by Ally Blake
“I did. And it would have been. But the word’s out, Callie.”
“It can’t be.” Poor kid looked honestly confused. Lori’s fault for doing everything to make her think the world was a kind and lovely place.
“Cal, a blogger called Dash asking for confirmation.”
Callie slapped her hand over her mouth, her hazel eyes huge and mortified.
“Did you think about Jake, Callie?” Lori said, shocked to hear the words coming out of her mouth. “After what his last fiancé did to him—using the break-up to sell records—how do you think he’ll take it if he finds out you’ve called the paparazzi and filled them in on what is meant to be a love song written for him before he even knew about it in order to sell more shoes?”
Callie’s eyes grew bigger with every word, her throat working against the truth laid bare. “But you—”
“Me doing it is one thing. I’m sure he already thinks I’m bitter and twisted. But you had deniability. He might understand—he’s a smart guy, been around the block and then some—it doesn’t mean he’ll like it.”
“Crap,” Callie said, her feet drumming again the floor. “Oh crappity crap. What have I done?”
Lori hunkered down and laced her hands over Callie’s knees, the words on the tip of her tongue: I’ll fix it. But they didn’t spill free. Dash’s words sat heavy on her shoulders.
Because it felt like a watershed moment, one in which—if she chose—Lori could twist things to go her way like she’d always done. It’s what she’d always done in order to protect her little sister Callie, in order to survive.
But Callie wasn’t little anymore. She was a grown woman. She was engaged to a man who’d take some taming. It was time for Callie to woman up.
With a brisk snap of the thread that had kept them tethered all those years, Lori said, “What do you think we should do?”
Callie’s mouth twisted. “Pack up and move to Rio?”
“Ah, Brazil. The sunshine, the tango…”
“The men.” Callie sniffed out a laugh. “Problem with that is I’ve found my man and he’s right here.”
Her man.
Whether she’d admitted it to herself or not, that’s how Lori had begun to think of Dash. The man in her life. A man who leant her strength, warmth, and a sense of safety she’d never felt from an outside source before him.
She pictured his face as he’d accused her of leaking the news, and the relief when he’d known it wasn’t her. The hope that she’d yet confide in him, share with him, lean on him. And instead she’d left him hanging in the breeze.
But she couldn’t deal with that now. Maybe not ever.
“So?” Lori nudged.
“I need to clean this up, don’t I? Put the fear of God in my contact. Make sure Jake remains none the wiser. Because this can’t stop me from doing the song. He’ll love it to death. And that’s what matters most.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Callie must have heard the tightness in Lori’s voice as her pretty face twisted into a near-comical grimace. “You said they called Dash? That’s why you look like death warmed up. He wasn’t happy about it? It honestly didn’t occur to me that he’d care. What with the gig the other night, and the fact that the two of you are…whatever you are. But he does care, doesn’t he?”
That was one way of putting it.
“What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you and—”
Callie took Lori’s hands and brought them up to eyelevel. “It does matter. You matter. What happened?”
Lori swallowed down the tight ball in her throat. “He came over and… We had a fight. And it was awful.”
Callie let it sink in before saying, “Tracey was pretty detailed about the kiss she interrupted in the alley behind the club—but I didn’t know you two were that serious.”
Serious felt like such an innocuous word for what she felt for Dash. The more she’d learned about his life, the more she’d grown to know the man, the more she’d recognized parts of herself in him, like he’d always been a part of her, she’d only had to follow the crumbs to find her way.
“We’ll be fine,” Lori lied, “but right now we have to concentrate on you and Jake. I need to know one thing, and I’m only going to ask this once then whatever the answer is we deal with that as we see fit. Okay?”
“Go.”
“I get that you fell for Jake because he’s…Jake. But the song, the big white wedding in the heart of middle American Blue Sky country, was it all to save the business?”
Callie leaned forward to cradle Lori’s face between her hands, her expression fierce. “I’d be sitting under a tree sketching fairies if it wasn’t for you. Fairies in hot shoes, of course. But I never would have made any of this come true without you. I owe you more than I could ever repay. But not so much I’d be with a man I didn’t love. I was there when Dad left, too. I know what that did to Mom. But unlike you, I never took it as a sign to be vigilant with every man I met, I took it as a sign to be careful to fall in love with the right guy.”
Like typical female Hanover stock she managed to say all that with a straight back and dry eyes.
“Okay, then,” Lori said, pulling herself to standing before her legs got pins and needles. Her stomach sank as she stood but for once it had nothing to do with Callie and Jake.
She’d put so much effort into Callie’s happiness over the years, it had been a great avoidance tactic against having to deal with her own. Now, as she quietly let her sister go, every bit of heartache she felt was her own.
“Do you love him?” Callie asked.
“Who?” Lori asked, brushing at imaginary lint on her dress. “Jake?”
“Dash, you idiot.”
She opened her mouth to deny it. Then no longer saw the point. Secrets and lies hadn’t gotten her anywhere. So right when he’d made it clear he wanted nothing more to do with her she opened up the floodgates and let her feelings for the man pour in.
“It seems that I do.”
“Well now that wasn’t too hard, was it?”
Lori laughed till she choked. Callie moved over on her chair, and patted the tiny space for Lori to sneak in beside her.
“He was so mad, Callie. Irretrievably so.”
“I doubt that. He’s lovely.”
“Yeah,” Lori said on a sigh as a tear slid down her cheek. So much for Hanover fortitude.
“Remember what Marilyn said?” Callie asked.
Lori flicked through her mental repertoire. “It’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring?”
Callie tilted her head onto Lori’s shoulder and she it felt so familiar, so secure. “All a girl really wants is for one guy to prove to her that they are not all the same.”
“Better.” And oh so heartbreakingly true. Because Dash had done exactly that. And while she’d kept him at arm’s length because she’d been so sure he’d be the one to break her heart, Lori had screwed it up all on her lonesome.
“She was a smart woman, that Marilyn,” Lori said.
“Wore high heels better than anyone else on the planet.”
“You said it, sister.”
With thoughts of Marilyn and heartbreak and family colliding inside of her, but without letting herself overthink what she was about to do, Lori slid her phone from the pocket of her skirt and pressed in a number she knew off by heart. She shook her head when Callie—sweet and hopeful—mouthed Dash?
The ring tone buzzed through her ear, once, twice.
Then her mother’s gentle voice, breathy and vulnerable like her favorite movie star, cooed through the phone, “Hello? Who’s there?”
“Hey Ma. It’s Lorelei.”
Callie clapped her hand back over her mouth.
“My sweet girl!”
Lori laughed. Only person in the world who’d ever thought her sweet.
“Darlin’, I was hanging towels on the line thinking about you when the phone rang. I think it must have bee
n the jasmine on the air. Remember how we used to thread it through your hair when you were a little girl?”
Lori crossed an arm under her chest as she held in the emotion filling her up. She hadn’t remembered, too used to focusing on reasons to get out rather than those that made it worth ever going back. “I thought you might like to talk about the wedding.”
“Hmmm? What’s that?”
“Callie and Jake’s wedding?” Lori rolled her eyes at Callie who’d stopped being so stoic and grown up and looked like she might turn into a puddle of tears. “I hear Jake called you to ask permission to marry our girl.”
“Oh yes! He did. Such a nice voice. Deep. I’m bettin’ there’s a handsome face to go with it.”
Lori laughed, wiped away another tear that had sprung loose. Her mother, who’d always gone for romantic movies over trashy magazines, honestly had no clue who she’d spoken to on the phone. Boy was she in for a shock.
Callie reached in and pressed the speaker button. “Hey Ma.”
“Hey, angel.”
Callie’s tears flowed freely down her face. “You sure played that well, making him feel like it was his idea to marry me at home.”
Her mother laughed; a wicked chortle. “Didn’t I? Not one to miss an opportunity, me.”
And with a deep, soul-filling breath Lori wondered if she was far more like her mother than she’d ever realized. She hoped so.
“Poor Jake,” said Lori, “he thought he was going to be in charge of the whole thing. I guess he doesn’t know us Hanover girls quite as well as he thinks he does.”
And they talked till they could talk no more, making plans, dissolving time and distance, somehow the world seemed more right than it had been in years. Like everything would be okay. Not perfect, not happily ever after, but okay.
And if the business went from bad to dismal, and they had to sell Callie’s shoes from a market stall, she would. Her sister was that talented. Those who didn’t give a hoot about celeb endorsements would find her. Would pay. She’d be able to eat. To put a roof over her head. They’d survive.
Then again, Callie, it seemed, was set to marry one of the richest men in America. So maybe, after this mess was sorted out, her little sister would be more than okay.
Which, until very recently, when she’d fallen down a particular rabbit hole, was all Lori had ever wanted.
She’d spent her lifetime watching where she walked, keeping track of every careful step, but having looked up, she’d seen all the possibilities of the universe for the first time.
She wanted more. She wanted it all. But, for the first time in her life, she had not one single idea on how to go about getting it.
Chapter Twelve
Dash held the razor at a precise forty-five degree angle as he carved back the polished and buffed lacquer, making room to glue the bridge, the precise positioning of which could make the guitar redundant if he didn’t get the specs exactly right.
No chance of that. His focus had barely wavered through the final stage of the process of piecing the components together. When it had he’d worked harder. Longer. Hours and hours at a time.
Helped that he couldn’t sleep. It seemed he’d gotten used to Lori’s soft breath against his chest, her hair tickling his nose, her warm limbs heavy as they held him close.
In fact, his whole house felt too big without her in it. So he’d taken to bringing snacks to the shed, taking catnaps leaning against a bench.
Stretching out his cramping fingers, his glance went to his cell phone. A gift, and like the giver dichotomous—thoughtful because he’d needed one, but useful to her own cause as well. The woman was nothing if not pragmatic. Except for the inscription on the case. That was wistful and genuine and…
Hell.
Running a hand up the back of his neck, he dragged himself into the moment. To the fact that he hadn’t had another call from anyone he didn’t know since that last day. Meaning Lori had dealt with the shit storm swiftly and no doubt sharply.
But that didn’t negate the fact that she’d planned to film his song in an effort to make the world know about it and had never told him.
Chin in the air, she’d stood by her decision. But then he knew the woman was as stubborn as they came. But she wore it like a badge of courage. This is me, take me or leave me.
Despite knowing all that, he’d taken. And taken. Because she was also generous. Playful. Sexy as hell. Smart. Protective. Generous. Formidable. Fierce. And magnificent.
Blinking through the red haze the phone call had roused, he’d believed her when she’d said she wasn’t behind the leak. He’d honestly trusted her word. And with years of cultured sanctimoniousness boiling away inside of him, he’d continued to shut her out.
It had taken the long drive home for him to simmer down and realize there was only one reason why she’d kept mum on her thoughts on who the leak might be. The only thing that made sense was because it was Callie.
Add the fact that she was fiercely loyal to the list of reasons why his life felt hollow without her in it. While his own inability to let go of the past meant he’d screwed up the best thing that had happened to him in years.
Perhaps even his entire life.
Bowie and Jagger, as if sensing their master’s despondency, barely lifted their heads at the sound of Reg’s arrival, even though the man came bearing fresh custard buns from his favorite bakery (and baker) in town.
Wiping his hands on a cleaning cloth, Dash said, “Hey mate. What time is it?”
“Don’t you mean what day?” Reg asked, glancing over the coffee cups, empty plates, the sleeping bag propped up against the bench. But he didn’t say a word, merely took a dainty bite of his croissant spilling flakes of pastry into his long, red beard. “I see it’s time to hoist the strings?”
“Stay for it?” Dash asked, knowing he couldn’t have kept Reg away. The guy had been at his place every couple of days, several hours at a time.
“You bet,” said Reg. “She’s real close now. And looking fine.”
Dash saw a scratch here, a dent there, a bulge where he could have taken it easier on the lacquer. But after several months of his life, she was nearly finished. Despite the flaws she was a beauty. His own private joy. And yet it felt flat compared to the less private joys he’d felt in recent days.
“So,” Reg said, scruffing his hair in a move that was pure Uncle Pete. “When she’s done, what then?”
What then? As if he had another phase of his life to look forward to? One without Lori?
Pissed off as she’d made him, a connection like that couldn’t be severed in one conversation. As it had been built over a hundred conversations, admissions, intimacies, truths, touches, kisses, and feelings, it would need as much disentangling before he felt healed of her.
Only… Screw that. He didn’t want to be healed. He wanted the woman. And all the drama and light and life and noise and community she brought with her.
A second wind whipping through the shed and lifting him from the chair, Dash looked out the grimy window to the acres of forest between him and the rest of the world and he began to plan.
…
Dash parked his Bentley in the VIP parking around the back of The Tremont. Sweating from the squeals and pressing bodies of the throng he’d had to inch through, he sat gripping the steering wheel.
But he couldn’t stay out there forever. Throng or not, bears, wolves, and giant squid wouldn’t keep him out of the club this night.
Thus inspired, he got out, grabbed his jacket and the case from the back seat, and within seconds a shout erupted from the top of the alley where the crowd was held back behind barricades by a line of private bodyguards. Dash knew it would only take one to make it through and the dam would burst.
So, despite the quiet of his phone, the word about Jake’s location was well and truly out. He could only hope it didn’t mean the plans had been changed. For Jake, and even Callie. And others…
The stage door opened, and Jake
was there—jeans, leather jacket, hair back in a ponytail, grinning. “Evenin’, mate!” he said in his terrible version of an Australian accent.
“How did you know I was here?”
“I’m Jake Mitchell, I know everything.” He pulled Dash inside, together they walked on the squeaky black vinyl floor past speaker boxes and over mike cables and out into the club proper, which, though loud and busy and filled with sweaty gyrating bodies, was far more civilized than the mob outside. “Everything,” Jake went on, “except what the hell’s going on here today.”
He looked to Dash. Looked…clueless. Go Lori, he thought even as her name felt like equal parts pleasure and pain. She’d kept Callie’s gift pure to the last.
“Don’t ask me,” Dash said, as he set to undoing his cufflinks and rolling up his shirtsleeves against the heat inside the club.
Jake led the way to a table, front and center, the only one with a big reserved sign and a white linen tablecloth. Jake sat upon his chair like a king in his castle, eyes narrowed on the extremely young band on stage who weren’t half bad. “Laz couldn’t come, though he wouldn’t tell me why beyond Best Man stuff, meaning he’s probably up to some kind of no good. I’ve no idea where Rocky’s got to. And Callie was fidgety that you might not be here, either, so I’m glad y’are!”
Dash stopped fussing with his sleeves. “Callie asked if I was coming?”
Jake’s cheek twitched. “Several times. If I didn’t have such a healthy ego I’d be worried.”
“I’d pay good money to see that,” Dash said, while his head reeled with wondering if it had been Callie who’d been behind the asking or if Lori had a hand in it.
Either way, he’d once promised he’d be there. For Jake. For the song. Even for Barbarella—she always was a pub guitar. And to say screw you to some immaterial blogger for making him feel like he couldn’t live his life.
In the days after, he’d decided that the only way to combat that was just to live it. As large or as small as he damn well pleased.
But mostly he’d come for Lori. Knowing she’d be there, playing a song he wrote, a song that had brought them together, a song that had changed his life irrevocably, he couldn’t not come. He couldn’t let that fight at her apartment be the last words they said to each other. He had gone through hell and back at the thought of never seeing her again.
