by Lyla Dune
She said, “Haven’t seen you in a while. How you feeling?”
“Just finished with the physical therapist a few days ago. Doctor took me off pain medicine. Looks like I might pull through this after all.” His shy gray eyes scanned the bus then cut to the deserted road.
“That’s good to hear. You been playing your bass?”
He looked at her, hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, but you know.” He shrugged.
“Brandon, between you and me, tell me something.”
“What’s that?”
“If I decided to not go on tour, could you step in? Could you do this thing?”
“Listen, don’t feel bad about the tour. I get it. You don’t need to relieve your conscience about that, Sam.”
“I’m not. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s not that if you say no you couldn’t do it, I’d feel better about going instead of you. It’s that I don’t want to go, and I’d feel better about bailing out at the last minute if I knew I wasn’t leaving the guys hanging.”
“You don’t want to go?”
She laughed. “I sat on that bus just now and it dawned on me—I don’t want to be cooped up on a bus with these guys for months. I don’t. I’m not a rocker. I’d rather be playing jazz with my girlfriends and hanging out at the beach.”
“Seriously? You don’t even want this?” A smile brightened his previously glum face.
“Seriously. I don’t want this. And I haven’t signed the contract.”
“I thought Tox turned those in last week.”
“Not mine.”
“Okay, so you’re saying…you’re not going. This is definite?”
“Can you go, Brandon? Are you able to play? Shoot straight with me here.”
“Hell yeah. There’s no reason why I can’t play or go on tour. Do you think the guys in the band would go for it?”
Tox pulled up in his jeep and Sam said, “We’re about to find out.”
SAM’S STOMACH WAS like a jar of fireflies—bright zings flitting inside at the thought of rushing into Brock’s arms. But would he be happy to see her? She prayed her instincts were right—that he did love her, even though he didn’t say it. He’d demonstrated it in so many ways. It couldn’t be all in her head.
Mazy helped load her luggage into the elevator and said, “You got it from here?”
“Yeah. I’m good. Thanks so much, Mazy. I’ll call you later.”
“Girl, you’re going to be too busy with Brock to even think about me. Who are you kidding?”
Sounded about right. Sam couldn’t help but smile.
“I’ll see ya later, Sam. I still think you’re crazy for giving up that tour, but I ain’t gonna lie—I’m glad you stayed. I’m real glad.” The unspoken emotion pouring from Mazy washed over Sam as they hugged.
Mazy drove away. Sam hit the up button on the elevator. She rehearsed what she’d say to Brock. “Hi, handsome. I changed my mind about the tour. Can I stay here with you a little longer?” No that wasn’t quite right. “I couldn’t bear to leave you. I backed out of the tour. Do you still want me?” Hell no. That wasn’t right at all. “Hi, honey. I’m home.” Ha. She wished. “Before you say anything, I changed my mind about the tour. It isn’t what I want, whether you and I make a go of it or not. Being on that bus with those guys and leaving the place I’ve come to call home and all the people I care about felt wrong. Way wrong. I decided to stay where I belong.” Maybe that would work. It was the truth.
The lemony scent of the cleaner Brock preferred filled the air as she stepped into the spotless kitchen. He’d been hard at work this morning. The empty fruit bowl struck her as odd. When she’d left, there had been a fresh bunch of bananas and four oranges in that bowl. The flowers Brock had given her on her Birthday were missing from the dining table.
An uneasiness stirred.
She looked out onto the deck. All the furniture, plants, and the hammocks were gone.
Why’d he move the furniture off the deck?
“Brock?” No answer. “Brock.” She ran upstairs. His room was empty. The upstairs balcony was also devoid of furniture. The doors and windows were closed and locked.
She ran all the way back down to the carport. She walked past the elevator and opened the door to the guest quarters. So that’s where he’d stored the patio furniture. Was he leaving the island? His Hummer sat in the carport. He couldn’t have gone far.
She went back inside to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Not even a bottle of ketchup? She staggered to the bar. A manila envelope and Brock’s keys to the Hummer were on the granite countertop. The envelope had her name on it. She ripped it open.
My Dearest Sam,
Meeting you has been the highlight of my life. I’ve adored every moment we’ve shared this summer. The joy you’ve brought me will last a lifetime. Here I am, a man who cherishes the written word, and I’m finding it next to impossible to pen this letter to you.
When I saw your face alight from the offer of a chance to pursue your dream and go on tour, I knew it was your destiny. I also knew, I’d have to let you go, let you become who you were meant to be. Seeing your future on the horizon and knowing I would not, could not be a part of that future was a very difficult fact to accept.
This house is yours. It’s always been yours. From the first day I met you, I’ve viewed this house as your home. I cannot live here without you. I want you to know that no matter where the road takes you, you will always have a home here at 19 Lunar Avenue, Pleasure Island, North Carolina. I’ve enclosed the paperwork necessary to legally transfer the home into your name. Leah can walk you through all the details.
You’ll see that the Hummer keys are on the counter. I’ve put the title in your name. It is a gift. I bought the vehicle for you. It’s big enough to haul your bass wherever you need without being exposed to the elements and if you should decide to drive across the beach, like we enjoyed doing so many times together, you will have a proper vehicle to do so.
Knowing you’ll have reliable transportation means a great deal to me. Pushing your old, beat up truck over the bridge, and you in a panic about your beloved bass being drenched by the rain has left a lasting impression. I never want you to be caught in such a position again. That memory on the drawbridge is our song, love. No one else gets to sing it.
I may not be the man to spend the rest of my days at your side, but I desperately want to be the man who provides you with what you need. Selfishly, I know you’ll think of me as long as you keep this house and vehicle. This is my way of staying in your life. Forgive me for this selfish gesture. Please understand, if you refuse my gifts I’ll be crushed. I want to do this, Sam. I need to do this.
You told me you loved me. I wanted to profess my love for you in return, but the impending doom of goodbye kept me from saying what my heart felt. You needed to go. Now I must also go.
I understand that it may be best that we do not stay in contact. Our paths have moved in different directions. To become a friend, someone you once knew, a past lover is something I cannot bear.
You will always be the woman I love. Always.
Forever Yours,
Brock
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Collide
Sam collapsed into a fit of tears. She read and reread Brock’s letter. She nearly went through a whole roll of paper towels mopping her face. The searing pain in her lungs stole her breath.
With swollen eyes, she stared at her mood ring. Black. The color of mourning.
Exhausted and numb, she slowly regained control of her breathing. An occasional snuffling gasp caused her to tremble, but she was able flip through the other papers in the envelope Brock left for her. The legal jargon was akin to reading a book written in Latin. The words became a blur when her eyes clouded with tears again.
She thought he’d stay here at the beach house, that even if she’d gone on tour, he’d be here when she returned. They hadn’t ended things officially before she left. People don’t just sign
over houses and cars like that, not without talking it through.
She staggered through the house in a daze, unable to process the turn of events. She flung herself across the bed in Brock’s room. His poetry book rested on the second shelf of the nightstand. She picked it up and read poem after poem about how much he loved her, how letting her go was the hardest thing he’d ever done, how he couldn’t say goodbye.
She couldn’t let him leave her like this. She couldn’t let this happen. She dialed his number. The familiar ringtone sounded from downstairs. No. No. No. He couldn’t have left his phone behind, severing their contact on purpose. “No!”
She rushed out of the room and toward the sound of the ringtone.
“Hello?” He answered. Was she hearing things?
He rounded the corner of the stairwell with his phone to his ear just as she stepped off the last stair tread. They collided.
She dropped her phone and gasped.
He grabbed her around the waist so she wouldn’t fall.
With her face pressed into his chest, she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck, unable to speak.
He buried his face in her hair and comforted her.
Clutching his shirt with barely the strength to speak, she whispered, “I thought you’d left.”
“I thought you’d left.” His tender voice washed over her.
“You were going to leave me like this?”
“It was for the best. What are you doing here?” His voice hitched, and he tightened his grip around her.
She pulled her face back and looked into his eyes, “I couldn’t do it. I changed my mind about the tour. Brandon took my place.”
“So you aren’t touring with Inked Religion at all?” He looked astonished.
“No. I belong here. This is where I’m happiest, not stuck on a bus with a bunch of guys I don’t even care for that much.”
He staggered backward and scrubbed a hand down his face.
Crap. Maybe he didn’t want her to stay. “Are you disappointed?”
“No. Disappointment is the opposite of how I feel. Sam, are you sure this is what you want? I thought the tour was your dream.” He took both of her hands in his.
“I’m sure. The tour was my father’s dream. I was trying to keep him alive by living his dream. When I sat on the bus, the reality of it sank in. I realized that wasn’t what I wanted at all.”
“Because of us?” He brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.
“No. I don’t want to be stuck on a bus, traveling around with nowhere to call home. I’d be away from everyone I love, that includes you, but you aren’t the only reason I changed my mind about the tour. I mean, I’d be touring with a rock band for Gods sake. Jazz is my love. This tour wasn’t the right fit for me. This island and the people here, playing with Bikini Quartet, working with the Sea Turtle project, this is where I’m meant to be. This is where I’m happy.”
He released a deep breath.
She couldn’t tell if he was relieved or distraught. “Why did you come back, Brock?”
“I left my poetry book. Halfway to the airport I realized it wasn’t in my carryon. I had the taxi turn around.” He stilled. “Christ. The taxi is waiting downstairs. Let me get my stuff and send him on his way.”
“So you aren’t leaving after all?” Her hands trembled.
He looked at her like she’d gone mad. “If you’re staying. I’m staying. That’s if you want me to. Do you, Sam? Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes!”
“I love when you say yes. Hold that thought.” He broke away from her and went downstairs to get his things.
She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the hall. Her face was red, eyes swollen, mascara smeared down her cheeks. She slipped into the guest bathroom and washed her face, patting a cold cloth to her eyes.
The sound of suitcases clattering against the kitchen tile got her attention. She walked into the living room. Brock had brought in his luggage and was in the process of dragging all her stuff out of the elevator. She’d forgotten she hadn’t even off loaded yet.
A faint voice in the back of her mind said they’d better establish their living situation. She couldn’t accept his offer of the house and the Hummer if he was staying, but mentioning it didn’t seem appropriate at the moment.
As he settled her bass against the wall, he said, “That elevator has come in handy.”
“Yes. It’s awesome.” A nervous tremor ran through her. She didn’t know what caused it, but something felt strange. His voice sounded different than usual. There was an uncertainty to his movements that seemed out of place. He always had such a relaxed confidence to him. She didn’t know what it was, but something was definitely off.
He faced her. She got the distinct feeling he needed to tell her something, but was afraid to broach the subject. What if he didn’t want to give her the impression they were now “serious”, just because they were both staying. She braced herself.
He walked toward her and knelt on one knee. “Will you marry me?” He opened his fist and revealed a ruby ring, his grandmother’s.
The red gemstone was set in yellow gold and encircled by diamonds. With her heart in her throat, she whispered, “Yes.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger. A perfect fit.
“Gorgeous,” she said.
He looked into her face. Adoration shone in his eyes. “Yes. Gorgeous.” Tears trickled from the corners of his eyes.
Marry him? She was going to marry him! “Brock, I’m overcome with—“
He pushed himself up from the floor and kissed her.
Words weren’t strong enough to express her heart, but he mirrored her emotion with his kiss.
He lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed it then studied the mood ring. “Lavender. Mmm. Lovestruck and passionate. My favorites.”
THE GOLDEN AFTERNOON sun warmed Brock’s face. Sam’s veil and hair floated around her. The lightweight satin wedding gown she wore fluttered and billowed in the ocean breeze. With a cluster of stargazer lilies in her grasp and Leah, Mazy, and Kendal at her side dressed in lavender one-shoulder dresses, Sam was the picturesque bride.
Jack, Ted, and Carl were Brock’s groomsmen dressed in tuxedos. In a hot-pink chiffon dress, Myrtle gave the bride away.
As he pushed the eternity wedding band onto Sam’s finger, a sense of being whole filled his heart.
Sam wiggled his ring over his knuckle, her hands trembling, a smile on her lips. The gold band glinted in the sunlight and transformed his hand into a replica of his father’s.
An honor to be a husband. An honor indeed. He finally understood his father’s sentiments completely and agreed with them. He couldn’t have been more honored had he been knighted with a sword. Sam had made him king of her universe. She was his queen.
SAM TOSSED THE bouquet over her shoulder. Her friends squealed.
The flowers hit Mazy in the chest, and she reluctantly caught the bouquet then tossed it up into the air. “I don’t want this.” She laughed and the crowd laughed with her. The bouquet came crashing down on her head and got stuck in her hair.
Myrtle hollered, “Too bad. It wants you. Let’s party.”
The money collected during the poll Myrtle had conducted when Brock first arrived funded the reception at Reel to Real Good. In lieu of their earnings, all the winners of the bet opted to sponsor an open bar reception.
Jack prepared a feast. The cake was a three-tiered masterpiece, each layer a different flavor. The mocha cake with the buttercream icing was Sam’s favorite. She sampled the layers and fed Brock a bite of each.
A beach wedding with friends who felt like family in attendance, this was a real dream come true, a dream of her very own. She sensed her parents’ presence and knew they were proud.
Louise hit her spoon against a water glass and got everyone’s attention. “I’d like to invite the bride and groom onto the dance floor for their first shag as husband and wife.”
Brock pulled
Sam into his arms, “Let’s do it, wife.”
At the close of the reception, Leah led Sam away from the crowd to a makeshift dressing room in the corner of the restaurant’s storage area. Sam changed into her honeymoon traveling suit—a coral skirt and matching jacket.
Leah fashioned Sam’s long hair into a side-swept ponytail and said, “Brock’s parents are going to fall in love with you.”
Sam replaced her chandelier earrings with simple pearl studs. “I hope so. What if his mother is upset that we got married before she had a chance to meet me?”
Leah lifted Sam’s chin and leveled her with a stern look. “Sam. Brock’s mother is recovering from a stroke. She’s probably grateful she didn’t have the hassle of buying a fancy dress or worry whether she could walk down the aisle or would have to be pushed in her wheelchair in front of everyone, especially all those pesky paparazzi. This way, she gets to meet you on her turf, in the privacy and comfort of her own home. Brock knew what he was doing. You need to trust his judgment about this. His family will adore you as much as I do. You have my word on that.”
Sam let out a deep breath. “Thank you, Leah.”
Brock waited outside the restaurant in a smart pinstriped suit. He smiled and reached for Sam’s hand as Mazy pulled up in a long black limo with Just Married painted on the windows, streamers and cans tied to the bumper. She hopped out of the driver’s seat dressed like a chauffeur, down to the cute black hat.
Mazy made a grand hand gesture as she opened the door for the newlyweds. Brock placed their luggage inside the vehicle then helped Sam into the limo and slid in beside her.
As they approached the drawbridge, Sam covered her mouth at the sight of all the wedding guests lined on either side of the drawbridge, waving and cheering. Mazy opened the automatic sunroof.
Sam and Brock stood, hand in hand, their bodies sticking out the sunroof. As they crossed the drawbridge, they were pelted with grains of rice and showered with congratulations.
