Chasing Kane

by Andrea Randall

  “CJ! I was with Georgia before I even met Yardley. You’d better hope I answer no to that.”

  “Damn straight.” He clinked his heavy mug into mine. “You’d better hope, you scrawny motherfucker.” He’d always been protective of Georgia.

  I rolled my eyes. “Your mouth. God. Care to clean it up?”

  He shook his head unapologetically. “Not really. Why? You entering the priesthood?”

  “Adulthood,” I shot back. He, in turn, gave me the finger for the second time today.

  “Anyway,” he said, swallowing half the contents of his mug in a few sips, “I think today went pretty well.”

  “Me too. Don’t get cocky,” I preemptively cautioned. “You’re not the only decent drummer to walk through those doors, and you won’t be the first one escorted out by the tip of Yardley’s shoe if you don’t pull your weight.”

  His face turned serious. “Cut me some fucking slack, would you? God, you’ve been on my ass since I got here”

  He was right, and I instantly felt bad. “I’m sorry, dude. Look, I just … ugh, it’s hard having my cousin and wife being best friends. Especially when they’re at war. And she likes Frankie, to top it all off, so you breaking things off with her really set Georgia on a warpath yesterday.”

  “Why does she care so damn much?” He looked down, something he’d done a lot already today, and seemed like he was cursing himself. I don’t know … he just wasn’t truly himself. Not the self of the last few years, anyway.

  “She cares about you,” I answered honestly. “We both do. She knows Frankie was and is good for you.” Finally, I was honest with him. “Why’d you really cut her loose? You’ve been on small tours while with her before and held it together with fidelity. Why break things off now?”

  CJ held his hand up to the bartender, pointing to a front-and-center bottle of tequila before pointing back to us.

  Great.

  With shots in hand, CJ toasted our summer together, and didn’t say another word until we swallowed the smooth liquor.

  “I’m freaked out,” he admitted, to my astonishment.

  I kept my cool, pushing hopes of his impending growing-up down as far as they’d go. “About?”

  “Settling down. All that.”

  I proceeded with extreme caution. Talking to CJ about commitment to anything beyond his drum set was a risky maneuver. I reminded myself to take it slow. “Frankie puttin’ the pressure on for marriage, or something?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’m putting the pressure on myself, I guess. Thirty isn’t too far off. I’ve got plenty of money and tons of options in front of me in computers and music … what am I stalling on?”

  “I …” I was so shocked by his apparent candor, I didn’t know what I could possibly say to him. Luckily, I didn’t have to waver for long. Because he burst into hysterical laughter.

  “I’m just screwin’ with you. I want to get laid, brother!” He stood and slapped me hard on the shoulder, a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve gotta wiz. Where’s the pisser in this joint?”

  I pointed him in the right direction, and watched as my burly cousin hit on every girl in his path between the bar and the bathroom door.

  Moments later, a sultry voice spread a grin across my face.

  “Hey handsome,” she said, wrapping her arms around my waist as her lips found my neck. “You waitin’ for someone special?”

  I swiveled my stool around to face the five-foot-two-inch powerhouse I was lucky as hell to call my wife. “Just you,” I remarked, pulling her into a kiss. “Always you.”

  “Hmm,” she purred, taking the seat next to me. “A few hours with the infidelity brigade and you’re extra happy to see your wife, huh? Monogamy looks pretty good, doesn’t it?”

  At that, I pursed my lips. “Don’t start. Just because CJ and his insatiable libido roll into town doesn’t change my commitment to you or our marriage.” I’d been dreading this conversation for weeks, and if I had my way about it, it wouldn’t turn into a conversation. But, sometimes I can’t help myself. “I’ve never once given you a reason not to trust me, Georgia. I don’t know why you insist on playing the role of jealous wife. That’s not who you are. That’s not how we are.”

  I braced for a verbal backlash from my take-no-prisoners partner, but was met with a sigh instead. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I looked up from the foamy head of my beer. “What?”

  She grinned, smacking me. “Don’t look so surprised, Kane,” she teased. “I can have humility, too.”

  “You can,” I said slowly, egging her on.

  She crinkled her nose and ran her hand over her shaggy-short blonde hair. Short in the back and long in the front, with a million layers in between. It was blonde today, anyway. No bets on what tomorrow would hold. But, as usual, she had a red bandana tying it back. A smudge of flour was evident on the side, from the bakery. I brushed it away with my thumb.

  “Bringing your work out to play?” I teased.

  “He just riles me up,” she said of CJ, ignoring my attempt at lightness. “He has no self-respect, and less for women.”

  I tilted my head to the side. “I wasn’t going to say anything …” I started, then thought better of it.

  “What?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

  I sighed, blowing air out with puffed cheeks. “He mentioned his dad today.”

  Her mouth dropped open, eyes almost as wide as they’d go. “What? Did he hear from him or something?”

  I shook my head. “God no, are you kidding? He … he said he thought he was just going to end up like him.” I took another sip of beer.

  Georgia’s face went from angry to anxious in a second. “Oh, no … He hasn’t been down this dark road in years. Like, high school years. Seriously? He said that?”

  I nodded. “I swear to God if you tell him—”

  She put up her hand. “I won’t. Promise,” she said as CJ emerged from the restroom and sauntered back to his seat on the other side of me.

  “What are we talking about?” he asked after the bartender slid him his second frosty mug.

  “Your treatment of women … as a whole,” she answered, trying to suppress a grin.

  He leaned to the side and eyed Georgia with playful malice. “Not this again. G, give it a rest. I love women, am an equal-opportunity provider, and am just having fun. Just because you went ahead and grew up, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”

  “Whatever you say, Heff,” she retorted, keeping it light and playful, like their usual selves.

  “What, so you’re not pissed at me anymore?” CJ asked, catching on to Georgia’s drastic change in demeanor from earlier in the day.

  She shrugged. “What do you want from me? I can’t stay mad at your dumb ass for long.”

  “All right,” I cut in. “I gotta get home.” I reached for my keys and tossed them to CJ. “I’ll ride home with her and allow you to get your bearings. I trust you’ll drive sober, or call me if you’re drunk?”

  He made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Scouts honor,” he answered half-convincingly.

  Georgia leaned in and gave CJ a peck on the cheek. “Sorry for being a bitch earlier.”

  He kissed her back, flicking her shoulder at the same time. “I’m not sorry for being a dick.”

  She rolled her eyes, he grinned, and all seemed back on track with the two of them as Georgia and I left CJ on the loose and headed back home to enjoy some much needed quiet time.

  ***

  With our work schedules, it was rare to be in the same bed for long. My late nights bled into her early mornings, and we often resorted to surprising each other at our places of employment to sneak kisses or the oh-so-sexy afternoon delight. So it’s no surprise to me that the first place we sought out when we unlocked our door was straight for the king-sized bed that took up nearly three quarters of our bedroom.

  “When do you guys head out on tour?” Georgia asked, breathless a
s she sank to her knees on the bed and unbuttoned my shirt while I stood before her.

  My eyes rolled back into my head as I savored the feel of her fingertips across my chest. “Some day other than today.” Her nails dug playfully into my shoulders, begging for a real answer. “A month,” I said, shaking my shirt to the ground and savoring her quick work on my belt.

  “Six months?” she asked of how long we’d be gone.

  I nodded, nudging her onto her back. “We’ll have at least a couple long weekends in there, like always. And, as always, you can fly to meet us whenever you want.”

  Georgia’s gorgeous blues widened, taking me in as if she wasn’t entirely sure when she’d see me again, despite it being spelled out on the calendar. “June is prime wedding season, Regan. And the rest of the summer, for that matter. You know that. I’m booked nearly solid through early September.”

  “It’s okay,” I whispered between kisses over her ample breasts. “We’ll make the most of tonight, tomorrow, and the next thirty days. And I’ll be home in between, hon. I’m not gone for six months straight.” My mouth worked its way down to her belly button, where I enjoyed the squirm of her hips before hooking my teeth around her lace panties.

  She took a deep breath, the soft skin of her stomach heaving under me. “I can’t sync my ovulation schedule to GSE’s touring plans.”

  Her panties snapped back against her stomach as I pulled my head up. “What?”

  Georgia propped herself on her elbows and held up her hands defensively. “No need to panic, sailor, I was just saying …”

  I shook my head. “I’m not panicking, I just thought it was weird to throw medical talk into the bedroom is all. Are you … keeping track of all that? Ovulation and stuff?”

  She shrugged, which was a yes, but she said, “No.”

  “Weren’t we going to just stop using condoms or whatever for a while to see how things go? Just let nature take its course?”

  “Sure, if you want to drag this out for another year or two.” She rolled her eyes, sitting all the way up and against the headboard, drawing her knees in close.

  Game over.

  I sighed, heavily and frustrated, positioning myself next to her. “I don’t have to do this tour, you know. It was just some fun idea CJ and I tossed around. We’re not even headlining—we have no singer, for God’s sake.” I laughed, she merely smiled.

  “CJ can sing, you know. You can, too, if you wanted.”

  I nodded. “I know. But that’s not the point.”

  “You’re scared about having a baby.” Her gaze drifted out the window and into the ocean.

  “Hell yes, I’m scared. That shit’s scary!” She looked at me in horror, but I continued. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I’ve wanted all kinds of things that are scary. A career in music, a relationship with you—”

  She jabbed me in the side with her elbow, giving me the opportunity to hook my arm around her waist and roll her underneath me.

  “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she giggled, panting.

  I buried my face into the crook of her neck. “You’re just the right size. Fun sized.”

  “So where are we?” she asked, turning the water cold for the second time in five minutes.

  Sitting back on my heels, I took a deep breath. “We’re right here.” I playfully dug through my pockets. “No condoms.”

  “But no tracking ovulation,” she stated with some reticence.

  No. Not yet.

  “I don’t know … what do you think?” was what I came up with.

  “I think you’ve talked me off the ledge. There’s no rush,” she said much to my deep, deep relief. “We can just let things happen, right?”

  Grinning, I unzipped my jeans and kicked them off the bed behind me. “Now, if you would just let this happen …”

  I grabbed her ankles and slid her body down until her head was on the pillow and Georgia was once again looking up at me with hopeful, loving eyes.

  “I don’t want you to leave in a month,” she said, moving her hands across my hipbones and to all points south.

  I swallowed a moan, pressing myself into her hand. “But the welcome home sex is oh, so fine.”

  She reached around and smacked my bare backside, letting out a small yelp when I again rolled her over so she was on top of me.

  “Well,” she half-slurred, drunk with lust, “I guess I better remind you what’ll be waiting for you at home.”

  ***

  The good and bad news is that the month went by relatively fast. More bad news was always in saying goodbye to my wife. She’s tough as nails, at least through her first few layers, so she never really did weepy, long goodbyes. But she’s pure mush beneath the granite around her heart, so it never took more than a couple of days before I started getting a mixed bag of text messages ranging from I miss you to Don’t do anything stupid.

  The good news—great, really—was that all evidence pointed to CJ’s ability to keep it together at work, thereby reducing his professional liability on tour, but I couldn’t yet speak for his social risk. I knew he wasn’t anywhere near being over Frankie, but that wasn’t a conversation I was about to drag out of him.

  He spent much of his non-studio time at Molly Molloy’s, quickly referring to it as Molly’s any chance he got, but the good news there is that there wasn’t a single bar fight. And, if he spent much of his time hooking up, he didn’t do it at our place.

  Still, I hadn’t seen him in much more than flirty conversation and ass-grabbing, which made me wonder how long it would take for him to admit his still-lingering feelings for Frankie. Or push him over the edge into complete regression to his old self.

  With a smile on my face, I barged into Georgia’s bakery, situated one floor below our sprawling apartment. Sweet Forty-Two was her pride and joy, in very much the same way music was mine. We learned more about art from each other in our different mediums than we ever could have if we stuck with our own kind. Though, we often argued which art was more satisfying to the soul—food, or music.

  “What are you so happy about?” she spat out behind a wildly menacing grin. Sarcasm through her face at its finest.

  Checking to be sure there were no customers, I hopped onto the counter and slid myself down until I was next to her. I simply beamed at her in silence.

  “You’re weird,” she said. “And you’re dirtying my counters. People eat on this, Regan, seriously.” She shooed me away and I situated myself in the open kitchen.

  “Our tour starts tomorrow,” I started, my hands rubbing together.

  “And?” She scrubbed at the counter, annoyed.

  “Our first two weeks—two weeks—are through California. Starting here. So, really, we’ve got another couple of weeks before I’m too far for a booty call.”

  Georgia turned on her heels and cracked my hip with a fast whip of her towel. “Ass.”

  “Yours.” I winked and grabbed her hips. “You’re still gonna send me goodies on the road, right?” I eyed the display case filled with mouthwatering cupcakes, danish, muffins, and brownies.

  “We’ll see,” she retorted. “Only good boys get cookies.”

  Just then, CJ came in through the back door. “You better get baking then, sweet thang, because I’ve been just this side of a saint.”

  Georgia shot him a look. “CJ, the only saintly thing you could do is sterilize.”

  He held his hands against his heart, playing hurt. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been a good, good boy,” he said with some measure of regret.

  Crossing my arms, I leaned against the large, stainless steel prep table. “What’s that been about?”

  “What?” he and Georgia asked in unison.

  I pointed at CJ. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your rather chaste behavior these last few weeks. It’s freaked me out. What gives?”

  “Don’t trust me?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  His eyes lit up and he stuck out h
is tongue to reveal the silver barbell stuck straight through the center. The one that had been there for at least ten years. “Good, you shouldn’t. I’m saving myself for the road.” He produced a plastic grocery bag from the other side of the door and emptied its contents onto the table. “Always be prepared.”

  Georgia stared with tired resignation at the pile of boxes spilled before us. Extra large, Ribbed For Her Pleasure, Warming Sensation, Ultra Thin …

  I picked up the box of extra large condoms. “Thinking mighty highly of yourself these days?”

  He snatched them from me, stuffing his loot back into the bag. “You’re just jealous you don’t need them anymore.” He couldn’t stop himself, but knew he should have. I could tell the way his eyes flashed to Georgia and back to me in an instant.

  “Yes,” I said with hyperbolic awe, trying to defuse the tension “tell me the story about not remembering who you’re waking up next to again? Oh! Or the one of getting chased down the stairs by an ex-boyfriend with a bat who returned home early? Yes,” I said, wrapping my arm around Georgia’s shoulders, “sign me right up for that life.”

  He waved his hand, staying in character, but knowing not to push it anymore. “Eh, you never made a good slut anyway.”

  Three

  Regan

  The thing about Georgia is, she’s not truly a jealous person deep down. She’s insecure, with wounds that go a little deeper than even I know. It’s a difference that took us a long while to sort out when we first got together. Her dad was … complicated. A successful business man in his own right, but a drunk who did the best he could to raise her until his best wasn’t much, and she moved to California while still in high school to live with her mother.

  And her mother … that’s even more of a tangled web. Amanda Hall, while healthy and functioning now, and for the last couple of years, was a diagnosed schizophrenic. When I first met Georgia, her mother had just completed a lengthy stay in Breezy Pointe—a mental health facility—and had just begun receiving ECT, or shock treatment, for the first time.