He starts to turn away, to leave me alone, after revealing his grief for her. I’d prefer he grieve for Abby.
“I’ll be in my office.”
“Wait,” I call, determined to hold onto this moment a little longer.
He’s hurting, but at least he’s talking to me. He can tolerate being in the same room with me. I suspect the arrival of Bryn has softened him. Maybe, he’s hoping Mother will allow Georgie to return to us now that she’s delivered.
My worst nightmare will be Georgie back under my roof.
I search for something to jumpstart a conversation, so our life can return to what it was pre-Sloane. I’ll even take his need for other sex partners, over his complete and total shut out of me.
As much as I’d like to go to her, Mother can’t fix this. She’s done everything she can to assure Parnell doesn’t leave me. But she can’t make his cock work. And she can’t soften his heart toward me. She still faults him for my current state of mind and my affair with Sloane.
“You need something, Cassandra?” he asks tiredly when I just stand there and stare at him.
Tears fall from my eyes. Real, genuine tears of misery. “Will you ever forgive me for sleeping with Sloane?”
He brushes a hand over his hair. Where once his face was youthful, his skin is now lined with wrinkles. “I had an affair with Abby,” he says without remorse, and shrugs. “I reaped what I sowed.”
Upon hearing Abby’s name, I recall the two of them in my bed, fucking. A useless memory. Whatever Mother did to make him pay no longer matters, either.
The important thing is I have him, and Abby doesn’t.
“I love you,” I say in truth. I’ve always loved him and I always will love him. I’m furious with him, but I love him.
His face hardens. “Love me?” he growls with shocking incredulity, as if he doesn’t understand that my love for him is the reason I consented to the extra people in our bed. I didn’t want to lose him.
“Yes,” I say in a small voice. “I love you, Parnell.”
He scoffs. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t have treated Georgie like yesterday’s trash!”
“Wh-what?” I stammer, not quite comprehending…My God! This is about Georgie? His complete and total withdrawal from me is about…Goddamn it, does it always have to come back to her? Another moment of regret seizes me at my easy capitulation to Mother hiring Reed to pose as Bryn’s father. Georgie deserved my way. “I’ve handled her—”
He rushes me and I stumble back. “She was bleeding to death,” he screams, his eyes wild with anger and grief.
“She…she didn’t die,” I croak, not knowing what else to say. Does no one see my point of view? “She survived.”
“No thanks to you. You didn’t move when I had her, Cassandra. I asked you to call for help and you didn’t fucking move.”
I cover my mouth, silently pleading with him, scrambling for an explanation. Georgie’s attempted suicide has affected him more than anything. Even me fucking a then twenty-five-year-old man.
That says a lot.
“Helen has barred me from seeing my little girl.”
My God, did I underestimate Parnell’s feelings for Georgiana? In my quest to keep her away from me…in Mother’s quest to appease me…have I overplayed my hand and actually lost him?
His nose reddens and tears streaks his cheeks.
What…?
Then, I remember what brought him to me in the first place. Bryn.
“I often think of the day Georgie was born,” I say softly. It isn’t a lie. She wasn’t my competition. She was a beautiful baby. And it felt as if I had my entire life ahead of me. My life had a purpose, every minute was useful, without these pockets of time I can’t account for because they are so meaningless. I tip closer and flatten one hand on his chest while wiping away his tears with the other. “Bryn’s her spitting image. What if we took care of Bryn while Georgie got herself together?”
“What do you mean?”
“Finished school. Got a degree.” As if. “We…we can have a chance for a do-over. Make up for our failures with Georgie through Bryn.”
He frowns at me.
“Think about it,” I press. “What can Georgie do without an education?”
“Her life is a mess right now, Cass,” he says tiredly, rubbing a hand over his reddened eyes. “She’s facing testifying against that man—”
“No. Mother is working with Rand to come to a satisfactory conclusion, without anyone worse for the wear.”
“Meaning?”
“There’s evidence,” I begin slowly. “Georgie lied on Sloane. She’s slept with others.”
His shoulders sag in defeat, and I cluck in manufactured sympathy. No man believes their daughter a slut.
“Now, that Bryn is here, DNA tests have been ordered,” I continue, not adding Reed’s DNA will be made to match Bryn’s. Money buys anything and Mother will use it and her power to keep me happy. If not for her love and devotion to me, I wouldn’t want to live. No one else cares if I’m satisfied or not. “Do you really want Bryn to live her formative years in the hell of Georgie’s life? She lied on Sloane Mason.” I lick my lips. My words are growing on him. Whether he realizes it or not—wants to admit it or not—his confidence in his precious little girl is broken. I made sure he knew how she sucked Crowell’s cock for drugs. “Suppose she starts using drugs again? Then what will become of Bryn?”
These ideas horrify him.
“We can start over, Parnell.”
With Bryn. I’ll have a baby again, just as it was when I was young. I won’t have to concern myself with how I’ve spent my previous moment or if my next breath is my last. I’ll have a miniature Georgie as if I’ve turned the clock back.
“We can help Georgie and raise Bryn,” he says, the happiness missing from him for months returning.
I nod, even if it’s a lie. As far as Georgie is concerned, she wants nothing to do with us, me especially. I don’t care.
I want Bryn, and I know Mother will make it happen. If for no other reason than to keep me happy.
Chapter Seven
From afar, Sloane’s hatred toward me is easier to accept, but near me and knowing how he despises me is crushing. He’d been there for me, in my corner, helping me to slay my dragons. Was that only a year ago? Hard to believe how my life has changed in that short time.
Without Bryn, I’d be the same lost girl.
I pace with her in my arms, humming every nursery rhyme I remember. It concerns me she won’t nurse and isn’t sleeping. Each time she closes her eyes, she opens them a heartbeat later and whines. Her distress is obvious, but I’m unable to identify the problem. I don’t know how to ease her.
Maybe, it’s our strange surroundings?
Bryn and I are in a suite of rooms, in a huge home north of Conroe, where we’ve been all evening. Kiln ushered us upstairs, shoved us into the rooms and slammed the door shut. Asshole locked me in. Unlike when Mom imprisoned me, I have space to move. Several rooms as a matter-of-fact, although all of Bryn’s things are in my bedroom. There’s a baby bed, a changing table, and a mountain of baby stuff. I’m satisfied. The pink, frilly clothes, sized for newborns, are outfits I would’ve chosen had I seen them. Whoever picked them out has excellent taste.
Longer than necessary, I stare between the little, white tub included in the pile of items and Bryn. At the hospital, the nurses helped me to care for her. I’m on my own here, and fear of hurting her makes me hesitate. On the other hand, she needs cleaning. That may settle her.
I feel grimy, so doesn’t she, too? I’ve never bathed her. By the time she was brought to me in the morning, she was already nice and fresh.
How to clean her? Both of my hands are needed to prepare her bath. I lay her in her baby bed. The moment I do, she whines, and my heart sinks. By not holding her, I’m adding to her misery. I hate hearing her cry. She’s just been introduced into this world, too soon for her to shed such heartfelt tears.
> “Give me two minutes, little love,” I tell her frantically, backing away from her bed and whirling around.
My feet slap against the gold-veined marble floor, as gorgeous as all the other appointments in the room. The white walls and white furniture makes it so stark and cold, almost intimidating. It looks like it should be a showcase in a royal museum, instead of a room where real people live.
Bryn’s whines turn into full-on screams. As I gather what I need, I pause and stand on my tiptoes to see over the bed railings even though I’m halfway across the room. Twinges of pain hit me, so I don’t hold the position long. All the standing I’ve done to pace with Bryn hasn’t helped me. Bryn’s wailing and I’m hurting. I want to burst into tears myself.
Sore from the episiotomy and still tired from the birth, my body is slowing as my adrenaline crashes, worsened by Sloane’s attitude toward me. Aches, fear, and worry replace the energy I’ve managed to drum up.
Bryn screams louder. Hands shaking, I grab the bottle of baby wash and the plastic tub and run to the bathroom. It’s white and marble too, but I ignore the décor and rush to the bath tub and turn the knobs.
Unsure of the correct temperature and lacking knowledge in baby basics, I test different blends of hot and cold water.
Settling on lukewarm, I reach for the bottle of baby wash and burst into fat, ugly tears. I’ve grabbed lotion instead. A bath is simple!
Leaving the filled little tub and the stupid baby lotion on the floor, I hurry back to Bryn, unable to bear her screams any longer. I lift her into my arms, wailing right along with her.
Our cries are so loud, I don’t hear the door opening and almost jump out of my skin when a hand lands on my shoulder. Turning, I come face-to-face with Sloane.
His brown-black hair is damp, and he’s wearing his gold hoops missing when I saw him earlier. Earlier too, he was in jeans and a T-shirt, not plain pajama bottoms. Muscles rope his inked arms. Each predatory move that draws him closer mesmerizes me. His six pack ripples on his flat stomach. He’s just beautiful, his hair sexily tousled and his blue eyes roaming over me, studying me from head to toe. Flushing at the sight of his hard cock tenting the silk, I spin away from him, holding Bryn tighter and patting her back.
Her outfit is wet. Not from water on my hands, either. From pee. Further exploration reveals a puffy diaper. I forgot to change her, the reason she’s crying. Not knowing to provide the simplest need for her shames me. I didn’t even think to check. My heart and my head hurt at my stupidity. Sloane plucks her out of my arms. I stare at the floor, ashamed, confused, and hurt.
“Come here, Georgiana.”
This latest fuck-up steals the last of my resolve, so I don’t disobey his quiet command. Tripping my way to where he’s standing at the changing table, I intend to suffer whatever consequences he dishes out, as well as ignore how beautiful and sexy he still is. He’s never lost his appeal or his awareness of the power he has over not only me but most women.
My mother included. I clench my hands into fists at the sickening thought.
Images of him and Mom together play in my head. “How could you have slept with her and me?”
His nostrils flare and his face, so long in my dreams, hardens. “I’m not discussing my affair with your mother.”
“You owe me that much.” I’ve had months to come to terms with this. Why bring it up now? It’ll only create unnecessary drama between us, and we have enough to deal with as it is.
He glares at me. “Owe you? You’re wrong, Georgiana. I don’t owe you a fucking thing.”
Folding my arms, I lift my chin. “How many times did you make love to her?”
“Never,” he snarls. “I’ve fucked her twice.”
“It’s semantics, Sloane, and you know it.”
He growls a sigh.
“We were together already?”
“Do you really want to know the gory details of Cassandra and I fucking?” he mocks.
I glance away, filled with a sense of loss and sadness. Sloane never promised anything. Not a life together. Not happiness. And definitely, not fidelity.
“Did you hear me?” he snaps. “Undress Bryn, while I find a diaper and a new outfit for her. She needs wiping off.”
So that’s it. Nothing more about my mother or if he intends to see her again. If he has seen her again. Although asking where he learned to care for babies is mundane in comparison, I stay silent. We don’t have that type of relationship anymore. I’m grateful he’s here with me and knows what to do for my baby.
“I was going to give her a bath.” It’s best to move away from uncomfortable topics and show him my ability to care for her so he won’t take her from me. I shift my weight at his narrowing eyes. My words don’t appease him. “She was crying too hard though, so I hurried to her before I got the chance to clean her up.”
“She’s a newborn,” he snaps. “You don’t fucking put her in water until her umbilical cord falls off.”
“Oh.” Mourning the loss of our friendship, I grip handfuls of my peignoir robe. He mistrusts me and my implicit belief in him has been damaged, no matter how I’d like to believe otherwise. We have Bryn, but we no longer have each other. “I didn’t know.”
A cramp hits me and I curse. The OB calls this normal afterbirth pain. To me, they’re mini earthquakes erupting in my belly. Aftershocks following the main event.
“Something wrong?”
I flush in embarrassment, though I don’t know why. Sloane is well acquainted with my body.
“Georgie?”
The way he says my name kicks my pulse up. “I missed you so much,” I confess, not admitting my pain. “I was so miserable without you.”
“Find a diaper and baby wipes. Dampen a washcloth and bring it to me, then find her an outfit.” His heart is firmly closed to me.
Silent, I follow his orders. To me, the diaper belongs on a baby doll, it’s so small. My heart melts all over again for Bryn, as I grab a soft washcloth and rush to the bathroom and wet it with warm water.
When I return, I stop, captivated by Sloane’s and Bryn’s bonding moment. He’s wrapped her in a blanket and holds her in a one-armed cradle, singing softly, so gentle with her I feel as if I’m intruding.
Sensing my presence, he glances in my direction. “The washcloth?”
I bring it to him, but he spares me no room to stand next to him. Dejected, I go to the other side of the table and watch him take care of our daughter.
I’m exhausted, tired to my soul. I don’t even care that I’m locked in this room. Once again, I’m in a sanctuary, able to hide from anyone who may hurt me.
Except Sloane, who’s no longer on my side.
His gold hoops gleam against his tan skin and dark, disheveled hair. Memories of how his mouth felt against mine, what it meant to me to wake up in his arms, swamps me.
“Come here.”
“We can be a family.” Lost in my dreams of the past, unsure of what he wants with me, but knowing what I need from him, I blurt the words, hoping to get through to him.
He shakes his head, without a second thought. “That’ll never happen. Not after what you’ve done.”
“Detective Jackson did it.”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about him. We can’t be a family. You betrayed me.”
“I didn’t!”
“Georgiana—”
“Please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me and Bryn. I’ve missed you so much. I love you, and Bryn needs her father. My dad once loved me and…and…marry me. Please. I want us to be a family.”
He offers me the baby. “Dress her.”
After following his directions, I sink into the rocking chair, and Bryn falls asleep almost immediately once I nurse her. Sloane watches me the entire time, unnerving me. I’m not sure if he’s rating my abilities as a mom or searching for an opening to further smash my lingering hopes for a future between us. Worse, he’s oozing wicked temptation, while my hair is limp, my skin is dull, and fatigue r
ings my ears.
Standing, I creep to the baby bed and lay my daughter down. “She’ll awaken in a couple of hours.” I clutch the side of the bed, achingly aware of him. If he doesn’t leave, I’ll have a mental breakdown. “I’m exhausted.”
He frowns at me, and my belly clenches.
“I’ll hear her when she cries,” I rush to add. “I-I promise I’ll make sure she’s dry. I don’t know why I didn’t think to check her diaper before. Babies pee all the time, and it isn’t as if diapers change themselves. I-I mean, why do we have diapers, right?” Words flow out of me to fill the void between us and to cover my continued humiliation.
His frown deepens and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re fierce, hypnotizing pools of blue.
“I slept with Cassandra the day after you and I met but before I ran into you again in the foyer. The second time I fucked her was the night of the concert I invited you to, when you were in the hospital. The first time I was with her, I didn’t care how you felt about it. Not really.” His broad shoulders are stiff, his body is taut with tension.
Bryn’s birth and his reentry into my life feeds this need to know the details of his affair with my mother. Together or apart, we share a child, and remaining in the dark would eat away at me until it destroyed me completely.
Rubbing his jaw, he shrugs. “I didn’t expect to see you again and I certainly didn’t know you were her daughter. The next time I was with her…” His voice trails off and he gives me a bleak look.
I want to hug him, but he’ll push me away. Despite his explanation, he has a wall around himself.
“I didn’t see you and me ever becoming intimate,” he continues. “I regretted being with her, once you and I got close. It felt like a betrayal to you. I never wanted you to know. Not to hide it from you. I didn’t want to hurt you, Georgie. In hindsight, I should’ve told you. Dealing with your grandmother, I knew better than to believe she’d not find a way to tell you. I’m sorry,” he rasps, his look so open and earnest hope soars inside of me. His jaw clenches, anger still burning within him, but muted by the intimacy of caring for our baby. “Forgive me.”
Phoenix Rising Rock Band: The Series Page 41