“I’m a singer, not a hooker,” I snap. “And there’s no sweeping me off my feet happening.”
“You’re a singer, not a concierge.”
“What?”
“You said, ‘I’m a singer.’ Not ‘I’m a concierge.’ You think of yourself as a singer.”
“Well, being a singer doesn’t pay my bills. At least not all of them.”
“So here we are. You don’t have to gaslight me or bribe me. I will cover for you, if you want.”
I shake my head. “When I saw your face, I was relieved. I don’t have to hide anymore. I’m going to talk to Astrid first thing Monday morning.”
“You’re going to quit?”
Oh god. I push back on the panic running through me. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m going to quit. Resign. Whatever.”
“Well, if you change your mind…tell me? I’ll help you if I can.”
I nod, taking a deep shuddering breath.
“Why don’t you take this—” He holds up the bottle. “—call your girl, and enjoy the rest of your Saturday night.”
I take the bottle—worth a week’s pay. I’m not sure I can even drink something so expensive without feeling guilty. But I put it in my handbag, and I gather my belongings.
With one last look over my shoulder and a little wave to Mitch, I walk out of my office with a sense of finality and fear unlike anything I’ve felt since the day I walked out of my parents’ house with only what I could shove into my purple Jansport backpack.
Bex
* * *
Back on the roof, I go looking for Dad. I want nothing more than to get the hell out of here, find Natalie and make everything right—but I’ve learned the hard way to give her space when she needs it, and she needs it more than anything tonight. But I can start to fix one other relationship tonight. I find him in a cluster of exquisitely-dressed men, looking like so many proud penguins in their tuxedos.
“Rebecca!” He pulls me into an awkward one-armed hug. “You remember Sidney? And of course Evan. And this is Jeremy Cutler—I don’t believe you’ve met—we’re going to be working on a picture together next year.”
“Mr. Cutler.” I nod to Sidney and Evan, Dad’s cronies from way back, and I shake the director’s hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Please, call me Jeremy.” He holds my hand just a little too long, and his smile is just a little too solicitous.
“Sure, Jeremy,” I say coldly, shutting down whatever’s running through his head as quickly as possible. “Dad, can I talk to you alone for a moment?”
“Of course. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
We walk through the arched trellises and their curling vines until we find a quiet corner to chat.
“I’m really happy for you and Karina,” I start, and he smiles widely.
“Thank you, sweetheart, that means a lot to me.”
“I’m going to be staying in New York for awhile, and I hope to see a lot more of you both after the honeymoon. Maybe a standing brunch date?”
“I’d—I’d like that a lot.” He nods.
“And I’d like to bring my girlfriend.” If she’s still my girlfriend.
“You—you’re seeing someone? Wow. That’s new.”
“Not so new, actually. We’ve been seeing each other all summer. I brought Angie tonight because Natalie had to work.”
“Oh. I see.”
“I want us to be family. And I want her to be family too.”
“We are—”
“We’re working on it.” I cut him off, and he smiles ruefully.
“We are.”
Knowing how hard it is for him to admit it, and knowing how much it means to both of us to reach this point, I’m suddenly overcome with emotion. I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”
He squeezes me back. “I love you too, Becky.”
“Oh my god, that is not my name.” I shove away from him and wipe at my eyes.
“You used to love it. Until you were a teenager.”
“Yeah, well. Teenage me was smart.”
“Grown up you is pretty great too.”
I blush—teenage me would have given anything for that kind of praise from him, but grown up me has learned not to expect it, so it takes me by surprise. “Thanks.”
“Let’s go find your new mom,” he teases, holding out his arm. I wrap my hand around the crook of his elbow, and I let him lead me back to the party.
Twenty-Seven
Bex
* * *
Angie and I part ways at the door to the Thorns, and I let Dad’s driver take me home. When the town car pulls up in front of my building, I see a small figure sitting on the sidewalk out front. I steel myself to reject a panhandler, but as I step out of the car, the figure unfolds, stands, and I realize it’s Nat.
“Couldn’t find anyone to sneak you in?” I quip, crossing my arms over my chest as the car pulls away.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.” She shrugs.
“I’ll always want you.” I open the door and hold it open for her. We climb the stairs in silence, and my gut fills with a weird fluttering feeling. Is she breaking up with me? Did she get fired? What’s happening?
Once inside my apartment, I pour myself two fingers of bourbon and add a splash of water. “Would you like something?”
She shrugs. “What’s that?”
“Pappy Van Winkle.” I pour her a glass and hand it over.
“So…” She glances around my apartment as if she’s seeing it for the first time.
“So.” I cross to the couch, kick off my heels, and sit down. “I thought you would want space tonight.”
She nods. “Yeah, here’s the thing. I’m pretty sure I quit my job tonight. Or started to. And I’m really fucking scared, but I’m also relieved.”
“Okay.” My chest tightens. “Come sit with me, please?”
She takes a deep swig of her whiskey and scowls. Then she sets it on the counter, crosses over to me, and kneels at my feet, putting her head in my lap.
“Bex—I’m sorry. Tonight was—a mess. And I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
Aw, my Nat. I rub her head, ruffling her soft hair in my fingers. “I understand. I should be the one apologizing. I treated you like—” my hand tightens in her hair as the realization strikes me. “—like a problem to throw money at. I’m not proud of that, and you didn’t deserve it.”
She sits up, fierce and gorgeous, wild-eyed and way more Nat than Natalie. “I’m done with us fucking up and apologizing.”
My heart drops, but she continues.
“I’ve been addicted to you since the beginning of the summer. You give me space when I need it, and you kept secrets I never should have had in the first place. You gave me time to see who you are. You—you don’t have to apologize for trying to fix me. I don’t want you to apologize.”
Her erratic rant over, she grabs my hands. “I fucking love the shit out of you, Bex.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of me, and then I’m crying, and she’s sitting in my lap, kissing my face.
“I fucking love the shit out of you too,” I tell her between kisses.
“Then, whatever I do on Monday, we’re good?” she asks warily.
“Of course. I’ve got your back.”
“Good. I’m quitting my job, getting the band back together, and I don’t what else, but I know I want to tell everyone you’re my girl.”
“I am your girl,” I agree.
She kisses me, sealing it like a promise, and I take her upstairs to finish what we started on that desk.
Nat
* * *
I wake up in Bex’s luxuriously soft bed to sunlight and the smell of coffee. She sits next to me, reading on her iPad and sipping from an oversized mug. A pair of glasses perches on her nose. My heart swells. My girl.
“Good morning,” I croak, my voice rough with emotion. She looks up and smiles.
“Good morning.” She leans over me for a kiss. “I’ve only got this pl
ace for three more weeks, so I’m looking at real estate.”
“Oh.” I sit up. “Here in Manhattan?”
She shrugs. “Maybe Brooklyn? I don’t know. I’d like to be closer to you.”
“Maybe you could stay even closer?” I say hopefully. “Like…in my apartment. With me.”
She looks up, her mouth dropping open. “Really?”
“I know it’s not fancy like this place.” I gesture around the loft.
“I don’t care about fancy.” She sets the iPad aside. “I figured you’d want your space.”
“Not from you.” I shake my head. “Not anymore. And who knows, maybe you can make it look a little less ‘middle-aged bachelorish.’ I haven’t done anything with the place because—well. I wanted to keep it his.”
“I don’t need to redecorate your apartment. I like your apartment. It feels like a home.”
“Then let’s make it ours.” I take her coffee mug and set it on the bedside table, dragging her back down to the bed. “After breakfast. I’ve got a two-thousand-dollar bottle of champagne downstairs in my purse, and we’re going to have mimosas.”
Epilogue
Nat
* * *
Backstage at Bridgeview with my legs draped over the arm of the sofa, I run through the checklist one more time.
“I’ve called the Thorns and reserved a meeting room for you Tuesday afternoon to interview the last two postpartum doula candidates. Your agent sent over a script adaptation from that YA book with the autistic kid. She said you wanted to read it.”
Next to me, Karina stretches and then rubs her rounded belly. “Okay, send it to my Kindle?”
I nod and continue. “Bex has two tickets for the Harbinger premiere if you and Ben want them.”
She shakes her head. “Oh hell no. Nothing involving a red carpet until my feet fit in my Louboutins again. And nothing involving Tammy Dean until my hormones are back to normal.”
I laugh and cross it off the list. “That’s it. You’re officially on hiatus until after your maternity leave.”
“Fabulous. I’m going to catch a raunchy punk show and then sleep for a week.”
I grin. “Thanks for coming tonight. It’s kind of cool to actually be able to share this with my employer after everything that’s happened.”
Karina stands. “It’s kind of cool to have a PA who has a life outside of my inbox. Bex is waiting for me at the bar. Break a leg.”
I watch her waddle away, leaving me alone backstage. I can hear Teri tuning her guitar in the hallway, and I call her name.
“Hey.” She appears in the doorway. “It’s gonna take some getting used to, all these famous people showing up at our gigs, but I have to admit this suits you more than answering phones in my shop.”
“You okay?” I ask. “You didn’t sound excited when I said I was ready to come back.”
“It’s not you.” She glances over her shoulder. “It’s this place, and her. Feels bad, yo.”
I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve done everything short of tattooing her name on my ass. It’s time to face it—it’s never going to happen. At least I get to go out on stage once a week and show her what she’s missing.” She sticks out her tongue.
I shake my head. “Let’s do this then.”
Stepping out on stage is like coming home. The music seems to flow effortlessly, the energy from the audience frantic and heady. I throw my arms out wide and they roar along with me.
Ritchie breaks into his solo behind me, and my whole body pulses with excitement. Jacks, healed—at least on the outside—from his suicide attempt, stomps heavily on the kick drum pedal and eye-fucks his boyfriend from behind the drum set.
Teri pulls me into an embrace, her leg between mine, a knowing grin on her face. Despite her feels bad, yo moment backstage, she’s all-in on this performance, enjoying our reunion as much as I am. I laugh, throwing my head back and letting her hold me up, our bodies pressed together from hip to chest.
The audience screams.
Bex is out there, watching me do this thing I love so much—two parts hedonism, one part theater. Knowing she’s there, getting off on my performance, makes me feel powerful—like the raw connections created in sound between me and Teri, Ritchie and Jacks—like they flow from us out to the woman I love and back in a powerful feedback loop.
Jacks abandons his drum kit, presses into me from behind, his hands running down my sides.
“Welcome back, Natty,” he whispers into my ear with a nip at the lobe. “Let’s get your girl all wet for you.”
And Off. We. Go.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Heidi & Jay for inviting me to join this project—it’s been an honor and a joy to bring this story to life.
To my editor, Jules, and my sharp-eyed proofreader, Garrett—I’d be lost without you both. Thank you.
And to the community of readers who have been clamoring for more wlw romance—you kept the spark of this project alive when things got grim. Thank you, and happy reading.
About the Author
Vanessa North is a romance novelist, a short fiction geek, and a knitter of strange and wonderful things. Her works have been shortlisted for both the Lambda Literary Award and the RITA© Award, and have garnered praise from The New York Times, The Washington Post, and Publisher’s Weekly. She lives in Northwest Georgia with her family: a Viking, twin boy-children, and a very, very large dog.
Connect with Vanessa:
www.vanessanorth.com
[email protected]
Also by Vanessa North
The Lake Lovelace Trilogy:
Double Up
Rough Road
Roller Girl
* * *
Blueberry Boys
Summer Stock
The Dark Collector
Hostile Beauty
High and Tight
The Lonely Drop
The Short Strokes: Collected Stories
Reporting In
Rigged
* * *
Coming soon:
A Song for Sweater-boy
Off Limits Page 17
