by Daisy Allen
It floods the crowd and the stage in a bright, bright light, I can almost see the lines and wrinkles on everyone’s faces around me.
There’s a stunned silence and then it’s like everyone’s speaking at once. The guys bunch up at the edge of the stage and then it’s Brad’s voice I can hear.
“Sorry, everyone! We’ve had to stop because we have a bit of a situation. There’s a lost child, his name is Ben, he’s about five years old, has one arm in a cast, and is wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt. Can everyone have a quick look around and see if he’s near you? Give us a yell if you see him. Come on guys, let’s all band together, okay? We don’t want to stop the show for any longer than we have to, but we’re not going to start up again until we find him. As you can imagine his mother’s a little distraught and frankly, we love the little dude too. Soooo…BEN ARE YOU OUT THERE? CAN YOU GIVE UNCLE BRAD A YELL SO I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE? Everyone else be quiet, please, unless you have him.”
The silence roars in my ears and I have to cover them until the white noise dissipates and I can focus on the sound.
There’s nothing.
I clasp my hands together and press them against my lips. A silent prayer is sent.
Please let my little boy be okay.
“Uncle BRAD! Uncle Brad! I’m here! It’s me, Benny!”
I twirl around in the direction of the sound, catching Carrie’s eye. She seems to have heard it too and it gives me hope that I’m not dreaming.
“Is that you, Benny Boy?” Brad booms into the mic, his voice mirroring the hope that’s rippling through me.
“Yes! I’m over here!”
A spotlight scans over the crowd and finally rests on a small blue-and-red clad figure. He’s waving with one hand, his good hand, as he skips toward the stage, everyone parting to make room for him. And behind him, Silas.
I run through the space in the crowd to catch up to them.
“I was just with my daddy, Uncle Brad. I’m okay! Your concert is super great!” I hear him chatting as he stands at the edge of the stage looking up at the band.
I push Silas out the way as I kneel down on the ground and gather Ben up in my arms.
“Oh my God, Ben, Ben, my baby, Ben!”
“Hi Mommy!”
The crowd erupts into applause and cheers and I hear someone play a happy little jig on their instrument.
“Ben! Where did you go? I was so worried. Mommy thought she’d lost you.”
“I wasn’t lost. I knew where I was all the time.”
Still holding Ben, I look up onto the stage. The guys are standing there grinning. Except for Brad. He looks so relieved, I think he might pass out. He’s leaning against Marius, one hand massaging the side of his forehead. I realize then that he loves Ben. I don’t know why, but he does.
He catches my eye and he smiles softly and does a little happy wave with his bow.
“You all right then?” he says to me.
I nod and he says something to the band. They take their places and I stand up, taking Ben’s hand in mine. I give Silas a look as we walk past him and he follows us closely behind. The music starts up around us, and we wait until we’re in the relative quiet of the tent before talking.
“Ben!” Carries yells when she sees him and runs up, taking him in her arms much like I had just a minute ago. “Oh Ben, why did you run away? I was so worried about you!”
“I didn’t run away. I went to see Mommy. Then someone bumped into me and I got caught up in a crowd. I got kinda lost but then I saw Daddy and he helped me.”
I raise an eyebrow at Silas.
“Hey, it’s what happened,” he confirms.
“Are you okay, Ben? Does your arm hurt?”
“A little bit, but I’m okay. I’m thirsty though.”
“Okay, let’s get you a drink.” Carrie looks to me to make sure, and I nod, glad for some alone time with Silas.
“So, you just happened to be there, Silas?”
“What does that mean?” He raises an eyebrow but offers no more information.
“I don’t know, it just seems…”
“You think I was just lurking, in case my son got lost so I could kidnap him...and then bring him back five minutes later. Come on, Emily.”
“I don’t know what to think. You’ve just been…you’ve just been everywhere I turn these last few days and it’s freaking me out.”
“Well, you know what? Maybe you should be glad I’ve been around. Who knows what could’ve happened to him? What are you thinking anyway bringing him here? Bringing him on the goddamn tour?”
“I-I…”
“Maybe it’s me who should be thinking things over.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, I was twenty-one when he was born. I’m older now. You said maybe things will change at some point. Maybe that point is now.”
“Don’t threaten me, Silas.”
“It’s only a threat if I don’t intend on going through with it. And you should know me better than that. I’ll see you around, Emily. Whether it freaks you out or not.”
The shiver that runs through my body when he pulls apart the tent flap and walks out has nothing to do with the flash of wind that blows through the small enclosure.
I knew it. I knew it would come to this one day.
My fuck-ups are coming back to haunt me one by one.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Brad
The show goes on, but I’m only there in part, mentally. It’s not enough to call attention to myself from the other guys though, and the crowd doesn’t seem to have any problems with our performance at all. But I sit out any optional solos that I might normally do, and when the main set is done and we’re backstage quickly discussing the encore, I’m okay with Marius and Jez going up to do a duet on their own.
As soon as they start their song, I leave my violin with Sebastian and tell him I need to run. He doesn’t bother questioning me, just gives me a nod and tells me to go.
I run down the stairs behind the stage, pushing against the crew and other bands. I barely stop when someone pats me on the back to congratulate me on our performance.
None of it registers.
I just need to get to Ben. And Emily. I need to get to them.
Throwing the tent flap aside, the brightness inside blinds me for a moment.
And I come to a stop. The tableau of Ben sitting on Emily’s lap swinging his legs, while she holds open a book reading aloud to them both makes my chest tighten, then swell like a helium balloon. A warmth spreads over me and the worry of the last half hour melts like cotton candy in my mouth, and what is left is sweet and comforting.
“Hi,” I say. Not sure what else I want to say.
Emily looks up and the fatigue in her eyes tears at me, but she doesn’t begrudge me a smile. “Hey.”
“Everyone okay?”
“We sure are, Uncle Brad! Mommy gave me a lollipop. You want a lick?”
His sweetness does what it always does, steals another corner of my heart to reserve just for him.
“I’m good, buddy. Trying to watch my teeth.” I go over and gently stroke his forehead. “You had a bit of an adventure, didn’t you?”
“Yup. Everyone was really worried! But I was okay. I knew I’d get back to Mommy.”
“We sure were worried, buddy. But we’re glad you’re back now. The guys can’t wait to see you. Now, should we hear the rest of the book?”
“I already know the ending,” he beams.
“Oh, well don’t tell me!”
Emily opens the book and goes back to reading aloud, each word slow and clear, her finger following each word. I kneel down next to them and put my hand on her back. She stumbles over a word, but then continues. I run my hand up and down her spine, and I feel her skin turn from ice cold to warm under my touch.
She knows. She knows that I’m there for her. That I’ll always be there for her.
***
It’s late.
&nbs
p; Ben and the rest of the band are in their beds. The day is fading from their minds and their bodies as they rest for what comes tomorrow.
I gently knock on Emily’s door, and she opens it without asking.
Her hair is wet from the shower, and she’s wearing the same nightie she wore the other night. It’s champagne-colored and silk so fine, I can see her silhouette through it.
“Put on a jacket,” I whisper.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
When she’s done what I asked, I take her hand and she follows me out of the bus.
A black Mercedes waits and she doesn’t speak when I help her into the car and close the door behind her. I slide into the driver’s seat and lean over to kiss her. It’s a soft, gentle kiss. But it says everything she needs to know.
I’m hers.
“You ready?”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere special.”
The drive is about an hour and we don’t say a word. She sits, staring outward, her right hand in her lap, her left hand entwined with mine, resting against her thigh.
I can feel her skin through the thin fabric. And in the silence, I remember the last time I ran my finger along the length of that leg, fingertips dipping in the curve, digging into its suppleness.
Most of the drive is watching the car’s headlights illuminate a track barely a few feet ahead. We watch the road turn from city asphalt to country road. There are small mounds of melted snow along the sides, but mostly it is just dark.
She doesn’t ask me again where we are going, and I don’t tell her.
There’ve been too any words between us. Words leading to misunderstandings, miscommunications, hurt feelings. It’s better for now we leave them behind, I think.
We near the destination and the road begins to wind.
Even inside the car, the air seems different. Colder, yes, but fresher. There’s a trail of something that’s been draped in a vibrant seaweed, salty but not fishy. Like the first ever breath of life.
The car climbs higher and the steepness of the road pushes her back against her seat. Her head falls back and the moonlight, brightened by the fresh air somehow, bathes her skin with a luminescence that is so radiant I wish I could photograph it.
Winding, winding, winding.
The road becomes narrower as we climb. There’s nothing on either side. No trees to catch the car’s headlights, nothing to reflect the artificial light back on us, to give her a clue where we are.
And then out of nowhere, a gate. Just up ahead. I slow the car and drive up close. Press a button.
She doesn’t move, still watching straight ahead.
There’s a creak and metallic click. The gate opens and swings toward us. I wait for it to open completely before I drive up the cobblestone driveway, glancing in the rearview mirror, watching the gate close behind me.
There are trees now. Wild, unkempt, unkept trees. Branches swaying in the wind, rooted to the ground by their trunks, stopping them from fleeing to an adventure in the ferocious breeze. I park the car underneath one, its branches bare, reaching out into the night. With a turn of the switch, the car lights die, bathing us in a benevolent black.
We sit in silence again. This time little our eyes adjust to the dark. Slowly, the view forms in front of us. A short gray pebbled walkway leading up to a small cottage peeking out from behind the trees.
Pushing against the car door with my arm, I let myself out then jog to her side. I wait until she turns to smile at me through the window, then I pull her door open, helping her out. The wind whips her jacket open and she grabs the side and holds it tight around her body.
“Come.” I lead her, pressing gently on her back up the path. A soft light comes on as we near the front door.
I dig around in the orange terracotta pot next to the welcome mat and pull out a key. I slide it into the lock and turn it, pushing gently on the door and letting it swing open. The entire cottage lays open in front of us. No doors or walls, just furniture blocking the floor into different spaces.
A living area with two couches and a white sheepskin rug on the floor face the fireplace. A dining room table with eight chairs is set up in front of a large open kitchen. A four-poster bed is laid up against the far wall, facing a window that runs from ceiling to floor. Everything luxurious. Everything promising decadence, but function.
There’s a soft light inside and the fireplace is crackling, warming the cottage, and I know that my instructions have been followed.
“Where are we?” she finally asks.
“We’re…home.”
“Home?”
“This is…this is the first place I bought when I realized we had more money than we could ever spend. And I try to come here whenever I need to be alone.”
“It’s beautiful. Did you..?”
“Did I decorate it myself?”
“Yes. You have a good eye.”
“I had good advice.”
She wanders around, touching every surface. Smiling as she notices little figurines of musicians on the mantelpiece, and pictures of my family that she peruses one by one while rubbing her hands over the fireplace, warming them.
“Do you like it?”
“I…I love it.”
“I want to show you something.”
I point to a frame on the wall by the door and we walk toward it. It sits on a small shelf with an under light, and in the dark room, we can still see it.
She looks at it from afar, the whips her head around and stares at me. I just smile.
She moves right up close to it and peers at it from mere inches away.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“How…”
“How did I get it? I have all of them.”
“You do not.”
“I’ll prove it.”
I stroll over to the bed and pull an album out from the bottom drawer of the bedside table. I bring it over to the dining table and lay it on top of the heavy wooden slab, flipping it open to the front page.
It’s a scrapbook of all her articles, clipped from newspapers and magazines. The first page is the very first article she wrote for a national paper, a duplicate of the clipping on the wall. She flips through the album, periodically looking up just to stare at me, her mouth open, her eyes soft, glistening.
“I lied. I lied when I said that after I heard you were coming on tour I read some of your pieces. I’ve been following you for years,” I finally admit to her.
“Did you know I was going to be at the press conference that day?”
“No.”
“Are you glad I was?”
“More than I am for life itself.”
“Brad.”
“Sweet, sweet Emily.”
And then it’s like the elastic tying us to one another tires of being stretched, and retracts.
She springs up onto her toes and runs to me, and I catch her, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms around my neck. Her lips on mine.
The kiss is desperate but tender. My mouth continues to devour hers even as I carry her to the bed. Laying her down, her legs refuse to let go of my waist and I fall, fall, fall, on top of her. Falling like I’ve been falling for her my entire life,
“Omfffff.” She lets out a soft grunt as our chests meet.
“Sorry, are you okay?”
“More okay than I ever have been. Now stop talking and kiss me.”
“You’re so bossy,” I tease her, taking a moment to wonder at her face.
“Yes I am, so there’s no point in arguing.”
I don’t dare, and instead lean down and our mouths meet again. This time gentle, playful. Her lips nipping at mine, her tongue running along my own, then disappearing back into her mouth, daring me to follow.
Somewhere in the play I lose my shirt, my pants, everything. Her nightie is torn away and soon it’s just her body and mine.
“I want to see you,” I tell her. I want a memory of this.
I lean back against the headboard, and she sits up, resting back on her heels. Her hair cascades over her shoulders like a chocolate mane, its ends wispy over her breasts, her nipples. It fuels my promise that soon I’m going to come over them.
Her hands come up and brush her hair away, and she is completely exposed to me.
Stunningly, vulnerably, achingly beautifully exposed.
Then, as if she can read the thoughts in my eyes, she runs her fingertips over her body. Lines of goose bumps follow, and my cock throbs at the thought of traveling those lines with my tongue.
“Are you cold?” I ask. More to break the intensity than anything.
“No.”
Her fingertips graze her nipples and they instantly harden. And my mouth waters.
Then down over the soft plane of her stomach her fingertips linger and down, down, down. Until her hand cups the soft mound of her sex.
I hardly notice the high and low rise of my chest. Just that my cock is harder than it’s ever been.
She leans back and her legs spread. Then without warning, she spreads her sweet pussy lips and glides a finger deep inside herself.
My teeth break the skin of my tongue.
God.
She doesn’t stop. She pulls her fingers completely out, then back in again. I can’t tear my eyes away. I don’t want to miss a minute of this.
Taking care not to touch my cock, or I’ll come before I want to, I move closer to her, to see clearer, to be a part of what she’s doing, to smell her…to taste her.
Her legs spread a little more as her hips lower onto the bed, her eyes struggling to stay open, but I know she wants to watch me watch her.
In and out. In and out. There’s no doubt of her arousal as the sound of her finger-fucking her own pussy fills the room.
“Your clit. Play with your clit for me, angel,” I beg her.
And she complies. She moves her finger, circling her sweet little bump and her moans push me over the edge. I move between her legs, pushing her hand away and replace it with my tongue. Flicking, flicking fast. I have no patience now. I need to hear her orgasm, feel it, know I brought it on.
“God, Brad. Oh God, I love when your mouth is on me.”
There’s no doubt.
