I’m sorry, babe. Talk to your mom calmly & find how why she invited Bianca. I love you. I’ll call you tonight.
I feel good telling her that I’ll call her tonight. The first time I was in this club I left with a chick who just musically rocked my world. Josie was the farthest thing from my mind, until later that night when she finally called and I listened to her tell me how much she hated me, how I ruined her life. If she had just said she was pregnant, my life would’ve been different. Her voicemail killed me, and if I kept hearing her voice I was going to cave and go back home. As much as I loved her, I needed to find myself. I needed to prove that I could be someone other than who my father groomed me to be.
I also remember my first night in Metro. The same night I earned the nickname Liam the Virgin. It has nothing to do with my sexuality, but the fact that I had never been in a green room before. I must’ve stared at the posters on the walls for hours, fanboying at all the acts that had come through these doors.
I used to stare at the door, opening and closing as the people came in in droves, racing to be at the front of the stage. I stood by, off to the side, watching in awe. That night I decided on a goal: One day, I would be up on this stage, with this crowd, singing to them. They would be chanting my name, singing my lyrics and begging me for more. That’s what they did with… Layla.
I turn and stare at the stage and picture Layla with her honey colored-eyes, red hair and infectious smile staring back at me. That girl knew what she wanted and how to get it. As much as Layla was a mistake, she changed the game for me. She gave me what I needed even if I didn’t know it at the time. She was my first after Josie and one I’ll never forget, but undoubtedly should.
Pressing my home button again, the screen lights up with a picture of my wife. The girl turned woman who I have loved since I was fifteen. I never stopped loving her, not once did I ever tell another woman that I loved them because they could never compare to Josie. I think about her being at home and dealing with my mother and wonder what the fuck it is that I’m doing here. JD and Harrison could’ve easily done all the extras that need to be done for the fundraiser and I could’ve flown in right before the gig.
But no, I had to be here and knew Josie would understand. This is the business side of our lives and it’s not something we can just fix in the studio. The band, as a whole, needs to pound the pavement, drum up some support and make sure that Metro is back on top - or that, at the very least, it goes out with a bang.
I love you
I send Josie those three words one more time before pocketing my phone. Taking a look around the club, I notice pictures need to be straightened, so that’s where I start. We’re not here to clean, but apparently that’s what Trixie needs from us right now. JD is sweeping and Harrison is stocking the bar. We’re all doing grunt work.
“Doesn’t she have staff?” I yell out to anyone who wants to answer.
“You dumbass,” Harrison says. “She’s closed! Don’t you remember she used to give her staff the day off and she’d come in and clean?”
I pause and look at Harrison, wondering why the hell he insisted on being here today.
“Did you tell her we’d clean the club?”
He smiles and continues to put away the clean glasses.
“Rat bastard,” I mumble to myself as I straighten picture after picture. I’m starting to doubt that her normal staff actually cleans, unless the crowd just got rowdy last night. I’m about to give up and call someone to come and do this for us – I love my maid, Linda, she never makes me clean – when someone knocks on the door.
“I’ll get it,” I say, already bored with working. I push the door open and before I can say anything I’m holding an armful of Layla who is squealing in delight.
“Holy shit, it’s you.”
As I look over her shoulder, I see a photographer. I don’t see a single one in LAX, but outside Metro with another woman in my arms, and sure as shit he’s taking pictures.
“It’s me all right,” I say as I set her down. I move quickly to pull her into the club, away from prying eyes and whatever else may be out there.
The nursery is a mess. Linda offered to unpack and wash everything, but I told her I would do it. Staying busy will keep my mind off the fact that Liam isn’t here to experience this with me. The only baby item that is somewhat ready to go is the crib. Liam and Noah stayed up and put it together before Liam left. I’m thankful that they did. I think every dad should put together
his child’s crib. It’s a rite of passage or whatever you want to call it.
Leaning against the doorjamb, I eye the packages and baskets that are piled high. The amount of clothes, toys and necessities is overwhelming. I had a baby shower with Noah, but all my friends were college students and their money was better spent on laundry and pizza, not baby gifts. This time it’s different, and I’m thankful even if the task before me is daunting.
I thought I’d be eager to come home and look at everything again, but I still can’t shake the fact that Bianca showed up. Her gift should’ve been given to Noah and as much as I want to return Liam’s baby blanket to her, I can’t. My children should have a piece of their father - right now my son only knows of his father’s younger years through home-made DVD’s and photos from high school. We have no baby pictures whatsoever. Other than that, there is the random chance Noah flicks on MTV and catches one of his dad’s music videos.
The blanket is draped over the crib now. For some reason I unpacked it the moment we came home, rushing upstairs to do so while Noah and Quinn took over the “man-of-the-house duties” and unloaded the all the gifts from our cars. If Katelyn saw it, she didn’t say anything. And as I stand here and stare at it, it makes me long to have a mother-in-law who cares, one that would sit around a warm winter’s fire and tell stories from when Liam was younger. I know he didn’t have the same type of childhood I did. His was structured and focused. Anyone who knows Liam would never guess that his mother is withdrawn and emotionally unavailable. He’s caring, nurturing and attentive. He’s everything his mother - and his father, for that matter - isn’t.
The reds and blues of the quilt seem lonely as if it needs someone to hold it. I remember holding Noah in his from the first day until it was nothing but a shell of its original self. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his blanket every day so when it was worn and torn, I took what was left of it, along with some of the t-shirts he had outgrown, and made a new baby blanket. It’s tucked away in my closet for when he has a child of his own.
As I stare at the quilt, I know I have to make a decision on whether this child will use it. Bianca should’ve stepped up long before now to make amends. She’s been working on establishing a relationship with Noah and maybe this is where the relationship building with us needs to start.
I pull the door shut, knowing that if I stand there any longer I’m going to drive myself to drink an entire bottle of wine. The outcome of doing so would not be good for me, or for Liam. The last thing he needs to hear about is my pity party for one when he’s trying to work. Even if I call him, he’ll reassure me that everything is going to be fine, that he loves me and he’ll be home soon. I can’t bear to unload all my insecurities on him. He needs to believe that I’m strong enough to handle him being away on business because if he does what he wants to do with the band, a few weeks away can turn into months and months. Unfortunately, that’s something I’m not quite ready to accept yet... but he doesn’t need to know that right now.
What I don’t understand is why this child is more important in her eyes than Noah. Even after he was born, and she’d pause in the grocery store and look at him, she knew… she knew the baby in the seat was her blood and did nothing. There was so much she could’ve done for Noah, not for me. Noah deserved more.
I sit on a step, half way between the first and second floor and hold my face in my hands. I’m letting years of pent up anger get the best of me. I need to let it go, find the inner strength to raise above the level that Bianca keeps me at and show her that her son didn’t make a mistake. Even if she thinks he did, Liam doesn’t feel that way. My name is tattooed across his chest for Pete’s sake. I’m not going anywhere.
I want to call Bianca and ask her what type of game she’s playing except I have a feeling Sterling doesn’t know she came to the shower today. As much as I loathe the woman, I’m not going to make waves for her. As evil as she is, I firmly believe she’s a product of her husband’s brainwashing, because no decent mother would willingly treat her child the way she’s treated Liam.