by Cora Kenborn
The sun greeted me like a head-on collision. Rubbing a hand over my face, I squinted against the blinding light. God, what in the hell? Didn’t I just close my eyes?
As Julian snored in peace, I glanced to the side table. According to the alarm clock, the crack of dawn had arrived, and Iris’s wails indicated she wasn’t amused by my inattentiveness. Yawning, I brushed my hand through my matted hair and hit a tangle.
What?
Trying to force it through, I touched a sticky substance that sent me flying to the dresser for closer inspection. Holding my head against the mirror, my eyes widened in horror.
“Oh shit!”
To keep myself awake for Iris’s two a.m. feeding, I’d spent weeks binging on the second season of Sons of Anarchy on Netflix and chewed half a pack of gum. Unfortunately, somewhere between watching Charlie Hunnam and dreaming about Charlie Hunnam, I passed out cold and woke up with a wad matted in the right side of my hair.
Muttering disgusted curses, I grabbed a pair of cotton shorts and quickly pulled them on with a hoodie. As I snapped the waistband into place, I heard a familiar wail of retaliation from down the hallway.
Frustrated, I squeezed my eyes shut. “Hey, we wait our turn for shit around here. Those are the rules, sister. Get used to it.”
I look like the door greeter in hell.
Scooping my daughter from her crib, I shuffled my feet down the hallway, the smell of freshly cooked bacon hitting me. My protesting stomach growled, and I searched for the source of the accompanying smell.
Coffee.
“Holy hell, what happened to your hair?”
I shot Ryker a go to hell look and grabbed a mug. “I fell asleep with gum in my mouth, okay?”
“What were you chewing—a value pack?”
“Why are you here at the crack of dawn? Don’t you have a home?” I scowled.
“Yes.” He grinned and pointed to his plate. “But home doesn’t have a mom who cooks perfect bacon. Shouldn’t you change into clothes that don’t smell like baby vomit?”
I dumped half a carton of creamer in my mug. “Shut up, Iris wanted to eat.”
He popped a whole piece of bacon in his mouth. “You know they say you’re not supposed to drink coffee when you’re tit feeding, don’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes as I took a long deliberate sip. “It’s called breastfeeding. And unless they show up here and arrest me for it, they can suck it.”
“All right. Jesus, are you sure that baby’s my brother’s?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You may want a paternity test to find out if she’s Julian’s…or Satan’s.”
God, give me the strength not to throat punch him.
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “Ry, I’m in no mood for this bull…” I stopped abruptly as he grabbed my hand from my face so fast, I had to shift to keep Iris cradled against my shoulder. “Ouch, what the hell?”
“What the fuck is that?”
“It appears to be my finger. Although, technically, it’s not the one I’m mentally holding up right now.”
Sneering, he pushed it toward my face. “Cute. Very cute. This, on your finger, Phoebe.”
“Well, they call that a diamond, baby J.”
“First of all, you know I hate it when you call me that. Second, I know what a damn diamond is, smart-ass. I meant what’s with it?”
“Prongs.”
“You’re wearing your wedding band with Mom in the house?”
Jerking my hand from his grasp, I cursed under my breath and covered his mouth. “Will you lower your damn voice?”
“Fine, god, you two take all the fun out of everything.” Picking up another piece of bacon, he chewed again. “I suggest you get rid of that thing if you don’t plan on telling her.” He was right. Eliza would sniff out my ring in the first five seconds. “If I were you, I’d light a fire under my ass.”
I stared blankly at him. “Huh?”
It happened simultaneously. The click of heels as they turned the corner, and the strong voice that carried authority across the room. “You suggest she get rid of what, son?”
Turning terrified eyes toward Ryker, I silently pleaded with him to save me. A petulant smirk deepened his ghost dimple.
Eliza pulled a pan from under the stove. “Silence makes a woman think you two are talking about her while she isn’t in the room to defend herself. Spill it.”
Mouthing “Please,” my heart beat wildly as seconds dragged on forever. Finally, he flashed his mother a dazzling smile. “Phoebe’s found a great way to dispose of her gum.” Snagging a handful of my mangled hair, he lifted it for her view. “Hair ornaments.”
Eliza furrowed her brow at the glob now resting against my collar bone. “Oh wow, Phoebe. That…well, that’s not going to come out. I mean, not the normal way at least.”
Embarrassed, I shifted Iris to cover my ring. “I’m totally screwed, huh?”
“That’s why you have a baby,” Ryker mumbled through a mouthful of bacon
Rolling her eyes, Eliza flicked her hand against the back of his head. “Stop being such a little bitch.”
I quickly took a sip of coffee to stifle a laugh. Ryker swallowed and cocked an over-pronounced eyebrow. “Something funny, Mrs. Bale?”
Coffee spewed out of my mouth and all down the front of his shirt. As he dabbed it with a napkin, Iris wailed. I looked up to see the shit eating grin spreading across his face as Eliza walked up behind him.
“What did you say?”
He allowed seconds to pass before answering her, the entire situation seemingly the highlight of his day. “I asked her if she’d heard this funny tale. One she could tell Iris.”
She shrugged and walked around him. “Sometimes I wonder if you were dropped on your head.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and gently took Iris in her arms. “Take a long, hot bath, Phoebe. After that, we’ll see what we can do about…this.” She nodded toward my hair.
Quickly standing, I hugged my coffee to my chest. “Okay, well, guess I’m going.” I caught her eye and shifted my gaze to my daughter resting peacefully against her chest. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”
She smiled “Piece of cake.”
Yeah, right.
With every step, I prayed to the god of small favors for Ryker to let me go quietly.
That wasn’t happening. After all, he was a Bale.
“You owe me,” he whispered
“You’re an angry, vengeful little man, Ryker Bale.”
“And you’re a married woman with a dirty little secret, Phoebe Bale.”
***
I sank lower in the tub. Unfortunately, the last month refused to disappear under the bubbles.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Five hundred and four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and eighteen seconds.
Any way the time broke down, I’d lost a little piece of myself going back and forth from the NICU. Born slightly under three pounds, Iris fought harder than any baby in that neonatal unit. Miraculously, other than a few panic-filled nights of decelerated breathing and one respiratory infection, she’d thrived for being so premature.
Julian and I fought for days over the secrets he’d withheld and the hitmen he still had watching the house. With Iris home, I forced him to contact Zane and call the off the militia. In trade-off, I’d conceded to a small army of security and body guards who constantly followed me like personal secret service. Simple activities like grocery shopping had now become an orchestrated production of SUV caravans, concealed weapons, paparazzi flashes, and constant rushed exits when guards got “weird feelings.”
Motherhood wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies like women on TV made it out to be. I resembled a zombie that’d been blown up, reborn, and blown up again. I tried to be the perfect mother, but every time I sang to Iris, she screamed bloody murder. Actually, she screamed a lot.
All I wanted to do was scream for a martini. But according to the all holy breastfeeding bible, I coul
dn’t even do that. So, I put my fear in my back pocket and did what was best for my daughter. It wasn’t about me anymore anyway.
That fact was obvious every time I looked in the damn mirror.
Five hundred and four hours, thirty-seven minutes, and eighteen seconds, and Julian hadn’t touched me once. Not that sex was on my high list of priorities. My stitches were still healing and sexy would be the last word I’d use to describe myself. But we’d barely touched. A few rushed kisses here and there were all he’d offered. The combination of everything sank me deeper into a world I hadn’t taken a stroll around in almost four years.
I recognized the signs. I had the medication to appease them. I just couldn’t take them while feeding Iris. So, I did what any PTSD survivor and unsure new mom would do in my situation.
I pushed all my emotions down, locked them away, and sulked.
***
“I still can’t believe I’m a grandmother,” Eliza whispered, staring down at us.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I wiped the mascara rolling down my face with a stained burp cloth. I hadn’t put on makeup in two weeks, but for some reason, it kept magically appearing across my cheeks. Freshly fed, I passed a milk-drunk Iris off to Julian.
“I don’t think I’ve seen anything that could compare.” She stole Iris from Julian’s arms before he could straighten from his crouched position. His mother had flown in less than forty-eight hours ago from New Jersey, and I already never wanted her to leave.
Quirking his lips, he sat beside me and folded an arm across my thigh. “I still can’t believe she’s here. I imagined it, but reality blows it away.”
“Nothing will ever compare, son. This will stay with you forever.” She smirked, and casted a glance at Ryker, sprawled out in the recliner. “Regardless of how many loveable and amazing children you have.”
“Nice save, Ma,” Ryker called out in a sleepy voice. His baseball hat pulled low, he grinned and turned his cheek.
“Oh, stop it, you know what I meant.” Brushing her lips across Iris’s fuzzy head, she eyed me closely. “Why don’t you two get dressed and go out somewhere alone? Ryker and I can watch her.”
Watching Julian’s face, I knew immediately what his answer would be. He threw his head against the back of the couch and sighed. “Mom, I appreciate it, but we need to stay here. Phoebe’s tired and assembling security and dodging paparazzi isn’t worth the hassle.”
I quirked my mouth.
Just shut it, Phoebe. Don’t speak.
“Why don’t you ask Phoebe what she wants?” A warning cloud settled over Eliza’s face.
Rolling his eyes, he turned to me. “Is that what you want?”
Absolutely. Especially when you make it so enticing, jackass.
“No,” I whispered. “It’s fine. I still have gum in my hair”
“See, Mom?”
“Bullshit,” Eliza declared, handing Iris over to Julian. “She’s so flustered, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Plus,” she shot him an accusing glare, “you’re not helping by being a giant douche sack.”
“Bag, Ma,” Ryker called out under the confines of his baseball hat. “It’s douchebag. If you’re gonna talk street, learn the lingo, man.”
Eliza waved a hand. “Phoebe needs to get out.” She pointed a finger at Julian. “I’m taking her to get her hair done and then you’re taking her to dinner. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Julian barely stifled a grin. He squeezed my knee, his eyes glinting with a hint of danger that always melted me. “You okay with all this?”
“Sure.” Getting out sounded like a dream. “Reclining in a salon sounds like the perfect nap.”
***
A light rap on the door tore me from my thoughts. “Phoebe? Are you ready?”
Opening the door, Eliza’s warm, smiling face greeted me. “I guess so. I feel like a total moron. I don’t know how they’re going to fix this.”
Putting a hand on my shoulder, she guided me toward the front door. “I’m guessing you’ll come out looking even better.” She closed the door behind her. “If that’s possible.”
I’d never had a problem accepting compliments before, but postpartum hormones had my emotions all wonky. “Trust me, nothing could make me look worse than I already do.”
She started the car and shot me a quizzical look. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“If you’re talking about my chipmunk cheeks and three-ton ass, yeah, I see it.”
Backing out of the driveway, she shook her head. A small smile ghosted her youthful face. “I know this sounds cliché, and hell, maybe it is, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful mother in my life.”
I turned away from her. It killed me to keep secrets from her. Especially now. Julian and I weren’t exactly communicating, and my nightmares had started again in vivid detail.
A shoulder was exactly what I needed to unload some of the anxiety I carried around. Confiding in her—to finally admit I needed another female in my life who understood the anxiety…the fear…the exhilaration of having a baby—tempted me toward confession.
“Eliza?”
She turned into the parking lot. “I can’t wait to help you plan the wedding, Phoebe. I thought I’d be shut out of it since I don’t have daughters. I have to admit, at first, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of you and Julian waiting until after Iris was born, but I think it worked out perfectly.”
And just like that, my heart fell to my feet.
“Oh, listen to me, I’m sorry for going on. What did you want to ask me?”
Shaking my head, I forced a painted smile and unhooked my seatbelt. “Nothing. I can’t remember now.”
She chuckled as she closed the car door. “Welcome to motherhood. The memory failure only gets worse from here.”
***
Two hours later, I stood in the middle of a department store dressing room staring at myself in the mirror. What would Julian say? He loved my hair. I thought of the countless times lying in bed, his hands lazily running through my long dark hair, flipping the ends between his fingertips.
“He’s going to hate it.”
Nine inches that once hung down my back were gone. The length now dusted below my shoulders. I angrily knocked tears away. I barely recognized myself anymore. The accelerated change made it suddenly hard to breathe.
Air. I need air.
Lagging behind Eliza, I held onto an outdoor bench and removed a sandal, rubbing the arch of my foot.
“Are you all right, Phoebe?”
I pointed to my ankle and wiggled it in a circle. “Stupid shoes are cutting off my circulation. The doctors said I could still have residual swelling for a while.”
She frowned as she took in my puffy appendages. “Your feet look like you’ve been hooked up to an air hose.”
Lifting my purse high on my shoulder, I slipped back into my shoe. “Gee, thanks, Eliza, my self-esteem is soaring.”
Her laugh was full of warmth. “I meant I’ve been worried about you lately.”
“I’m fine. It comes and goes.” I walked toward the exit of the Glendale Galleria, holding a bag of baby clothes tightly in my hand.
She pushed the glass door open, and for a fleeting moment, details of last night’s nightmare hovered on my lips. The one that made my blood run cold. But how would I explain the dream of lying alone in the corner of a darkened room, pain so excruciating I prayed for death?
There were just some things that should stay hidden.
She patted my arm, calling over her shoulder as she walked briskly to the parking deck. “Sit down. I’ll pull the car around. You don’t need to be walking.” Before I could argue, she’d disappeared behind a row of ridiculously priced valeted sports cars.
I lowered my gaze inside my purse in search of my sunglasses. The drop from the curb stood a few inches away when I almost collided into him. He wore worn brogans, the toes on each foot scuffed completely.
“Sorry,” I muttered
, my hands still stuck in my bag.
Then it hit me.
Aqua Velva.
The scent burned into my nostrils and memory, transporting me to another time. A time of hiding behind locked doors, hoping it didn’t get knocked off the hinges again. Praying for someone…anyone to save me. My stomach roiled. The moment dulled and time slowed to a crawl.
My head swam in confusion until brightness from a pop of flashes blinded me. With no time to react, they multiplied and swarmed like a pack of hungry wolves. Voices talked simultaneously, each one determined to be heard above the crowd. My palm shot out to shield my eyes.
“Phoebe! Over here…”
My head shot up as a camera clicked. “Please go away.” I stepped off the curb and invasive cameras immediately pushed me backward. I begged for privacy one last time. “Please leave me alone. Julian’s not here.”
With a clipped West Coast voice, a heavily bearded man darted out from behind his lens. “Don’t you think we know that? It’s our job to know Julian Bale’s location at all times. Papers pay a few extra thousand dollars for the elusive missus and baby Bale.”
Jesus Christ, they know.
I shielded my face. Heat radiated from the bulbs close to my skin. Disoriented, I tried to move forward as the pack of photographers traveled with me. I inhaled deeply, desperate to smell normal LA clouded air. Anything but the Aqua Velva I feared was behind me.
Just as the familiar beginnings of a panic attack took hold, a hand grabbed my arm and jerked me to the side. “While I know this is Hollywood, please let me remind you of basic human rights.” Eliza pulled me behind her. “Phoebe has nothing to say to you. You all need to move before I get back into the car and move you myself.”
She pulled me through the sea of cameras and arms, her face twisted in anger. Dazed, I allowed her to lead me through the parking deck to the Infiniti. As she reached for the passenger side door, a reckless body slid in between it and flashed a series of rapid shots. With a muttered curse, Eliza forced the handle open with a momentum that sent the photographer and his camera flying face first toward the curb.
“Son, let me give you some advice. When a woman tells you she’s going to do something, she means it. Stay away from my family. And that includes my daughter-in-law.”