Page 66 of Rockstar Daddy's Second Chance

As the plane descends, I pull out my phone and start making plans.

I dial a realtor and set the wheels in motion for another beach house. Not a rental, but something permanent. Something that feels like home.

As I end the call, a sense of satisfaction settles over me. The idea of having a place to call home—a place where all of us can feel safe. Like the rental but with more security and possibly a studio and office—feels right. I can already picture it.

Thirty-One

Kendrick

The low hum of conversation fills the hotel lobby as I step off the elevator. My flight doesn’t leave until later today. I thought maybe a quiet lunch would clear my head when a familiar voice calls out to me.

“Kendrick!”

I turn to see Sam leaning casually against the marble counter of the concierge desk. He’s wearing his usual laid-back grin, a baseball cap pulled low over his hair. Despite his easy grin and relaxed demeanor, there’s a sharpness in his gaze and a quiet watchfulness, as if he takes things more seriously than he lets on.

“Hey, Sam,” I say, smiling back. “What brings you down here?”

He lifts the coffee cup as if it’s an answer. “Rough night. I thought I’d grab some caffeine before I get back to it. What about you?”

“Cass left, and my flight’s not until later,” I say with a shrug. “So, I have some time to kill.”

Sam chuckles. “I’m sure Derrick was chomping at the bit to get Cass moving. Derrick is a good manager, but he’s a force to be reckoned with.” He nods toward the hotel restaurant. “Have you eaten yet? I could use some company.”

I hesitate for a second before nodding. “Sure, why not? Lunch sounds good.”

We settle into a corner booth in the restaurant. The muted clinking of dishes and low hum of music create a comforting backdrop. Sam orders a burger while I stick to a salad, and the conversation begins light. We talk about the whirlwind of the awards season, the chaos of touring, and the inevitable mishaps that come with the territory.

But as the conversation shifts, the air between us grows more serious.

“You know,” Sam says, leaning back in his seat, “when you and Cass first got together, I used to joke that I’d never seen him or you act like that. You both were completely smitten.”

His words catch me off guard, and I look down at my glass of water, swirling the straw absently. “I was young,” I say softly. “We both were.”

“Maybe,” Sam says, his tone thoughtful. His gaze sharpens as he studies me. “But I’ll tell you what surprised me more than anything—how fast you left. One day, you’re all in, and the next, you’re gone. No explanation. It didn’t add up then, and it doesn’t add up now.”

Looking away, I say carefully. “That was before I knew what was at stake.”

Sam waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, he nods. “You weren’t just some fling, Kendrick. I don’t think you realize how deeply Cass cared for you back then—or how much he still does.”

I glance up at him, my chest tightening. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t care,” I say, my voice defensive. “I left because I thought it was the best thing to do. For him. I didn’t want to be the person to destroy his dreams of making it big.”

Sam’s expression softens, and he nods slowly. “Yeah, I get it. You thought having you and a baby would hold him back. But Kendrick, you have to know… when you left, it tore him apart. For years, he was restless, like he was searching for something he could never find. And fame sure as hell couldn’t fill the void you left in his heart.”

The weight of his words settles over me, bittersweet and heavy. I take a deep breath, willing myself to stay composed.

“Has he… has he really been that dissatisfied all these years?” I ask hesitantly.

Sam shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “No. I think the heartbreak actually helped deepen his music. Then, for a while, becoming a superstar was enough. Making it big with his music–that was his dream. Not the fame. It was never the fame.” His eyes meet mine. “He’s been different since you came back. Grounded. Like he’s finally found the piece of himself, he’s been searching for all these years.”

Feeling a flicker of guilt for the years we lost, I state firmly, “Sam, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t walk away again. No matter what. Not from Cass.”

Sam studies me for a moment, his gaze steady. “Good. Because he deserves that, and so do you.”

The conversation shifts, grows lighter, and we laugh over memories from the past—stories about our earlier days on the road. But as we finish our meal, a question that’s been nagging at me rises to the surface.

“Sam,” I begin carefully, “what’s going on with you and Emily?”

The easygoing smile drops from his face and his entire posture changes. He straightens in his seat, his jaw tightening.

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