Light Dream

by Adalind White

  "Look who else is afraid of moving on," he said.

  He'd meant it as a joke, but he felt the sting. That was what they were trying to do. Move on from the most meaningful relationship of their lives.

  Chapter 11

  Andrew

  HE HAD PLANNED ON SLEEPING ON THE PLANE, but Christine's initiative made it impossible. He packed the few things he had brought in the travel bag. He'd always been travelling light, since the early days in his career when he didn't own many things and he wouldn't have had the money to pay for extra space. Now his travel bag had shrunk to the size of his gym bag.

  "You'll do great," Christine said when she hugged him good bye.

  "Tell me what happens with the cop," he said, kissing her cheek.

  "Not a cop," she said.

  The taxi took him to the airport with time to spare, but he sat on a chair in one of the waiting rooms, away from his gate, gathering his thoughts before meeting her. He heard his name in the airport's PA system.

  At least now she knew he was on that plane. She might think he was stalking her or maybe she thought it was a coincidence. Even if this time it hadn't been his doing, he had stalked her all those months when Jeanne hid him in a booth at Dusk so he could hear her.

  A few minutes later, he was in his luxurious first class seat feeling he was sitting in an ant farm. He didn't need the big screen or all the amenities surrounding him for better connectivity to everyone in the world except the woman who was a dozen feet from him.

  "Is everything all right, Mr. King?" his flight attendant asked. "Do you need anything before we take off? We have an excellent champagne."

  "I'd like to change my seat," he said.

  The young woman looked vaguely unhappy.

  "All first-class seats are taken, but I can check with my colleagues-"

  "Not with another first-class seat," he interrupted her. "I'd like seat 9E. Could you ask the person sitting there if they would like to swap?"

  The professional smile was back on her lips.

  "Of course, sir."

  "Before takeoff, please," he said. "I'm not interested in any other seat on the plane. Just 9E."

  She nodded. "I'll deal with that immediately, Mr. King."

  He stood up and started pacing in the small suite called seat 4A. That place was as big as the van they used to carry all the Wanderlust equipment on their first years. The smooth cream leather of the armchair, the pristine white curtains by the large window, the big screen TV, every little luxury detail stifled him.

  What if Christine had been wrong and he had demanded a seat that wasn't next to her? He should have checked first. Talked to her. Asked her if she wanted his company. Vy was the one with fear of flying, but he felt on the verge of a panic attack.

  The flight attended returned, followed by a young man in jeans and ripped t-shirt, with a laptop bag on slunk over his shoulder. Not what he had expected from a business class traveler.

  "Everything is settled, Mr. King," the flight attended said. "Seat 9E is yours."

  "I almost said no," the guy said, "but 'miss Cupid' here was very persuasive."

  Instead of embarrassing him, the comment relaxed him. It had to be Vy in the other seat if this guy considered passing on the opportunity to travel first class to be near her. He'd been sure that his motives would be crystal clear to everyone as soon as they saw was sitting in 9F.

  "Thank you," he said to both of them.

  "I'll take you to 9E," the blushing flight attendant said.

  "Good luck," the guy said, grinning.

  He thanked "Miss Cupid" before they got to his new seat, and the girl took the hint to let him find the rest of the way by himself. When he got there, Vy had headphones over her ears and a black eye mask over her eyes. He should not have found that image sexy.

  He felt his heartbeat raising as he looked at her in silence. She was eerily beautiful. He had never seen Vy peaceful before. She'd always been a ball of explosive energy. She'd been sound and fire. He relished in the luxury of looking at her mouth and recalling how it felt on his. Those sensual, plump, maddeningly kissable lips, slightly parted as she breathed steadily were so close. He had kissed her twice, always like a thief in the middle of the night. He wanted to run his thumb over that full bottom lip and watch the black engulf the green in her eyes.

  The plane started to roll on the tarmac, and Vy jerked upright.

  "We're taking off?" she asked as she kicked the headphones off

  She fumbled with the ribbon of her eye mask for a few seconds than yanked it off.

  "It's ok," he said. "Yes, we're taking off."

  "Andrew?" she whispered, and he saw terror in her eyes.

  "I'm here," he confirmed. "We'll be fine. Take my hand."

  She clasped his hand in hers and he felt her shaking.

  "We'll be in the air in a few seconds," he said.

  "Don't say that," she said groaning.

  Her grip on his hand increased in intensity.

  "I'm never going to play the guitar again," he said.

  She turned her head, not understanding at first, then her eyes fell on their hands. She tried to jerk her hand away, but he was ready and he hanged on to it.

  "Not letting you go," he said.

  Her breast rose and fell rapidly with each deep breath. Her cheeks were paper white and he could see her fading away. He had to find a way to distract her before she fainted.

  "So, you think guys with tattoos are hot," he said.

  "What?"

  "I heard you talking to my daughter," he said. "And there I was, thinking of removing my old tattoos."

  "Why would you do that?" she asked. "I mean, you can do what you want with your body."

  Her voice went up toward the end.

  "Really? I was going to ask your opinion about the beard. I'm thinking of shaving it off again."

  "D-don't. Don't care," she said.

  The pressure on his head decreased a little. The moisture level however, went up. As if she wasn't enough of a bad liar, her body's reactions betrayed her completely.

  He guided her palm to his cheek. "Doesn't it feel too long to you?" he asked.

  It turned out not to be a very good move. Her touch made him dizzy. He closed his eyes and leaned into it as she had leaned into his all those months ago, on a November evening by the frozen pool outside the Sing House.

  "Don't shave the beard," she whispered throatily.

  She cleared her throat and he took her hand off his face. They were still holding hands a few minutes later, when the flight attended passed by their chair and asked if everything was ok.

  Vy

  "You didn't say you'd be on this flight," she said.

  "I wasn't supposed to be. Christine managed to get me a seat." When she didn't say anything, he went on. "Because you were on it."

  And there she was, thinking that Christine was a nice person. Why would a nice person make her go through the torture of being next to King for about nine hours?

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "For what?"

  "For using your name earlier. I was panicking. I know you never told me I could-"

  "Don't you know why?" he interrupted her.

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "It won't happen again."

  "Don't you want to know?"

  She shook her head. "It's better this way. Even with Carter, I couldn't call him Tim, even if he insisted. It's just too weird. You two mean more to me than anyone else in the whole world of music."

  She needed to put the distance back between her and King. Diane's father. Christine's husband. Ex was such a meaningless detail after she saw them together.

  "Really?" he said. "I thought your holy trinity was Tim Carter, Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple."

  "No. It's always been you and Carter above everyone else in my heart."

  Her heart stopped when he reached for her hand, and it started to beat like crazy when he took it to his lips. The beard pricked her skin, intensifying the
sensation of his warm lips on her skin.

  "That's where you'll be for this generation," he said.

  His breath and his lips caressed her skin when he spoke. If he did things like this for the nine hours of the flight, she was not going to get to London alive. Yet, she felt too weak to pull away her hand.

  "Stop it," she said.

  To her relief and regret, he did. He let go of her hand and she immediately pulled it out of his reach. For once, she could try not acting like a horny teenager when they were alone.

  "How was your American tour?" he asked.

  She smiled and sighed. "Exhausting. I had a show every few days, but I saw more studios than I can count. Worst of all was that Derek booked me at least a couple of radio, podcasts or TV things every day. Local, of course, but it was so exhausting. I missed…"

  She stopped short of saying Carter. She had missed Carter and his crazy working habits. Alice had made fun of her about him training her like the Karate Kid guy, but she hadn't been far off. Without him dragging her into the studio after she had done a three-hour gig in Dusk was very good practice for this tour.

  "How is Sing this year?" she asked abruptly.

  "Exhausting," he said, and smiled. "Alice is a great help."

  His voice softened when he mentioned her friend. She felt a twinge of guilt. She'd been barely speaking to Alice in months because of him. They had moved together in Salona but she was so often with Carter when she didn't have classes, she had little time left for Alice.

  "Just so you know, we don't talk about Sing. I'm still sort of in the other camp."

  "Team Carter for life," he said with a soft chuckle. "Don't worry, she told me." His voice became a shade cooler. "She said you never talk about me."

  Of course Alice would pick up on that, but why did she have to tell him? Didn't she realize how much it hurt to talk about him? How embarrassed she was after she'd showed her heart to the world on the stage in Viaverde? She had been stupid enough to think that he felt the same when he sang with her, and he'd been nothing more than professional. He must have drawn on a memory, like he had tried to teach her back when she was one of the hopeful contestants in the Sing House.

  "Carter isn't telling me anything about what he does on the show, but I need to keep things separate. So there's a no Sing Captains Talk policy at home."

  "I'm surprised she manages to balance school work, band practices and her duties on Sing so well. But I think she wants out of the band."

  "What? Did she say that?"

  "No," he said. "It's just a feeling. She only joined because of you."

  She turned to look at him astounded. He was wrong. Alice loved music. What did he know? He knew Alice for ten minutes and he was some sort of expert.

  "I might be wrong," he said under her accusing gaze.

  "You are."

  "If you ever want to do a collaboration with your old band, I'm sure they would love it."

  She accepted the change of subject. He'd done it more gracefully than she would have managed.

  "Would they accept to sing one of Carter's songs?" she asked cheekily.

  "So you're not even considering singing one of mine?"

  His tone had been light, playful but her heart lurched. She would absolutely love to sing one of his songs. Carter-guilt flooded her.

  "I don't know," she said. "After singing with the Waves, I was rather expecting a collaboration with Wanderlust."

  Her own attempt of playfulness fell flat.

  "I'd love to sing with you again," he said.

  His thickened voice made her stomach clench the same way his music videos did.

  Maybe he could be professional and sing with her, but she couldn't. She would never allow herself to be humiliated like that again.

  "We'll see," she said.

  "You're a terrible liar."

  "I didn't lie-"

  "I'm not pushing. And I don't want you to become a good liar. I'll do whatever you want."

  She took a few moments to sift through the storm inside her. She could ask him directly about his family. She could ask him what he felt for her. But they'd be stuck on that plane for nine hours and she wasn't sure she could handle the answers. She didn't need the details to know that all of them could be resumed in one word. Complicated.

  "I want to enjoy this flight. With you. Without anything… else."

  Chapter 12

  Vy

  IF SHE DIDN'T COUNT THE BUTTERFLIES in her stomach, she'd say the flight was the most relaxing flight of her life. Grudgingly, she had to accept that her friends were right about him. The man had an aura of power and patience and she wanted to bask in his light.

  "You are amazing," she mumbled, reaching for his hand, while her eyelids, weighted with sleep, slid closed.

  When she woke up, he was still holding her hand. He shifted in his sleep and gripped her hand tighter when she tried to take it away. She watched him mesmerized while he slept. As it happened so often, he caught her staring. He opened his eyes suddenly and held her gaze for a long time.

  "Does this count as sleeping together?" she asked abruptly, trying to break the tension with a joke.

  "No," he said, and the way he looked at her raised dangerously her inner temperature.

  "Well, tough," she said. "That's exactly how I'm going to tell Carter the story."

  "Do you tell him everything?" he asked.

  "Pretty much," she said. "Not that he returns the courtesy," she added thinking of what her father told her.

  "He's not trying to be your best friend," he pointed out. "He is supposed to be your mentor. Not to burden you with his problems."

  She scowled. Did he think they were still at Sing and she was still TC's hopeful contestant? Carter had taught her little by little to become independent. He often treated her as an equal. He demanded as much of her as he demanded of himself. But King wouldn't get that. From what her friends said, he was the teacher type.

  "You don't understand," she said. "He burdens me with plenty of stuff. I just found out that he's been through…" she paused, and settled for "something serious. But he didn't tell me."

  Andrew nodded. "The cancer," he said.

  "Cancer?" she exclaimed. "He had cancer?"

  He pursed his lips and she imagined him holding back some very graphic curses for betraying the confidence. He knew about TC's illness, in even more details than her father apparently, and he hadn't meant to betray his confidence.

  "I… Yeah, I think that was it. What did you find out about?"

  "How the hell do you know?" she asked, ignoring his question.

  "He told me. Before Celebrity Jungle."

  The vertigo she felt had nothing to do with flying. Her father had mentioned that was the time when TC made his will, but telling King made it harder to accept that he hadn't confided in her.

  Something clicked in her head.

  "Oh, man, that was what the black roses were for! He was saying good bye."

  "Excuse me?"

  She waved her hand. "Never mind," she said. "It doesn't matter."

  "I sent you the black roses at Dusk," he said.

  "You? Why?"

  His dark gaze roamed over her face before he spoke.

  "I came to hear you," he said eventually. "You were very good. I wanted to tell you that, but I didn't think it would be a good idea to tell you in person."

  "That's strange," she said. "Because I got black roses a lot. Every time I sang at Dusk."

  "Almost every time," he said. "After the Jungle… I tried to stop coming to see you."

  "To hear me," she said, but he looked away without accepting the correction.

  She had loved those flowers, and she hadn't tried very hard to find out who sent them. She had thought that the mystery surrounding the flowers was better than anything she might have found out who was her admirer. She'd been wrong.

  "Are you telling me you were in the audience?" she asked.

  "Each time," he said, staring
at the back of the seat in front.

  She thought back at her performances there, adding King's gaze over her. All the excitement of singing in front of dozens of people didn't compare to the tension she felt coiling inside to know that he had watched her.

  When they announced they were getting ready to land, he offered her his hand and she took it without arguing.

  She clung to it, feeling ridiculous to be afraid, but unable to push away the panic. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, making her shiver. She wanted more of that.

  How could something as simple as holding hands with him make her happy?

  An hour later, they were having coffee waiting for the plane that would take them from London to Orsino, and they ended up talking about Carter.

  "Do you have any idea how much it hurts?" she asked. "That he told you, but he didn't tell me?"

  It stung when her father told her about Carter's health. She was almost getting used to the idea that Carter hadn't deemed her trustworthy enough to tell her about his illness, but to find out he had told Andrew...

  "He only told me because he didn't want to disappoint you," he said. "He wanted you to have that moment. He felt bad enough about what happened in the jungle."

  "You told him?" she asked horrified. "You told him about-"

  "No," he interrupted her. "I never talked to him about us. He came to ask me to change my mind and go into the Jungle, after I turned down the offer to be special guest. He knew IBC was going to-"

  "What did you just say?"

  "That IBC was going to mess with the rules."

  "No, not that. He came to you? He, Tim Carter, came to you, Andrew King, his bitter rival, to ask you to be on Celebrity Jungle to what?"

  "To try to keep IBC from interfering."

  "He," she said again, pointedly, "asked you," she made another pause for emphasis, "to protect me?" She made another pause. "Am I getting this right?"

  "Yes. I know this shows he cares about you, but it also shows he wants to manipulate you. Apparently, that's more important than whatever he feels about me and I was the only one he could reach out to."

  "I'll straighten things out with Carter, don’t you worry," she said. "But do you really think you protected me? How did you stop them interfering?"

  He hung his head.