Shouldn't Want You (Cataclysm Book 2)

by Jerica MacMillan

  He starts shaking his head before I can even finish my question, still screaming and crying. I know he’s hungry. It’s been hours since we last ate, and he’s been running around, trying out all the child-sized versions of adult things—the fire truck complete with fireman gear, the post office, the optometrist—and that was all before we got to the block room. Giant building blocks everywhere you look. A mini indoor jungle gym. He’s been going nonstop since we got here and was sweaty before he started screaming his head off. Now his wispy curls are plastered to his head, his face is wet with tears, slobber, and now snot.

  There’s nothing for it at this point. Gently, carefully, I gather his little body against me. This time he lets me, wrapping his arms around my neck, sniffling into my hair as I stand. When I start moving away from the block room, headed toward the place where I checked our stroller, he lets out another shrill squeal, making my ears ring.

  Working with a two-year-old, you know there are going to be screaming fits. It comes with the territory. But I can usually get him to calm down.

  The first few days after we got to LA were particularly rough, so this meltdown isn’t a surprise, even if I fear my hearing might never recover. But before, Danny was on hand often enough to help buffer the worst of it.

  Now, though? Danny’s busy. This is all me.

  When I pick up the stroller, I try to wrestle Eli into it, but he just screams louder and grabs fistfuls of my hair in his sweaty little hands, shrieking and clinging to me like an angry little monkey. So I hoist him up on my left shoulder, my arm holding up his little butt, and push the stroller one handed. At least it’s one of those fancy jogging strollers with the all-terrain wheels, so it rolls easily.

  Right about now I wish I’d had a car waiting for us. It’s about a mile from here to the hotel, which seemed like good exercise and a way to see the city when we left the hotel this morning, but with lunch overdue, I’m wishing I’d arranged that. I could get an Uber, but I don’t have a car seat for Eli, and … I don’t feel good about driving in busy city traffic without him in a car seat.

  After about a block, he starts feeling heavier, like he’s not holding onto me as much. Like … I crane my neck to glance at his face, and sure enough, he’s passed out on my shoulder. Poor little guy.

  I push the stroller against a building so people can get by, and gently, carefully, place him in his seat. His head lolls to the side as I strap him in. When the buckles click into place, he stirs a little, yawning and moving his head, but then, with a soft sigh, settles back into sleep.

  He sleeps through the walk back to the hotel, up the elevator, and into the suite. Once there, I’m not sure if I should let him sleep in the stroller or transfer him to his bed. Ultimately, I decide he’ll nap better in his bed. Or, worst case, he’ll wake up and have lunch and be cranky all afternoon and get put to bed early. But he’s worn out from a morning of busy play, so he barely stirs when I pull off his shoes and deposit him on the fluffy cloud of a comforter covering his bed.

  I tiptoe out of his room, pulling the door almost closed, then settle on the couch in the living room with a sigh. I’m starving, so I know Eli’s going to wake up hangry. But for now I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

  The room service menu stands on the side table next to me, and I pick it up, eyeballing the padded cover before opening it. Danny said I should order room service if it was the most convenient option. And there’s no denying that’s the case right now. I have a stash of protein bars for me, plus crackers and fruit snacks and things like that for Eli. But I want more than that right now. I’m hungry for real food. Eli will be too when he wakes up and if he has to wait a half hour or more for room service to get delivered once he wakes up …

  Maybe we shouldn’t test out the soundproof qualities of the rooms on our first day on the road.

  Decision made, I flip open the little binder and decide on a pizza. Even if it’s room temperature by the time Eli wakes up, he’ll still eat it. He prefers his pizza cold, anyway.

  Food ordered, I open up the ebook I’m reading—a cozy mystery that at once makes me homesick for my small town and my mom’s library of similar books but is also so far removed from my own worries and recent mishaps that it’s a nice escape—and settle in to wait.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Danny

  Chad, our tour manager, hoists himself up on the stage, his gelled hair glistening in the fluorescent lights of the arena. “You guys sound awesome.” He reaches for Marcus first, shaking his hand before turning to me, then making his way back to Aaron on the keyboard and Mason on the drums.

  Turning to encompass all of us, he rubs his hands together, a bleached smile taking over his artfully scruffy face. “We’re almost at capacity. There’s already people lining up, so if you want to head back to the hotel for a nap or whatever before the show, you better get a move on. Don’t need to start a riot before you even perform your first show.”

  His eyes zero in on Marcus. “And if you do what we’ve been talking about, you’ll definitely risk a riot after the show.”

  Marcus’s face darkens, and he crosses his arms. “Then I’m definitely not doing it. I don’t want people rioting before, during, or after the show.”

  Blaire, who’s climbed on stage and taken a spot next to me, snorts and rolls her eyes. “Don’t get a big head, Marcus. No one’s going to riot over you being shirtless on stage. But we might sell out bigger venues if word spreads.”

  I can’t fight the grin spreading across my face, and when I look around, I notice that Aaron and Mason are similarly chuckling at our bandmate’s expense. That is until Blaire continues, eyeballing all of us. “Hell, if promises of a half-naked Marcus can sell out this place, imagine what would happen if all four of you got into it?”

  “Hey, now,” Mason starts, standing from his kit, both his sticks clamped against his palm with his thumb as he puts out both hands in a calming gesture. “Let’s not get hasty. No one cares that much about the rest of us.”

  Kendra’s laugh rings out from where she sits in the front row, the large open area of the pit separating her from the stage. “Keep telling yourselves that,” she shouts.

  “I still don’t see why any of this is necessary,” Marcus puts in, gesturing at the cannons where sparks will fire off at certain points in the show.

  Blaire sighs, and Chad firms his mouth, his face taking on a patronizing Dad-glare. “We’ve been over this. If you guys want to crossover and pull a more mainstream audience to get more airplay on the Top Forty stations, then you have to put on a show like those audiences expect. They like pyrotechnics. And the women like shirtless guys with muscles.” He looks around at the rest of us. “Blaire has a good point. But we won’t do it tonight. Marcus has been dieting and training to look especially good for this. And we have a photoshoot tomorrow for the magazine spread coming out in a few months. You’ll all be in it to some extent, but Marcus is the one stripping down for it.”

  Marcus’s scowl has never been fiercer, and it isn’t helped a bit by Blaire stepping up and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Aww, Marcus. We all know how hard you’ve been working.”

  “Because he won’t stop bitching about it,” mutters Aaron, but he shuts up when Blaire glares at him.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “like I said, you’ve been working really hard. Now’s your chance for all your hard work to pay off.”

  The look he gives her expresses how effective her argument is. Which is to say, not at all.

  She rolls her eyes again and withdraws, holding up her hands. “Okay, fine. I was trying to be nice. It doesn’t matter. You’re doing it, whether you like it or not. We’ve talked about this. You want to move to the next level, this is what you need to do.”

  “I didn’t know I’d have to sell myself like a piece of meat to get to the next level,” Marcus grumbles.

  “Please.” Blaire points a finger at Marcus. “Go talk to your friend Charlotte James and ask her about sexing u
p her act to make it to the next level and get back to me.” She turns to Kendra and gestures at Marcus. “Has he been this whiny with you?”

  Kendra laughs again. “I usually just offer him a bagel. He’s been pretty low carb for a while. It makes him grumpy.”

  “I’m right here,” Marcus grits out.

  Blaire sniffs and tilts her head back to look down her nose at him. “And Chad told you guys to get out of here. Pack up. Let’s go relax until showtime.”

  With a chuckle, I lift the strap of the guitar from around my neck and carry it behind the black curtains that separate the stage from the backstage area and head to my dressing room to put it in its case. I could hand it off to a roadie, but I still prefer to be the one to put my baby away.

  We pile into the SUVs that shuttle us between the hotel and the arena and go in the back entrance. Hotel security meets us there and escorts us through the back of house maze to the employee elevators. We separate, going to our suites, Marcus happier with his arm around Kendra. I don’t pay attention to whether Blaire goes with Aaron or Mason or if she heads to her own room. My focus is all on seeing Eli before it’s time to head back to the arena. And if Ava decides to hang out in our suite for a while instead of heading back to her own, well, I wouldn’t object to that either. To be honest, I’m looking forward to seeing her as much as Eli.

  Eli loves her, and I like having her around. She makes me feel settled and … content. Though I’ve forced myself to quit ending up in dimly lit rooms alone with her. I shouldn’t be turned on by the nanny, but I apparently can’t stop it. At the very least, I can avoid situations where I’m tempted to act on my feelings. The excuse of getting ready for the tour provided a convenient cover to end our nighttime TV and movie marathons.

  When I open the door, the suite is unexpectedly quiet. Are they out?

  But I see Ava’s dark hair spread over the arm of the couch, and she sits up at the sound of the door, blinking and stretching her arms overhead, arching her back and pressing her breasts up and forward.

  God, I can’t help myself. My eyes fasten on her tits without my permission, and it takes all my willpower to pull my attention back to her face.

  “Hey,” she says softly, standing and stepping toward me. A large yawn has her stopping in her tracks, covering her mouth with one hand, then blinking and shaking her head while a soft smile curves her lips. “Sorry. I was reading, but more tired than I realized.”

  She’s so cute when she’s all flushed and sleepy. Which is part of the reason our late-night TV watching had to end.

  “Busy day?”

  She nods. “Eli’s napping still.” She glances at the tablet in her hand. “He’s been down for about ninety minutes.” Her brows crinkle. “I should probably wake him soon, or he’ll be up forever tonight.”

  I shake my head. “Let him sleep.” I pull two passes on lanyards out of my back pocket, excited to see her reaction. “I have backstage passes for both of you. So you can come to the show tonight.”

  She looks at the plastic badges I hold out, an adorable wrinkle forming on the bridge of her nose. “You really think bringing a two-year-old to your show is a good idea?”

  I shrug, stepping closer so she’ll take them. “He’ll just be backstage. And you’ll be with him to keep him out of trouble. I thought you’d both have more fun than just sitting around here, though.”

  Biting her lip, she accepts the passes, her concerned eyes meeting mine at last. “There won’t be like, drinking and drugs and stuff?”

  “You mean like sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll?” I give her a crooked smile so she knows I’m teasing, but she ducks her head.

  “More or less.”

  “Nah. Marcus is a diva and doesn’t allow that shit. Not backstage, anyway. Even when we had some wild afterparties at the beginning of our first tour, high on newfound fame and fortune, Marcus got pissed if anyone smoked. It’s bad for the vocal cords, and we all have a classical background. Spend enough time with vocal teachers and budding opera singers, you learn to take care of your voice. Since the rest of us only sing backup and don’t matter so much, we sometimes smoke weed without him, but alcohol and molly were the preferred substances at those parties.” I shrug. “Things changed when Eli came along. Knocking up random groupies was never on my bucket list. I don’t party like that anymore. Neither do the other guys. No one else wants a pregnancy scare like that, or even someone with the big idea of claiming she’s pregnant looking for a payoff.”

  Her soft berry lips part, her jaw dropping in horror. “That seriously happens?”

  “Yeah. Pretty sure Eli’s mom got pregnant on purpose. I offered her more money to have him and disappear than to have an abortion and disappear, so she stuck around till he was born. But he’s been mine ever since. She terminated her parental rights before she left the hospital.”

  A shadow clouds Ava’s face, and she looks down, studying the passes in her hand far more intently than necessary. She shakes her head, the movement almost imperceptible. “Wow. I can’t imagine doing something like that.”

  I almost—almost—lift my hand to push her hair behind her ear, but manage to stop myself, clenching my hand into a fist at my side. “Yeah, well, you’re not a groupie looking for easy money to keep up your party-girl lifestyle.”

  She lifts her face and gives me a small smile, but I don’t miss the shine of tears in her eyes. But before I can open my mouth to ask, she blinks them away and shifts back to business.

  “If you want Eli and me there, we’ll be there. I’m not sure how it’ll go, but we should try it at least once, right?”

  I smile, happy that she’s finally accepted the passes. “Right. I’ve got ear protection for both of you so you can even watch from the wings for as long as you can keep him from running out on stage.”

  That wins me a laugh as she looks all around.

  “What are you doing?”

  She meets my eyes with a cocked brow. “Trying to find the closest piece of wood to knock on. Even sleeping, he’ll hear you and assimilate the suggestion into his subconscious. Just you wait, the minute I bring him to the edge of the stage, he’ll be wiggling out of my arms, ready to run on stage to Daddy.”

  The grin on my face grows wider as I imagine it happening. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing ever. Hell, at the rate things are going, our tour manager would suggest we make it a regular part of the show. Draw fans with the double whammy of shirtless Marcus and the guitarist’s adorable little boy.”

  At first she laughs along with me, but then she sobers, her brows crumpling and her mouth pinching. “You’re joking, right? He wouldn’t really do that. Would he?”

  I love that she’s so protective of Eli. I know he’s in good hands with her.

  “Yeah,” I say softly, “he probably would. At least he’d try. Doesn’t mean I’d let him exploit my kid for ticket sales, though. We do just fine on our own.”

  My reassurance makes her face relax. “Shirtless Marcus draws enough of a crowd?”

  “Much to Marcus’s dismay. Blaire’s trying to convince us all to do it, which means we’d all have to start dieting to get rid of any extra fat. It’s all about the washboard abs.”

  Her eyes track down my chest to my abs. They’re solid enough, but not quite as defined as Marcus’s are now. I instinctively tighten up under her perusal, as though she can see through my T-shirt to my skin. When she swipes her tongue across her lips, I’m done.

  Done.

  But I can’t do anything, much as I might like to. She’s Eli’s nanny, for fuck’s sake.

  Clearing my throat, I step back and jerk my head toward the door. “Go ahead and take some time to chill before tonight. You’ll be busy once it’s time to go. I’ll take care of Eli if he wakes up.”

  Her eyes jerk back to mine, her chest rising with a deep breath, and it takes everything in me not to look directly at her breasts straining the fabric of her top, at the little bit of cleavage growing deeper as it peeks out of the sc
oop neck.

  “Are you sure?”

  I give a sharp nod, and she looks at me for a beat longer, like she’s not sure if she should believe me or not. But then she moves to the side, stepping quickly past me. “Alright. Just call my room when you’re ready for me to come back.”

  I stay glued in place, waiting for the sound of the door clicking shut behind her before I collapse on the couch, letting out a breath. I curl my hand into a fist, forcing it to stay at my side rather than rub the growing tightness in my pants.

  I will not jerk off to fantasies of the nanny.

  No matter how much they replay in my head these days.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava

  The concert is amazing.

  I’ve never been to anything like it, and getting to see behind the scenes and watch from the wings is even cooler than being in the audience would be.

  It’s busy, people coming and going the entire time, but Blaire sets up Eli and I in a dressing room for just the two of us and hands me a pair of in-ear monitors for me and a blue headset for Eli. “Ear protection is a must, especially if you’re going to be in the wings.”

  I glance at the headset and then at Eli. “Hopefully he won’t give me any trouble about it.”

  She shrugs and grins. “Since you’re the baby whisperer, I’ll leave that to you.”

  I huff out a chuckle, and then she’s gone, off to take care of something else.

  Danny stops by to make sure we have everything we need, but only stays long enough to ruffle Eli’s hair and get a high five. “I gotta finish getting ready for the show,” he says as he stands.

  Eli clings to Danny’s leg, holding fistfuls of faded denim. “Up! Up!” he demands. “Daddy hold you.”

  It still makes me melt every time I watch this frowny, broody man soften with his son. Reaching down, he hooks his hands under Eli’s armpits and scoops him up, holding him close and kissing the mess of blond curls on Eli’s head. “Just for a second, bud. Then I gotta go. But Ava will bring you out to watch me in a little bit. For now you can stay here and play with Ava, okay?”