by Tara Leigh
Breakfasts and lunches and dinners. Long walks, longer hikes. With his parents, with Jake, with Delaney and Shane and Travis and Jett and Dax. With my parents, too.
The first time he said I love you, and all the times after. So many times, so often, I’d taken to saying I know back. Because he’d proved it to me every day, in a thousand different ways.
And I did—I loved Landon Cox with every atom of my being. I craved his touch every night, and woke up the next morning wanting more.
The last trimester of any pregnancy felt like forever, but in my case, forever wasn’t long enough. Landon and I spent every moment rediscovering each other, rebuilding our own relationship and strengthening the bonds we shared with family and friends.
I held on to those memories, following their bright arcs as they broke apart above me. The last thing I saw, before I saw nothing at all, was the way Landon had looked at me when I felt the first twinge in my belly yesterday. Gone was the pain and reluctance that had filled his eyes less than a year ago. He didn’t have to force a cocky, smug grin anymore. His confidence was quieter now, and one hundred percent real.
I’d given that to him. And now I was about to give him a daughter.
For Landon, I was enough.
More than enough.
I was his everything.
And he was mine.
Mine.
Landon
My house and grounds were once again overrun with people, my driveway bursting with cars. None of them had been invited by text, or were there to repair damage.
This crowd was definitely invite-only, and those invitations had been handwritten calligraphy drawn on heavy cardstock, delivered not by postman but by private messenger.
One had even been delivered to Adam. He and Piper had reconciled after Luci’s birth, and I suppose if Piper wanted to stay friends with her ex-boyfriend, I couldn’t complain much when he had a boyfriend of his own.
Besides, today I would become her husband.
Piper and I were tying the knot and I was never going to let her go.
Today was a day that almost didn’t happen, for too many reasons to name. But the latest, and most devastating, was that I didn’t think Piper would be alive to see it. Even now, as I stand at the end of a white satin aisle, the rolling carpet of Los Angeles falling away to my right, Shane, Jett, and Dax to my left, fear grips me by the throat when I recall the maelstrom of Luci’s birth.
I’ve never known fear like the moment Piper slipped away from me. One second, she was right there with me, sarcastic and spirited and alive. And the next, the light that shone in her eyes was gone, extinguished. I was pushed from the room, feeling like my heart was being ripped out from my chest. And then the question that wasn’t a question. If we can only save one…
How do you choose between your heart and your soul?
Just bring Piper back to me.
Before Luci was Luci, she was the reason Piper was rushed into surgery. The reason I might lose my Pippa.
Right then, before Luci was Luci, I hated her.
Hours later, the doctor returned. You have a daughter. A healthy—
Piper, how is she?
There was a tightening of his lips and I felt something inside me crack. A deep fissure no amount of time would ever heal. Touch and go, but she’s hanging on.
Before Luci was Luci, I didn’t even want to see her. At Piper’s bedside, holding her limp hand, searching her sallow skin for signs of sunshine, I was torn apart by grief and rage. The nurses hovered, asking if I wanted to hold my daughter. If we’d chosen a name. No and no.
In the end, Piper’s parents were the ones to hold and comfort Luci in the NICU. They fed Luci her first bottles and changed her diapers.
Piper didn’t open her eyes for three days.
Three fucking days.
I didn’t leave her side, I couldn’t. Even unconscious, I felt her soul twisted up with my own, heard my name in every one of her breaths.
A rippling sigh of appreciation swept over the crowd and drew me out of the memory. Our flower girl, Devon, had just finished emptying her basket of rose petals and Piper appeared at the far end of the pool, her gorgeous blonde hair loose and flowing around her bare shoulders, dressed all in white. Instead of carrying flowers, she held our daughter. More beautiful than any bouquet.
Piper had moved in with me before Luci’s birth, and after she was discharged from the hospital, her parents had stayed with us for a month. It was time that they needed to become the family they’d never been. And when they met her at the other side of the drawbridge that had been erected over the pool, its surface now strewn with flowers, I knew they had become my family, too.
My eyes dropped from Piper to Luci, and my heart, already so full, nearly broke through my chest. Once Piper had emerged from her coma, and I was assured she would be okay, I had finally trudged to the NICU where the most vulnerable infants were kept. Luci hadn’t been premature, but her birth had been traumatic and she’d been born with a fever.
Piper’s father had been in one of the chairs, holding her, when I walked into the room. He got to his feet slowly, passing my child into my arms. Shock and love had raced through my veins as I stared into her angelic face, a nearly paralyzing rush. I squeezed my eyes shut, not realizing he was still there until I felt his hand clamp down on my shoulder. “I’ve spent the past quarter century blind to the best parts of my life. Don’t be like me, son. Even when it hurts, you’ve got to open your eyes.”
I swallowed hard. He was right. I had two souls to keep safe now, two hearts that were as vital to me as my own. More, even. Unable to speak, I blinked my eyes open and managed a shallow nod, catching a whiff of my daughter’s downy soft skin.
Reaching a tentative hand, I rested my palm against the swell of her back, the crook of her elbow, the plush padding of her tiny, tiny diaper. Planting lingering kisses on her head, the thinnest wisps of blonde hair—more platinum than gold—tickled my lips. I turned my face, rubbing my cheek against her scalp. Her newborn skin was like brushed velvet, and she weighed next to nothing on my chest.
“Firefly,” I murmured, nuzzling my nose into the crook of her neck. The fissure that had cracked open when I thought I’d lost Piper broke open a little further, revealing a secret reservoir of love and contentment I’d never known existed. But it was there, full to overflowing. Pure and potent. “Our little firefly.”
“What did you say?”
I startled at the quiet French-accented voice, glancing over at a nurse attending to a baby in an enclosed bassinette.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought maybe you had a name for your daughter.”
My heart sank. No. Piper had only woken up briefly. I hadn’t thought to ask her. “Not yet. Just the nickname we used for her. Firefly.”
The woman’s face registered surprise, and she pointed to a bassinette labeled COX—BABY GIRL. There was a Post-it note affixed to the side. “Luciole.” I said the word hesitantly, unsure of the pronunciation.
She nodded. “Even with the dim lights, your daughter’s hair practically glows. I sometimes give the babies names—just for me, so I have something to call them when I take care of them here. It means ‘firefly.’”
I said the name again, this time shortening it. “Luci.”
The next day, when Piper was well enough to visit her daughter for the first time, she spotted the note immediately. “Luci.” The perfect name for the light of our lives.
Now Piper handed our daughter to her mother and I shook her father’s hand. They sat in the front row, on the other side from Mike, Sarah, and Jake. I winked at Jake just before gathering my bride in my arms. “Fuck, I love you,” I groaned against her lips, not caring that we were surrounded by people.
From the look in her eyes, Piper didn’t care either. Her arms wound around my neck, lips pulling into a seductive smile. “I know.”
Travis cleared his throat before she could say anything else. “You’re supposed to k
iss after your I do’s.” Rather than a preacher we’d never met, Piper had wanted Travis to marry us, so he’d gotten some online certification that sounded bogus but as long as Piper was happy, I was happy. I’d finally figured out that life was a hell of a lot brighter basking in the glow of Piper’s smile than in any spotlight. Not that I didn’t love my time on stage. I craved that, too. But, like I’d told Piper a few months ago—my world was on her axis.
I didn’t want it any other way.
Author’s Note
Piper represents an all too common problem in our society—women clinging to the idea that they have to be perfect to be worthy of love.
No one is perfect.
To everyone reading this note—it is our differences and imperfections that make us who we are. Please, embrace them.
Life would be painfully boring if we were all the same!
I would love to know your thoughts on Rock Legend! If you have a chance to leave a review, I would be incredibly grateful. Please send the link to me ([email protected])—I’d be honored to send you a personal thank-you note!
You can keep in touch at www.taraleighbooks.com, and you can also follow me on Amazon, Facebook, BookBub, Goodreads, Instagram, and Twitter.
Happy reading!
xoxo Tara
Don’t miss Dax and Verity’s story in Rock Rebel, coming in fall 2018!
Chapter One
Dax
Being back in New York City had me on edge.
These were my old stomping grounds. I’d been born and raised here, in the rarified air of the Upper East Side. Attending LaGuardia High School of the Performing Arts, then Juilliard.
I wasn’t supposed to become a rock star. Until six years ago, I hadn’t played anything but classical music.
Which was when wearing a suit became the exception rather than the norm.
My fingers fumbled with the knot of my tie as I swore softly at my reflection. I wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours. Only within the snobby circles of classical musicians was a multi-platinum, Grammy Award–winning musician looked on with disdain, as if playing sold-out arenas filled with thousands of adoring fans was some sort of rebellious phase.
With a last tug at my collar, I left my hotel room. Heading down the hall, my phone buzzed in my hand.
Shane: Dude, you’re in NYC!
Me: Yeah, just for a couple of days.
Shane: You free tomorrow night?
Me: Not sure yet.
Shane: K. If you are, come over.
Me: The new place, right?
Shane: Yes. Bring whatever chick you’re not telling me about.
I smirked. Now that Shane was head over fucking balls in love, he wanted everyone else to be, too.
Me: I’ll let you know.
The elevator doors slid open and I darted aside just in time to avoid the kid who burst from the car and streaked down the hall, someone I assumed to be his harried nanny chasing him. With a sigh, I shoved my phone in my pocket and jabbed the button for the lobby. It didn’t change color. I pushed it again. Nope, still bright yellow. Realizing that every button was lit up, I swore softly. No wonder the kid had run, he must have pushed every damn button before he took off.
“Hold the elevator!”
My arm shot out instinctively, my years in Manhattan training me to hold the elevator for any and all who asked, because you never knew when you would need the favor returned. Karma was a bitch best left unprovoked.
Something that kid had yet to learn.
“Thanks.” At first glance, the girl that burst breathlessly into the elevator car could have been seventeen or twenty-seven. Her hair was piled into a messy bun on top of her head, her bright green gaze clear-eyed and direct, and she was wearing running sneakers and a thick sweatshirt that would have been too big on me. It was also unzipped, revealing a tight tank top and tiny bike shorts.
Goddamn. Just looking at her had my pulse stutter for a few beats, then take off at a gallop.
Her body didn’t belong to a teenager, that was for sure.
She pulled one of her earbuds out, wisps of red hair framing a heart-shaped face. Messy and disheveled. “Can you press the one for the gym?”
Sexy as fuck.
I jerked my chin at the lit-up display on my side of the elevator. “Apparently we’re on a local tonight.”
Her full lips, unadorned by even a swipe of gloss, twitched up at one corner, revealing a dimple etched into her left cheek. I felt a tug of desire deep in my stomach, and a ridiculous curiosity to know if it was part of a matched set. “Courtesy of the little boy who ran out of here like he’d just shotgunned a can of Coke?”
“That’d be my guess.”
She broke into a full-fledged grin. I stared back, feeling like I’d won the lottery. Dimples, plural. “Knew it,” she said as the doors closed and the elevator trundled down a flight.
I should have kept my mouth closed when she looked back down at her phone, but I wanted to feel her eyes on me again. “Don’t get too cocky, that one was obvious.”
She raised her head, a look of surprise on her face. Her familiar face.
Did I know this girl?
The elevator doors opened and closed. Again. And again. And again. With each floor, the energy in the confined space shifted, becoming charged by something I didn’t quite understand. The smile that had played on her lips disappeared, the bow of her mouth drawing tight. She crossed her arms, clearly piqued. “So any girl that dares to voice a correct assumption is cocky?”
The redhead was more spitfire than leprechaun.
Lust charged down my spine like the bolt of a Taser. “Only when it’s too easy.”
“Easy, huh? How about you give me a hard one then?”
Oh, I could give her something hard all right.
She arched a brow that was the same red as the hair on her head, which immediately begged another question…
“Whenever you get your mind out of my pants, of course.”
I forced a gruff chuckle. What the fuck was wrong with me? Two hours in this city and I’d transformed into the horny kid I’d been when I left. “What kind of question are you looking for?”
She changed the subject. “I’ll bet I can guess your sign.”
“My what?”
“Your zodiac sign.” I must have still looked confused, because some of her irritation smoothed away as she leaned against the dark mirrored glass at her back. “You don’t read your horoscope?”
“Ah, no.”
“You’re not exactly making this a challenge.” There was something tenacious about her stance, the sharp set of her jaw. Like she had something to prove to me.
Or maybe just to herself.
“That what you’re into?”
She stared at me with one finger pressed against her lips, those emerald eyes of hers narrowed at the corners. I ground my teeth, trying to tamp down the want flooding my veins with heat. Unsuccessfully.
“I was torn between Aries and Taurus, but you settled it for me. Aries, definitely.” Holding her phone with both hands, she attacked it with her thumbs. “Born between March twenty-first and April nineteenth, no?”
I frowned. “How—”
“Oh please, you’re a Ram through and through.” She flashed her screen at me. “Want to know your horoscope?”
“Not re—”
“Your love of the chase is your greatest weakness, but what you seek is already inside yourself. Today is a day to appreciate the road taken and go where you heart leads you.”
I snorted, jabbing at the DOOR CLOSE button. “And that’s supposed to mean something to me?”
She shrugged. “Up to you.”
I was silent for a minute, watching our descent on the screen above the doors. The redhead stepped forward as the door opened on the third floor, the scent of vanilla and cloves rising off her fair skin. My mouth watered.
She was close enough to touch, and my fingers twitched with the temptation of freeing her hair
from the band holding it captive. She glanced up, meeting my eyes. “This is me.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless, even though she’d long since recovered from her sprint down the hall.
The doors opened. “So, if I’m a Ram, what are you?”
She crossed the elevator’s threshold, and turned back to face me, her elegantly sculpted features embellished by a mischievous half-smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
The elevator doors closed before I could pull my balls from my mouth and say anything else.
But she was right. I would like to know.
It was a fucking problem.
Verity
What’s gotten into me?
Was I flirting…with Dax Hughes? Granted, in a dark suit, tugging at his collar, pulling at his sleeves, his normally tousled hair slicked back, he’d been more approachable than the rocker I’d seen on stage and in magazines. That Dax, with his bedroom eyes and shredded jeans, his inked skin and aloof expression, was every inch the cocky celebrity I made every effort to avoid. But today, the prick of desire had stung my skin with every glance, as sharp and distinct as the snap of a rubber band.
Clearly, he hadn’t recognized me. Not that I could blame him. Without so much as a swipe of lip gloss, dressed in workout gear, I wasn’t exactly looking my best.
Replaying the exchange my head, I scanned my key card at the door and groaned. Wouldn’t you like to know?
So embarrassing. The man was Dax Hughes, for Christ’s sake. He could have any girl he wanted—what would he want with me?
Verity Moore, disgraced pop princess.
The description followed my name so often, if I died tomorrow it would probably be carved into my headstone.
Why not? It was true enough.
At least the gym was empty, and I could wallow in my mortification alone.
I pumped up the incline on the treadmill, setting the speed faster than I normally ran. I welcomed the sweat breaking out on my forehead, the shortness of my breaths, the strain in my muscles. There was an emptiness to the exertion that I craved, a zone where my body detached from my mind.