Page 41 of Fame And Secrets
Chapter Fifteen
Julian
“Damn it!” Fumbling on the third try at tying the straps on the shoulders of her dress, she blew a stray piece of hair out of her eyes and attempted a fourth time. Amused, I took the straps out of her hand and tied them with ease. “Interesting.” She casted a side glance at me. “You look like you’ve done that before, Mr. Bale.”
My smirk widened. “It’s much easier the other way.”
She gave a spin and held her hands out for inspection. “So, am I presentable?”
Slipping my hands over her ass, I pulled her to me, my chest colliding against her soft curves. Immediately, I bounced backward as her belly ricocheted off my belt. Both of us looked down in surprise. Smiling wistfully, she ran her hand over her stomach and shrugged in defeat.
“I guess when you said nothing would come between us, you didn’t anticipate this, huh?
“No, but I think this is one person who can come between us any time they want.” She met my stare and I placed a delicate, soft kiss on her bottom lip.
“Where’s the closest beach?” she blurted out unexpectedly.
The question struck me as odd. “Why?”
She pursed her lips and looked away. “There’s just something I need to do.”
“Phoebe, it’s not safe for you to be out wandering beaches by yourself. No secrets, remember?” I didn’t like the look on her face. Something weighed on her.
“Julian, it’s a public beach in the middle of the day. He’s not that stupid. My father may be a psychopath, but he doesn’t have a death wish. If he came after me in broad daylight, he might as well handcuff himself to a squad car.”
I didn’t want to admit it, but she’d made a valid argument. Still, I refused to take any chances. “I get what you’re saying, but, knowing it here,” I pointed to my head, “doesn’t always make it to here.” I tapped my chest. “I have to meet with Kristina again this morning. Please let me have someone go with you…for my sanity at least.”
She shot me an accusing glare. “You swore to me you called off Zane’s hood gang.”
“I did.” When she narrowed her eyes, I handed her my phone. “If you don’t believe me, call him yourself. It’s done. No more street gangs hanging around the house.”
“No.” She pushed the phone toward my chest. “I believe you. But I’m in no mood for your stool pigeon brother, thanks.”
I shook my head as I pulled on my boots. “No, actually, I had someone a little more…intimidating in mind.”
She leaned against the wall, staring at me until realization flashed across her face. Holding out a finger, she wagged it in my face.
“Oh, no. No, Julian.”
“Come on, he’s not that bad. You have to admit he’s intimidating as hell when he wants to be.”
“Yeah, but Ty?” She scraped her palms down her cheeks in acceptance. “Julian, he’s worse than a girl. All he wants to do is talk about baby stuff. And he’s the worst belly rubber ever. I love the big dude, but sometimes I think he’s more excited about this baby than both of us put together.”
I grinned. I’d noticed my drummer’s overexuberance for Phoebe’s impending birth, but I’d chalked it up to the insurmountable loss the guy had faced in a short amount of time. In less than four years, he’d lost his little sister to leukemia, his friend and bandmate to a drunk driver, and our bandmate, Tanna, who he’d considered a surrogate sister, to misguided obsession and mental illness. Ty was six-foot-four, about two hundred and thirty pounds, with long hair and a beard. He looked every bit a professional wrestler. But the dude had the softest, kindest heart of anyone I’d ever met. It was a shame he’d been the one to endure the most tragedy.
Maybe our baby had renewed his faith in hope. Since Phoebe had let Ty feel it kick, he’d been a changed man. No more brooding, no more long-ass motorcycle drive disappearing acts, no more coming home at four a.m. from barroom fights. Ty had become Ty again.
“Ty’s family, Phoebe,” I explained. “And he’ll stay in the car. I’ll make sure of it. You can do whatever you want. He’ll stay out of your way, but this is non-negotiable.”
“You’re being unfair,” she pouted.
“I could go back to doing shit behind your back.” I posed it as a statement, but my voice formed it into more of a question.
“Fine.” She grabbed her cellphone and purse. “Call him and tell him he has twenty minutes before I pick him up to go to…?” She raised an eyebrow at me.
“Santa Monica Pier,” I finished for her.
“Fine,” she repeated. “Santa Monica Pier. And he stays in the car or he gets volts, got it?”