Always

by Amanda Weaver

  “These will be done in a minute. I poured you some wine.” He pointed to the table and her face lit up.

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. Especially when you don’t drink it.”

  He shrugged. “You like a glass of wine at the end of the day, and I’m okay with it.”

  “Mmmm,” she hummed as she took a sip. “I do. You know me so well.”

  He smiled. “Yes, I do.”

  “What’s this playing?” she asked, cocking her head to listen to the music coming from the portable speaker.

  “These new guys I’ve been working with. You like it?”

  “Yeah. You’re producing them?”

  “Just a couple of songs. And doing some songwriting for their album. I think it’s going to be good.”

  “It will be if they have you.”

  “Cut it out,” he said softly, grinning as he flipped the steaks.

  “I’m serious. You’re the name to have these days.”

  “Because you gave me a chance.”

  “Because you’re brilliant and you always have been. You just got a little lost along the way.”

  He hiked his eyebrows and nodded. “That’s for sure.”

  Justine was silent for a minute, watching him finish the steaks as she sipped her wine. Finally, she asked, “Do you miss him?”

  “Ash?” he said automatically, because he knew exactly who she meant. “Every single day. Honestly, sometimes I forget he’s gone. Something will happen or I have an idea and my first thought is ‘I have to tell Ash about this.’ Hell, sometimes I’ve got my phone out to call him before I remember he’s not there. It doesn’t seem possible the world is still turning without him.”

  “You seem so okay about it now, though.”

  “Therapy,” he said with a laugh. “Lots and lots of therapy. Seriously, though, Keith said something to me in one of my first sessions I’ve never forgotten. I was feeling all sorry for myself and miserable and I said I was afraid I’d feel guilty about Ash for the rest of my life. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t what he actually said. He looked at me and said, “You will. So you’d better learn to deal with it.’ It’s turned out to be true about a lot of things.”

  “Wow. That’s hardcore.”

  “That’s Keith.”

  “I think I’d like him.”

  “You would. I’ll introduce you some day. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.”

  “You told him about me?”

  Dillon thought about it for a moment, all the times he’d talked about Justine, how important she was to him, how he felt about her, how he handled how he felt about her…. He wanted to laugh. Sometimes it felt like she was all he talked about. Instead, he said, “I’ve mentioned you a few times.”

  “I like his advice. If you can’t get rid of it, you need to learn to deal with it. I’ll use it.”

  Dillon was silent, wondering if it was Ian she couldn’t rid herself of. It infuriated him that such a weak, unworthy piece of shit could have any hold over her at all, but he could see how she’d feel the pain he inflicted for a long time. He set her plate on the table in front of her and refilled her wine.

  “You’ll get over him one day, Justine,” he said, before he even realized he’d intended to say it.

  She looked startled. “Ian?”

  “That’s who you meant, right?”

  She shrugged and looked down at her food. “Kind of. Not like you mean, though. I mean, yeah, a wrecked marriage kind of sticks with you. But it’s weird, it’s more about the marriage failing now and less about Ian. Does that make sense? I feel bad for Grace, and what it will mean for her growing up. But me and Ian? I don’t even miss him. Not who he’s turned out to be. How screwed up is that?”

  He smiled. “Not at all. It’s good you’re not still hung up on him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  They were both quiet for a minute as they ate. The shadows grew longer as the sun sank low in the sky. The cicadas began to sing in the scrub on the hillside behind the house. A light, warm breeze blew through the bamboo bordering the patio, making the leaves rustle and whisper. Dillon thought it would be hard to be more content than he felt right in that moment. Even with his unfulfilled want, he was happy enough with what he had to not resent what he was missing. This… this moment, he wished he could bottle it.

  “Did you write this one?” Justine waved her fork in the air to indicate the music still playing.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “I can tell. I like it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Dillon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is really nice.”

  He nodded. “This is perfect.”

  November, 2013

  “Mr. Blackwell is now willing to agree to the custody terms set forth in the temporary separation agreement. The team will draw up the appropriate paperwork and forward it to you for your approval…”

  Justine closed the email with a sigh of relief. The custody issue looked like it might get sticky, but apparently Ian had come to his senses and realized prolonging the fight wasn’t going to do anyone any good. She’d have primary custody and Ian would have regular visitations. Once the schedule was hammered out and signed off on, the last pieces of the divorce agreement would fall into place and she would be free.

  She wasn’t even sure why it felt so important, but she wanted to be out from under the shadow of her marriage. In many ways, she was coming alive again, shaking off the unhappiness and turmoil of the past year. She’d put Ian to rest in her heart and now she wanted him legally settled, too.

  It was after noon. Dillon and the band would start showing up soon for the afternoon recording session. The label had been remarkably chill with letting her take what amounted to the entire summer and fall to make the album. Earning them the kind of money she had meant she could usually get what she asked for, but all the same, she didn’t like wasting people’s time and money. As much fun as she’d had making the album, she was glad they were nearing the finish line.

  The alarm system beeped as she was topping off her coffee, indicating someone with the code had let themselves in the gate. There were only a handful of people it could be, every one of them trusted with her life, so she unlocked the front door and opened it to let them in.

  Dillon was riding up the long slope of the drive on his mountain bike, standing up on the pedals as he powered up the hill. She knew he was into biking, but she’d never actually seen him ride. He always got his rides out of the way in the mornings before he came over.

  He rolled to a stop in front of the door and flashed her a grin as he panted for breath. Unexpectedly, her stomach fluttered in response, almost like butterflies. The long-dormant sensation took her by surprise and left her momentarily speechless.

  “Sorry, I went on a longer ride this morning. It was later than I realized when I hit the peak. Hope you don’t mind that I rode straight here.”

  Justine shook her head wordlessly, fascinated by a glimpse of Dillon’s life she’d never seen. Hearing him talk about bike riding was a very different thing than seeing him riding up to her house, glistening with sweat, his shirt sticking to his chest. He was an actual athlete. He looked powerful and strong. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  “Hey,” he murmured as he moved past her— just inches away— and into the house.

  “Hey,” she finally replied, barely audible.

  “Where’s Gracie?”

  Justine had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Gymboree with Meggie.”

  “Mind if I grab a water?” he asked. “That ride was a killer. I’m dying.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, since he was as familiar with her house as with his own. When she caught up to him in the kitchen, he was bent at the waist, leaning into the refrigerator, arm propped on top of the open door. Every muscle and tendon in his tanned forearm stood out in sharp relief, highlighted by the sheen o
f sweat coating his skin. He found a bottle of water and stood up, twisting the top off and tipping his head back to drink. His eyes closed as he swallowed. Justine watched his throat working, and watched a bead of sweat roll down his neck, track over the rise of his collarbone and disappear into his white t-shirt.

  Her mouth went dry. When did he become so… hot? She’d always found him attractive, but after everything they’d been through, it had been years since that fact had any sort of visceral impact on her. Not like the full-body melt-down she was currently experiencing. Her face felt frozen, while the rest of her was heating up. She felt strangely light-headed even as other parts— more interesting parts— felt heavy, swollen.

  He lowered the water bottle after having downed most of it in one long gulp. Then he lifted the hem of his t-shirt, bringing it up to wipe the sweat off his face, exposing the flat plane of his stomach and his well-defined abs. A sparse trail of hair sprinkled down the centerline of his abdomen, disappearing underneath the low-slung waistband of his basketball shorts— so low the cuts of his hipbones were visible. He had hipbone cuts. Dillon had hipbone cuts.

  Justine swallowed thickly, overcome with the urge to lick him, climb him. Jesus, when did he get so ripped? How had she not noticed? Seeing him day in and day out must have blinded her to his raw appeal. Well, she wasn’t blind anymore. He was all she could see, every hard, sweaty inch of him.

  He lowered his shirt and flashed her another broad, white grin, oblivious to her lust-struck face. “Can I run through the guest shower before we get started? You’ll like me better that way.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. He didn’t mean anything by it. He was talking about sweat and working in close quarters in the studio all afternoon. Except now she was picturing him upstairs, naked, in her guest bathroom, and close quarters, and sweat, and she couldn’t breathe again. Her thighs were pressed so tightly together that her muscles ached. Holy hell.

  She kept her eyes closed until he left the room and didn’t exhale again until she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Then she bolted for the safety of the studio.

  If she thought all her inappropriate thoughts would go away once the session musicians were there with them, she was wrong. Suddenly all she could notice, everywhere she turned, was Dillon. The way his shirt stretched taught across his well-defined shoulders as he leaned forward to adjust the mic. The way his perpetually sleepy eyes flashed up at her now and then while she was singing. The way he’d absently rake his fingers through his dark, messy hair when he was listening to playbacks. And always his hands. Those long, guitar-player’s fingers with the calloused fingertips. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his hands.

  Once, he caught her while she was completely zoned out, eyes glazing over as she watched his fingers form a D-chord on the neck of his guitar.

  “Justine.”

  She looked back to his face and blinked. “What?”

  “Which one? Or neither?”

  “Which what?”

  His face showed the faintest trace of amused exasperation. “Which note? Do we need to call it a day? You don’t seem like yourself.”

  She cleared her throat and shook her head. “No, no. I’m fine. Just, um… thinking.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, still watching her. He knew her too well, of course. He wasn’t going to buy “I’m fine” for very long. She needed to pull it together.

  Fifteen minutes later, she was chewing her bottom lip and watching him in the recording booth as he leaned over the sound board to discuss something with the engineer. She was gripping the mic stand so hard her knuckles had gone white.

  No sex— that was her problem. She hadn’t had sex in way too long. Not since last Christmas, before she broke up with Ian. All she needed was some hot, throw-down sex. The problem was, she was no longer someone who could go pick up an anonymous guy at a bar. She didn’t want to do that anyway. Maybe when she was younger, single, childless. Now casual sex with some virtual stranger held no appeal. Sex with Dillon, on the other hand….

  Damn.

  Now she’d gone there, thought about it, pictured it— and she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wanting it. Wanting him.

  This was Dillon. Almost anybody else in her orbit was a smarter choice than Dillon. Aside from the fact he was her best friend in the world, they were also in the middle of recording an album together. There was no way she’d do anything to jeopardize the album. Justine stopped short when she realized she was thinking of it in terms of when it could happen, rather than whether or not it should. Dear God, she needed to be so careful. This was dangerous, risky ground. Hormones were one thing, but this was something entirely different.

  As she watched him still deep in consultation with the engineer, she made a deal with herself. They had maybe another few weeks of work on the album. She’d keep her hands to herself as long as they were still working together. If she was still this… obsessed when the album wrapped— well, then she’d decide if she wanted to take the chance.

  December, 2013

  “What if the echo beat in the back was a half step lower?”

  “Slower?”

  “No, lower. Here, listen.” Dillon moved a few levers on the sound board and hit the playback again. The song pulsed through the sound system all around them, but they sat with their heads close together like they were still sharing a single set of headphones.

  “Oh,” Justine breathed when she heard what he meant. “I like that.”

  “No, wait…” He kept fine-tuning, changing it incrementally, and on the last playback, he knew they had it. It settled into a groove he could feel in his gut.

  “That’s it,” she grinned. “It’s perfect.”

  “Nothing’s ever perfect.”

  She elbowed him. “Perfect for me, Mr. Type A.”

  He chuckled and typed a few keys, backing up the track on the hard drive. “Well, I think it’s a wrap.”

  “Do you know what this means?” She was beaming, almost bouncing in her chair with excitement.

  “You’re done?”

  “Well, until the label picks over these last few tracks and gives me a million suggestions, but yeah, we’re done!”

  Dillon laughed. “Congratulations on number three, Ms. James.”

  “As always, I couldn’t have done it without you. Come on. We’re celebrating.”

  She grabbed his hand and tugged him out of his chair and out of the studio. He let her hang onto his hand and lead him through her dark and quiet house. The studio musicians had finished up a couple of weeks earlier. For most of the month, Dillon and Justine had worked mostly alone, fine-tuning and tweaking in the studio. It was after eight. He’d stayed for dinner, as he often did, and they’d decided to finish up the last track after she put Grace to bed. Meggie was out in her own place behind the pool.

  A fifteen foot tall Christmas tree was lit up in the sitting room as they passed through, making the room glow softly. In the kitchen, she rooted through the refrigerator until she unearthed a bottle of sparkling cider in the back. She waved it overhead in triumph.

  “I got this two months ago so we could celebrate when we finished.”

  “Very nice of you.”

  She retrieved glasses out of the cabinet while he popped the cork on the bottle.

  “You can drink what you want,” he said as he poured two glasses for them. “You know, something real. I’ll be fine.”

  She squeezed his arm. “I know, but I don’t mind. I want to share this with you.”

  “Even crappy sparkling cider?”

  “Especially crappy sparkling cider.”

  Justine raised her glass to him and he clinked his to it. “Well then, to the album,” he said.

  “To our album,” she corrected before taking a sip.

  It was a quiet and intimate moment, one of a million they’d shared that he valued more than most anything in his life. It was them, it was theirs, the night, the music, the connection. Dillon took a second to close his eye
s and appreciate it, the miracle of his life, despite the odds. Maybe he didn’t have everything he wanted, but he had a lot. So much more than he deserved, in some ways.

  They sat together at the counter for a while longer, sipping at the too-sweet sparkling cider and discussing the album. They both had strong thoughts about the first single, thoughts not shared by the label, and Justine was gearing up to fight them on it. She’d probably win. She usually did these days. There was another tour in the offing, too, which she was alternately dreading and looking forward to. He was dreading it, too, because it meant long months of her being gone. But he had his other work now. He was in high demand as a producer these days, and he could stay as busy as he chose to be. Now that Justine’s album was done, he planned on booking a lot of work. It was still best to stay busy.

  “Hey,” she reached across the counter and rested her hand on his arm. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

  “Um, bike ride?”

  Justine shook her head firmly. “You’re coming here. Christmas with a toddler. Shredded wrapping paper and stuffed animals the size of a house. Come on, you know you want to.”

  He chuckled. “It sounds great, actually. Sure, I’ll come. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling gold in the ambient glow from the Christmas tree, and slid her hand down to cover his. “You’d better not.”

  He glanced down to her hand. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she was more affectionate than usual lately. They’d always been physically comfortable with each other, but in recent weeks, he’d noticed her trailing fingers, her lingering touches. Maybe he’d have chalked it up to wishful thinking on his part, except once or twice he’d glanced up and caught her looking at him with what he could only describe as lust. The idea that Justine might want something with him, after all this time, was a little bit thrilling and a whole lot terrifying. Because at the end of the day, he worried about her reasons, or more to the point, her lack of reasons. She’d been separated from Ian for most of the past year and to the best of his knowledge, there had been no one else. She spent all her time outside the studio with her toddler daughter. It was entirely possible she was just…horny. God only knew he was. And that was nowhere near enough for him.