Page 40 of Tortured Tones

“Bye, Ava.” She stuffed a cookie in her mouth. Crumbs and chocolate were scattered across every inch of the beige sofa around her. Was this kid going to ruin every piece of furniture in my home?

Ava took off and closed the door behind her.

It was just me . . . and Charlotte.

She looked up at me with her big green eyes, took a sip of her milk, then her face paled. Worry creased her brow and she frowned. “My tummy hurts.”

Before I had time to blink, Charlotte threw up. Regurgitated milk and cookies coated her legs and clothes and dripped onto the rug in chunky blobs. She burst out crying. “Arrrrgh!”

Oh my God. I was not qualified for this shit. I shot forward and slammed my beer down on the coffee table. “Charlotte, what the fuck?”

She wailed even louder and dropped her sippy cup, spilling it onto the floor.

Shit. Clenching my teeth, I lowered my voice. “It’s okay.” It so fucking wasn’t.

I grabbed my cell phone and called Ava. She answered within two rings. “What’s up?”

“Get back here. Charlotte just threw up everywhere. I need help.”

“No, you don’t.” A hint of humor hovered in her voice.

Was she smiling? Trying not to laugh? “Yes. I. Do.”

“Cole. Stop.” How could she remain calm when there was mess everywhere? “Use that instinct of yours and actually take care of your daughter. You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

She hung up. What the fuck? She hung up? On me? Ergh!

Tears streamed down Charlotte’s cheek as she held her vomit-covered hands toward me. “Hold on, sweetie. Stay there.”

Damn you, Ava. I didn’t need tough love—I needed fucking help. I tossed my cell phone aside and rushed to the kitchen. I grabbed some dishtowels from the bottom drawer and returned to Charlotte. “Let’s clean you up.”

I wiped the tears off her cheeks, then the goo off her mouth, tummy, and legs. How could one kid produce so much spew? I’d only given her a small cup of milk and one biscuit. But then I wrinkled my nose. My stomach swayed. God, puke stank.

I cleaned Charlotte as best as I could and wiped up the mess off the rug and sofa. They’d have to be professionally dry-cleaned later. I scooped up the bundle of rags and tossed them into the kitchen sink.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you bathed.” I picked up Charlotte from beneath her armpits and held her at arm’s length. But she stared at me with her big teary eyes and pouting lips. That wasn’t fair. Not one little bit. She’d melt the evilest of hearts with her cherub face. “Fine. Have it your way.” I drew her against my chest, ignoring her damp, dirty clothes. Halfway up the steps, her body went limp against my chest. Her head slumped against my shoulder. I touched her forehead. A new fire ignited her skin.

Fuck.

I hadn’t signed up for this. Wait. Shit . . . yes, I did.

How was I going to do this? How could I take care of her and prove to the court I could be a father when I just wanted to devote my time to going out, partying, and my band?

What if, no matter what I did, I wasn’t good enough and children’s services took her away?

Fuck.

My head wouldn’t stop spinning. My kid was sick.

But I could do this.

I’d bathe her. Cool her down. Have a crack at this fathering thing.

Oh Lord, give me strength.

Chapter 10

AVA

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