole had actually said that to me in a text the other day. I’d wanted to kick his arse, but I’d actually found myself doing just as he suggested more than once.
If I ended up slapping myself a lot while talking to…Auggie? Was that what Ivy had called him? If I ended up slapping myself a lot while talking to him, maybe he’d think I had a twitch.
Or that I was a man in a strange land. I could use that excuse for any number of things.
The door swung open on my third ring of the bell. The guy was tall and well-built, the sort of fellow who wore T-shirts that nearly ripped at the seams from his flexed muscles. And in my case, the expansion of his chest as he stared me down.
“It’s you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that question. I looked over my shoulder. No one else on the porch. Just me.
I took off my mirrored sunglasses as I attempted a smile. “Hello…Auggie.” Sweat trickled down my temple and I rubbed it away. “I’m Rory. Is your sister around?”
“Auggie?” He smirked. “No, she isn’t. Can’t you use her name? Do you even know it?”
He stomped down the hallway, leaving the door open for me to follow. Probably hoping I would so he could spring out and strangle me.
Carefully, I walked into their living room and sat on the first piece of furniture that would hold me.
Auggie—not a fitting name, by the way—pushed a hand through his shaggy hair. It was cut short in back, longer in front, but from the way he was plowing through it, he might be bald soon.
“I’m guessing you’d prefer if I didn’t call you Auggie. So, August, is it?”
