Page 56 of Tortured Tones

My heart cracked. She was right. Cole needed to make more of an effort.

He nodded, then turned to me. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late for rehearsal.”

But I wouldn’t let him pass me.

“What?” he snapped.

I glared at him and pointed my hand at Charlotte.

“Ergh.” Cole stormed over to his daughter and squatted in front of her. “Hey Char, I have to go to work. I’ll be home late, and you’ll be asleep when I get back. Ma’s going to take care of you today. But maybe tomorrow morning I can take you to the park. Would you like that?”

She clapped. “Yes. Does it have swings?”

“Yes. And a climbing fort. And a slippery slide. And some spinning things. Does that sound like fun?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a date.”

He stood, hesitated, then kissed her on the head. He turned and stormed toward the door. He threw me an evil grin. “Happy?”

Hannah and I shook our heads.

I followed him. “Not even close. But it’s a start.”

Chapter 13

Cole

The following morning, I sat at my kitchen counter, drinking my double espresso, but my guts churned with every sip I swallowed. I didn’t want to lose my kid. Scanning the calendar on my cell phone, I didn’t know where, when, and how to add the task of spending time with Charlotte into my packed schedule.

Weeks out from the tour, we rehearsed nearly every day. We had interviews, photoshoots, events, and promotional activities leading up to kickoff. Our free time was minimal.

Was this what my parents had faced? Their careers consumed every hour of their day. But that was a good thing. Any time spent with them was always stressful and soul crushing. Vacations and Sunday dinners often resulted in arguments, tears, and someone storming off and slamming a door. That was often Tia, but I’d had my fair share of door-unhinging moments too. We’d grown up with one nanny after the next, telling Tia and me where to go and what to do as we lived our lives around our extracurricular school activities, music, and sport. Then, when I’d turned sixteen and the band had started to pull regular gigs, Flint and Phil had organized everything. I’d showed up with my drums, set them up, and played. Now April and Blake ran our lives. We had sponsors and road crews attending to our gear. I’d never had to take care of someone before—not even myself.

Now, I was responsible for my kid.

Hannah had been right. So had Ava. I hadn’t spent any time with Charlotte.

I’d sworn not to be like my parents, and didn’t want to be like them, so somehow, I had to make room for her.

Starting today.

Or was I too late?

Hannah had her phone call with Arilla, the social worker, this afternoon. My report card wouldn’t be good. Fuck.

I had to step up.

I was.

I’d told the guys yesterday that I wouldn’t be at rehearsal until after lunch. I didn’t want to miss one second with the band, but I needed time with Charlotte. Somehow I had to find a balance. I just didn’t know where to begin.

Hannah came downstairs with Charlotte and placed my kid’s pink backpack on the counter. Charlotte stopped by the TV, distracted by whatever kids’ program was still on from before she’d gone upstairs to get changed.

Hannah rested her tremoring hands on the top of Charlotte’s bag, her eyes darkening with worry. “When was the last time you had eight hours of sleep?”

I puffed air through my nose and stared into the bottom of my empty cup. “Um...maybe when I was seventeen.”

---