Page 104 of Rockstar Baby
“How’s Zoe?” I asked instead of continuing along that line of thought. Ian was relentless, and at heart, he was a good soul. But I didn’t want to be counseled or guided. I just wanted Ivy, and having her in my life wasn’t so simple.
Ian sighed. “She’s fine.”
“And the baby?”
“He’s perfect. Kicks up a storm hard enough for me to feel it most nights.”
“Is that because you’re on top of her at the time?”
“Goes to show how much you know. At this stage, she’s on top of me.”
I shook my head. “Have you picked a name?”
“No. Our lists have lists. You’re going to come out for the birth.”
It wasn’t a question. “Is this your new way to try to get me to work with you? And Kellan?” I couldn’t hide the touch of sarcasm in my tone.
Sneaking around working together and inviting me to join in after the fact. I saw how it was.
“No, it’s my ongoing way to demonstrate you’re family to me, and as someone who had to fight for his, that’s important.”
I blew out a breath. “Low blow. Very low blow.”
“I play to win. So? Flynn’s already sent his regrets, but only because he’ll be out of the country for some shows and can’t rebook them.”
The third spoke of our trio was a crafty one, I had to give him that. Not that I thought he was lying.
Probably.
“You know I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to boil any cloths or help with any weird breathing exercises.”
“Think we have that covered. Also, we have access to hospitals in Turnbull, just in case you didn’t realize.”
“Jackass. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, yeah. Think about what I said. I don’t want you to pass up a chance with Ivy. She’s a lovely girl, and lovely girls aren’t alone for long. Someone wise told me that when Zoe and I weren’t together—not you, because you aren’t—and I’m paying it forward.”
“Yes, Anthony Robbins. I hear you. Loud and clear.” Nothing I hadn’t told myself a million times.
For all I knew, it was already too late. Ivy could already be in love with someone else. Just because Ian didn’t know didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Ivy would probably be circumspect when she was around the other women.
My mate certainly had been when he’d told me not to worry all those years ago that Darla seemed distant. Little had I known he was handling the problem just fine—literally and figuratively.
“Thick as a brick,” Ian muttered. “Watch the mail.”
Then he hung up before I could.
Watch the mail?For what?
I didn’t have time to ponder that right now. I put my headphones on. I had a song to finish.
Alas, I still did at past eight the next morning when I finally looked up again. The sun was agonizingly bright and my stomach had sent up a roar deafening enough to wake the neighbors. I made coffee using my trusty tumbler and stumbled into the shower, leaning against the tiled wall as I poured the heavenly brew down my throat.
It didn’t help. Nor did the water jabbing icy needles into my scalp and shoulders.
The song I’d been working on for the new Ripper Records artist who needed a surefire hit—good luck there—wasn’t quite done. I’d made some progress before switching over to an equally thorny composition.
The song I’d written for Ivy.
