Rock Legend

by Tara Leigh

  I was so lost. The walls I thought I’d built to keep me secure, separate, had been crushed to dust. My heart was pounding, blood rushing through my veins, everything in me surging with want for this woman in front of me.

  “Pippa,” I rasped, in the suspended moment before I pressed my lips to hers, tenderly at first. A tortured moan rose up Piper’s throat, her lips softening, opening. Her tongue seeing mine. Touching, tasting, teasing. So goddamn sweet.

  My hands slid around Piper’s neck, pushing into her hair, cradling her skull in my hands. I caged her against the stucco wall of the building.

  There was bliss…and then there was pain. I could feel it bleeding from every pore in her body, turning our kiss into something different. Something that felt a whole lot like goodbye.

  Neither of us ended it, but it did end. My lips scraped raw by her absence.

  Our foreheads touching, eyes squeezed tight, we breathed each other in. Both of us knowing. Both of us hurting.

  No longer an us.

  “I wish…” She choked on a quiet sob, the unfinished sentence barely audible and yet blaring in my ears.

  “What do you wish, Piper? Just tell me and I’ll do it. Anything.” Desperation clung to every syllable.

  “There’s nothing. Things are just different now. The way they have to be.”

  My soul twisted, an angry and raging thing. “Why? Tell me why.” I pulled away, gently pushing Piper’s chin up when she tried to avoid my gaze. “Look at me. Tell me why. Tell me what’s different. Let me fix it.”

  The look on her face was so sad, and so certain. “Some things…they can’t be fixed. Either they’re meant to be, or they’re not. You and me, we’re just not. Not then and not now.” She slipped away, her fingertips trailing fire as they slid across my chest and then down my arm. “I’m sorry.”

  The sound of Piper’s flip-flops echoed in the still air as she walked away from me. She opened her door and slipped behind it, disappearing from sight.

  I was mute, immovable.

  Ruined.

  I’m not sure how long I stood there, a statue blinking against the harsh glow of the streetlights.

  But when I looked down, I noticed my hands were clenched into fists. Both hands. Fists. My right just as tight as my left.

  I waited for a feeling of happiness, or of relief.

  But I was numb to it.

  I glanced at Piper’s closed door, wishing I could go to her. Show her.

  Instead I reached into my pocket, tossed a couple of pills into my mouth and headed for my truck.

  Piper

  The tabloids were wrong about Verity Moore. She wasn’t a train wreck.

  She was a freight train.

  I’d met a lot of Hollywood starlets, but Verity had the work ethic and ambition of someone much more seasoned. It was easy to see why Travis had signed her.

  Lately, we’d been practically inseparable. I didn’t mind at all. Throwing myself into work was the only thing that kept my mind off Landon for more than a few minutes at a time.

  The only thing that pressed pause on the memory of my last moments with Landon—those painful, heartbreaking moments—that otherwise played in an endless loop within my mind. Elation at the first sight of him getting out of his truck, pinpricks of hope sinking into my skin for the briefest of moments before reality set in. Our kiss, equal parts delicious and devastating. Walking away. Closing the door. Crumpling to the floor.

  Even now, I wanted to go to Landon and tell him everything. Let him decide for himself whether he wanted to be a part of my life, our lives. It was only the memories of my childhood that had prevented me from giving into the impulse. Landon didn’t want a child, and I wasn’t going to force mine on anyone. No one should grow up feeling like a burden.

  Thank god for Verity Moore. She certainly kept me busy. Travis had wanted a complete image makeover. Gone was the cute, perky Disney princess. Same for the angsty wild child trying too hard to show the world that she’d grown up. The only thing that had stayed was Verity’s trademark bright red hair.

  So far, she’d been a dream to work with. Between highly planned interactions with the press and our strategy of scheduling sightings with only the most conscientious celebrities at daytime charity events, her name was slowly beginning to shed its tawdry undercurrent.

  Today, however, was different. Verity had been a brat since the minute I picked her up this morning. Which was exactly what she looked like when she scrunched her nose at the cucumber the director just handed her.

  He quickly fled the room, but not before sending me a pointed glance whose meaning was all too clear: fix her.

  The door closed, and I plucked the cucumber out of Verity’s hand before she could throw it at the door. “I’m not doing this,” she said. “No freakin’ way.”

  This PSA had been Travis’s idea, and if Verity caused a scene or walked off set, he would be furious. Mostly with me. My official title was PR associate, but in practical terms, I was Verity’s handler. Eventually I would be brokering deals and signing celebrities, but until then, I needed to keep the client I’d been assigned doing what Travis wanted her to do.

  Travis hadn’t said anything to me about Landon, but I could tell he knew our relationship had gone beyond professional. I needed a win in my column if I had any hope of a promotion before I took maternity leave.

  “I know this might feel awkward to you,” I began in my best soothing voice.

  Verity was having none of it. “Awkward is running into your ex in the tampon aisle.” She grabbed the box of condoms that sat on the table between us and shook it at me. “Putting a condom on a cucumber, that’s not awkward. It’s ridiculous!”

  My mouth twitched, and I had to bite my lips. It was hard to disagree with her. This PSA was focused on promoting safe sex to teenagers. Several other celebrities were involved, and it would be shown during movie trailers, commercials, and in high school health classes. Unfortunately, Verity’s part involved demonstrating the correct way to put on a condom.

  Condoms were the last thing on my mind these days. I still hadn’t told anyone other than Adam and Delaney about my pregnancy, but after discovering that I couldn’t wriggle into my favorite pencil skirt this morning, it was obvious that would have to change soon.

  Needing to look away from Verity’s outraged expression before I started laughing, I glanced down at the script in my lap. “Why don’t we go through this before making any decisions.”

  “I’ve already gone through it. Basically, they want me to put the condom on wrong, and explain that you can’t just turn it over.”

  “Really?” A vague sense of unease clutched at my belly. “Why not?” I flipped through the pages, looking for an explanation.

  Verity grabbed it from me. “You’re kidding, right? Trying to convince me that I’m not just giving the late-night comics more material to crucify me with?”

  It took everything I had not to steal the script right back. “Sex ed was a long time ago. Refresh my memory.”

  She sighed, holding out her free hand. “Cucumber.”

  I gave it to her and she put one end between her knees, then grabbed the bottle of moisturizer that had been sitting on the ledge below the mirror. She squeezed a small drop on the tip of the cucumber, then plucked a condom from the box and tore at the wrapper. “Because if I put it on backward…” She held it against the vegetable for a second, demonstrating that it was the wrong way by trying to roll it down. It didn’t work, of course, and when she lifted it, a dollop of white cream clung to the tip.

  “So, as you can see, if there was anything there…” Verity’s words faded as I watched her roll down the condom with ease, the blob of white lotion like a pimple at the tip. “You wouldn’t be having protected sex, now would you?”

  I stared at the plastic-wrapped vegetable in unblinking horror. Holy shitballs.

  “Hey, Piper, you okay?”

  I looked into Verity’s clear-eyed gaze and attempted to pull mysel
f together. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I managed a tight smile. “Learn something new every day.”

  A brief frown passed over her face before she flashed her perfectly veneered smile at me. “Maybe this isn’t such an awful idea after all.”

  * * *

  Apparently my obvious ignorance of effective safe-sex protocol was the motivation Verity needed to walk on set with her box of condoms.

  I followed her, staying out of the way but still visible in case anything went wrong, or Verity needed me for something. Please let this go off without a hitch. I could barely speak, let alone cajole a difficult celebrity. Was it really possible that this baby inside of me, my firefly, didn’t belong to Adam? Could I be carrying Landon’s baby?

  As Verity ran through her blocking, then her lines, and finally the filming itself, I tried to picture Landon as a father. The crazy thing was, I actually could. Because beneath all that rock star swagger and seduction was a sweet, selfless man.

  But that was Landon with his guard down, the side of himself he rarely showed to anyone. And, of course, there was the little matter of him openly admitting that he didn’t want a baby. That fatherhood wasn’t for him.

  Could I saddle Landon with a child he didn’t want?

  How would he react if I showed up to his house and announced I was pregnant with his baby? He’d probably slam the door in my face and be on the phone with Travis in seconds. I would become a situation-to-be-handled. Just another celebrity schemer out for a payday.

  I could kiss my job and my reputation goodbye, and I’d never work in this town again. Where would that leave me? Pregnant and unemployed, that’s where.

  I’d have to move back to Bronxville, maybe even live with my parents again. And then what? My mother would help me raise my baby. My father would make my child feel unwanted and worthless, just like he’d done to me.

  No. I would sooner give my child up for adoption.

  And I wasn’t giving my little firefly away. Ever.

  I rubbed a protective hand over my slightly rounded belly. I’d signed up for weekly e-mails to explain exactly what was happening with my pregnancy. Right now my firefly was about the size of a peach and just beginning to wriggle his or her tiny little toes.

  I was already a mother.

  But who was the father?

  And how the hell had my life become such a mess?

  A few months ago, I thought I had everything under control. I had a job I loved and a steady boyfriend. I had vision boards, a color-coded calendar, and a five-year plan. I knew where I was going, and how I was going to get there.

  I’d gone from that, to cornering the market on questions and uncertainty.

  How could I ask Adam to take a paternity test?

  How could I admit—to anyone—that I didn’t know who had fathered my child?

  It was just so…Jerry Springer.

  Of course, there was one option I hadn’t yet considered.

  What if I didn’t do anything at all?

  No paternity test.

  Just forget about what I’d learned. Pretend I was still just as oblivious as I’d been when I put the condom on Landon wrong in the first place.

  Adam would be my baby’s father.

  No one would be the wiser.

  Except me.

  “Okay people, it’s a wrap,” the director called. I forced a bright smile as Verity and I walked back to her dressing room together. “You did great,” I said.

  “Make sure you tell that to Travis. I’m still waiting for confirmation on what he promised me.”

  I knew exactly what he had promised her. And with any luck, I’d be on maternity leave while she was touring with Nothing but Trouble. If the band agreed, that is. From what I had heard through the office gossip grapevine, the guys were putting up quite a fight. They didn’t want a fallen pop princess opening for their tour.

  Verity’s last album was several years ago, a companion to the hit show she’d starred in about a young girl entering an American Idol–style reality competition, losing to her frenemy, and then making it in the industry on her own. Not exactly the kind of show Landon and the guys programmed into their DVR.

  But Travis believed that the best way to grow an audience was to pull in new fans. In his mind, both Verity Moore and Nothing but Trouble would benefit from a collaboration. By now, I knew better than to doubt his instincts.

  “Travis always makes good on his promises, Verity. You just have to give him some time. And besides, the guys haven’t even gotten into the studio to record new material. Nothing’s been finalized for the tour yet.”

  Verity grabbed a bag of Skinnypop from a basket. “Maybe not, but we both know he’s already talking to sponsors and working out the details now. Until I see a signed contract with my name on it, I’m going to feel uncomfortable.”

  Speaking of uncomfortable. “One sec.”

  Verity watched me scoot toward the bathroom. “Again? I think I’m going to buy you some Depends, just so you can make it through an entire conversation without having to pee.”

  Oh, I’d be buying diapers soon enough. They just wouldn’t be for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Piper

  I can do this. I can be a mother, a co-parent, with Adam. Walking through the doors of Baby Bluebell, flutters of excitement raised tentative wings to bat at the nervousness lining my stomach, the feeling of being an imposter. A babysitter pretending to be a mom.

  As we entered the store, Adam took my hand and tossed a conspiratorial glance my way as we headed for a sales clerk folding a stack of tiny onesies. I squeezed his hand back, pushing out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  Yes, I could do this. We could do this. There was no need for a paternity test. Adam would be a great father, the kind my baby deserved.

  “Hi, we’re here to start a registry,” Adam said, beaming at the woman.

  She returned his smile, then peeked at my belly. I still hadn’t made the shift to maternity clothes, but I was definitely wearing loose tops and elastic waistband pants. “Wonderful.” She came out from behind the tiered table and led us to a desk in the middle of the store to retrieve a pamphlet. “This is what we recommend starting with, and of course we can add on as necessary.”

  I accepted the pamphlet and opening it to find detailed lists written in an impossibly small font and organized by categories. Safety. Gear. Feeding. Sleeping. Nursery. Playtime. I flipped the page. Hygiene. Furniture. Travel. Clothing. Mommy Care.

  “My name’s Gretchen, by the way. Do you know if you’re having a baby boy or girl yet?”

  While I was trying to stem the tide of anxiety rising with every typed line, Adam answered her question for both of us. “Not yet, we want to do some kind of reveal. We were thinking about getting a piñata, or a powder bomb.”

  We were?

  I looked up just in time to see her face light up. “Oohh, I love those. One of our clients put a balloon on a bull’s-eye, and when her husband threw a dart it exploded with blue confetti. And I just went to a gender reveal party where they gave guests water guns and we squirted the parents-to-be with bright pink.”

  Adam turned to me with a huge grin. “Did you hear that? A gender reveal party.”

  What I heard was that two people had knowingly let their friends pelt them with water guns to find out something a doctor could tell them during an office appointment.

  For the next hour, Adam and I followed the woman around the store as she pointed out everything we would absolutely need before bringing home a baby. It became apparent that what I needed was a bigger apartment. Did babies really require so much stuff?

  We made it to the “Sleeping” section of the registry list when a bell chimed over the door. Adam turned. “Oh, you finally made it,” he called out, then said in a lower voice, “I told you I invited Brian to join us, right?”

  No. No, he hadn’t. “Hi, Brian,” I managed.

  He gave me a peck on the cheek, then stepped between us t
o slide his arm around Adam’s waist. I moved aside, not missing the slightly pitying look I was now getting from Gretchen. I could practically read the thought bubbles rising above her head, trying to decide if I was just the surrogate or if we were in a polyamorous relationship. Or maybe just stupid. She covered by getting back to the task at hand. “So, we were just deciding on a mobile.”

  I already knew the one I wanted and walked over to the swarm of adorable fireflies hanging over a crib. “This one,” I said, fingering the elaborately stitched wings. “It’s perfect.” Gretchen came over and pressed a button on the base. A familiar lullaby started playing, and the fireflies’ tails lit up. My heart gave a lurch. “I love—”

  Brian cut me off with a derisive snort. “Why would you want insects hanging over your kid’s head?”

  Adam chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’ll pick out something else for our place.”

  Right. My baby would have two nurseries. One with me and one with Adam—no, Adam and Brian.

  It made sense, of course. Adam was already talking about hiring a lawyer to draw up a custody agreement, split fifty-fifty he said.

  I was barely halfway through my pregnancy and it already felt as though my baby would be sliced in two the moment I gave birth.

  Unless…Unless Adam wasn’t the father, after all.

  “So I should add this to your registry,” Gretchen prompted, her finger poised over the iPad she was using to keep track of everything.

  My lips tightened. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  I wondered if the store sold paternity tests, too.

  * * *

  For the tenth time in as many minutes, I checked the clock on my phone and looked for an opening to wrap up Verity’s conversation with the Vanity Fair staff writer.

  I’d been pitching a feature on Verity’s comeback for the past month. This wasn’t the interview, or even a pre-interview. This was supposed to be just an introductory meeting, half an hour max, to give him enough material to get a commitment from his editor.