by Karen Booth
“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Mary said, interrupting my sad exchange of looks with Tracy. “After everything you went through when we were kids, you deserve to be happy.” She heaved another sigh. “I can’t do much about Spencer. But do you want me to kick Kirby’s ass for you?”
I knew she was joking, but I appreciated her saying it, anyway. “Thanks, but you care about him too much to do that.” He’d even walked her down the aisle at her wedding. “He should be your dad, not mine.”
“Oh, sure.” She cringed. “And how creepy would that be? Me married to his son?”
“That might be a bit of problem.” I found the will to laugh. But mostly I was just trying to keep from crying. Kirby was the last person on earth I wanted as a parent.
I finished my tea, and Mary popped up to refill it. She probably would’ve baked my favorite raspberry cookies if the ingredients were available.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“About the DNA test?” I shredded the cover of a fashion magazine I’d left on the table, tearing it bit by bit. “I can’t even think about that right now. I can’t deal with any of this, least of all what Spencer did to me. I was so careful when I first started sleeping with him, doing whatever I could not to get attached.”
Mary put the teapot down. “You can’t help who you love.”
“And he doesn’t even love me back.”
My sister frowned. “How do you know he doesn’t?”
“He never said that he did, not even when I called him out on it.”
Tracy caught my gaze. “Would you get back together with him if he said it?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything he could say or do that would make a difference now.” I piled up the shorn paper. “He didn’t just keep an important secret from me. He broke my trust, my heart.”
Ripping me clean apart.
* * *
I cried myself to sleep that night, and the next morning I got up, needing to get away from Nashville. I texted Mary and Tracy and told them I was leaving town for a few days and not to worry about me.
But where should I go? I considered flying to LA and staying at the Chateau, but that would only remind me of Spencer.
I opted for Oklahoma City, returning to the place where I grew up and where my youthful rebellion had begun. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, that was going to accomplish. But it was where my fractured heart was taking me.
I got myself together and packed a bag, preparing for a long drive. On a good day, it would take about ten hours.
And this wasn’t a good day.
I took breaks along the way, stopping to eat and use public restrooms. By the time I made it, it was pitch dark, and I was exhausted. I checked into a motel with an old-fashioned neon sign, a gimmicky illusion of simpler times.
My room was adequate: a full-size bed, a standard nightstand, a faux wood table and a generic TV. I could’ve gone to a luxury hotel, but I liked the privacy this offbeat motel provided.
I showered, using the mini soap, and went to bed in wrinkled pajamas. I was far from the fashionista I normally was.
I slept fitfully, pushing the covers away, then pulling them back up. Nonetheless, I awakened early and decided on fast food for breakfast.
The mopey teenager behind the counter kept stealing glances at the world outside her job, and I was tempted to tell her to appreciate her youth and not throw it away like I’d done. But I doubted that she was interested in hearing what a lonely twenty-five-year-old had to say.
I sat by a window, with a dismal view of the parking lot, and picked at a ham-and-egg sandwich.
Two cups of coffee later, I drove to the park where Mary and I had sprinkled Mama’s ashes. It pained me to hate my mother, especially with how vehemently I’d loved her in the past.
I exited my car and walked down a bumpy path, heading for the enormous oak we’d chosen as Mama’s unofficial marker.
I found it, tall and strong, amid a grouping of smaller trees. Thankfully, there was no one in this section of the park except for me. I stood at the base of the tree, its branches spiraling above my head.
Was Mama’s spirit here?
“Why did you keep so many secrets?” I asked her in a soft and shaky voice.
I waited for her to defend herself. But there was no answer. Not even a leaf blowing at my feet.
“And what about Kirby?” I went on to say. “Is he my father? He seems to think that he is.”
Once again, there was nothing, no insight into Mama’s side of the story. Clearly, this was getting me nowhere. But I kept waiting for a sign. A hope, a glimmer. Something that proved she was listening.
I dropped down in the dirt and drew flowery pictures with a stick. I even glanced up at the sky and looked for heavenly shapes in the clouds. But no ghostly stirrings materialized, no mother-daughter comfort.
I should’ve called it quits and left the park. Instead, I told her about Spencer. I talked and talked, revealing how deeply he affected me. I’d never shared these sorts of feelings with her before. But there’d never been a boy worth mentioning until now. Of course, Spencer wasn’t a boy. He was the man I’d mistakenly fallen in love with.
I paused, then said, “Spencer and Kirby are really close. They’re extremely loyal to each other. But it’s so confusing, with how hurt and angry I am.” I glanced up at the sky again, frustrated that I couldn’t feel her presence.
Still, I prattled on. “Kirby said that he’s sorry for everything he did. He even took responsibility for seducing you. And get this—he wants to be my dad. He seems to want it more than anything.” I sighed to myself. “Maybe I need to take that DNA test. Maybe knowing the truth will make it easier.”
But could I do it without Spencer? I put my hand in my pocket and clutched my phone. Should I call him? Should I confide in him? Or would that be too painful?
“Tell me what to do, Mama,” I said, still talking to my dead mother and getting no answers.
Was I wrong, the way I’d left Spencer, with no concern for his feelings or well-being? I’d told him that I loved him, but what kind of love was that?
Did I owe him an apology for getting so angry, for blaming him for everything that went wrong? I hadn’t given him time to come to terms with his feelings. I’d chastised him for his fear and confusion, instead of letting him work through it. Maybe if I’d stayed there with him, if we’d…
Just as I prepared to call him, my phone vibrated against my hand. I checked the notifications and discovered a text from Spencer with a video attached.
Oh, my God.
I watched the video, my heart quaking, my pulse skittering. He’d written a song for me, a haunting ballad, and taped himself singing it at his piano.
I played it, over and over. The music was soft and compelling, the lyrics honest and tender. I found it beautifully romantic, but laced with angst, too. A man struggling to find his way back to the woman he loved and asking for her forgiveness.
He’d titled it “Spencer in Love.”
I was wrong when I’d told Tracy that I didn’t know if Spencer could say or do anything that would make a difference to me now. His song was a reflection of who he was, of how he felt, of how much he loved and needed me.
Just as I loved and needed him.
I peered up at the sky one last time. Maybe Mama was here after all, guiding me toward my future.
* * *
I called Spencer, and we raced through an emotional conversation, our hearts beating much too fast. We needed to talk calmly in person. He offered to come to me, saying that he would book the first available flight, whether it be a private jet or commercial airline. Then tomorrow, we could drive back to Nashville together.
We ended the call, and I heard from him again a short time later. He couldn’t get a flight as soon as he’d hoped. He wou
ldn’t be here until tonight.
I headed to the mall and shopped for a new outfit to wear, then spent the rest of the day cooped up in my motel, thinking about how it was going to feel to see him.
Evening finally rolled around, and I sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting his arrival. He was due any moment. He’d texted me from his Lyft.
A knock sounded, and I jumped up.
I opened the door, and there he was, all six feet two inches of him, dressed in a leather jacket and his usual torn jeans. Yet in spite of his familiarity, he seemed different. When I searched his gaze, I noticed a nervous flicker in his eyes. But I ignored it. I was anxious, too.
“Alice.” He said my name, and I practically fell into his arms.
He wrapped me in his warmth, in the strength of his body, and we stood in the doorway, locked in a desperate embrace. His mouth found mine, and we kissed. I stood on my toes to reach him. He was wearing boots, and I was in ballet-style flats.
We separated, and I led him into the room. Neither of us spoke for a minute. We simply breathed each other in.
Then he said, “You look so pretty. But you always do.”
“Thank you.” I gestured to my ensemble. “I bought this today.” A feminine blouse and a short black miniskirt. “We can go to a nicer place. A hotel, if you prefer.”
“I’d rather be here, where you chose to stay.” He glanced around, as if he was picturing me alone the night before. “I’m sorry that I put you through so much misery.”
“I’m sorry, too, for not giving you time to figure yourself out.” I paused to consider the look in his eyes. He still seemed nervous. Maybe too nervous? It made me wonder if something was wrong.
He removed his jacket and hung it on the back of a dining chair. “I made so many mistakes.”
“We both did.” I couldn’t fault him for his, not when I’d created problems of my own. “I love the song you wrote for me.” I’d told him over the phone how incredible it was, but I thought it was important to repeat it. I’d also told him that I’d made peace with my mother at the park, and I was willing to take the DNA test to unmask my paternity.
He released an audible breath. “You were always meant to be my muse, but I never expected to need you so badly.”
“I feel the same way about you.”
We stared silently at each other, and in spite of the depth of emotion between us, our reunion turned awkward. Something definitely wasn’t right.
Unsure of what else to do, I inquired about his mentor. “Does Kirby know you’re here? Did you tell him I was in Oklahoma and that you were coming to see me?”
“Yes, I’m keeping him informed.” He hesitated. “Are you going to be able to handle it if he’s your dad?”
“I’ll do the best I can.” I didn’t want to hold grudges anymore, to keep hating Kirby. I’d spent too many years mired in anger. I didn’t know how easy it was going to be, letting go of all that hurt, but I was willing to try. For myself, for Spencer. I was even doing it for my mom. “It’s going to be scary taking the test, though.”
He nodded. “Waiting for the results will probably be the hardest part.”
“I’ll definitely be on pins and needles.” I studied his solemn expression. “I still want to help you find your dad when you’re ready.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” He tugged a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “I need to tell you something that I didn’t include in my song.”
“Go ahead.” At least now I would know what was troubling him.
He frowned. “I almost drank again. When I was alone and missing you, I opened up a bottle of rum, the same brand I played around with on the night we first hooked up.”
My heart skipped a worried beat. “But you didn’t drink it?”
“No. But I came horribly close.”
“Are you still craving a drink?”
“I’m not craving anything except to be with you. But are you sure you want to be with me? Even if I stay on the straight and narrow, even if my nightmares go away, I’ll always be a recovering alcoholic. That’ll always be in my blood.”
I moved closer to him. “I love you, Spencer. All of you. The sober man and the one who almost messed up.”
He looked into my eyes, as if he were memorizing me for all time. “I love you, too. So damned much. But I fell apart when I shouldn’t have.”
“But you’re here now, opening up to me about it.” Trusting me with the hardship he’d endured.
“I’m going to do everything in my power not to relapse or let anything like that ever happen again. I want to stay sober for you, for the life I want us to have together. But mostly I have to do it for myself.”
“As well you should. But I want to support you.” I sat on the corner of the bed and gazed up at him. “Do they have meetings for friends and family members at your recovery center?”
“Yes, and I would love for you to attend them.”
I made an earnest vow. “Then I will.”
“It feels amazing to love you, to be loved by you. To make promises to each other. But I want to do this right.”
“Do what?”
“I’ll show you.” He walked over to where his jacket was and reached into the pocket, removing a small jewelry box.
My heart nearly stopped. Was it a ring? Was he going to propose? Here, on this very night? It seemed so unexpected, so fast, so exciting. He was making me feel reckless, like he always did. Reckless in love, I thought.
He came over to me and opened the box. It was definitely an engagement ring, a gorgeous emerald-cut black diamond in a yellow gold setting. I gasped like the future bride I was about to become.
He said, “There’s a story behind it.” He proceeded to tell me how he’d searched for a talisman and had uncovered the ring. “As soon as I saw it, I wanted to buy it for you. But I didn’t know if you were going to take me back or if I would ever have the opportunity to give it to you.” His dark gaze latched on to mine. “The jeweler who designed it told me that black diamonds mean more than strength and power. They also represent relationships that are destined to prevail against the odds.”
“I’ve never heard that before.” But it seemed so right. We were prevailing at this very moment.
He shifted his stance. “I know I’m not the man you dreamed of. I’m not the stuff fairy tales are made of. But I’m going to try to be the best husband possible.” He got down on bended knee. “Will you marry me? Will you be my friend and lover for the rest of our lives?”
“Yes.” My answer sprang from the deepest part of me, from how much I loved and wanted him.
I leaned forward, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It was a little big. We smiled knowingly at each other. We were already off to a sweet and candid start.
He sat beside me. “We’ll have it sized. But for now, maybe this will work.” He yanked some threads from his jeans with a thin piece of denim still attached.
I returned the ring to him, and he wrapped it, as if he was using yarn. I held out my hand, and the diamond went back onto my finger.
He reached for me, and we kissed. It was deep and true, and I felt wonderfully close to this man. I couldn’t imagine loving anyone more.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Alice
I gripped Spencer’s shoulders, feeling his muscles bunch beneath his shirt. I tugged him down, and we sank onto the bed.
We kissed and kissed, and he asked, “How many babies do you want?”
“As many as we’re meant to have,” I replied. “But not until after we’re married.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that we start a family now.” He smiled. “But someday.”
Yes, someday, I thought. I wanted to be the mother of his children. I imagined how perfect they would be, with a combination of our features. “Did you bring anything
with you so we can—”
“Make love?” He lifted his wallet from his back pocket, produced a shiny packet, and tossed the leather billfold onto the nightstand.
I pressed against him. “We don’t have to take our clothes all the way off.” I liked the forbidden feeling of being half-dressed on the night I’d gotten engaged.
I opened my blouse, then removed my panties and rolled my short tight skirt up around my waist. Following my lead, he pulled his T-shirt over his head and shoved down his jeans and boxers.
Sheathed in a condom, he slid between my legs, filling me in one fell swoop. I unhooked my bra, and the garment went slack. He lowered his head to lick my nipples, moving from one side to the other, making me ache.
Pressure built upon need, upon lust, upon love. He breathed in the fragrance of my skin, and I watched him with intensity, welcoming every powerfully driven thrust.
I roamed my hands down the front of his body, heading toward his navel. I accidentally scratched him with my ring, but he didn’t seem to mind. I was still getting used to the glorious weight of it.
Soon he withdrew, and we switched positions. I climbed onto his lap and looked down at him—my sexy fiancé, his jeans pushed past his hips, his stomach muscles flexing.
I impaled myself, riding him, slow and slick and wet.
“Do it again,” he said. “With the diamond.”
I gazed breathlessly at him. He wanted me to scratch him purposely? “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He took my hand and showed me, making the shape of a heart.
I did what he asked. I marked his chest with the stone, not deep enough to scar, but enough to make an impact. A wicked smile appeared on his face, and he lunged forward, stealing a passionate kiss and encouraging me to move faster, increasing the tempo to a mind-dizzying speed.
I don’t remember exactly what happened next. Maybe I was too aroused to think straight. But somewhere between the heat and hunger, we both climaxed.
I collapsed on top of him, and he nuzzled the side of my cheek, holding me protectively in his arms.
