“Two vodka sodas,” she called across the bar, up on her toes and leaning dangerously close to the bartender. Certainly using her breasts to our advantage in an effort to be served before the dozen or so people who were there first.
He gave her a swift once-over and got straight to business as if the other customers didn’t exist. He handed her our drinks, and when she turned to hand me mine, the bartender caught sight of me and his face lit up.
“You’re Regan Kane!” he shouted over the crowd, inevitably drawing attention from some people around us. Ones who didn’t know me quickly took out their phones and, undoubtedly, Googled me.
I nodded, air-toasting him. “I am. Thanks for the drink, man.”
He extended his hand across the bar, and I leaned in to complete the handshake. “My girlfriend is a huge fan of yours. I’m texting her to get her down here. Bet she won’t complain about this job after tonight.”
Georgia opened her mouth wide and let out a full-bellied laugh. “Well when she gets here, we’ll be out there.” She gestured to the dance floor and led me away.
I never had to actually do much when Georgia and I went dancing, since she had enough moves for the both of us. Tonight would have been no different, but I put some effort in. If I couldn’t be making love to my wife in the hotel room, I’d do a PG-13 version on the dance floor.
“Brought your moves tonight, Kane?” she breathed heavily, those high heels of her not tripping her up one bit.
I pulled her close. “I want you, Mrs. Kane. Badly.
She let out a low moan I could only feel with my lips against her throat. “I asked you not to call me that.”
My lips grazed across her neck. “But that’s who you are.”
“Is CJ chasing Nessa?” she asked into my ear.
“How romantic,” I teased.
Georgia rolled her eyes, grinning. “I’m serious.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I’m not … in charge of anyone. Why? You’re really shaken up about Frankie, huh?”
She nodded, looking lost for a moment. “They’d been doing so well. He’d been doing so well. Do you think he got scared? Cold feet?”
“It’s hard to say with CJ. Frankie was the longest I’d ever seen him with anyone. I didn’t think he did relationships.” Despite our semi-serious conversation, we never lost beat with the music. Georgia turned her back to me, grinding against me and speaking over her shoulder.
“He didn’t. Until her. After they’d been together six months I thought maybe she was a stepping-stone to his budding adulthood, which would have been progress. After two years I figured they were as good as betrothed. I think she did, too.” She faced me again, worry still in her eyes. “Is life on the road that good? To risk an entire relationship?”
I sighed, feeling the weight of her question. Her real question. Would you ever do to me what he’s done to her?
“It’s horrible,” I admitted, half-serious. “The road or you? I’d choose you every time.”
Half her mouth flicked up into a grin. “I’d never make you choose.”
Playfully biting her shoulder, I answered, “And I love you for it.”
With conversation seemingly transitioning away from Frankie, CJ, and his many potential conquests, Georgia and I found ourselves lost in the music for several songs. The DJ was working it hard tonight, a statement I wouldn’t have said before meeting real-life professional DJ’s a few years ago. Willow Shaw, signed under GSE as well, is the half-sister to Ember. She mainly works between San Diego and Napa Valley, and she works hard. Mixes insane sets designed to do just what Georgia and I were doing—connect, forget, get lost.
A sheen of sweet sweat laced Georgia’s chest. I was going to lose it right here in the club if I didn’t move soon.
“We have to go,” I growled into her ear. “Now.”
Georgia pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, arching an eyebrow. “Let’s go.”
As we wandered off the dance floor, the bartender called after us, distressed that his girlfriend hadn’t showed up yet to meet me. I told him to have her come to our show tomorrow and give them my name. He promised she would, and told me her name was Amy and she had long, red hair in case anyone asked.
Out of the corner of my eye on the way out of the club, I caught sight of CJ and Nessa in conversation near the bathrooms. Her back was against the wall and he was in front of her, one hand on the wall to the side of her shoulder propping himself up.
“We’re out,” I called to them, only eliciting slight waves from both of them.
“Looks like he was selling her hard,” Georgia remarked rather glumly as we walked down the sidewalk. “Does she like know about Frankie? Other than what I said at the restaurant?”
I shook my head. “Not unless he told her. She asked me if he had a girlfriend and I didn’t really answer.”
This earned me a smack to the side of my arm.
“God! What?” I laughed, rubbing the sore spot.
“You could have told her about Frankie.”
My eyes widened and I laughed. “Tell her about his ex-girlfriend? What sense does that make?”
“Like five-seconds ex,” she grumbled.
“What difference does that make? Ex is ex, isn’t it?”
She looked at me like I had two heads, stopping in her tracks. “Seriously?”
I mimicked her look. “Seriously. What the hell business is it of hers when he broke up with anyone? If two adults break up, and stay broken up for more than a day or two it’s probably a real breakup right?” My pre-Georgia life wouldn’t have included the two-day window, but she “enlightened” me—as she likes to call it.
Georgia crossed her arms in front of her and huffed.
“Look,” I said, soft as I took her hand and resumed our walk. “I know we’re all protective of CJ on one level or another. But he’s an adult, God help us, and so is Nessa. And … wait … wait …”
“What?” Georgia slowed down to stay in step with me.
“At dinner … did you say Frankie broke up with CJ? I thought …” I shook my head, trying to arrange the details I thought I knew. “Didn’t he dump her before he came out to California?”
Georgia nodded. “That’s what he told us. I didn’t talk to Frankie until a few days later, and she set me straight. Our boy got canned.”
“But I don’t … understand why.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Because he … he questioned their relationship. He was basically asking for six months of free passes from her so she kicked his ass out.”
“Is that what he said?”
“No, it’s what he meant,” Georgia answered definitively.
“Out? Were they living together?”
Georgia rolled her eyes and started walking toward the hotel again. “It’s just an expression. And, basically. He’d been staying at her house almost every night.”
“So … how does this change things as far as CJ’s wild oats-sewing goes this summer?
“Because they still love each other.”
“This makes my head hurt. Maybe they love each other, but CJ appears to be going through something right now. And if Frankie wants—”
“What? If Frankie wants what, fidelity?”
I growled. “This isn’t even our business!” I exclaimed with as much humor as I could, because I didn’t want to ruin my plans for the hotel. And, because it really was none of our business.
“I’m just saying,” Georgia stated, regaining composure, “Frankie’s devastated and CJ’s acting out. With all kinds of women.”
“I haven’t even seen him go off with anyone,” I mentioned in passing.
Which was enough to stop Georgia in her tracks.
“Come on.” I tugged her hand. “We’ll never get back to the room at this rate.”
She followed, but worked out her theory as we walked. “He still loves her.”
“I’m sure he does. They were together for a long time, an
d you don’t just fall out of love with people, regardless of the circumstances.”
“I mean he’s still actually in love with her. You haven’t seen him with anyone?” she questioned, brightly.
“Don’t,” I pleaded. “Don’t go telling Frankie all this. I know how you women are.”
A sheepish grin spread across her mouth, but her eyes stayed dangerous as always. “I won’t.”
I squeezed her hand. “Seriously. G. Their relationship is none of our business.”
Finally, she sighed. “Fine.”
I didn’t believe her. Still, I let it go. We were standing in front of the hotel room and I only had one thing left on my mind.
***
“Mmm,” Georgia purred, her legs wrapped around me while I was still inside her. “I missed you.”
Kissing her collarbone I inhaled deeply, savoring her scent. “You feel good.”
She slid her hands to my bare backside. Pulling me into her a little deeper even though we were finished. It felt like being home, there on the bed on top of her and inside her at the same time. Maybe I wasn’t quite finished, after all.
I moved my hips, picking up steam as I nipped and kissed at her breasts, loving the way her back arched, pushing her breasts toward me as her head tilted back.
“I love you,” I half-moaned.
“I love you.” She was breathless in an instant. “I need you.”
Maybe this baby-making thing wouldn’t be so bad.
And, I should have kept that thought to myself. I learned quickly that some jokes are not for the bedroom.
“You just need me for my potent sperm,” I joked.
Joked.
Idiot.
This stopped Georgia cold. She pressed her hands against my shoulders, eyeing me seriously. “What?”
I chuckled. “Come on, G. I was just playing.”
“You think I came up here for that?”
“No.” I shook my head. “You came up here because we’re married and I’m on tour and you missed me. We’re making love because we love each other.”
I bent down to kiss her, but she turned her head, pushing my shoulders back slightly. “Then why would you say that?”
“I was kidding.” And, I was panicking that this was turning into a whole thing.
She shifted her hips to the side, silently telling me to get out and off. I complied, rolling over and pulling her to me. She’d already turned her back, so I was forced to talk to her shoulder.
“What’s this really about?” I asked.
“Why can’t you ever take what I say at face value? I don’t always speak in code, you know. I’m not trying to trick you into anything.”
I sighed, heavy. “Georgia, I was just teasing. What the hell?”
She sat up, facing me with betrayal in her eyes. “It’s not funny Regan. I know we only started officially trying like two months ago, but we stopped being careful months before that.”
“And?”
“And I’m not pregnant yet. Something’s wrong with me.” She threw the covers off her, picking my button-down shirt off the floor and draping it across her back.
Shit.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, I failed to reach her before she stepped away and paced to the window, pulling the curtains open slightly to stare at the sparse nightlife going on six-stories below us.
Before going after her, I watched her for a moment. Dim moonlight mixed with yellow streetlights reflecting from below highlighted her pale face. Her sad eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said, taking the sheet with me and wrapping it around the both of us when I reached her at the window.
Just beyond the borders of the city was a small strip of green forest with the thick tall shadows of trees. On the other side of that forest was the icy shore of the northern Pacific Ocean. An ocean where Georgia had always centered herself. Her bakery was so close to the shore in San Diego that it was nearly in it. She knew she was always half of a natural disaster away from commercial devastation, but the freedom of the waves was too great a benefit to pass up, she always said.
“Why?” she asked, unmoving as if talking to the window.
I sighed. “I don’t think I realized how … how much this was affecting you.”
“Because it’s not your body,” she said calmly, without a hint of cynicism.
“I guess,” I admitted. “But you’re my wife, and when you get pregnant—”
“If,” she cut off.
“When you get pregnant,” I continued, “it will be our baby. And while you are busy growing it, I’ll be busy pampering you. So, no, your body isn’t my body,” I gave her shoulders a squeeze, “but it kind of is. You’re my wife. The soon-to-be mother of our child.”
With that, her shoulders sank and she let out a long, cleansing sigh that showed me she was backing down from what could have been a spectacular fight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, finally facing me, tilting her head far back to look me in the eyes. “God,” she said with a chuckle, “if I’m this emotional now, imagine what I’ll be like with pregnancy hormones?”
I feigned a horror-movie gasp, which made her laugh.
“You’re too good to me,” she said, giving me a playful pinch on the side.
“Get over here.” I grinned, pulling her head close to my chest, kissing the top of it before leading her back to bed.
Given I only hung out with road-musicians most of the time, I didn’t have very many friends with children. At least not wives and children. A lot of guys had a couple of kids from different wives, stereotypically scattered from coast to coast, but there weren’t a lot of families in this part of the business. I tried not to focus on those facts as Georgia drifted off to sleep with her cheek on my chest.
As my eyelids gave way to the ticking of the clock, I realized one thing for sure; if this family life was one I wanted—and I did, badly—then it was time to call the people who seemed to be winning at family life and the music industry.
Ten
Regan
“I was wondering when I’d hear from you,” Ember answered brightly when I called.
I lowered my head as if I were in her presence and wanted to appear as bashful as I felt. “Sorry, love. You know how it is.”
She laughed. “Road life. I do. You guys are doing well, I hear. And, I trust when you mosey on into Massachusetts and have your break, you’ll stay with us even for a few days?”
“Of course,” I answered with a smile.
My sister, Darcy, was five years older than me and wrapped up with her corporate job in Boston and family life. I didn’t resent this, as we enjoyed each other’s company when we were around each other, but we’d never been particularly close. Ember Cavanaugh was like the chummy sister I never had.
I met her at a beachfront bar in Barnstable, MA, when her last name was still Harris, and I’d just finished a long teaching stint in Ireland. I was looking for my next project. She and Bo were just dating then, and barely at that time—they’d just met, or were on a break … it was still confusing. But, I met and became completely enamored with Bo’s younger sister, Rae.
It was kind of a head-over-heels, fast-paced summer romance that swallowed us until a freak horseback riding accident took her away. And I’d been the only one to witness it. We were trail riding and a bees’ nest put the period at the end of our brief, intense affair.
It was really after that that Ember and I grew a lot closer. We were certainly brother and sister-like before that, but in the days, weeks, and months after Rae’s death, we formed a sort of haphazard family between all of us, Bo included. Ember’s parents lived out in San Diego at the time, but traveled most of the year, the life-long hippies they were, and Bo and Rae had been orphaned years earlier when their parents were in a car accident, so even though I had family in Cape Cod, Bo, Ember, and I kind of became each other’s home.
“So what’s up, buttercup?” Ember’s sentence was highlighted by toddler sounds in the background.
“How’s the crew?”
She sighed. “Loud. Messy.”
“And how are you, like, feeling?” Her second pregnancy—with Vivian Rae—had been a doozy. She even had to spend time in the hospital early on because she was sick so much.
“Loads better than last time,” she admitted, sensing the origins of my question. “But I’m sure you didn’t call to talk to me about the finer points of pregnancy … did you?”
“Actually …”
She gasped, then said, “Shh! Just shh. I’m. On. The. Phone. Sorry, Regan, what was that? Is Georgia pregnant?” Her voice rose expectantly at the end of her sentence.
“No, but—”
“Jackson! Shut it! Seriously! Do you see me on the ph—oh, great, now you made your sister cry. Sorry,” Ember returned to our conversation, sounding a little out of breath, “give me a second?”
“Take your time,” I answered, peeking over my shoulder at a still-sleeping Georgia. It was only six in the morning here, so Ember’s day had been underway for hours already.
“Bo?” I heard her call. Her voice sounded like she’d stepped outside. “Bo! Can you, like, take Jax for a minute? Regan’s on the phone, Viv needs to eat … yeah, I’ll tell him. He says hi,” she said to me, sounding all of a sudden like she was in a tunnel of silence.
“Tell him hi. Later,” I said, laughing. “You all set? Want me to call back?”
“God no. I just locked myself in the bedroom to feed Viv. She’s distractible enough now that she can walk and never wants to sit down, but having an almost four-year-old boy in both of our faces at feeding time really doesn’t help things. Sorry, talking to me on the phone must sometimes feel like talking to someone with Tourette’s.”
I let out a laugh a bit louder than intended, causing Georgia to stir a little. Once she settled back into sleep I thanked God that she’s usually a heavy sleeper, then snuck out of our room, down the stairs, and into the fresh Pacific Northwest air.
I decided to just let it out. “So … Georgia and I are talking about having a baby.”
“Nice,” she answered brightly, if not a bit cautiously.
“But we only have been, like, trying for a month or two … but we stopped, like…”
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