“Would you like to see your child?”
Our beaming smiles answered Dr. Adma’s question. He paged for a technician to do an ultrasound. Then after asking a few more preliminary questions, he left.
The technician named Veronica lifted my t-shirt and squirted cold gook on my lower abdomen. I shivered at the sensation.
“Sorry,” she said as her eyes remained on the monitor.
“No worries. The outcome is worth it.”
Luke and I stared, riveted at the black and white ultrasound screen. Veronica jiggered the wand over my skin and stopped on a certain spot. With a few click of buttons, the view changed to a close up.
Veronica’s finger swiped over a fuzzy mark. “This right here is your bladder and this right here is your uterus.” Another click of the buttons showed a different angle. “And this is your little peanut. The fluttering circle is its heartbeat.”
Luke peered closer. “I can’t believe it.”
“He’s so tiny.”
“He?”
Although, you couldn’t tell the gender, I had a gut feeling our baby was a he. The hard kicks, the fighting mentality. Yes, our baby was defiantly a he.
“Mother’s intuition,” I said cheekily.
Laughing, joy lined Luke’s mouth. A far change from minutes ago when a black rain cloud hung over both our heads. Lost in the moment of sheer relief, we hadn’t noticed Veronica had gone silent. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her lips pursed. Trepidation crept back in.
“Is everything ok?” I asked.
She remained mum while she continued punching different keys. Luke and I shared a worried glance. Eventually, an ear splitting grin spilt apart Veronica’s cheeks.
“Just like I thought. Lucky number two,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Pointing to the monitor, she wiggled the wand to the left where another blob was. “You are having twins.”
“Twins?!” Luke exploded.
My hand flew to my mouth as a shocked laugh bubbled out of my throat. “Seriously?”
“Yes. Congratulations.”
The monitor printed out a sonogram picture. Handing it to Luke, Veronica wiped the gel off my stomach and helped me to a sitting position.
“Good luck, you two,” she said. “You are gonna need it.”
Luke gaped at the black and white picture of our two little miracles. With tears shining in his eyes, he glanced up.
“We are going to be a family of five.”
My heart exploded with jubilation as he jumped from his seat and hugged me tightly. I buried my nose in the crook of his neck. Luke and I had our fair share of boulders thrown in our path but I would have done it all over again. Because in the end, it had led us to here. A happy ending with an unexpected twist.
“When I said I wanted to have a million babies with you, I didn't meant it literally,” Luke joked.
“Yeah and guess who is gonna be on diaper duty?”
He cradled my face in his hands while his features softened with love. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do. This time I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me forever…”
“Till do death do we part,” I said.
His eyes as black as the the devils tongue
His melodic voice more tempting than a siren’s call
Three years ago, Camille Barker was held at knife point but her attacker wasn't the one who haunted her dreams. No, it was the man that stood a-washed in the yellow glow of the street light, his stare observant but heedless. A witness to the senseless act. The venom that dripped from his twisted lips saved Camille's life and set her soul ablaze. Reemerging from the ashes, she set upon the well worn path her parent’s always dreamed she would take.
That is until rock n roller, Matthew Lee, shows her that you can only bask in the sun so long before the monsters come out to play.
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Broken Lullabies (Love of a Rockstar #2)
Standing under the streetlight awash in a yellow glow, his steel colored eyes glinted. I wanted to scream—I wanted to run, but my legs remained rooted to the spot. Danger floated in the breeze and it smelled like death. His lips twisted into a cruel smirk as his gaze drifted over my shoulder. Glancing back at the endless stretch of city landscape, my breath hitched. A deep scraggly crack had formed in the cement and was approaching fast. If I didn’t move, it would swallow me whole. Our eyes locked. Mine filled with desperation, his vacant. I licked my dry lips as they opened to beg for mercy. A strangled croak emerged instead. The crack grew closer. His bone chilling laughter rose into the starlit sky.
Darkness reached up and grabbed me, pulling me feet first into the chasm. I clawed at the dirt-encrusted walls. How could this be the end of my story when it hasn’t even begun yet? The fight leaked out my body like a deflated balloon. The grim reaper danced in my line of sight when suddenly, a hand gripped my wrist.
It was him.
My savior, cloaked in the devil’s clothes, pulled me out of the hole and into his waiting arms. The vacantness that shadowed his eyes cleared. Flecks of blue were etched into the steel. They were beautiful, just like he was. A strange surge of warmth that felt a lot like desire flooded my veins.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
He tipped his lips to my ear, his intoxicating scent drifting under my nose. I inhaled deeply—August. He smelled like the peak of storm season.
“Run.”
His voice was as tempting as a siren’s call; it took me a moment to register his words.
“Run,” he repeated more forcefully. “Run, you stupid girl.”
His fingers dug into my shoulders and shoved me in the opposite direction. I stumbled, but caught myself before my knees met the ground. Tears streaked my dirt-smudged complexion.
“Run, you stupid, worthless girl. RUN!”
Panic slammed into my chest. I sat upright in bed, breathing heavily. Sleep clogged my mind while the dream world faded into the distance and reality seeped in. I kicked the duvet off my legs. A breeze from the open window cooled my sweat-soaked body. The faint hum of my refrigerator whirled in the suffocating silence. I didn’t have to glance at the clock to know what time it was.
Three a.m.
My nightmares were nothing but punctual. I swung my legs over the side of my bed and padded into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Frustration nipped at my nerves.
I thought I was past this.
I thought I’d moved on.
It had been years since the incident occurred, four to be exact. In our last meeting, my therapist said she thought that we were close to the end. The long road to recovery was finally within arms reach, but that day in the basement wiped my progress clean and it was all because of Matthew Lee.
I’d been searching for Marlene’s wedding dress. Luke said he’d stashed it in the closet, which shouldn’t have been hard to locate, because there was only one closet. But when I opened the doors, nothing hung off the rack besides winter coats. Luke had a talent for hiding things and hiding them well, I’ll give him that much. Throwing the coats on the ground, I’d stared at the empty shell, convinced there was a secret compartment. My hand felt along the wall for any bump or grooves.
“What are you doing?”
That voice. It sparked a blinding white fear that left me paralyzed but I couldn’t be sure of whom I thought it belonged to. Could it be? Nausea churned violently in my stomach. God, please don’t let me be sick.
“Hey….” his tone seeped with concern. “Are you ok?”
His fingers brushed my elbow. As if he’d burned me, I’d jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Sorry.”
That voice again. It sounded so familiar, yet the kindness didn’t. I had to know if the past chased me to Seattle. Either that or hide in the closet till he left. The former sounded tempting, but as a grown woman, it also sounded childlike. Slowly, my body turned, ready to flee if need be. When we finally faced each other, I nearly screamed in
relief.
“Normally, I get a different reaction when I meet a woman,” this stranger said.
My eyes racked over his bow shaped lips, oval jawline and tortoise shell glasses that balanced on the bridge of his crooked nose. Unconventionally handsome. More Marlene’s type than mine, but what mattered was that it wasn’t him. The past had stayed where it belonged. In the past.
I spoke. “What’s the normal reaction?”
“Lot of high pitched squealing.” He laughed at my brow arched in question. “I’m Matthew Lee. The lead singer of Five Guys and Luke’s best man.”
He extended his hand. I let it hang there between us, untouched. Although, Matthew wasn’t him, it was hard to separate my feelings of distrust. Who was I kidding, though? I trusted nobody, not even the postman who wore a permanent smile on his face. I swore he had a pile of dead bodies buried in his backyard. Nobody was that happy.
Matthew dropped his hand. “What’s your name?”
“Camille.”
“Do you have a problem with me, Camille?” His lips quirked into a grin, as if the concept amused him.
“Should I?”
His mouth faltered as an indistinguishable emotion flickered in his gaze but quickly passed and he returned to the fun loving rock star he personified as.
“Luke sent me down here to look for a bottle of twenty-year-old whiskey. Any ideas where it is?”
“It seems like the bride and groom both sent us on a witch hunt,” I grumbled.
“What are you looking for?”
“Marlene’s wedding dress.”
He stepped over the mess of jackets on the floor. Pulling down an old steamer trunk tucked inside the closet, he popped the lock. The scent of mothballs floated in the air.
“Is this it?” Matthew held a plastic coated dress up for me to see.
“What kind of idiot hides a wedding dress in a trunk?” I snatched it out of his grasp and folded the gown over my arm. “Thanks. See ya.”
Spinning around on my heels, I made a beeline for the basement stairs. Matthew’s curious gaze burned a hole in my back and compelled my steps to quicken. It was only when I was safely on the other side of the door, my breathing came easier.
In the days that followed, my anxiety returned like an old jealous lover, which had spurred the nightmares. I hadn’t gotten decent night’s sleep since that day. With final exams coming up, I’d taken advantage of my nocturnal state and cracked open my textbooks. Due to my exhaustion, the words swam on the page. Coffee. I needed coffee. Dragging my ass out of the hard wooden seat, I fixed myself an extra strength dose then returned to my desk. As night turned to dawn, my brain soaked in the information before me as best as it could, while simultaneously ignoring all thoughts of Matthew. My mother always said that everybody has a story and I had a feeling that his ran darker than anybody would guess.
I swirled the amber liquid in the glass. Taking a deep sip, a pleasant burn cascaded down my throat and into the pit of my stomach. As soon as the empty crystal tumbler hit the bar, it got refilled.
My eyes lifted. “You are my favorite, K.”
K, otherwise known as Katherine, snorted. She’d inherited the Blithering Idiot from her uncle. A weathered old man that praised the ground his niece walked on. According to Katherine, he’d practically shoved the keys into her hand when he retired. More than happy to hand the reins over and experience the world he’d been missing while he tended bar.
“Anything with a vagina is your favorite,” K retorted.
“True. Too bad you bat for the other team.”
“I bat for both teams. You just aren’t on either one of them.”
Her witty barb caused my lips to lift smugly. “Keep telling yourself that. I’ll get you to come around eventually.”
Shaking her head, she moved off to wait on her adoring customers. I wasn’t much of a drinker, but Katherine always knew which nights required a soda and which nights required a double shot. She had that bartender’s instinct. I slammed the rest of the whiskey and signaled for another. Tonight required a triple shot. Fuzziness clouded my brain, but the memories were still getting through. Memories I had tried to bury, literally, between the legs of various women.
Instead of refilling my glass, Katherine swiped it off the bar and gave me a clean glass tumbler. She spritzed tonic water inside. “You’ve had enough.”
“No I haven’t.” My words came out slurred and I winced. “I’m—fine.”
Three sheets to the wind, enunciating didn’t do jack shit, which was exactly where I wanted to be. My brain finally faded to black.
“Do you want something to eat?” Katherine slid a menu over to me. “Toby, our new chef, makes a mean double cheeseburger. I’ll even add bacon jam for no extra cost.”
A greasy staple like a hamburger would derail my drunkenness and I wasn’t ready to be sober. Pushing the menu back to Katherine, she eyed me warily.
“Normally I don’t get into people’s personal business because it’s a downward slope to becoming their therapist. However, this isn’t like you.”
“How do you know? It’s not like we’re friends.”
My cutting remark sailed past her heart, which didn’t surprise me. You had to be a tough cookie to be a bartender.
She placed her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t matter. I’m good at reading people and my gut is telling me that something happened you are trying to forget.”
“That’s half the people in this place.”
The Blithering Idiot resided in Pioneer Square down a long alleyway and through a wooden unmarked door. A marketing tactic Katherine had implemented before speak easies blew up in Seattle. At night, the place bustled with crowds but at four in the afternoon, only the regulars filled the booths. Who, by the looks of it, had seen their fair share of tragedy.
“You are too young and handsome to become a drunk,” she said, point blank.
Her concern began to grate on my nerves. I didn’t come here for a lecture. I came here for the stiff drinks and maybe the company of a woman.
“I’ve had four drinks, Katherine. That’s not grounds for becoming a drunk. Lay off, will ya?”
She held up her hands. “Fine, but I’m putting in an order for a cheeseburger. You need to eat.”
Having three sisters, I knew when to back down. She wrote my order on a slip of paper and clipped it to the revolving rack. A cold breeze drew my attention to the front door. A young woman stood on the threshold bundled in a trench coat and knee high boots, which were scuffed at the toes. Her honey colored brown hair was tangled at her shoulders, either from the wind or a lack of a comb. Heavy eye makeup drew attention to the insecurity shining in her gaze, as did her body language. She folded her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders forward. She looked like a girl begging to be saved. We locked eyes. A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. I raised my glass in a greeting, which prompted her to approach.
“Hey,” she said in a breezy whisper.
“Hey, yourself. Take a seat.”
Her knee brushed mine as she sat daintily on the vinyl-covered barstool. Close up, I could see her foundation etched into the lines around her mouth. She wasn’t as young as I thought. Nevertheless, she would do for the night.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” I asked.
A heated blush crawled up her cheeks. “Tiffany.”
Of course it was. All the damaged girls were named Tiffany. They should come with a label: Breakable, handle with care.
“It’s lovely to meet you. My name is….”
“Matthew,” she finished for me. “Matthew Lee. The rock star, right?”
“Are you a fan?”
Tiffany bit her bottom lip as her gaze fell to the floor. “You can say that. My friends are going to have a field day when they found out I met you.”
“Would you like an autograph?”
I grabbed a napkin and waited for her to hand me a pen. When she did, I scrawled my perfected signature onto the flimsy material with
a line from my latest song.
“Reach for the galaxy, but settle for the moon.”
I handed it back to her. She mouthed the words I had written and beamed. “That’s my favorite song of yours.” The light dimmed from her expression. “Is it really true that you guys are breaking up?”
Luke, the bass player for Five Guys had decided to focus on two new ventures, opening a record label and a restaurant. Without him, the band wouldn’t be half as good, so we’d decided to dissolve. Luke had offered to make me a partner at Winter Blues Record Label. Unfortunately, the business side of music wasn’t my thing. That rush you got from singing in front of a thousand plus audience could only be described as heroin—incredibly addicting.
I went to take a sip from my drink, forgetting it was water. A growl of annoyance ripped from my throat. With Katherine nowhere to be found, my hand reached behind the bar and gripped the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. I emptied the glass and poured three fingers of scotch. Looking at Tiffany, she declined.
“You don’t drink?” I asked.
“No,” she said shortly.
A story lived behind that curt tone but I wasn’t here to find out what broke her; I was here to fuck her. Setting the bottle back behind the bar, my gaze zeroed in on the strip of creamy white skin between where her boots ended and her skirt began. Aware of my attention, she blatantly shifted in her seat. A flash of lacy black underwear caused my dick to twitch. Tiffany’s gaze hooded with lust while her tongue provocatively traced her top lip.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I questioned.
The answer blatantly obvious, I stood and held out my hand. Once her palm fitted against mine, the deal was sealed. I’d won, which like always wasn’t very hard. The day it did become hard would be the day I knew I’d met my match. Throwing a couple of twenties onto the counter, Tiffany and I strolled out of the bar into the warm late afternoon air.
My gaze flittered to her boots. “Do you mind walking? My apartment is two blocks away.”
“That’s fine.”
I lived in the penthouse at the Four Seasons Hotel in Downtown Seattle. Most of the other apartments were vacant due to the high price tag and seediness of the area. I didn’t mind a little grit though. It added color. We rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor. The doors slid open, revealing the unobscured wall-to-wall windows and the 360-degree view of the sound.
To Cherish and To Hold (Love of a Rockstar #1.5) Page 9