Page 91 of Baby Daddy Wanted

“Look,” he said, turning towards me and leaning an elbow on the bar. “I didn’t come here to pick a fight with you.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t come for my pity, because there’s no doubt in my mind you drove Janie from your life. You’re lucky she stayed as long as she did.”

“I could say the same about you,” he said, nodding at Brian when he set down a bottle of Sprite and a highball glass full of ice.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but I was grateful for the show of self-awareness, as flippant as it was.

“I know it’s probably too little too late,” he said. “But I’ve been working really hard these last few months.”

“I’m not sure fibbing all over national television qualifies as a hard day’s work.”

“I thought you’d find it funny.”

Disbelief narrowed my gaze. “You know better than to think I want anything to do with your jokes.”

He sighed. Like I was the fucking wearisome one.

He poured his Sprite in the glass until the fizz rose to the top. “She gave me an ultimatum.”

“I’m surprised there’s a rehab clinic left in this country that would take you in.”

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said, staring at the shrinking bubbles before glancing my way.

I clenched my jaw, resenting the anger I felt and the fact that I couldn’t hide it better.

“She said if I got sober and cleaned up my act, she’d come home.”

I felt a sharp pain in my chest at the sadness in his voice.

“I haven’t seen my girls in six months.” He pressed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes.

I looked down the bar at Brian, who raised his eyebrows in our direction, but all I could do was shrug. The repentant man beside me might as well have been a stranger. “Don’t you have a tour coming up?”

He nodded.

“Are you sure it’s a good time to go on tour? Touring is so…” Intense. Full of temptations. Exhausting.

“It’s part of the deal,” he said. “I have to prove I can stay sober on tour. She thinks it’s the best way to test if I’ve actually changed.”

Shit. Left to his own devices, he might stand a chance. But doing a whole tour sober? I couldn’t imagine him pulling it off.

“Besides,” he said. “We need the money. Fucking Spotify and shit. Touring isn’t exactly optional for working musicians these days.”

It annoyed me that he spoke as if I was no longer a working musician, but I suppose it was my fault he didn’t know anything about me anymore.

“Mom told me you got a new place,” he said, raising his brows.

“I did, yeah. Five years ago.”

“Cool,” he said. “Got a couch?”

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