After Care

by L. B. Dunbar

  “How old do you think I am?” I teased, as he suggested I was familiar with 70s music, which I was.

  “Not old, darlin’, but you’re not a headbanger, either. You aren’t even bell bottoms and tie-dye T-shirts. You’ve got poodle skirt and pearls written all over you, although you aren’t that old either.” He wiggled a finger as if sketching me.

  “You’ve just painted an awful image of me,” I laughed, but he had me pegged. I loved the 50s although I was a product of the 90s. College years filled with fishnet stockings, shoulder pads, and off the shoulder tees had nothing on my ideal of saddle shoes and a full skirt.

  “Not really.” He paused, leaning towards me. “I’d like to color in the lines of that drawing and then color outside them just for fun.”

  I gasped, but my insides tingled.

  This place made perfect sense. The band could never enter a bar like regular people. Gage was recognized everywhere. Ironically, Tommy seemed to be noticed as well which was strange as the band manager. Then again, he told me he played in his sister’s band, Chrome Teardrops, and I figured that must be the recognition. Some music buffs really knew their band members.

  A Bee Gees song popped on overhead.

  “They’re playing our song,” Tommy whispered, leaning closer to my ear.

  “How is this our song?” I giggled.

  “You said you’d pick a Bee Gees song to describe me.”

  I laughed as I clapped once.

  “Dance.” He held out his hand.

  “Oh, no. No, I told you I don’t dance. I meant that. It wasn’t a blow off.”

  His lips rose and a beautiful smile filled his face. “Oh, yes. You owe me a dance.”

  Tugging me off the barstool, he pulled me to the small dance floor and spun me dramatically. I stumbled a little and arched a brow to indicate, see, I told you I can’t dance, but he continued to guide me, pulling me close and moving my hips to match the sway of his. I laughed again, realizing this tough, rock star manager, who swore a little bit too much and kissed like the devil himself, knew how to dance…and to disco.

  “You are a wonder, Tommy Carrigan,” I said as he pulled me close to him, chest pressed to chest, as we stood in more of a moving embrace than a dance while the Bee Gees’ song ‘How Deep Is Your Love’ played in the background.

  “You are a wonder, Edie Williams. One I want to keep wondering about.”

  7

  Baby, you’re a rock star

  My fingers delicately traced over lips still swollen and rough from kissing Tommy. After dancing, he brought me back to the resort, where he kissed me in his car and then walked me to my door, kissing me some more. We were like teenagers as our mouths mashed together and bodies pressed against walls. The stairwell. The hallway balcony. The tiny alcove entrance to my condo. Each time we broke apart, one of us would reach for the other and another upright surface met someone’s back while mouths returned to devouring each other.

  I lay in bed, replaying the night in my mind. Each kiss. Each caress. Tommy had big hands, but he touched me like I was a delicate butterfly, like I might flutter away if he didn’t tenderly care for me. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be rough, but there was a certain control to his hardness. Then I thought of his laugh—husky and rich—like the way he moved his hips. I giggled to myself, recalling how he tugged me into the disco-playing, dive bar, and we danced. I never danced, but with Tommy as my lead, I feared I’d do anything he asked. He made me feel spontaneous, and little more like someone I used to know.

  I also thought about my daughter. When I had finally made it through my front door, I found Masie and West on the couch in the small living area, watching a movie.

  “Night, honey,” I offered as a simple way of apology and approval for West sitting in the condo without me present. How could I judge her for wanting to spent time with someone who made her feel special? Here’s the thing: Weston Reid was a rock star, but he was spending a lot of time with my daughter instead of trolling the bars with his two wayward bandmates, Jared and Petty. Was her heart going to break when they parted ways? Absolutely, and I’d know firsthand how she’d feel. We’d just have to pick up the pieces together.

  When I left my bedroom the next morning, I found Masie already awake, and we decided to hit the pool area early. For a while the silence pressed between us, but slowly she began talking to me. She couldn’t stay angry for long, and she couldn’t keep quiet long, either. We began discussing the litany of things ahead in her final semester of high school, and her decision-making process for college. Nursing school was going to be a difficult journey, but one I knew Masie would embrace with passion, just like everything else in her life. I didn’t want her going far from home, but she needed to branch out and see the world. She was torn between Wisconsin and California, two gravely different areas.

  “Think West would come visit me if I went to Santa Clara?” she asked sheepishly.

  “That would be fun,” I offered, knowing I tread on thin ice. “Might be hard with his schedule. Doesn’t Collision have a world tour starting next summer?” Tommy told me some of the plans for the band. The world tour was a huge undertaking to promote their next album, which they needed to cut as soon as this vacation was over. I couldn’t piece together why they stayed at a resort instead of renting a condo or a house on the beach. The time of year—winter break—made sense to me, but it seemed strange none of them had gone home to their families to celebrate the holidays.

  Masie shrugged. “Maybe the tour will come through the Midwest?” Hope filled her voice while she tried to express with her body language that it didn’t matter. My poor girl was falling hard, and the pieces might be harder to put back together after all. As soon as I looked up to find Tommy walking toward the pool area with Ivy and the girls, I knew my pieces were going to be scattered with my daughter’s.

  “Hey,” Ivy said, setting up next to us as if she were part of our family.

  “Mornin’ darlin’,” Tommy said, biting his lower lip and letting it roll from his teeth. He’d already texted me this morning to say the same thing, but it wasn’t the same as hearing his voice. I really liked that rolled -r sound.

  “Good morning,” I replied, a slow smile pressing my lips upward like they held a secret. That secret included the sensation of his mouth on mine.

  “Got to get to the guys. Band practice again today. You lovely ladies have fun.” He winked at me and bent to pat Emaline on the head. “Ivy, honey, see you later.”

  “Bye,” she sang, holding up Ava’s hand to wave at their uncle. He blew a kiss to Ava, which Ivy made her reach and catch. Ava giggled. Tommy was too sweet.

  We settled in like women do, chatting and giggling about anything and everything. Ivy talked about the girls, and I answered questions about motherhood. Masie talked about college, and Ivy talked about her own experience.

  “I went to college to be a music therapist. Even though both my parents were musicians, and I come from a musical family, I can’t really sing.” She giggled. “I guess the gene skipped me. As my mom grew sicker, I saw how music helped her and how sad she was that her singing and playing were slipping away from her. I wanted to help those who needed that peace.”

  “I didn’t know your mom was a musician,” Masie said, and I held my breath, worried that Ivy didn’t wish to share that information with people she hardly knew.

  “My mother was Kit Carrigan from Chrome Teardrops. They were popular when…I guess maybe, you were in college,” she motioned to me.

  “Oh, I’ve heard of her,” Masie said, sitting up excitedly. “I don’t remember her from that band, but I remember her solo with the band Colt45.”

  The name startled me. I’d mentioned that band the other day to Tommy, telling him one of my all-time favorite songs was from a similarly named band. So strange, I thought, to hear the name again.

  “Wait, was there more than one Colt45?” In my limited music history, the only Colt45 band I knew of was an indie band when I was in
high school. I saw them play at a small bar that allowed underaged patrons on occasion.

  “Possibly, but not that I know of—” Ivy started, but then Emaline raced for the pool, and Ivy stood to follow her. We shifted to the edge of the pool so Ivy could get in the water with her daughter and the conversation about her mother ended.

  A few hours later we were sunburnt and a little toasted from day drinking. I was on the verge of one too many margaritas when Ivy asked us to dinner.

  “It’s Sunday, and that means Tommy’s pasta night.”

  I sputtered my drink as salt coated my lips. “What?” I giggled.

  “Every Sunday, Tommy makes pasta for everyone, demanding we eat together like a family and not a gaggle of musicians, as he calls them. It’s open invite for others, but the band has to be present. He even does it on the road.”

  “I didn’t realize today was Sunday.” I’d lost track of the days since we started our vacation, but Sunday meant we were almost halfway through our ten days of Hawaiian heaven.

  “All day,” Ivy chuckled. “Anyway, we’d love to have you all join us.” I appreciated that she was including Caleb, who was mysteriously absent today. He was in bed when we left this morning but hadn’t made an appearance at the pool.

  Masie looked at me expectantly, but I was already accepting the invitation. “If you’re sure, what can I bring?”

  “I think Tommy wants you to bring only you,” she winked, and I choked on the swallow of margarita I tried to sip after speaking. “You don’t need to bring anything else.”

  + + +

  Hours later, we arrived at the penthouse suite with wine, bread, and brownies. It was the best I could do in the small-scale galley kitchen of our condo. Besides, I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could bake. The penthouse was filled with laughter, music, and even some football bowl-game. I loved how my family seemed to meld with theirs, as Caleb immediately jumped into an argument about who would win the Rose Bowl, and Masie joined Ivy to cut vegetables for a salad. I was charged with doing nothing after Tommy greeted Masie and I with a kiss on the cheek, and a firm handshake was offered to Caleb with a pat on the back.

  “Mmmmm, hope those brownies are laced with something,” Petty inhaled as I walked past him with the piled-high plate. The comment earned him a swat from Tommy.

  The personal assistant in me wasn’t good sitting still while others buzzed around me, and I kept interfering, trying to taste sauce, cut vegetables, or slice bread.

  “Here, I have something for you to do,” Tommy finally said, leading me down a hallway and gently shoving me into a bedroom. The door closed behind me, and I spun to have my cheeks cupped and my mouth crushed. I melted into him, relaxing a little as his lips moved over mine.

  “Was that the something for me to do?” I teased, when he pulled away, sipping my lips in slow tugs.

  “Yes,” he muttered before returning full mouth and thick tongue to kissing me. We only stole a few minutes before he said he needed to check the pasta.

  “Please,” I begged. “Assign me something to do.” His eyebrow rose, and a smirk filled his face.

  “You have no idea how many ways I want to assign you,” he teased and then turned his back to me. I reached out for his back, spreading my hands over the broad breadth of it. He paused, and I bumped into him. Slipping my hands forward, I wrapped my arms around his chest and pressed my cheek to his back. I loved back hugs. His hand rubbed down my arm and he lifted my fingers, pressing a kiss to my palm.

  “Is it too much to say that I missed you today?” he said into my hand, not able to look at me. I pressed a kiss to the middle of his back. “As long as it’s okay with you that I missed you, too.”

  He bared his teeth and dragged them against my tender palm. The tingling pain sent pleasure rippling down my arm, and I shivered. More than twenty-four hours without sex with him, and I was a hot mess of desire. Moisture pooled in my underwear, and I rubbed my thighs together. If there wasn’t a room full of people down the hall, I might not let him leave the bedroom. My grip tightened on him, spreading my fingers across his firm pecs.

  “Darlin’, if you don’t let me go, we aren’t leaving this room, pasta-night be damned.”

  I released him with pouty lips he couldn’t see, as his back remained to me. He opened the door and swatted my backside as I exited. He wasn’t following me.

  “I need a minute,” he said, taking a deep breath, and my eyes shot to the bulge at his zipper.

  “Stop looking, beautiful. That’s making it worse.”

  I smiled broadly, my face pinking, but thankful I wasn’t the only one affected. I liked that I’d done that to him.

  I was assigned to set the table, an extra-large seating arrangement that provided space for everyone. Gage and Ivy sat at one end while Tommy sat as head at the other. I was given a seat next to him while Masie and Caleb blended in the middle. Dinner was a riot of conversation, delicious food and the occasional roll sailing across the table to someone. I was teased by my children that spaghetti was my only specialty, to which Jared and Petty decided I was the perfect match for Tommy, as that was all he cooked.

  The comment was said in jest, but my face glowed in shy embarrassment. It implied there could be something more than what we had, but Tommy had already been clear. He was on vacation and wanted to live a little. Matchmaking wasn’t on the docket for this trip. The teasing passed just as quickly as everything else, and dessert consisted of my brownies and vanilla ice cream.

  “Cleans the palate,” Tommy said, holding his spoon between his lips just a little too long and staring at me. Wine was in abundance, and I’d definitely had my fair share by the time I stood to help clear the table.

  “Tommy cooks, we clean,” the boys chimed together. As a guest, I felt obliged to help.

  “Uncle Tommy, can you sing to us before bed?” Ava asked while we were clearing the dishes. I hadn’t realized how late it was, and the girls needed to get to bed.

  “We have guests tonight,” Ivy said, smiling up at me.

  “Please,” Ava begged, her younger sister echoing her whine.

  “Have Daddy sing?” Ivy suggested, to which Gage looked up.

  “Yeah, I can sing.”

  The girls giggled. “We know Daddy. You’re always singing.” Ava rolled her eyes. “But we want ‘Jelly Belly.’” Emaline clapped after her sister spoke, and her mouth opened in the most adorable surprise.

  “'Jelly Belly’” she cheered, and Ava followed in with a rousing chorus of “Jelly Belly! Jelly Belly! Jelly Belly!”

  “What’s ‘Jelly Belly’?” I asked at the same time Petty looked to the ceiling and groaned. “Not ‘Jelly Belly.’”

  “It’s a song by four probably pedophile guys who couldn’t be a real band, so they sing kids’ songs instead,” Petty answered me.

  “Yeah, well, those four guys,” Jared emphasized, “are freaking millionaires.”

  “And what are we?” Petty scoffed.

  “Close but not quite,” Jared added, and my head shot up in surprise. “Okay, maybe a little bit more.” He laughed as Petty scowled. Looking around, it made sense. They had the penthouse suite for ten days. Each member had their own room somewhere else in the hotel, but millionaires? I was so naïve.

  “What makes Tommy singing ‘Jelly Belly’ so special?” I asked the girls, bending at the waist to be on their level.

  “Tommy’s voice goes deep, and he makes it deeper,” Ava explained, trying to imitate the sound with a froggy croak. She looked at her uncle, and clasped her hands. Small eyelashes batted and her younger sister followed suit.

  “How can you say no to that?” I asked Tommy.

  “He won’t,” Ivy laughed. Reaching for Emaline and then scooping up Ava, he proved Ivy correct. Carrying one girl on his hip and the other under his arm, he walked down the long hallway and disappeared. I smiled with pride. He was a good man, maybe too good, and he loved his family, this ragtag group of relatives by blood and choice. It was refres
hing to see a man act in this manner.

  After a few minutes of clearing the table, and forming a huge pile of dishes on the counter, the soft tenor of a male voice drifted toward the dining room. I stopped, perking up like a deer hearing a hunter in the distance.

  “Is that Tommy?” I questioned, my head turning toward the sound. My heart ratcheted up a notch, and my breaths increased. Ivy nodded toward the hallway. “Go listen.”

  For some reason, I walked slowly, as if called to the song, lulled by the voice. This wasn’t a song about Jelly Belly, whatever that was, but something deep and sad, like a lullaby. I slowed to a tiptoe, not wanting to interrupt the sound. Pausing outside the door, I peeked around the jamb to see Tommy sitting on Ava’s bed, strumming a guitar. His fingers worked methodically, his eyes watching his fingertips stroke a string and pluck a chord. His voice followed, quiet and confident. A presence behind me made me turn.

  “His voice is so beautiful,” I said to Gage, slightly surprised.

  “It is,” he said, looking down at the floor. “He’s a master.” My brows pinched, not understanding his meaning, and I turned to listen in again.

  “Sing us one of yours,” a sleepy Ava begged, stifling a yawn.

  “Not tonight, baby girl,” he said softly, but something must have shown on her face because he started strumming again. Instantly, I recognized the melody. As his voice filled the first line of lyrics, I stepped forward, filling the doorway. My mouth hung open. He sounded so familiar. I mean, he sounded exactly the same as…

  “You sound like Lawson Colt,” I muttered, staring at Tommy as his fingers screeched across the strings, coming to an abrupt halt. He turned to look up at me, eyes wide and a little wary.