by Mimi Strong
He moves, but not to leave my office. I hadn’t noticed when I walked in, but he has his guitar case with him. He opens up the case and takes out the guitar. It’s the same beat-up one he used to serenade me from below my window.
He plays a chord, then grimaces and tweaks the knobs to tune it.
I turn back to my computer screen, shaking my head.
“Great. You’re having a jam session in my office,” I mutter.
He strums the intro to a song. It’s nice, but not one of his regular melodies.
I get goosebumps up and down my arms. He’s going to sing, and my whole body is anticipating his gritty, soulful voice.
He sings the first line of the song.
His voice is so soft and low, I can’t hear the words.
He clears his throat and starts again.
“There are no words,
So I can’t say what she needs to hear.
The distance between us,
Is the space between never and now.
And all the normal people,
Can’t seem to understand.
That days pass by, and nights, and I keep breathing,
But I don’t know how.”
He looks up, and there’s pain in his eyes. It’s more than a performance. He wants something from me.
He keeps playing, leading into the chorus. He opens his mouth, but pauses.
I wait for the chorus, but it doesn’t come.
“Well?” I say.
“I’ve got nothing,” he says, speaking over the strumming. “There’s eventually going to be a chorus here.”
“You’ll think of something.”
He stops playing and lays his palm flat on the strings to stop the notes.
“I shouldn’t have come,” he says.
“Dylan, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to hear me say I’m sorry.”
“Aren’t you getting enough attention from all your groupies? What are they called… the Wolf Clan?” I make a gagging face.
“Jess, I’m sorry.”
I get another chill that triggers more goosebumps.
“It’s a bit late,” I say.
He closes his eyes, like he regrets taking so long to talk to me. Good. I’m glad he feels bad. I wasn’t perfect to him, but he was cruel.
With his eyes still closed, he says, “I came here to apologize. That’s all.”
“Apology accepted,” I snap. “We’re good.”
He opens his eyes, and I’m snared by them. I’m sinking into darkness, and I want to let go.
I want to let go of the anger and the hurt.
I’m so close to letting go, but I can’t.
“Okay,” he says.
He leans forward and tucks the beat-up guitar back into the case. As he lifts the lid, a quarter falls out. The quarter must be from his busking days, maybe even from the day we met.
He picks up the guitar case, and walks out of my office.
I stare at the quarter on the floor.
I get up, walk around my desk, and pick up the quarter.
It’s just a perfectly normal quarter.
I flip it in the air and catch it.
When Carter Morris called me into his office to get my opinion on signing Dylan, he tossed a coin to help him decide.
I secretly hoped Dylan would lose the coin toss. I knew if he got a deal, it would be the end of us.
And now we’re not together.
All because of a coin toss. And because a man discovered Dylan at a talent show. And because Maggie Clark wanted to take over Morris Music. And because of a million things. A million choices made by fate and other people.
Not my choices.
Now Dylan has come back to me.
I pushed him away.
My choice.
I flip the coin high in the air.
I don’t stay to catch it.
I turn and run out of my office.
I run down the hall, to the elevator.
The doors are closing.
I launch myself at the narrow gap in the doors and jump into the elevator.
It’s just Dylan in the elevator. He looks at me with shock.
The elevator is still, waiting for us to press a button.
I take my eyes off his for just a second, to punch in the code for the basement.
Chapter 18
The elevator keeps moving down, past ten floors.
I want to throw myself into his arms, but I don’t. We stand, side by side, not looking at each other.
The doors open with a ding.
“What floor is this?” His voice is low and raspy, tearing down all my boundaries.
I nod for him follow me as I step out. He grabs his guitar case and follows.
“This must be the archives,” he says into the darkness. “This is where they had you working. It’s like a dungeon down here.”
All the lights are out except for a few safety lights.
“But it’s private,” I say. “We can talk down here.”
“Sure.”
He follows me over to my old desk. There’s no chair, so I sit on top of the desk. Without all the lights on, this level is almost cozy.
He stands in front of me.
“Let’s talk. How have you been?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
He takes a spot sitting on the desk beside me.
“I’ve been a wreck,” he says. “But now that I’m here, with you, I feel good.” He leans his shoulder against mine in a friendly, casual way. “This feels good. Not much of a view, but I’ll take it.”
“I’m glad you wrote Where You Belong. People are going to remember that song forever.”
He chuckles, his warm laughter echoing through the dark basement floor. “They’ll remember it as this summer’s most overplayed song.”
My throat feels tight. “I’m sorry I hurt you so bad.”
“Jess, you didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself when I believed the words of an angry man whose business deal just fell through, over the words of the girl I loved.”
“But it was all true. I did take the money. And I didn’t tell you about the cameras, or what I knew.”
“Yes, but you were always on my side. I didn’t see that for a long time. Have you ever been to therapy?”
“No. Have you?”
He chuckles again. “Not officially. You know me. I’d rather go live by myself alone in a cabin for a year than see a therapist.”
“Did you go to the cabin again?”
“No, but I did talk about us. A lot. Every time I did an interview, I’d wind up telling them a story about a girl I knew. And the reporters would always say, ‘She sounds like a special girl.’ After a hundred or two hundred people told me you were special, it finally clicked in my head. You are special, and I was an idiot for doing what I did.”
I glance over at the light switches, wondering if I should have turned the lights on. It feels strange to sit in the dark with Dylan like this. I feel like time has hardly passed, like we’re back to being who we used to be.
“Maybe we can be friends,” I say.
“I thought about that,” he says. “But then I saw a fan-made video on YouTube. Someone took footage of you, from an interview you did.”
I start to laugh, embarrassed. “No! That video was terrible.”
He reaches over and takes my hand in his.
“It was beautiful, because you were in it. And what this fan did, was splice together clips of me talking about this girl I knew, along with slowed-down footage of you. That’s when I realized that all my songs have been about you, and every song in my future will be about you. You’ve burned yourself into my heart, and that’s where you are. Even when we’re not together.”
I look down at our hands as we lock fingers.
“You can write about other people,” I say softly.
“But I don’t want to. You’re the one, Jess. I want you.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’ve
been trying so hard to get over you.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just kiss me. Even if it’s just for now, give me something good to hold onto.”
I take a breath and wait for him to lean over and kiss me.
He slides off the desk and turns to stand in front of me.
He pushes my legs apart and steps in close, leaning over until his lips brush against mine in the dark.
I put my hands on the desk behind me and lean back, drawing him closer.
We kiss.
Time disappears.
I haven’t been touched since the last time I saw him.
His lips taste like heaven. The heat of his hands stokes my flame so easily.
What comes next feels so natural, even after months apart. We keep kissing. I run my fingers through his hair.
He begins to undress me.
I’m like a house on fire as he unbuttons my blouse.
He pushes me onto my back on the desk. He unfastens my bra. His hot mouth closes over my nipple. My back arches, and I whimper with my need for him.
His hands grab me roughly, then gently, like he’s trying to slow down but can’t.
He pulls away from me and gently unzips my skirt and pulls it off. Next are my shoes, and my underwear.
I’m naked, lying back on my old desk.
He tears off his shirt and kneels down. He buries his face between my legs, and for an instant, I remember the crowd screaming his name. He finds my pleasure and soothes me while pushing me higher. I need him so bad.
I push my fingers into his dark hair, cradling the back of his head.
I want everything.
“Dylan, I don’t want to get over you. I want to be with you.”
He looks up, then moves forward, kissing my stomach.
“I’m all yours,” he says. “Today and tonight, and for as long as you’ll have me.”
He moves up to kiss my mouth. His fingers find their way between my legs and push against me.
I moan and arch up to meet him.
He grinds against my leg.
“I’m on birth control now.” I reach down and unbutton his jeans.
He kisses his way down my body.
He flicks one nipple with his tongue. Electricity shoots through me, giving me goosebumps. He kisses my chest, all over, and then moves back down my stomach.
I hear something fall to the floor. I lean my head to the side and see it’s his jeans.
And then he’s between my legs, pushing into me, nothing between us.
I cry out.
He grabs my hips and slides me down the desk toward him.
I can barely breathe as he fills me. He’s bigger than I remember. My toes curl, and my breathing is quick and shallow.
He leans over me, one palm on the desk and one on my breast.
I lift my head up to meet his lips with mine.
He kisses me deeply as he drives himself deeper into me.
I’m gasping as I near my climax, but I hold on.
My eyelids open, and I’m looking up into his eyes. Our mouths are touching, but barely moving.
His body is so tense, all the beautiful muscles of his arms and shoulders defined.
With a grunt, he reaches his arms behind my back and lifts me from the desk.
I wrap my legs around him. I’m quivering, everywhere, as I climax.
He holds me tight as he stands up straight. He plunges into me, moaning and trembling as he comes.
Using my leg muscles, I hold on and keep moving, coaxing out the last waves of pleasure.
I’m only moving slowly when he lays me back down on the desk. My back is damp, and the desk is cool. I shiver, and clench down on him.
He groans and swears softly as he pumps me a few more times before collapsing on me.
I run my fingers through his hair. He rests his cheek against my shoulder.
I stare up at the basement ceiling, with all the dusty old pipes.
I can’t stop smiling, because everything is beautiful.
Even dusty old pipes are beautiful, now that I’m back in Dylan’s arms.
Epilogue
I’m excited about Christmas this year.
It’s my first one away from home, but I’ll be spending it with family. Riley will be here, plus Amanda, who’s like a sister to us now.
Most importantly, Nan is flying to California to be with us.
With Dylan’s schedule, plus my work, we thought it would be better for her to come here than for us to all fly there. Plus we have a guest suite for her, whereas she lives in a one-bedroom apartment.
She said that her new “gentleman friend” would let us stay in his apartment, but we convinced her to fly out. She’s bringing him along, though he insisted on paying for his own ticket.
They will arrive in two weeks, and I already have their room set up. They’ll stay at Dylan’s house, which is where I am most nights.
I don’t officially live with him, because I still pay rent at the other house. It’s a lot of rent to keep some clothes in the closet, but it’s probably good for me. I need somewhere to go, just in case.
I shouldn’t think about “just in case,” because the last three months with Dylan have been perfect.
I’ve made friends with some other girls whose partners are musicians, and that helps me understand life with an artist.
Right now he’s walking through his house, playing guitar.
He turns sideways to come through the doorway, into the bathroom, where I am.
He stares at my reflection in the mirror.
“You don’t need any makeup, beautiful,” he says over the strumming. The tail end of beautiful sounds like singing.
I give him a little eyeroll and pick up my mascara. I lean forward and sweep the brush over my upper eyelashes.
“Don’t paint your perfect lashes,” he sings.
I chuckle and move on to the lipstick.
He keeps singing. “You put on all that lipstick, I’ll just have to eat it off.”
I make a shocked face in the mirror.
“I’m the one who makes your cheeks so rosy, beautiful.”
He nods to himself, like he’s pleased. He keeps playing, changing the key and repeating the lines. He changes them as he goes, adding or removing syllables.
“I’m a lucky girl,” I tell him. “Not everyone gets their own personal serenade while they put on makeup.”
He stops playing and sets down the guitar. He walks up behind me and holds my eyes in the mirror with his. He leans down and kisses the side of my neck.
“You really don’t need makeup,” he growls.
“I want to look nice for the girls. They always dress up when they come over here. Your house is so elegant.”
He keeps kissing my neck. His touch makes my knees weak, as usual. He kisses my earlobe and starts unzipping my dress.
I push him away and pull up the zipper.
“They’ll be here any minute!”
He nods toward the bed in the adjoining room.
“We’d better make it a quickie.”
Just then, the doorbell rings.
He groans. “We could pretend we’re not home.”
“Dylan, you’re the one who invited them. I don’t even know what we’re celebrating.”
He grins, his brown eyes twinkling. “That’s right. It’s a surprise.”
I poke him in the chest. “Just tell me. Tell me now.”
He pretends to seal his lips with a zipper.
“Would you mind getting the door? I’ve only finished one eye.”
He nods and walks off to let Riley and Amanda in. It’s just the four of us tonight, because Amanda’s boyfriend Caleb had other plans.
I turn back to the mirror and finish putting purple eyeshadow on the other eye. As I brush the excess powder off my cheeks, I find myself humming Dylan’s song.
I have to laugh, because even his joke songs are catchy. He’s still writing some love songs, but he can also channel heartbreak
when he needs to. He can do anything, it seems, if he puts his mind to it.
I finish putting up my hair, and make my way out to the great room. Dylan had a full bar put in, and we all love to hang out there with drinks before dinner.
I hear their voices, but the great room is empty.
The doors to the back yard are open.
“Not the pool already,” I mutter under my breath. I put all this time into my hair and makeup. I’m not jumping into the pool in my underwear right now.
I walk out into the yard, which is dark, except for the lanterns dotting the landscaping.
“Hello?” I call out.
Riley answers, “Over here! Next door!”
WTF. Someone has taken out part of the fence between Dylan’s yard and the property next door.
Following their voices, I duck through the opening in the fence.
When they see me, Riley starts jumping up and down, squealing. Amanda wipes her cheeks, like she’s crying.
Dylan has on the most wolfish grin I’ve seen yet.
“I bought this house,” he says.
“You bought the house next door to yours?”
Amanda runs up and throws her arms around me. “We’re going to live next door!” she wails.
Dylan holds up keys in one hand.
“Don’t get too excited,” he says. “It’s just a little bungalow. It’s probably no bigger than the one you girls live in now. But the neighbor is great, and you can use his pool any time.”
Riley takes the keys from him and runs to open the door.
Still grinning, Dylan walks up to me and grabs me in a hug.
“That’s the surprise,” he says. “I picked it up as an investment, and I don’t want it to sit empty. The girls can stay here rent-free for as long as they want.”
I’m so shocked, I don’t know what to say.
He takes my hand and leads me into the house.
Riley and Amanda are squealing and running through the house, checking all the rooms and closets. I hear a toilet flush, and both of them squeal.
“They’re crazy,” I tell him. “And so are you. I don’t understand. You want me to live next door to you?”
We stop in a room, underneath a chandelier. The girls have turned on the lights in here. This must be the dining room.
I look up at Dylan. The chandelier sparkles above his head like a halo.
