Sean

“I’m out of here,” Chelsea mumbled, jumping out of the Range Rover as we coasted to a stop. Tapping her foot, she waited for Melissa’s garage door to open, then flounced into the house.

I met Melissa’s unfocused gaze in the rearview mirror. “What the hell is her problem?”

Drugged up from the medication they gave her before we left the hospital, my aunt offered a drowsy smile. “She’s scared, sugar. Give her time.”

I understood all about the fear. The past two nights while Melissa recovered in her hospital room, I thought I’d choke from the weight of it. Even though the doctors had assured us that the surgery was a success, I hadn’t slept more than a few hours, keeping vigil next to Melissa’s bed.

Turning my attention to Willow, sitting quietly in her car seat, my anxiety abated at the sight of her little face.

“We’re all scared, Melissa,” I said as I pulled the car into the garage. “But Chelsea needs to step it up. If she’s going to disappear into her room, I’m going to hire a nurse to make sure you’re not alone.”

Melissa tried not to chuckle. “Not much chance of that happening. Every time I turn around, you’re underfoot.”

She was right. But I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I wouldn’t violate Anna’s rules about visitation. But Brian couldn’t stand the sight of me, and I didn’t feel comfortable spending my mornings in his living room.

Melissa touched my hand as I loosened the buckles on Willow’s car seat. “Aren’t you supposed to be somewhere in Europe or Asia or somewhere?”

Ignoring the question, I set Willow on her feet and then slid my arms under Melissa’s legs.

Halting my forward progress with a firm hand to my chest, she frowned. “You haven’t mentioned the tour. When do you leave?”

For someone hopped up on pain meds, she had a surprisingly strong will.

It was either answer the question or wrestle Melissa to the ground. “There is no tour.”

Not technically correct. But not a lie either.

Melissa’s eyes widened. “Sugar, what did you do?”

Motioning for Willow to follow, I carried my aunt through the house.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Melissa said weakly as I settled her onto the couch. “What did you do?”

“It’s complicated. Now stop with the third degree and tell me what you want to drink.”

A smile ghosted her lips. “Whiskey sour.”

“Water it is. Be right back.”

As I headed out of the room, Willow climbed onto the couch. I slowed to make sure she wouldn’t disturb Melissa, but I should’ve known better. My aunt welcomed my baby with open arms and tucked Willow to her side.

When I returned a few moments later, Melissa was absently sifting through Willow’s auburn curls. “Let’s hope Willow’s hair color isn’t the only thing she inherited from Annabelle.”

Setting the glass on the end table, I dropped into the chair and then scrubbed a hand down my face. “I hope she picked up a few traits from our side of the family. They’re not all bad.”

Melissa’s azure gaze darkened with fear. “It’s not her personality that concerns me.”

Chelsea started stomping around upstairs, and glaring up at the ceiling, I muttered, “I’m going to take that kid’s car away if she doesn’t adjust her damn attitude.”

Melissa sighed, wincing from the effort. “Cut her some slack, sugar. She’s got a lot to contend with.”

Anger flashed hot through my veins. “Nobody’s contending with you. Don’t ever think that.”

Melissa’s pressed a kiss to Willow’s head. “Not me. The disease. What it could mean for her.” Her small smile returned. “I’m damn lucky; you know that, right?”

One glimpse of the bandages peeking from the top of my aunt’s top proved how unlucky she was. “How so?”

Melissa managed a half shrug. “I watched Mama and Gracie die. And still, I didn’t think it would happen to me.”

With the medication loosening her tongue, Melissa’s honesty had slipped into brutal territory.

Glassy blue eyes peered up at me. “I should’ve died, Sean. Stage two at my age? That’s a miracle. And lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

Focusing all my attention on straightening her blanket, I avoided her gaze. “Time for a nap.”

Melissa’s fingers curled around my arm. “You don’t understand. They want to run the tests on Chelsea.”

The tests. One test. To determine your whole life.

The ever-present fear slithered through me, and I dropped onto the chair with a thud, holding Melissa’s hand. “When?”

“Soon. But the thing is, she’s about to turn eighteen, and I can’t make her take the test.”

With false bravado, I muttered, “I can.”

Something akin to relief shadowed Melissa’s features. “So you’ll talk to her?”

Her blue eyes locked on mine, the silver threads beseeching, and I realized Melissa meant now. My façade of strength cracked, and I slumped. “Yeah, sure.”

Fuck.

Blowing out a breath, I pushed to my feet.

Melissa smiled, curling her arm around Willow, fast asleep at her side. “Thank you.”

Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs, following the music spilling into the hallway. Classical, of course.

“Come in,” Chelsea grumbled in response to my knock.

Sprawled out on her stomach on the bed, she didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Whatcha doing, kid?”

Chelsea shot me an evil glare.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I took a look around.

Pausing at her desk to thumb through some sheet music, I asked, “Whose are these?”

When Chelsea didn’t answer, I gathered the pages and then sank onto the edge of her bed.

She rose to sitting, eyeing me warily. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?”

Chelsea snorted. “Trying to read music.”

“You think I can’t read music?” I cocked a brow. “I play the drums, guitar, piano, and the bass. I think I can muddle through this.”

She wrinkled her nose and then scooted to the head of the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. “Why did you choose the drums of all things?”

Ignoring her jab, I dropped to my elbow. “Because the beat in my head drowns out most of the other instruments.”

A small smile curved Chelsea’s lips. “I hear strings. Individual strings. You know, like when I’m walking around.”

“How does that work?”

I knew how it worked, but the kid hadn’t talked to me in two weeks without scowling, so I was running with the conversation.

Humoring me, Chelsea twisted up her mouth in contemplation. “Birds, they have a specific string. Crickets too. And people.”

I fingered the sheets, nodding. “So you change the scores to fit the sound in your head?”

Indignant, her brows dove together. “Those are mine, Sean. My stuff. There is no score to change.”

Pride filled me from some unknown place as I glanced over the intricate work. I’d purchased all Chelsea’s instruments, including the six-thousand-dollar violin. But I had no idea she was this good.

I sighed. “I’m sorry you didn’t get into Juilliard, Chels.”

It was the first time I’d mentioned it. Because, apparently, I was a fucking dick.

Chelsea smirked. “I did get into Juilliard.” She raised a brow when my lips parted in surprise. “I didn’t want to leave Mama.” She frowned and looked down at her hands. “Guess I made the right choice.”

Sheets of paper fluttered to the floor when I sat up. “You can’t give up your dreams, Chels. Your mama wouldn’t want that.”

“I’m not giving up shit. I don’t want it.” She glanced around the room at the pictures of me performing. “That’s your dream, not mine.”

Contentment sparked in her eyes, and I knew she was telling the truth.

“Fair enough.” I managed a smile. “I’m going to take care of things. I don’t want you to worry when you go to Dallas.”

“I’m not going to Dallas either,” she said flatly. “I only told Mama I would go to get her off my back. She believed me when I told her I didn’t get into Juilliard. She wouldn’t believe I didn’t get into SMU.”

I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “So you’re just going to hang around here and play the martyr? Good plan.”

“I’m not playing the martyr, asshole,” she hissed. “If I wanted to go, I would. But I’m not you. I don’t suffer through family dinners and holidays. I like it here.”

Direct hit, straight to the solar plexus. I had to look away, and when I did, a picture on Chelsea’s mirror caught my eye. Christmas two years ago. Chelsea sat between Logan and me in front of the fireplace, and to my shock, he seemed happier to be there than I did. My focus wasn’t even on the camera, but somewhere in the distance.

With the photo mocking me, I asked, “What are your plans then, after you graduate?”

“Music theory at UT.” A smile played on Chelsea’s lips. “I want to teach someday.”

Like the other women in my life, Chelsea had a knack for making me feel unworthy. She didn’t have to try since I suspected it was true.

Her scowl returned, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, when are you leaving anyway?”

Running through my list of errands, I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’ve got to make dinner and then I’ll head to the pharmacy to pick up your mama’s pain meds. But I’m going to sleep here tonight.”

Rolling her eyes, an exasperated sigh tripped from her lips. “No, I mean for the tour.”

“Oh, that.” I picked at the fringe of her Hello Kitty throw pillow. “I’m sitting this one out.” Saying it out loud, admitting it, lifted a weight, and I smiled. “I’ve got a few things to take care of here.”

“Yeah.” She snorted. “I figured that. Since your ‘thing’ decided to join us at the hospital.”

A flame ignited in my chest. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about. And your cousin.”

Turning that stone cold glare my way, Chelsea huffed, “Excuse me if I don’t get all emotional, considering I might not see her again for years. Anna never came around after you dumped her. And you never bothered to tell us about your kid.”

Chelsea couldn’t have landed a more solid blow if she’d used a bat.

Deflating from the blunt force trauma, I sank back onto my elbow. “I would’ve. But I didn’t know about her.”

“You didn’t?” Chelsea’s tone thawed slightly. “Anna didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head, the lump in my throat too massive to speak.

“Oh . . .” She shrugged. “I just thought you were too busy to bring her around.”

And the hits keep coming . . .

“Nope. Just didn’t know. But she’s here now, and so am I.” A few beats of silence while I tried to think of the right words, the right thoughts to keep Chelsea from shutting me out.

“I know you’re scared,” I finally said, “I’m scared too. But you don’t have to handle this by yourself.”

Guilt washed over me as Chelsea rested her chin on her knees. She looked grown, except for the eyes. I could still see the child in those blue orbs.

And when did that happen?

For years I’d put the people I loved in a box, taking them out on holidays, or when it suited me.

Chelsea outgrew her box long ago. And I’d missed it.

I tugged Chelsea’s hand, and though she held out for a second, she finally relented and let me lace our fingers. Once, I was her hero. But I’d lost the title long ago if her hidden resentment was any indication.

“Listen to me,” I said, seriously. “If you need me, I’ll be here. I still have to work. I haven’t figured everything out yet. But I’m just a phone call away, and I’ll never be gone long.”

Chelsea nodded, her gaze on our joined hands.

Brushing her calloused fingertips with my thumb, I dipped my head to find her eyes. “Your mom and I were talking about the . . . cancer. You have to promise me you’ll do everything the doctors ask and that you won’t avoid any of the tests.” I tilted her chin with my finger. “I may need you to help me explain things when Willow gets older. So promise me, yeah?”

Chelsea blinked, tears gathering in her eyes. “B-but . . . Willow’s just a baby.”

She crumbled then, and I pulled her into my arms, my lips grazing her sandy brown hair. “So are you, sugar.”

Fisting my shirt, Chelsea let go of all the emotion she’d been holding in. Sobs wracked her body as her fear and sorrow poured out in buckets. Rocking her gently, I waited for her breath to even out and then I took her face between my hands and bumped my forehead to hers like I did when she was little.

“I’ve got to go check on Willow. Can you come downstairs and watch your mom when I take her back to Alecia and Brian’s?”

Chelsea pulled away, swiping her soggy cheeks. “Where’s Anna? Isn’t she coming over?”

Pushing off the bed, I gave her a soft smile. “It’s complicated.”

She caught my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Uncomplicate it. I’m sorry for what I said at dinner. I miss her.”

You’re missing from me.

The skin over my heart flamed as if the tattoo had a life of its own. And maybe it did.

“She knows that, sugar.” Tilting her chin with my finger, I grinned. “Are we good?”

Smiling at me, she nodded, and I tossed her a wink before I left.

In the hallway, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

Life was easier when I could write a fucking check and be done with it.

But those days were long gone.