Nikki Sixx prys himself on being in the sleaziest dirtiest rock band Motley Crue. He is considered the bad boy of Rock 'n Roll and has a reputation that proves it. He meets the highest-paid fashion model in the world, Iman Darlington who is the comp...
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When Nikki came back from the tour, I didn't rush to greet him. I didn't hug him, kiss him, or ask him how it went. I stayed in the nursery, rocking Julius while my mom packed her things downstairs. I heard her sharp, clipped tone as she muttered something to him. By the time I came downstairs, she was already at the door. Nikki stood there looking lost, confusion etched on his face, while my mom shot him one last look of disappointment before leaving.
"Call me if you need anything," she told me, not even glancing back at Nikki.
I nodded, my throat tight, and watched her walk to her car. Nikki tried to say something when I closed the door, but I brushed past him, cradling Julius tightly against my chest.
Theresa had moved into her place before he came back. I wish he had met her here. She would have had a few words to give him.
The house was tense, the air heavy with unspoken words. Nikki tried to follow me upstairs, but I shut the nursery door in his face. I focused on Julius, on his tiny coos and the way his hand gripped my finger so tightly. I didn't need Nikki right now. For the first time in weeks, I felt like I was finally bonding with my son. Every time he cried, I was there. I fed him, burped him, rocked him to sleep. I wasn't perfect, but I was present. And it felt good, better than I thought it would. Better than the anger simmering inside me every time I thought about Nikki and what he'd done.
The rest of the week was much of the same. I kept Julius close to me, his bassinet always within arm's reach. I stopped asking Nikki for help. If Julius cried, I handled it. If he needed a diaper change or a bath, I did it myself. I found myself smiling more, feeling a sense of accomplishment when Julius looked up at me with those big eyes, his tiny face breaking into a toothless grin. Dr. Lewis's advice echoed in my mind—acknowledge the connection, and nurture it, even when it feels unnatural. And now, it didn't feel unnatural anymore. It felt real, and I clung to that feeling.
Nikki, on the other hand, looked like a man drowning. He hovered nearby, watching me with this desperate look in his eyes like he was begging for a lifeline.
"Mani," he'd start, his voice soft, pleading, but I would turn away.
I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to hear his excuses or apologies. Not yet. He'd caused chaos, humiliated me and himself in front of the world, and risked everything. I couldn't just let that slide because he was sorry. Sorry wasn't good enough.
By Thursday, I could feel the tension radiating off Nikki like heat. He was quieter than usual, his steps softer, his voice hesitant whenever he spoke. He stayed out of my way but lingered just enough that I knew he wanted me to say something, anything. But I wouldn't. I couldn't. Not when the anger still burned so brightly in my chest. At night, I'd hear him sighing heavily as he lay beside me, the weight of his guilt palpable in the darkness. And in those moments, I almost wanted to turn to him, to ask why he'd done it, to demand an explanation. But I stopped myself every time.
