Page 14 of When the Storm Breaks
While Dean was serving his stint in prison, Landry talked me into giving up the baby. I understood why he did it. We were barely scraping by as it was, and I wasn’t in the right place in my life to be a good mother. In my heart, I knew it was for the best, but I couldn’t help thinking that he hadn’t been thinking of me or the baby at all. He didn’t want anything to get in the way of the band.
Music had brought us all together. It was why I’d stayed in that toxic relationship for all those years. When we sang and played together, it was like magic, and it made me forget all the shit we’d gone through.
That magic took us all the way to L.A. Me, Dean, Landry, and Gus. Forever tied together by the secrets and lies we locked in a vault and hid from the media. We were on top of the world, all our dreams were coming true, but Dean was spiraling down and trying to drag me down with him.
Unlike me, Dean had never mourned the loss of our baby. Had never even brought it up. Nobody in the band ever breathed a word of it. Just as if it had never happened. Now I had living proof that it had.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later,I was still parked in the same spot when the little girl and her mom walked out of the dance studio. I pretended to be on the phone, not paying any attention, but watched from beneath the brim of my ball cap. Like a bonafide creeper.
When they were gone, I drove aimlessly on winding roads that cut through a carpet of bluebonnets and wildflowers. I hadn’t come here with a solid plan. All I’d wanted was to see her, to be around her, spend some time getting to know her. Did I even deserve that much after the way I’d abandoned her?
How had I thought this would play out? Would I knock on their front door and announce who I was and the reason for my visit? Somehow, I didn’t think that would go over too well.
Brody was my best bet. I needed to earn his trust, so he’d let me hang out with him and his son. I knew better than to think it would be easy. Brody’s grin might be charming, but his walls were high. I had six weeks to knock them down. Then I’d go back to my regularly scheduled life.
Chapter Five
Shiloh
It had beentwo days since I last saw Brody. Since he wasn’t interested in seeking me out it was up to me to pursue him. Tomorrow was Saturday and I’d need an invitation or an excuse to hang out with him. There were only so many times I could sit in the school parking lot or lurk outside the Petersons’ house, hoping to catch a glimpse of my little girl before her parents noticed and slapped a restraining order on me. Her name was Hayley. I’d called her Ophelia, after my mom.
When I was pregnant, I knew I was having a girl. Not because of a scan. I hadn’t gotten one. But in my heart, I just knew. I used to play music for her. Talk to her. Tell her my hopes and dreams and plans. When she was born, Dean was still in prison and Landry and Gus wanted nothing to do with her.
Don’t get too attached, Landry had warned me, as if I could turn my emotions on and off like a faucet.
I loved my brother but sometimes he could be so cold. As it turned out, I was even worse. A horrible mother and an even more horrible person. I’d traded my baby girl for those big dreams of mine but not a day went by when I didn’t think about her wrapped in that soft pink blanket, so innocent and trusting.
I set off across the field, following the line of the stained wood fence, the trees providing shade from the morning sun. A few horses were grazing in the pasture and I stopped to watch a sleek black horse running with a chestnut horse before I set off again, my sights on the timber barn with a tin roof where I thought I might find Brody.
About an acre of land separated the barn from a two-story wood-shingled farmhouse with dark green trim and a wraparound porch. Instead of a tire swing in the backyard, a saddle hung from two ropes tied to the thick branch of an oak tree. Guess Noah was being raised to be a cowboy too. It made me smile.
A white star, the paint peeling to expose the stained wood underneath, was painted above the open barn doors. I leaned down to pet a black and white border collie with a red bandana tied around his neck. He wagged his tail in greeting. “Who’s a good boy?” I asked, rubbing behind the dog’s ears before I strode into the barn.
Dust motes floated in the sunlight, the air scented with hay, manure and dry cedar. My black leather high tops moved soundlessly across the wide wood planks as I passed the stalls, all of them empty, the dog following close at my heels. When I reached the end of the row, the dog barked twice as if in warning. I peered over the top of a double stall that opened to a small paddock, home to one chestnut horse. She was munching on her breakfast, so I left her to eat in peace and walked back the way I’d come.
I poked my head in the doorway of the tack room that doubled as an office and inhaled the scent of leather, running my hand over an intricately carved western saddle. My eye caught on a row of gold belt buckles and trophies collecting dust on a shelf, but Brody was nowhere to be found.
I looked down at the dog sitting next to my feet. “Where’s Brody?”
“Brody’s in the round pen,” a male voice answered.
I lifted my head. A guy, in his late teens or early twenties, carrying a bale of hay on his back, grinned at me, one dimple appearing in his cheek. He set down his load and took off his backward ball cap, ran his hand through his sweaty brown hair and replaced the cap. “I’m Chris. Work for Brody.”
“I’m Viv. I’m staying at the guesthouse.”
His gaze lowered to my black Japanese Ramen Noodles T-shirt. “Cool T-shirt.”
“Thanks.” He was staring. I cleared my throat. “Where’s the round pen?
“Just on the other side of the barn. But tread carefully. He’s in one of his moods.”
“What kind of mood?”
He chuckled. “A Brody McCallister mood.”
That was all he said before he lifted his load again and left me standing there.
