Eyes on Us Book 2

Laney

I move in slow motion, with all the grace and care of a bomb defuser at work.

Gently, ever so gently, I lay Sophie down in her crib, sliding out my hands from underneath her at a snail’s pace.

I hold my breath.

Red wire or green wire? I think randomly.

My daughter continues to snooze, blissfully unaware of her mother’s descent into madness.

I allow myself a small sigh of relief as I tiptoe away toward the kitchen to clean up the mess Sophie made earlier.

She’s getting wise to the goop that is baby food, and no amount of choo choo, here comes the train! or ~airplane’s coming, say ahhh~, can fool her.

Apparently my daughter is developing a bit of a rebellious streak.

I probably shouldn’t be surprised—she has a rockstar father and a painter mother after all.

I sigh as thoughts of my rockstar husband come to mind.

How long does it take to produce an album?

I wipe the table free of baby sludge. Even I know how unreasonable I sound in my mind. Ace is working hard at what he loves doing. I can’t fault him for that.

Still, if I said I wasn’t worried about the future, I’d be lying.

Ace and I have developed a really good system for taking care of Sophie. We’ve both read books and heard stories about the horrors of a newborn, but we haven’t had too many issues.

We’re both used to long, sleepless nights and erratic sleep schedules. Kind of comes with the territory of being a creative for a living.

Our rock, paper, scissors system for middle-of-the-night baby crises has been foolproof. So far, we’ve been raising Sophie together and having the time of our lives.

But now, even after just one day of full-time baby duty, I’m beginning to see how difficult it could get.

Will Vagabond be leaving for another world tour after completing their album?

Before the spiral of my thoughts can whisk me away, I hear the front door open.

Ace is back from the studio.

He tiptoes in, well aware that if the house is quiet, then Sophie is sleeping. His arms quickly wrap around my waist and I cuddle into his chest.

“How was our little angel today?” he asks.

“A bundle of joy.”

“Ah, so you’re exhausted then.”

I laugh quietly, muffling the sound with his chest.

“I’ll be sleeping well tonight, that’s for sure,” I say.

“We still have the housewarming dinner at Grady and Kieran’s villa tonight,” he reminds me. “Eric told me that Addie spent all day preparing her famous roast chicken.”

My stomach growls and my mouth begins to water.

Mentioning food reminds me that I’ve barely eaten all day. I haven’t even realized it.

“How was work?” I ask him.

“It was…good.”

I look up at him, worry creasing my brow.

I know that voice.

He looks down at me and I can already tell there’s something bothering him.

“Let’s go out to the balcony for some air,” he says. “I want to talk to you about something.”

I nod, and together we quietly make our way outside.

My heart hammers in my chest, and I have to brace myself for the bad news.

What will it be this time?

World tour? Angry fans?

“Vince caught wind of our wedding,” Ace says, getting right into it.

My eyes widen. “How?”

“Paparazzi are everywhere.” He shrugs. “They must’ve made a deal with the devil or something. Whenever you want to keep something a secret, there’s always one nearby.”

“Wait, so does the whole world know I’m Mrs. Flanagan?”

“No. Vince killed the story before it got out. Probably cost him a fortune, but he thinks it’s a good investment. Apparently me being off the market is bad for business. Went so far as to say that Vagabond would be ruined because of it.”

I feel fear’s ice-cold grip around my heart.

Is this going where I think it’s going?

“So what are you saying, Ace?” I ask, my voice small.

I think about my daughter peacefully sleeping inside. Is she going to have to grow up without a dad?

“Vince asked me to keep our family a secret from the public…and I agreed,” Ace says. He looks at me uncertainly, his face a mask of worry. “Is that okay with you?”

Relief floods through me.

“Oh, is that it?”

Ace blinks, unsure of what to say.

“Uh, yeah.”

A laugh bubbles up to my lips. I thought he was going to choose the band over me. I shake my head, actually a little ashamed at my thoughts.

Ace loves you and he’s here to stay, I remind myself.

“That’s okay with me,” I assure him. “You know I’m not someone who enjoys the spotlight anyway.”

Ace lets out a big sigh, his shoulders drooping with relief.

“Glad we got that out of the way,” he says.

I can tell it’s something that’s been really bothering him. I get up on my tiptoes and kiss him sweetly on the lips.

He gives me a crooked smile.

“Now what do you say we go and get some of that chicken?” I ask.

Grady

I lean back in my chair with a groan, stuffed to the brim with food.

“If you ever get tired of being a model, Addie, you can definitely open up your own chain of chicken restaurants,” I say. “You’d run all the other guys outta business.”

Addie sips on her orange juice, a self-satisfied smile on her lips.

“What do you say, babe?” she asks Eric. “Addie’s Chicken ’n’ Fries. Coming to a town near you.”

“I’d live there,” Ace says around a chicken leg.

“Ditto,” Kieran agrees next to me.

“Might as well make it a bed-and-breakfast at this point,” Laney adds as she cradles her daughter in her arms.

Eric leans over and lovingly places his hand on Addie’s stomach, then plants a kiss on her cheek.

“I think we’re going to have our hands full for the foreseeable future,” he teases. “Do you think you can handle a baby and opening up a restaurant at the same time?”

“Do you know who I am?” Addie scoffs. “Sounds like a walk in the park to me.”

“Famous last words,” Laney mutters.

“Your hands are gonna be too full changing diapers to cook any chicken,” Ace calls.

“That’s what Eric is for.” Addie winks as Eric chokes around his salad. “I’ve got a shoot in Antarctica and then another one in Brazil, but after that I’m taking some time off for the pregnancy. Chicken restaurant comes afterward.”

I watch the couples banter with each other, a smile on my face.

Must be nice to have a partner for life.

I glance to my side. Kieran is choking on a piece of chicken which he promptly washes down with a chug of beer.

He catches me looking and throws me a thumbs up.

Close enough, I think, returning the gesture.

After dinner, I thought everyone would hang out for a bit longer, but Eric and Ace leave early with their wives.

I guess late nights with the boys are going to be few and far between now.

Kieran’s strumming his bass when a wave of claustrophobia hits me. I feel a strong urge to get out of the house.

“Wanna check out a bar or something?” I ask.

My brother looks up at me, his fingers still playing.

“You wanna go pick up a chick or something?”

“No. Just thought I’d pick up another pint.”

He puts down his bass.

“That’s all you had to say.”

***

Kieran and I wander around Newland Beach. The sleepy beachside town is the perfect place to record. There aren’t many distractions, and the scenic shore is a great source for inspiration and relaxation.

We settle on a small diner called the Swift Shack. It’s by the pier, which reminds me of the one in Santa Monica, though slightly smaller. It’s filled with carnival rides, and its old wooden railings are lined with lights.

The diner looks cozy and—after taking a few photos—a couple of starstruck locals told us their burgers are really good.

Not that I’ll be getting one since I’m still full from dinner, but beer is beer. I’ll have to come back another time for the grub.

Kieran and I take a seat, and my breath catches in my throat as our waitress approaches us.

I’ve seen plenty of attractive women before.

It comes with being a rockstar.

But I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as captivating as her.

It’s not just about her cute face, the way her uniform hugs her curves, or the green of her eyes that I can see even from across the diner.

There’s something about the way she carries herself. The way she moves. Like she’s fragile but strong all at the same time.

I shake my head at my stupid analogy.

Hell, I’m a drummer, not a poet. I hit shit for a living.

“Hey, what can I get you boys?” she asks, her voice like velvet.

I’m too busy gawking to say anything, but Kieran speaks up.

“A pitcher of beer would be great,” he says. “Whatever you got on tap. We aren’t picky.”

“Coming right up.” She smiles and turns away, and I’m staring until Kieran smacks me on the arm.

“Pick your jaw up off the floor, will you?”

My brother and I sit in silence as the minutes go by. I try to distract myself with my phone, but my eyes are always drawn toward our waitress. She skips from table to table, our pitcher of beer seemingly forgotten.

I don’t mind though. Watching her hustle and bustle about is nice enough.

I blink.

You’re being a creep, Grady, I think to myself.

“How long does it take to fill up a pitcher?” Kieran wonders.

Guess my brother isn’t as easygoing as I am.

“It’s busy,” I say in her defense.

Before Kieran can raise a stink, she approaches us with our pitcher.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says, an apologetic look on her face. “First shift,” she admits.

This time I’m able to catch a glimpse of her name tag.

Willow.

“Might be your last at this rate,” Kieran grumbles.

I glare at him.

“Ignore him. It’s fine, Willow, thanks.”

She smiles sweetly and turns away to the next table.

But not before I see the bruises on her neck. Bruises that she tries really hard to cover with makeup.

My breath catches in my throat.

I’m no longer in the diner. I’m ten years old, hiding underneath my bed in the dark. I’m shaking so damn hard that I know it won’t be hard to find me.

That HE’LL be able to find me.

A shadow crosses the floor in front of me from the hallway light.

Mom tries to block him from getting in, but that only pisses him off more.

I close my eyes and slam my hands against my ears so I won’t hear. So I won’t see.

But I always do.

The ugly slap of fists hitting flesh. Mom’s screams. Her sobbing.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, desperate for it all to go away until—

I blink.

I’m back in the diner.

I look over to Kieran, and I’m positive he saw it too.

“Did you see—”

“No.”

He chugs his first pint, refilling the glass right away. He refuses to look at me, choosing instead to have a staring contest with the bottom of his glass.

My gaze follows Willow, the beer forgotten, only one thought on my mind.

Who are you?