by Kelly Moore
I can’t help but laugh at her. I like this side of her, much better than the staunch businesswoman busting my balls.
“Let’s just say it was time for a change. I’d gone as far as I could with the company I was working for, and they weren’t looking for a partner. Greg was.”
“I’m glad he’s thinking about slowing down. The man’s a workaholic.”
“He and I are going to make a good team.”
The waitress brings our burgers to the table. “She’s going to need a refill on that water.” I point to Reese’s glass that only has ice swimming around in the bottom of it. She nods, walking back to the kitchen.
“Wow, this looks amazing.” She unfolds her napkin and places it in her lap.
“They’re messy but good.” I grab my burger between my hands and take a bite.
She cuts a piece off with her fork and knife, then places it in her mouth.
“Who’s the biggest musician you’ve signed?”
She chews, and her face starts to turn pink. Dabbing the napkin to her mouth, she tries to speak, but stops and gulps down the sips left in her glass.
I laugh and hand her my water. She takes it, drinking it down until it’s empty. “What did you say this was called?” Her words come out like they are on fire.
“Hell Burger.” I take another bite of mine.
The waitress brings two glasses and places them on the table. “Why don’t you bring a pitcher of water?” Reese is already swallowing down more. I eat and watch as she tries to regain her composure. “We can order you something else if you’d like.”
“No…” She clears her throat. “I’m good.”
Stubborn-ass woman. That’s probably how she’s made it in this cut-throat industry dominated by men.
She slices her burger into pieces, but I notice she’s only eating the French fries. “Since we’ve clarified I’m not your boss, tell me something personal about yourself. I don’t think it’s off-limits for us to be friends. God knows I could use a friend or two around here.”
I talk between bites of food. “As I said earlier, I grew up in Nashville. I moved here a year ago to try and grow my business.”
“Greg tells me you were very profitable in Tennessee, why move here? Sounds like things were already working well for you.”
“Let’s just say, I needed a change.” I use her words from earlier.
“So we have that in common. Have you ever been married?”
My mouth goes dry, and I find my tongue sticking to the roof of it. What was it Lyla would say when she didn’t want to answer a question? Oh, yeah. “Pass.”
“Pass? As in you don’t want to answer.”
I nod.
“Okay.” She squints her coppery eyes at me. “You don’t like to talk about yourself, do you?”
“Smart girl.” I tap the end of my nose with my finger.
“I was married once. It didn’t suit me.”
I choke on my burger at her admission. “Meaning you didn’t like being married, or you didn’t marry the right person?”
“I most definitely did not marry the right person. I married him thinking he’d get me where I wanted to be in the business, and he married me so that he could hide his reputation of liking men as well as women.”
“Wow, that’s a brutally honest answer on your part. You really married him to further your career?”
The bench creaks as she fidgets, shifting from hip to hip. “I was a different person then.”
“What changed you?”
“I don’t know. I grew up and realized that money isn’t everything. At least I try to convince myself of that. I wanted to be in love like any other woman.”
“So you regret it?”
She nods.
The waitress steps up to the table. “Would you like dessert? We’re famous for our pies.”
“I’d love a piece. What kind do you have?”
I was just getting to like her. Please don’t say apple.
“We have strawberry, peach, apple, cherry, and key lime.”
“I’ll take a piece of the cherry pie.”
Thank god.
“On second thought,” she hollers after the waitress, “make it apple, but no ice cream.”
Instead of my heart hurting, I chuckle to myself, recalling Lyla ordering an entire apple pie with ice cream at the twenty-four-hour diner. Damned if she didn’t eat all of it.
“What’s so funny?” Reese is grinning at me.
“What?”
“You had this dapper smile on your face. It was a look of happiness. I know I haven’t known you long, but I don’t think it’s something you do very often.” She tilts her head to the side.
I can’t call bullshit, because she’s right. “I was thinking about a happier time in my life.”
“Care to share?” Her body language is relaxed, looking like she’s really interested and not just being nosey.
I rest back onto the booth and throw my napkin on my almost empty plate. “My wife loved apple pie. So much so, that she didn’t only order a slice. She’d order the entire pie with a matching amount of ice cream.”
“Seriously.” She giggles.
“My hand to god.” I lift my hand in the air.
“Wait, you said she loved, as in past tense. What happened to her?”
It takes me a moment to form the words because every time I admit it out loud, an ache squeezes from my heart. “She died.”
She reaches over and places her hand on mine that’s resting on the table. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Greg never mentioned it.”
“It’s okay.” I’ll be all right, I sing in my head. “She’s been gone two years already.”
“Did you have any children?”
“No.”
She makes a quick change of subject. “What happened to your hand?” Her gaze skates over to the white, bulky bandage.
“I cut it on a bottle that I broke.” I swear, at that moment, she sees right through me. She knows the devil inside that I live with, just like I knew Lyla’s. Her demeanor changes, softens as she looks at me.
“I’m glad we did this. I hated getting off on the wrong foot with you.”
“Me too.” The draw I felt for her the first moment I met her is back, but I brush it off. “I really need to get going. I have a client flying in tonight. He’s booked the studio until the wee hours of the morning.”
“Oh, okay. I’ll get the pie to go.” She slides out of the booth and walks up to the counter where the waitress is counting cash. She leans over, and her slacks hug the curve of her ass. I swallow hard to reject any thoughts that I have about her.
I get up and stand beside her, throwing money on the counter. She grabs her little white Styrofoam box and pulls her sunglasses out of her purse.
I hold open the door, and she walks out, heading over to a white Yukon with a paper tag in the window. “Not at all what I pictured you driving.” I chuckle and open her door once I hear the click of it unlocking.
“It will do the job. I need room to drive my clients around to meetings.”
“I’ll meet you at the bar Friday night.”
She hesitates for a moment before she gets in and that same glimmer is back, making me want to kiss her. Her gaze grazes to my mouth and then back to my eyes. I’ll see you Friday,” she says, climbing in, and I turn to walk away. “Just out of curiosity, what did you picture me driving?” She’s peering over her sunglasses and biting her bottom lip.
“A sleek-looking, sporty Audi.”
She seems to take it as a compliment. She licks her lips before she gives me a sweet smile. “It’s a date then…I mean I’ll pencil the date in my calendar,” she says, hurriedly starting her car and backing out of the parking lot.
“Make a real connection. I’ll have to check that off my list.”
Chapter 5
“I’m worse than a woman.” I look in the mirror at the pile of clothes I’ve tried on and dismissed. My stomach churns at the thought
of having to be at the bar tonight. At one time, I loved this part of my job, the hunt for new talent. I had lost that even before Lyla, but now, it seems even more unbearable.
“Get your shit together, Jameson,” I coax myself as I tug out of yet another collared shirt. I return to my closet, pushing hanger after hanger to the side. I don’t know what I’m looking for or why I even care. Pulling a lightweight chocolate-colored long-sleeved pullover from its place. I yank it on like it’s pissed me off. I keep my khakis on, slipping on a pair of casual, matching loafers. I step back in front of the mirror, rolling my shoulders to release the tension that’s been building for days. My lips curve up as I practice my fake smile a few times to perfect it.
“I’ll be all right.” I watch my mouth form the words. Now, I have to find a way to believe it. Snatching my keys from the hook by the front door, I lock up and get in my Porsche. It’s a nice night, so I let the top down. I go to do what I do every time I get in my car—turn on Lyla’s music. My hand freezes on the button. I shut my eyes tight, fighting back my emotions. Instead of listening to anything, I connect with my Bluetooth and call Aubrey while I drive.
“Hey, Jameson,” she answers.
“How’s your daughter?”
“She’s okay, but now I’m sick.” She coughs into the phone.
“I’m on my way to check out a band at a bar not far from you. Can I bring you anything before I go?” It would take one simple yes, and I’d ditch the entire night.
“No, I think we have everything we need. I’ve taken some cold meds, and I’m going to curl up and watch movies with Bridgette.”
“If you change your mind, call me.”
“Aren’t you meeting with Reese Adams tonight? I saw it penciled in on her schedule.”
“Yes, she’s insisted on being at the bar to hear the band.”
“What do you think of her? I mean, she seems nice enough but I get the feeling she’s tough.”
“She is tough, but once she warms up to you, you’ll see a different side to her.”
“I hope so.” She sneezes. “I’m so used to Greg’s ways that it’s hard to adjust to having someone new ruling the roost, so to speak.”
“I’m sure it is, but Greg says she’s good at her job, and I think you have to trust that.”
“You’re right. I’ll make more of an effort.”
“How about I come by tomorrow while I’m still in town, and I’ll bring you some homemade soup?”
“You make soup?”
“The can says homemade.” I chuckle.
“That would be sweet.”
“If you think of anything else I can bring, text me a list.”
“Will do.”
I disconnect the line and drive the next several hours, listening to music. I pull into the parking lot of the bar. It’s a small place, but there are lots of cars. Reese’s Yukon is parked up front. I press the button to bring the roof up and latch it down. A tremble flows through my hand as I reach for the handle to open the door. That familiar churn burns in my stomach. I pop open the glovebox, taking out the bottle of Xanax. I unscrew it but put the lid back on it. I hate taking meds to calm me. I attempt to get out of my car again by blowing out a series of short breaths to gain control.
As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience. My feet are drawing me closer to the door, but my body feels like it’s being forced to move. I know the moment my pace slows but have no control over it. I’m mere feet from the entrance. Sweat is permeating my shirt, which feels like it’s beginning to strangle me.
Anxiousness trickles up my spine.
I can’t breathe.
My heart is pounding in my ears, producing a nervous jolt.
Its pace has picked up to lightning speed.
The racing tempo pricks my temples, and my skin grows clammy.
The sidewalk beneath starts to spin, and I’m hotter than I’ve ever been. I stumble, going to my knees. A passerby asks me if I’m okay. My voice is lost to the impending doom surging through every pore of my body. Getting to my feet, a clutch of pain barreling in my stomach has me bending over, losing its contents.
Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I stand tall, feeling the sweat soak further into my clothes. I stumble again on the way back to my car but catch myself before I fall. I miss the handle as I try to unlock the door with my hand quaking violently. Falling into the car seat, I push the button to start the engine, and I turn the air conditioning on high. The vent jets cold air at my face, helping to calm my pulse.
My phone rings. I let it go to voicemail to hear Reese. “Jameson, where are you? The band is taking the stage. If you bailed on me, we’re going to have a hard time being friends.” She stops talking for a moment. “You there? Jameson, are you okay?” She went from pissed to worried in a matter of seconds. “Please call me.” The voicemail ends.
I skid out of the parking lot with no real direction in mind. A neon liquor store sign has me stopping. I sit behind the wheel, rubbing the back of my neck. “Drinking is not going to solve the problem!” I beat my fist on the steering wheel. I back out, with every intention of going back to the bar, but my car has a mind of its own and turns in the opposite direction. I’m driving on co-pilot before I realize I’m parked in front of Aubrey’s house.
I ring the doorbell. Aubrey answers it wearing a soft pink robe that matches the color of the tip of her nose. “Jameson.” She opens the door wide. “You okay? You look like shit.” She looks around me. “Did it rain?”
I look down at my soaking wet clothes then back up at her. “I’m sorry,” I say and take a step backward. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
She darts out of the door and grabs my elbow. “Don’t be silly. Come inside.”
She walks me into the living room where her daughter is fast asleep on the couch. “Sit here.” She directs me to a chair and picks her daughter up in her arms, carrying her to bed.
When she returns, I’m still standing in the spot she left me. “Jameson, your phone is ringing.”
I stand, not blinking.
“You’re scaring me.” She reaches into my pocket and pulls out my phone. “It’s Reese. Do you want me to answer it?”
My head slightly moves side to side.
She takes my arm and sits with me on the couch. Her fingers run through my hair, pushing it from my forehead. “What happened?” She talks softly.
“I couldn’t do it.” My words are barely audible.
“What, Jameson? You couldn’t do what?”
“Go inside the bar.”
“Because of Lyla?”
She’s one of the few that know about Lyla. I avoid telling people at all cost that she committed suicide. It’s hard for me to admit even after all this time.
“Yes.” I take a deep breath like I’ve been holding it underwater for too long.
She lays her head on my shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re allowed to be anxious. Did you tell Reese you didn’t want to go?” Her hand is slowly rubbing up and down my arm as she tries to comfort me.
“I did, but I didn’t tell her why.” My voice holds a tremble, and I let my head fall back onto the couch. “Why is it still so hard?” A tear slips from the corner of my eye.
“Because you loved her deeply. You haven’t let go of the guilt you feel for not being able to help her. You have to find a way to let her go, or you’re never going to move on.” Her words are soft.
“You sound like my shrink.” A laugh breaks through my lips. “He actually gave me a list, and the last thing on it said to let go of Lyla.”
She pulls her legs up on the couch, tucking her robe underneath them, and faces me. She grips my hand. “I couldn’t agree with him more. You’re one of the kindest, loving men I know. You deserve to love and have that in return.”
“I don’t feel loving.” I lift my shoulder to dry my face.
“You are without knowing it. You ask about my day, my daughter, you even offered to br
ing us soup. An unloving man wouldn’t do that.”
I raise my head to search her face. “I care about you.”
“I know you do, and I love you dearly for that.”
“Love,” I repeat her words.
“Don’t go getting a big head. I love you, but I didn’t say I was in love with you. There’s a difference.”
I turn my body toward hers and draw one leg up. “Why aren’t we in love? You’re great, and I like spending time with you.” I brush a tendril of hair from her shoulder.
She lets go of my hand and places it over my heart. “Because love comes from here. It’s not something you force.”
“But if you and I were together, I wouldn’t have to worry about falling in love with someone again.”
She breaks out in laughter. “Did you hear yourself?”
“What?” I wait for her to regain her composure.
“You want to be with me because you don’t want to worry about falling in love. That’s some proposal. If I didn’t care about you so much, I’d throw you out on your ass.”
“Friendship can grow to love.”
“It can, but it’s not enough for either one of us. Deep down, you’re a hopeless romantic like I am. I want that instant connection you feel when you know you’ve found your person.”
“You aren’t supposed to find it twice.”
“Whose rule is that?” She smirks at me. “Wait…does that mean you’ve felt that spark again?”
I don’t answer.
“It’s Reese, isn’t it.” She swats my leg.
“No,” I lie.
“You’re a terrible liar.” Her laughter rings out. “You may think you’re a man of mystery, but I’ve gotten to know you pretty well. I’ve broken through your cracks.” She pokes my shoulder.
“I don’t want to talk about Reese.” On cue, my phone rings again.
She cuts her gaze to it. “You might want to answer that. She’s pretty persistent.”
I snatch it up and stand. “Reese…”
“Where the hell are you?”
“I can’t talk right now. I’ll explain later.”
“I’ve been worried sick thinking you’d been in an accident!” She’s yelling.
