Missing From Me (Sixth Street Bands Book 3)

by Jayne Frost

  My pulse quickened, and I flushed. So much for my caffeine theory. “Her heart rate is good.” Another kiss. “And the um, corticosteroids . . . they worked.”

  He rocked me gently, and as I relaxed into the sway, my heart falling into step with his, he said softly, “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  Sneaky bastard, lulling me into a false sense of security so he could bring out the big guns. Sighing, I broke free to get a little distance. But when I took a seat on the edge of the bed, he was right there in front of me, his hands molded to my hips.

  “I never wanted you this way,” I confessed, tracing a finger over the amulet on his neck with the Caged logo.

  Sean tipped my chin with his finger, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Which way?”

  “Trapped.” I smiled nervously as my first bit of truth slipped out. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before you left.”

  “You knew before I left?” His anger was back, along with a good bit of shock. “And you still didn’t tell me?”

  I stiffened at his demanding tone. Sean would never know all the things I’d done to ensure he’d get his chance. “Because I wanted you to have your shot, even if you didn’t give a shit about mine.” I glared at him. “And besides, we had a plan. Three weeks, remember?” My quivering chin gave me away as I recalled the preparations I’d made to meet him in Phoenix. Tears stung my eyes, and I repeated, “Three weeks.”

  Sean dropped his head back, grimacing. “I just . . . I made a mistake. And I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He lowered his gaze, his wounded eyes digging into my soul.

  I didn’t want Sean to hurt any more than he already was, but he had to know everything, so I took a calming breath and began in a steady voice, “Do you remember the girl Cameron used to date—the one that worked at the Daily Texan?” Sean’s blank stare drew a lethargic smile from my lips. “The UT campus newspaper? She’s a DJ in Dallas now.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “Wicked Wendy.”

  I nodded, looking down at my hands. “Well, after y’all left, she wrote a weekly article with pictures from all your shows. Insider stuff that Cameron gave her from the tour bus and the dressing room.”

  I watched as the realization broke on Sean’s face. His smile vanished, his lips parted, but nothing came out, so I kept going.

  “By the time you reached Phoenix, you’d dumped the blonde you picked up in El Paso and moved onto the brunette you hooked up with in Tucson.” I felt the tears spill onto my cheeks but didn’t attempt to wipe them away. “I don’t remember her name, and you probably don’t either, but after seeing the pictures, I didn’t exactly feel welcome.”

  The color washed from Sean’s eyes, and his fingers tightened around me. I gave our sleeping child a sidelong glance, my assurance to Sean that I’d never bolt, and then curving my hands around his, I peeled them away. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  The tears were flowing freely now. Too many tears. And I had to get away.

  Sean’s forehead lined with worry. “I’m so sorry.” He stroked my hair. “So fucking sorry.”

  He might as well have been apologizing for having brown hair or blue eyes. This was him, or who he’d become. He fucked women indiscriminately. And damn my stupid heart for feeling things I shouldn’t.

  “I believe you.” I shrugged, forcing a smile. “But I still have to pee.”

  Sean reluctantly let me go. And while I searched for my portable toothbrush in my tote bag, he dropped into the chair in front of the window. He stared at the big white cross, then down at his hands, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was praying.

  I left him to it and headed for the small bathroom to pull myself together. I’d just finished brushing my teeth when I heard the commotion.

  I threw open the door, and two sets of eyes turned my way, one azure blue, and one chocolate brown, both angry as hell.

  “You want to tell me what he’s doing here?” Dean growled, nostrils flaring.

  I moved to position myself between the two, but Sean stepped in front of me. “The name’s Sean.”

  “I know who you are.” With a disgusted glance in Sean’s direction, Dean added, “Now, why don’t you get the fuck out of here and let me talk to my wife.”

  Casting Dean as the aggressor in this scenario seemed unfathomable. He was a trial attorney, unflappable. But from the look of the vein throbbing on his temple, that Dean had left the building.

  I shuffled to the side, but Sean was quicker, blocking my path.

  “That ain’t happening right now, bud,” Sean said in a no-nonsense tone. “Not here.”

  “Fuck you,” Dean spat through clenched teeth. “I’m her husband.”

  The word was like kryptonite, and Sean froze, allowing me time to get around him. Standing in front of Dean, I realized the murder in his eyes wasn’t reserved for the man behind me.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said, my voice flat, hollow. “What do you need?”

  Dean’s fury mounted, and he ripped a hand through his hair. “What do I need? Are you for real? We’re married. I don’t need a reason to be here.”

  Emphasizing the word “I,” Dean tapped his chest.

  “We’re separated,” I reminded him. “I haven’t talked to you since Gran’s funeral.”

  I pleaded with my eyes, but the gesture only added fuel to the tumultuous fire swirling between us.

  “I thought you were grieving, so I left you alone.” Dean’s gaze shifted to Sean. “But I can see that wasn’t the case.”

  I was grieving, and for a lot more than Gran it seemed. I mourned the life I once had, the happiness. And Sean was part of that life. Of course, I couldn’t tell Dean that, so I bowed my head and let him fume.

  “Listen, dude,” Sean snarled, hands glued to my waist. “This isn’t the time.”

  Ignoring the threat in Sean’s tone, Dean leaned in so we were at eye level. “I asked you for one thing,” he waved a finger in my face. “Only one. That you’d never see Sean Hudson again.” Hurt shone through the anger, gutting me. “What happened to that promise, huh?”

  I inched forward, wanting to provide some comfort, but with Sean’s hands on my waist I got nowhere fast. “I kept my promise,” I insisted. “I never saw Sean until we were separated. If you don’t believe me, we can talk about it later. Please, Dean, Willow is right over there.”

  His eyes drifted to the bed. “She can’t hear us, though, can she?”

  I was off the ground for a second, in Sean’s hold, before he deposited me at his side and out of the line of fire.

  And then he was in Dean’s face, nose-to-nose, his composure a distant memory. “You’re lucky you’re already at the hospital,” Sean rumbled. ’Cause I’m about to make you bleed.”

  Panicked, I curled my fingers around Sean’s bulging bicep. “Sean…stop,” I pleaded. “You don’t understand.”

  Dean’s sardonic laugh filled the room as he glanced down at my hand, still curved around Sean’s arm. “Who are you protecting, me or yourself?”

  The shudder that rolled through Sean was like thunder.

  Before the lightning hit, I said to Dean, “You need to go. We’ll talk later.”

  “I’m Willow’s father,” Dean roared. “And you will not dismiss me.”

  With super hero strength, I pushed Sean out of the way and glared up at Dean. If he wanted the truth, I had it. In Spades. “You haven’t seen Willow in over a month. You haven’t asked about her, even though she was in the hospital four days ago. You have no right to say anything about her to me now.”

  Dean cocked a dark brow, and I deflated. He had as many rights as I did. And worse yet, he knew it.

  “Maybe you were absent the day they taught family law,” Dean said. “But a child legally born of our union is mine. And in case you forgot,” he flicked a malicious smile at Sean, “we were married at the time of Willow’s birth.”

  “Don’t spout the law to me,” I choked, tears clogging my throat.
“You’re not her father.”

  The words flew out with more venom than I intended. Because as much as I’d like to believe that Dean was standing here out of love for my daughter, it just wasn’t true. He wasn’t Willow’s father, and it had nothing to do with biology. The older my little girl got, the more Dean had distanced himself from her questioning blue gaze.

  Dean’s cold glare shifted to Sean. “I can assure you, Anna knows less about the law than I do.” A bitter smile curved his lips. “You did know she dropped out of law school, right?”

  So this was the game. I hurt Dean, and in turn, he taunted Sean.

  “She fought the good fight for half a term,” Dean continued, shaking his head ruefully. “But she was just too sick. What was it the doctors called it? Preeclampsia?” He gave me a pitying smile. “Pretty rare for a twenty-two-year-old, but I guess it had something to do with seeing you parading around with all her replacements.” Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, Anna almost died. You’ve seen her scar, right?” Another laugh. “Yeah, I guess you have.”

  Sean let out a curse, and his chest heaved against my back. Another minute and he’d lose his shit.

  “Dean, stop,” I ordered. “Not now.”

  Shaking his head at me in disgust, Dean ignored my warning. “And where was your drummer boy when you were getting all those pretty stitches? I’ll tell you where, with that girl from the music video, the other redhead. You remember, don’t you? You read all about it when you were in the hospital.”

  “You motherfucker!” Sean growled, and when he made his move, I did the only thing I could do. I rushed forward, my palms landing on Dean’s chest.

  “Get out,” I cried, shoving him toward the door.

  Dean stumbled backward, surprised, but I kept advancing until we were in the hallway. “Go!” I pointed at the exit. “Now!”

  Too focused on my own little melodrama, I barely registered the ruckus at the end of the hall.

  That is, until I heard Logan bellow, “Call the fucking cops if you need to. But you’d better get out of my way, or I’ll lay you flat.”

  Pushing past two orderlies, Logan thundered down the hallway with Christian and Cameron on his heels.

  “Lo,” I said, holding my hand out in a panic. “Stop.”

  Sidestepping me like I was standing still, Logan grabbed Dean by his starched white shirt. “I think you overstayed your welcome. So unless you want me to hurt you, you’d better move along.” A maniacal smile played on Logan’s lips. “Do you want me to hurt you?”

  The nurses appeared too enraptured by the four rockstars in their midst to intercede.

  Sean nudged me out of the way. “Dude, not here,” he said to Logan, bracing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “They’re going to call the cops.”

  “Not before I beat the shit out of this guy,” Logan replied, his gaze never leaving Dean’s face.

  Easy going as ever, Cameron stepped into the fray, snaking an arm around Logan’s chest. “We’ll just go back to the waiting room. It’s safer that way.” Walking backward with Logan in tow, he grinned at Dean. “For you, that is.”

  Dean adjusted his shirt. “Real nice,” he muttered. “I thought you wanted better for Willow. Isn’t that why you married me? Because you didn’t want all of this?” My lips parted, and I grappled for a response, but then Dean softened. “She deserves better than a father who waves to her from a rope line.”

  “You don’t know Sean like I do,” I whispered. “He wouldn’t do that to her.”

  Dean took a deep breath and then brushed a strand of hair from my face. “So it’s only you he treats like shit?” I flinched, and his arm fell to his side. “If this is what you want, Annabelle, I can’t stop you. But I won’t help you either. The house is in my name. And the health insurance. If you want out, I’d suggest you get your shit and leave.”

  Dean could have the house, it was his. But the health insurance?

  “Be reasonable,” I implored. “You know I need—”

  “We had an agreement,” Dean interjected. “And you broke it. You want to fight me in court?” He shrugged. “Property rights are the least of your worries. Fraud is a felony.”

  “Fraud?” Sean growled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Dean turned on his heel. “Ask Anna.”

  The squeak from his loafers grew fainter as I gazed down at the floor crumbling beneath my feet. We’d never fought like this before, and I could feel a piece of me breaking away. The piece I gave to Dean. Not love, but trust.

  “What’s he talking about?” Sean asked as he ushered me back into the room and away from the gaggle of nurses.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. “If Dean claims I tricked him into marrying me, that’s fraud.”

  Dean wouldn’t do it. I was relatively certain, but still, the threat was there.

  “How can he do that?” Sean asked, taking my hands.

  “Because it’s against the law to sign a birth certificate you know contains false information. He’s an officer of the court.”

  Sean pulled me into his arms. “But you didn’t even know him before I left. Did you?”

  I peered up at him, and the look on his face—it was like someone told him an awful joke.

  He backed up, and I took the opportunity to walk to the window. “Dean was a TA in one of my classes.”

  “Tell me what the fuck you’re talking about, Annabelle. Because I’m about to—”

  “It’s not what you think,” I said evenly. “I’d never spoken more than a few words to him until that night.”

  “What night?”

  “The night you broke up with me.” I closed my eyes, the scene playing behind my lids. “I was in the parking lot at the apartment, trying to start my car so I could go find you. But the battery was dead. Dean was on his way out. He had a friend who lived in our complex. Anyway, he recognized me and offered me a ride to the bar.”

  When I turned, I found horror in Sean’s eyes. “He was there?”

  “Yeah.”

  My legs wobbled, and Sean caught me before I crumpled in a heap on the floor. “Jesus, Anna. I’m so . . .” He cursed, stifled his apology if that’s what it was, and then he vowed, “We’ll fight this. I promise.”

  My thumb grazed the emerald ring, Sean’s last broken promise. When I went to move away, his hand slid into my hair, and he rested his forehead against mine. “You’re coming home with me.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  Sean’s mouth crashed into mine, silencing my protest, and when he pulled away, he looked deeply into my eyes.

  “I got you, Anna-baby. I swear it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Sean

  A brick wall inlaid with stone butterflies in all shapes and colors surrounded the tranquility garden in the courtyard at the hospital. Since nothing about Brackenridge rose to the level of tranquil, I had my doubts.

  But then I passed under an arbor and into the shade of a cluster of maple trees, and the façade of the stark white building faded behind the dense leaves.

  It was like a world within a world. The peace in the eye of the storm.

  I slid into a wrought iron chair at a table in the corner facing the center of the garden. On the other side of the courtyard, a little girl staked out a spot on the grass. What little sun peeked through the trees shined on her bald head as she arranged her toys in a semi-circle around the hospital-issued water pitcher and plastic cups. Her mother watched from a nearby bench, a weary smile playing on her lips.

  “You want to tell me why you didn’t let me kick that douchebag’s ass?” Logan asked, dropping into the chair across from me.

  Shifting my gaze from the little girl’s makeshift tea party to my best friend, I stared at him blankly as he pulled a burger out of the greasy white bag. When he offered me one, I blanched, shaking my head.

  Logan sat back in his chair, unwrapping his sandwich. “Something yo
u want to get off your chest, Hudson?”

  Reading Logan was nearly impossible for most. But we’d known each other since the second grade. Not well, though. Logan was the kid everybody feared. The fighter. It wasn’t until I was ten that I got a glimpse behind the mask.

  Banished to the cafeteria when my mother had forgotten to sign a permission slip for a class field trip, I’d sulked at the end of one of the long tables. I wasn’t a crier, even then, but that day, my mother’s cancer conspired with my disappointment, and tears welled.

  Logan was stretched out flat on his back on a bench at an adjoining table, and he popped up when he heard me sniffle. “What are you crying for, Hudson?”

  Embarrassed, I’d swiped the lone tear dribbling down my cheek. “I’m not.”

  He plopped down across from me. “Are too.”

  It wasn’t a condemnation, just a fact.

  Noting the bruise on Logan’s cheek, I figured he’d gotten into a fight, and this was his punishment. “Why aren’t you on the field trip?” I shot back, hoping to shut him up.

  He caught me staring at the purple welt, but instead of hiding, he lifted his chin. “Why aren’t you?”

  “My mom didn’t sign my slip.” I shrugged. “No big deal.”

  “She kinda left you hanging, huh?” He snickered. “Sucks to be you.”

  Taking on the class brawler wasn’t a smart move. But that didn’t stop me from rearing out of my seat and leaning across the table. “She didn’t leave me hanging,” I spat. “She’s got cancer.”

  It was the first time those words had ever left my lips. Before that, whenever anyone would ask, I always said my mom was “sick” or “not feeling well,” but something about Logan’s smug grin made me want to wipe it off his face.

  He cocked his head, a ripple of emotion crossing his arctic blue eyes. “My mom’s dead.”

  Sinking back onto the bench, a shot of fear ran down my spine. Because I knew someday that would be me, that Logan’s life and mine were destined to intersect in that place where grief and loss collided. He just had a head start.

  “What about your dad?” I asked weakly.