Off Her Rockers (Loving All Wrong #3.5)

by S. Ann Cole

  He set the phone back down and folded his hands in his lap. “See, the second Wednesday that went on by without that phone ringing, I knew something was wrong. My boy never forgets to check in on his old man. I wept until his mother visited me in the night. I told her, ‘Love, something’s wrong with our boy. Something’s gravely wrong’. She promised me she wouldn’t let me lose another one. She promised me she’d find him and send him home.”

  “And did she?” I asked, rubbing my hands together, feeling chills that had nothing to do with the weather outside.

  Mick gave me a look that read ‘what do you think?’ “Want to guess where he was?”

  Goosebumps washed all over me. “Where?”

  “His favorite spot.” He tilted his head, indicating the backyard. Which had a beauteous, breathtaking rose garden. “On the cliff. With his brother.”

  “Xhett? His twin?”

  Mick nodded. “He didn’t want leave. His mother begged him to come back to me, but he wanted to stay with them. So did Xhett. So he stayed. He chose them.”

  By now my eyes were overflowing with tears, and I felt as insane as the man telling this ridiculous story.

  “He didn’t want to come back to us,” I mused. “He didn’t choose us.”

  “But he did,” Mick corrected.

  I wiped my eyes so I could see Mick better. “How would you know?”

  “Because he’s not out there anymore,” he stated simply. “His mother said he picked a rose and told her there was someone he needed to see right before he walked off the cliff. They haven’t seen him since. Aline believes he came back. Though, the phone still hasn’t rung.” On a long, pregnant pause, he arched a brow at me. “Hasn’t he? Is that not why you are here?”

  I stared at him. Unbelievable. How was it possible that this man could’ve known everything going down through his dead wife? How did that work, really? How could Aline have seen Xavier if he was never dead in the first place? Was being in a coma some faint level of death or something? I was flabbergasted.

  I had half-expected him to say something along the lines of “My son is famous, I follow the media, of course, I know what happened!” Then I remembered Mick was a solitary man who lived in the past. There wasn’t so much as a desktop in this house. The fact that not even Chloe had an inkling of the accident was somewhat alarming.

  “Uh…” I cleared my clogged throat. “Yeah. He’s back.”

  “How bad was it? What really happened to him?” He sat upright in his chair, and for the first time since I walked in he appeared agitated, terrified even, that his son had almost died. “And why isn’t he here?”

  “It was horrific,” I told him. “A truck crashed another car into his Hummer and drove them both into a post.” Mick winced at this. “He underwent a brain surgery. Lost his left leg. Slipped into a coma. When he woke up his memory was screwed. He’s been in rehab for the past six months getting therapy and a specialized recovery treatment. ”

  Mick gripped the handles of the armchair, and his lower lip trembled as he watched me with glazed eyes. “He lost…a leg?”

  Chloe walked in just then carrying a tray with two hot mugs of cocoa and giant muffins. It was the reprieve both Mick and I needed at that juncture as she shuffled around setting the items on both our side tables.

  I tried to keep it together. I did. But there was a burning my throat. A burning in my eyes. A burning in my stomach.

  The second Chloe departed, Mick asked bluntly, “Why are you really here?”

  “Because I messed up,” I fessed up, deciding honesty was the smartest route to take.

  “How?”

  “I cheated with my ex.”

  A long pause. A blank expression. “While he was recovering?”

  “Yes.”

  A longer pause. Maintaining the same expression. “Why did you do it?”

  “Because…because he didn’t remember me and Xena stood by and allowed his ex to shut me out. He only wanted her to be around, and I wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t coming back. I couldn’t get to see him. To touch him. To look into his eyes and know that everything was going be alright. I was denied. I was ostracized. I was falling apart. I wanted to be with someone who wanted me, who knows who I am. Just for one night. Just to make the pain go away.”

  “And did you feel better afterward?”

  “I did.”

  “How about your love for him? How was it afterward? Stronger or adulterated?”

  “Stronger.” So much stronger than it’s ever been.

  “Are you sorry you did it?”

  Honest. Be honest. Expelling a breath, I shook my head. “I’m sorry he found out the way he did. I’m sorry I hurt him.” But I’m not sorry I did it.

  “And how is he taking it?”

  “He wants nothing to do with me. Plus he’s left the band.”

  Mick nodded as if this pleased him, picked up his cocoa and sipped. Twice. All the while I sat erect, fingers twisting in my lap as I awaited the verdict.

  Never in my life had I been this nervous, but Mick, I respected him on a unique level because he seemed to have the understanding of God. Somehow, this insane man was one of the sanest persons I’ve ever come across.

  Finally, he asked, “Why do you love my son?”

  I didn’t hesitate with my answer. “I love him because I love him. I love him with an emotion bigger than love. I love him because I know I do. That is all I have.”

  Mick picked at his muffin as he pondered this. Taking forever to respond. The key to winning Xavier back, this man had it. That’s the reason my heart guided me to travel across the world to him. To a man, everyone deemed mad.

  I had to win him over. I had to make him believe me. I needed that key.

  “I’m going to tell you something only a handful of people in my life know. And Xavier isn’t one of those people.” At this, Mick propped a fist under his chin, interest piqued. “At the moment, I’m worth 12.7 billion dollars. A couple of months ago, I made a number of large investments, so in the next few years, God willing, I’ll be worth twice as much. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand that when I say I love your son, it’s because I mean it and not because I’m after his money or fame. Aside from his heart—that I need more than anything—there’s nothing he can give me that I can’t give myself. He left the band. So what? I could give a damn. I would give him all my worth in exchange for his love.

  “I have a dream of buying the estate I saw at the foot of this hill. Making it ours and spending the rest of my life there with him and our twin girls. Now, what I truly flew across the globe to ask you is this: Before my Xavi became a famous rock star, what were his real dreams?”

  Mick blinked at me. One. Twice. Three times. And then he picked up his mug of cocoa again and sipped. “Boys.”

  Now I blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  Eying me over the rim of his mug, a kick of a smile touched his lips. “The twins will be boys, not girls.”

  The black weight that had been pressing down on my shoulders leaped off at those words, freeing me. Relaxing back in the armchair, I laughed something relieving.

  Setting down his mug once more, he stood, height as great as the wall of Jericho, shoulders as unscalable as his son’s, and started for the door. “Come with me.”

  I was up and behind him in a flash. Desperate for whatever help I could get.

  Mick navigated through the house and straight into the room, I remembered to be Xavier’s. A decent size, not too grand. Spacious enough to hold a queen bed, an armoire, a dresser, and a giant antique chest at the foot of the bed.

  Even though Xavier hadn’t been there in months, his scent and whisper of presence still lingered. I could feel him. Feel his eyes on me, feel the caress of his ever callused fingers.

  “Was this his room growing up?” I inquired, having never had the chance to ask Xavier when we were there, due to the emotional circumstances at the time.

  “Uh-huh,” Mick hummed, beelining for the c
hest. One by one, he tossed the throw pillows off the top of the chest, then dipped into his pocket and withdrew a jingle of keys. Crouching down, he used one of the keys to open the padlock on the chest box.

  “He gave you a key to his chest?”

  Standing, he backed away from the box and nodded. “He trusts me.”

  I stared down at the chest. “What’s in there?”

  “What you asked for. His real dreams.” His head turned to me. “This is his chest; this is where his heart is.”

  Moving to the only chair in the corner of the room, he sat down and motioned to the chest, telling me to get a move on.

  Hesitantly, I sank to my knees before the box. Removed the lock and lifted the lid. It was heavier than it looked.

  The chest was deep, but there wasn’t a lot of paraphernalia or dust inside like I expected. Everything was clean and neatly arranged at the bottom.

  My hand dipped in for the tallest item first. A blueprint. Closing the lid of the chest, I rolled the blueprint out on top of it.

  It’s a house. Kind of. Because it’s too sprawling, with a too much land space. An estate, maybe?

  “A plantation,” Mick filled in, as though he saw the question drawn in the creases between my eyebrows. “He did TD in school. Technical Drawing. Wanted to be an architect. He was five when he designed his first house. A castle. Said he wanted to be a king, wear a crown, and carry a sword. As he grew, every year he redesigned his dream home. That one you got there, he designed it four years ago. I’m guessing that’s it for him because he hasn’t done another redesign since. Whenever he’s here, he pins it up on the wall over there.”

  I scanned the blueprint in awe. “I had no idea he could do this.”

  “He wants a plantation ranch. With guest-houses for tourists at the back.”

  “Where?” I asked. “Here?”

  A slow a grin appeared as he propped his left ankle up onto his right knee.

  I frowned, not understanding the strange expression on his face.

  “The estate at the foot of the hill, and the four lots leading up to it,” he said finally. “That’s his dream, Alina. To purchase all that land for his plantation.”

  My eyes widened at the coincidence, mouth gaping as I breathed, “No way.”

  Mick laughed now. “How else could you have gotten me to show you inside his chest? It wasn’t your net worth, young girl. It’s because both your dreams align. Albeit his is a much bigger than yours.”

  “No way can he afford to do that. Even if he does stay in the band,” I said. “That’s just, like, colossal.”

  “That’s why it’s a dream,” he pointed out.

  Rolling up the blueprint, I set it aside and reopened the chest. I lifted out two German shepherd soft toys, and laughed. “He wants dogs?”

  “He loves dogs. He had a Labrador growing up. Name was Sinner. But Sinner died while he was on his first tour…”

  “And his on-the-road lifestyle didn’t allow room for another one,” I finished for him.

  I set the dogs aside and picked items out one by one, most of them mementos, and Mick explained what each meant to his son.

  It was like meeting an entirely new person. A different side of Xavier I never knew existed. And the more details Mick spared, the more I was convinced Xavier was indeed my dream man, and the more determined I was to do whatever it took to win him back. Who knew the center of his heart was right here in France?

  After setting a signed baseball aside, I espied a small red box and picked it up. A ring box.

  I flipped it open, gasping at its beauty. A breathtaking vintage wedding ring, pure gold with one giant diamond flanked by two smaller ones. “Wow…this is…”

  “It’s his mother’s.” I heard the break in his voice, but kept my eyes on the ring to give him privacy. Seeing his wife’s ring, the memories that it brought couldn’t be easy for him. “Before it was hers, it was my mother’s, and before it was my mother’s it was my grandmother’s, and before it was my grandmother’s it was her grandmother’s.

  And next it will be mine, I thought as I gazed longingly at it, resting peacefully in its little red coffin, begging to worn again, owned again, to taste the kiss of the sunlight again.

  Hearing movement, I glanced up to see Mick was on his feet and walking briskly toward the door. “I—I need a minute.”

  He was out the door before I could respond, and I wasn’t sure if seeing the ring was a bad thing or what. Would he trip into a crazy episode in the next five minutes? How did it work for him? What were his triggers?

  Contacting Xena or Xavier was off limits, so I would have to find out from Chloe.

  After packing the items back into the chest, I closed the lid then fetched my cell phone from my handbag.

  Chad said I had power. I probably did, but I couldn’t do this one on my own; I needed help.

  “It’s kind of refreshing feeling wanted by you, Alina,” he answered my call, annoyingly cool as usual. “What do you demand now?”

  “Two German Shepherds and a plantation.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I SPENT THE REMAINDER OF THE WEEK IN FRANCE with Mick. By the week’s end, I was asking Mick if I could spend some more time there. He was on board.

  There were, however, a few scheduled shoots I couldn’t get out of, so I flew back to Los Angeles, did the jobs as not to piss off Lion, and told him to hold off on booking any more shoots. Then I took Jacob and fled back to France.

  As was expected, Davian initiated a battle about me leaving with his son. To win the round, I whipped out the “all kind of skanks around my kid” argument and, eventually, he relented. Said the longest I could keep his son away from him was a month, lest we’d be doing the tango in court, blah blah blah.

  Well, virtually two months had zoomed by in the blink of an eye and we were still in France. Crashing in the guestroom.

  Mick was the best. He was overjoyed to have Jacob there, and Chloe was delighted to have company in the house other than Mick and his dead wife’s ghost.

  At current, it was two weeks before Christmas and toes-numbingly cold, with a light drizzling of snow outside. As a result, we spent the majority of our time indoors.

  We’d gotten the smaller part of Xavier’s dream, the German Shepherds, but the plantation was proving to be more of a challenge. While we were able to get the owners of the four lots leading up to the estate at the foot of the hill to agree to sell at a double-priced offer, the estate owner wouldn’t budge.

  It turned out the estate had been passed down from generation to generation, and it, therefore, had to remain in the family.

  Cousin Chad, who I knew could get anyone to do anything he wanted, told me, when I asked him to step in, that he respected family legacies and wouldn’t get involved in forcing someone to give up a family estate. Pair that with the fact that he wasn’t team Xavier.

  Eventually, we had to accept defeat. Xavier could still get his dream, but it just wouldn’t be at the foot of the hill.

  Mick and I shopped for weeks, searching for the perfect land in a location better than the one Xavier had his heart set on.

  After an exhausting search, it was only eight days ago that we found it. Or rather, Chad put us out of our misery when he called me and told me that the grandmother of an associate of his died a month ago and left her…wait for it…plantation ranch to him in her will. The blessing for us was: this inheritor was living large in the States and had no interest in keeping up some plantation ranch all the way in Brittany. Hence, it was going on the market.

  Chad advised us to check it out before it went on the market, see if it’s what we were looking for.

  Let’s just say, I cried when I saw it. Perfection. Better than anything, I could’ve ever imagined.

  6, 877 acres of land. Eight-minute drive from Mick’s home. An old plantation house on the land. Two huge barns. Horse ring with four emaciated horses lumbering around. A lake. A massive storehouse with five golf carts, two tract
ors, two forklifts, and two trailer trucks. A small building here, a small building there. Although many things needed updating or would be knocked down completely depending on Xavier’s tastes, for the most part, it was well-kept, with skyscraping pine trees, sagging willows, and trees and plants that were foreign to my eyes .

  The plantation house itself was astronomical, with thick, tall columns wrapping around it. Outdated, but in good condition as far as the eyes could see, not to mention loaded with valuable antiques and paintings, which, yes, were included in the sale price.

  Envisioning my life on that land with Xavier, I’d cried like a fool until Mick drew me into his arms and whispered, “This is it, young girl. Now, we just need to get him here and in love with you again.”

  I’d pulled back a fraction to look up at him, shaking my head. “He never—he never told me he was in love with me.”

  With a knowing smile, Mick had drawn me in again and said, “Maybe he didn’t. But that don’t mean he doesn’t.”

  Goes without saying, I bought the ranch. One-step closer to winning Xavier back.

  As I was currently on Xena’s Hate List, I resorted to calling Tex and Leo every day and begging them to convince Xavier to talk to me on the phone. He never did. Refused to. Wanted nothing at all to do with me.

  He was out of rehab, back at the villa, and had resumed running his bar. I felt better knowing he was adjusting easily and wasn’t having mental breakdowns or plummeting into a depression like most trauma survivors usually do.

  Now if only I could get him to frickin’ talk to me. I had to be feeding off bits and pieces about his well-being from Tex and Leo. The fact that Jessica was at his side twenty-four-seven playing the “good woman” was driving me batty.

  Ninety Miles was set to go on tour immediately after the New Year holidays, and this had me more than a little worried about Xavier; what he would do when they were gone. What were his plans now that he’d left the band? Would he totally lose it without his band-mates? Would it be then that he would realize how drastically his life had changed and begin drinking again?