No Chance Read online

  Every time we start to get close, he backs off.

  Is it because he feels weird thinking that way about me after he had sex with my sister? Somehow I doubt that. It doesn’t seem like that would be a problem for someone like Brett. He strikes me more as the kind of guy who would invite sisters into his bed at the same time if he had the chance.

  Is it because he isn’t attracted to me? Or maybe he doesn’t want to push me when he knows how much my life has turned upside down...maybe he’s treating me gently because of my grief.

  He’s known for the notches in his belt. Part of me wants to know what it’s like to be one of those notches while the other part of me is terrified of it. There’s a reason he even has that belt in the first place. There’s a reason he doesn’t get involved with women past a single night.

  And the more time I spend with him, the more I want to not just uncover that reason...but I also want to heal it.

  CHAPTER 27: BRETT

  We spend the day with Tyler and his wife and kid, and it feels a lot like a double date.

  Part of me wanted to go back to the zoo to see what we missed and to take her hand in mine again, something that feels so goddamn elementary given what I usually do with women I’ve known five fucking seconds...yet it feels so good. So normal. So right.

  Danielle wanted to take the kids to the botanical gardens, so here we are, strolling among the plants. It’s a good place for us to visit because it’s mostly old people—which means less chance of being recognized in public and more chance of just walking around like normal couples get to do.

  It’s rare I get to go anywhere with Tyler after he rose to notoriety when he appeared on MFB’s reality show, The Replacement War. He’s recognized everywhere, but a ballcap pulled down low and long sleeves to hide his telltale tattoos go a long way to protect our identities.

  The women are pretty much handling the kids as they chat about changing diapers and how to feed a nine month old and shit like that, and Tyler and I are busy discussing our upcoming shows and some new music we’ve been working on.

  We stop for a picnic at lunchtime, and Chance falls asleep in the stroller afterward. Luna climbs in her stroller for the first time all day and falls asleep, too. So then it’s just four adults taking turns pushing two kids around as we walk among fourteen thousand tulips and a million other flowers.

  It’s pretty, I guess, but it’s not really my thing. I’m more used to smoking shit like this than admiring it for its beauty. But the women seem to be having fun, and that’s what matters.

  Except...

  That has never been what matters before. It was always about me and whether I’m entertained the way I want to be.

  Does this mean I’m growing up? Because I’m not sure I like it.

  We sleep in the hotel one more night, which means another night on the stiff couch for me. I’m not sure why I’m punishing myself other than the fact that I’m afraid to share a bed with her again...especially after we spent the last few days growing closer.

  I almost kissed her the other day.

  It took everything in me to stop myself, and I’m still not sure why I stopped myself. I guess because something is different about this girl. I don’t want to fuck her against a wall only to fuck her over in the morning. There’s too much riding on our relationship staying just the way it is. There’s a kid in the picture now, and that changes things.

  Even though a tiny voice in the back of my head likes to remind me that she isn’t his mother...and maybe that makes it okay to take my shot at her.

  We pull into Kansas City the next afternoon, and it’s right to soundcheck, a meet and greet, and then our gig. I hang out in the green room a little longer than I have been. I drink a couple more beers.

  But I don’t search for a hook-up.

  Hannah is at the table in the front cabin when I board the bus. She’s sitting at my laptop editing pictures, and she looks like she’s already gotten ready for bed. She’s been wearing her contacts during the day, and now her glasses fall down her nose just slightly and she twirls a strand of hair between her fingertips of her left hand while she navigates the mouse with her right.

  I ignore the press on my chest. I ignore the twist of my stomach. I ignore the thought that I could decimate the innocence she exudes with the brush of my tongue or the push of a finger or the thrust of my hips.

  Instead, I steer our conversation toward our shared goals. “Get anything good?”

  She nods. “Come see.”

  I move to stand behind her, and once again I’m in awe of her talent. I kneel on the floor beside her to get a better view.

  I don’t know what she does to these photos. I’m not schooled in photo editing or whatever, but there’s a signature to her brand where I can tell it’s something she took...and it’s incredible.

  Tommy is jumping through the air in one and I can practically hear the drums in another. I see Dustin playing the fuck out of his guitar and Tyler keeping the rhythm with his bass. Every picture tells a story of a man doing something he loves, and that love and passion is evident in every single one of these photographs.

  “Goddamn,” I murmur, turning away from the screen to look at her. “These are incredible. You are incredible.”

  Her cheeks color with modesty as she keeps her eyes forward, and it’s just another one of those little things that make her so damn endearing.

  I don’t think I can help myself any longer. I need to know what her lips taste like. They’re always inviting with a muted shine, and I need to know if that shiny gloss tastes like cherries or vanilla or coconut or something else. I need to know what her tongue feels like as it moves against mine. Is she tentative and shy like she is in person? Will I need to lead the way through experiences she’s never had, or will she be confident and in control like the women I’m used to kissing?

  I lean in a little, and I nuzzle her neck for a beat before I brush my lips against her cheek. My chest lights with anticipation as she starts to turn her head toward me, and I can’t help but wonder if this will just be a kiss or if it’ll be a kiss and something more.

  And just as our lips move within mere centimeters, a cry from the back of the bus through the baby monitor seems to snap us both out of the trance binding us together back into reality.

  “I should, um, go check him,” she murmurs, and then she practically runs to the back of the bus.

  That was dumb, anyway. What was I thinking?

  I wasn’t.

  I need to be more careful. This poor girl has the weight of the world on her shoulders. The last thing she needs is me putting more pressure on her.

  And so I won’t.

  She comes back to let me know the baby is fine, and then she heads to bed.

  The moment was broken, anyway. I lie on the couch in some attempt to fall asleep, and just when I’ve finally passed out, a drunk Tommy and his equally drunk target for the night stumble onto the bus rather loudly, pulling me from the sweet clutches of sleep. They don’t give a fuck that I’m lying across one couch as she mounts him on the couch directly across from me.

  “Go to your fucking bed, man,” I yell at them, but they ignore me.

  My options are to go to Tommy’s bed myself—which, uh, no thanks. Or I could go to the back of the bus and risk not only waking the kid and Hannah but also risk waking up with her pressed into me again, or I could just close my eyes and go to sleep right here.

  None of the options are ideal, but instead of dealing with reality, I flip over, pull a pillow over my head, and wish for sleep to wash over me.

  We play St. Louis the following night and then head up toward Chicago, and there hasn’t been much free time in the last few days...but that doesn’t mean I’ve escaped the temptation anyway.

  It’s always there, lingering between us, and I find it when my gaze meets hers already on me or when she brushes past me and the smell of coconut follows her. I find it when I watch how good she is with my kid. I find it when I see her pa
tience both with me as I learn to deal with a child and with Chance as she tries to get him to eat solid food.

  We pull into Chicago in the middle of the night, and I’m sleeping on the couch once again. I hate it, but it’s what’s safest for both of us.

  CHAPTER 28: HANNAH

  We’ll be here in Chicago for the next three nights, so when we wake up in the morning after traveling overnight from St. Louis, we head toward a hotel to check in. As fun as bus living is, hotels have certain luxuries that I’ve already come to appreciate. Brett’s bed—or my bed, I guess, since Brett has been sleeping in the front cabin on a couch—is comfortable, and it’s starting to feel like home, but hotels have showers and clean water and usually more space than our home on wheels.

  Chance has been waking up every night, and I’m not sure if he’s teething or if he’s still getting used to the different environments. I’ve convinced myself that it’s part of the reason why Brett has been sleeping on the couch. I guess it’s easier to think it’s a crying baby rather than something I’ve done to keep him away.

  We check in, find that our suite has a king bed again, and drop Chance at Amanda and Dustin’s room so I can head to a club appearance with the band to take pictures.

  I’m done taking pictures and I’m sitting in the back room waiting for any one of the guys to be ready to head back to the hotel so I can tag along when a text from Amanda comes through.

  Amanda: I don’t want you to worry, but I wanted to let you know that Chance has a fever. Do you want me to give him some acetaminophen?

  Why is it that those words, I don’t want you to worry, send off instant worry signals?

  Me: What’s his temp?

  Amanda: 103.2

  I’m not an expert, but that seems high. I do a quick internet search and learn that for a nine month old, a fever over one hundred two is cause for concern...and his is higher than that.

  Me: I’ll be right there.

  I run out into the club and search for Brett. I don’t see him right away, so I frantically tap out a text to him.

  Me: Where are you?

  “Right here,” a raspy voice low and close to my ear says, startling me.

  I jump as I turn to face him, and he’s smiling.

  I’m not.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, his smile slipping.

  “Chance has a high fever and I need to get back to the hotel.” Tears press behind my eyes as my voice shakes.

  He grabs my hand in his. “I’ll go with you.”

  We run out behind the club where a car waits for us, and Brett tells the driver the name of our hotel with a clear instruction to hurry.

  We make it back in ten minutes. While we’re in the car, Brett texts the other guys to let them know where we went, and I let Amanda know we’re on our way.

  Brett tells the driver to wait for us, and we run through the hotel and get to Chance. His eyes are tired and he’s still awake. He’s shivering even though he’s in fleece pajamas and wrapped in a blanket. Brett grabs his car carrier and we run back down to the car still waiting for us.

  The driver races toward the closest emergency room, and after all the rushing around, when we walk in...there’s a line.

  We have to wait our turn.

  I keep my eyes on the baby. I can’t look around because there are too many painful reminders of my history. I was just in an ER similar to this one a few weeks ago when I lost my sister, and I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to see other people losing the ones they love and I don’t want to see the people fighting for their lives.

  This can’t be anything serious. I can’t lose him.

  It’s just a fever. Just a little fever. This is normal. It happens to babies all the time. Right?

  We’re finally checked in, and then we wait. I keep my eyes focused down on Chance rather than looking around me. Brett’s quiet beside me, holding onto the empty car carrier as I hold Chance in my arms. I send up a silent prayer that everything will be okay, and it’s only a short wait before we’re called back to the exam room.

  Techs and nurses are in a flurry all around us, and they have me set Chance onto a table and strip him out of his pajamas so they can take his temperature and other vitals. I cross my arms over my chest in some attempt to protect my heart from all this. My chest hurts and I’m on the verge of tears, but I need to be strong for Chance. He’s so tiny on that table with the flurry of activity around him.

  Brett stands beside me, and then he slides his arm around my shoulders and draws me in close. I move my arm around his waist and cling to him as we wait for a word from the nurse.

  “The doctor will be in shortly,” she says, and I move toward Chance to grab him back up into my arms. I wrap him back in his blanket and sit in one of the two chairs in this room, holding him in my arms as we wait. Brett occupies the chair beside me, and he has one arm around me. His other hand gently lies over my hand where it rests on Chance’s blanket near the baby’s arm, and I can’t help but notice how big Brett’s hand looks over mine. I study his long fingers that are so used to holding drumsticks or pleasing women and I think about how those fingers were linked through mine at the zoo in another city just a few days ago.

  The simplicity of his hand holding mine at the zoo screams at me in this moment of chaos while we wait for the doctor to examine this little boy. The boy I love so much that Brett’s just starting to get to know.

  “If it was something serious, they’d be rushing in to check him,” Brett says, and I’m not sure if he’s saying the words as a way to reassure me or himself.

  “Yeah,” I murmur.

  “He’ll be okay, Hannah. But we did the right thing bringing him in just to be sure.”

  Chance closes his little eyes to the sound of Brett’s voice.

  I glance over at Brett, and his eyes meet mine. His reflect the same worry I’m feeling, and somehow knowing I’m in this with him and not by myself makes the load a little easier to bear.

  We keep our eyes locked on each other a few beats, and then, because I feel like this is a moment where we can both be honest, I decide to ask the question that’s been haunting me for days. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He nods. “Anything,” he says, his voice a whisper.

  “Why have you been sleeping on the couch?”

  He flinches at my question, like it hit him unexpectedly from left field. He glances away and sinks back into his chair. His arm is still around my shoulders, but his grasp loosens.

  He draws in a deep breath, and I take note of his every move as he repositions himself in his chair. He’s trying to decide what to say, and I’d venture to guess he’s torn between the truth and some excuse.

  “Just level with me,” I beg. “Please.”

  His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and my eyes flick there.

  Why do I want him to kiss me?

  Sitting in a hospital room waiting for a doctor to examine my nephew is one of the least romantic moments of my life, yet somehow his lips on mine sounds like they’d be the solution to the war raging within me.

  He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and raspy. “I’m not avoiding you.”

  “It feels like it,” I say softly. “It feels like just when we’re starting to get close, you’re trying to leave me the way everybody leaves me.”

  I’m leaving it all out on the table. I’m exposing my most vulnerable side and letting him do what he wants with it. Is it emotional suicide? Probably. But I keep thinking that I’d rather have it out on the table and be honest about the way I feel than hide it.

  There’s more room out here for the truth than buried deep inside my soul, and I can’t keep randomly holding his hand and then watch him run scared. I need to know if he’s feeling it, too.

  He glances away from me as his next words answer that last question. “I’m attracted to you, and I’m not sure I should be. I’ve been trying to keep my distance for both our sakes.”
r />   I press my lips together to try to hold back the emotion those words elicit, but they’re too strong. Tears prick behind my eyes.

  He feels it, too.

  He stands before I get the chance to respond, and he starts pacing around the tiny cubicle where we wait.

  He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re so different than the women I’m used to. You’re real. They’re plastic. You have this past that’s caused you all these scars, and all I want to do is help heal those scars. With the others, I barely cared enough to learn their names, let alone what sort of history they had that caused them to cross my path at the exact moment in time when they did.”

  My jaw slackens a little at his confession. I don’t have any idea what to say.

  In all the scenarios of why he’s been sleeping on the couch, never once did I think it was because he likes me.

  He blows out a breath.

  “But there’s a kid involved. It’s complicated. If I fuck things up with you, and believe me when I say I will fuck things up with you, then how do we finish this tour? How do I get to be around my kid? How are we fulfilling Chance’s mother’s final wishes if we can’t be in the same room as one another?”

  I nod because he’s right. That’s been one of my fears all along, too.

  But sitting here in this emergency room cubicle is just another reminder that life is short.

  It’s too damn short to waste time.

  I finally lift a shoulder. “I guess we have to decide whether taking the chance or not taking the chance is the bigger risk. Because yeah, one or both of us could mess things up...or we could be at the start of potentially the greatest thing to ever happen to either of us.”

  He stares at me and blinks a few times as he processes that, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, the curtain for our little cube pulls back and a doctor walks in.

  CHAPTER 29: BRETT

  “An ear infection?” I repeat as relief courses through me.

  The doctor nods. “I’ll prescribe an antibiotic and he should start feeling better after two or three doses. Acetaminophen will help with the pain and make sure he’s getting plenty of rest.”