“Liddy! You have exactly three minutes to get your pajamas on! I mean it this time!” A loud squeal of little girl laughter rang through the tiny apartment, quickly followed by Corrine’s cry of “Quick! The floor’s made of lava! Jump on the bed!”

So much for going to bed on time tonight.

“Corrine!” I shouted from my place at the kitchen sink, “Stop riling her up!”

I rinsed the last dirty dish and sat it in the drying rack on the counter. Most nights, after a long day spent working and then coming home to chase my baby girl around, I lamented the fact that our tiny apartment didn’t have a dishwasher. But having to financially support myself and my daughter cut into unnecessary luxuries such as dishwashers.

There’d been a time during my pregnancy when I let myself fantasize about a larger apartment with more amenities, but being the manager of a coffee shop, I wasn’t exactly bringing home the big bucks. Liddy and I were still living in the same apartment that I’d moved into with Corrine when I came to Seattle nearly four years before. It was small, and my bedroom was almost the size of a postage stamp, but we were happy. That was all I cared about. And Corrine, being the amazing friend she was, had gotten herself a one-bedroom in the same complex so she could stay close and help me out with Liddy as much as possible.

“Mommy! Mommy! Da floor’s made a lava!”

I barely had a chance to brace against the kitchen counter when my three-year-old bundle of energy came barreling into the kitchen and proceeded to try climbing my body. At least she was dressed in her pajamas.

“So I heard.” I picked my giggling girl up and propped her on my hip, smiling down into her bright green eyes. “But it’s bedtime, so you need to wind down, monkey.”

“But I don’t wanna go to bed,” she whined, poking her bottom lip out in an adorable pout. Too bad for her I’d grown immune to that pout over the years.

Placing her on her feet, I turned her by the shoulders and began shuffling her toward her bedroom. “Go pick a bedtime story. I’ll be there in a second.”

“’Kay.” Crestfallen, she dropped her head dramatically, but did what I’d told her to do.

“Sorry,” Corrine said, coming around and dropping onto the couch, not looking sorry in the slightest. “She’s just so much fun to play with.”

I chuckled at my friend and reached in to pull the plug and drain the sink. “You’re a terrible influence. I feel like I’m raising two kids.”

“What can I say?” She grinned. “I’m awesome like that.”

I was in the middle of drying my hands with a dishtowel when my phone rang from its place on the kitchen counter. Leaning in, I groaned at the sight of the name lighting up on the screen.

“Let me guess,” Corrine said, standing from the couch and coming to join me on the other side of the small counter. “It’s Douchey Von Dickhead.”

“The one and only.” I dropped the towel by the sink and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Gwen?”

“Yeah, Garrett, you called my phone. Who else would you expect?”

Corrine waved to get my attention and mouthed, “I’ll read to her tonight,” before moving toward Liddy’s room.

In the years that had passed since my one and only night with Garrett Wilder, things had grown no less icy. I communicated with him as little as possible, only ever discussing our daughter. The distance was easy to maintain, seeing as Garrett hadn’t slowed down with his pathetic rocker lifestyle at all since the birth of Liddy. He toured, partied, got drunk and laid, all of which was plastered across every available media outlet. Hell, the prick had even shown up at the hospital stinking of stale booze and perfume when I was in labor. Corrine had done a stellar job of kicking his ass out of the delivery room, refusing access until he’d showered some of the skank off.

He’d call to talk to Liddy a few nights a week whenever the band toured, but those conversations barely lasted more than three minutes. Whenever he was in Seattle, he maintained just enough of a presence in her life to make her think her daddy walked on water, but the truth was he behaved like nothing more than her fun uncle—there for the good times and conveniently absent for the moments that mattered.

But I kept telling myself that as long as Liddy was happy, I would be too. And seeing as she was too young to realize what a colossal douchebag her father was, she was happy. I thanked my lucky stars every night that she was still too young for anything bad to touch her. My girl still didn’t even realize her father was a famous rock star. I’d managed to convince her that he simply traveled a lot for work, but that was a conversation I dreaded having in the near future.

“Always so much fun talkin’ to you,” he grunted through the line.

“Can you just say what you need to say? It’s late and I’m beat.”

“It’s barely eight o’clock.”

I closed my eyes and practiced my deep breathing. I would not lose my cool. I wouldn’t, no matter how much or how often he pushed my buttons. Of course a man like him who partied until the ungodly hours of every morning would think it was still early.

“I worked all day, then spent the better part of the evening chasing Liddy around. You try keeping up with a three-year-old while simultaneously trying to prevent her from killing herself. It’s exhausting, so forgive me for not feeling particularly chatty.”

“She still up?”

Damn it. If he talked to her now, there was no way I’d get her to sleep any time soon. But I promised myself I wouldn’t become that bitter woman who kept her child from her father just because I couldn’t stand the guy. “Corrine’s in reading her a bedtime story right now, but if you want to talk to her—”

“That’s okay,” he said over me. “I don’t want to fuck with your schedule.”

That unexpected, slightly bewildering response left me at a loss for words.

“You still there?”

I shook myself out of my trance. “Yeah, sorry. That was just… surprisingly considerate of you.”

“Shit, Gwen,” he mumbled into the phone. “You make me sound like a complete dick.”

“Well…,” I dragged out, refusing to lie. “If the shoe fits.”

“Christ. Can we have one fuckin’ phone call where we don’t fight? Is that really too goddamn much to ask?”

Closing my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose as shame took root inside my stomach. Not because I was acting like a bitch, but because I was a twenty-six-year-old woman with a daughter. I at least needed to try behaving like an adult.

“Sorry,” I said on a sigh. “I’ll curb my bitchy instincts, but just this once.”

Garrett laughed down the line. He had a really good laugh, and the sound caused my belly to do a backflip just like it always did. That only pissed me off more, because I didn’t want anything about him to have an effect on me. Unfortunately, my body hadn’t gotten the message that he was an asshole, and I struggled with the desire to tear his clothes off and climb him like a tree whenever he was around.

I really need to get laid.

Shaking off the tingles spreading along my skin, I asked, “What’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be performing tonight?”

“We don’t go on ’til nine. I wanted to call before to tell you that we get back from Portland tomorrow.”

“I know, Garrett. I get a copy of your tour schedule from one of your lackeys.”

“Well, I kinda need to talk to you once I’m back in Seattle. Any chance you could get someone to look after Liddy tomorrow night so you could meet me at my place?”

Oh no. Hell no. I’d successfully avoided one-on-one interaction with the man for over three years; no way was I getting sucked back in now. “Can’t you just say whatever it is you have to say now while you have me on the phone?”

“Christ, Gwen. I’m not asking you for a fuckin’ kidney or anything. I’m asking the mother of my child to spare a few minutes to talk with me face-to-face. Is that really so hard?”

Hell yeah, it was hard. It was harder than he could ever imagine, because nearly four years back I’d been the stupid girl who’d foolishly put my trust in a man I thought saw me as more than just a one-night stand. I’d lost so much by then that it was a wonder I was even able to stand, so the blow from him that morning had done serious damage that I was still recovering from.

“I’m working at Bernie’s tomorrow. How about you just meet me there and we can talk?”

Bernie’s was the coffeehouse I’d worked at since moving from Idaho. The owner, Bernadette, had been amazing the last few years. She took me under her wing like a second mother and looked out for me the best she could while I was pregnant. After Liddy was born, she went out of her way to schedule my shifts to fit my new life as a single mother. I worked my ass off in the hopes of paying back her kindness in some way. About a year ago, she promoted me to manager, which came with a pay increase that left me enough to afford to put Liddy in daycare so I could work a regular nine-to-five. I wasn’t sure what I’d have done without Corrine and Bernie in my life.

“You know I can’t do that, Gwen. What if someone recognized me? Your picture would be splashed around everywhere, and then some asshole reporter would more than likely dig until they discovered something about Liddy. You really want that?”

Damn him and his valid point and logical argument. “Fine,” I relented on a sigh. “I’ll meet you at your place tomorrow. How does seven work?”

“That’s perfect. Thanks, sweetness.”

My jaw ticked with how tightly I was clenching my teeth. There’d been a time—a few short, alcohol-filled hours—when I’d adored hearing him call me sweetness. Now I hated it. “Yeah. Later.”

I disconnected the call with a knot of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach like a lead weight. Sure, since Liddy was born I’d been forced to step foot in that house more than I was happy about, but I’d always had my daughter with me to cushion the blow that came with the memories from that night. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t have her with me this time.

“Liddy’s out like a light. Only took three readings of Goodnight Moon,” Corrie said as she came back into the kitchen. “So what did the douchebag rocker want this time?”

I looked at my friend and let out a sigh of defeat. “The rich and famous have summoned. Looks like I’ve got plans for tomorrow evening.”

“You mean we’ve got plans.”

“Really?” I asked enthusiastically. Relief that I wouldn’t have to walk into that den of wolves on my own made breathing a little bit easier.

She let out a loud laugh. “Of course. No way would I let you anywhere near that bitch Kimber without backup.” A sinister smile stretched across her lips. “I’ve been itching for a good catfight for weeks.”

“If anyone gets a chance to draw first blood, it’s me,” I told her, reaching across the counter to snag the bottle of wine I’d opened the night before.

“Fair enough.” Corrine smiled. “If shit starts to hit the fan, you give me the signal and I’ll hold her down while you shave her hair off.”

Having poured each of us a glass, I recorked the wine bottle and lifted my glass in the air, clinking the rim against hers when she followed suit. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”