Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1)

by T. I. Lowe

  “I love you,” I whisper and place a kiss on her forehead. This woman deserves to be loved more than she has. This thought saddens me. I hunker down in the guest chair and watch her sleep. I can only hope I am half the woman she is.

  Two days pass quickly with nurses coming and going at all hours. They get Aunt Evie up as much as possible. She’s a good sport about it, but I see the pain etched all over her face. She goes quite pale also until they can deliver another round of pain meds. She’s a tough cookie. She won’t take the meds unless absolutely needed. I come and go between the hospital and the trailer park. Ms. Nell has been a godsend with keeping things on track with the camping rentals. Weekends are always busy, even in the cooler months. This is the Deep South, you know. I’ve stayed way too busy to dwell on missing the concert. Kyle sent me some pictures he snapped during it and some back stage, as well as some at the hotel he and the guys stayed at. The plan was to arrive one night early so that when the band arrived the next day, we would have the entire day together. Then after the concert, they would hang out at the hotel until they had to pull out around four the next morning. It was a rushed trip, but it was one I was willing to take. I’m just glad Kyle got to go. He’s been moping around here like a sad little puppy that’s lost all of his buddies. And he did in fact lose them all, in one shot, that New Years’ night.

  Life sure is challenging. Focus is key. I focus on the business of the trailer park. I focus on the business of getting Aunt Evie better and things lined up for her to go home hopefully soon. And I focus on the fact that my brother got such an awesome gift this weekend. As long as I don’t focus any attention on myself, I can overlook my own heartache. I don’t have time to be selfish at the moment.

  I leave the hospital to grab Kyle from the airport. When he emerges from the crowd in the terminal, I can’t believe what I see. I burst out in a fit of laughter. “What happened to your eyebrows? They’re gone!”

  Kyle rolls his eyes. “A parting gift from the one and only Max King.” I give him a quick hug before we walk over to claim his one bag of luggage, and I can’t help but snicker at him. “Stop staring at me,” he says playfully. It’s been a while since he was a part of an infamous Bleu Streak prank. And I’m no fool. My brother is quite pleased with this.

  “So, how was it?” I ask once we are heading to my car.

  “Awesome! The guys are getting better, if you can believe that’s even possible. They’ve got quite a following already.” He tosses his bag in the trunk and then grabs me up in a bear hug. “The guys say to give you this for the new songs. Dillon said to give you a big ole kiss, but I declined. I told him I can get Hudson to take care of the kissing for me.” A smirk comes over Kyle’s face as he pushes back his sleeve and reveals a nasty bruise. “A parting gift from Dillon.”

  I laugh. “Ouch. I guess you earned that one.” Man, I wish I had been in the midst of their chaos this weekend.

  “I’ve got a whole sack full of Bleu Streak T-shirts and hoodies and some other junk. Dillon says you better wear them daily,” Kyle says, as we load up in the car and peel out of the airport parking lot.

  We head straight to the hospital to check on Aunt Evie. I tell Kyle the doctor says we can take her home in another day or two, but she will have to have physical therapy. We push through the doors of her room and are immediately greeted with bouquets upon bouquets of flowers. They are exquisite and have all been delivered in the last hour. I inspect the cards on the bouquets as Kyle catches up with Aunt Evie. She’s already ragging him on his face sans eyebrows. Each card has some silly old fart joke and are all from none other than Dillon and the band. I smile at the sweetness of this. I swipe the entire collection of cards before perching on the side of her bed. I then set in on a comedic act for the next hour or so, and we end up laughing until we cry.

  I’m bummed I didn’t get to go see Dillon, but there was no way around it. I’m encouraged that Dillon and I may be able to come out on the other side of this life trial and still be together. This young man has my heart. I just don’t think I could ever give it to someone else.

  Chapter Ten

  Three years is a long time. Over three years is a long time. A very long time…

  In these three years, a lot has happened. I graduated from community college with an associate’s degree in business. I know. It’s not writing. I took all of the creative and non-creative writing classes I could but it still wasn’t enough to scrounge up a degree. So I had to make due with business. I guess it comes in handy since I pretty much run Shimmer Lakes Trailer Park and Campground these days. My dream? I think not. But I feel it’s a small sacrifice to pay, if Aunt Evie gets to not work so hard and Kyle gets to attend a well-known college in South Carolina. The guys leaving sort of forced Kyle’s hand in having to grow up a bit. Without the distraction of the twins, my brother’s grades did a complete one-eighty. We were all pleasantly surprised to find Kyle to be a whiz in computer programming. That’s what he is majoring in, and I know the sky’s the limit for him now. I can’t tell you how proud I am of my brother.

  The new millennium has rushed in on us and new trends have encouraged us to make changes. For some odd reason, rich folks have taken up the hobby of camping. Not the type we here are used to, with tents and sleeping bags. No. I’m talking high-dollar fancy camping with campers nicer than any trailer this park has ever housed.

  The other side of the lake has no spare land to accommodate this new trend. They’ve squished every extra inch of their side with commercial properties with lots of glitz and glam. Luckily we had land to spare. It took the help of Hudson to persuade Aunt Evie to agree to remodel half of the campground into an RV park. We even put in a pool. The renovations paid for themselves the first year, and this year is just money in our pockets. That’s a very new and very nice feeling, just let me tell you.

  Hudson has surprisingly become a pretty close friend. His dad would probably kill him if he knew Hudson was over on this side of the lake more often than not, giving me and Aunt Evie pointers. He’s a good enough looking guy with brown hair and brown eyes, but I see him as only as a friend. He often likes to remind me that he sees more potential for us than just friendship, but I always remind him that I don’t. He doesn’t push it, so it’s never become an uncomfortable barrier between us.

  Leona left me too. She now lives on the other side of the lake with her lawyer husband in one of the fancy townhouses that I actually used to clean. She snagged her a slightly older man. Grant is in his mid-thirties and spoils her rotten. He even paid for her to attend an exclusive interior decorating institute. She graduates this spring and has already signed the lease on a building to open her interior design company. I’m happy for her, but I’m just so blame lonely.

  I’m sitting on the screened-in front porch of my small cabin, watching it pour rain. Spring showers have shown up mercilessly and won’t leave Shimmer Lakes alone. I love the sound of it as it dances off of the lake behind me. Aunt Evie offered this cabin to me so I can have my own space, and I love it. It may only be a one-room space, but the fact that there are no wheels attached to it gives me comfort of it being permanent. The open room keeps company with a kitchenette, small sitting area, and my bed. It is queen-sized and feels luxurious after spending most of my life sleeping on a tinier-than-twin bed. It has a small yet sufficient bathroom and no closets, and is decorated with secondhand finds, but I don’t care. It’s mine. I have a small deck on the back that overlooks the lake, but it’s not covered, so I’m confined to the front porch today. And that’s okay, because it’s a nice space as well.

  I have my chair propped up against the wall on two legs as I balance my lunch in my lap. I’m trying to decide if I want to call the pool guy and set up another cleaning tomorrow after this storm passes. I just had him out here two days ago and really don’t want to have to deal with him again so soon. He is nice and all, but he asks me to go out with him every time he does the pool. I can’t confess to him that I am in love with the up-
and-coming rock star, Dillon Bleu. That sounds laughable just playing through my head. I always politely decline, and then hide from him as much as possible. I resolve to just clean the pool myself as I take a bite of my pimento cheese sandwich. I look over a few blocks down the road and nearly choke on my lunch at what I see. I slam the chair back on all four legs and grab for my glass. I gulp down some tea, trying to dislodge the chunk of food.

  After three long years of sporadic calls and letters, I can hardly believe it. My eyes instantly tear up as I watch an ultra-sleek black and silver tour bus, with Bleu Streak painted along the side in vibrant blue, pull up to Cora’s. The bus towers over her tiny trailer and looks completely out of place. I self-consciously look down at my worn-out jeans with rips at the knees and my faded Pearl Jam T-shirt, feeling completely inadequate. I look back up and stare as several guys pile out and mad-dash it into her little home. One is a good bit taller than the rest, and I know instantly that it’s him. My heart skips all kinds of beats as I watch him. He has a hoodie pulled low over his head. He glances around once before ducking inside.

  I sit stunned for a few moments. I can’t believe he just pops up in the middle of a rainstorm after all this time, unannounced. I’m elated and disappointed all at the same time. I sit here, glued to this chair and gape at the shiny new tour bus. He has pulled it off, undoubtedly. During the last phone conversation I had with him a few months ago, he told me they were in the final negotiations of their record deal.

  I’ve lost my appetite, so I grab up my lunch and take it inside to dump out. After I keep myself busy for over an hour with cleaning around my cabin, I amble over to the front window and peek outside to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. Nope. It’s still there. I let out long sigh. This monstrous bus is blocking the entire narrow street. I watch as bored campers drive around on their fancy little golf carts. Each time one nears the bus, they have to drive through Mr. Wayne’s yard to get by it. It’s already causing a muddy mess. It’s a wonder the old man hasn’t already called to complain.

  I know it’s my responsibility to handle this, so I call the front desk. “Hey Jen. Can you find me an available RV site?” Jen handles the RV park bookings during the tourist season. She is a vibrant young blonde who seems to always have an abundance of energy. She never sits still.

  “Sure. Just give me a sec.” I listen to her clicking over the computer keys. “Hmm…Let’s see. I have site fourteen and site twenty-two available.”

  “I need twenty-two. It’s more private. Book it under my name, please. Then I need you to go over to Cora’s trailer and ask her guests to move over to the RV park to that site. Okay?”

  “No problem,” Jen says before hanging up.

  Five minutes later Jen pulls up to Cora’s on a golf cart. She looks at the tour bus then in my direction. I know she can’t see me, but I can guess the message she just relayed to me. She darts inside. Within minutes, some dude exits the small trailer, climbs into the bus, and follows Jen over to the far side of the RV park. It’s out of my sight, and more importantly, it’s out of sight of others. This place will become a circus as soon as word gets out that Bleu Streak is here.

  Jen zooms up on the golf cart and bounds inside without knocking. “OMG!!!”

  Jen is friendly enough, but she is new to these parts and doesn’t know any of our history. Jen looks like she could be my younger sister, with the exception of her being tall with hazel eyes. She’s got a lot more energy than I do, too. Right now her entire body is vibrating with excitement or maybe caffeine… Probably both.

  “Please call the security company and let them know we need to book a guard for the front gate ASAP.” I try to ignore her questioning gaze. We use security guards during holiday weekends to keep out straying visitors who are trying to freeload at the pool or beach. I guess a holiday just pulled up in a shiny new tour bus.

  “OMG!!! Dillon Bleu just asked where to locate you! Said he went by Aunt Evie’s but nobody was there. Dillon Bleu is looking for you!” She’s jumping up and down now like a school girl. I get it, really. Bleu Streak is starting to blow up in a big way. TV appearances. Concerts. It’s happening big time for those guys. They are all over the radio too. I even have their about-to-be-released CD already. I won’t tell her that though.

  “Please calm down and take care of the security guard before things get too crazy,” I say again, but she’s not budging, so I relent. “Okay, he’s my best friend, if you must know. Now go. Take care of business.”

  She’s grinning big time. “He said to tell you to stay put.” She points her finger at me sternly and seems so proud to get to tell me this little message. She bounces back out the door and is gone in a flash. Jen is only a year younger than me, but boy, does she make me feel old.

  I’m nervous all of a sudden. I yank the band out of my long hair and run to my bathroom to drag a brush through the knotty mess. I glance in the mirror at my makeup-less face and moan at my plainness. “It’s just Dillon,” I say to myself. But the butterflies dancing in my stomach don’t believe me. I gargle the pimento cheese out of my mouth with some mouthwash, and then I jet back to the armoire that serves as my closet. Before I can pull it open, there’s a knock at the door. Great. Just great. I pad over barefooted and ease the door open to reveal a larger-than-life Dillon Bleu. We stand here, staring intensely at each other. He’s taller. How’s that possible? I have to gaze farther up than last time. His features are bit more defined now too, with a stronger jawline. His eyes are shrouded by the hoodie, making him seem more mysterious than I know he really is.

  Dillon takes one step forward and with one rapid swoop, he grabs me up and laces my legs around his waist. With his lips planted firmly on mine, he walks in and kicks the door shut. I have missed him more than I realized, and now I can’t get close enough to him. I’m clutching him as near to me as possible. He is following suit with his fingers grasping my backside tightly.

  Without a word spoken, Dillon backs me up against the door and continues to consume me with his mouth. I thought, after all of this time, that whatever feelings he had for me would have evaporated. It seems as though they have only grown stronger.

  I want to see him better, so I pull the hoodie off his head and gasp. “What did you do to your hair?” I ask, stunned, breaking our silence.

  He’s trailing a hot path of kisses along my neck and barely stops to reply, “After all of this time, Jewels, you want to talk about my hair?” He goes right back to consuming my neck, so I study this new hairstyle—it’s a mohawk, of all things. His gorgeous hair has been completely shaved on the sides, and his remaining black silky hair is sporting dark blue tips. The tattoo behind his ear is completely exposed now. He’s sexy as all get-out. If there ever was a guy who could pull a mohawk off, it would certainly be Dillon Bleu.

  I run my hands through it, making him groan. It’s surprisingly soft. I thought it would be full of gooey hair product. I run my hands through it again, testing the feel of it.

  He glances up and I nearly get lost in his deep, seductive eyes. “Stop playing in my hair, pretty girl, and kiss me like you mean it,” he says as he reclaims my lips. I obey and pour out every ounce of longing I have had for him. My throat thickens with emotion as the thought hits me that he left this place a determined boy and has returned an accomplished man.

  My tears splash over both our faces, as I let go of a fear I have held for the last several years. I never thought he would come back, and yet, here he is in my arms. He has kept his promise after all.

  He releases my lips and kisses away the tears on my cheeks. “I’m here.” He reassures me as though he could read my thoughts. “I promised, remember?”

  All I can do is nod. I can’t find my voice. I wrap my arms firmly around his neck and bury my face into the inviting crook of his neck that has always felt like home and continue to cry. Dillon kicks his boots off, carries me to my bed, and lays me down. I watch as he pulls off the damp hoodie and climbs in beside me. He wraps me in hi
s arms. I snuggle back into the crook of his neck so I can breathe in the delicious smell of him. We stay this way, clinging to each other, listening to the rain pour heavily outside until I cry it all out and we both doze off.

  * * * *

  I awaken with a start to a darkened cabin, alone. I sit up and feel around, but he’s gone. A sob bubbles out of me uninhibited and I can’t control it. I must have dreamt up the whole thing. My sobs are growing louder with my disappointment when I feel the bed dip down.

  “Shh… I’m right here. Shh…” Dillon is holding me and rocking me back and forth as though I am a child.

  “Where were you?” I sob out, probably sounding like a child. “I thought you left me again.” I can’t believe how badly I just totally spazzed out.

  “I was right here, Jewels.” He’s rubbing my back and chuckling. I find nothing funny. “I stole me a pimento cheese sandwich. I was starving,” he confesses.

  Now I feel completely stupid. “You’re eating in the dark?” I lean over and turn a lamp on. Sure enough, he’s holding a half-eaten sandwich. We both laugh now.

  “Can’t a man eat some supper, woman?” I notice the teasing tone of his voice and then see a plate on the edge of the bed holding two more sandwiches. I eye them and then him. “They don’t make pimento cheese like this out west,” he says sheepishly and shrugs his shoulder.

  I ease around the back of him and wrap my legs around his waist so I can hold him while he continues to eat. I still need the reassurance that he is really here. He’s only wearing his boxer shorts now. He is mouthwatering, and I think I want him for supper. His shoulders are quite broad now. I’m appreciating what lugging all that sound equipment has done to his body. I notice he has enhanced the tattoo a bit on his toned upper back. It’s a bit bigger and more defined now. You can tell it was done at the hands of a wickedly skillful artist. I lean forward and place kisses over it, causing him to moan deeply. I can feel it vibrate through his body. I also spot a long tattoo running down the back of his left arm. The scrolled writing is tucked neatly along his triceps and is none other than a phrase from his favorite Bible verse, Ephesians 5:19. Sing and make a melody in your heart to the Lord. I run my fingers over it in appreciation, and rest my head on his back.