Steady Beat (21 page)

Pepper lowered her stare to her knees once more. Who would have thought talking to one of the most talented guitarists in the world would be so wretched?

Samuel let out a choppy breath. “Are you still up for singing with us this Friday night? At that gig you organized?”

Pepper raised her head and frowned at him.

His grimace was apologetic. “I know, I’m a bastard. But it may be the only way for any of us to see him. Try and talk some sense into him. He won’t be a no-show for a gig, and I really want to tell him he’s being a fucking moron.”

The thought of seeing Noah again, even in the purely platonic way she’d begged for at the beginning of their relationship, tore at Pepper’s heart. The simple fact he hadn’t called anyone since learning of Heather’s pregnancy told Pepper any future they had fell firmly in the platonic category. She should be happy. It was the best for the band after all, wasn’t it?

But the thought of pouring her heart into song while he pounded out the back beat, his time twists and explosive fills elevating the music to something beyond amazing, just made her crave him even more.

“Will you?” Samuel asked again. “I know it’s not the end you probably envisioned, but it’s the best one I can come up with at the moment.”

She looked at him. “Okay.”

His smile was small, and at the same time warm. “You’ve done an amazing job organizing that gig at such short notice. Better than Daltry ever did, that’s for sure. I don’t think I thanked you yesterday, did I? Before we started?”

She shook her head.

He grunted and pushed himself to his feet. “That’s because I’m brooding, egocentric and narcissistic.”

Pepper recognized her father’s description of Samuel from the article published in
Rolling Stone
years ago. She opened her mouth, feeling that she should apologize for them. It was clear Samuel was nothing like that. Maybe he
had
been, but the man standing in her bedroom now, the one worried about his friend, was far from any of those things.

Samuel laughed, as if aware of her intent. “Don’t worry. When your dad wrote that, I
was
a brooding, egocentric narcissist.” He walked to the door, his long legs crossing the distance in but a few steps. At the threshold, he stopped and turned back to her. “What did you call us by the way? When you booked the gig? I know you didn’t use Synergy or Blackthorne. Noah told me you were planning a cloak-and-dagger reveal of who we are.”

She gave him a wry grin. “The Han Solos.”

He laughed, the sound reverberating around her bedroom. “I
knew
there was a reason you were perfect for Holden.” He tapped the doorframe once and then left.

Pepper sat on her bed, unable to move.

And before she could stop herself, she reached for her phone and stared at the image of Noah and Heather at LAX again.

If she was going to sing on Friday, having as much tormented grief as possible in her soul was probably a good thing.

Noah studied the text on his iPhone’s screen. The waiting room’s soft sounds of baby gurgles and soothing mothers barely penetrated his focus. His thumb wavered over the
Send
key. Doubt chewed at the tension in his chest.

Should he send it?

He read the text he’d composed four hours ago. Four long hours ago, in the early hours of the morning while the L.A. moon was still high and he’d lay stretched on his king-size bed. Alone.

We never did get to share that piece of pie.

It was a pathetic, lame text. But no matter how many times he’d tried to delete it, something stopped him. If he deleted it without sending it to Pepper, perhaps his soul would just give up. But if he sent it and she never replied…

He stared at the words on the screen, each letter sharp and clear.

“…listening to me?”

He jerked his head up, Heather’s frown making his stomach knot.

She peered at his phone, her lips compressed. “Who are you texting?”

Noah didn’t answer. Anger warred with confusion at the sight of her.

She’d apologized profusely when he’d met her at the airport. Had cried into his shoulder, her hand on her belly, her tears wetting his shirt. Told him she’d been a fool and that she loved him and hoped he could love her back one day.

She’d told him she hadn’t been able to call him when she first found out she was pregnant, afraid he would reject her. Told him she wanted them to be a family together, a
good
family, for the baby’s sake.

Her contrition and sorrow had lasted until they reached his home in Beverly Hills. The home they’d once both shared. The home she’d walked out of. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her in. He should, but the invitation wouldn’t come.

His head had been swirling, his leg thrumming, his fingers plucking at anything and everything for the entire limo ride from the airport.

She’d moved to follow him out of the backseat, but he’d shaken his head. “I need to…I just want…some time…I think…”

Grief etched her face, but even now Noah remembered her eyes being dry. Tearless. “We have an appointment with Doctor Newman in two hours,” she’d said.

He’d suppressed the overwhelming urge to scream, nodding his head instead. “I’ll be ready.”

Watching the limo take her away, his breath had been like a vise in his lungs.

He’d walked inside his home. Studied it. Imagined Pepper there with him.

And then did his best to shut her from his mind.

For the baby’s sake.

Two days of attending every doctor’s appointment Heather made, however, of accompanying her to the most expensive obstetricians in L.A., of listening to her tell them all what an amazing father he was going to be and how glad she was he was in her life again was driving him crazy.

He’d grit his teeth and drive his hands—bunched into fists—into his pockets, saying not a word, and then his gaze would fall to her stomach and guilt would smash over him.

As if aware of his turmoil, Heather’s steady change of clothing had grown more and more revealing, emphasizing the bulge of her stomach. Today, she wore a tight white tank that stopped just above her navel in such a way as to reveal the small bump of her belly, her baggy jeans sitting so low on her hips he would see the black lace of her G-string.

Once, the sight of her underwear used to fill his cock with eager blood. Today, it left him numb.

If it weren’t for the fact his mind constantly wandered, before, during and after the appointments, he’d probably tell her to put something decent on. But his mind
did
wander. Jumped all over the place in fact. He fidgeted often, earning himself more than one unimpressed glare from the woman he’d believed only a few short months ago his forever-after.

He frowned. If this was
meant
to be, if he was
meant
to be with Heather, why did he feel so…chaotic?

“Are you going to tell me?” Perfectly manicured fingers snatched his phone from his hand before he could reaction. “Pie? Since when do you eat pie?”

Grinding his teeth, he took back his phone. “It’s not important.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, their jade-green depths sharp. She’d made a lot of money from her eyes. In magazines they were always sultry and seductive. Right now, they were contemptuous. Releasing a drawn-out sigh, she opened the magazine she’d been reading—one with her and Noah and Pepper on the cover. Noah suspected she’d selected it from the pile on purpose. “I do hope this guy affords us the respect we deserve. I still can’t believe the last doctor made us wait for twenty minutes. And did you see the way his receptionist looked at me? It was like she’d never seen someone famous.”

Noah lowered his stare to his phone again, Heather’s indignant tirade fading away. He let his thoughts turn to Pepper. Pictured himself sitting opposite her in a diner in New York, a piece of pie on a plate between them, their forks chinking together as they both dug into the dessert at the same time, their smiles crinkling the edges of their eyes, their feet touching under the table.

How many times had he lived that fantastical moment in his mind since touching down in L.A.? A thousand times? How many times had he pulled up her number, the need to hear her voice so powerful he could barely draw breath?

Once every half-hour at least. Probably more.

He lifted his head and studied the afternoon light streaming through the waiting room window. It would be evening in New York. Where would she be? Not at work. He’d taken that away from her. He really needed to do something about his bar. Maybe give it to Frank. Perhaps he should call the guy, ask about Pepper?

Ask if she was okay? If she ached for him as much as he did her?

He returned his gaze to the text on his phone.

Christ, he wanted pie. His mouth salivated at the thought. He wanted pie and he wanted—

Heather’s palm slapped his forearm, knocking his phone from his hand. “Are you paying attention to me?” she whispered, glaring at him even as she raised the magazine high enough to hide her face from the curious glances of those waiting for their appointments. “Oh my God, Noah, I can’t believe you
still
can’t keep your mind on anything important. To think I’ve got a baby growing inside me right now, and you’ve still got the attention span of a child. How are you to going to support me if you can’t even keep your mind on anything but your—”

“Why
did
you go to the media first about your pregnancy?” he asked, cutting her off. His heart pounded hard. Fast. “Why did you think I’d reject you if you called?”

She pursed her lips, shifting on the seat. Lowering a hand to the tiny bulge of her belly, she rubbed it in slow circles. For the first time, Noah noticed the diamonds on her fingers—large, gaudy things he’d never purchased for her. “I told you,” she muttered, watching the movement of her hand. “I needed to get your attention.”

He studied her, a strange calm falling over him. “My attention? Or just attention in general?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re being silly.”

Picking the magazine up again, she made a show of opening it, darting a quick look at the silent mothers in the waiting room.

Noah watched her. “How’s Ricardo?”

She stiffened. He hadn’t asked her about their dog walker before now. Perhaps because he’d believed her grief sincere at the airport.

“Is he well?”

Contemptuous eyes clashed with his. “If you’re going to throw Ricardo in my face constantly—”

“First time I’ve asked.” He cocked an eyebrow, a surreal calm enveloping him. “How much money does a celebrity dog walker make a year, by the way? On average? Enough to cover the costs of having a baby?”

Heather ignored him. Kept reading the magazine. Noah couldn’t miss she gripped the cover with such force her fingers had smudged the ink, turning her smiling image to a blurred grimace.

“What did your agent say about your pregnancy?”

She didn’t acknowledge him. Her knuckles, however, grew whiter.

He narrowed his eyes. “If you’re twelve weeks pregnant, why didn’t you call me when you missed your first period? Or announce it then? Why did it take seeing me with Pepper to make you realize
you
regretted
leaving me for our dog walker?”

She shifted on her seat again, trying to hide her fluster at his reference to the gossip magazine Samuel had shown him the day before. “Pepper. Pepper,” she muttered. “Is
that
who you want to have pie with? The little gold digger from the bar? The waitress?” She curled her lip and sniffed, snapping the magazine farther open before glaring across the waiting room. “Doesn’t the receptionist know who we are?”

She jerked to her feet and stormed across to the counter, stilettos clicking on the marble floor like gunshots.

Noah watched her, trying to find the love he’d once felt for her in his heart. It had to be there, right? If she was the mother of his child, surely there had to be a connection?

“Excuse me, sir?”

He swung his head toward the child’s voice at his elbow. A little girl no older than three stood at his knee, his phone in her chubby fingers. “Dropped this.”

He smiled, taking his phone. “Ta muchly, gorgeous one.”

She giggled, her cheeks growing pink, and then she rushed back to her mother, who smoothed a calm hand over her deep auburn curls.

Noah’s gut clenched. His chest constricted.

“The service here is as bad as Doctor Carr’s,” Heather snarled, lowering back into her seat, blocking Noah’s view of the little girl and her mother. “I would have thought two famous people like us about to become parents would have been granted special treatment, what with how much they charge. I bet Brad and Angelina never have to wait like this. It’s disgusting.” She flicked him a sideways glare. “And you don’t seem to be doing anything about it? Where’s the bad-boy rocker when I need him?”

He leant forward, removed the magazine from her hands and gazed straight into her eyes. “I’ve asked you a lot of questions since I touched down, Heather, but I just realized I haven’t asked the most important one.”

She huffed, squirming in her seat. “And what’s that?”

Noah drew his head closer to hers, the calm he’d felt earlier growing more focused. “Who
is
the father of your baby?”