“I’m here all alone and I need you.”
Something about that statement didn’t sit well with him. Why wouldn’t she be lonely? Anderson’s band was playing in Prague and she didn’t go on tour with them. Duh, Joss.
“Not my problem,” he mumbled and hung up.
Just as he began to doze, the phone rang again. Fucking A. If he didn’t deal with her, she’d keep calling. And calling. And calling.
Answering again, he said, “I’m coming,” and hung up. Time to end this.
Claire hoped she’d only dreamed Ty’s phone rang, but her fears were confirmed when she woke to an empty bed. Really? I should’ve figured.
On autopilot, she gathered her clothes, dressed, and made sure she left with everything she’d entered with. Aside, of course, from dignity. It’d take a while before she had that again.
She stopped at the door. Unfortunately, she couldn’t let this go. She and Ty had a connection; she knew it with everything in her, but they wouldn’t have a chance to let it flourish thanks to that bitch, Joss. Glancing around, Claire searched for the stationary she’d spotted earlier on the nightstand, but it was no longer there. Fine. She’d use her own pen and paper to get the thoughts out of her head.
Logically, she understood Neil and his cheating had caused the ferocious ache in her chest, and Ty was not Neil. Her mangled relationship with her previous lover had led to her writing romance and searching for a way to make sense of it all, to learn the inner workings of love and what made people return to those who’d hurt them. In the five years since their breakup, she’d gained more knowledge than she anticipated, talked with readers and fans for whom her characters’ relationships had proven helpful with their own difficult situations, and yet, she had never quite put the past behind her.
She’d start that day. By doing what she hadn’t done with Neil—letting Ty know exactly how much she hurt.
Settling on the sofa, legs tucked under her, she searched through her purse for the small notebook she always kept. To waste words and time on the situation rankled her beyond belief, but, damn it, she’d hated waking up alone and he needed to know that.
At least Trace and Ella still wanted her. She had plenty of work to do on their story when she got home.
First, she had a note to write.
Dear Ty. No. That wouldn’t work. She ripped the page out and crumpled it up.
Ty—
I’m sure I know exactly where you are, and to say I’m disappointed is an understatement.
She crossed that out. Sounded too much like an angry parent. Taking a deep breath, she tried one more time.
Ty—
I wish you’d been here when I woke up. After everything we’ve shared, the empty bed was an insult. Maybe you’re too scared to move on from her. I can understand that, but you acted like you wanted more with me. I wanted more. As long as she’s in your life, though, there’s no room for me.
I hope you find something akin to happiness with her.
Claire
There. Short and sweet.
For the next hour, she’d give Penny a piece of her mind, then maybe try to better her mood with All Roads Lead to You. Or write in a different genre altogether. No more romance. Ever.
Of course, the rational part of her mind told her she overreacted. One fantastic-then-failed date didn’t mean she’d chosen an incorrect career or life path. Today simply wasn’t her day. The pissed-off part decided it’d had enough and wanted to settle in with a bowl of ice cream and a Bruce Willis marathon.
Once she got to her car, she dialed Penelope. Please pick up. Please, please, please pick up.
Before voice-mail kicked in, Penny answered. “Please tell me it was amazing and the best thing ever, and that you’re gonna have his babies.”
Claire sighed. “I’m telling you none of that.”
She practically heard Penny’s shoulders sag through the phone. For the next several miles, she told the entire story, beginning to end, with as much detail as she could remember. “So whatever testimonials you read on the website, I won’t be adding to them.”
A few moments of silence passed. She weaved in and out of traffic, eager to get home and into the loving arms of John McClane. Die Hard made everything better, even the one with Justin Long and Kevin Smith. No ex-girlfriends to worry about.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I have work to do. Roads is almost finished.” Then the Chicagoland Chronicles would be, too.
“Fair enough. I’m already planning your release party.”
This I have to hear.
“You know that sweet bookstore on Illinois Street that was always booked up when we tried to get it?” Penny asked.
No way, no way, no way. “Yeeeeah…?”
“Well, I wanted to surprise you with the news, but since I signed you up for that shitty date and all…I got the store booked for your Roads release. As long as you finish it on time, that is.”
They’d been trying to book an event at Penman’s Progress for years. So many amazing authors had signed there. “I’m not worthy.”
“I know. And, to put some more icing on this delicious cake, I booked you the best Chicago cover band in…well, in Chicago. We’re sending this series off with a bang, my dear.”
“All is forgiven. You are my fairy godmother. Remind me to buy you a wand.”
“I’d rather have a sword.”
“You can have whatever your heart desires.”
“Right now, I’d like to have the knowledge that your editor has your book. So get home and finish that. Then we’ll discuss my heart’s desires.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Chapter Six
Seven months later
Claire had forgotten how cold Chicago could be in the winter, but having a third-quarter release meant braving the Windy City’s cutting wind. She shivered even after reaching shelter, but having access to her favorite bookstore in the entire country made the chill insignificant. She’d loved Penman’s Progress since her first visit six years earlier, when she’d been celebrating her first Chicagoland Chronicles book, Come in from the Night. Walking the streets with Neil, she’d gone in, fallen in love, and declared that someday, she’d have a signing there.
Climbing the staircase—with a lovely wrought iron railing—up to the second floor, she couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived. On the landing, she stopped for a moment before heading to the table to prepare, savoring the feel of the ornate, cool metal under her palm. Oh, yeah. Definitely adding some of that to the house. She didn’t have a second floor, but she’d find a way. Maybe she could redo the porch.
Penny greeted her with a bright smile and a bruising hug. “What do you think?” She gestured around the room.
Turning to take it all in, Claire inhaled the scent of books, both new and old. Exposed brick and beautiful vintage lampposts decorated the room. From that floor, the windows faced Lake Michigan, offering a gorgeous, albeit frosty, view of the water. Enough merchandise to choke a horse covered the table, and a large portrait of Roads’ cover, with Ella and Trace in all their 1920s glory, sat on an easel next to it. Behind it, the staff had placed shelves containing the other four books in the series. Three rows of chairs to accommodate guests sat directly in front of the table. Against the far wall, a stage had been set up where the band, 25 or 6 to 4, would start playing after her reading and signing concluded—provided they showed up on time. A childlike giddiness flooded her. Everything she’d ever dreamed of surrounded her.
Except for the missing piece.
She’d regretted not leaving some sort of contact information for Ty, but had left so angry, the idea hadn’t crossed her mind. Once she’d gotten home and poured herself a glass of wine, she’d planted her butt in the chair and started the long process of polishing the last twenty-four thousand words of Ella and Trace’s story, from the dance, to the high-speed chase on the back roads between Chicago and Des Plaines, to the couple’s eventual reunio
n. She’d never thought she could make a romance between a policeman’s daughter and a bootlegger work, but it’d somehow happened, and her editor had loved it. The process flew by, leaving her brain too occupied or too exhausted to think about the failed date. Until she had no more book to work on. No edits, no cover design discussions, nothing. Then, thoughts of Ty and the irritating idea of what could have been, returned.
Rather than go down that road, she’d dusted off the old science fiction novel she’d dreamed of publishing, started ripping it apart, and dedicated all of her energy to it. Before catching her flight that morning, she’d completed a rough draft. A much better rough draft, thus answering at least one question of what could have been. The other would remain a mystery.
“It’s perfect,” she replied. “Better than I could have imagined.”
“Good. It was hell to put together,” Penny said with a wink. “Now, we’re going to have an introduction, the reading, and a quick Q&A before the signing. Then the party starts.”
Book signings never got easier for Claire, and readings even less so. She took a decent pull of whisky from the flask her friend had so kindly provided and reviewed the section in the book she’d highlighted for the reading. Looking over the familiar words, she smiled. She loved this part.
People started filing into the room, and her jitters kicked into high gear. Penny flitted around like the good hostess Claire wasn’t, offering the coffee and tea Penman’s Progress had provided and directing readers to the seats. In the meantime, she exchanged pleasantries and forced her lunch to stay where she’d put it. The brief calm her shot of whiskey brought no longer existed.
Everyone settled, and a roomful of gazes turned to her. Now in the spotlight, she had to turn on her author charm. Hopefully, she hadn’t left the on switch at home.
“Thank y’all for coming,” she said. Her southern accent always sounded so much worse to her ears in the North. “I’m so happy to see some familiar faces and some new ones as well. The Chicagoland Chronicles series is one of my most favorites, and I’m thrilled to share the celebration of All Roads Lead to You with you all.”
Truth be told, she loved her readers. They were some of the best and most loyal in the world. “This last book of the series embodies the upheaval of the Prohibition era in the relationship of its central characters, Ella Maas, the daughter of a corrupt Chicago policeman, and Trace Bishop, a down-and-out kid who turns to bootlegging to make his fortune.”
The gasps and claps from the crowd invigorated her. Though her nerves still hadn’t calmed, she thought she’d be able to make it through the reading, even if it this part reminded her most of Ty.
“The selection I wanted to read is the first time the two see each other, which happens at a speakeasy. Of course.” Cue the chuckles. Such a good audience. “Ella’s out with her girlfriends, without a chaperone. They end up at the speakeasy where Trace is…enjoying some of the finer perks of being in Al Capone’s employ.” She took a deep breath and began to read, praying she wouldn’t sound like a complete idiot.
Trace took a deep swig of the whiskey, savoring the burn in the back of his throat. He’d taken it all the way from Atlantic City to Chicago, his first big job for Scarface, and now he was sitting pretty with the promise of moving up in the gang. Running provided excitement, but he wanted more responsibility. A way to prove his old man wrong once and for all.
Nutsy elbowed him in the side, a wide grin overrunning his narrow face. Kid had a face like a rat, but everybody said he was nuttier than a bushel of acorns, hence the nickname. “Look at them skirts in the corner,” he said.
Following the kid’s line of vision, Trace looked, and his heart stopped. Working with Capone, he’d seen his fair share of gorgeous broads, but she…she was a goddess. Clara Bow had nothing on her.
“Damn, look at the gams on that one.”
Nutsy gestured to the blonde, the one making him dizzy. She had legs up to her neck, long, toned, like a dancer’s. Licking his lips, he imagined how those legs would feel wrapped around his waist.
Lame-foot Larraby sat on his other side, blocking his view. “Her?” He snorted. “Her and those girls are high hats, man. Too ritzy for bums like you. Besides, a lot of these flapper dames are flat tires. All looks, no brains.”
“I’m gonna go talk to her.” What did he have to lose?
With an unsubtle shake of his head, Lame-foot tsked. “You’ll go over one of the best and brightest and come back public enemy number one with them dames. Just wait, pal.”
“Hey, maybe he’ll get her name,” Nutsy said. “Then maybe he can teach you to dance the Charleston!”
The two men howled with laughter. Trace drained his whiskey, stood up, and smoothed his shirt. “You guys are a coupla boobs, you know that?”
They laughed harder.
He’d show ’em. First, he’d make himself Capone’s best runner. Then he’d nab a slew of chicks like these. Starting with her.
The trio turned at his approach. The two friends looked him up and down. She, though, met his eyes and smiled, showing white teeth behind painted red lips. He thanked his lucky stars she couldn’t see how nervous he was.
“Havin’ a good time, ladies?”
“Yeah,” the blonde answered. “This place is great.”
Trace detected a hint of sarcasm in the girl’s honey-sweet voice, like she didn’t want to be there after all. The other two didn’t say a word, but both looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.
Had he missed something?
With a conspiratorial grin, Claire closed the book to some ooohs from the crowd. Once the party got into full swing, she grew more at ease, fielding questions like a pro. Then she settled into the chair and relaxed through the signing, peeking up every so often to check for the missing band.
The strains of an acoustic guitar didn’t escape her notice. Head buried in book after book, she figured the band’s guitarist was just practicing. When she looked up though, her heart jolted. In the entryway, decked out in a tight black sweater and carpenter jeans, stood her rock star, acoustic guitar in his hands. He cleared his throat, and every eye in the room turned to him.
That was not the way he’d intended to reunite with Claire, but desperate times and all that shit. He hated crashing her party. More than that, he’d hated how everything had ended so abruptly between them, without an opportunity to explain.
Yeah, he’d left without telling her, and it had been a stupid mistake. After all, he’d intended to try for a second date. Then a third. Then a fourth…. He’d wanted more. But, unlike her, he hadn’t been smart enough to leave a note. He’d had to deal with his ex, and Claire’d given him the courage to do that.
With Joss out of his life, he concentrated on music, most notably the song that had consumed him at the Castillo in Charleston. Every part of it had to be perfect so she’d understand. He always made a mess of verbal communication, but in a song, he could tell her exactly how he felt.
Seeing her so happy almost made him lose his nerve. He thought about her note every day, how she’d said she wanted more, how he’d definitely wanted more. If this last-ditch effort blew up in his face, he’d never live it down.
When she spotted him, her expression spoke volumes and steeled his resolve. Her eyes were as big as plates, mouth slightly open. Not angry, maybe stunned. Stepping forward, he played through the intro again, hoping to come in with the lyrics that time. Thank God everyone had stopped talking; he’d never be able to project over the noise.
You’re no addiction
If you were I could quit you
And I couldn’t leave you even if I tried
It’s all dependence
A need I’ve sunk into
Dazed and craving, safe and satisfied
Stuck in the past, in my own misery
’Til you held out a hand and saved me from me.
She stared at him in bewilderment, as though she couldn’t believe he’d shown up. Part of him couldn’t ei
ther. He’d planned for months, stalking her website to find out where she’d be and when. Her release party had given him the best chance to make up to her. And since the band she’d booked was apparently running late….
You didn’t give me the strength to stand and fight
You are my strength, every single part
You didn’t mend what was broken inside
How could you fix it when you are my heart
You didn’t give me a reason to let it go
You’re my living reason to live and be
You completed my want, my need, and so
For eternity—Complete me.
In his mind, he begged her not to be angry. He’d spent their time apart perfecting the song, grateful for Sleeping Angels’ extended tour and break from recording. The little bastards were back at school in Britain, and far away from him. All he’d wanted sat in front of him, her sparkling eyes rimmed with tears.
My head’s site of healing
My soul’s source of comfort
My love’s never-ending spot of contentment
My future revealed and
My love discovered
Staring in the eyes of my new beginning.
My heart’s true hero, my one cause for each dream
The breath that’s stolen when you can’t help but gleam.
Yeah, he’d read her Chicagoland Chronicles series and her previous sci-fi series, and all of her blog posts to hear her voice in his mind. He’d missed her so much his soul ached. For seven long months, he’d absorbed all things Claire, but it had been a teaspoon of water to a parched man’s lips. She stood in front of him then, a smile of disbelief on her perfect lips. He went into the chorus again, then into the last bridge, the one that had been hardest to write because it encapsulated everything he’d felt without her.
Had you in my arms, your caress, your kiss
There’s no other love to compare to this.
She had to know. He’d fallen head over heels for her in one night, and he’d give anything to have her in his arms every morning from there on out. After playing a small interlude, he sang the chorus with all the conviction he could muster.
Complete Me (A 1Night Stand Story) Page 4
