Merry Ever After

by Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lucy Score, Marie Force, Tijan, Kennedy Ryan

  Hell, I’d already compromised my integrity by having four orgasms with the man. But this seemed even further over the line.

  “It’s too personal,” I said.

  “I’ve never talked about it.”

  “To anyone?”

  He rocked his head back and forth on the pillow. “No one.”

  We were silent for long minutes. Betty snored indelicately from her dog bed in the corner. A mix of snow and sleet hissed against the windows. His fingers trailed up and down my arm like he was playing chords.

  “Been keeping it inside long enough. Might be nice to know that someone else out there in the world is keeping it with me.”

  “Vonn, it doesn’t have to be me.”

  “You’ve got all my other secrets.”

  “I’m writing a story. If this is something you don’t want out there in the world, you need to at least tell me it’s off the record.”

  “He’d been clean for nineteen months. Longest stretch yet. Tommy was a partier. Always had been. He loved the stage, the spotlight. When he was offstage, he was constantly chasing that feeling. We all dabbled off and on in the early years. But the rest of us learned our lessons. We got over it. Tommy never did. He couldn’t stand being alone. If he had a day off from touring or interviews, he’d throw a party or show up at some hotspot and make news.”

  As Vonn talked, his hands continued to stroke my flesh. As if touching me made the words come easier.

  “He thought he was the life of the party. But for us, he was becoming a liability. He didn’t show for practices. He was late for shows. There were a few times when he could barely stand on stage. Every time we shipped him back to rehab. And every time he tried. He fucking tried. But he couldn’t stand being sober and alone.

  “We told him it was his last shot. He had one more chance to get clean, or he was out. He was my best friend, but I couldn’t even look at him anymore. So we sent him back to rehab. And this time it looked like it stuck. Long enough that I started letting my guard down. We were writing songs again. Touring. Things were good. It took me a while before I started to notice the little things. The fidgeting. The too-loud laugh. The showing up late or not at all.

  “We had a show in Atlanta, and it was fucking clear as day he was using again. We put it up to a vote on the tour bus that night. He was out. Tommy begged me to change my mind, to change everyone else’s mind. But he’d blown his last chance. I told him that. I couldn’t stand by and watch him kill himself slowly.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “We got to Miami and crashed for the night. I woke up early feeling like something was wrong. I went to Tommy’s room and let myself in.”

  I clung to Vonn, trying to put myself between him and the memory.

  “He was still alive. High as fuck. Pills and coke on the coffee table right in front of him. ‘I started a new song, Vonn. We can finish it together.’ He couldn’t even hold his head up, and I knew something was wrong. So fucking wrong. I called the doctor, then sat on the floor with Tommy.

  “He kept sayin’ he was sorry. So fucking sorry. And I just held on to him. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight like it was gonna keep him with me.”

  Vonn’s voice was tight with emotion. It felt like a knife in my chest. “I loved him like a brother.”

  Hot tears escaped from my eyes, slipping down my cheek to slide against his chest.

  “Told him he was going to be okay. That we were gonna be okay. He told me it wasn’t my fault and that he wanted me to finish the song. Our last song. He was reciting lyrics one second and gone the next. His heart stopped. On Christmas Eve.”

  “I’m so sorry, Vonn.” Words felt meaningless when stacked against his palpable pain.

  He sighed, his breath ruffling my hair. “It was always going to end this way. That was the first line of the song.” His fingers trailed up and down my arm like he was playing chords. “There’s no new music without him. I’m no good with words. He was the lyrics. I was the music. But there aren’t any more songs without him.”

  “That’s why this is your farewell tour?”

  “Yeah.” He was silent for a while, threading his fingers through my hair over and over again. “Not sure who I am without the band. Not even sure how to find out. But seeing what you’re doing…maybe it gives me hope that I can become someone besides a bass-playing punk rocker.”

  We were from opposite worlds facing the same existential crisis.

  “You probably don’t have a minivan to sell. But if you did, you’d be surprised at how liberating it feels,” I ventured.

  His laugh was music to my ears.

  “I’m so sorry, Vonn.”

  “I know, baby. I am too.”

  “I didn’t know Tommy. But I bet he’d be proud of how you’re mentoring his son. Garrett really looks up to you. The rest of the band too. But you especially.” It was the truth. Vonn was patient with the boy who was barely a man, guiding him through the pitfalls of money and fame.

  Vonn pulled me down so my back was flush with his front. He nuzzled into my neck. “Thank you, Brooke.”

  “Morning.” Vonn’s rough voice was even more jagged when it was laced with sleep.

  I stretched luxuriously in his warm, solid arms. “Mmm, morning. What time is it?”

  “Early. Go back to sleep,” he said, slipping away from me.

  “Mmmph.” He gave me a pat on the butt, pulled the covers up around me, and left the room. I heard Betty jingling after him. I’d get up in a minute to feed her, I decided. Just one more minute snuggled up between sheets that smelled like Vonn.

  One minute turned into another REM cycle. When I woke again, the sun was unnaturally bright outside, reflecting off the blanket of white.

  Betty was curled up next to me, her tail thumping rhythmically on the duvet.

  I gave her ears a ruffle and rolled over to bury my face into the pillow as my brain slowly came back online.

  Christmas morning.

  The concert.

  Vonn Barlowe.

  Last night.

  I launched myself into a seated position and peered around the room. No underwear or socks or pants that didn’t belong here. No watch or phone or condom wrappers. No evidence that I’d spent the night sharing secrets and having wild sex with the punk rock god.

  Had I dreamed the entire thing? I flopped back against my pillow. Was I imagining his scent on my sheets? The delicious soreness between my legs?

  Another smell caught my attention. Coffee.

  My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it.

  Michelle: Okay. I know I hit the eggnog pretty hard last night. But am I hallucinating or is there a sexy silver fox shoveling your driveway????

  I bolted out of bed and whipped the curtain back from the window.

  There in the midst of an official winter wonderland was Vonn in jeans, sunglasses, and a Henley with the sleeves pushed up, shoveling my driveway.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. It really had happened. I’d spent the most intimate night of my life with the man of my dreams.

  I raced to the bathroom and quickly executed my routine, spending a few precious minutes on mascara, tinted lip gloss, and making my messy bun just right. I dressed at top speed while my mind raced through the events of the night before. Ending with Vonn’s confession about Tommy.

  The scales weren’t balanced. He’d shared something so intimate with me that I felt like I still owed him.

  Deciding not to overthink it, I grabbed the moleskin journal out of my nightstand drawer. I flipped it open to a page.

  BECOMING

  I was meant for more than this

  Too much for one life to hold

  Release the guilt and pain

  For not being what they wanted

  Feeling a little queasy reading my own words on the page, I closed the notebook, and I headed downstairs.

  My side ached. My forehead head was sore. But my mood outweighed my physical conditio
n. I felt buoyant.

  In the kitchen I poured myself a mug of coffee, noting that there was already a path shoveled from the back door to the barn. Shaking my head, I went to the front door. Betty dashed out when I opened it and raced to Vonn’s side. She gave a happy bark which he returned with a shovel of powdery snow that had her jumping in the air in delight.

  He must have sensed me because he planted the shovel in the snow and turned to face me. “Morning, gorgeous.”

  My insides turned to quivering mush.

  “Morning. I see you didn’t miss your morning workout.”

  He grinned and started toward me. That was I noticed two things: Michelle was plastered against her living room window, staring at us and Vonn’s SUV had been cleaned off.

  “You have to go,” I guessed as he mounted the steps. Disappointment settled over me like a wet blanket.

  Vonn took the mug from my hand, set it down, then dragged me in for a long, hard kiss.

  His face and lips were cold from the winter air. But the rest of his body pumped off heat that had me snuggling into him.

  When he pulled back, he ran a thumb across my cheek. “Runway will be clear in about half an hour,” he said.

  A Christmas anti-miracle. Crap.

  “I understand,” I said.

  “Still got time for a cup of coffee, if you’re willing to share,” he said.

  “Since you made it I think I can spare a cup.”

  He nudged me back inside and whistled for Betty. My dog dragged her face out of the snow and trotted to the door.

  “You pour,” I suggested on our way back to the kitchen. “I’ll feed Whinnie. She gets cranky if I don’t follow her schedule.”

  “Already done,” he said.

  I stopped on the linoleum. “What? How?”

  He nodded toward Addy’s binder on the counter. “Your girl’s instruction manual.”

  “Wow,” I whispered.

  He flashed me his trademark smirk as he thumbed open the bottle of Tylenol. “Sore today?”

  “In a variety of places for a variety of reasons,” I admitted with a grin.

  He passed me two tablets, then poured himself a cup of coffee.

  We were facing each other on opposite sides of the counter. I reached over and grasped his arm. “Vonn, thank you for last night and this morning. I just… Thank you.”

  He leaned down on his elbows, bringing himself closer to me. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not writing the story,” I told him, the words coming out in a rush. My editor would shit a brick. Which meant not only would I not be getting the staff writer job, I also wouldn’t be getting any more freelance assignments. But what had happened between me and Vonn was bigger, more significant than a job.

  He cocked his head. “Why not?”

  “It’s not right. Sharing with the world what you shared with me?” I shook my head.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to give up your dream for me,” he said quietly.

  “To be honest, after looking at it from your perspective, I don’t think I’d be happy as a journalist. I love music. Not prying into people’s tragedies.”

  Vonn’s confidence in me meant more than any job or any byline.

  I’d find another way, another job.

  He reached out and cupped my face in his hand. “You’re a hell of a girl, Brooke.”

  “And you’re one sexy Santa.”

  “I want you to think about me,” he said firmly.

  As if I had a choice.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” I assured him.

  “I want you to remember that there’s someone out there who knows your secrets and has your back.”

  This was one hell of a one-night stand. An abbreviated romance that I knew I would look back on fondly for the rest of my life.

  “There’s actually one more secret.” I pulled the journal out of my pocket and slid it across the counter to him. “Don’t open it now, or I’ll die of embarrassment.”

  His big hand covered mine on the notebook. “What’s inside?”

  I wet my lips. “I write…poems. I have for years. Just little stanzas. Silly records of my life. They’re laughably terrible,” I warned. “I’ve never shown anyone. Ever.”

  “And you’re trusting me with them?”

  “I’m trusting you with everything.”

  I really had. I’d given him every piece of me, and he hadn’t thrown them back in my face or laughed or judged.

  He blew out a breath. “I wish I didn’t have to get on a fucking plane.”

  “Me too.” But what was alternative? Me leaving my family and friends to move to LA until our relationship inevitably ran its course? Him giving up his life on the West Coast and moving to Hershey, Pennsylvania, and doing what? Making chocolate?

  We didn’t make sense.

  The clock on the microwave caught my eye. “You’d better go,” I said.

  He swore under his breath.

  “This isn’t goodbye, Brooke,” he insisted.

  But that’s exactly what it was.

  “Let’s not pretend this is something it isn’t. We had a night. A great night. A night that will ruin all other Christmas Eves forever.”

  He didn’t laugh like I wanted him to.

  I squeezed his hand. “I’ll never forget last night for the rest of my life. And I want you to know that no matter what you decide to do with your retirement, I’ll be here cheering for you. You deserve to be happy, Vonn. Tommy would want you to find your way there.”

  He said nothing for a beat, then let out a long sigh. “Never forget you, gorgeous.”

  Then he fisted his hand in my shirt, yanked me toward him, and kissed me goodbye.

  Fifteen minutes after I waved Vonn off from my driveway and dried my tears, Betty bolted for the door. The signal that someone was here.

  I threw the blanket off my lap and vaulted off the couch. I was halfway to the door, heart singing, when it opened and in tumbled my kids.

  Disappointment crashed over me like a wave at the beach.

  Dutifully, I shoved it aside, reminding myself that it was Christmas morning and two humans that I had birthed had chosen to surprise me rather than spend a leisurely morning with their father and stepmom.

  “What are you two doing here?” I demanded, hands on hips, trying to remember how to look like a mother and not a wanton groupie with no regrets.

  Addy’s cheeks were pink. She was dressed like she was ready for an Instagram photoshoot, wearing a vest, leggings, and one of those wool hats with the puffball on top. Her dark hair hung to her shoulders in a styled loose wave. Shane was still in his pajama pants and an ancient Pittsburgh Steelers sweatshirt. He looked half asleep with his blondish-brown hair standing up at adorably odd angles.

  “You didn’t think we were going to let you spend Christmas morning alone, did you?” Addy said bossily. She got that from me.

  Shane abruptly ended his full body rubdown of the delighted dog and hugged me. “Addy’s worried you have a concussion, and I missed your peanut butter-chocolate chip pancakes,” he whispered.

  I felt a warm glow in my chest buoyed by the rush of relief that my kids hadn’t decided to “surprise” me earlier.

  “I’m fine, guys,” I promised.

  “I bet you’re better than fine. And I’ll forgive you for not telling me all about it last night if you spill it now,” Addy said, taking her turn to hug me.

  “Spill what?” I hedged like a guilty teenager.

  The kids shared a can you believe Mom look.

  “She’s talking about Vonn Barlowe, Mom,” Shane said.

  Uh-oh.

  I’d texted Michelle back, swearing her to secrecy with a promise to tell her everything—well, not everything—the following day. But no one else actually knew Vonn had spent the night.

  “What about him?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. My children and I had someone traded places. Now it was me worried about evidence of misdeeds like condom wra
ppers.

  “It’s all over Twitter,” Addy said, shoving her phone in my face.

  It was a grainy video from the concert last night.

  “I can’t believe Vonn freaking Barlowe jumped offstage, punched two guys in the face, and carried my mom backstage,” Shane said. He managed to sound only moderately ill when he said the part about me being his mother.

  I snatched the phone from my daughter and pushed Play. There I was, at the bottom of the screen getting snatched into the mosh pit. What I hadn’t seen in real life, being distracted by trying not to get trampled to death, was Vonn shrugging off his guitar and vaulting off the stage after me.

  The crowd went wild with him in their midst, wading toward me with security on his heels.

  The camera panned over just in time to see Vonn’s fist connect with Drunk Guy #1. The guy went down hard. It was hard to tell what happened next, but I saw tattooed arm pull back and fly straight. Then there I was, cradled in Vonn’s arms as security closed around us.

  I decided I was going to watch this video every day for the rest of my life.

  “Where the hell was Mark?” Shane demanded. “I thought you were going with him. We’d never have let you go alone.”

  “He had a work emergency,” I said lamely.

  “I never liked that guy,” Addy told us over her shoulder as she marched into the kitchen.

  The doorbell rang, mercifully saving me from having to answer. “I’d better get that.”

  “Don’t think this is getting you out of telling us what happened backstage, young lady,” Addy called.

  “It’s probably Dad and Val,” Shane said. “They wanted to make sure you were okay. They were a couple of minutes behind us.”

  Christmas morning with my ex and his new—admittedly perfect—wife? I guessed the holiday couldn’t get much weirder than it already was.

  I escaped to the front door and yanked it open.

  Instead of Ryan and Val, I came face-to-face with a huge floral arrangement.

  “Uhh…”

  “Brooke Aucker?” the person behind the flowers said. I could just make out a florist van in my driveway behind Shane’s ancient Ford Escape.