Page 58 of Tortured Tones

Easing off the kitchen stool, I grabbed the travel flask of coffee I’d made earlier and hooked Charlotte’s backpack over my shoulder. “You set to go?”

“Always.” Ava picked up her bag.

I turned off the TV, scooped up Charlotte from the sofa, and carried her against my chest. “You ready to go to the park?”

“Yeah.” With Barney tucked under her arm, Charlotte and I headed into the garage. Ava followed, jumping into the front passenger seat of my Lamborghini SUV. The floral scent of her perfume made it impossible to ignore her, but today was about Charlotte. After I’d buckled her into the kids’ car seat, we drove off.

But as I exited the front gate, a swarm of paparazzi circled my car. Flashes went off. Muffled voices slammed against the windows.

“Cole? Can we get a picture of you and your kid? How does it feel to be a father? Is the child’s mother really dead?”

What the fuck?

As if I’d make up some story about Shelby being dead. But how did it feel to be a father? I eased the car through the gathering of people. How about beyond daunting. Numbing. Shit scary. Terrifying...but not as bad as it had been at first.

I peered in the rearview mirror. Charlotte stared at the flashing cameras and faces looming outside her window. Tears welled in her eyes.

She didn’t need this shit. She was just a kid. She hadn’t asked for this life. But I had. I’d never wanted anything else.

“Charlotte, it’s okay.” I reached back and rubbed her foot. “They’re just taking some photos. Look the other way. They won’t hurt you.” I hoped that would always be the case.

She hugged her teddy bear and sucked on her thumb, but her gaze remained fixed on a huge camera clicking away on the other side of my window.

Through the dark tint, they wouldn’t capture much, but I waved at them and took off down the street.

Ava remained silent for most of the drive to North Hollywood. That wasn’t like her.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes.” She glanced in the side mirror and checked over her shoulder. My pulse jumped as I did the same. We hadn’t been followed...hopefully. She straightened and focused on the road ahead. “I’m just glad you’re finally spending time with Charlotte.”

“Yeah. I’ve messed up. I’ll sort things out.”

“Good.”

I pulled up to the curb beside the Valley Village playground. It was quiet for a Thursday morning. There were only two other moms having coffee at a picnic table with babies in strollers.

“I’ll wait here by the car.” Ava pointed to the front of the vehicle as we got out.

“You don’t have to.”

“Cole, I’m on duty.”

I glanced around the huge open parkland dotted with trees. There were two cars next to mine. No paparazzi had followed us. No walkers or joggers were around. There didn’t seem to be any threat. “Ava, you can join us.”

“Cole . . . go spend time with your daughter.”

“I intend to. Come over if you get bored.” I unbuckled Charlotte, placed her on the ground, and was about to take her hand when she rushed off, running toward the swings.

Shit. I raced after her. Damn. She was fast. Once we reached the playground, I lifted her into the toddler swing and swung her gently back and forth. “Hold on.”

She clutched onto the chains and giggled. “I am.”

“This okay?” How high should I push her?

“No. Higher.”

“Alright. You asked for it.”

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