by L. B. Dunbar
“Lawson Colt,” I murmured. “Of…of…of Colt45.”
Tommy stood up slowly, but I stepped back, bumping into the wall behind me. I looked from Tommy to Gage as Tommy took a hesitant step toward me.
Gage’s wide dark eyes pinched his brows. “You didn’t know?” he chuckled. “You had to know.”
“Her musical knowledge is atrocious,” Tommy commented, with no humor in his voice. He stepped closer to me, holding up his hands in surrender as mine flattened against the wall behind me.
“I think she’s star struck,” Gage laughed, and I heard the soft tap of Ivy’s sandals coming toward me down the hall.
“Star struck,” I choked, a tinny sounding screech erupting from my mouth. I paused, trying to catch my breath. “You lied to me.”
“Now, darlin’—”
“Don’t,” I cut him off, raising both hands to hold him back from me. “You…” I paused, looking around his side to see two little girls watching us as harsher words tipped on my tongue. You fucking lied to me, I swallowed, irate.
“I didn’t lie,” Tommy defended.
“You didn’t tell the truth.” My voice rose a little louder. A little too loud, apparently, because Caleb came down the hall.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“He’s Lawson Colt,” I stammered, waving a hand in the direction of Tommy. “Of Colt45.”
“Well, duh,” Caleb mocked, smiling his damn dimpled smile. Then his face dropped. “What’s wrong?”
My mouth had popped open, but I snapped it shut. “You knew?” I questioned.
“Mom, everyone knows he’s Lawson Colt.”
“Not me!” I shrieked, and then I paused. Everyone knew. My eyes flipped from Gage to Ivy to Tommy. I looked like a fool. My music knowledge was bad, but this…not recognizing one of the greatest guitar players of all time? Slowly things made sense. Kit Carrigan and the band Colt45. A brother and sister duet, who sang heart-wrenching ballads about lost love, missed opportunity, and permanent separation. He wasn’t just some guy in the band—he was her brother, her partner. Hell, if my weak memory was correct, he wrote all their songs. They broke the charts. Prior to that, he mentioned he played in his sister’s band, Chrome Teardrops. They were one of the greatest female lead rock bands of all time. She set record after groundbreaking record for female artists, and he helped her, probably with songs he’d written for her.
I brushed past the small crowd in the hallway.
“Darlin’,” followed after me as walked.
“I told you,” Ivy whispered, but to who I wasn’t sure. Not wishing to make a grand exit, despite my embarrassment, I reached the kitchen and grabbed a dish, pushing Petty out of the way.
“I’ll take over. I need something to do.” Scrubbing dishes and handing them to Petty, we filled the dishwasher in silence. Jared remained present as well, most likely waiting to catch any dish I started throwing, as I was certain I looked like I wanted to break something.
Tommy lied to me.
And truth by omission is the same thing. He hadn’t told me.
I should make you sign a nondisclosure agreement for all I’ve told you. The words rang through my head. Did he still think I’d say something to someone? How little did he think of me? How little did he trust me? How could he give me his room key, unless he believed I’d never find out who he was?
We only have a few days. Let’s live it.
Lies, I fumed, as I slammed the dishwasher shut and then filled the sink with sudsy water to tackle pots and pans.
“Darlin’, let the boys do that,” Tommy said softly from the door.
I don’t want to talk to you, I yelled inside my head, but I’d already been embarrassed enough.
“I’ve got it,” I snapped to the pan I circled with the sponge over and over again.
“Boys. Out,” Tommy barked, but I turned and glared at Jared, willing him not to leave me alone even though I didn’t know him well.
“I don’t think—” Jared began.
“You’re not here to think,” Tommy snapped, and Jared narrowed his eyes at his manager. He didn’t move, though, and two warm hands came to my upper arms.
“Darlin’.” He spoke softly, as if to a spooked child. I was spooked, but I was also pissed off. I rolled my shoulders forward, pulling my arms from his grasp. Refusing to look back at him, I rinsed the pot and started on the large serving bowl.
“You’re kind of stubborn, aren’t you? I didn’t have you pegged for that.” I bristled at the comment. How wrong he’d read me. How wrong I’d read him.
Lawson Colt. It didn’t make sense, but it did. He couldn’t be Tommy Carrigan to his sister, Kit. They would appear like a married couple with the same last name. Sister and brother acts had been a thing of the past. Not to mention, Lawson Colt had already been making a name with his indie band. Then his band disappeared. Had he given up his band for her? My shoulders fell, though not completely relieving the tension. His presence lingered only a moment longer before he stepped out of the kitchen. Jared took the dishes I stacked and started drying them. Petty had disappeared as soon as his duty was replaced by me.
“He didn’t mean it,” Jared said, speaking low. “I think he might have liked the anonymity. He can’t go anywhere without being recognized. It’s crazy.” Memory flashed to the girls in the bar that first night, and more of them at the pool the next day. The dive bar where he said a local could hide, and the way a name passed us to the front of the line at the restaurant the night before. He was a freaking rock star in his own right.
“I’d like to understand, Jared, but I feel a little foolish. I had no idea, and considering you all did, including my Caleb, and no one said anything…” My voice trailed off and liquid welled in my eyes. I blinked several times. A hand came to my back, but I shook my head.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, a phrase I’d said a million and a half times during a marriage of deceit. It was fine that David worked late. It was fine that he travelled too much. It was fine that he used our money to take a trip when he wanted a break from his life. Fine. Fine. Fine.
My shoulders fell completely, but the tension still pinched my back.
“Would you mind pouring me another glass of wine?” I asked Jared.
“Anything you want, Edie.” He stepped around me for the opposite counter. “He really likes you. I know that. He’s never dated anyone your age.” He paused, and I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. He was reflective a moment. “That sounded wrong.”
Petty’s head popped around the corner. “Well, he dated, cough, cough, women your age when he was younger. Then when he got older, they got younger.”
“Not fucking helping,” Jared yelled with a false laugh, pushing Petty’s head away from the kitchen entrance.
“What I mean is—”
“Jared.” I paused, blinking back the additional tears in my eyes. “Would you mind if I finished the dishes myself? It’s a good distraction. Go watch the game or something.” I smiled weakly, but hoped to convey that I really wanted to be alone. I was embarrassed enough, felt foolish enough, and had already created enough of a scene. I needed peace.
Jared nodded and pointed over his shoulder. “I’m right out here if you need anything.” Nodding, I swiped at a tear before it escaped and returned to scouring the dishes.
+ + +
“Do you have any idea how fucking long I’ve been looking for you?” Tommy snapped, crouching down next to the chaise lounge where I lay. I’d texted Masie and Caleb after I snuck out the employee entrance of the penthouse, telling them I was headed to the bar. I didn’t mention which one, although I’m certain they both knew why. I took a glass and the bottle of wine from the counter and went to the beach instead. I didn’t want to be around people.
My eyes opened fully, as I’d been dozing after finishing the bottle. Impulse forced me to reach out and I cupped his cheek, drawing down to his chin, and then scratching at his neck with my knuckles. That prickly scruff brought me a str
ange comfort. Releasing his face, I slowly pressed myself upward, allowing him space to sit. He remained crouching a moment, watching me before he set a bottle of whiskey in the sand and took the seat opposite me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, darlin’.” He paused, and I waited. He was right; I was stubborn, but this time it was justified. I could wait a long time. In fact, I’d been waiting a lifetime for someone like him, yet somehow, I felt like he was already slipping away.
“You didn’t trust me,” I said, understanding all his reasons why and still not liking the answers.
“It wasn’t that. Not one bit. I liked that you didn’t know me. Him,” he corrected. “I’m still me. I’m still Tommy Carrigan.”
“I don’t understand,” I said, lifting my head to look at him.
“My name is Thomas Lawson Carrigan, Jr. My dad is Tommy, so they called me Lawson. I took the name Colt because it sounded bad ass and went with the vibe of our band. We wanted to be something classic, like the old 45 records, although Colt45 sounded tuff. A gun. Alcohol. Bad things. Bang,” he signaled with two fingers towards the rolling ocean. He looked out at the water and I observed his silhouette. His beautiful, silver-streaked hair and matching scruff beard. The buff of his body and the curve of his plump lips. He was gorgeous, while I was me. Short hair, curling in Cs and Qs, streaked with silver and white blonde. We didn’t match.
He was a rock star. I was just…me.
I turned away from him, looking down at the hand he returned to the arm of the chaise. He made music with his fingers, music that melted girls’ hearts and soaked their underwear. I had been one of those girls. I had stood, mesmerized, falling in love with him and his words, when he played at that Chicago venue all those years ago. Twenty-five plus years ago, and here he sat. He’d made it in life. I’d never felt more incompetent.
“You’re a fucking rock star,” I said, shocking him with my use of the word. “And I’m a fool.”
He rolled his head to face me, but it was my turn to look away.
“I thought you saw me differently than some groupie. I thought, maybe, you felt something for me.” Tears I refused to shed clouded my eyes. “You must have laughed double-time at my lack of music history, hoping, no, knowing, I’d never figure out who you were. You could keep up the charade.” I shook my head, disappointed in myself. My ex lied a hundred times and I never caught on. How had I fallen into this empty feeling again?
“I didn’t lie to you. I just left it out. And I’m not sorry you didn’t know. Your knowledge of the music industry is awful, and I loved it. It was interesting to watch you speak about things you lacked understanding about but were excited to share. Seeing your face light up as you realized you loved a song after I played it for you, or trying to describe one you liked without knowing the artist. It was refreshing that you wanted to impress me, but in a totally unskilled, unbiased way. And not recognizing me allowed you to get to see me without all the other bullshit clouding us.”
“Us,” I whispered. How could there be an us when only one of us was truthful?
“You are different, darlin’, that’s what I like so much about you. You don’t see the other stuff. You only see me.” His voice faltered. “Or maybe I just hoped you had.” Silence surrounded us for a moment and I shivered with a chill in the night breeze.
“Please, beautiful,” he begged. “Please, don’t let this change anything. Be mad at me, if you want to. But I kept the truth from you so I could feel like a normal man.”
“Normal?” I huffed. “You’re a rock star,” I repeated. “One that girls threw their bras at and showed you their tits. One where girls cried when you sang or fainted when you smiled at them.”
He closed his eyes, sighing deeply, the exhale sad. A million sorrows filled that sigh and my heart pinched. I understood his need to be seen for him—a man. It reminded me of me. I didn’t want to be viewed as a divorcée, or a mother of two, or a breast cancer survivor. I just wanted to be recognized as an independent woman—one who wanted to be loved and was willing to give love in return. If I forgot about what I didn’t know regarding Tommy Carrigan, I found what I did know, I liked.
I stood, straddled over his knees, and rested on his thighs. My hands cupped his cheeks, and I stared into his ink-colored eyes.
“You’re a rock star,” I said softly, the words seeped into me. He was a rock star, and I could see that meant a world filled with pain and hard losses, loneliness and empty promises. He’d done so much for others and I didn’t know the half of his reasons.
“So, what now?” he harshly scoffed. “You want to fuck the Lawson Colt?” His voice sounded shattered as his arm swept toward his body. He scooted forward so I slid to his lap, his head tipping back like he was used to this treatment. Visions of women riding him, enthralled by his status instead of the man, made me sick.
I reached for his face once again, leaning forward until our noses nearly met. His eyes watched me, skeptical of what I’d do next. My heart raced, wondering where the boldness in me came from.
“I don’t want to fuck Lawson Colt,” I hissed softly. “I want to make love to Tommy Carrigan.”
With that, he leaned forward, and I fell against him. My mouth crushed his as I straddled him, pressing the full force of my core over the length of his stiff zipper. My hands dove into his hair and held his lips to mine, slowing the kiss enough to be tender, taking my time to savor each dip and curve of his mouth. My tongue reached out for his, and the kiss returned to burning flames. He sat forward, and I pushed downward, groaning at the position, the connection, the heat of him under me.
Still feeling emboldened, I pressed his shoulders back to the chaise and broke the kiss to remove his T-shirt. My hands skated over the subtle ridges of his chest and around his sides, focusing on the small tattoo under his heart. Kit Kat, it said, with a breast cancer ribbon, a small token of his love for his sister. I bent forward, keeping my eyes on his, lowering to kiss him there. His heart beat rapidly as I continued to scatter kisses across his firm pecs, scraping my teeth over his nipples. He hissed in response, muttering his favorite swear word.
My hands continued their exploration, rubbing upward through the short vee of chest hair and rounding his shoulders. While we’d been together, I hadn’t taken the time to really admire him in this way. My palms caressed down each arm at an equal pace until I got to his wrist. I wiggled over the thick length of him before reaching for his belt. Other than grunts and groans and the occasional fuck, he wasn’t speaking. What I hoped was that he was feeling, experiencing, that I cared about him: the person, the man, Tommy Carrigan. While the rest of his life was intriguing, all I knew so far was what he told me, and I liked it. I liked him, probably more than I should.
Don’t fall in love with him, I warned myself, as I unbuckled his belt and sat back to undo his zipper. Awkward hands reached for his waist and he joined me to remove his boxers and jeans enough to free him. I sat back further, slipping to kneel between his legs, my eyes focused on the length in my palm.
“Darlin’,” he hissed, both begging and warning me. I wasn’t good at this, but I wanted to try. I wanted a taste. My lips kissed the wet tip, then my tongue joined for a swirl. I opened wide and swallowed just the head, sucking hard before opening to press a kiss to the moist skin. His hand started petting my hair. I opened again and forced him as far as I could. My gag reflex was strong but I hoped I could make up for it at first by licking along the cut ridges and stroking up the vein. Repeating the motion several times, his thighs quaked under my palms.
“Darlin’, I want this, but I think I want inside of you more.” His hands came under my arms, and he tugged me forward forcing me to release him with a soft pop. As I sat upright, he reached out for my underwear, slowly dragging it down my hips under my skirt.
“Should we really do this here?” I whispered, suddenly conscious that we sat on the dark beach. Anyone could see us if they wandered close enough. Then again, we hadn’t seen anyone near
our secluded position by the break wall. He reached out a finger, swiping through folds ripe and ready for him, and I whimpered with need.
“Put this on me,” he said, holding out a condom he withdrew from his pocket.
“I…” I hadn’t done that in nearly twenty years. In fact, I worried I wouldn’t do it right. Seeing my trepidation, he decided to give me a pass. He bit the foil and tore the package. I watched him roll the condom downward and hold himself upright.
“That…” I couldn’t say the words, as they caught in my throat. That was freaking hot. He patted his thigh, and I stood to wiggle out of my underwear. Then I returned to straddle him, hitching up my skirt, and, positioning myself at his tip. I gripped his shoulders, pausing as he rested just under my entrance.
“Don’t ever lie to me again,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, and then I slid myself over his hard shaft. We let out a groan in unison, and his mouth reached for mine as I stilled, acclimating to the thick length filling me. This position was different, deeper, and that special spot on me rested against him. I moved slightly and released his mouth as instant pleasure rippled through me. My nails slipped from his neck and dug into his shoulders.
“Like that, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Do it again.” I did, slowly losing myself as I rolled my hips over him, holding him deep inside me, and rubbing that spot against him.
“I…” I couldn’t speak, and my hands slipped to his hips, where I tugged at his skin, trying to get him deeper inside me. I wanted him to crawl under my skin and stay there, never letting this feeling end. I rocked, groaning, and he let me take what I wanted from him. “I’m coming,” I warned, as if he didn’t know from the clenching and rutting I did against his body. My hands released him, and I circled my breasts, reaching up to my neck, and slipping my hands over the back of my head. My whole body tingled as I came, falling forward when I couldn’t take it any longer.
With that, he wrapped an arm around my waist and began pistoning me over him, moving me up and down, giving him friction that stood him at attention within me. He was so hard, so very hard.
