Second Chance Baby (Crescent Cove #18)

Chapter 2

TWO

What had I done?

Better yet, what was I doing?

Was it too late to ditch this scene and flat out run, even in these insane Louboutins? I still could run in them with enough provocation. And I certainly had it right now.

Trying not to hyperventilate, I looked around at the other faces in my midst. The hair person who had immediately dragged me into the en suite bathroom to attack my hair with sprays, curling iron, flat iron, and a scary comb that was teasing each strand within an inch of its life. Then there was the makeup girl—emphasis on girl .

God, what was she? Eighteen?

Suddenly, I felt incredibly old and very tired. I didn’t know any of these people.

Then I spotted the photographer through the doorway and the tangle of nerves lessened a bit. Drake Dobson had been my photographer for dozens of shoots over the years.

Seeing a certain name on the roster of this reshoot had been the clincher to do this job. Hell, to basically insert myself into it.

The initial reason had been the head of Saving Hearts Autism Foundation who’d contacted my agent, since she was a friend of a friend. When I saw the rest of the call sheet, there had been no doubt about saying yes. I’d offered myself up for this project even before Stacy, the director, had begged me to come on board.

She’d explained the situation with the previous model who’d been featured in December. The woman had started spewing all kinds of hateful views at a major writer and reader’s convention. Obviously, they no longer wanted to use her.

Could I come on board and reshoot the image? And for my trouble, I’d get to be on the cover too, not to mention I would garner a hefty percentage of profits.

Which I had no intention of taking. I’d be donating my fee in honor of my smart, sweet niece, Amerie. Autism needed more funds for research and support, since more and more kids—and adults—were being diagnosed every day. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t enough money going to such things as it was.

My older sister, Lacey, had a little girl, Amerie, and she’d been recently diagnosed. She was in a program that was helping with one-on-one support in the classroom and in her special music classes, but it just wasn’t enough. The need was far greater than the available resources.

The fact that this shoot was in my hometown, near the autism foundation’s headquarters, had been a bonus for Stacy and Saving Hearts.

I mean, it was one to me too, so I could spend some time with my little girl, along with Lacey and Amerie.

But the real reason I’d jumped on this shoot was what had my stomach truly in knots. Travis Masterson, the man I’d loved since oh, seventh grade or so, was the original male model for this particular part of the project. I couldn’t resist getting a chance to be near him again.

And Carrington.

I closed my eyes as the makeup girl did her thing while chatting with others on the crew. It was soothing to have professional people around me, but it also gave me far too much time to think. My not-so-little girl was now almost eleven years old. How had that happened? And how had I let work keep me away?

Though it wasn’t all work. Not by a long shot. I kept my calendar as jam-packed as possible to run from the long days and nights filled with loneliness from missing my daughter. Staying away from Crescent Cove also meant I also didn’t get to see my sister and her little girl nearly enough, either.

In the darkest part of the night, I missed Travis the most.

In the latter years of our relationship, we’d only worked in one place—between the sheets. Whoa, boy, had we worked there.

At first, being together had been so easy and so natural. We’d stayed together all through high school, the school’s sweethearts. The couple everyone adored. Most popular.

Most everything.

Then he’d blown his ACL, which had required surgery and rehab, so he’d had to change his football career plans. Even then, we’d been so good together. Most of our friends had split up with their significant others during college, but not us. He’d worked construction to make some cash, doing his best to make ends meet. I’d gone to school for early childhood education, and I’d worked as a teacher at the nearby Catholic school.

As his plans had changed thanks to his injury, he’d had to find a new road to take.

He’d ended up taking a trip with his buddies to New York City while I was teaching. Then he’d been spotted by a talent agent, and before I knew what was happening, he was receiving a slew of big-time contracts.

Back then, his excitement had been so contagious. Thinking of only doing the best for him, I’d chosen to shove down my feelings about wondering if we’d, you know, get married. He hadn’t mentioned it beyond it will happen someday, of course, and I didn’t want to risk holding him back from chasing his new modeling dreams after football hadn’t worked out.

Then I got pregnant.

I’d been so confused how to handle things. I’d grown up as one of two daughters with a single mother diagnosed with bipolar disorder. My dad hadn’t ever been in my life, so at first, my fears had made me assume Travis wouldn’t be into the baby. Kids had also been a nebulous someday plan.

And my mind had been full of the awful things my callous mom had made me believe far too young, and the idea of early parenthood had scared me shitless.

But Travis had dived in with both feet, loving being a father with a zeal I’d never expected.

From the day Carrington had been born, the two of them had been so tight. So bonded. And all I’d felt was anxiety. Hormones and postpartum depression had hit me hard, leaving me an overemotional mess.

By the time I’d started to get beyond that haze, Travis was looking at me differently and talking about hitting the road soon to take some of the farther-flung modeling jobs, since more availability meant more cash.

I’d let him go, since I didn’t know how to build…anything. Here I’d grown up in this idyllic small town of babies and families, and I felt utterly clueless with a tiny infant who depended on me for everything.

There I was, barely in my twenties with a little girl and my boyfriend was just…gone.

The next time he’d come home from shooting in the city, he’d seemed like a new person to scared, overtired, hormonal me. Uber confident, hot as hell, and his wallet fat from the shoots he’d racked up. He talked about buying property in the Cove, and I’d gone along with it, not feeling really involved or like much more than a temporary babysitter for my own child.

We had a giant blowup about everything and nothing, and I screamed at him that maybe it was better if we took some time. Created some space. I hadn’t really meant it. I was just frightened and overwhelmed after spending so many nights all alone with my crying colicky baby.

Mostly frightened.

I’d wanted him to love me more than anything, the way I loved him. To want me most. Not just because being together was what was best for our little girl. Of course, I wanted to put her first. But I ached for him to love me like he loved Carrington and not just out of duty.

Somewhere we’d grown all the way up overnight, and I was reeling.

At a loss, I left the Cove and Travis in my rearview. Being tall and blond along with being blessed with the metabolism of youth, I’d followed his lead and scored plenty of modeling work. I visited Carrington every time I could make it home, but he never seemed interested in even speaking to me very much, never mind dealing with the rift in our past.

We were just over. Mostly due to me and my hasty panic-based decision.

Travis was a beloved single dad in a town of many young, single ladies. I was sure they were all too happy to keep him company on the nights he left his adorable baby girl in the care of his doting mom, JoAnn Masterson, the perfect mother and grandmother.

I was a model with a thriving career who secretly wanted nothing more than to build a life with my child and her daddy.

The man I’d loved since just about the first time I ever laid eyes upon him.

And now I was going to see him again in mere minutes. No way was I going to retreat behind my safe walls. He wasn’t my erratic, changeable mother. Early on, I’d learned to protect myself from her wild mood swings by acting indifferent. But I absolutely was not.

I had to figure out some way to show him that.

Nerves buzzed under my skin. Had I made a mistake doing this shoot? Here in my hometown, just like the good ol’ days.

Except not.

“Bridget? Earth to Bridget.”

I looked up to find Drake in the doorway.

“How are you doing, darling? You looked stressed.”

I gave him a smile that I hoped passed for relaxed. I hated when he called me darling . I’d forgotten about that part. “Sorry. Fighting a headache.”

Fighting a hell of a case of nerves, more like it. Though a headache would probably arrive soon enough. Stress headaches were part of my life now.

I’d grown tired of modeling. Tired of being a pretty rack for clothes and not much else. I didn’t want to spend my life having to count calories or making sure my hair was perfect.

I wanted to live. Desperately.

Actually, I wanted a second chance at the life I’d thrown away from fear. Pure and simple. Thinking it would be even worse if I messed up so badly that Travis grew to resent getting tied down with his childhood girlfriend.

“Oh, want some Advil?” Drake lowered his voice with a glance over his shoulder. “Or something stronger?”

“Nope, I’m good.” I didn’t have any clue what the stronger drug was he was offering me, as I’d never taken him up on it. Or taken anyone up on that offer.

My fellow models were always taking uppers and God knew what else. Diet pills, or more accurately, the newest weight loss shots on the market.

Something else I didn’t want any part of.

My weight was yet another thing I couldn’t control lately. Truthfully, I hadn’t bothered. Mostly, I was enjoying my curvier body.

I’d expected my agent, Elaine, to get down on me about it, but she’d loved my new shape, much to my surprise. Said curves were in.

Good thing, since mine seemed to have a will of their own just recently.

“You’re all set, Miss Sheppard.” The makeup artist gave me sunny smile.

“Thanks.” I stood and followed Drake into the main space where we’d be doing the shoot. My gaze shot to the wide, impressively huge bed.

One I’d be sharing with Travis.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something? Water?” Drake stroked a hand down my arm, jerking me out of my thoughts. “Maybe a juice or some coffee? Or anything else you’d like,” he added, trailing off meaningfully.

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” My smile turned cool. Drake was a nice guy, but he’d made it clear he had no problem mixing business with pleasure, if I was interested.

Which I abjectly was not.

“You sure? I can get you whatever you’d like?—”

“I believe the lady said no.”

I shut my eyes. God, that voice. It lived in my dreams and now he sounded even raspier. Older and sexier somehow, though that didn’t seem possible. I’d last seen him in the spring, and he’d been devastating enough.

The guy already starred in every one of my fantasies though I hadn’t touched him in years. But I remembered everything far too well.

Forcing my eyes open, I locked on Travis’s impossibly blue eyes. “Thanks,” I said in an undertone, clearing my throat as I shifted my focus to the older, dark-haired man behind him, Travis’s older brother. “Hey, Penn. Been a while.”

He also cleared his throat before shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Hey, Bridget. You look good.” At Travis’s low growl, he smiled faintly and changed tacks. “I mean, good to see you.”

I had to laugh. They’d always been competitive in the funniest ways. Probably part and parcel of having more brothers than pairs of shoes.

“Good to see you too. How’ve you been?”

“Same old, same old.” He glanced around the room. “Can’t say I’ve ever been at this kind of photoshoot. My headshots were done in a cave.”

I couldn’t help the laugh. “Gotta match the dark stuff you write, huh?”

Surprise spread across his face as his eyebrows shot up. “Yeah. Keeping tabs on me, Bridge?”

I shrugged. He didn’t need to know I’d made sure to preorder every volume of his very long series, gobbling down the latest book as each was released. But I had to play it cool. I didn’t want to seem like a stalker.

Even if I kind of was when it came to Travis and his family.

“Keeps me busy and in favorite uncle status with all the little heathens in our crew,” he supplied while Travis rocked back and forth on his…cowboy boots? That was new.

But him being unable to stay still for even a moment was vintage Travis.

“Oh, nice.” I fluttered my eyelashes. Pure instinct there. “Maybe I can get you to sign one of my copies?”

“You actually bought them?” Delight replaced shock. He held up his black notebook. “Working on the next one as we speak.”

“Of course, gotta support our local talents. I already have it on preorder.”

“Don’t get a swelled head.” Travis elbowed his brother.

“Too late.” Rita Savage, the romance author of Date with Disaster , strolled up to us. I recognized her from the research file for this job. I’d purchased the book, as well, but I hadn’t gotten the chance to read it yet. Her lemon-blond hair was straight, the wispy ends brushing the shoulders of her sorbet-colored sweater. She lowered her sunglasses to the end of her nose. “You’re lucky it hasn’t knocked over the lighting setup in here.”

Travis’s brother blew out a breath before he sneered. “Didn’t have a problem with my head the other day, Duchess.”

I whistled under my breath as Travis took that opportunity to gesture to Rita, clearing his throat around the awkwardness. “Bridget Sheppard, I’d like to introduce you to Rita Savage. She’s the incredible author of Date with Disaster . You must’ve seen all the press it got last year?”

I forced myself to stop staring at Travis, though it wasn’t easy. “Um, sure. Sure. Ms. Savage, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I actually had the book on my wishlist forever, this just gave me the excuse to finally pull the trigger.”

“Call me Rita, please.” She flushed. “Oh, you don’t need to read it.”

“Trust me, I want to. Scrolling social media is a given with the long waits during my photoshoots, and so many people love the book.” My gaze slipped to Travis again, and my heart raced. I swallowed and refocused on Rita. “Glad I could help with the recasting of the cover. Especially since this charity is near and dear to me.”

“I was shocked when my agent told me you agreed to do it. The other cover model ruined her career, and I didn’t know what we’d do for a reshoot.” She pressed her lips together. “Since the cover scene was specific and requires a level of chemistry not common for strangers.”

“Honestly, it’s my pleasure.” Relaxing a little, I glanced from Penn to Rita and noticed their odd body language, swinging between almost too familiar to standoffish.

From my days living with my inconsistent mother, I was used to evaluating feelings in a fingersnap. And these two were acting strangely.

While it seemed like a million years since I’d been around any of the Mastersons for more than a few minutes here and there, I remembered Penn as a charming flirt, not the intense asshole he was being.

Did they know one another? Based on that offhand rude response, it sure felt like they did.

Rita ignored Penn, which seemed to be getting under his skin even more. She smiled up at my guy—no, he wasn’t mine. But my fingers tightened into a fist at my side at his easy smile and open body language. Another reason he was so good at his job. Nothing fazed him.

“And you’re Travis? I’ve heard you’re the charming one, unlike your brother.” Rita went on.

Travis also seemed to pick up on the peculiar tension as his smile faded. “Normally, he has far better manners.”

“She’s not into manners from me.”

Before any of us could speak, Penn took off, heading around the lush bedroom set-up to the sitting room. He dropped sullenly into a chair in the corner with his notebook and opened it, pulling a pencil out of his forest of curls.

Probably a Blackwing one, if memory served.

Such a long-ago memory. I remembered stealing his pencils to do my endless college coursework.

Travis’s voice dragged me back into the now. “Ms. Savage, I don’t know what’s gotten into my brother. I’ll speak to him.”

“No need. I’ll let you guys get to it.” She gave us a strained smile. “Can’t wait to watch your shoot.”

She hurried away before any of us could say anything more.

Once the dust cleared, Travis seemed to shake himself before he marched over to me. I leaped up from my chair, realizing at once how well we lined up. It had been so long, but the heat between us was so familiar I had to fight to keep from trembling.

Thank God.

He grasped my arm so firmly that my clit pounded. It took me a moment to even recognize the sensation, that was how long it had been since I’d even felt a flicker of interest toward anyone.

He led me into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we could have a little privacy, jerking me against his chest—and his hips—in a way no part of me minded. Then his gaze drifted down to slide over me as physically as if he’d used his hand. Both of them plus his mouth. “So, you’re the big deal replacement model. She didn’t give me a name.”

Struck momentarily silent, I managed to nod.

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed a couple times. “You look damn good, Brig.”

Brig . How many years had it been since he’d called me that? Far too many.

“You, too.” My voice was barely a whisper. “How’s Carrington?”

“Good. She’s real good. Took her to school before I came here. Tall just like her mama.” He cleared his throat. “Skinny as a whip too.”

I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Definitely not that anymore.”

“You look fucking amazing.” He tipped back his head and sucked in air. “Daph could’ve told me it was you, so I wasn’t ambushed.”

Ambushed.

I cocked a brow. “Who’s Daph? Girlfriend?” I could barely get out the word. I knew it probably couldn’t be true due to the insider information I’d procured. But the quick hit of jealousy couldn’t be suppressed

“No girlfriend.” His gaze coasted over me once again, lingering on the red toenails peeking out of my open-toe Louboutins. “Daphne’s my agent.”

“Thank God.” Hearing myself, I shut my eyes again. “I’ll just tape my mouth shut now.”

It was his turn to let out a rusty laugh, as if it wasn’t something he did very often anymore. I understood that all too well. Then his hand slid down my forearm to grip my hand—hard.

Instantly, I flashed back to him doing the same after one of his football games in high school. I’d run over to congratulate him for winning, throwing my arms around his neck and then driving my fingers through his damp hair as I crushed my mouth to his. The smell of the ocean from his aftershave mixed with the scents of grass and fresh earth and the tang of fresh, clean sweat, making me moan softly.

Until I realized I was moaning in real life, just from the pressure of his tense fingers closing around mine. And he was smirking at me, just as he used to do.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Deliberately, I shook myself back into the present. “Sorry. Flashback.”

“Which one?”

When I lowered my head, his fingers crept up to skim over the pulse point in my wrist. It was currently beating wildly out of control. “Tell me, Brig.”

“After one of your football games. I met you on the sideline and you grabbed my hand, dragging me against you as I…congratulated you for winning. You always won. Always managed to score the winning touchdown.”

“Not always,” he said, maintaining his hold on me as I caught Stacy marching over to Drake out of the corner of my eye. The set had filled up even more while we’d been talking.

I pushed him back and slipped out into the suite, Travis in tow. There were far more people in attendance, and I had no clue who most of them were.

“We’re going to get this thing started, okay?” Stacy called out. Her gaze dropped briefly to our locked hands before zooming back to our faces with what might as well have been a feral smile. “That work for you two?”