by Skye Jordan
He eased Belle into the backseat, then traded the guitar strap for the seat belt and stood back. As if seeing Belle for the first time, he marveled at her innocence, just an angel depending on Wyatt to keep her safe and happy. He’d never imagined how much weight that could create on a person’s shoulders.
He eased the front passenger’s seat back until it clicked into place, then closed the door quietly and peered through the window to make sure Belle hadn’t woken. When she remained asleep, Wyatt let out a long exhale and faced Gypsy again.
His distress must have shown on his face, because she reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “You can do this. You and Belle are both going to be fine.”
“Sure, sure. I know.”
“Then why do you look terrified?”
Wyatt took a deep breath. He could go snarky and save his ego, or he could be real for the woman who’d always been real with him. “I don’t know anything about kids. Especially not little girls. Hell, I barely understand grown women.” He exhaled and ran one hand through his hair. “I mean, what the hell do I do if she wakes up in the middle of the night wanting her mother?”
Gypsy’s expression softened. “You give her hugs, tell her she’s safe and that everything will be okay. If that doesn’t work, you download the real-people version of Beauty and the Beast and turn it on.” She gave his arm another squeeze before stepping back. “You’ve got this.”
5
Something jabbed Wyatt in the ribs. Still mostly asleep, he pushed at whatever it was, only to be rewarded with another jab. He groaned, reached down, and closed his hand around a foot. A very small, warm foot.
Wyatt’s eyes popped open. He found himself in his own house. His mind darted chaotically to make sense of this until his thoughts finally landed on Belle. Belle, who wouldn’t sleep in her own room. Belle, who wasn’t tired after taking a nap in Gypsy’s office the night before. Belle, who’d talked nonstop late into the night—possibly even early morning hours. Belle, who slept upside down and sideways, taking up ninety percent of his king-sized bed, while Wyatt was curled in a corner, only to be continually kicked by his pint-sized niece.
He glanced over his shoulder and found Belle sprawled across the bed, covers kicked off, her frilly pink nightgown twisted around her little body, her long dark hair splashed across her face.
Wyatt reached for his phone and rolled to his back. He scrolled through his notifications and messages, but there was nothing from Francie. Wyatt dropped his phone against his chest and stared at the ceiling, caught between confusion and concern. He couldn’t fathom just disappearing like this. And he was terrified over the idea that she hadn’t disappeared by choice.
Belle rolled again, and Wyatt put his arm down to protect his ribs. But this time, she scooted up beside him, laid her head on his arm, and ran her little hand across his scruff. “Can I have chocolate chip pancakes, Uncle Wyatt?”
Her sleepy sweetness melted all his frustration for the bruises she’d undoubtedly inflicted last night. He pushed the hair from her eyes, and she gave him a toothy grin. “I bet your mom doesn’t say no to you very often.”
Her big blue eyes turned somber, as if she could read his worry. “When will Mommy be home?”
“Let’s get dressed and head over to your house to see if she’s back.” He kissed her forehead. “And we’ll stop for chocolate chip pancakes on the way.”
Belle smiled, rolled to her back, and thrust both her fists into the air. “Yay!”
When both Wyatt and Belle were stuffed from breakfast, he headed back to Francie’s house, praying she was home, sleeping off a bender. Though now that he knew she’d done this before, he couldn’t let it go like his parents had. These disappearing acts would have to stop.
Wyatt rolled to the curb, hoping the absence of Francie’s SUV only meant it was in the garage. He retrieved the hidden key from inside an ornamental metal chicken on the porch, opened the door, and pushed it wide.
Belle ran in. “Mommy!” She continued through the house, popping in and out of rooms. “Mommy!”
Before Wyatt reached the door to the garage, he knew Francie wasn’t home, but viewing the empty garage bay confirmed the worst.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, letting the door swing closed. Now what in the hell was he going to do?
Belle returned to the living room, deflated. “Mommy’s not here.”
Wyatt forced a smile. “I guess that means we get another sleepover.”
Belle’s smile returned. “Okay.”
“Grab some clothes and pajamas and anything else you want to bring.”
Belle skipped off to her room, and Wyatt wandered through the now-clean living room and peered out the sliding glass doors to the backyard. The cleaning crew had done an excellent job. No one could have guessed there’d been fifty people here yesterday, half of those wild little girls.
“What in the hell am I going to do with her for another twenty-four hours?” he murmured.
Two of his bandmates had kids, Bryant and Huck. He pulled out his phone and wandered toward the kitchen, where he leaned both forearms on the breakfast bar, but decided he wasn’t ready to try and explain this situation to anyone else.
He slid his phone back into his pocket and ran his hands through his hair. He could ask her what she wanted to do, but he was afraid she’d want to go horseback riding. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
He lifted his head and gazed out the window of the breakfast nook. Across the street, similar cookie-cutter homes sat on similar-sized lots with similar SUVs in the driveways. A few kids played catch in the street. It felt foreign, yet in the back of his mind, he remembered days like this when he was growing up. He and Brody playing basketball in the driveway, throwing a football in the field across the street, riding their bikes to the store.
“You watch your little brother, now.” He could almost hear his mom’s voice repeating a phrase she said a lot back then.
“I should have watched you better, bud,” he said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Belle came skipping out of her room and carelessly tossed clothes and blankets and stuffed animals on the small breakfast table. She had a toothy grin and held up one finger. “Wait. I forgot Miss Suzy.”
Belle’s things had nudged some papers on the table, and two envelopes caught Wyatt’s eye. He stepped that direction and found the corners of the envelopes still secured under a vase of flowers he’d seen on one of the tables outside yesterday. The cleaning crew must have brought them inside, because on top of the envelopes sat a business card for the cleaning company.
But he was looking at the sight of his name on both envelopes, one in a female’s delicate hand, and the other—his stomach dropped. Brody’s handwriting. Wyatt recognized the heavy block letters spelling out his name.
He pushed the card aside and plucked the envelopes from the table. He couldn’t do anything but stare at the envelope from his brother while his mind reeled backward. To getting the call from his father, telling Wyatt that Brody had driven himself to their favorite fishing spot, put his favorite Colt semiautomatic to his head, and pulled the trigger. To hearing that the only communication Brody left behind was a suicide note, basically an apology to Francie and his parents.
It appeared he’d left one for Wyatt too. Francie had been a bit of a mess since Brody died. Scattered, depressed, distant. For the longest time, she hadn’t been able to collect herself enough to manage the bills. Maybe she’d forgotten to give the note to him and left it out, knowing Wyatt would be in town for the party. Whatever the reason for its appearance now, Wyatt was more immediately concerned with the other envelope.
He swallowed and opened Francie’s envelope. The tearing sounded obscenely loud in the quiet house. He unfolded the paper as Belle came back into the room and added a stuffed doll to the pile.
“Toothbrush?” Wyatt asked.
Belle scurried toward the bathroom, and everything shifted into slow motion for Wyatt. He hyper focused on B
elle’s shiny dark hair bouncing against her back. Tuned in to the hollow silence in the house. Fought to get his mind to connect thoughts.
With dread and anxiety skittering down his spine, Wyatt focused on the paper in his hand. A document of some kind, with a yellow sticky note on the front that said: “I’m sorry.”
His breathing suspended as he forced his eyes to focus on the title of the form: Legal Guardianship.
“No,” he breathed. Panic washed through his body, tightening muscles and releasing adrenaline. “Please God, no.”
His gaze slid over the legal jargon, confirming his worst nightmare: Francie had signed guardianship of Belle over to Wyatt.
“No, no, no.” This can’t be real.
He turned and strode through the living room, passing Belle on the way to the master bedroom.
“Where are you going?” she asked, swiveling to follow Wyatt like a puppy.
He strode straight to the closet and swung the door open. It was empty. No clothes, no shoes, nothing.
Motherfuckingsonofabitch.
“What are you looking for?”
Belle’s voice startled Wyatt. He turned and blocked the inside of the closet with his body and hastily closed the door. “I, uh—” His brain stalled, and he fought to kickstart it. “I thought there might be a sleeping bag in one of the closets. Thought it might be fun to…you know…do a whole camping theme for the sleepover tonight.”
He had no idea what he was saying. Words were just flowing from his mouth without the consent of his brain. Probably because his brain was still in shock.
“That sounds fun. I’ve never been camping.” Her gaze lowered to the papers still in his hand. “Is that a note from Mommy?”
“Uh…” He looked down at the paper, and tears sprang to his eyes. Tears of rage. Tears of fear. Tears of sadness for Belle. “Yeah, it is. She’s going to be gone a little while.”
His mind slid sideways. His parents were gone for another twenty days. He was due back out on the road in two days. The band had interviews, studio time, and tour stops scheduled.
“Where did she go?”
Belle’s question brought Wyatt’s focus back to his niece. A frown created a crease between her eyes. He dropped into a crouch and took her hand. “How do you feel about staying with me for a bit? Maybe until Grandma and Grandpa get back from their cruise?”
Her face registered concern. “Is Mommy okay?”
“Yes, honey, yes, your mommy is fine.” Until he got ahold of her. “So what do you think?” he asked with a boulder in his gut. “Want to hang with me for a bit?”
She smiled. “That would be fun.”
God, this kid was amazing. Full of life and love. She was so innocent in all this, yet she would be hurt the most.
His throat was so tight, it was getting hard to breathe. “Okay. Make sure all your things are together. I just have to make a few phone calls.”
As soon as Belle wandered out of her mother’s bedroom, Wyatt’s knees gave out. He turned, pressed his back against the wall, slid to his ass, and covered his face with his hands. “Holy. Fuck.”
Fury exploded in the pit of his stomach. How could she do this? Just abandon her daughter?
He looked at the papers again and found a business card paperclipped to the back of the document. Attorney Ted Larkin. Wyatt rolled to his knees and pushed to his feet. He glanced down the hall and closed the door to the bedroom, but didn’t latch it. Then he went into the master bathroom, locked the door, and turned on the water in the sink. Only then did he dial the attorney.
With his butt against the counter, he braced himself with his free hand.
“Larkin and Douglas, attorneys at law,” a woman answered.
All Wyatt’s air left him on a whoosh. He was cold and sweaty, his vision tunneling. “Uh, yeah, hi. I’m calling… I mean I found a document…” The overwhelming situation hit him all at once, and all he could do was stammer “I… I don’t know…”
“Sir, let’s start with your name.” The woman sounded understanding, which helped Wyatt focus.
“Wyatt,” he breathed. “Wyatt Jackson. The name on the card I have is Ted Larkin.”
“Perfect. Hold just a minute.”
It was the longest fucking minute straight from hell before the attorney came on the line. “Mr. Jackson.” His voice was both soothing and compassionate. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
6
Gypsy tugged against whatever kept trying to pull her from sleep. She couldn’t face the day. Not yet.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
The knock on the door sounded more like a demand. Her mind darted to Marty, the man who owned the property where she lived, and his elderly mother, Alaina. As soon as her thoughts clicked that direction, Gypsy sat straight up. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, and everything was quiet. Did she hear that? Or was it a—
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Her heart kicked into a gallop. “Shit.”
Gypsy threw back the covers and started for the door with her mind darting a hundred different directions. Marty was in good health but he was in his 60s. Alayna was spry but she was in her eighties. And Cooper was with her sister Miranda. Gypsy never slept well when her son wasn’t under the same roof with her.
She swung open the door and found herself facing the last man on earth she expected to see on her porch—Wyatt Jackson.
Had she fantasized that one day he’d blow past all the walls she bolted into place? Hell yes. But that was all it was—fantasy. In reality, this sexy, touring musical genius was the worst possible option for a single mother just trying to keep all her loose ends tied.
“You’re like a bad penny.” He also looked damn fine in the morning. The cool air washed over her, reminding Gypsy she was wearing nothing but a tank top and sleeping shorts. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What is wrong with you? This is the first day I’ve had to sleep late in months.”
Wyatt shifted from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders riding too high, and the expression on his face looked oddly like panic.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her mind already skipping ahead to the possibilities. “Did your parents get off on their cruise okay? Did your sister-in-law come home? Is Belle all right?”
“Yes, no, and yes. My parents and Belle are fine. But Francie hasn’t come home. I need to go meet with a lawyer.”
Gypsy pressed her palms against her closed eyes. “I don’t understand. A lawyer? Why not the police?”
“I went back to Francie’s house this morning to take Belle home, hoping Francie would be there, but…” He let out a hard breath. “It’s complicated, and I really don’t know what’s going on right now. All I know is that this lawyer is expecting me. I know I’ve been a really big inconvenience for you since I’ve been back, but I need to ask you another favor.”
Gypsy dropped her hands and gave him a lethal stare. “No more favors, Jackson. The last one kept me up all night. I was at the bar two hours after last call doing work I could have had done long before closing if I hadn’t been babysitting Belle.”
“I’m really sorry about that, and I’m really sorry about this. I swear I’ll make it up to you. No pit stops, no errands, nothing. Straight to the lawyer’s office and straight back.”
Gypsy had spent a lifetime cleaning up other people’s messes. Her mother’s, her father’s, her father’s kids’, Cooper’s father’s, and dozens of celebrities’. She left her job as VIP customer service at the top club in Miami to get away from all that. And she wasn’t about to start taking care of this rock star.
“Take her with you,” she told him.
He blew out a breath, rocked back on his heels, and looked at the ground, shaking his head. When he met her eyes again, they were serious and scared. She was looking at the real Wyatt. The Wyatt beneath the flash, beneath the sarcasm, beneath the good-time guy. The man looking at her now was the one who’d slipped beneath her skin a long time ago.
Gypsy glan
ced toward his truck and found Belle in the front seat looking out the windshield at them. She waved, and Gypsy waved back, but to Wyatt, she said, “What did I tell you about the front seat last night?”
“She didn’t ride in the front. She just climbed there after we stopped. What do you say, Gypsy? I really need a friend right now.”
Most people would be surprised that a man with hundreds of thousands of fans and an army of employees needed a friend. But Gypsy knew exactly how isolating fame could be.
“Look,” Wyatt said. “I would take her with me, but if the lawyer says what I think he’s going to say, I don’t want her to hear that her mama didn’t want her.”
Shock dropped Gypsy’s jaw. “What?”
“Francie left signed guardianship papers on the kitchen table.”
All her air whooshed out. “Oh my God.”
He sighed and glanced at Bell, then back to Gypsy. Anger tightened his expression, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “I’m hoping I find out more from this attorney.”
“Jesus Christ,” Gypsy whispered. “Did you see any signs of this? Or did your parents?”
Wyatt shook his head. “Not that I know of. She and Brody were on again, off again until she got pregnant and they got married. I know Brody’s suicide shook our whole family, but my mom says Francie has been as good a mom as she was able to be. I mean…” he shrugged, “…Francie called me a few months ago asking for help, and I sent her thirty grand. I didn’t hear anything after that, so I figured she had what she needed.”
Anger sparked in Gypsy’s chest. “What is it with successful men? Why do they always feel like money will solve every problem?”
Wyatt tilted his head and managed a crooked smile. “Because it usually does?”
“Not the ones that matter.” Gypsy bent her no-bullshit rules. “Fine, I’ll watch her, but I’m doing it for her, not you. No little girl should have to know what it feels like to be abandoned. But this is the last time, Jackson. Don’t pull this again.”
“Thank you.” Wyatt slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. “Thank you so much. This really means a lot to me. I really, really appreciate it.”