by Scott, S. L.
Hope lives in my heart that this is an opener and not the end.
His chin tilts down, but his hazel eyes stay fixed on me. A thumb runs over his bottom lip as he studies me before a roguish grin appears. “We’re signing another two-album deal with Outlaw Records. Johnny wanted to get business out of the way before the party the next night. Rochelle drew up the negotiated deal, but the lawyers had to finalize the contract. I waited as long as I could before I told them I had to go.”
“You didn’t sign the contract?” I take a step.
“Not yet.”
“Because you left for me?” Two more steps are covered.
Nodding, he sighs.
I take another large but tentative step closer, and ask, “Why are you so perfect?”
“I’m not, Meadow. About this morning—”
“You were right. If I’m going to talk about my dreams, I should probably figure out what they are.” I stay in place.
He makes a move, coming closer. “I shouldn’t have diminished them, though. You don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe anyone answers but yourself.”
“You’re wrong. I owe you a thank you for believing in me.” I hate the space that still divides us, so I close it by running and jumping into his arms.
Spinning, he presses my back to the glass, and our tongues entwine. When all oxygen is swallowed and gone, we part, panting for more—more oxygen, more kissing, more of each other. Just more.
He’s amazing and deserves the same. “I’m so happy for you.”
“I haven’t signed yet.”
“But it’s a done deal, a deal you earned, a deal you worked for.”
“A deal that makes me want to invest in a future.”
“A future? Your future, or our future?”
He chuckles. “I know a trap when I hear it. I’m zipping my lips on that one.”
My feet find the floor, but my arms stay around his neck. “It’s not a trap, but I want you to think about what you want. Where I see you doesn’t matter, only that I get to.” I hug his middle and rest my head on his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask about your meeting or what’s going in your life.”
Stroking my hair, he rests his chin on the top of my head. “You would have hated me at twenty-two. I called you out earlier, but you’re one of the few people I know who has their shit together. You don’t have to figure out everything right now. Fuck, I don’t either.” Tilting his head to the side, he moves my hair out of my eyes, and asks, “How about we stop stressing about the future and live in the present?”
It’s like he’s reading my mind. “Are you still my boyfriend?”
“Fuck yes, I’m your boyfriend. If I see one motherfucker come near you, I’m going to lose my fucking shit.” Swear words may be flying, but I can hear the lightness in his tone. His arms tighten around me again. “We’re going to live in the present as boyfriend and girlfriend because I like those fucking labels.”
Straight forward, just as Hannah said. “Me too.”
* * *
There’s no sneaking out the next morning. I roll right on top of Dave and kiss his face until one eye opens and then the other. His arms come around me, and he says, “I’m never letting you go. You’re stuck with me forever.”
“There are worse places to be stuck.”
“A few. Not many, but a few.”
“Rock star’s got jokes this morning.”
“What are you talking about?” Playful. Sexy. Fun. It’s probably best if I get out of bed before we end up here all day. He says, “I’m damn funny all the time.”
Pushing up, I mean to roll to the side of him but end up rolling right off the edge of the bed. I pop up and land the ending with my arms in the air. When he stops laughing at me, his fingers form a one and zero. “Definitely a ten because you stuck that landing . . . right on your ass.”
Speaking of my ass, I rub it. “That’s going to leave a mark. I’d worry that someone will ask how I got carpet burned, but yeah, no one sees my ass but you.”
He grabs my hand and pulls me closer. “That’s the way it should be.” His hand slides to my backside. “All. Mine.”
“If I miss my flight, it’s all yours for another day. I tried to move to a later flight two days ago, but they’re all sold out.”
“You’re not going to hear any complaints from me about you staying an extra day.”
“My graduation advisor might if I miss my meeting tomorrow.”
The smirk on his face gets me drunk on the inside. He’s tequila on a girls’ night when my inhibitions fall away. God, this man. That voice. The messy, sexy hair. Those eyes looking at me with moons in them. Hands. Good lord, he has great hands. But it’s that mouth and those lips that make me want to mount him. “When’s the latest I can leave to catch my flight?”
“You have an hour.”
My lips reflect his, but I add a little wink. “That’s all we need.”
I kiss him before climbing on the bed and straddling his neck. Chuckling, he takes me by the hips. “May I help you?”
“Absolutely. We have thirty minutes before I need to shower to get clean.”
“That means we have thirty minutes to get dirty. C’mere.” He presses his head into the pillow and guides me over his face. “Nothing like breakfast in bed.”
When his hot and so damn sexy mouth presses between my legs, my thighs clench, and I bear down as my head falls back. My fingers curve around the headboard to hold me upright from his delicious attention.
I barely make my flight, but I do and sleep with a smile on my face the whole way home.
36
Ridge
On a Toronto tarmac, I got the news I’d been waiting for—my mom’s surgery went as planned, and she’s recovering. My cousin called to explain the details to me and has helped put my mind at ease. I immediately called Meadow. Knowing she went straight after class and sat in that waiting room for six hours gave me comfort in a whole other way.
“Your dad has been worried sick.”
“He lives for my mom.”
“He talked a lot about you while we were waiting.”
This news surprises me. He barely grumbles two words when I call for updates. “Have you seen my mom?”
“No. They said only family tonight. I might be able to see her tomorrow, though. I’ll have to come after two of my finals.”
“Finals?”
“It’s my final exam week.”
“Meadow, you should be studying.”
“I am. I studied here instead of at home. It’s fine. I’m ready for my tests.”
“Are you sure?” If I’ve caused her to fail . . .
“I’m sure. I’m heading home now.”
“What about dinner?” This woman is amazing. Since she probably hasn’t thought about herself or eating in hours, I’m ready to hop on an app to order her food. It’s not much, but it’s the only other way I can think to thank her when I should be the one there. “Can I send something your way?”
Her breath comes and goes as she walks to her car. “Believe it or not, your dad treated me to a hospital meal this evening.”
My dad’s never been cheap. He just uses his money as leverage to get his way with me. “That’s interesting.”
The sound of her door closing, fills the air, and then she says, “How are you, babe?”
“Missing you. Feeling guilty for not being there.”
“Don’t. Everyone understands, even your dad, but especially your mom. What is the plan tonight?”
“We have a radio interview that we’re heading to straight from the airport. I need to get off the plane. Call you later?”
“Please. Before you go, remember that I love you.” She has no idea how much I needed to hear those words.
“You too. Thanks for everything you did today.”
“I was glad I was here. Now go be awesome.”
“Kick ass on those tests.”
“I plan to.”
* * *
&n
bsp; “Between the number of hours we’re rehearsing and playing every day and the one hand five-sliding I’m doing, my hand is raw.”
By the sound of her laughter, I’m thinking she’s lacking sympathy for my situation. “I’m serious,” I add as if that will garner at least a flash of her tits on the screen. I’m easy, especially since it’s been almost a month since I’ve seen them in person.
“Nashville tonight and you’ll be here tomorrow. Do you think you’ll survive, or will we have to amputate the limb?” She can’t even keep a straight face. I’m close to asking her if she’s drunk, but I see her teacup on the desk beside her with the little words of wisdom tag hanging over the edge.
“I don’t know. You might have to give it a thorough exam with your tongue.”
Her jaw shifts side-to-side, and then she opens wide. Tease. “All limbered up and ready to go.”
Fucking hell. How am I going to last another day? I’m not. Not with that visual stuck in my head. Checking the time, I say, “Hate to cut this short.”
She rolls her eyes. “I know. I know. You have to go.”
“And you need to get some sleep.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She always turns melancholy when it’s time to hang up, and even though it shouldn’t, it makes me feel good. She wants me. She wants to spend time with me however we can get it, and I’ve never had that before. I feel the same about her, but I also want her to know that I’ll urge her to keep working toward her goals and dreams. Always will.
“Hey, tomorrow.”
Nodding, she repeats, “Tomorrow.”
Bye never feels right when we hang up these days . . . or when we say hello or strong enough for anything between. I’ve held my tongue, but it’s hard. The woman makes me happy. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
I hang up and head back to the dressing room. The Crow Brothers changed my destiny. I could have been a studio musician brought in to fill in the sound for the album, brought in out of need. They didn’t have to keep me or make me an official part of the band. Hannah introduced me to them, and the rest is history. My history.
There will never be a day when I want or need for anything.
Except one thing.
My girl.
I’m going to do my damnedest to get it right with her and to keep it right for us.
I walk in, letting the door close on its own behind me. Picking up my guitar, I notice the chatter and laughter has stopped. Tulsa’s sitting with his sticks in hand across his lap, kicked back on the couch. Tommy and Jet hanging out around the table. Rivers tunes his guitar and messes with the knobs. Jet stands. “’Bout time.”
All of them watch me as if I’m here to entertain them. “What?” I give up trying to pretend all is normal in here.
Jet fidgets with his water bottle. Rivers keeps quiet, but the look in his eyes and that cocked eyebrow speaks volumes. Tulsa says, “Good luck, brah. You’re the last man standing.”
“What do you mean?” Oh. Bopping my head to the side, I say, “There’s still Tommy.”
“That’s low, bro,” Tommy says, laughing to himself. “If I wasn’t wasting my time making sure you guys don’t fuck up yours, I might have a life of my own.”
Jet gets up and claps Tommy on the back while we chuckle. “One day you’re going to meet a woman who will make you forget all about us.”
Tommy says, “I don’t need to forget about you. I just need to get laid more often.”
Rivers plucks at his guitar, and adds, “You need more than that, but we’ll let you and the lucky woman figure that out on your own.”
Drumming on the couch cushion, Tulsa stops suddenly and looks at me. “Back to Ridge, who, by the way, is having sex with our little sister.”
“Nope.” I start to pace. “We’re not doing this.”
He laughs. “We agreed not to give you shit, Ridge, but you make it so easy.”
“What? ’Cuz I was talking to her on the phone?”
“No,” Jets states matter-of-factly, “because of the shit-eating grin you wear after you talk to her on the phone.”
Busted. “Whatever.” But when I can’t wipe that grin off my face, the room rolls in hysterics . . . at my expense. “I can’t with you guys. Fuckers.” I open the door to the dressing room. Fortunately, it’s time to set Dave aside and let Ridge ride his high.
Tommy passes me and leads the way to the stage. I hand my guitar to a roadie. “The A string isn’t sounding right. Can you fix it and bring it onto the stage by the third song in the set?”
“Done, dude.” He walks away with my favorite guitar, but it’s not one I need right away. At the base of the stage, I spy my rack of guitars off to the side where I stand.
We huddle, doing the same routine we always do. Just the four of us. Four guys. Four friends. Four musicians. One band.
One family.
Jet looks each of us in the eyes, then says what he always says, “We’ve got this, guys.”
“Just doin’ what we love,” Rivers adds.
Tulsa nods, his cockier side written in his grin. “Nothing but a good time.”
And I repeat, “Nothing but a good time.”
The lights go down, and Tulsa’s the first to dash to his kit, sticks in hand, ready to count us in. The three of us take our positions, a roadie handing me my Strat and then plugging me in. Taking inventory of my pedal positions and mic, I make the adjustments just as the lights hit Tulsa, and he hits his kit with power, kicking off the set.
The low hum of the crowd builds with excitement that creeps onto the stage. Anticipation fills me. It’s always at this moment that my whole world converges. My mind more focused as I swallow down the good and bad, and the sad that has weighed me down.
Out here, it’s my guitar, the music, and me. The energy from the fans rushes through me when the lights strike. The beginning of the first song virtually deafens me to the band or the instruments, even with an earpiece hidden in my ear.
But I play.
I play through the screams.
I play through the cheers.
With my soul on fire, I play. Stepping up to the mic, I back Jet up and sing as well. By the end of the fifth song, we step back and convene in front of the kit. Our gripes or concerns aired while a roadie runs across the stage to clean up the underwear and gifts thrown there.
Finishing a bottle of water, I throw the empty to the side and get ready for the solo that starts the next song. I fucking love this song, but I can’t help seeing Meadow’s pretty face on the fans below. She’s come to two shows, and both times she was under the watchful eyes of security. I understand Jet’s worry over Hannah and Rivers not wanting Stella at every show. I get it now.
So much can go wrong so fast and what would I be able to do? It still doesn’t take away the desire to see her there, smiling up at me, watching while I play this song for her.
As soon as the song ends, I whip the strap off over my head and hand my guitar to the handler. Jogging down the steps behind Tulsa, Jet and Rivers tail us. Tommy’s already waiting outside the door and follows us inside the dressing room.
The door closes and we all do our own thing, using the time to recover our muscles, or hydrating to keep going, even jumping to keep the energy high. We play hard, the tempo held strong for almost two hours, giving the audience every dollar’s worth and more. I’m tossed another bottle of water and grab my phone from my bag. Sitting on the arm of the worn-out couch, I pop an Advil and lean my head against the wall, resting my sore right arm, and call my girl.
Tommy shouts, “Five minutes.”
That shit-eating grin returns as soon as I hear her sweet voice, “Hello?”
My heart still races from adrenaline, but we’ll go out and play some of our slower songs before we end on our hits. That gives me a moment to breathe. “Hey, what are you doing?”
She laughs, and I can imagine probably rolling her eyes as well. “Eh, just cleaning up since I’m having company this weekend.”
“Both of us if we’re lucky.”
“Doesn’t take luck to get off with you.”
“Not necessarily romantic, but there’s still a charm about it. But let’s get to the heart of the matter. Aren’t you in the middle of a concert?”
“Yeah, three minutes before we return for the encore.”
“But you’re calling me?” How could I not?
“I always call you.”
“I like this habit you’ve formed, Mr. Fellowes.”
Damn. I’m never going to live that down. Chuckling, I add, “Not all habits are bad for you. You’re one of my better ones.”
“Aww, there you go again, charming the panties right off me.”
“Hold that thought until tomorrow.”
Tommy shouts, “Two minutes.”
Even she can hear him. “Go be awesome for all those adoring fans. Then you can perform a solo on me . . . for me,” she says, correcting herself at the end.
That’s the kind of Freudian slip I approve of. I lower my voice and hunch down so only she can hear me. “I do, you know. Every time I sing that song, it’s for you. I can’t fucking wait to see you tomorrow.”
“Not more than me. I love you, rock star.”
“Love you.”
The door opens, and Tommy shuffles out. “You’re on in one minute. Get your asses out there and show them who The Crow Brothers really are.”
We do too.
After closing out the encore, we file into the SUV. As soon as the doors close, I ask, “When’s the plane leaving for Austin?”
37
Meadow
A million thoughts race through my mind. Is my lipstick worn off, is my eyeliner smudged, does he notice the spaghetti stains on my T-shirt, or the big bruise on the side of my leg I got for cutting the island corner too close?
I could worry about my hair, but I know it’s a catastrophe.
As if he’ll never learn, Dave still looks at me like I hung the moon, and says, “You gonna invite me in?”
