Rock Legend

by Tara Leigh

  My father, too.

  Although maybe not quite yet.

  The other day, when I yelled at Landon in my apartment, I’d been so certain I didn’t want him to be a part of my baby’s life.

  But now that I’d had a little bit of time and space, I knew that wasn’t true. Not exactly.

  What I wanted was for Landon to want to be a part of our child’s life. For the abandoned child in him to grow up and realize he didn’t have to parent the way he’d been parented.

  He’d had it rough, no question. And I probably didn’t even know how rough. I’d been wounded by my father’s resentment. But Landon…I’d felt the scars he’d inked over with tattoos, seen them when I looked closely. His scars were internal and external. Engraved on his body and his soul.

  I honestly didn’t know whether Landon could ever move past them. Or if I had any right to expect it of him.

  He’d had crackhead biological parents, foster homes with people using him to get a government check, group homes ruled through terror and pain. And then the Coxes. What happened had been tragic—but it wasn’t Landon’s fault.

  I placed a hand over my belly as I walked around the hedges and beneath the white lattice archway covered in climbing wisteria.

  The gate squeaked.

  I paused. The gate never squeaked.

  My mom had wielded a can of WD-40 every week, making sure that its hinges operated soundlessly. For my father, of course. The man hated any noise he didn’t make himself.

  “Mom?” I called out softly, wrapping my sweater around me. It wasn’t unseasonably cold, but New York weather had a distinct chill compared to Los Angeles.

  There was no answer, beyond the chirping of birds. I took a few tentative steps forward, noticing the birdfeeders handing from the trees. The last time I was here there had been just one. I spotted two more now. Beautiful miniature replicas of homes, suspended from tree branches, swaying slightly in the wind.

  From the shed at the far end of the property, I thought I heard a noise. Bypassing the garden, I walked straight across the yard and tapped lightly on the door.

  It swung open, and my mother blinked owlishly at me, holding a pair of wire clippers in her gloved hands. “Piper,” she exclaimed. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

  “I was in the city for work and—” I stopped when I heard the chatter of a couple behind me. My mother motioned me into the shed and quickly shut the door.

  Once my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I saw that she’d turned it into a craft corner. Gone were the lawnmower, leaf blower, and snow blower that had once been shoved into the small space. Instead, she had managed to fit a chair and a small workbench, the surface strewn with various tools and what looked like pieces of a birdhouse that hadn’t yet been assembled. “What’s all this?”

  She sat down and pulled out a gardening stool from beneath the desk, patting it.

  I sat, waiting for her to tell me what was going on. Why was our house for sale? And why was she hiding in the shed, building a birdhouse?

  “Sweetheart, I don’t know how to tell you this…” She brushed at a patch of dirt on her knee.

  A sudden fear took hold and I covered her hand with my own. “Mom, are you sick? Is Dad?”

  “No,” she looked surprised. “Of course not. It’s just, well, I’ve asked your father for a divorce. He moved out last month, and—”

  “Last month?” I repeated dumbly. What? “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have come home, helped you.”

  “Piper, don’t be silly. You have a life out there, you don’t have to come home to help your mother.”

  I’d been so wrapped up in my own world, I’d completely neglected the woman who raised me. How could I be a good mother if I was a terrible daughter? I gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Mom.”

  She nodded. “Don’t be. It was time. Past time, actually. Once you were gone, and it was just the two of us…well, it took me a while, but I finally realized that there was never really much of an us between your father and me.” She offered a flicker of a smile that was more relieved than anything else.

  “And you’re okay?”

  “Yes. Of course I am. But I don’t need that big house for just me. I’m selling it and moving into a condo closer to town. Some of my friends have downsized recently, too. I’ll be fine.”

  “But, what about your garden?” I couldn’t imagine my mother in a small condo, with no outdoor space of her own.

  “I spent so much time out here, weeding and mulching and planting. Busywork, really.” She gestured at her desk. “I started making these birdhouses after you left for college. Once I’d made more than I could hang, or gift to friends, I decided to start selling them. Several of the florists in town place regular orders, and now I have an Etsy shop online, too.”

  I looked at my mother in disbelief. “You have an Etsy shop?”

  She trilled out a laugh. “Yes. I’m on Instagram and Pinterest, too,” she said proudly.

  I shook my head slowly, looking at my mother with newfound appreciation. “That’s really great, Mom.”

  “It’s still busywork, I guess. But I enjoy it, even more than gardening. And I’m actually making quite a bit of money. Now”—she patted my knee—“tell me what’s going on with you?”

  Looking at her expectant face, a confidence in her posture I’d never seen before, I was overwhelmed by all the changes we’d both experienced recently. And all the changes to come.

  Before I could get out a single word, I burst into tears.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Landon

  You came,” I said, glancing around the room at the men surrounding me. Shane, Jett, and Dax. Travis, too.

  They all nodded, looking at me as if there was no place else they would rather be. “Of course,” Shane and Travis said in unison.

  “Makin’ sure you’re really in rehab, that you didn’t ditch us,” Dax said, his lips twitching.

  Jett cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I tried to smuggle in some good stuff, but it was all confiscated by Nurse Ratched at the door.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” Shane sounded like he was only half-kidding.

  Listening to their banter, I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. I’d missed these guys. They had been the only family I’d allowed myself for over a decade.

  I wasn’t alone in rehab—there were forty other people here—but it was lonely. I hadn’t been allowed any visitors for the first month, although the Coxes had come several times recently. Both for sessions with my assigned therapist and just to join me on hikes through the canyon paths we were encouraged to explore.

  Harmony had suggested a rehab that was nearby, set into the foothills of the Mojave Desert. I’d seen her several times, too, when she brought therapy dogs to visit.

  The low-key, no-frills place had been a good fit for me. If I’d asked Travis, he likely would have suggested what had worked for Shane. Hiring a team of medical professionals and renting a house with a recording studio. Making the guys drop everything so we could all be together, recommitting to music and each other.

  But we weren’t young punks struggling to make a name for ourselves anymore. We had lives now, and I didn’t want Shane, Jett, and Dax to put theirs on hold for months just because I’d fucked up mine.

  After coming so close to losing my ability to play drums, I’d realized that music couldn’t be my sole focus anymore.

  I needed to focus on me, too.

  I’d been using sex and alcohol and drugs to numb myself.

  Given my biological parents’ addictions, I was genetically predisposed to become an addict myself.

  But my head was just as fucked up as my gene pool. Maybe more.

  Getting clean was only a small part of my recovery. The bigger one was…well, bigger. It was everything. How I approached life. How I avoided love, or any kind of attachment that wasn’t directly tied to music.

  I’d met people in rehab that were
hanging on by a thread, barely able to go a minute without the overwhelming urge to use again. I’d been like that my first few weeks, which was why I’d opted to stay another month. Now, I was considering doing a full ninety days.

  Because I had plans for when I got out. Plans that didn’t include ever coming here again. Or any place like this. I wanted to get my life back.

  Actually, I wanted to build a new life. A real one.

  One that included more than just the guys in the room with me now.

  I wanted to continue building a relationship with my parents, and with Jake.

  I wanted to go to bed every night with my arms around Piper. And I wanted to hold my child every morning.

  I thought I’d been living the dream. Platinum albums. Grammy Awards. Millions in the bank—even after setting up a trust fund for Jake’s care. More fans than I could meet in a lifetime. More chicks than I could fuck in ten lifetimes.

  But that was the dream of an insecure, immature teenager. Somewhere along the line I’d become an adult. A man.

  I had different dreams now. Or maybe just one.

  Family.

  One word. So simple. Except that it felt so damn out of reach, I didn’t know if I’d ever hold it within my grasp.

  I looked at Shane. “Have you seen Piper lately?”

  Silence fell, as heavy as a downed tree. “She’s been in New York a couple of times since you’ve been in here, stayed over our place to hang out with Delaney.”

  I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “How is she?”

  Shane’s eyes slid away from me, glancing toward Travis. “She’s fine.”

  I practically growled. “Don’t pull that shit with me. I’m in here, working on all the fucked-up parts of me that weren’t good enough for her. And I’m still working on them. Piper is the reason I checked myself in here, the reason I’ve stayed every fucking day. I’m not leaving this place until I deserve her. So dude, don’t tell me she’s fucking fine.”

  Shane blanched, taken aback by the vehemence in my tone, and probably by what I’d said, too. Hell, I was surprised by what I had said. Not that I’d said it, because every word was true. Just that I’d actually said it aloud to anyone but the asshole I saw in the mirror.

  I turned to Travis. “She works for you, how is she?”

  He steepled his hands, index fingers rubbing below his chin. “I don’t get into Piper’s personal life, Landon. She doing a great job working with Verity Moore, is all I can tell you. She’s got her work cut out for her with that one.”

  Dax gave a snort. “And yet you want her to open for our next tour. A Miley fucking Cyrus knockoff.”

  Travis dropped his hands and leveled a stare at Dax. “She is one of the most talented musicians I’ve ever worked with. And she doesn’t have half as much baggage as I had to deal with from you four when I decided Nothing but Trouble was worth my time. I launched your careers and I’ll re-launch hers.”

  “And before you bitch too much about going on tour with her, let me remind you that I had to push back your next album and tour because a certain someone couldn’t pick up a set of drumsticks for over a month, then decided to check himself into rehab for the past two. Verity happens to be under contract to your same label, and everyone, including Verity herself, has agreed to be patient when it comes to our timetable. You guys should be grateful.”

  An irate snort from Dax. “Grateful, my ass.” But the edge to his words had dulled, and after roughing a hand through his hair, he retreated to a corner of the room and leaned up against a wall.

  “Getting back to Piper,” I prodded Shane again.

  He sighed. “I’ll be honest with you, Landy. Never realized how good life could be until I found the right person to share it with. Piper’s a cool chick, and she and Delaney are tight. But she’s got a lot on her plate right now, and if you’re going to give her problems, you should leave her alone.”

  Sometimes the truth fucking hurt.

  Shane was right.

  The only thing I’d been able to do for Piper from here had been to ensure that she wasn’t hurting for money. Beyond paying her medical bills, I told Travis to give her a raise and take it from my accounts. But he’d scoffed outright, saying that he’d already promoted her to junior agent, which came with a substantial raise—and that she’d more than earned both on her own.

  Swallowing my temper, I said, “I don’t disagree with you. But I’m in here to get Piper back. To become the father my kid deserves.” I rolled my shoulders. “What the fuck do I know about family, right? I destroyed the only real family I ever had. Almost destroyed my ability to play with you guys.”

  I slowly cracked my knuckles, one by one, then continued. “Been numbing myself against everything for so long. Came here because I knew I couldn’t get clean on my own. And I’ve stayed because I want to get my head on straight, too. I don’t want to be numb anymore. I love that girl. More than I hate the wreck I’ve made of my life.”

  Shane squinted at me. “You want Piper to come here?”

  I thought about it for a minute, as if I hadn’t been asking myself that question every day for the past two months. Did I? But I shook my head. “Nah. I don’t want some doc’s psycho babble guilting her into letting me back into her life. I want the choice to be all hers.” My lips twisted as an image of Piper filled my mind.

  Not Perfect Piper, with her meticulously checked off to-do lists and color-coded calendar.

  My Pippa. The girl only I got to see. Messy blonde hair and too-big tank tops. Short shorts and worn flip-flops. Miles of long, tanned legs and a smile that set my skin on fire. “That girl’s going to choose me. Because I’m going to love her like I play the drums. Better than any other fucker on earth.”

  Jett grinned. “I missed your massive fuckin’ ego, man.”

  “Not for much longer. I’ll be out soon, pushin’ you to keep up with my beat.”

  “My bass can keep up with your beat just fine.” He thrust a chin at Shane. “You should tell him.”

  Shane regarded me thoughtfully with his amber stare. We hadn’t spoken much in the past few months, though there was so much history between us, I knew he understood why. Now he gave a single nod. “Delaney’s planning a party for Piper.”

  “A party…what kind of party?”

  Dax gave a long suffering sigh. “A girlie party that Shane’s insisting all of us have to go to. I think I’m feeling a stint in rehab coming on. Might not be able to make it.”

  “Of course it’s a girlie party,” Jett added. “That’s the whole point of the thing, right?”

  Shane pulled up something on his phone and handed it to me. “Please join us as we shower Piper and her baby-to-be with love!” I read the invitation out loud, my soul twisting tight. That baby in Piper’s belly.

  Our baby.

  Holy fuck, this was really happening.

  I glanced at the date. The party was in six weeks.

  I had six weeks to get my head on straight.

  Because I was going to that damn party. And I was going to get my girl back.

  We would be a family.

  Piper

  I nearly choked when I saw the name flashing on my phone’s screen. “Dad?”

  “Piper. I just spoke with your mother.”

  Silence stretched out. It had been nearly two months since I’d shared the news of my pregnancy with my mother. I hadn’t told her not to tell my father about it…but I’d assumed they weren’t speaking. And even if they were, I couldn’t remember the last time my father had actually called me.

  “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

  Surprise and confusion streaked through my veins. My father was calling to congratulate his unmarried daughter for getting knocked up? It was as if I’d stepped into an alternate universe. “Thanks,” I choked out.

  Knowing I would have to tell my father about my pregnancy eventually, I’d warmed up to the idea by telling Travis a few we
eks ago. He wasn’t a father figure exactly, but as my boss and mentor, I figured the conversation would be good practice.

  I’d been terrified. Sure, there were laws to protect pregnant women from workplace discrimination…but did they apply when said pregnancy was proof you’d slept with a client?

  In the end, he’d been professional to a fault.

  And when I got to the part about Landon being the father, he’d been a friend.

  Travis Taggert might have a reputation, a well-deserved one, for being an industry shark—but beneath his sleek exterior and killer instincts, he had a kind soul.

  I’d felt so good after our conversation, I hadn’t wanted to ruin Travis’s everything-will-be-okay vibe by subjecting myself to my father’s brand of pessimism and condescension.

  But the man on the other end of the line wasn’t reacting like I’d expected him to. And he sure wasn’t acting like the father I’d grown up with.

  Congratulations?

  I was still processing my surprise when he continued. “I was just thinking…I have a business trip to Palm Springs next week. It’s at one of those big hotels with a spa I know you and your mom will like. I’m trying to convince her to come out with me, make it into a vacation. I’d like you to consider joining us.”

  And our conversation kept getting stranger.

  “Mom told me she asked you for a divorce.” It got quiet on his end again. After a minute, I prompted, “Dad?”

  “Yeah. I’m still here.” He sighed. “She did. And it was quite the wake-up call. I—I, well, I’ve made a lot of mistakes. With your mother, with you. With life. I think it’s time I try to correct them. Do you think…” He paused again, his voice strained. “Is it too late?”

  Was it? I took a moment, analyzing my conflicted emotions. Did I want to let my guard down with my father, try to build a relationship with him? The part of me that had put distance between us out of an instinct for self-preservation resisted the idea of knocking down the walls I’d spent a lifetime building. What was his angle? “Are you inviting me just so there’s a better chance of Mom agreeing to go?”