Lead Him Not Into Temptation (Redemption Book 2) (18 page)

“Hello, Mother.”

I try to examine her appearance as a clue as to what she’s doing here. I haven’t spoken to her in years, and there is no reason I can think of for her unannounced visit. I always knew she and my father kept an eye on things to make sure I didn’t publicly embarrass them, but nothing I’ve done recently should have made it back to them as of yet.

Her Chanel pantsuit is freshly pressed and there isn’t a hair out of place. Nothing about her appearance looks any different from the last time I saw her, except for one noticeable difference. Her iceberg of a wedding ring is missing. She used to flaunt it as a status symbol…this is who I’m married to and this is what he bought me. Her marriage is all she’s ever had. To see her without the ring is alarming.

“I’m sorry to show up like this, I don’t have your phone number. Can I come in?” She looks uneasy and nervous that I may close the door on her, and for a moment, I consider just that.

“Sure,” I quietly say, moving to the side to allow her entry.

She wanders into the living room, examining my pictures, running her hand along the sofa. Really, she’s silently scrutinizing my life, deciding whether she approves of my choices or not. “Your place looks lovely,” she finally announces, taking a seat on the chair.

“What are you doing here?” I question before she gets too comfortable.

“I left your father, and I wanted to let you know.” I sense her unease with not only saying the words, but embracing her new single life.

I sit down on the couch across the room from her, preparing for the massive explanation, which will be coming my way. My mother was happy to look the other way for many years; I can’t imagine what the final straw was which prompted her to leave a life she loved.

“Did something happen?”

“Oh, Jennifer. Too many things have happened. I was too content being oblivious to them. I looked into divorce many times, I just could never find a lawyer who was willing to go up against your father.”

“And that’s changed?” I ask, still not showing much compassion for the woman who also looked the other way when my father sent me away.

“After his latest extramarital indiscretion with his newest twenty-six year old secretary I searched a little harder and found someone to help me. Once I left, I immediately called your Aunt Maggie to find out about you.” Her voice cracks and she covers her mouth, looking away from me.

I grab a tissue from the end table next to me and offer it to her. She accepts and, always the socialite, she delicately dabs her eyes.

“Jennifer, honey, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you, that I didn’t stand up for you. I’m not expecting you to forgive me. I honestly don’t think I deserve your forgiveness, but I think it’s important you hear the words.”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long. I wish I would have had the courage sooner. I want to be a part of your life, if you’ll let me.”

I stay silent, unsure how I feel about her presence in my life.

“I don’t need an answer right now; I just want to put it on the table. This time, on your terms.” She stands up and slides a piece of paper across the coffee table, her phone number written across the card. “When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, please call,” she says and begins to walk toward the door.

I think of all the relationships that have been damaged, the ones that I’ve lost. If I have a chance to possibly mend one, I don’t want to be the reason it doesn’t happen.

“Mom,” I murmur, prompting her to stop. “Give me some time, but I’ll call.”

She turns and smiles at me before walking out the door.

Casen

Jen has avoided my calls for weeks. I’ve been busy negotiating contracts with the label, but every available moment I have, I try to get a hold of Jen. Any texts I send are responded to with simple sentences or a single word. I realize I overstepped some boundaries, but I refuse to let her shut me out forever. I figure if I show up at her apartment, she can’t avoid me anymore.

My nerves are kicked into overdrive as I climb the stairs to her apartment. I feel my heart beat with each step I take closer to the woman I love. When I finally reach her floor, I pass a well-dressed middle-aged woman in the hallway outside Jen’s apartment. Even though Jen’s building is a decent one, I can’t help but wonder if this lady feels as out of place as she looks. She notices my tattoos and I sense her passing judgment as to the type of guy I am. If I didn’t have manners or a pressing mission to attend to, I would do my best to play up the stereotype and make her feel uncomfortable. That’s what Jen would do. The woman provides a slight smile as we pass each other, and I smile back at the thought of what my sparkplug would say to this woman.

I finally make it to her door and knock, still unsure of what I’m going to say or how to approach her.

“Mom, I said I would call,” she says, opening the door extremely quickly and throwing me off guard. Well, that explains the wealthy woman I saw in the hallway.

“Nope, just me,” I tell her with a wave. “You won’t answer my calls, you left me no choice.”

She nods and moves aside for me to come in, thank God. She leads me to the kitchen and I pull out a barstool at the counter to prepare for the discussion of my life.

As soon as she enters the kitchen, I begin the begging. I need her to forgive the invasion of her privacy. I’m not a groveling man, but the bottom line is, I need this woman.

“I’m sorry for going behind your back, Jen, I didn’t want to hurt you. If anything, I wanted to fix something for you,” I explain.

“I understand why you did it, Casen,” she says, leaning on the counter, her expression giving nothing away as to my fate. “I don’t know if I ever would have had the courage to follow through if you hadn’t set up the meeting. So in a way, I’m thankful you did what you did.”

I must be hallucinating. Never did I think she would be thankful. Pissed, livid, irate…yes, but never thankful. “So where does this leave us then? Are we okay?” I ask, hopeful as to where this conversation is headed.

Instead of answering Jen turns toward the fridge and opens it, hiding her face behind the door. She’s avoiding my question. “Do you want something to drink? I’m going to grab a water.”

I hop off the barstool and move around the counter to stand behind her. “I don’t want a drink, Jen. I want to know if I still have you.”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and I know it’s not avoidance. She’s hiding something. “You need to focus on the record deal. It’s such a great opportunity, I can’t let you throw that away for me.” Her back is still to me as she stares at the inside of the fridge, which only contains drinks.

Placing my hand on her back, I attempt to soothe her. “I’m not throwing anything way. There’s no reason I can’t have both.” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her away from the fridge, closing the door once there’s room.

That’s when I see it. The picture, which steals every bit of air from my lungs. My arm around Jen falls away and my focus on her dissipates. Everything falls away except the little bean of a baby in the photo. My world shifts on its axis and I can hardly catch my breath.

“Please tell me it’s mine,” I croak out, strangling on each word.

She turns to face me and nods, tears gathering in her eyes. “Casen,” she whispers.

“Were you going to tell me? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” I ask, letting the pieces fall into place. I turn and leave the kitchen to give myself some needed space. Jen follows behind me.

“Casen, please. I didn’t want you to feel trapped. You love music, I couldn’t put you a position where you thought you had to choose one or the other,” she pleads as I pace the living room, wearing a hole in the carpet.

“Then don’t make me choose,” I roar. “Besides, family always comes first. If I needed to choose, it would always be you, whether there were kids involved or not. As much as I love music, I love you more.”

“But you’re a musician. What would you be if the music wasn’t there?” she argues, still not understanding what I’m trying to tell her. I offer my hand and she takes it, allowing my fingers to weave between hers. I lead her to the couch and pull her down to my lap.

“I get to be something way more important than some guy who plays guitar in a band, sparky,” I tell her, pushing her hair away from her face and slowly planting soft kisses on both of her cheeks. When she closes her eyes to absorb the feeling of my touch, I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I get to be a dad.”

Hoping to find the conviction behind my words, her head pulls back to dive into my eyes, searching them for sincerity. When she finds the love I’m trying to convey, she places her lips to mine in pursuit of reassurance. Her arms tangle around me and peace surrounds us. We are going to be okay. We are going to be a family.

Jen

“I can be there in fifteen minutes,” I say before ending the call and throwing my phone into my purse. I knew once the guys found out about the baby, they would want to address the issue somehow. I just figured they would work it out with Casen. So, John’s call has me a little flustered.

Slipping on sandals and grabbing my keys, I rush out the door to the pizza place he is supposed to be meeting me at. I haven’t ventured into many restaurants in the last few weeks. Whoever gave morning sickness its name is full of shit because it can hit you anytime of the day and I refuse to throw up in public. I’m hoping that pizza is a safe choice.

I make awesome time, for once, and find a front-row parking spot at Beau Jo’s Pizza. The smell of sausage and homemade bread filter out of the establishment and attack my senses, but thankfully doesn’t spark any waves of queasiness. Swinging open the door, I send up a little prayer that my luck continues and the Hawaiian pizza that I’m about to inhale stays down.

John is standing in the foyer and immediately smiles when he sees me. “Come here, prego,” he says as he picks me up and swings me around. “I’m shocked you’re on time; I thought we’d be waiting for at least another twenty minutes.”

I roll my eyes, at his backwards compliment. He’s like a big teddy bear that you can’t help but love. I only wish he would get a better handle on the idea of personal space. He constantly invades my bubble and doesn’t think twice about it.

“We?” I ask hesitantly when he finally puts me down. “I thought it was just you and I.”

John looks at me apologetically but doesn’t get the opportunity to answer. The men’s room door opens and out walks Royce. “Well, shit. There goes my dinner; the nausea has returned,” I say sarcastically.

“Hey, Yoko, glad you could make it,” he says with a shit eating grin while he adjusts himself.

I narrow my eyes at John, who instantly looks away from me and walks to our table. So I turn my attention to my nemesis.

“Hello Royce. I noticed you’re having a below the belt situation,” I say, pointing to his crotch area. “Did Stacy finally give you the clap or is your dick so small, you pissed on your balls?”

I turn on my heel to catch up to John, but Royce moves quickly placing his arm around my shoulder. “Since you’re curious, I was shifting things around because my anaconda keeps hitting my knee and I need to move the man snake to the other side before it leaves a mark. I bruise like a peach.”

He chuckles at my look of disgust. “You’re so gross,” I insist as I push him away from me and rush to the table. John pulls my chair out for me, and I sit down as I grab a menu to help avoid any more conversation with Royce.

My plan fails when Royce steals my menu and sits across from me. John looks completely embarrassed but says nothing, so I take the initiative. “What do I owe the pleasure, since we apparently, are not having pizza tonight?”

“We come in peace, Jen,” John explains. “Really. We don’t mean to piss you off. Right, Royce?” His lips are tight and his eyes narrow, willing Royce to go with the flow. The ostentatious lead singer I know though is not going to give a shit about the request of his friend.

“You bet.” Royce affirms as he waves over a waitress. “I don’t want to be in the war path of those hormones; a man like me wouldn’t survive.” John shakes his head and rubs his hands across his face like this discussion is torture for him.