Beat Down (UnBroken: The Series Book 3), page 13
He heaves out a heavy sigh and drops his head forward, his face hidden in his hands. He looks sad and stressed and dejected and completely and utterly overwhelmed.
Gently, I pull his hands from his face and, of course, he pulls his silver hoop between his teeth, abusing his lip.
“Quit.” I smooth my finger along the corner of his mouth until he releases his hold on it. “You haven’t fucked up.”
With a disbelieving glare, he stops that train of manufactured bullshit before any more of it spills from my lips. “Uh, I totally fucked up.”
“Okay, kind of. But you heard Mama Lou. Babies are precious and Rowan is an absolute gift. Not what you planned or how you saw any of this happening, but Jesus, Ian, you’re the one who’s here. Doing the parent thing and taking care of her. You welcomed her into your life, rearranged everything, and made space for her.”
His eyes ping back and forth, focusing on one of my eyes and then the other, like he’s searching for the slightest hint that what I’ve said isn’t the truth. “I didn’t really have a choice.”
“You actually did. And you choose her every day, no matter how little sleep you’ve gotten the night before. You keep making space for her and giving her your love. She’s a very lucky little girl.”
“Jesus fuck. The only reason I’m still standing is—”
“Ian? Baby girl needs a bottle, darlin’,” Elouise calls from the other room, cutting off whatever he was about to say.
I pat his chest under the guise of acknowledging his huge and amazing heart. The truth is, I just want to touch him again, one more time before I leave Ian and his daughter to Mama Lou.
“You’ve got this,” I tell him softly and then I turn and sneak into his room to gather the few things that have wandered over here from my apartment in the past couple of weeks. It doesn’t take long for me to shove the handful of my things into my tote bag and tie my hair back at the nape of my neck.
On my way to the door, I wrap my arm around Elouise and drop a kiss to Rowan’s head, lingering for just a second or two longer than truly necessary. “Call if you need me, okay?” I murmur against her downy hair.
Ian stares at me, eyes wide and yet again, slightly panicked. “What do you mean? You’re leaving us?” He pushes to his feet and takes two steps toward me. “You can’t just… just leave us all alone.”
I press my lips together, suppressing a giddy smile. “You’re not alone. Pretty sure your mama knows how to handle a baby.” A soft laugh bubbles up out of Elouise as she sways and coos at the baby, keeping a watchful eye on Ian and me at the same time. “I need to run into work and check the schedule, make sure they haven’t burned the place down. Do you want me to send dinner down for you?”
“Not at all, sweet girl,” Elouise says softly as she briefly lifts her gaze to meet mine. “There is no need for you to cook for us unless you’re going to be enjoying it as well. You go take care of what you need to do, and we will see you when you come back home.” With a smile and a nod, she returns her attention to Rowan.
Home.
Ian, however, places a warm hand on my back and accompanies me out of his apartment. “You’re coming back, though, right? Tell me you… I can’t…” He hangs his head and releases a shaky breath.
Nerves are rolling off of him. He’s made no secret about not wanting to tell his mom about Rowan, to admit his screwup to her. But this kind of clinginess is a little over the top. Especially for Ian.
“I’ve left to go to work before, and it isn’t like you’ll be alone with her. You’ll be okay, I promise,” I tell him. And then I turn and walk away.
It’s not a spectacular exit, by any means, because the freaking elevator in Ian’s building is consistently horrible. It takes a lifetime to get up to his floor and whatever synchronization there’s supposed to be between stopping at the requested floor and the doors opening needs to be recalibrated.
I resist the pull to check over my shoulder—to see if he’s still standing at his door. At least I manage it until I’m on the elevator, and then the doors close, framing sad eyes that make it hard not to stick my hand between the panels to stop them from closing.
It would be a foolish move. With the way this elevator is, I’d probably end up with a crushed hand.
In a rare splurge, I hail a cab instead of navigating the subway back up to midtown. With as early as it is, my apartment should be empty. With all that’s happened since the guys got home from California and Rowan dropped into our lives, I haven’t had a chance to look into finding a smaller place that I can afford on my own.
Now, I get to shove down my dread that I live with a veritable stranger. Tyffani and I aren’t friends. We never will be.
I hurry through the lobby of my building, counting my blessings that the elevator is ready and waiting for me and me alone. Unfortunately, my apartment is not.
Over-the-top, scratchy jazz assaults my ears when I push the door open. Red wine stains the white of my granite countertop, and I can’t help the frustrated huff that sends a few stray hairs flying in the air.
I drop my bag on a barstool and grab a dishcloth to scrub at the stain. I’m so tired of this inconsiderate bullshit. A few minutes now, spent tidying up the kitchen is worth the peace of mind it gives me knowing that things are properly cleaned. Honestly, I’m surprised things aren’t worse since I haven’t been here much.
She’s gross. And a horrible roommate.
My whole mood has plummeted since I opened the door.
Whether Tyffani’s here or just left her grating music playing, I have no idea, but I hurry through some quick tidying and put my things in my room. The sooner I can dash off to work, the better.
Unfortunately, the keening from the end of the hall kills whatever doubt I have. She’s here, and though I haven’t seen or talked to her in forever, now is obviously not a good time for her.
I really don’t want to live here anymore. I pay a stupid amount of rent to live in this luxury tower, and I can’t stand being here.
I change clothes, shove a few things into my tote bag, and steal back through the apartment as fast as I can.
With Elouise in town, Ian’s apartment is full.
Maybe I can crash at Nate’s tonight.
Maybe I can jump on the train and spend the night at Gavin’s.
All of this is so stupidly inconvenient. I should have moved when Lyla did. I should have started looking for another place sooner.
CHAPTER 20
FIGHTING FIRE WITH FIRE
IAN
I wake to the sound of soft whimpering and roll off the couch before it turns into a full-blown wail. I scoop Rowan from her crib, soothing her with a tap-tap-tap on her back while I snag a bottle from the fridge. It doesn’t take long to warm it up and make her goddamn giddy as she sucks it down.
My back is stiff, I haven’t slept for shit in days. I miss my bed, but I wouldn’t trade having my mama here for anything. Well, mostly anything.
It’s been great seeing her fussing over Rowan and, not going to lie, she’s shown me things that make it just a little bit easier, having a baby around.
Like, I had no idea that a rocking chair could be so fucking amazing. I figured they were either ugly, old man recliners, or those hard-as-shit wooden ones that always seem to creak. I was very wrong.
I tuck the bottle under my chin and lower my ass into the classy gray upholstered chair. With my knee cocked up to support this rapidly expanding kid, I gently rock us back and forth.
She’s grown. A lot. It’s probably time to get her some new clothes, because the ones Sasha bought for her when she got here are getting small. This time, though, I want to go shopping too. I never thought I’d give a shit about what anyone else wore for clothes, but here I am.
Like I’m on autopilot, I change her diaper, burp her, and then give her the rest of her bottle. I swear to Christ, I could do this shit in my sleep.
Again—never thought I’d be here.
As I lay Rowan back in her crib, I place my hand across her tummy, gently rocking her the way someone—my mom? Or was it Sasha?—showed me to do. Instead of drifting straight off to sleep, though, she wraps both arms around my hand, her fingers grasping for purchase on mine. Her blue eyes open wide and all I can think is no, no, no. Go to sleep, baby girl.
It’s bad shit when the dude who’s used to just getting the party started at this time of night is ready to beg for the girl in his life to just close her pretty eyes and go to sleep.
God, this is not how I saw my life going. But when she smiles, I can’t help but smile back as my heart fucking melts to goo in my chest.
I shuffle to the guest bathroom and take a piss before falling back onto the couch and drifting off again.
• • •
“Let’s take our girl out today,” my mama suggests as I rub the sleep from my eyes. There’s not enough jet-fuel-strength coffee in the world to kick my ass into gear today.
I nod and go through the motions of brewing another cup, only half listening to her chatter with a baby who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep, though, not necessarily when I need to. This parenting thing is hard.
My mom keeps talking while I keep sucking down caffeine.
“We’ll get you all prettied up, won’t we? And your daddy and I will take you out on the town today. Shopping for some pretty new clothes—baby girl is getting so big. And maybe we’ll get us some lunch. How does that sound, sugar? Huh? Yes?”
Her prattling continues nonstop, following me down the hallway to my room. I love my mother. I love having her here and watching her enjoy her grandbaby, but I am over sleeping on the couch and feeling like there’s no space in my home for me.
Maybe I need to get something bigger, like Nate did. Hell, he bought his four-bedroom brownstone just for him. It’s not like he’s in town much anymore with Alexis and him spending most of their time in Kansas City. We should just swap.
I down my coffee and drag my ass through a shower, feeling a bit more awake when I’m done. I drag a fresh pair of jeans on, do a little jump to get the denim over my ass and tuck my shit away. T-shirt. Beanie. Socks. Shoes and wallet are at the door.
I grab my phone and strut out to the living room feeling ready to see the outside world—get back to normal. Hell, maybe I can talk Mama Lou into lunch at Sasha’s restaurant.
“You ready to bounce?” I ask.
What I don’t expect is the look I get from my mama.
“Mhmm. I am, but you need to pack a diaper bag, make some bottles…”
My eyes roll back in my head and my brain starts pulsing behind my left eye, so I try really hard to tune her out. Not that she allows it.
“Ian.”
I roll my head back and around until my neck cracks loudly. “Jesus, can’t we just go? What’s the big deal?” Wrong thing to ask, because the look she hands me now puts the last one to shame.
Mama wastes absolutely no time in setting me completely straight. She cuddles Rowan while instructing me on how to pack all the shit she thinks we’re going to need to run a couple errands and buy more stuff.
First thing on that list is a decent bag to stow all this shit in, because today is the last day I will be caught dead or alive with the pink puffy baby bag full of crap. I need something better. Something badass that fits better with my vibe.
“Okay, doll. Stroller today, or do you have a carrier?” She pulls her purse across the counter toward her and rummages through before zipping it up again.
I stalk across the living room and grab the baby carrier that Rowan came in and plop it down on the couch.
“I have this thing. And I think Sasha had a wheelie stroller thing delivered, but that is a fuc—sorry, pain in the ass,” I amend as I gripe about all the shit required to leave the damn house.
“Why is the stroller still in the box, Ian?”
I shift my weight and push my beanie off my head. My fingers get snagged and tangled in my stupid curls as I rake my hand through them, looking for an answer. I don’t have one, so I pull my hat back on my head and sigh.
Sometimes, it’s too much. All of this is just too much.
“I’ll put it together.” I tear at the cardboard box, ripping the flaps open. There seem to be way more pieces than I feel like dealing with, which is the main reason it’s still sitting in its box.
“I feel like maybe you can hire that done, baby. Can’t you? What’s that man’s name?”
I huff a laugh at how she refers to our manager. My mother has no love for that man any more than the rest of us do. “Rand isn’t a handyman. He runs our contracts and arranges our tours and deals with the fallout over…”
I stop and shake my head. I’m tired. I don’t want to keep pissing about having Rowan here. That’s not how this is going to go anymore. And it’s not how I feel.
Planned or not, she’s a good thing and she deserves better. She didn’t ask to be a part of this shit show.
• • •
A lifetime passes before we’re finally out the door. Rowan in the carrier, pink puffy bag strapped across my chest, and Mama Lou with a smirk tugging at her lips. This is going to suck.
Frank opens the door for us and holds his hand out, guiding my mother through.
I don’t miss the way he looks her over. The way he leans back a little to get a better view of her backside.
No. Just… no.
Add that to the fact that my mother enjoys a good shopping day, and I’m about ready to give up on getting my girl some cool shit to wear and just go back upstairs.
In the past, I’ve handed over my credit card for the day and turned my mother loose on Manhattan. I had no idea what she did, where she went, and never batted an eye at how much she spent. She gave everything she had for me when I was growing up. Giving her a shopping day here and there doesn’t begin to show my appreciation for all she did.
But I’ve never experienced this shit firsthand. Most of what I need, I order in. Clothes, food… all of it. I don’t go shopping. I buy and move on. Not today.
Store after store after mother-loving store.
“Is this necessary?” I ask, taking in the pile of clothes and blankets and other crap cluttering the counter. I pick up a pink sweater that’s way too big for baby girl and nod toward the door of the shop. Outside, the sun is beating down on the asphalt. It’s almost hot out.
The salesclerk shares a look with my mother that screams what a dumbass I am as she plucks the item from my hand and refolds it.
“She’ll grow into it,” is my mother’s response.
I’m sure she will, but everything, and I mean ev-ery-thing in that pile is pink. And ruffly. And… girly.
“Where are the rocker clothes?” I ask, looking around the store.
“Like for a rocking chair?” the saleslady asks.
“Nope.” I shake my head and step back from the counter, indicating my look. “Jeans, tees, hoodies—shit like this.”
My mother laughs. She fucking laughs. “Ian, no. Babies do not wear—”
I scoop Rowan and her bag into my arms and turn for the door. “Mine does. Come on, baby girl, we got some badassery to find.”
Mama Lou follows, but she has got some things to say on the matter. “What do you think you’re doing? You think they make ripped jeans and… and”—she waves a hand at me—“that for babies?”
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, the stream of shoppers diverging around us. “Excuse me,” I ask a lady with a stroller. “Are there other baby stores around? Maybe less uptight than that one.” I lift my chin at the place we just left.
Sure, I get a weird look from her, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not trying to impress anyone, I just need some normal clothes for my kid.
I tell her what I’m looking for and she tells me where to go. Literally a block up and on the other side of the street. And when I walk through the door, it’s like the world almost makes sense again.
Clothes that people wear, just in tiny sizes. Jeans, t-shirts, hoodies. Black and red. Skulls and roses. Baby badass wear.
I walk straight over to a display and grab a pair of stretchy, ripped jeans and a t-shirt that looks remarkably like the one I’m wearing, and hand them to my mom.
“This. She needs to look like my kid, not a doll.”
My mom’s gaze travels around the store, taking in everything that the other store was not. After a moment, she releases a breath and nods. “Okay.”
And off I go.
The pile we end up with is smaller, but not by much. The difference is probably due to significantly less fluff on the shit I picked. Though I do manage to find a pair of black leggings with pink and purple tie-dye ruffles on the ass and hand them to my mom. “Can you pick out a shirt to go with this? Please?”
She tries to fight it, but a smile spreads across her face and I can’t help but match it. “Am I allowed to pick out a dress for sweet thang or is that a no-go?” The snark is strong with her.
I come by it honestly.
“You absolutely are,” I say, pulling the pink bag off my shoulder. “I’m going to find something to replace this thing.”
By the time we’re done, Rowan is starting to complain and I’m right there with her. I grab a bottle from the pink monstrosity and pull a barstool from behind the sales counter.
With Rowan in the crook of my arm, bottle in her mouth, I smile at the checkout chick. “Can you empty the pink bag into the new one for me? And wrap the rest of this for delivery, please.”
“We don’t deliver,” she says with a sneer.
I tuck the end of the bottle under my chin to hold it in place and reach for my wallet. I pull a wad of cash from it and toss it to the counter. “What about now?”
She slides the cash toward her and flips her septum piercing back and forth before nodding. “I can make that happen.”
CHAPTER 21
EVERYTHING IS EMBARRASSING
SASHA
A single midday shift turned into a full day as I was cleaning up my station. So after a full twelve and a half hours, I’m finally done, though I’m dragging ass in a big way. I haven’t seen much of the outside world in a few days and the separation is starting to get to me.
