Rockstar Baby (Crescent Cove 6)

Probably.

“You know I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to boil any cloths or help with any weird breathing exercises.”

“Think we have that covered. Also, we have access to hospitals in Turnbull, just in case you didn’t realize.”

“Jackass. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Think about what I said. I don’t want you to pass up a chance with Ivy. She’s a lovely girl, and lovely girls aren’t alone for long. Someone wise told me that when Zoe and I weren’t together—not you, because you aren’t—and I’m paying it forward.”

“Yes, Anthony Robbins. I hear you. Loud and clear.” Nothing I hadn’t told myself a million times.

For all I knew, it was already too late. Ivy could already be in love with someone else. Just because Ian didn’t know didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Ivy would probably be circumspect when she was around the other women.

My mate certainly had been when he’d told me not to worry all those years ago that Darla seemed distant. Little had I known he was handling the problem just fine—literally and figuratively.

“Thick as a brick,” Ian muttered. “Watch the mail.”

Then he hung up before I could.

Watch the mail? For what?

I didn’t have time to ponder that right now. I put my headphones on. I had a song to finish.

Alas, I still did at past eight the next morning when I finally looked up again. The sun was agonizingly bright and my stomach had sent up a roar deafening enough to wake the neighbors. I made coffee using my trusty tumbler and stumbled into the shower, leaning against the tiled wall as I poured the heavenly brew down my throat.

It didn’t help. Nor did the water jabbing icy needles into my scalp and shoulders.

The song I’d been working on for the new Ripper Records artist who needed a surefire hit—good luck there—wasn’t quite done. I’d made some progress before switching over to an equally thorny composition.

The song I’d written for Ivy.

I couldn’t figure out how to end it. The last few lines had me stymied. Wondering why she’d called me and not having the stones to return her call didn’t help.

Carrying you in my pocket

When I’m so far away

Your scent in my mind, flavor on my tongue

Let’s live while we’re still young

Knowing it might end

Has to end

Won’t make me not stay

But I hadn’t stayed. I hadn’t gone back when every part of me felt called to her. It had to be the timeline. It had been more than a month.

And her voice was on my phone right now. All I had to do was press play.

I just couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

I got out of the shower and toweled down with one hand while I checked the rest of my voicemails. Work, work, and more work. I had a call from someone in Dublin, oddly enough, and I’d been wanting to get home to see my folks. If I could make the two coincide—

Or I could just hop on a fucking plane and make it happen. I didn’t have to make it a write-off worthy expense. Family was more important than profits and losses.