Pretty Baby

Chapter 20

I adjust my leather jacket, ready to head out the door on our mission to find Xavier. Jade stands beside me, her hand on the doorknob, when suddenly there's a sharp knock. We exchange a puzzled glance before Jade opens the door.

Standing on our porch is an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a no nonsense expression. Behind her are two familiar faces. Mike, my longtime drummer, and Derek, the bassist I met at my fortieth birthday bash.

"Mr. Fulton?" the woman asks, her voice crisp and professional. "I'm Margaret Heeler from the Tennessee Department of Children's Services. I'm here for the court-appointed home study."

My heart sinks. In the chaos of the past few days, I'd completely forgotten about this. I force a smile, trying to hide my panic. "Of course, Ms. Heeler. Please, come in. May I call you Maggie?”

“No,” As Margaret steps inside, Mike and Derek follow, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"Hey, Zac," Mike says, giving me a sheepish grin. "We, uh, are here to record per Xavier’s request. Finish up the album."

I nod gratefully. Having them here might actually help show that I have a stable work life and support system.

Jade, ever the gracious hostess, steps forward. "Ms. Heeler, I'm Jade. Zac’s girlfriend. Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea, water?"

Margaret shakes her head. "No, thank you. I'd like to get started with the tour, if that's alright."

Jade nods, slipping easily into tour guide mode. "Of course. Let's start with the living room."

As Jade leads Margaret through the house, I turn to Mike and Derek. "Guys, why don't you head to the studio and start setting up? I'll join you as soon as I can."

They nod, understanding the delicate situation. As they head towards the back of the house where my home studio is located, I follow Jade and Margaret, listening as Jade expertly highlights all the child-friendly aspects of our home.

"This is the living room," Jade says, gesturing to the cozy space. "As you can see, we've childproofed all the outlets and secured the bookshelves to the wall. Zac often reads to Penny here. It's their special bonding time."

Margaret nods, making notes on her clipboard. Her eyes linger on the framed photos on the mantel, mostly of Penny, but also a few of Jade and me with her. I see a flicker of approval in her eyes, and I feel a glimmer of hope.

As we move through the house, Jade continues her tour, pointing out safety features and sharing anecdotes about my life with Penny. I chime in occasionally, but mostly I let Jade take the lead. She's a natural at this, painting a picture of a loving, stable home.

When we reach Penny's room, I feel a lump form in my throat. Jade opens the door, revealing the cheerful space decorated in soft pinks and purples.

"This is Penny's room," Jade says softly. "Zac painted it himself. He wanted it to be perfect for her."

Margaret steps inside, her eyes taking in every detail from the handmade mobile hanging over the crib, to the bookshelf filled with children's books.

"Mr. Fulton," she says, turning to me. "Can you tell me about your daily routine with Penny when she's here?"

I clear my throat, pushing down the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. "Of course. We usually start the day with breakfast together. I make her favorite, banana pancakes. Then we might read a book or play with her blocks. She loves building towers and knocking them down."

As I continue describing our days together, I see Margaret's expression soften slightly. She asks a few more questions about Penny's schedule, her medical care, our plans for her education. I answer as best I can, hoping my love for my daughter shines through.

After what feels like hours but is probably only about forty-five minutes, we complete the tour of the house. Margaret turns to me, her expression unreadable. "Thank you, Mr. Fulton. I'll need to observe an average day here, of course. This has been very informative. I'll be here for the rest of the day, if that's alright."

I nod, relief washing over me. "Of course. Make yourself at home. I, uh, I have some work to do in my studio if that's okay? Part of providing for Penny."

Margaret nods. "That's fine. I'll just observe and take notes. Pretend I'm not here."

Easier said than done , I think, but I force a smile and lead her to the studio. Mike and Derek have everything set up, and I can see the curiosity in their eyes as I enter with Margaret in tow.

"Guys, this is Ms. Heeler. She'll be observing us today as part of my custody evaluation," I explain. They nod, understanding the gravity of the situation.

As we start to work, I try to focus on the music, but I'm acutely aware of Margaret's presence. She sits quietly in the corner, scribbling notes on her clipboard. I wonder what she's writing, what she thinks of this unconventional setup.

We run through a few songs, tweaking arrangements and perfecting harmonies. Despite the pressure of being observed, I find myself getting lost in the music. This is what I love, what I'm good at. I hope Margaret can see that. See that I'm not just some washed-up rock star, but a dedicated musician and father.

As we finish up a particularly intense session on a new track, I catch Margaret nodding along to the beat. It's a small thing, but it gives me hope. Maybe she can see that music isn't just my job. It's part of who I am; part of what I want to share with Penny.

The day wears on, a strange mix of normal studio work and the constant awareness of being evaluated. Jade pops in occasionally, bringing us water and food, always with a warm smile for Margaret. I'm grateful for her presence, for the way she effortlessly creates an atmosphere of domestic harmony.

As evening approaches, we're down to the last song on the album. It's a ballad I wrote for Penny, a lullaby of sorts. As I start to play, I close my eyes, letting the emotion of the lyrics wash over me. I sing about unconditional love, about always being there no matter what. When I open my eyes, I'm surprised to see Margaret wiping away a tear.

The song ends, and for a moment, there's silence in the studio. Then, Mike clears his throat. "Damn, Zac. That's... that's something else."

I nod, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Margaret stands, her clipboard clutched to her chest. "Mr. Fulton, I think I have everything I need for today. Thank you for your cooperation."

As I walk her to the door, she turns to me. "Mr. Fulton, I want you to know that I came here today with... certain preconceptions about you. Based on your public image, Your past."

I brace myself, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"But," she continues, "what I've seen today, the love in this home, the dedication to your daughter, the passion for your work… It's clear that you're not the man I expected. I can't make any promises, but I will be noting in my report that Penny has a loving, stable home here with you."

Relief washes over me so intensely, I feel lightheaded. "Thank you, Ms. Heeler. That... that means more than you know."

She nods, a small smile on her face. "Goodnight, Mr. Fulton. You'll be hearing from us soon."

As the door closes behind her, I lean against it, exhausted but hopeful. Jade appears at my side, wrapping her arms around me. "You did it, Zac. You showed her who you really are."

I pull her close, burying my face in her hair. " We did it. I couldn't have done this without you."

Mike and Derek emerge from the studio, looking as drained as I feel. "So," Mike says, "celebratory drink?"

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. "Yeah, I think we've earned it."

As we settle in the living room with a few beers, I play the full demo of the album throughout the house. We talk about the album, about the songs we've created. The stand out tracks, like Tiny Hands , my love letter to Penny, and a song temporarily titled Jade’s Song , gets everyone in the room dancing. My personal favorite, Fuck You, Chloe , has Jade singing along when she’s not laughing.

It's late when Mike and Derek finally leave. I promise them that I’ll finish up the last song for the album soon. As I close the door behind them, I turn to Jade, pulling her into my arms.

"Thank you," I murmur against her hair. "For everything. For being here, for helping with the home study, for... for loving me."

Jade looks up at me, her eyes soft in the dim light. "Loving you is the easiest thing I've ever done, daddy. Even when it's hard, it's easy."

I laugh softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

As we stand there, wrapped in each other's arms in the quiet of our home, I feel a sense of peace settle over me.

"Come on," I say, taking Jade's hand. "Let's get some sleep.”

As we head to bed, I catch sight of Penny's room, the door slightly ajar. I pause, peeking inside. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over her crib, her toys, the rocking chair where I've spent countless nights soothing her to sleep.

"Soon," I whisper, more to myself than anyone else. "Soon, baby girl. Daddy's going to bring you home."

Jade squeezes my hand, and I know she understands. We may not be a conventional family, but we're something. Before I head to bed, I make a pit stop into the studio, feeling a sense of possible creativity after seeing Penny.

I move to the worn leather couch, my guitar resting against the armrest beside me. The room is dim, the only light coming from the flickering TV screen showing a rerun of an old Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode. My mind is elsewhere, lost in thought over Penny.

"Zac, can I help?" Jade's voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. She stands behind me, her hands already kneading into my shoulders. Her touch is warm, firm, grounding.

"I'm fine, Jade," I mumble, not wanting to burden her with my melancholy.

"You're not fine, and that's okay. You can lean on me, too," she whispers, her fingers expertly working out the knots in my tense muscles.

The scent of her, a mix of vanilla and something uniquely her, fills my nostrils. For a moment, I forget about my troubles. Her hands move lower, her thumbs pressing deep into the small of my back. I can't help but groan softly, the tension easing under her skilled touch.

"See? Feels better, doesn't it?" she says, her voice a soothing balm.

I nod, unable to form words as she continues her ministrations. Her hands are magic, chasing away the shadows that have taken up residence in my bones.

As she works, our bodies naturally shift closer. Her chest presses against my back, her breath warm against my neck. Without thinking, I reach up, covering her hand with mine, stopping her movements.

"Jade," I breathe, turning slightly to look at her over my shoulder. Our eyes lock, and there's a hunger there, raw and undeniable.

"What is it, babe?" she asks, her voice husky, her gaze never leaving mine.

"I need... I need you," I confess, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

Her lips curve into a smile, and she leans in, her mouth inches from mine. "Show me."

That's all the invitation I need. I spin around on the couch, pulling her onto my lap. Our lips lock together, a fierce clash of passion ignited by weeks of sadness and anger. Her tongue dances with mine, hot and demanding, as I grip her hips, holding her close.

Our hands roam freely, exploring each other's tight bodies. I tear my mouth away from hers, trailing kisses down her jaw, her neck, to the sensitive spot just below her ear. She gasps, arching into me, her fingers fisting in my hair.

"Harder, babe," she murmurs, her voice laced with desire.

I nip at her skin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. I stand, lifting her effortlessly, and carry her to the nearby armchair. I position her on her knees, her hands braced on the chair's backrest, her ass high and inviting.

I kneel behind her, my hands roaming over her curves, memorizing every inch of her body. My cock strains against my jeans, aching for release. With one swift motion, I yank down her leggings and panties, baring her to my hungry gaze.

"Fuck, Jade, you're so beautiful," I groan, my voice rough with lust.

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes dark and wild. "Then, show me, babe. Fuck me hard."

I undo my belt and jeans, freeing my throbbing cock. I line myself up at her pussy, the tip teasing her. She whimpers, pushing back against me, impatient for what we both crave.

"Please," she begs, her voice breaking.

I thrust forward, burying myself inside her in one deep stroke. We both moan, the sensation overwhelming. I set a punishing pace, each thrust hitting deep with each powerful movement.

"Yes, yes, like that!" she cries out, her body rocking with each impact.

I grip her hips tighter, angling my strokes to hit her sweet spot with brutal precision. Her walls clench around me, milking me for all I'm worth. I can feel her orgasm building, the tremors starting deep within her.

"Come for me, baby girl," I growl, increasing my pace even more.

With a strangled cry, she does, her inner muscles spasming around my cock, sending me hurtling towards my own climax. I roar, emptying myself inside her, waves of pleasure crashing over me until everything fades to black.