“You what?”

Gavin held the phone away from his ear as Jack railed.

“I can’t believe you, Gavin. We specifically talked about this.”

“Jack, calm the hell down. What did you expect me to do? Sit around and wait for a bunch of lawyers to tell me when I could meet my son?”

“That’s exactly what I expected you to do. Damn it to hell, Gavin. What if you spooked her and she runs?”

Gavin could hear the clicking of computer keys on the other end of the line. “She’s not going anywhere. She doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. No way can she afford to run anywhere.”

“Desperate people do desperate things.”

Didn’t he know it? His whole life had been a series of desperate events.

“Besides, we don’t even know if the kid is yours.”

“He’s mine.” There wasn’t a doubt in Gavin’s mind that Aiden Bradley Bain was his flesh and blood. A jolt of euphoria and terror lit him up at the thought.

“How exactly do you know that? Did you perform a DNA spot check?”

“No. But he’s mine.” Aiden’s gray stare was burned into his brain. “Speaking of DNA, Scarlett got online and found out that we can get results of a DNA test back in one to three days at a private lab. Can you set that up?”

“Scarlett did, huh?” There was a sneer in Jack’s tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I wonder how much of this sentimental trip was your wife’s idea?”

“It was all my idea. She’s been supportive, but that’s it. Now get off my ass and tell me if you can set up the test, or do I need to handle that?”

“No. I’ll do it. Sorry. I don’t really blame you for seeing him. I’d probably have done the same thing, but not without consulting my attorney first.”

Gavin chuckled. “Noted. Any other news?” Meaning any news about a record deal.

“No. I’m still working it. Something will come up. Have you thought about doing it yourself?”

“What?”

“Starting your own label, and doing it yourself. Several big-name artists have gone indie, and it would give you the control you obviously want.”

“I don’t know, man. Seems kind of desperate to me. No one else wants me, so I’ll DIY it.”

“It’s not like that. Just think about it.”

“Alright.”

“Back to the kid.”

“Aiden.”

“Okay, Aiden. You said that Tara signed over legal guardianship to the sister?”

“According to Kristy, yes. That’s good, right? Tara’s out of the picture, so I should be able to get custody?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to run it by Rutledge, the attorney I hired to deal with this. Keep your shit together and stay out of trouble. Your image will be an issue if this comes down to a custody battle. And keep your wife from dancing on any more tables.”

“Are you kidding me? You sound like those idiots in her small town. You worry about my career, I’ll worry about Scarlett.”

“I am worrying about your career, your kid, and your livelihood. I’m your friend, Gav, I worry. And an out-of-work rock star with anger management issues and a bad reputation is going to be a hard sell to a judge.”

“Got it. I gotta go.” He hung up before Jack could say another word. The ones he’d already said had found their mark.

* * *

Scarlett rode the elevator to the top floor of Caesars Palace. After they’d checked in, she’d gone down to the hotel gift shop to purchase a few forgotten toiletries. Unless she was willing to sell a kidney to pay for hair de-frizzer and shower gel for sensitive skin, she’d need to venture outside the hotel to find a drugstore.

The elevator opened into the foyer of the suite Gavin had rented. It was too much room for the two of them, but she knew he hoped Kristy would let Aiden come and stay with them at the hotel.

The suite was quiet and dark except for the faint sound of a guitar coming from beyond the open balcony door. The music drew her to the terrace, where she found Gavin reclining on a lounge chair strumming his guitar, an open bottle of Jack Daniels next to him on the ground.

She knocked on the door frame. “Hey, rock star. Can I join you?”

He didn’t say anything, only motioned with his hand to the chair next to him, then continued playing.

A dark sadness rolled off him like fog on a desolate island, the force of it so strong that she had to fight her way through it. She sat, propped her feet up, and tried to appear as casual as possible. Something was terribly wrong.

The silence between them drowned out the melody of the guitar. He paused in playing to take a swig straight from the bottle of whiskey.

His body language clearly said back off, but she knew he needed her to push him beyond whatever this was. “So, what’s up?”

“Nothin’.” Another strum, another swig.

“Really?” She picked up the half-empty bottle from the ground. “Cause it looks like you’ve been pretty busy here.”

A grunt was his only reply.

She’d already learned that he wouldn’t talk until he was ready, and sometimes not at all. So she lay there looking at the stars and listened to him play. There was no conversation for twenty minutes and thankfully no more drinking either.

This appeared to be a not at all kind of night, and her heart broke at that. She wanted to be there for him, to be his comfort. But she was learning that you can’t make people want you or see your value, no matter how hard you try. She reached for her shoes and stood up. “Good night, Gavin.” A kiss to the temple, then she would leave him to brood alone.

“Wait.” His voice was like rocks in a grinder. He took her hand. “Please, don’t go.”

“Okay.” She resumed her place on the chair. “Do you want to talk?”

“Not really.”

“Alright.” So what if he didn’t want to talk. He wanted her there, and a small zip of hope buzzed in her heart.

“I spoke to Jack while you were out.”

“No wonder you’re in a foul mood.”

The ghost of a smile shuffled across his face. “Yeah, well.” He continued to play softly. Still, he didn’t look at her. “There was this foster family I lived with for a short while when I was six. They were the only really great people I was ever assigned to. The mom stayed at home, and the dad worked in a factory. They had a son of their own and me. Sam and I shared a room. But it was good, you know?”

“It sounds nice.” She had no idea where he was going with this.

“It was. Shirley, the mom, always had a snack ready for us when we got home from school, and I remember my clothes always smelled like her perfume.” The song he was playing changed. “I loved that smell. Sometimes I’ll walk down the street or be in a crowded room and get a whiff of it. It always makes me smile.”

“Mmm.” It was all she could manage without crying, and if she cried he’d stop talking. It was the saddest, sweetest thing she’d ever heard.

“And Bill, the dad, he was a big guy. I remember thinking his arms were like the Hulk’s. He came home every day at six o’clock. Sam and I would wait on the front porch for him. Seeing him walk up the drive was the best part of my whole day. He had to be tired, but he’d toss the ball with us, or chase us around until Shirley called us in for dinner. While we ate, he’d talk about his work, what they were making, how those things would be used to make other’s people’s lives better. At night, he’d read to us before bed or tell ridiculous stories until we were laughing our asses off. Then he’d turn off the light, and say, ‘Sleep well, men.’” A chord changed punctuated the sweet night-time blessing.

“That sounds nice. How long were you with them?” The words slipped around the tears in her throat.

“About nine months. Looking back, I think they were probably going to adopt me, or at least make me a permanent placement, but her sister and brother-in-law were killed in a motorcycle accident, and they had to take in their two kids. There wasn’t enough room or money for me to stay.”

Sorrow flooded her tear ducts and a sob fought to escape her mouth, but she battled them back.

“When they broke it to me, I was devastated. Bill told me I had to be brave, and to always remember to work hard and be a man.” He cleared his throat. “It’s probably the only reason I’ve never completely self-destructed.”

“Where did you go from there?”

“After that, the homes they put me in were not stellar. Most of the dads didn’t work, or if they did, they’d come home and drink all evening, or not come home at all. I don’t know if I was ever truly clean after that. Nobody cared enough to make sure we bathed or did homework, or whatever. It wasn’t until I started living in the group home and they required us to shower, keep our beds made, and keep our shit picked up that I felt clean again. Weird, huh?”

“Not so weird,” she whispered.

“When I was twelve, Johnny moved into the group home, and he had all these great memories of his mom and dad. He worshiped his dad. He taught him to play guitar, then he taught me.”

“And now you’ve taught Brody.” This was an easier topic to talk about.

He huffed a laugh. “I tried to teach Brody. He’s a little…challenged. Anyway, the point is, real men, good men, good father type men, work, and they teach their kids to work. I mean, look at Floyd, he’s one of the hardest working men I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t understand—”

“I’m a thirty-year-old, unemployed musician, Scarlett. Except for about a year when I was sixteen, I’ve never done what most people would call an honest day’s work in my life. After that, I stood on street corners and played music for money, and stole if I had to. Once Johnny and I got a record deal, we busted our asses to make our music the best it could be. That was my work. Real men work, Scarlett. Men who have things to offer their children work. And I…”

She got it now. Since he didn’t have a record deal and couldn’t make music, he didn’t think he could be a father to Aiden. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need to play another show or make another record to provide for the boy. Work equaled a good useful man.

Standing, she took the guitar from him and straddled his lap. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she lifted his face to meet her gaze. The desolate pain punctured through her hard-won composure. “I’m not going to tell you how messed up your thinking is, or how hard you’ve worked to accomplish all that you have. And I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong because it’s how you feel and I respect that. I’m only going to say that you deserve to have someone look at you the way I look at my father, and to love you like there’s nobody else in the whole world better than you.”

He started to protest, but she silenced him with a kiss, then another, then another until she felt his taught muscles relax. His hands flattened on her back, the heat from them burning through the fabric of her thin cotton dress. The fire between them scorched her from the inside out.

This good man needed to know he was worth loving. She couldn’t say the words I love you. That wasn’t the arrangement. But she could show him. She felt for the bottom of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. His penetrating look simmered with enough intensity to steal her hammering heart. She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his lips, and trailed kisses down his neck to the cross over his heart.

He grabbed the bottom of her dress and yanked it over her head. She sat straddling him, naked except for bra and panties, totally unashamed. The approval in his eyes was all she needed to own this moment.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The desperation in his words was like kerosene, volatile and combustible. He strung kisses down her neck, and his calloused fingers stroked sensitive places that ignited her own desperate want. Reality existed somewhere beyond the here and now with him.

“Take me to bed, Gavin.” It was a plea, not a request or a command.

In one swift movement, he stood with her in his arms. They didn’t break the kiss, her legs clasped around his body. Every step he took caused his jeans to rub against the most intimate part of her, while his fingers dug into the soft flesh of her backside. A moan ripped from both of them when he pulled her closer. Every part of her touched every part of him. The erotic electricity that coursed between them was a drug she craved.

She needed him. He needed her. She would communicate her love for him in the only language she could.

The one he spoke fluently.