It just feels so wrong to put on a show the way we do, smiling, laughing, joking with each other. Beck even manages to pull this off, and I assume that’s the power of Thomas’s persuasiveness.
As soon as we’re off stage though, we go in our separate directions. I’ve heard there are big name groups who lived like this for years while they played out their contracts; a picture of unity and professionalism when they’re on stage, hating each other’s guts and not speaking when they’re off. That doesn’t make me feel any better.
If I could rewind to that night in CeCe’s dressing room and push pause for everything that I wanted to happen between us, I would. We should all be hanging out together, seeing as much of the towns we’re in as we can, but unless I go somewhere with Thomas, I’m alone. The same is true for CeCe. Which means we both spend a lot of time by ourselves.
I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear a knock on the door of my hotel room. I wrap a towel around my waist and answer it.
Thomas is standing in the hall, wearing an enormous Stetson and new cowboy boots. I lean back and give him an appraising look.
“You’ve been shopping,” I say.
“Fruits of my labor,” he says. “We’ve got the whole day to tour the city before we need to be at the arena. I thought you and me and CeCe could see what there is to see.”
I wave him in. “Aren’t you the one who grounded us from being together?”
“I’ll be the chaperone.”
“I don’t know, Thomas. I doubt that CeCe would-”
“I already asked her. She said yes.”
I can’t hide my surprise when I say, “Oh.”
“Well? Get your britches on then.”
“It seems like it’ll be awkward.”
“Probably will since you two have trouble keeping your hands off each other. I’ll sit between you.”
I roll my eyes. “What about Beck?”
“He, apparently, has a date.”
I should feel glad about this but I wonder if it hurts CeCe that he’s obviously not wasting any time in moving on. “Where are we going?”
“Where else? To hear some music.”
♪
WE WALK THE half mile or so from our hotel to the festival in downtown D.C. Thomas keeps his word and walks in between CeCe and me. We both pretend not to notice. I can’t stop myself from stealing glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye. She’s wearing an orange skirt and a pink tank top. She looks like she’s upped her running because her arms are even leaner and more cut than they were at the beginning of the tour.
“Bark-Fest is a fundraiser for a local No-Kill rescue,” Thomas says. “Sounds like they raise a boatload of money every year.”
“That’s great,” CeCe says, but she looks distracted, as if her thoughts are somewhere else.
We’ve arrived at the concession area. Tents and booths are set up all around us, and the smell of funnel cakes and cotton candy permeates the air.
“I need a Coke,” Thomas says, pointing at a stand not too far away. “Anybody want one?”
“I’m good,” I say.
“No, thanks,” CeCe says.
“Be right back,” Thomas says.
“I thought he was going to stay between us,” I say, the words out before I think to stop them.
A small smile touches the corners of CeCe’s mouth. “He did say that, didn’t he?”
I turn to let myself look at her. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t been looking at her full on but turning away whenever I started to take in too much of her. Our gazes catch, and we stare at each other for several long moments.
“How are you?” I ask, the question soft, tentative.
“I’m okay,” she says. “Are you?”
I start to answer with something off-hand, but I can’t make myself be flip. “Sometimes. The other times? Not so much.”
“Kind of a mess, isn’t it?” CeCe says.
“I’m sorry for what happened that night. Beck walking in and everything.”
“I’m not,” she says.
I don’t know how to respond to this so I say, “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sorry for what happened between us. I never wanted to hurt Beck, but I’m not sorry for the way I feel about you.”
“CeCe,” I say, with no idea of where to go from here. I want to pull her to me and kiss her with every drop of need inside me. I’m just about to give in and do exactly that when my phone buzzes. CeCe’s makes its text alert sound a second later.
I glance at the screen, see it’s from Thomas.
She looks at hers. “Thomas.”
We read the message at the same time.
Sorry for the deception, but tired of watching you be miserable. No more middle man. Find your way wherever you need to go. Love you both.
When we’re done, we look at each other as if we’re not sure what to make of it.
“But why would he change his mind?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
We stand there for what feels like a very long time. I hold out my hand. CeCe takes it.
38
CeCe
Holden tugboats me through the crowd, weaving and winding until we reach the edge of the festival and a high stonewall. He pulls me behind it so that we are virtually hidden from anyone passing by.
He presses me against it, one hand on each of my shoulders, looking down at me with the fiercest need I have ever seen in anyone’s eyes.
It is an exact reflection of what I feel. And suddenly, I don’t want to ignore it any longer. I don’t want to turn away from the constant buzz of need inside me, whether I’m next to him or nowhere near. It’s there when I wake up in the morning. When I go to sleep at night. No matter what I do to pretend it isn’t, it never leaves. Never stops. Instead, it just continues to grow like a storm building way out in the ocean, increasing in power until there is no denying its existence, its inevitable crash into shore.
I reach for him then, cup my hand at the back of his neck and pull him in. He comes to me with an urgency that tells me he has simply been waiting for the invitation. His mouth is on mine in full assault, full surrender. I kiss him with a need I have never in my life known. All this time of denying, subduing, turning away from. I think I will surely drown in its sudden pent-up release.
He lifts me and sets me on the stone wall, stepping in between my legs and bringing us as close as it is physically possible to be in broad daylight in a public place.
I lock my arms around his waist, and we kiss each other as if we are living out our last moments on earth, almost out of time.
“CeCe.” My name is ragged on his lips, and I touch his mouth, wanting to feel him say it.
“Is this real?” I ask.
“Nothing in my life has ever felt as real as you,” he says. “If I don’t get you somewhere alone, I think I might actually stop breathing.”
I want to smile, laugh, make light of what he’s just said, but I can’t because I feel the very same way. “Where?” I ask in little more than a whisper.
He lifts me off the wall and, clasping my hand in his, starts pulling me down the street at a near run.
I should protest, tell him this is crazy, that we need to stop, go back. For the life of me, I cannot make myself do anything other than hold onto him and follow.
In less than five minutes, we slow to a walk just before the entrance to a very luxurious hotel front. A discreet sign says The Montgomery Mansion.
I remember reading about it in a magazine once. I stop suddenly and pull on Holden’s hand, protesting, “We can’t go here. It’s a five-star hotel.”
“I want to see you naked on five-star sheets.”
The words send a ripple of heat through me.
That’s crazy. We have to go back. Any of these responses would have been appropriate. But that’s not what comes out.
“Do I get to see you on those sheets?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but pro
pels me forward through the main door of the hotel and doesn’t stop until we reach the front desk.
An older man with white hair and smart-looking spectacles glances up at us with a welcoming smile. “Good morning. Welcome to the Montgomery Mansion. How may I help you?”
“We’d like a room, please,” Holden says.
“Do you have a reservation, sir?”
“No, we don’t.”
I feel my face turn four different shades of red, one layered over the other. I squeeze Holden’s hand in an attempt to convey that we should leave and forget about this.
But the man smiles and says, “Let me see what I can do.”
He taps on the keyboard in front of him for a minute or more before looking up and saying, “Ah, yes. We do have something available for you.” He states the rate, and I blink at the amount.
Holden hands him a credit card. “We’ll take that.”
“Very good, sir.” The man runs the card and gives it back to Holden along with a room key. “Do you have any bags we can help you with?” His expression remains neutral in the manner of someone who is expected to be discreet.
“No, thank you,” Holden says.
“Enjoy your day then,” the man says, nodding as we turn to leave.
Once we’re alone in the elevator, Holden walks me back against one wall and begins kissing me again. I can’t stop myself from kissing him, even though my cheeks are still burning from the front desk experience.
Just as the elevator dings, I say, “Like he didn’t know why we wanted a room.”
Holden smiles against my mouth. “Do you think we’re the first?”
“That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.”
“Embarrassed is the very last thing I’m feeling right now,” he says, taking my hand and leading me down the long hallway.
“How many months’ rent did you just spend?” I ask, breathless.
We’re at the door now. He leans in. “Stop talking so I can kiss you.”
I do, and he does. So slowly and thoroughly that my legs weaken beneath me, and I lean into him, not sure of anything except that I want more.
He opens the door, walks us backwards inside, and kicks it closed behind us. From there, he swoops me up as if I weigh nothing. I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him with every ounce of feeling I have for him.
When he reaches the side of the bed, he lets go of my legs and I slide to the floor.
He stares down at me with the most intense seriousness I’ve ever seen in him. “I wake up in the morning, and you’re my first thought,” he says. “When I go to bed at night, it’s your voice I hear right before I fall asleep. I’ve tried to make myself forget you as anything other than a friend. I can’t. And I can’t imagine my life meaning anything near what it would mean if you’re part of it.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I try to blink them back, but it doesn’t work. “I love you, Holden.”
“I love you, baby. So much.”
We fall onto the bed together, arms wrapped tight around one another. And absolutely everything ceases to exist except this need we have for each other.
I unbutton his shirt, slide it from his shoulders and wait for him to shrug out of it. I run my hand across the muscled contours of his chest then down the curve of his left bicep.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” I ask him.
He gives me a very heated look that makes me want to wrap myself around him and never let go.
“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” he says.
“No, I mean it,” I say, tracing one finger down the center of his well-honed abs. “Beautiful like art that I just want to stare at for as long as it takes to absorb every inch of what I see.”
“CeCe,” he starts, but I stop him with a kiss that goes on for quite some time, a slow dance of exploration, of longing, of pleasure.
Holden drops his head back when my lips find his neck. He makes a sound of need that I want to satisfy in every way I possibly can.
He rolls me over then, settles his long body onto mine and lifts my shirt over my head, pulling it off and tossing it onto the floor.
It is the first time we’ve been against each other this way, skin to skin, and I feel as if I’ve been ignited deep inside with a heat so consuming that only he will be able to direct it in a way that does not turn me to vapor.
And we keep kissing. Long, slow, full, deep kisses that both fill me up and drain me. I want to give him everything. Be everything he needs. But I am suddenly swamped with a wave of uncertainty. I have no idea how to tell him I’ve never done this before.
I press a hand to his chest and say his name.
He lifts up to look down at me through eyes hazed with want. “What is it?” he asks, his voice soft and husky.
“Holden . . . I haven’t been with . . . I’ve never done this before.”
He goes completely still above me. I watch his face as he processes what I have just said. When comprehension fully registers, he rolls across the bed and lies flat on his back, staring at the ceiling and breathing hard.
“You’ve. . . never. . . been with anyone?”
I shake my head, feeling something well beyond embarrassed now. We lie there like that for a good bit while I wish I could blink and disappear.
Finally, Holden turns over on his side, rising up on one elbow to stare into my eyes. “CeCe?”
“What?” I ask without looking at him, feeling the heat in my face.
“Look at me,” he says gently.
I turn my head, slowly, finally letting myself meet his gaze.
He reaches out and touches my cheek. “I’m glad you told me. I want this to be different,” he says. “I want us to be different.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, my stomach suddenly tight with worry that he will say this is a mistake.
“This isn’t casual. And it never could be.”
I nod once. “I know.”
“I love you, CeCe. I want to be with you. Not just here and now, but every single day of my life. Every single night of my life.”
Relieved beyond words, I smile and lace my fingers through his. “I want to be with you.”
“Then let’s make it forever,” he says, taking my hand in his. “CeCe MacKenzie, will you marry me?”
I have to wonder if I’ve actually heard him say this or if I have imagined it. “Do you mean it?” I ask in little more than a whisper.
He loops an arm around my waist and pulls me up close until we are touching, skin to skin. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”
Tears well in my eyes, seep out and slip down my cheeks. I wipe them away with the back of my hand. “Then, yes,” I say. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
♪
39
CeCe
Case’s Fan Appreciation party is wide open by the time I change into jeans and a tank top and make my way to the big white tent set up alongside two of the tour buses. I feel lit up inside with the secret I have yet to share with anyone. Holden wants to tell Thomas after the show tonight. And I am going to tell Beck. As painful as it will be, I have to tell him.
Music is blasting from two enormous stage speakers. I don’t recognize hardly anyone at first, but then I spot Thomas and Beck standing next to a table loaded with trays of sandwiches and platters of fruit and cookies.
My stomach drops and I feel sick at the thought of hurting Beck. I have to be honest with him. I owe him that.
Thomas spots me and waves me over, taking my hand and pulling me in to kiss me on the cheek. “What a show. You were amazing out there tonight.”
“Everyone was,” I say, letting myself glance at Beck then. “I thought it was our best of the tour.”
Beck nods, but doesn’t answer. “Can we talk, Beck?” I ask, my heart pounding so hard I know he can hear it.
“Yeah,” he says.
Thomas looks at both of us with compassion in his eyes. “Y’all go easy on each other, okay?”
And wi
th that he walks away, stopping to talk with some of the crew where they are loading plates with sandwiches.
“Are we doing this here?” Beck asks.
“I’d rather go somewhere else,” I say.
Just then Case comes in and waves for everyone’s attention. The dull roar of conversation lowers and succumbs to silence.
“Thanks y’all,” Case says. “I hope everyone’s having a good time. You’ve sure earned it. I can honestly say that so far this is the best tour I’ve ever been a part of. I want to thank each of you for the role you played in making it happen. It’s no accident that it’s a success. And without the stellar fans who are celebrating with us here tonight, none of this would be possible.”
Cheers start in a wave and crescendo with whistles and clapping. Someone yells out, “You rock, Case!”
Shouts of agreement follow. He raises a hand, smiling and waiting for the volume to lower to a level where he can be heard. “Thank you, again. Every one of you.”
Someone starts opening Champagne and several toasts are made by Rhys, Case’s producer and a few of the band members.
My eyes are drawn to a tall figure standing at the edge of the tent. The white-blonde short-cropped hair triggers instant recognition. It’s the guy from our first concert in San Diego.
He walks over to one of the tables now, picks up a plate, a couple of sandwiches, steps back and starts eating.
I should let someone know the guy is here. But what am I going to say? He was mean to me and he shouldn’t be here?
I’m trying to decide what to do when Case waves Beck forward.
“Come on up here, son,” he calls out. “Thomas, Holden, CeCe, y’all too!”
We walk through the crowd of people to the center of the tent where Case is waiting. Holden and Thomas thread their way in, standing on one side of Case, Beck and I on the other.
“I just want to say how proud I am of these four,” Case says. “They had about three weeks to put together what you’ve seen them do during this tour. It’s clear from the way all you fans have responded to them, you’ll be seeing a lot more of them.”
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