“Me neither,” Shane agreed. “But it’s been going on a few weeks.”
“Him bad,” Levy chimed in.
“Yes, he was behaving badly,” Coop agreed. “You don’t say bad words like that, right?”
“No,” Levy agreed. “He eated da soap?”
“No, he’s riding in the bad boy car.”
“He took those girls back to his room last night?” Tate pressed. “Both of them?”
Shane slid to the edge of his seat and slid the side door closed. “Ditched ‘em back at the hotel. Gave them the old ‘forgot something in my room’ spiel, and slipped out the side door.”
“Glad he took my advice.” Tate dragged a hand down his face. “With everything I’m going through, you’d think he’d use a little discretion.”
“He’s well aware,” I spoke up. “He said that same exact thing a couple weeks ago, basically swore off women.”
“It obviously didn’t stick.”
“I don’t care who he messes around with,” Shane said, “but he gets physical with Emelia again, and he’s going to lose a few teeth.”
“What do you mean ‘physical’?” Tate asked, his gaze flickering between Shane and me. Evidently, Cooper hadn’t told him about it. Not that she needed to. It was no big deal. “What happened?”
“It was nothing,” I assured, before anyone could turn this into a witch hunt. “He brushed past me. I lost my balance because of my heels. That’s all.”
“It was a little more than a brush,” Shane disagreed.
“I don’t want you blowing this out of proportion,” I argued. “He barely touched me—”
“He doesn’t have to throw a left hook, Emelia! He didn’t cuff you on the shoulder in a friendly one-of-the-guys gesture. He shouldered you and you almost fell!”
“He’s our friend, Em,” Jake explained. “Friends can tell each other when they’ve crossed the line. Guys usually do it with a few thrown punches. Then we rub a little dirt on it and shake hands.”
Sighing in frustration, I turned my head and stared out the window. Regardless of what I had to say, they were going to handle it as they wanted, as they’d always done, by beating the crap out of one another. Bunch of fucking Neanderthals.
Just once, I’d like everything to not be about hitting. I was so sick of physical violence. It didn’t solve anything.
Gathering my attention, Fiend rested her chin on my knee and stared up at me with her icy blue eyes. I lifted my hand and stroked her muzzle with the tip of my finger, and then gave her a firm scratch behind her ears.
Shane reached over and grasped my hand, which I promptly pulled from his grip. He was wrong. Not every ill intention aimed toward me was domestic abuse.
While Carter was a blunt pain in the ass, I respected that he didn’t treat me differently because of my past. He understood me to an extent. He was missing a leg; I was missing a uterus. That didn’t mean we couldn’t have a snowball fight or a disagreement like any other person. Not that the disagreement was mine to fight. Coop had technically kicked his blonde duo from the dressing room, but if he would’ve shouldered her as he walked past, then he would’ve deserved an ass kicking.
“I’ll talk to him,” Tate caved. “When we get settled in Eugene, I’ll have a one on one. Maybe he’ll spill on what’s bothering him.”
“Thank you.”
“Will you make up with your boy there, now,” Tate pressed. “I can’t tell him apart from those dogs with the puppy-dog eyes he’s giving you.”
“Shut up,” Shane grumbled. I was beginning to believe it was his best, or at least favorite defense argument.
“I hungwy” Levy announced behind us.
“You just had pan-a-cakes,” Tate argued, mimicking Levy’s pronunciation. “Not twenty minutes ago.”
“I hab Cheewios,” Levy pressed. “Pwease.”
“He said, please, babe. You know I’m a sucker when he says please like that.”
“He always says please like that,” Coop pointed out. “He has manners. Give him the Cheerios, but make sure he doesn’t feed them to the puppies.”
I was pretty sure it wouldn’t hurt them, but I didn’t want to teach either Levy or the puppies any bad habits.
“You can’t feed them to the puppies,” Tate warned. He fixed his face with the best stern expression he could muster. “You’re not going to feed them to the puppies, are you?”
“No.” It was a complete lie, of course. He was looking intently at Rake, who was sitting at his feet, salivating.
Watching the exchange, I caught Coop’s eye. She grinned slyly and raised her eyebrows, gesturing to Shane.
I rolled my eyes halfheartedly and faced forward in my seat. How did the roles get reversed? How did I go from giving Coop advice to taking advice from Coop?
Screw it. Reaching over, I grasped Shane’s hand. They were still sweating. He grasped onto mine like a lifeline. I’d forgotten all about his phobia.
“How did I not know you were afraid of flying?” I inquired. We’d taken two flights together, the first to Pennsylvania and the second to Idaho. One would think I'd have noticed his discomfort earlier.
“I had other things on my mind.”
“Like?”
“Your concussion.”
Well, that covered the flight to Pennsylvania. I didn’t ask about flight to Nampa. We had used the private jet, and consequently spent most of the flight in the private cabin. Fortunately, only Carter had been aboard, and he had been sporting a nice pair of Beats, and watching a movie on the flat-screen when I left the room. Unfortunately, we hadn’t that luxury this time. The full band was in tow, along with an armada of personal security guards, one toddler and two fairly large puppies. Sneaking off discreetly was an impossibility.
“How were you planning on making it through this flight?”
“Toughing it out.”
“We could drive.” If the blonde duo could do it in eight hours, so could we. He didn’t have another concert until the weekend. That was three days away.
“It’s not even an hour flight. I’ll make it.”
I leaned a little closer to Shane's ear. I was going to tell him to smoke that joint he always kept behind his ear to help him relax, but I couldn't do it. Some intrinsic part of me refused to say the words. While Shane had never shown a hint of avarice, deep inside, I still associated drugs and alcohol with drunken abuse.
“It’s fine, Emelia," he assured. "Really. I can handle it.”
“Uh oh!” Levy gasped. Stretching up in his car seat, he endeavored to see the floor below him. “I dwopped it! I dwopped my Cheewios!”
“Rake!” Shane scolded, snapping his leash. Extracting his muzzle from the small plastic baggie, Rake looked up. He had little brown O’s stuck to his wet nose and along his jowls. Oblivious to the reason for his reprimand, he licked them away, and then went to work on Levy’s hand, which sent Levy into a fit of giggles.
Chapter 19
Eugene was having a heatwave. Ok, I was exaggerating, but it was a comfortable fifty-five degrees. For January, it was almost unheard of where I came from. To celebrate the good weather, the group of us decided to abandon the Inn at the 5th and take to the streets to discover what amenities Eugene had to offer.
Our outing had alternate motivations as well. Levy turned three today. Lucky for him, there happened to be a toy store—called the Elephant's Trunk—within the Fifth Street Public Market, which adjoined our hotel. The group of us went in empty handed and each came out with a brightly wrapped gift of no small proportion.
"My pwesent?" Levy asked, pointing to the large box Tate was carrying. His eyes were bright with anticipation, having truly experienced the magic of Christmas for the first time. I mean, he was three years old, but he hadn’t grasped the concept, or retained the memory. Now that he had, everything was brighter and better.
"Yup, it's all yours kiddo." Tate propped the chevron-striped box on his knee to get a better grip on it. "Darn, why didn't I think
of having to carry this earlier?"
"Because you regressed in age about twenty-five years the second your feet touched the floor of that toy store," Coop teased. "All reason and logic went to waste."
She was right. All of the men did. With wide eyes, they scattered to each of the four corners of the store, mesmerized by the bright colors and sounds surrounding them. Shane was no different. He had to pick up anything in his path. When his eyes lit up over the tee ball set, I couldn't suppress my smile. It was as if a ray of light shined down from the heavens and choirs of angels sang.
"Is he too young for this?"
"That's what the tee is for," I explained. "It doesn't get much easier than a stationary ball. Didn't you ever play?"
"No." Of course not. His dad was about as nurturing as my mother. If I ever met the man, I don’t know what I’d say.
"Tee ball starts at age four. I'd say it's perfect."
Glancing at the box again, Shane glowed with pleasure. "When I have kids, I'm going to teach him how to play ball."
My mouth went dry. I picked up something in front of me, some frivolous toy. I wasn’t paying attention. It was a hypothetical statement, but I read into it so much more. I hated myself for it. It made me feel needy and insecure.
"Emelia." Shane's tone bade me to look up. "Words, beautiful. It was a stupid thing for me to say."
"It's fine, Shane. I can't have kids." Though, that's not what he said that bothered me. That's what was so irrational. I wasn't ready for a deeper relationship, the 'L' word, specifically. Yet, I was upset that he said 'I' and not 'we'. God, it was sad, so fucking sad. We'd only been together for a few weeks. I barely knew him. I barely trusted him. That joint behind his ear was a neon sign, blinking at me to keep my distance, so why should I care that he was keeping his? "I have to get over it sooner or later. Everyone can't walk on eggshells around me every time the subject comes up." I shrugged with feigned aloofness, and headed for the registers.
"You have an ovary," Shane pointed out.
"An engine's not any use without a car to put it in."
"So you get a surrogate. I can't get pregnant or give birth, but it won’t make my kid any less mine."
His words caught me short. I turned and peered up at him. "You have an uncanny talent of recovering yourself."
"You have to when you fuck up as often as I do." He smiled crookedly, staring down at me.
Smiling back, I continued toward the registers. Jake was in line. Coop and Tate were waiting by the door. Carter was nowhere in sight, but he had been keeping to himself since the incident in the car.
"I would love any child, whether it was my egg or not, but that need to carry it myself doesn't go away." I shook my head at the thought. "I don’t know if it's better or worse having experienced it once." Stopping yet again, I looked up at him. "That sounds inconsiderate, doesn't it? Some women don’t even get to experience what I did. I should be thankful."
"I'd say you were human, and I'd hardly say you should be thankful for what you experienced. She was stolen from you in one of the most despicable ways."
"I wasn't referring to that, though. I just mean pregnancy in general. I'm not the first person to miscarry. Whatever," I said, brushing it off. "You didn't mean anything by it. I just wish I could forget everything, so I didn't have to have these kind of discussions every time kids come up. It's uncomfortable. I hate it."
I ran for Jake, and an excuse to end the conversation.
"Tee ball," Jake observed, eyeing the box in Shane's hands with envy. "That's a good one."
"What did you get?" I asked Jake. I hoped what was in the box wasn't what I thought it was. I could've been mistaken. Jake lifted the box and looked at it, as if he'd forgotten himself.
"Finger paints."
I winced. "Coop is going to love you."
Blithely, Jake lifted a shoulder. "Can't be any worse than chocolate ice cream, and he paints the house with that shit all the time."
"He can wear a smock," Shane added. "You know, like, one of Tate's shirts inside out, and the sleeves are too long."
"Smock?" I laughed. “He needs a tarp.” The puppies hovered around his feet during every meal, waiting patiently for some small morsel to roll off his plate and onto the floor (because something usually did). At breakfast, Rake had been so absorbed in Levy's eggs, he had shoelaces of saliva descending from his mouth. What didn't fall accidentally, Levy threw purposely, and then feigned innocence (terribly) with an 'uh oh'.
Carter showed up a few seconds before Shane and I were through at the register. He had some sort of balancing board in his arms called the 'Teeter Popper.' It looked like a curved snowboard. "It'll help develop his hand eye coordination," Carter explained. "Someone's gotta teach him, and none of you've got any."
He said this without his usual smirk. He was still brooding.
“I guess Tate hasn’t gotten a chance to talk to him?” I asked Shane as we followed Tate and Coop into the seating area of the food court. There was a decent selection of restaurants to choose from, including an ice cream shop.
“No, he did,” Shane clarified. “Carter wasn’t that receptive or forthcoming.” Shane kicked a pebble in his path, and Rake jumped after it. “He pretty much told Tate to fuck off.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah.” We both watched with consternation for the pebble to make its way from Rake’s mouth when he realized it didn’t taste any good. It never reappeared.
“I think he just ate that rock.”
“It was small. Won’t he just shit it out?”
“I hope so.” It was a good thing Jess recommended a veterinary practice in Seattle. I had a feeling we’d be spending a lot of time there.
“It couldn’t have tasted good.”
“Maybe he’s got some kind of mineral deficiency.”
“More like a mental deficiency.”
“They’re puppies!”
“Just saying—she eats underwear,” he complained, gesturing to Fiend, “and he eats rocks.”
He was right. “Maybe I should take out pet insurance.”
“I don’t think it covers pet therapy, if there is such a thing.” I had no doubt he was envisioning a doctor in a white lab coat and a dog sprawled on a chaise lounge.
“Pet insurance—it’s like health insurance, but for your pets. So if he eats a rock and needs surgery to remove it, I don’t get slammed with a thousand dollar medical bill.” I didn’t have that kind of money. I lost my job and I barely had any savings.
My words were lost on the Shane. He was staring toward the drumming sound coming from the other side of the courtyard. Tate and Carter were already crossing the space to investigate, drawn to the music like moths drawn to a flame. “Be right back,” said Shane as he joined the others.
I glanced at Coop, and then we too, went to investigate.
Behind a set of scuffed, upturned buckets, sat a lanky blond-haired boy, wearing a dark set of shades. His jeans were torn and frayed. His sneakers were almost worn through at the toe. His t-shirt had seen better days. But he was oblivious to his disheveled state. He was happy just to be sitting behind those buckets and doing what he obviously loved; playing music.
As always, I was amazed that all four limbs could be moving simultaneously, each tapping out their own beat on one or more drums at a time, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d toss his stick into the air and catch it, adding a twirl to the mix just to show off. He did it all without missing a beat. I was lucky I could pat my thigh to the beat on the radio as I drove my car, and not rear end the car in front of me.
He earned a few greenbacks for his showmanship, too. He gave each of the donors a shy smile as they dropped their bill into the smallest bucket off to the right. When Coop gave Levy some money to toss in, he preferred to hand it to the boy himself. Half the onlookers gave a cry of adoration over the exchange.
Still, the boy didn’t miss a beat. He simply modified his rhythm and put one drumstick down, playing with only his left
hand. He took the money from Levy—who smiled and proceeded to turn, run smack dab into Tate’s legs and fall on his butt. Only when Tate bent to pick Levy up, did recognition set in and cause the drummer to flub and drop his stick. “Holy shit!”
As the boy’s mouth gaped open, Levy leaned closer to Tate’s ear. “Das a bad wood.”
“You’re Tate Watkins!” The drummer found his tongue and blurted the obvious. His gaze moved to Carter, then Jake and Shane. He lost the ability of speech again.
Carter snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “He looks like you the first time you met Phil, Shane.”
“Does not.”
“Does too. What’s your name, kid?”
The kid in question managed to peel his gaze away from Shane and glance at Carter. “Jaxon with an X.”
“Where’d you learn to play?”
“I’m self-taught.” He was staring at Shane again. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses, but his head was turned in our direction.
“You’re self-taught,” Carter repeated, doubtfully.
“I learned a lot on the internet.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty one next week.” He didn’t look a year past eighteen. He was tall, but scrawny, and needed about thirty pounds on him.
“I wanna pway on the dwums,” Levy said, squirming on Tate’s hip. “I get down now.”
“Not right now, kiddo. We’re gonna have some lunch and sing Happy Birthday.”
“I hab cake!”
“Even better. Ice cream cake.”
“And presents,” Coop added. She raised her arms to take Levy from Tate, and scowled when he shook his head at her.
“Not a chance.”
Coop lifted her tablet and tapped furiously at the screen. “I can carry my kid, Tate. I'm not an invalid.”
"I know you can, but I'm not letting you. Doctor's orders." Tate turned to Jaxon, looked him over. “You busy, kid?”
Jaxon shook his head. “No.”
“We’re going to grab some grub. Wanna join us?”
“Me? For real?”
Tate smiled that smile that made all the girls melt, including Coop. “For real. We can talk. I have some questions for you.”
Breaking the Habit Page 21