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“Sorry man, she’s not here tonight. Called out last minute. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Damn it. “No, that’s okay, but thanks.”

  I start heading back downstairs when Mason stops me. “While we’re out, let’s at least have a beer. It’s not often your ass actually gets out of the house.”

  I agree, and we head downstairs to have a beer at the bar. We bullshit over sports, UFC, and the upcoming holidays. Mason is going to Breckenridge with us for Thanksgiving. When we’re done with our second beer, we agree to call it a night and head home. Hopefully Charlie will show up tomorrow and I can apologize to her then.

  We get to the library at a quarter ‘til noon. Mason is with us and Lexi is bouncing off the walls with excitement. We find Lexi’s station and wait for further instructions. I notice Lexi keeps looking around, a frown replacing her usual smile.

  “What’s wrong, Lex?”

  “Charlie said she would be here but I don’t see her yet.” I let out a frustrated sigh and hope this woman shows up for my daughter’s sake. Then I mentally kick myself because if she doesn’t show up, I only have myself to blame for the stupid comment I made. I haven’t seen anyone leave an impression on Lexi the way Charlie has, and it will break her heart if she’s stood up. Lexi has been raised by two men, and while I would like to think we’re enough, I know she craves a woman’s presence and approval.

  Ever since my sister moved here a couple months ago for school, Lexi has latched on to her. Morgan is an art design major so she can relate to Lexi, but she’s still an eighteen-year-old in college so she’s busy finding her place in this world, which means her time with us is limited.

  While at Lexi’s young age, her happiness is dependent upon those I allow into our life, I learned a long time ago not to depend on anyone else for my happiness. I’m not going to pretend Lexi’s mom and I were some great love story that ended with hearts broken. She was nothing more than a blip on my radar. We dated briefly, during which time she was usually drunk or high whenever we hung out. We broke up when I chose Bella, and then we had a one-night stand during a low point in my life. She got pregnant and tried to convince me to take her back. I tried to fix her. I tried to help her. Unfortunately, she only wanted me if I was going to be with her, and when she realized it wasn’t going to happen and that Lexi wasn’t the other guy’s, she took off with her druggie boyfriend never looking back.

  The day she left, I vowed to always protect my little girl. Do I think Gina is a piece of shit for leaving her daughter? Hell yeah, I do. But I would rather she have walked away than stuck around only to break my daughter’s heart later. My biological father was an abusive asshole and luckily my mom got out before he could do any permanent damage. I’m not saying Gina would have been abusive but you shouldn’t force someone to be a parent who doesn’t want to be one. I don’t even remember my father, and to be honest, I prefer it that way. Kaden Scott is my dad in every way that matters.

  I’m also not going to pretend to be some jaded man who has trust issues with women because the one woman I loved didn’t love me back. Did I love Bella? Yeah, I did, and for most of my life, but I know our story wasn’t meant to have a happily-ever-after. We were meant to be best friends and I accepted that years ago. I know one day I will find a woman who is meant for me and Lexi, but at only twenty-seven years old, I have plenty of time.

  With that said, I’m extremely cautious of whom I let into our circle. I have seen too many parents walk away from their kids. My biological father, Lexi’s mom, Mason won’t even discuss his parents. Marco was raised by a druggie mom who overdosed. As Lexi’s only parent, I need to keep my guard up when it comes to my daughter. I might have been wrong in what I said the other day to Charlie, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting just any woman into my life, let alone my daughter’s. Trust is earned, not given, and I’m not going to give my trust away. I have to be twice as cautious. Once for me and again for my little girl.

  I look around for Charlie but don’t see her anywhere. I hope she shows up but I feel like I need to prepare my daughter in case she doesn’t. She called out from work last night so maybe she’s home sick.

  “Lexi, listen. I know Charlie told you she would be here but I don’t want you to be upset if she doesn’t show up. Something could’ve come up, and because she doesn’t know our phone number, she couldn’t call. I want you to have fun. Focus on painting. Okay?”

  Lexi nods her understanding but I can tell she’s disappointed. Thankfully the woman in charge steps up to the microphone to discuss the contest. She introduces herself as Heather Young and tells everyone she is the gallery coordinator. She explains that all the contestants must be between five and ten years old. They each are given one large canvas and several painting tools and paints. They can only use what is given to them and they only have four hours. The contest is being run by a local art gallery to promote art for kids. The top three winners will get their work displayed in the gallery for a month and the first-place winner will get into the gallery’s winter break camp for free. Lexi doesn’t seem to care about any of that. My little girl simply wants to paint.

  The woman announces everyone may begin and Lexi picks up her pencil to begin drawing. For the next four hours, I sit and watch my daughter draw and color and paint her little heart out. She stops once to use the bathroom and another time to get one of the snacks and drinks they’re selling. Her drawing is similar to the one Charlie drew the other day but Lexi has added her own personal touches to the scene.

  Mason stays the entire time and my sister shows up with her boyfriend for a little while to show their support. I send tons of picture texts to my mom and post a few on social media. Every now and then I notice Lexi stops and looks around, and I know she’s hoping Charlie will show up. My guilt starts to set in as I wonder if it really is possible Charlie didn’t show up because of what I said to her the other day. Regardless, my daughter is about to get her first experience with being letdown and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  Life is messy and full of letdowns, and I know I can’t keep my daughter in a bubble, hidden away from all disappointment. But in the future, I won’t make the mistake of allowing a woman into our circle so easily.

  Five

  Charlie

  When I agreed to go to the library on Saturday, I didn’t realize it would fall on October 10th. Had I known this, I never would’ve agreed. Yesterday before I left for work I noticed the date and had a full-blown panic attack. After calling out of work, I called my therapist. She talked me down, but when I woke up this morning, it hit me even harder.

  I didn’t even want to get out of bed. October 10th. My daughter’s birthday. Only she isn’t here with me to celebrate. There will be no cake or presents. She won’t be blowing out any candles. My hands go to my stomach, remembering the day she was born. The excitement and love that filled the room. When the doctor took her out of me and settled my little girl onto my chest, my heart felt so full. I didn’t think it was possible to love another person as much as I loved Georgia in that moment. As the good memories fill my head, my heart drums so hard it feels like my chest is going to crack.

  My therapist, Dr. Monroe, told me last night that how I handle today is up to me. I could celebrate on my own—focusing on the positive memories I have accumulated over the years with my daughter, or I could mourn the fact that my daughter isn’t here with me to celebrate. The choice is ultimately up to me.

  I know Dr. Monroe means well, but fuck that. There’s nothing good about today. I don’t care how much of an optimist you are, there’s no way to spin today into something positive. I think back to my daughter’s last birthday and how looking back it was the day that set everything in motion.

  One year ago today…

  The community clubhouse is filled to the hilt with people. Socialites, politicians, there’s even a few celebrities here. Everybody is laughing and socializing, celebrating Georgia’s third birthday. Professionals have been brought in to de
corate. The balloons and streamers are pink and white, and the cake is a three-tier triple berry. The tables are covered with the finest of linens. Everything about this party screams elegance and wealth. But do you know what it doesn’t scream? A child’s birthday party.

  Georgia is escorted from guest to guest by my mother-in-law, Hilda Reynolds, thanking everybody for coming. There are a few children present, but mostly the guests in attendance are here to mingle with my husband, who is one of the wealthiest oil tycoons in the United States. He privately owns and runs a large oil company out of Texas, where we live. It was passed down to him from his father, who died a few years back of a heart attack.

  Georgia wanted a princess party. She wanted Princess Aurora and Cinderella, and her favorite, Jasmine, to all be on the cake. She wanted to invite her friends from the mom’s group we’re in, and she wanted it to be a tea party. Unfortunately, what Georgia wants doesn’t matter. Her father grimaced when she explained what she wanted. Afterward, he told me I needed to stop poisoning her mind with Disney shit and forbade me from attending any more mom’s group meetings.

  After cake is served, Hilda thanks everyone for coming and Justin escorts Georgia and me to the town car to take us home. “I’ll see you later,” he says, giving me a soft kiss on my cheek. He’s great at putting on a show in front of others. Georgia and I arrive at home, and since I know Justin won’t be home for a couple days, I crawl into Georgia’s bed with her and give her my gift.

  She smiles sweetly and opens it. It’s the only gift she will be given that isn’t clothes or money. “Mom!” she squeals. It’s a Disney princess tea set—made of ceramic instead of plastic. “Thank you, Mommy! I love it.”

  “I love you, Georgia.” I give her a kiss on her forehead and play with her hair until she falls asleep, clutching the tea set to her chest.

  I wake up to being dragged out of bed, pain radiating from my scalp. That’s when I realize I fell asleep in Georgia’s bed! And the pain is from Justin, who is dragging me out of her bed by my mane. My body hits the hard ground and Georgia wakes up screaming. “Daddy, stop! You’re hurting mommy!” It’s the first time he’s hurt me in front of our daughter and she’s scared. Up until now, she has only witnessed him yelling.

  “Justin, please stop,” I beg, “Not in front of our daughter.” But he doesn’t listen. He drags me a bit farther then leans over me—the stench of alcohol on his breath making me gag—slapping me in the face the same way he always does. Georgia screams and jumps out of bed.

  “No, Georgia!” I yell, “Stay back.” But she doesn’t listen, and when she grabs Justin’s arm to stop him from hitting me, he flings her off him, her head hitting the ground, screams of pain wailing from her.

  It’s in this moment, I make the conscious decision to leave him as soon as possible. It’s one thing to hurt me, it’s another thing to hurt my daughter. He gets off me and picks her up. “See what you did, Charlotte?” He glares my way then stalks out of the room with Georgia. I follow behind him to the kitchen where he makes an ice pack and places it on the back of her head.

  He starts off sweet, apologizing to her, saying he didn’t realize she was that close to him. When she continues to cry, he gets agitated and snaps at her. “Stop crying. It’s enough.” Then he turns toward me. “I only came home to grab a file and I find you sleeping in our daughter’s bed. Stop treating her like a damn baby. This is why she cries over everything.”

  He stalks out of the room and a few minutes later the door slams behind him. I run to Georgia and hold her close, apologizing for not being able to protect her. She cries that her daddy is mean and I vow to get us away, sooner rather than later.

  I look at the clock and see it’s already three in the afternoon. I have spent the entire day crying instead of going to the library to see Lexi. Then a thought occurs to me—while I can’t be with Georgia, I can be with Lexi. I might have let one little girl down but there’s no reason to let another one down. She’s expecting me at the library and I’m going to be there. It’s not like her father would leave me in charge of her. He pretty much made it clear how little he thinks of me when he commented on me being a stripper. As long as I keep my distance I can’t hurt her, right?

  I jump out of bed, take a quick shower, then try my best to cover my red streaked and puffy face with makeup—the result from the hours I’ve spent crying. Once I accept that’s the best I’m going to get, I get dressed and grab my purse, lock the door behind me, and grab a cab downtown. I get there at ten ‘til four and run through the doors, following the arrow up the stairs to the children’s floor of the library.

  The place is quiet and it doesn’t look like a painting contest is going on. “Excuse me,” I say to the librarian, “Do you know where the painting contest is being held?”

  “Downstairs in community meeting room A.”

  Shit! I thank her and run back downstairs. I find room A but when I do, the place is almost empty. Canvases and easels are spread out through the room, all covered in completed art. The smell of fresh paint permeating in the air. I’m too late but I try to see if maybe Lexi is still here. Chances are she probably forgot about me by now, but I still feel the need to find her, or at least her finished painting.

  “You’re late,” a voice behind me says causing me to turn around. It’s Lexi’s dad and if looks could kill I would be a dead woman—his voice is cold and his face is devoid of all emotion. My mind goes back to Justin and the way he would speak to me. Instinctively, I avert my eyes, not wanting to look at him.

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day. I’m assuming she’s still here?” My eyes dart around the room trying to find her.

  He doesn’t answer me, but instead says, “Her Uncle and Aunt both came to watch her. I’m here watching her, supporting her. But the entire time, she kept looking for you. You shouldn’t have said you would be here if you couldn’t make it. I went by your work last night and the bouncer said you called in sick. Are you sick?”

  I want so badly to explain why I’m late but it would mean talking about my past. It would mean having to explain the significance of October 10th, and I’m not ready to speak about today or any other day regarding my daughter for that matter. Speaking to the therapist is hard enough. Most days we focus on me. On me healing and moving forward from an abusive relationship as well as moving forward from—

  “Hello?” Tristan waves his hand in the air, clearly annoyed with me. I must’ve gotten lost in my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I’ve conversed with others—almost a year since I moved here and before that, my entire world revolved around Georgia. Other than the few mom group gatherings we attended, I lived a lonely life for many years. I may be a bartender at Plush, but with the loud music, and people coming there with the purpose of drinking, dancing, and hopefully getting laid, most pay me no mind. And those who do, generally do all the talking. While I’m friendly with the women I work with, I don’t hang out with them. We don’t converse. Everybody is busy living their life.

  “No, I’m not sick,” I say, answering his question. “I’m sorry I’m late, but may I please see her?”

  He lets out a sigh and swipes his hand to the left indicating where I can find her then leads the way. Lexi is sitting on the stool in front of her canvas. She’s done with her painting and my goodness, it’s beautiful! This little girl can paint better than most adults.

  She looks up, and when she spots me, she smiles wide but it quickly morphs into a frown when she remembers I’m late. “You came,” she says softly and my heart cracks. All I want to do is rewind the time and get my head out of my ass so I could be here at noon.

  I kneel in front of her so we’re eye level. “I am so sorry, sweet girl. I should have been here sooner.” Tears prick my eyes as I imagine how many times my daughter felt let down by her dad. I don’t blame Lexi’s father for being upset with me. He’s doing what a good parent does, he’s protecting his daughter.

  “Why were you late?” she asks an
d I can feel myself losing my resolve. I owe her the truth but I don’t want to lose it in front of her and scare her, so I go with a partial truth.

  “Today is an important day for someone I love, and because I couldn’t share the day with her, I was very sad.”

  Lexi places her hands on my cheeks to make sure she has my attention, and the last of my resolve breaks. Tears stream down my face and she wipes them away. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I don’t want you to be sad.” Then she looks to her dad. “Can we take Charlie for ice cream? That’s what you do when I’m sad.”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Lexi girl!”

  Not recognizing the answering voice, I turn around to see who spoke. Standing there next to Tristan is a man I recognize from the other night at the club. He’s almost as good looking as Tristan with messy black hair and blue eyes. Only his are a bright baby blue like a cloudless sky, whereas Lexi and her dad’s eyes are more of a cobalt blue almost indigo. He’s in a grey hoodie and jeans and sporting a huge smirk on his face, unlike the man next to him, who is still giving me the death glare.

  “Mason Street.” He puts his hand out to shake mine, ignoring the fact I’m practically in tears. After swiping away any leftover tears, I wipe my hands on my jeans to dry my hands before putting my hand in his. “Charlie Pratt,” I say, giving him my maiden name. When I left from Texas to LA, I made the decision to revert back to my maiden name. While most people won’t know who Justin Reynolds is, I would rather be on the safe side.

  “So, ice cream?” Lexi asks, batting her eyelashes at her father.

  “Sure,” he says to her. Then to me he says, “I’m Tristan.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard your friends using your name the other night,” I point out. Mason chuckles at my response but Tristan only gives me a small smile and a quick head nod.

  Lexi spends the next fifteen minutes showing me her painting, explaining in detail each part of the picture, why she chose each color, and she even complains about the lack of choices, saying if she would have been allowed to bring her own paints it would have been even better.