PROLOGUE
JULIAN
“C’mon, man. Just for a week. Two at the most. Please!” Allan grips the open doorframe of my apartment, eyes wide and desperate.
My own fist tightens at my side as I peer behind me at the young girl hovering in front of the TV. The backpack resting against her leg looks way too small to hold all the things I think a little kid would need. Thank god her headphones are stuffed in her ears so she can’t hear her father pleading with someone to give him a break from his own kid.
“Dude, my life is shit. This is the last place you want to leave your daughter.”
“She’s your niece.”
“I barely know her!”
“And who’s fault is that?”
I flinch at the attack, narrowing my eyes at my brother-in-law—heavy emphasis on in-law. We never got along before my sister’s death last year. Now?
“What the hell am I supposed to do with a kid? I don’t know anything about any of that stuff. I can’t even take care of myself right now.”
“She’s eleven, not an infant. Julian, please. We’re going to kill each other if I don’t get a break.”
“I get that but—"
“Fine, a weekend then. You can put the TV on and buy her some pizza. I’ll pick her up on Monday.”
“Allan, seriously, I—”
“Do it for Ashley.”
Low blow.
I let out a long breath, casting another glance behind me. Big mistake, because this time I get blasted with a wide-eyed eleven-year-old return stare. Doesn’t he get that I’m looking out for her as much as myself on this? I’m not kidding that my life is so messed up, rock bottom is looking pretty damn good above me. Pale lashes blink over green eyes, and for a split second I see a flash of my sister. Interesting that my niece is the same age as Ashley when I was born. She looked out for me most of my life. Gave up everything to give me a chance.
TV and pizza. Did I even have other plans anyway?
“Fine,” I groan out. “Two days. That’s it. Not a second longer.”
“Just the weekend, I swear. Thank you!” He leans forward, and I step back before he can do something stupid like hug me. No way this dude gets to hug me for this, or anything. Clearing his throat, he retreats into the hall. “I’ll see you Monday, J. Thanks again.”
He shuffles down the corridor.
“Wait, you’re not going to…” Say goodbye to your daughter, I finish silently.
Guess not. Fucker. I’m not surprised.
With a heavy sigh, I close the door and plaster a smile on my face. Two days. I can survive anything for two days.
CHAPTER 1
One month later…
JULIAN
“Naomi! You eating or what? We have to go!” I storm down the hall and bang on her door, yet again. Nothing. Just the loud blare of guitars and angsty metal screaming that has even my musician-worn eardrums bleeding. Yesterday it was dance-pop. The day before the honkiest honky-tonk. I swear she’s throwing anything on her speakers that she thinks will mess with my alt rock sensitivities. But joke’s on her. Just because I made—and lost—a career in modern rock doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate other genres of music.
Just maybe not so damn loud, and not when I need to be out the door in a minute for one of the biggest rehearsals of my life.
“Naomi!” I shout over the commotion, slamming my fist against her door again. When she still doesn’t respond, I push it open and flinch. “Ah shit…” I back out and shield my eyes way too late as she shrieks.
“Uncle J!”
The music cuts off mid-screech, probably so I can better hear her hysterics. “You can’t just come into my room!”
“You weren’t answering! I have to go, Naomi. Like, now. Scratch that, five minutes ago.”
“I’m getting dressed!”
“I saw that.”
“You’re not supposed to, that’s the point!”
“Oh chill out. It’s not like you were naked.”
Wrong answer.
She wasn’t, but I guess “underwear” to an eleven-year-old girl in front of her uncle is indistinguishable from naked. I’ve been learning all kinds of things from preteen glares over the last month we’ve been stuck together.
“Also, you shouldn’t curse so much around me,” she adds with impressive venom as I hover in the hall. I release a tiny smile at that one. Pretty sure the mouth on that girl is worse than mine. She’s just looking to pick a fight. Too bad I don’t have time for that.
“Sorry. You’re right.”
Her retort lands in an audible choke I can hear from outside her door. She wasn’t expecting that. Probably because we’ve done nothing but argue since her dad dropped her off a month ago. She doesn’t want to live here, fine. I get it. She hates me. Fine, get in line for that too. Her life is fucked up. Plenty of room in that club as well. But I’m doing everything I can to fix the mess I’m in. She’s… eleven. I keep forgetting that.
Eleven sounds so young, and yet, this girl-slash-kind-of-woman is not at all how I pictured kids. There’s no drool or snotty debris, just lots of grunting and snarky mumbling.
Should I have called some government agency when Allan never came back? Probably. I’ve seen evidence he’s not dead, just a deadbeat. And I almost did call more times than I can count. But every time I’d pick up the phone in a bout of exasperation, I’d think of Ashley, smelling like grease and holding that glorious bag of burgers from the restaurant where she worked so I could eat that night. That’s right, the job she took after dropping out her senior year to support us and, well… I couldn’t make the call. I couldn’t sign my niece up for a life of foster care and group homes, same reason Ashley gave up her life to give me one.
Our mother was non-existent, our father useless. Pops did his best until age turned him from guardian into dependent. He’s passed on, though our parents are still alive somewhere, I think. Who knows. They didn’t give a shit about us then, they sure as hell don’t now. Probably don’t even know their daughter died of a brain aneurism at age thirty-six.
Naomi’s father clearly comes from that same deadbeat mold. Kind of think I tried to warn Ashley about that when Allan first entered our lives and ditched the second Naomi was born, but alas. What did her kid brother know? Nothing apparently.
I still don’t, because holy hell, what is happening right now?
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing at my niece’s exposed stomach as she pushes past me into the hall.
“A shirt?” she says, glancing down at the strip of fabric covering boobs she doesn’t even have yet.
“No freaking way. Put a real shirt on. We’re going to a rehearsal.”
“This is perfect for a band thing.”
“In ten years maybe. Put a fucking shirt on!” I wave my hand toward the closet I spent way too much of my dismal savings on to stock.
“You shouldn’t say fuck in front of me.”
I clench my fist and pull in a calming breath. “Fine. Put a damn shirt on.”