Dazed: A Connections Novella

by Karr, Kim

  “Here we go,” Madeline says, setting the silver tray down.

  We talk a little while longer as I listen for the text that never comes. She tells me why she and my uncle never told me about their affair. She explains that my uncle didn’t want me to think badly of him for being involved with a married woman and he was afraid that my parents might not let me spend my summers with him if they knew.

  She also tells me how hard it was for her when he died—how she’d lost her best friend and wanted so much to talk to me. But she promised my uncle she wouldn’t. She finally divorced her husband and has refused to move because she feels close to my uncle here.

  “The only reason I called you today is because I knew the biographers over at Warner Bros. were writing me into their movie. They promised to change my name and alter the details if I’d share the story with them.”

  I look at her stunned. “Did you?”

  “Fuck, no. I told them to go fuck themselves.”

  My tears turn into laughter—she says fuck like my uncle used to. I grab her hand. “Madeline, I think you should share your story. It’s a true love story, not the one they’re fabricating and I’d be proud for the world to see it.”

  With both of us sobbing, she nods her head and agrees.

  Shortly after the sun set my phone beeped. I stole a glance. A text from Dahlia—I’d read it later. I give Madeline my full attention as she tells even more stories about my uncle. But when her voice starts to get shaky, I know we are both emotionally drained. As I stand to leave, she pulls me to her and hugs me tightly. “You’re a beautiful woman, Aerie. Your uncle would be so proud.”

  “Thank you,” I manage, staring out into the ocean I haven’t swum in since that last summer.

  She studies me. “Aerie, this isn’t my business, but I want you to know that after your uncle died, Levi had a tough time as well. He grew up with your uncle. And he told me what happened between the two of you.”

  My pulse pounds as embarrassment rushes to my cheeks.

  “I’m only telling you this because I know he feels so much regret for having hurt your feelings. He told me he told you he used you. Aerie, I didn’t ask for details. But it wasn’t true. There are some things a mother doesn’t want to know, but he did tell me what he said to you. Your uncle helped him every chance he could, but Levi wanted to make it on his own. He loved it when your uncle would sing his praises, but would never take his help. I urged him to often; after all, everyone needs a helping hand, but Levi was stubborn . . .”

  I stop listening as I try to remember that summer. How much he worked and how odd I thought it was that my uncle could only help him get gigs at small functions. It all made sense now and, not that it should matter anymore, but knowing that he refused my uncle’s help does matter.

  After spending the day with Madeline, I drive away from the south bluff feeling a sense of peace I’ve never felt before. I think it comes from knowing my uncle was happy—that he had found true love. His version may not have been like in the movies, but it was the way he chose to live his life and I can accept that.

  It’s dark as I drive down US 1. I glance over at the ocean and up to study the stars, shining like little diamonds. Suddenly, I remember my grandmother reading me a book and after closing it glancing up at the sky, “See those shining lights?” she asked. “Whenever you’re sad, wear something that sparkles and think of the stars and the sadness will be gone.” My hand moves to clutch the colored glass necklace that hangs around my neck, one of hers, and I suddenly understand why she had such a vast collection—she was looking for happiness with them.

  But I don’t have to look for happiness in her costume jewelry collections; I have someone who makes me happy. I just have to make it right with him. I’m not sure I can fix what I’ve broken between Jagger and me, but I know I can help him. So I pick up my phone and select Brett Hildebrandt from my list of contacts.

  “Hello?” he answers on the second ring.

  “Brett, it’s Aerie Daniels. I got your package yesterday.”

  I explain that I won’t hold the script up in court as long as he does two things for me. First is to tell the real love story that my uncle and Madeline Grayson shared and second to allow Jagger Kennedy to come back in and audition for the role before he makes his final selection. Of course, he agrees to both.

  When I pull onto my street, I see small flickers of light lining the walkway to my front door. I park in the driveway, curious about what they are. When I get out, my heart stops. Cupcakes are on both sides, but not just any cupcakes—Sprinkles black-and-white cupcakes with candles in them. I follow the glow up to my front door where a sign reads, “Alice, I take full responsibility for what happened.”

  I enter the house cautiously as my pulse races. His boots are on the mat that he never uses and when I glance up I see his blue quilted vest on the hook. On the first step is a cupcake with a small note—“Eat me.”

  I can’t help but giggle—in the movie Alice grows larger than the house when she eats the cake.

  One step at a time, I move forward. Once I reach the top I see a bottle of water, and another sign—“Drink me.”

  Again I giggle and I don’t care that I do—Alice shrinking so small that she fits perfectly in the house is giggable stuff. He has the eat me and drink me reversed, but I don’t care. I have to find him. I see a glow from under the door to my room and when I open it, he comes into focus. With his arm wedged against the frame, the first thing I see is the upward tilt of his full lips and without a moment of hesitation, I crash my mouth into his. I’ve missed him, everything about him, and if he can forgive me for my actions, I want him back in my life.

  He pulls away. Breathless, he asks, “Did you miss me?” like I was on an overnight trip and just got back.

  I know I couldn’t possibly love him more than I already do. More tears fall from my eyes and I just don’t care. I trail my fingers over his smooth pale skin flecked with slight stubble, up his sculpted nose, and through his dark brown hair that always looks like he just rolled out of bed. Staring at him, I think: This man is my version of perfect.

  “Yes, Jagger Kennedy, I missed you.”

  “How much?”

  “Very, very much.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks with that a smoldering grin that I can’t resist.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I answer.

  “Good.”

  He places small gentle kisses on my lips, my jaw, my neck. In turn, I kiss his mouth, his stubble, and the spot I marked just a few days ago. Passion and desire pool within me. He pulls away and his eyes sweep me. Then he pulls me to the bed and onto his lap.

  “We need to discuss a few things,” he mutters in between his kisses.

  “I know,” I answer kissing him back.

  “First, I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I say my voice breaking on the words.

  “Second, I love you.”

  I giggle. “Is there a third?”

  “Yes, I love you. Do you get it?”

  “I get it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Listen, Aerie, I talked to Dahlia and she told me . . .”

  He tells me he told Dahlia and River about what happened between us and that Dahlia told him what happened to me after that summer with Levi. I tell him about Madeline, about my call to Brett, about my fears concerning him and his ex-girlfriend, and about my fear of things I can’t control sending me into a state of depression. We talk for almost an hour and he eases my fears. Jagger has a way that calms me.

  “Why didn’t you go for your final test today?” I finally ask.

  “You know why.”

  “I do and I want you to play that role so I got you a second chance.”

  He shrugs off my attempt to reschedule his audition, but I insist that
when Brett calls him, he go in.

  “Shh . . . no more talking about the movie,” he says. Then he slides his hands down my arms to lace in my fingers. “I think we have other things we can talk about.”

  “Like what?” I breathe over his lips, my body already flushing in anticipation of what’s to come.

  With a sexy smoldering grin, he says, “Tell me what you want.” Even before I answer, his fingers move under my silk blouse and make their way to my breasts.

  Without any hesitation I tell him. “I want you to make love to me.”

  “What else?” he asks.

  “I want you to make me come over and over.”

  “I can do that,” he says with an upward tilt of his lips.

  Once we’re both naked, his mouth finds my slick flesh and he proceeds to do just that. We spend the night making love. And with our rhythm never faltering . . . we find our own perfect harmony.

  Epilogue

  Where the Story Ends

  “Let’s keep this game moving!” River yells to Jagger.

  “I’m trying, brother, but you have to stop passing the fucking ball to Dahlia. She’s not on our team.” Jagger bends with his hands on his knees and pauses to regain his breath. I grin at his adoption of my uncle’s terminology and when he notices my stare he shoots me a wink.

  It’s a beautiful breezy Sunday morning at Pan Pacific Park in LA. Concrete pathways stretch all around us like gray ribbons that can only lead to more exciting places to explore. Tying my shoelace, I glance around—a playground with children shouting and running, trees that go on forever, providing miles of shade in case the sun gets too hot, flowers blooming with their heady scent filling the air. As I stand, I breathe in deeply, enjoying the beauty that surrounds me on this glorious spring day and try not to laugh at myself about the situation I have agreed to.

  When Jagger promised to take me to a basketball game, what he didn’t tell me was that it wouldn’t be indoors and that I’d be playing in it. I knew River and Dahlia came to the park every now and then to shoot hoops. They had planned on it today, but almost canceled because Dahlia woke up not feeling well again. I’m not worried about her—morning sickness passes quickly.

  Jagger was beyond excited when River called back and said the game was on, that Dahlia was feeling better. He looked over at me and said, “It’s time to introduce you to a game I grew up with.”

  He had moved in with me instead of getting his own place, since he stayed at my house all the time anyway, it made sense. He also got the lead role in the movie No Led Zeppelin. Unfortunately, Jules landed the female lead. Jagger wanted to turn the role down when he learned who was playing Victoria, but I insisted he take it. I’m mature enough to know I can handle the fact that what I see is fiction, not reality—or at least I hope I’m mature enough to not slip an “eat me” cake or “drink me” poison into her dressing room.

  A tall woman with long dark hair singles me out and pulls my mind back into the game. “Do you have next?”

  I shrug my shoulders, having no idea what she’s talking about.

  Dahlia calls out. “Yeah.” Then she draws a circle around the five of us standing near what I now know is called the foul line. “We all do.”

  “No problem,” she says, and I sense a bit of rejection as she walks away.

  River and Dahlia are both captains so they are on opposite teams. Dahlia selected her players first and she stupidly picked me. River snatched up Jagger immediately. The two of them are so competitive it makes me laugh. I don’t know any of the other people here and I don’t think River and Dahlia do, either, but they’re all here for a friendly co-ed game of what I now know as pickup basketball.

  Jagger ran through the basics on our way here. I got the gist of it, but instead of watching the ball, I’ve been gawking at him. Right now as he strips his faded black hoody off and cocks his baseball hat to the side, he couldn’t look more disheveled. And with his black track pants hanging low and his thin white T-shirt rumpling in the wind, I couldn’t be more turned on.

  “Watch out, man,” Jagger calls when a guy with multiple tattoos runs into me.

  I have no idea what I’m doing on the court. I’ve been watching Dahlia, who has this thing down. She was guarding some girl who must be at least six foot tall and called out something about the 3-point line and other words I didn’t know, when I run into my teammate and we both fall to the ground.

  “Hey, man, lace’em up or get off the blacktop,” Jagger mutters, pointing at the guy’s sneakers. He lends a hand and hoists me to my feet. My cute black sweatsuit isn’t any worse for the wear and I brush my hands against the soft velour of the pants.

  “You okay?” he asks while shooting a dirty look at the guy who has apologized to me twice already.

  “I’m fine.” I giggle. “This is actually fun.”

  Then he looks at the guy next to me and extends his hand, giving him a hoist up—all’s good.

  Jagger twists back toward me and his gray eyes swirl as they zero in on me. “I knew I’d get you to like basketball.”

  Popping up on my toes, I kiss him softly. “You were right.”

  “You didn’t just seriously stop play for that,” River yells.

  “Je t’aime,” Jagger whispers in my ear. He shrugs at River and kisses me one last time before sprinting toward the goal line.

  I love you, too, I think to myself. And as he steals the ball from River and dribbles down the court, I watch him in the same dazed state I’ve been in since the first time I laid eyes on him and think . . . if Alice hadn’t been curious she’d have never fallen, so I’ll lean forward every time because I know he’s the one who will be there to catch me.

  Continue reading for a preview of the next book in the bestselling Connections series by Kim Karr

  MENDED

  Available in June wherever books and ebooks are sold

  The magic of rock and roll—it casts a spell on you. And I’m no exception. I’m a band manager and I’m living the dream, touring with the Wilde Ones, helping them secure their well-deserved place in the music industry. I love being a part of it all, especially watching the band perform live—the crowds, the cheers, the music. It’s a high and a low all at once, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Every step of the way with this band has been fun, exciting, stressful—every possible emotion. Obviously we’ve had some breaks, but mostly we all put in a lot of hard work—myself, Garrett Flynn the drummer, Phoenix Harper the bassist, River Wilde the former lead singer, and now Zane Perry the new lead.

  “Can you hear me now?” Zane bellows.

  I nod my head as my heart pounds in my chest. My hands feel cold and clammy and a nervousness that makes me weak and shaky takes over. Doubts race through my head and I’m questioning if he’s going to make it through this. A vague awareness that something bad could happen has been kicking around in my mind, and I can’t shake it. The Wilde Ones are doing a sound check onstage and Zane’s not on his game.

  It’s July and the weather has been brutally hot. But today it seems cooler. Maybe it’s the California weather. Maybe it’s the excitement of being home. The Beautiful Lies tour bus finally rolled back into our home state of California after six months away. While we’re in town, I have a laundry list of shit to do—meet with the accountant for the band, catch my assistant, Ena up on changes to upcoming stops, and stoke some fires in the publicity department at the label to ease the questions about the lead singer transition. I’m actually thinking some of the more mundane tasks of my job are suddenly looking better and better. On the road my day is always the same, but never the same—posting dailies and arranging rehearsals are automatic, but the rest evolves with the location, the people, and the needs of the band.

  When the bus eased into the amphitheater, we could see tanned kids in board shorts and bikini tops already lined up at the will-call window. Security guar
ds in polo shirts directed us to the artist parking lot, and we were officially home. Tonight we’ll be headlining our biggest show to date. We’re on tour without my brother, and still more than half of the shows are sold out, including tonight’s. River quit the band—touring just wasn’t for him—but even so, the album is on its way up the charts. Who knows—it may even hit gold status. The songs on the album were written and sung by River, but are performed in concert by Zane. Having him as my brother’s replacement has been the key to our successful transition in a world where replacing leads is normally unsuccessful—simply put, we’re lucky as hell to have him. However, River did promise to make a surprise appearance at our next stop. It’s going to be epic.

  But tonight is all about the arena—Mountain View and the Shoreline. “That’s enough,” I yell to the band and call rehearsal. This place is the biggest outdoor venue we’ve played, and I couldn’t be more stoked—or more nervous. A sold-out show and a rocking opening band—what a combination. But a lead singer with another cold and a weakened voice that can’t be heard throughout an amphitheater scares the shit out of me.

  I head straight for the bus and spend the next few hours hashing out a song with Nix that he calls a jumbled mess of muscular sense and big-riff sunshine—whatever the hell that means. All I know is that it needs help and that’s why he’s turning to me. I hadn’t played guitar since I was eighteen, but for some reason, I’ve picked it back up over the course of this tour. At first I played on whichever guitar was lying around, but last month I had my mother mail my old one to me, and it feels like home. It’s a light blue and brown Gibson—it’s the same guitar that Slash uses. Playing again seems to help pass the time and brings a sense of calm to me that I haven’t felt in a while.

  Hours pass, and before I know it, it’s almost showtime. We make our way over to the amphitheater, do the typical festival schmooze fest, and then settle back until it’s our turn. Waiting for the band to take the stage is always the most nerve-racking time. I’m sitting in the practically vacant makeshift meet-and-greet area backstage and sipping a beer in a worthless effort to calm my nerves when a voice travels through the sound system. It’s a powerful and emotive mezzo-soprano range that is nothing short of explosive. She sounds unlike any singer I’ve ever heard before—with only one exception: Ivy Taylor. I push back the memories and emotions that her name evokes; they are just too painful. I can’t see her onstage, but I know that the voice belongs to Jane Mommsen. Her band, Breathless, is playing right before the Wilde Ones.