Listen To Me: A Rock Star Romance (True North)

by Carrie Elliott

  LISTEN TO ME

  Carrie Elliott

  Copyright © 2014 Carrie Elliot

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book is for mature audiences only and contains graphic content. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older.

  To my newsletter subscribers. Thank you for supporting Cover Me. I hope you love Adrian and Karen’s story.

  ONE

  One year after Cover Me…

  KAREN

  My eyes almost popped out of my head. “No. Way,” I said, balling up the teeny, tiny pink onesie that said: PRODUCT OF AN UNHOLY UNION on the front and tossing it at Adrian. He’d made a habit of custom designing baby clothes over the past few months through an online store. “How do you know it’s a girl anyway?”

  Adrian shot me his shit-eating grin and shook out the onesie. “You doubt my infinite wisdom when it comes to females of the tween and under variety? I’m their king.”

  “You were their king before you went solo and I didn’t realize your influence went as far as in-utero. What if it’s a boy?”

  “It’s not a boy.” He shoved the onesie back into my hands and rubbed my giant tummy. “Four more weeks and we’ll see who’s right.”

  He kissed me and it still felt new. In my past relationships—if you could call them that—the newness wore off faster than the new car smell in the sensible Lexus SUV Adrian bought me when we found out I was pregnant thirty-six weeks ago.

  Yes, it was an accident.

  The baby, not the SUV.

  It still tingled—his kiss, not the SUV—and made me want more than just a kiss. Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones and when I pushed this giant sack of potatoes out and all the baby hormones were gone…what if I didn’t feel it anymore. What if…no tingle.

  “Be back by five,” Adrian said, grabbing his new headphones and striding toward the door. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

  My baby shower. It would take us five hours to get to Santa Cruz from L.A. “Around eight in the morning.”

  He groaned. Neither of us were morning people. We planned on hiring a nurse for the baby’s first few months, or until he/she slept through the night. When it came to getting my beauty sleep, I didn’t mind taking advantage of Adrian’s wealth.

  “Why couldn’t Bess have the shower here?” he asked.

  It was times like these when I had to twist my fingers together to make sure I didn’t haul off and smack him. “Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.

  He gave me a blank look that melted me. Those blue eyes would be the death of me someday. “Pricilla’s birthday party!? Ring a bell?”

  “Oh. Right. Shit.” He dropped his chin and rubbed a hand over his blond hair that had been styled with the boy band floppy bangs when we met. He’d chopped it since then into an adult cut and almost looked like he was old enough to have a kid of his own.

  He was. I guess. Twenty-two was still really young in my book. Hell, I was twenty-six and didn’t think I was old enough to be anybody’s mom, but here we were.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “No.” He looked up at me like he was in agony. “You know I hate reliving the boy band days, Kay.”

  “Even for Cilla?” Adrian’s producer, Derek Bast, had a niece turning fourteen. She was as ferocious as she was precious and had Adrian wrapped around her finger. In a time of weakness, he promised her a reunion with his old boy band, Wrong Direction, for her birthday party.

  He couldn’t suppress his smile and sighed. “Only for Cilla.”

  “You did call the other guys, right?” I asked. “You can’t be a boy band on your own.”

  “I called them. The only one who wasn’t sure he could show was Trent.”

  Trent Daniels, Adrian’s brother who couldn’t commit to show up for a beer, let alone anything else.

  “You know,” I said, “if we have a girl you’re screwed, right?” I pointed to my protruding belly. “If someone else’s kid can get you to give in so easy, you might as well just hand over the keys to the kingdom when she pops out.”

  “I plan to.” He winked and rushed out the door.

  The day progressed as usual with the baby kicking the crap out of me. Whenever Adrian wasn’t around I became a punching bag. It was as if his voice lulled the little potato sack. I tried to eat healthy, but the cravings for Big Mac’s and banana splits were taking over my life—and my figure. I’d gained almost forty pounds that would likely never come off.

  Adrian would be stuck with an overweight old woman. What if he didn’t even want to be with me anymore and he stuck around because of The Sack? He could have his pick of any woman on the planet. He was Adrian for God sake. The paparazzi were snapping photos of my fat ass left and right and the tabloids were plastering them all over the internet with headlines like: Quadruplets For ADRIAN!

  I prided myself on being tough and well, even bitchy when it was needed. Aggressive. Assertive. I didn’t take shit from anyone. But now, I was huge. I was pregnant. I was freaking the fuck out!

  We’d only been together a couple months when I got pregnant. Okay, not even together, together. We’d grab something to eat sometimes before we had sex, if that counts as a date. Now we were living together and had to be parents together!

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I stood up and pushed the balcony door open. Adrian’s penthouse was beachfront. It was big, but had one bedroom. Where the hell were we going to put a crib?

  Four weeks. We only had four weeks and that was if the baby came on time. It could be sooner. I sure as hell hoped it wouldn’t be later. Some women loved being pregnant. I was sure I’d love the baby, but never wanted one inside me again.

  Adrian was always upbeat and nonchalant about everything. “The baby can sleep with us for a while, babe. She won’t mind and you know I won’t complain about having two chicks in my bed,” he’d said.

  There was positivity and there was being naïve—and there was being a bitch with raging hormones, but I wasn’t sure he was taking this whole baby thing seriously. Like, he knew there was going to be a baby, but I didn’t think he understood the pressure and stress involved in there being a baby that was ours!

  This wasn’t like visiting with Derek’s three nieces. Our baby wouldn’t go home with someone else. Our baby would be with us all the time. We were going to be responsible for feeding it and changing it and making sure it didn’t blow up a school when it became an insane teenager.

  Oh my God, I was freaking out!

  When faced with the double lined result on the pee stick, I told myself right away that I wanted the baby. I was me—overachiever, dedicated, never say die. I could do this. Now, I wasn’t so sure I could do this.

  Four weeks.

  I ran my fingers through my hair and tugged at the ends.

  Oh my God, four weeks.

  I paced the balcony a few times, breathing deeply. In with the good air, out with the bad. Of course I could still do this. People did this every day.

  Oh Jesus, I never wanted to be one of those women who got the call at work to come pick up Little Terror for biting the teacher, or calling off because my kid was puking, or having to leave early to make some dumb little league game.

  I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the glass door. I was going to be one of those women now. Sure, I worked for Adrian, but I could just see myself now, leaving a marketing meeting with a T.V. exec. due to mom duty. I might as well neve
r plan on working again, because I couldn’t do it all. It was exhausting just thinking about it.

  How was I going to face all the happy people at my baby shower tomorrow? I could barely even face Adrian and his never-ending customized baby gifts.

  It was sweet. He was trying so hard, but I knew what a toll it was on his career. A hot musician that young with a baby—there was no way I could expect him to settle down. I couldn’t rely on him to be around as much as I would be.

  This baby would be entirely my responsibility.

  ADRIAN

  I couldn’t wait another four weeks. I wanted my little chicklet now. Kay could say the baby wasn’t a girl all she wanted, but I knew it was.

  I made a checklist and I was just about set. I talked to my financial guy and got the chicklet’s college fund invested so she’d have more than enough for tuition, room and board, books, clothes and partying. I got my realtor looking for a new place that was big enough for the chicklet’s room and all her toys, plus a backyard for a swing set and trampoline. I got about a half-dozen baby nurses lined up to talk to me and Kay before we left the hospital when the chicklet arrived so we could pick one to hire for home. And most important, I booked a private, chartered yacht for our first family vacation through the Mediterranean. Kay was a bit insecure about the baby weight, so I figured a private yacht where she could relax and not worry about bathing suit issues would be a good time for her.

  Now all we needed was a baby.

  “You’re freaking giddy,” Derek said, elbowing me in the ribs. We were in the L.A. studio laying the tracks for my next album.

  “Yeah, man, you should try this dad thing. It’s an adrenaline rush like I’ve never known.” Even up on stage in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans my blood didn’t pump this fast.

  Derek shook his head, laughing. “Call Bess and I traditionalists, but we want to get down the aisle first. Nothing rattles you, does it?”

  “No. I don’t rattle. Check this out.” I pushed a few buttons on the sound board, loading up a song I’d been working on for the past few weeks. When it started, the melodic notes of a piano faded into a violin duet, then me singing. A couple verses in, Derek’s mouth hung open in shock.

  “You wrote a lullaby,” he said. “Is that you on piano and violin?”

  “I’m multi-talented,” I said. “Didn’t you watch X Marks The Star the season my band won?”

  “Never watched an episode of that show,” he said. “You played on there?”

  “A couple times, but instruments have less tween girl appeal than choreographed dance moves.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “You breaking out the moves on Sunday?”

  “I’m too old for those moves.”

  He leaned back in his chair and howled with laughter. “You’re a baby!”

  “I’m having a baby. I’m not a baby, myself. There’s a difference. I’m practically retired.”

  “Retired. Right.”

  “For serious,” I said, leaning back in my chair and propping my foot up on my knee. “Kay loves to work. I figure I might as well be the stay-at-home dad and let her do her thing. I can do bottles and diapers and hang out on the beach under an umbrella digging in the sand all day.”

  “What does Karen think of that plan?” he asked, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. It’s not like we have to decide everything today.”

  “No, not at all. I’m sure—if Karen is anything like Bess, which she is—she’s trying to turn her whole world around to accommodate this baby before it gets here.”

  “Kay knows I’ve got this.” If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that Kay knew I was on board, fully invested, prepared, ready to go and make this happen. I wasn’t that guy who knocked a girl up and walked away like it was her problem and not mine.

  My chicklet wasn’t a problem anyway. She was already my proudest achievement and I hadn’t even seen her little face yet.

  Yeah, I had this. Kay was lucky she got knocked up by me and I was lucky she was having my baby.

  Four more weeks and life would be perfect with my two best girls.

  TWO

  KAREN

  Putting my intense, hormonal, mean mood to good use, I decided to follow-up with Adrian’s brother to make sure he’d show at Cilla’s birthday party on Sunday.

  “Crotch Rockets,” the guy who answered the phone said.

  “Is this Trent Daniels?” I asked. Adrian’s brother owned some kind of motorcycle business. After the band broke up, he wanted nothing to do with music, or Adrian.

  “Depends,” the guy said.

  “On what? You’re either Trent Daniels, or you’re not. Which is it?”

  “Well, let’s see. If you’re someone I’ve slept with in the past calling to tell me you have an STD or I’m the father of your child—born or unborn—you have the wrong guy.”

  What the… “Sorry to disappoint you, but my illegitimate baby is your brothers!”

  “Oh,” he said after a pause. “You’re Karen.”

  “You’re Trent.”

  “I’m Trent who’s had a string of crazy-ass ex’s contacting him lately.”

  “I see. Well, the purpose for my call is to confirm that you’re coming to Santa Cruz on Sunday for the Wrong Direction reunion.”

  “Don’t know if I can make it, babe. That’s what I told your baby daddy.”

  “My… Wait a minute. He’s not my baby daddy. He’s--”

  “Are you married?” he asked, cutting me off.

  “No.”

  “Baby daddy.”

  Oh my God. My life was turning into a Jerry Springer episode. “Whatever. What’s it going to take to get you there on Sunday?”

  “I don’t know. You got any hot friends you want to hook me up with?”

  “You’re not coming across as the type of guy I’d fix up a friend with, to be honest.”

  “Hot enemies?” He laughed. “I was messing with you anyway. Shoot me the time and the address. I’ll see if I can make it.”

  He’d see if he could make it. It didn’t sound promising. “Great,” I said, keeping the irritation out of my voice the best that I could.

  I hung up with him feeling confused and frustrated. Baby daddy indeed.

  Without thinking and questioning what I was doing, I pulled up a realty site online and began browsing the listings. There was nothing that said I had to live here in Adrian’s penthouse. The last thing I wanted was the gossip magazines saying I trapped him with the pregnancy.

  Baby daddy. The words echoed in my ears.

  I mean, there was no reason not to live here, other than the lack of space, but lately there were times during the day when I couldn’t get enough oxygen in my lungs and thought I might suffocate.

  He couldn’t want me. I was the woman you spent the night with after buying her copious amounts of alcohol at a bar. I was fiercely independent and didn’t get bogged down with things like having to check in with someone who might worry if I was running late. I wasn’t girlfriend material.

  I wasn’t mother material, but that ship had sailed and I committed myself to giving it my all. Diving into another commitment was sending my brain into overload.

  I pushed away from the desk and let my head fall back, my eyes close and my chest expand with the effort of calming down before I blew a gasket. I thought after all these months that I was ready, but Adrian never wanted to discuss the baby or our future. He always brushed issues away with some catch phrase, like: “It’s all good, babe!” or “We got this, babe, no worries.” But, how did we have this? How would it all be good? I needed concrete words and solid plans. Before I moved in, Adrian didn’t keep more than an expired bottle of Pepto Bismol in his fridge and I was no better. I once had a fish that only lived for two weeks because I forgot I bought it. How could the two of us raise a baby?

  I lowered my head and rubbed my eyes before opening them to a sight that made tears
prickle and fall through my lashes. Adrian’s screen saver was a close up of a father and a little girl’s linked hands as they walked on the beach.

  He killed me. How could someone who seemed so clueless with his, “It’s all good, babe!”, every time I wanted to talk, hold so much emotion in his heart? Why couldn’t he share that depth with me and make me as confident as he was? How did he know it would be okay? Why was I the only one freaking out? What did he know that I didn’t?

  “Babe? I’m home!” Adrian called from the foyer.

  I closed his laptop and jumped to my feet, straightening my hair and wiping my eyes. “Be right there!” I called back. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this and realize he was living with a nut job. So far, I covered my almost debilitating self-doubt with smiles and bitchy baby hormones.

  “There you are,” he said, striding into the bedroom office and sweeping me into his arms. “How was your day? Did the chicklet practice kung fu with your bladder again?” he asked, palming my enormous stomach.

  “Of course.” I stroked his cheek, feeling the slight stubble growing back from this morning’s shave. He smelled of hair product and mint gum and something sweet and warm that I could only identify with him.

  I rose on my toes and pressed my lips to his, closing my eyes and inhaling through my nose, deeper than I had all day. His arms circled me and held me tight, as close as the baby would let us get.

  It was times like these—times when the screaming doubt in my head subsided—when I never wanted him to let go of me. “I missed you today,” I said, feeling the absolute truth of my words rush through me. I never thought I’d need someone else to be my rock, but that’s what Adrian was. When he wasn’t around I was all tears and hyperventilating. God, I hoped this passed after the potato sack was born. I didn’t want to walk around with my nerves on edge for the rest of my life.

  “I missed you too,” he said, kissing my forehead. “And you,” he said to my stomach, bending to give it a kiss. “Do we really have to wait four more weeks? They told us that a baby had all its parts at thirty-six. Can’t they take her out now?”