Page 48 of Erik

I grumble, “You’re still drunk.”

Logan jabs the air with a finger. “But not wrong.”

Wes interjects, “Logan’s got a point. First thing you deny her, she will threaten to expose Liam to the press.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Wes adds, “Apparently, there’s a lot. Haven’t you learned anything from your own fucking mistakes? Because of her drug addiction, she dragged you into a pit so deep, you almost ended up in hell. Literally.”

“I won’t argue facts.” I wave a hand around the room. “Why are you guys on my case? We’ve come here to fix Logan.”

“He knows what needs to be done, right?” Kim tilts her head at him. Logan shrugs, then raises his palms in surrender when she frowns. She holds my stare, her brown eyes beam warmth. “You, on the other hand, are lost, hon. The prospect of you having Carlotta back in your life scares the hell out of me, of us. You overdosed in her house, for fuck’s sake. Did she call any of us? Nope. She left you there to die and scrammed. Rock bottom has nothing on what you went through with that hellhound in the shape of a woman.”

Grasping at the only reason I’ve got for enduring Carlotta’s presence, I warn them, through gritted teeth, “She’s the mother of my child.”

Logan huffs. “Don’t get me started on that, buddy. She won’t win any Mother of Year awards, like ever.” He pauses for a beat to inhale deeply. His throat works a hard swallow. He sighs, running long fingers through his shoulder-length hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Look, I don’t want to take you to task or anything. We worry about you. Therapy should’ve helped you deal with this guilt you wear like a fucking cloak.”

My heart sinks. “You mean the fire?”

He shakes his head. “No. Sorry I reminded you of that.”

“As if I ever forget.”

He pauses scanning my face. His hard stare softens, and he murmurs, “Let’s avoid that bottomless pit, okay?” I dip my head in agreement. He nods back. “Good. I meant your guilt toward Liam. You think you’re responsible for your son’s limitations.” He raises a palm to stop me when I open my mouth to counter. “Not saying you get scot-free in this case. But little Ms. Carlotta Driver isn’t without blame either. When you overdosed, she was doing much heavier drugs than you. You think she sobered up after you kicked her out?”

My lungs burn when I try to fill them with air. I groan, “I didn’t know she was pregnant.”

Wes slaps his thighs. “God, you can be dense sometimes. That’s not the point Logan is trying to make.” He raises both fisted hands in front of himself and proceeds to illustrate his thoughts like he’d do a first grader. “A baby takes genetic material from Mom and Dad. Yours isn’t the only tainted one in this mix.”

I run my fingers through my hair, dislodging the mask. I slide it to the top of my head. “Everything you say is true. I know. I’ve been going over these issues in my head for months. And it all boils down to one simple truth: I can’t have the woman I love.”

Kim blows raspberries. “Because you can’t have your angel, you decide pretending to have a fiend for a girlfriend is a good idea? That’s insane.”

I shudder when my temperature drops below zero. “I thought it’d be good for Liam to have his mother around.” When eight pairs of eyes throw daggers at me, I raise my hands above my head. “Big fat mistake. I see it now. You’re right.”

Nick drops his arm around my shoulders, tips his head, and whispers, “What we’re trying to say here is if you want a mother figure for your son, why don’t you go with the one you love? Why not Christine?”

My heart thumps against its ribcage. “She’s terrified of my dark side.” A muscle in my jaw twitches, sore from the strength with which I grind my teeth. “I’ve made my peace with the fact I’d better stay away from her for her own good. This way I won’t ruin her like I’ve done everyone in my life.”

Logan springs up, and staggers to the left. Wes steadies him. The bass player wiggles a finger in front of my nose. “Get your head out of your ass. You’ve been through a fuckload of shit, I’ll give you that. Hell, I was there. I saw first-hand what that fire did to you. What happened to you when we were teens is done. Over. In the past.” He claps a hand around my shoulder, his blue eyes clouded by memories. “No do-overs for that kind of shit, no turning back time, and doing things differently. But I promise you, there’s no darkness in your life now. Except the fucking black cloud, you cultivate over your own fat head.”

My stare bounces from one member of my Muse of Darkness family to the next and then back. As if by magic, the pieces of my life’s puzzle fall into place. Advice Dr. Daroga has fed me over the last months, events, and my friends’ words combine to form a picture as clear as a summer sky.

With bandaged heart, I tap my temple. “Here’s an idea. Listen up.”

* * *

Standing behind the stage backdrop, I hide from view as Maria Augusto, the founder and relentless force behind Welcoming Hills covers the distance to the mic under intense applause. Her short frame and pixie blonde hair give her a delicate demeanor her opponents often mistake by weakness. I locate Wes sitting at our table to my left and, catching his eyes, I tilt my head toward Maria as she approaches the center of the stage. With a smug smile, I give him the okay sign, which he replies by flipping the bird. He has found out the hard way that Maria’s fragility hides a will as strong as steel.

Her raspy voice, enriched by a colorful South American accent, captures the guests’ attention through the speakers. “We’ve made a small last-minute change to our program this evening. The charity auction will take place a little later.” She smiles and raises her hands asking the crowd to calm down as displeased murmurs fill the room. “I know, I know. I promise you it’s going to be worth your while, though. You’ll be enchanted to learn we’ve got a surprise musical performance tonight.” She covers her eyes with a hand, scanning the room. “Where’s Ms. Daee, our lovely chairman of the board? Oh, there you are.” Waving at a red-faced Christine sitting at a table to the right of the raised platform where she stands, she goes on, “Please join me on stage, hon.”

My angel buries her face in her hands, while her business partner strokes her back. My blood rages through my veins. Not from jealousy, because nothing romantic exists between them; but envy for the familiarity he shows toward her, and the comfort she demonstrates around him.

She snaps her head up, and shouts. “I don’t sing, Maria. Not in public.”

The other woman chuckles. “Don’t be modest. A little bird told me - and he knows a thing or two about music - that you’ve got the voice of an angel.”

Christine glances toward the band’s table where all the members, except me, nod and smile at her. Their encouragement falls flat when she shakes her head in a stubborn refusal.

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