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Me: Me too, Kristina.
I exited messenger and made a make-shift ice pack for my face from the airport VIP bar. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I had no patience to deal with paparazzi or fans. All I wanted was my wife. The thinly veiled promise in Daniel Dalton’s words hung over me.
Before I lifted the ice pack to my jaw, my phone chimed to alert me I had voice mail. Scrolling one-handed, I stiffened when I realized it’d come from Ryker over an hour ago.
“Julian, it’s Ry. Don’t freak out, because I’ve already done that. Okay, here it is. Phoebe’s bag broke. That bag that holds some disgusting water shit broke, and she’s in labor. We’re at the hospital and your wife is in labor—and don’t think I don’t know you’re married, because I saw the ring on her finger. I’m not fucking stupid, Julian. You could’ve told me…”
Before he could finish, a beep flooded my ear, and the call disconnected. Grumbling to Zane about having to use the restroom, I made a quick exit and redialed the voice mail. Pounding my fist against the wall, I pulled the phone from my ear and prayed for a second message.
Thank God.
“Damn voice mail cut off on me, but Faith’s gone, and you’re gone, and I’m at the hospital with your wife. Dude, she’s having a baby, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t care how many interviews you have to cancel, just do it. Things are happening fast, man. Your baby is coming…soon.”
Hanging up, I let a long string of curses fly from my mouth. As the last one bounced off the walls of the VIP club restroom, I drew an arm back and punched the plaster with all the force of my frustration and fear. Immediately, pain shot up my arm, and paint chips splintered and scattered onto the floor.
“Fuck.” Shaking my fist to alleviate some of the throbbing, I scoured my voice mail for a third message from Ryker.
There were no updates. No word on how Phoebe was doing. No word on if I’d missed the whole goddamn thing. The only thing I sat and listened to was message after message of Phoebe’s heartbroken voice, thanking me for breaking yet another promise.
***
Two hours later, I sat in the terminal with the ice pack moved from my face to my hand. Pulling it away, I gingerly ran my other hand over my knuckles and inspected the damage. With a sigh, I licked my swollen lip and leaned back into the chair, closing my eyes. Dozens of phone conversations replayed in my mind. None of them brought me anything but ulcers. Three calls from Jaxon Hough updating me on the progression of the futile search for Frank from Hollywood Hills. Two updates from Ryker stole my breath and twisted my stomach in knots. I only returned Ryker’s, and even then, we played phone tag.
Too many other things on my mind took precedence.
Like Daniel Dalton.
Did he know Phoebe was in labor? Had he followed them to the hospital? God, was my entire family in danger? The more I jumped out of my seat and checked the departure board, the later the flight was delayed. I’d punch another damn wall if I could spare a hand.
I touched my cheek and wiggled my jaw again. Zane punched me pretty damn hard. If it’d been anyone else, I’d have come away from that desk swinging and not stopped until one of us was unconscious. But it was Zane, and whatever he’d been brooding about had manifested itself as a cheap punch to my face.
I had a feeling it had to do with Faith. Those two snuck around like we were all fucking morons.
Besides, I was out of control and had it coming. I tossed the homemade ice pack on the bar and started pacing when the vibration came from inside my pocket. Shoving my hand inside, I didn’t bother to see who called before answering.
“Phoebe?”
“Jesus, it’s about time!”
Rubbing the back of my hand over my forehead, I let out a sigh. “How is she?” I paused before asking the question that stuck in my throat. “Ry, did she have the baby?”
“She’s fine, but she’s got one hell of a grip, bro. God help you if you ever piss that woman off.”
The room started to close in on me. “Is she…did I…”
Ryker’s voice lowered. “No, Julian, you didn’t miss it.”
The pain in my face and hand seemed insignificant to the one in my heart. “Thank god. All right, just keep her calm.”
“Julian, your flight was supposed to get in hours ago.”
“I know,” I muttered through gritted teeth. “It got canceled.”
“Your flight?”
“My reservation.” My blood pressure rose with every word.
“How the hell does that happen?”
