by BB Miller
Matt’s pensive frown is visible in the streetlights. We’re exiting the Bay Bridge on the way to my parents’ house in Oakland. “It wasn’t my first choice. He got some bad news. His dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God! Is he going to be okay?”
“Yeah, he had to have surgery, but he’ll be okay. Cam kinda freaked out. We wanted to make sure he got back there in one piece, and I volunteered.”
Nodding, I let it go, remembering Cam’s recent trip to rehab. The guys were probably worried the stress would trigger old habits. Reaching across the smooth leather seat, I take Matt’s hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s good that he has friends like you.”
He squeezes back. “I’m sorry I was late. Did you get my texts?”
“No, just the one where you said you were stopping to see Tom. Oh, turn right here, and then a left at the stop sign.”
He obeys smoothly. “He’s looking forward to meeting you. He wants me to bring you around tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“Okay.” My stomach flips over. “First, we have to survive tonight.”
He swallows. “Right. Give me the rundown again?”
“My brother Casey is a veterinarian. He’s divorced and has custody of his two kids, Mason and Lily. Mason is nine and Lily is six. Rachel’s husband, Jim, is a lawyer, too, and their daughter Janey is four.”
“Wait, I thought your brother was Conner?”
“Conner is Casey’s twin. He’s the one in Seattle. Mom and Dad are flying to see him and his family tomorrow and will spend a few days.”
“That’s a lot of names to remember.” Matt grips the steering wheel a little tighter.
“Don’t worry, we’ll ease you in.” I indicate another turn and point to the house on the corner. “And here we are.”
It’s a typical family house built in the early ’70s, but the upper rooms have a partial view of the bay. Mom and Dad bought it when he retired from the Navy, and they couldn’t be happier. There’s room for Mom’s sewing business and for all the grandkids to stay overnight, and that’s enough for them.
The deep, rumbling purr of the Camaro ceases, and the street is silent once again. Before he gets out of the car, he slides a hand behind my head and pulls me in for a kiss. “Just in case I can’t do this again for a few hours,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to mine. It’s soft and sweet, and I melt into his embrace. We haven’t had nearly enough time to reacquaint ourselves.
“I’m sorry; I should’ve canceled so we could go back to your place.” He gives me one more peck and leans back to look in my eyes.
“No, you shouldn’t have. Your family is important to you. We would’ve had more time together if I hadn’t gone with Cam.”
I lean my forehead against his. “You were being a good friend. It’s okay. We can wait a few more hours.”
“Not sure about that. I might have to drag you into a closet or something.” He gives me a wolfish grin before getting out. After helping me join him on the sidewalk, he holds my hand tightly as I lead him up the walk to the side door. It’s cold enough to see my breath, and I tug the collar of my coat. The glow from the kitchen pierces the darkness, and I grin automatically at the sounds that reach my ears from the open window. Mom’s kitchen is the hub of all life in the Baker household, and tonight is no exception.
We step up on the porch and I reach for the doorknob, pausing when I hear Casey’s voice. “Where’s Tessa? She’s usually the first one here.”
“She texted to say she’d be a little late. She’s bringing someone.”
A clang of something being dropped. “No shit?” my brother asks in disbelief.
“Casey, language. It’s Christmas.”
“Who’s she bringing? We’re talking about a guy, right?”
“Matthew Somebody, and he’s a musician. He works for someone named Redford; to be honest, I was too stunned to listen to much more.”
“Redford? Like Robert Redford, maybe?” Rachel chimes in, and I hear my mother huff.
“I don’t know, but I figure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know him over dinner. If she’s bringing him to Christmas Eve dinner, it must serious, so I expect you to be on your best behavior, Casey.”
“Mom, I’m not ten anymore,” my brother whines—like a ten-year-old. “What kind of musician?”
“I don’t know. Rachel, get the potatoes, please.” There’s a clatter of dishes as my mother continues, “She had that work project with the symphony last year. Maybe she met him there?”
“Whoever he is, he’s as tall as Dad,” my sister’s voice sounds, silencing all other voices. I spot her eagerly peering at us through the window, and I know our time is up. Matt stiffens, and I give him an encouraging smile just as the door swings open.
“Get in here before you guys freeze to death. Why didn’t you bring him to the front door?” My sister is grinning like crazy as she takes in the tall, handsome man at my side. “Hi! You must be Matt. I’m Rachel.”
My sister is a force of nature, and there’s no stopping her once she gets started. She ushers us into the warm room, taking our coats and slinging them over a kitchen chair, flittering about and making the rest of the introductions before I can get a word in edgewise. “This is our mom, Julie, and our brother, Casey. My husband is in the living room, trying to get the fire started.” My brother nods to Matt, peering at him like he’s not sure where he’s seen him before. The kids race into the room to see what’s going on and come to a screeching halt. Lily and Janey giggle when Matt winks at them, and Mason stares at him like he’s a god. There’s no doubt that my nephew recognizes him.
For his part, Matt looks a little shell-shocked. I mentally chastise myself for not using the front door. Oh, who am I kidding? There’s no good way to ease him into this.
Then all conversation stops when my dad steps in the room.
“Matt, is it? Ron Baker,” my dad rumbles, straightening his shoulders. Even though he no longer wears a uniform, he can still command a room with his mere presence. He takes in Matt’s closely cropped hair, strong jaw, and the tendrils of ink on his neck peeking out of his collar. Matt easily matches my dad’s six-foot-three, and I have to give him credit; he meets the steely gaze directed at him straight on, never flinching.
“Matt Logan, sir,” he says respectfully and extends his hand in greeting. “Tess has told me a lot about you.”
Dad’s lips twitch as he shoots a reproachful glance at me. “I wish I could say the same.” They shake hands, my dad continuing his parental intimidation glare, until Mom approaches and taps him on the shoulder. She’s a tiny thing, but she has my dad wrapped around her little finger.
“At ease, Chief.” She gives him a wry smirk and steps up to Matt next. Her small hand disappears in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Matthew. Merry Christmas,” she says with a warm smile, her gray eyes sparkling. “What a lovely, old name. Is your family Catholic, by any chance?”
Matt freezes and I fear he’s thinking of his own mother. “Mom,” I warn, but before I can come up with something more to say, Matt takes my hand.
“Er, I think Tom, my dad, might be Episcopalian,” he offers in that shy tone that always melts my heart; it apparently has the same effect on my mother.
“Close enough.” Beaming at him, she steps up to his other side and slips her arm in his to lead him into the dining room. “You’re just in time. Let’s eat.”
Matt
IT’S SUDDENLY HOTTER—way hotter than it should be. While Tess’s family seems nice—very all-American as they politely pass dishes around the large dining room table—I can’t help but feel that I’m about to be cross-examined and found lacking. I’m not going to lie; her father is intimidating as hell.
I’ve played for stadiums full of screaming, frenzied fans, can manage personal and often intrusive interview questions with the best of them, and can hold my own with a room full of famous people. All that seems like nothing compared to this. The last time I was this nervous,
I was auditioning for the band. Somehow, it seems there’s a lot more to lose now.
Fine china filled with a home-cooked feast I would normally want to devour turns my stomach. Tension rolls through me, and I sit with my back ramrod straight in the chair, unsure of where I should look or what I should say. The feeling is unsettling. I tug at the collar of my shirt as Tess fills up the wine glass in front of me.
“Where did you go to school, Matt?” And so it begins.
Ron Baker’s firm and commanding voice seems to bellow through the room. All heads turn from the menacing man at the head of the table to me. Waiting, watching with bated breath.
I meet his steady gaze, my hands clenching under the table. “I didn’t finish high school, sir. I got my GED later, but I didn’t go to college.”
He lifts a brow. That’s all he has to do and I know what he thinks. Five words and he knows I’ll never be good enough for his daughter.
So many eyes on me. Silence around the room that was just buzzing with noise and chaos. I can feel them all assessing, forming their own scenarios of why I didn’t attend Stanford or some other school.
Fuck it. He’s not the only one who can ask questions. “Where did you go to school?”
“The US Navy.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. Of course he did. There’s no comeback to rival that kind of greatness. The man is a retired Navy vet for fuck’s sake.
“What does your father do?” If I’m not worthy, maybe Tom will be.
“He runs a group home for teens.” A nod of approval or maybe minimal acceptance from Ron.
“What’s a group home?” Lily, I think Tess said her name was, chirps from the kids’ table beside us. Maybe I should’ve sat over there. It’s wildly appealing at the moment. My mouth twitches as I look over to them. The anarchy of the kids’ table. I’d definitely fit in better.
“It’s a place where kids can go when they get into trouble,” I explain.
“Dad just sends us to our room when we get into trouble,” Mason chimes in around a forkful of mashed potatoes.
“Some kids aren’t lucky enough to have rooms.” Brutal honesty. Maybe Ron will appreciate it.
Lily’s eyes widen. “No rooms? No Xbox, either?” As if this is the worst thing in the world.
“Afraid not.” More awkward glances amongst the close-knit family around the table. Unclenching my fists, I tentatively pick up my fork.
“Tess mentioned you’re in a band.” Julie shifts the conversation. Probably better if I don’t eat. I abandon the fork. “Redford, I think?”
“It’s Redfall, Grandma,” Mason adds, rolling his eyes. “They have, like, the number one album right now.”
“Oh! I had no idea. What kind of music is it?” Julie smiles. Tess said she hasn’t brought a guy home before, but they’re all looking at me like I’m a six-headed alien from another planet. Still, this I can handle. Just talk about the band and what I love. Stay far away from my fucked-up childhood that no one needs to hear about.
“Rock music.”
“Oh! Like the Rolling Stones in that car commercial?” she asks excitedly, making me chuckle.
“A little bit. But we mix it up, too. On this last tour, we played with the Sydney Orchestra.” Julie looks impressed, at least. Ron, not so much. He stabs his way roughly through a piece of turkey on his plate. I reach for the wine, scowling as the cuff of my sleeve slides up to expose more of the ink on my wrist. I’m going to need something stronger to get through this. A shot of whiskey or a cigarette. Fuck, that would be good right now.
“That sounds ambitious,” Casey, Tess’s brother, cuts in.
I give him a nod, setting the glass back down without spilling it all over the table. “It was. They’re a talented group of musicians. It was quite an experience.”
“What instruments do you play?” This from Rachel who appears to be interested in the answer.
“Bass, but I can play a few other instruments, too.” I feel Tess’s hand slide along my thigh, giving a squeeze. A move that does nothing for my nerves. I’m electrified anytime she touches me, but now? After weeks of not seeing her, when she’s wearing that tempting, tight red sweater that hugs every perfect curve she has? Under the naval inquisition? I think I jump a foot in my seat.
“You can play other instruments?” Tess asks, the sound of her voice calming me slightly.
I grin at her with a nod and turn to meet her dark eyes. “Told you there was a lot you don’t know about me.” Her seductive lips curl into a knowing grin at my answer, a faint flush blooming over her cheeks.
“Do you play piano at all?” Julie asks, her voice suddenly quiet.
The jarring sound of forks hitting plates echoes through the dining room, and I wonder what minefield I’ve stepped into this time. All eyes are turned to Julie in disbelief. I glance at Tess, who’s staring at her mother in shock. What in the hell?
“It’s not my instrument of choice, but yeah.” I fill the uneasy silence. “I can play. Not like our lead singer, but I get by.”
Julie’s eyes water. “Would you play something for us later? The piano hasn’t been used in a long time.” She lifts her gaze to her husband at the other end of the table.
I look between the two of them, but I might as well be invisible. Some unspoken conversation carries on around the table. I feel like I’m intruding on a private moment. “Sure, if you like. I mean, I’m a little rusty, but I could probably do some Christmas songs.”
“No one’s played that piano since Paula.” Ron’s voice sounds hollow and void of any of the strong, authoritative tone he’s had since I walked in the door. Now it makes sense. Paula, Tess’s older sister who died from a brain tumor, must have played. No pressure at all then to play the piano for her entire family on Christmas Eve. Fuck.
“I know,” Julie answers through a shaky breath. “But it’s just sitting there, and I thought it would be nice.” I recognize the pain in her eyes. I don’t think losing a child is something you ever get over. A familiar ache in my chest makes itself known. The harsh truth that my own mother wouldn’t have given a shit if something happened to me hits me hard. She probably would’ve welcomed it. I was an inconvenience at best. Fuck, this was a bad idea coming here.
I turn to the sound of Tess sniffling. It’s a glaring reminder not to be a selfish prick. This may be one of the most awkward dinner conversations in history, but whatever I’m feeling is nothing compared to what Tess and her family lost when Paula died.
Ron clears his throat. “We’d love it if you could play, Matt.”
I glance at Tess warily, as she wipes the tears from her cheeks. My heart stutters seeing her vulnerable and hurting. I’d do anything not to see that again. “No problem.”
“So, you’ve got a lot of tattoos there.” Ron starts back on the cross-examination, and I know he’s deflecting, not wanting to show the emotion he’s fighting about losing his daughter. “Guess that goes with the territory of being in a band, kind of like a lot other things.” His stern expression fixes on me.
There are a few uncomfortable chuckles around the table, but there’s no mistaking what he means here. I know I haven’t been a saint, but I hate assumptions. I’ve got tattoos, so I must be some badass delinquent. I’m in a band, so obviously I’m only capable of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Never mind about the countless hours of preparation we go through to perfect what we do, or how dedicated we are to our fans, or how the Brit gives most of what he makes back to the music academy he attended. None of that shit matters. Perception is reality.
“Dad!” Tess hisses under her breath.
“Not really. Our rhythm guitarist only has one. And I know a lot of guys in the business who don’t have any. What about you?” I ask, turning the tables on him once more.
His eyes narrow. “What about me?”
“You were in the Navy. Don’t all sailors have at least one tattoo?” I know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t seem to stop myself. The room goes silent once more.
<
br /> Ron pauses for a moment, then slowly pushes the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing a tat of a nautical star. “Touché.”
“Guess they don’t care about yours, hmm?” I grin at Tess. Her eyes widen in panic before chaos erupts. A barrage of questions from around the table fire at her, and Mason jumps up from the kids’ table to rush over. “You have a tattoo, Auntie Tess? Where? Where?”
Rachel shrieks from across the table, above the buzz of everyone else, glaring at her sister. “When did you get a tattoo?”
And my work here is done.
I hear the screen door close as I pace the driveway alongside the Camaro and fight the urge for a nicotine fix. I’m out in the cold under the guise of finally bringing in the wine I forgot about earlier, but I think everyone in that house knows that’s a lie.
I just need some air. I’m not used to the family inquisition.
Jim, Rachel’s husband, approaches with a glass of whiskey, holding it out for me.
“Thought you could use this.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Congratulations,” he says, lifting his own glass to me. “You made it through the gauntlet.”
I laugh, taking a long sip, the amber liquid providing a delicious burn on the way down. “I think the jury’s still out on that.”
“Ah, Ron’s not that bad. Once you get past the ‘where did you go to school’ bit, he’s really just a big softy. Gotta admit, when you asked him if he had any tattoos, I thought I was going to shit myself. That was pure genius.”
“Or pure stupidity. Where’d you go to school, just out of curiosity?”
“Yale.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal at all. “Law school.”
I drain back the rest of the whiskey. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Doesn’t really matter at the end of the day. As a parent, you’re protective of your kids.” I feel my jaw set. If only my mother had been protective of me. “But he likes you, and more importantly, Tess likes you. In all the years I’ve been with Rach, I’ve never seen Tess with anyone.” It’s hard not to feel at least a little smug about that. Any of those loser boyfriends of hers in the past were insane to let Tess go. But their loss is definitely my gain.
