As I walked over to my daughter, my phone rang. Bev’s name popped up on the screen. Crap. “Hey, Bev. I don’t have another book. Nothing new to report at all, actually. I’m your most pathetic client, and I don’t know if I can actually bear you saying the words to me.”
We’d had the same conversation a few times over the last few months. I figured the least I could do was spare her the pain of asking. I wasn’t sure why she kept me around. My sales had plummeted in the last year. She and I both knew I needed to do something, like write another bestseller, if we wanted to see any real income.
“I can’t call because I like talking to you?”
“Um, no. Wait, who is this? What did you do with my tough New York agent, scary-nice person?”
“You’re still a pain in the ass. Good to know some things don’t change. Fine, we won’t chat. I’ve got news, Lia. Great news. HBO wants to buy the rights to your Gardiner series.”
I stopped walking. “No.”
“Yeah. Garcia Jones wants to produce it. Garcia Jones!” Bev screamed in my ear.
“Ouch. My ear’s bleeding. Wow. You know how to surprise a girl.”
“This is amazing. Why aren’t you more excited? We sold your books to HB-freaking-O!”
“Yeah, I heard you. Cool. So now some young producer and a hungry director rip apart my stories and make them a better fit for the screen, meaning you make a ton of money, and I can’t ever watch HBO again without feeling sick.”
“You writers are all so emotional,” Bev muttered. “Let’s think about the nice fat check this is going to bring both of us for a moment, hmm? Garcia happens to love your books and wants you to collaborate on the project. He said, and I quote, ‘you’re a romance genius.’ Take that, romance queen!”
“I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“Well, you say yes and sign the docs. Because you won’t get a better deal than this one. I nearly swallowed my tongue when the offer came through.”
“Good?” I asked.
Abbi walked toward me, concern filling her dark blue eyes. I smiled at her and opened my arm for a hug. She stepped in, and I was shocked, once again, to find my daughter at eye level. She’d grown so much in just a couple years, both emotionally and physically. We’d always been close, but there was a relaxation in our relationship that hadn’t been there before. I was thankful for this new level of companionship.
I smoothed her hair from her face, and she pointed at the phone. Her eyes lit up when I mouthed “Bev.”
Abbi turned and walked over to her aunt and uncle. She bent down to help her seven-year-old cousin, Jeremiah, with his sleeping bag.
“. . . thousand, plus creative input for the screenplay, and a big fat option for the conclusion of the series.”
“I haven’t written the series ending,” I reminded her, not too worried about the cash amount she’d spouted and I’d missed. If Bev said it was good, it was.
“Well, get your ass on it because HBO wants it. In fact, the deal’s contingent on you finishing it.”
Anxiety crawled over my skin, tiny spiders of doubt and insecurity weaving a web I hadn’t been able to break out of for years. “We’ll see. E-mail me the details, and I’ll look it over while Abbi and I drive home.”
“No driving home. You’re flying to Lala-land in the morning, and you’re meeting with Garcia Jones and Paul Loomis, the director on the project.”
My heart pounded, too heavy and fast. “No flying.”
“Dahlia Moore Dorsey, do not make me come out there and hit you. I will. You know I will. And I’ll bill you for the ticket and the time it takes me to find you and give you a bruise.”
“I’m not flying. I can’t, Bev.” I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. Flying, even the thought of flying, was a major trigger for me, reminding me of Doug’s choice. I relived the look on Abbi’s face when I had to tell her Doug was dead.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was safe. My eyes sought Abbi, ensuring she was well, too. The vise in my chest loosened by increments, and I drew a breath.
I’d focus on my choices, make the best one. I couldn’t simply turn down this opportunity. That would be stupid, and I couldn’t let Doug’s death continue to have such a hold over me.
“I’ll drive,” I said, trying to sound firm. “So set the meeting up for this Monday.” I bit my lip, realizing I had to get Abbi home for school. “Actually next Monday would be better.”
“I’m sorry, Lia.” Bev sounded contrite. “I forgot about your flying thing.”
“If that’s the only way, then I just can’t.” I hated to give up the money, but if this deal was contingent on the fourth book . . . well, I doubted that would ever happen. My ability to write died a long time ago. I’d barely finished the last manuscript.
Bev grumbled. “Can you stick around Seattle a couple more days? Garcia said they were planning to scout the area for places to film. I guess they plan to do this right: on location and everything.”
My knees softened with relief. “Yes, okay. Sure.” Maybe I could figure this out. I wanted to.
“Give me a few to set it up.”
“You’re amazing, Bev. I hope they go for meeting me here. That’d be perfect.”
“It’s not just you. They want to talk to some people in the indie music scene there, too. For the sound track, I guess. At least that’s what Garcia said.”
“Oh. Well. That’d be really fun. E-mail me the details. I’ll let Ella and Simon know they aren’t getting rid of me today after all.”
“Good girl. And Lia, I hope you know this is a second chance most writers don’t get. They’re catering to you. Don’t mess this up. And write the last damn book.”
The phone screen blanked. I stared at it for another minute, bemused. Still shell-shocked, I met my daughter’s worried gaze.
Simon wandered over. “Ready to go? Everything’s in the car. Abbi said your agent was on the phone.”
I nodded.
“Good news?”
I lifted my eyes to his. “HBO wants to buy the rights to one of my series. Mind if Abbi and I stay another night or two so I can go to a meeting? I’ll cook.”
Simon smiled. “Magic words. If you’re cooking, you can stay another week.”
“I can’t. Abbi’s already missed two days of school. We have to get back before Monday. And it’s already Friday.”
“We told you you were welcome for as long as you need, Lia. We meant it.”
Though Ella was an amazing mom, calm in the face of just about every problem from a broken collarbone to Jeremiah’s biting problem when he was two, neither she nor Simon could do more in the kitchen than warm up food. Their music teacher salaries didn’t allow for many meals out. Whenever Abbi and I stayed at their four-bedroom bungalow near the beach, I always stacked the freezer full of meals.
I loved our arrangement. The kitchen was one of the few places I was still happy. I insisted on going to the market to ensure freshness of ingredients so that I could enjoy the process more.
As I’d told Simon, I wasn’t big on hotels, not after moving around so often during the first fourteen years of my life. The sterility reminded me of the apartments of my early childhood. I was thankful I could stay with Simon and Ella as opposed to some random, poorly cleaned room, and I was more than happy to buy groceries in exchange for the homey experience.
Not that I’d ever tell them, but I also enjoyed looking after Simon and Ella a little. To them, I was useful. Needed. Not just Abbi’s mom.
Abbi’s mom—that title wasn’t going to work for much longer. My daughter only had one more year of high school left.
I should find a partner, someone I could cuddle next to on the couch. Laugh with. Maybe I could start living in this century and enjoy a man’s company without a deep emotional attachment. I deserved . . . something more than my current barren love life.
I’d set up that dating profile everyone was hounding me about, go on a few dates. See what was out t
here.
Thirty-five was too young to be this incomplete.
4
Asher
I pulled up in front of the clapboard farmhouse Jessica and I had bought in Mount Vernon, about an hour north of Seattle. All the lights were on, spilling warmth onto the porch. Dread stiffened my shoulders, causing my head to ache.
I toured and recorded, successive rounds, one after the other, to keep a steady flow of income for Jessica’s desires and to cover Mason’s needs. But I wanted more than four days with my son each month. I wanted Mason to remember me as an involved father.
Right now, I wanted to tousle Mason’s hair and hold his solid body close to my own. That’s why I was here, a day earlier than I’d expected. Problem was, I didn’t want to see Jessica. Part of me felt like I’d cheated. I’d shared more of myself with Dahlia last night than I ever had with my wife. But Jessica was the one who’d chosen to dissolve our life. Now, after seeing Dahlia, I was glad. Relieved, even.
I climbed out of the car and walked into my house, my heart slamming a harsh beat within my chest.
Mason sat on the couch, the Wii controller in his hand. Jessica was right. I’d bought the stupid gaming system out of guilt. Gifts didn’t assuage my shitty parenting abilities, but Mason liked the thing.
“Hey, buddy,” I said.
He glanced up, his mouth in a sour line. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good to see you, too.” I sat next to him on the couch. He didn’t lean into me like he used to.
“Mom was going to let me spend the night with Bryan Hornsacker.”
“Well, if those are the plans, I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”
Mason’s faced softened. “Really?”
“Mason, I love you. I want you to be happy.”
He sat the controller down and slid his arms around my neck. I hugged him hard, regret biting at my heart, burrowing deep. His legs were lanky, like a colt’s. Before we started using Skype, I was shocked by his growth between my visits home. I kissed his cheek, and he let me. This, here, was the best thing I’d done with my life.
“I’m glad you’re home,” Mason said, his voice muffled into my neck. “Wanna play with me?”
“What are you doing?”
“Building. See?”
“An entire city,” I said. “That’s amazing.”
“You should add something cool.”
“Sure, let me just tell your mom I’m home.”
Mason’s eyes shifted to mine, his mouth turning back down. “She’s next door.”
“You’re here by yourself?” I asked, keeping my voice controlled. Our next-door neighbor was a half-mile away. If a problem arose, no one would hear Mason’s cries.
“Yeah.”
“Does she do that often—leave you here alone?”
“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I get to play my game while she’s gone.”
Anger welled up, overriding the guilt and regret I’d felt moments before. “Well, let’s build the heck out of this city and then we’ll grab some dinner. You hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna eat first?”
Mason turned those bright hazel eyes toward me. “Yeah.”
I gripped him around his middle, hauling him into the kitchen like he was a football “Let’s see what you got.”
I was able to get in a few hours of time with Mason before Jessica dropped her nuclear bomb into my skull.
I ended up driving Mason over to his friend’s house for his sleepover. I gave Bryan’s mom my cell, asking her to call me if she needed anything. Confusion filled her eyes, but I ignored it, bending down to hug Mason. He was too excited for more than a quick pat, running and shouting out some scene from a show he and Bryan liked.
Jessica’s car was in the garage when I got back to the house. Great. Now we could talk.
“You took Mason to his sleepover?” she asked from where she stood in the kitchen.
“Wish I’d known he was going to be gone tonight. Maybe I would’ve stayed in Seattle. I had a meeting request I turned down so I could hang out with him.”
“No one begged you to show up tonight.” Her eyes were bright, really bright, like she was on something. Much as I wanted to ask, that would only make the situation worse.
“I noticed. Why was Mason here by himself, Jessica? He’s just a little boy.”
“I left probably two minutes before you got here. It wouldn’t have been a problem if Mrs. Knowles wasn’t sick. She wouldn’t come stay with him.”
“He’s barely eight, Jessica.”
“I have better things to do with my life than sit around and wait for you to drop by,” she said. “Mason was fine. He was playing that stupid game you got him.”
Neither of us mentioned that our neighbor, who Jessica had been “visiting” instead of watching our son, was a forty-something single man with an easy smile. He was fit, a runner.
I bit my tongue, refusing to point out that I’d cut back on my travel schedule years ago because I wanted to spend more time with them. After a year and a half of long weekends and extended weeks home between gigs, Jessica demanded I go back on tour. She wanted to put Mason in private school and she wanted a new car.
I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Not the kind I liked, but it’d do.
“Come with me on the next leg this summer,” I said. Not because I wanted Jessica with me. I really didn’t, especially since I got her list of requirements from her lawyer. I’d told Pete to hold off until Monday to forward over my counteroffer. I still had time to pull some of the demands if Jessica let Mason come with me. And I’d even put up with her to get more time with my son.
“It’s easy, up and down the coast. Lots of beaches for Mason to play at and for you to relax on. What’s the name of the fashion designer you like? Doesn’t he have a store in LA?”
Jessica crossed her arms over her breasts. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra under her thin, green camisole. She probably hadn’t worn it to see if I’d get angry. I took a large gulp of my beer and wished I hadn’t given up the harder stuff.
“I don’t want to travel with you, watching women throw themselves at you. How many do you plan to screw while I’m in the hotel room with Mason, waiting for you to come in after the show?”
Jessica wouldn’t give me what I wanted with Mason—tonight had proven that. I closed my eyes and fought to find some serenity. Dahlia’s eye’s reflected in the water slid into place behind my shut lids. “I don’t screw any of the fans.”
Jessica sniffed.
“Look, we’ve beaten this horse past death and into dust. Mason will never completely believe in stable, loving relationships again. The least we can do is ease the transition.”
“You signed the separation agreement, and we have the trial date set.”
“Let’s give our kid a chance to get used to the idea,” I said. I set the bottle down before facing her. “We haven’t told him anything, Jessica. He’s not going to understand. Especially with you screwing Car Wash Dale.” I waved my hand. “And the neighbor.” Jesus. Two different men.
She slammed her hand against the counter. “I’d rather have any life except this one. Any other life!”
“You’d go back to that trailer?”
She glared, eyes burning with anger. “You are such an asshole. I’ll never be poor again. Ever.”
Fear flitted through her eyes. I didn’t know what it was like to be hungry and scared. Jessica had never told me much about her mother, but from the little she’d said, Jessica’s childhood was filled with traumas I could barely grasp. Her fear was deep-rooted, a demon she struggled to overcome.
“If you won’t provide me with the lifestyle you promised and make sure I have everything I need to be happy, then I’ll find someone who can,” she said. She was petulant but also combative.
“Fine,” I said, relief replacing the brooding depression I’d felt since I pulled into the drive. At least I could tell Dahlia I�
��d tried without it being a complete lie. “I’ll have my lawyers get in touch with your lawyers. Guess I’ll see you around.”
Sadness and fear swirled through her eyes. She looked like a lost puppy. She straightened and smirked, thrusting out her chest. “Enjoy your little apartment. I have things to do.”
I turned to go. I should have just left. I knew it, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “What about Mason? Do you care what this does to his life?”
She picked at one of her nails. “He has a life. The one you wanted for him.”
“I never said my life was glamorous, Jessica.”
“I’ve known that for years. It’s a slow grind.”
“Then why shove this on him now?”
She met my gaze, her lips settling into that mischievous smile I used to find adorable. “I’ve talked to Dale.”
“What’s good ol’ Dale up to these days? Besides banging my wife.”
“Your wife. I haven’t been your wife in years, Asher. Long before we officially separated.” She laughed, but it was caustic, scraping against my skin and shredding my pride.
“He asked me to marry him. And he wants us to have custody over Mason.”
5
Dahlia
Garcia was a thin, well-dressed man who gushed with flamboyant happiness about my grasp of emotional nuances. By the time I was seated in a brown leather chair in front of the gleaming glass-and-steel conference table, he was my new best friend.
“I read the first book in the series at my son’s birthday party. My partner hasn’t completely forgiven me, but after reading your books, at least he understands why I was so captivated. He said to thank you for that bathroom scene. You sex kitten.” Garcia winked. “I’d totally do that if I was a woman.”
I wanted to. With Asher. But more, I wanted to see his smile, to hold his hand. I needed him to ease the panic winding into a tight grip in my chest.
I focused on how his hand pressed against mine, and my lungs relaxed. The clasp of our hands had been decadent, intimate. Perfect. I wanted to hold his hand again. Soon. I wanted more with him.
Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) Page 4
