Stars in Your Eyes (Queen/Roger Taylor)

38. Skylar

"Talk to me, Sky."

Roger speaks softly from the other side of the room. Even though my back is to him, I can hear his hands anxiously tapping away on his thigh. I don't reply immediately, choosing instead to re-fold a stack of tiny baby pajamas.

"The nanny can do that," Roger notes with a sigh.

"I find it calming," I reply softly. Folding the last garment, I carefully place the stack inside the drawer. Finally, I turn to face Roger. He's leaning against the doorway to the nursery, his face concerned. His eyes flit between mine, and he raises a hand to reach just inside his shirt to rub his collarbone.

"Say the word, and I won't go," he says, his blue eyes boring into mine. "Just say the word."

I wish I could say the word. I've never wanted anything more. If I could, I'd throw myself in his arms, begging him to stay. Begging him not to go on tour for two-and-a-half months. Pleading with him not to leave me here alone with our two-month-old baby, Cadence. I love her with all my fucking heart, but I haven't been coping well.

But I don't do any of that.

"You've just sold out Madison Square Garden," I reply instead as I walk towards him. He opens his arms to me, enveloping me into an embrace. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent.

"Freddie told me that you sold out both nights in under an hour," I continue, murmuring against his skin.

"Nearly 20,000 seats each night," Roger murmurs proudly. "19,600 to be exact."

"You're number 1 in the UK and number 5 in America, and you think I'm going to tell you not to go on tour? What sort of girlfriend would that make me?"

I lean back and muster up a smile in the hopes that he'll believe that I can do this without him. But I don't know if I can. I've fallen into a deep depression ever since the birth, and, honestly, it's taking most of my energy to hide it from the world. I'm meant to go back to work next week, but my brain has turned into sleep-deprived mush.

Roger looks at me, doubtfully. "It's shit timing. You know I'd never plan it like this, right?"

"I know," I reply, and I do know. We didn't plan any of this. "It's okay, truly. Anyway, it'll be different once I'm back to work. I'll barely notice you're gone."

I offer another weak smile, praying that he'll buy it. Usually, he wouldn't; he knows me too well. But he lives for this shit. More than the other fellows, he can't get enough of the touring. He loves it. Freddie and Brian enjoy it, yeah. John tolerates it. But Roger? It's in his blood. Even if I asked him not to go, I'm not sure what good it would do. 

Especially this tour. They've poised to conquer America, and they've been holed up in rehearsals for weeks. They're at the top of the world right now, so who am I to stand in the way?

Roger is about to reply when my mum walks into the room holding Cadence.

"Mum, stop putting these huge bows in her hair!" I exclaim, reaching out to caress my daughter's light brown hair, which has just begun to curl. Cadie looks at me with a smile, something she's just figured out to do. Even though I have so many doubts about how I am as a mother, I love her to fucking pieces.

"There's my girl!" Roger says, reaching for her. He lifts her high into the air over his head, and she squeals in delight. They're smitten with each other, and I don't know how he'll stand being away from her for so long.

A horn honks from outside. I look out the window, wishing that we were still in our familiar London flat instead of out here in the country.

"Your driver is here," I say to Roger, my forehead pressed to the window. Suddenly I don't have the strength to stand upright and turn to face him. My mum says something about giving us privacy, and Cadie begins to fuss as she's carried out of the room.