Strike a Chord

by Salsbury, JB

  “Out.”

  “I think it’s time for me to move on, away from the inflated egos and endless hours of catching cases.” I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can live in the spotlight. I’m not wired for it.”

  He nods but doesn’t say anything.

  “There’s a lawyer who has been making a case against Oakley for years. She reached out to me. I guess she has three other women who are willing to come forward. She said my testimony would help the case and that she can keep my name out of the media.”

  “That’s great, baby. I’d hoped I’d killed the bastard though.”

  My lips twitch. “Me too.” I rock into his shoulder. “I never did get a chance to thank you for what you did that night.”

  “I didn’t do enough—”

  “If you hadn’t shown up. If you were even five minutes later…”

  He pulls me into his chest and holds me tightly. Gently, he removes my baseball cap then presses his lips to my forehead. “You should know I love you. I will always love you, Taylor. I know you need to heal, and I wish like hell you’d let me help you with that.”

  I laugh with tears in my eyes. “I wish you could help me, but…” I shake my head. “I’m afraid I have to get through this alone.”

  “This isn’t over.”

  I pull back and catch his eyes.

  “We’re not over,” he says.

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “You need time. I get that. You have work to do that I can’t help you with, I know.” He clears his throat as if he’s pushing back the same lump. “But there will be a day when you’re ready to open your heart up to me again, and when that happens, I’ll be there waiting.”

  I push up and out of his hold. “You’ll be on tour for another four months. There will be women and I don’t want to hold you back from—”

  “I have zero interest in being with anyone else. No shit, just the thought of touching another woman makes my dick shrivel up and jump into my stomach.”

  I laugh at the visual, and the sound cracks the tension in his expression.

  He cups my jaw, his thumb making slow passes against my cheek. “I have never been in love before you. There will never be anyone else. It’s only you.”

  Hope swells in my chest. “Really?”

  He squints one eye. “You saw what I did to my house, right? Four days without knowing if you’d ever speak to me again made me fucking crazy.”

  “Your car!”

  He smiles a bit. “Didn’t touch it. My car and this room are the two places I kept seeing you in my head, and I swore I wouldn’t touch either until I had you with me.”

  I hug him hard. Worry about my future, about the obstacles ahead, about a possibility of a future with Ethan, they all weigh heavily on my heart, but with his arms around me, I have hope that there will be a day when the nightmares will be behind me and I’ll be whole again.

  “You feel like going for a ride?” he asks.

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Ethan

  Twenty-four hours.

  That’s all the time I have left with Taylor before I leave for the last four months of tour. I’ll suck up every single minute that she’ll give me.

  I tried to convince her to stay the night with me, but I knew she wasn’t ready for that by the way she jumps every time I touch her. Being around her without kissing her is a torture worse than death. At least in death I wouldn’t have to stare at her lips with the memory of their taste quickly fading from my tongue.

  I was able to talk her into having an early breakfast with me before I had to meet up at the tour buses for departure. Eating out isn’t an option. I refuse to share our last few hours together with the public.

  I pick her up at her apartment in Encino. She answers the door with a smile, and I feel that shit straight down to my soul.

  “Good morning, gorgeous.”

  “You’re early.”

  Guilty. “Am I?”

  I had to practically nail my ass to the floor to keep from coming before sunrise.

  She limps as best she can out the door with one crutch. I take her keys, closing up and locking the door for her before I hand back her keys. Taylor and her dad live in a modest but newer complex without a gated entry or security system, and that worries me.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay staying here alone while your dad is on the road?” I slow my pace to walk beside her, then open the passenger side door to help her in.

  “Yeah, I feel safe here.” She watches as I put her crutch in the back seat. “I know all my neighbors. We look out for one another.”

  “Good, that’s good.”

  I fire up the Mustang and head back towards Malibu. We talk about the tour, which cities I’m looking forward to, and she tells me stories about some of the crew, memories from her youth spent on the road. Eventually we pull up to an iron gate, and I punch a series of numbers into a keypad to open them.

  “Where are we?” She’s perched on the edge of the seat, sitting up straight to see over the hood of the car. “Whoa, is that a hotel or a house?”

  I turn off the car. “House. Justice Allen lives here.”

  Her head whips toward mine and I’m so fucking grateful she didn’t wear a hat. I get the full beauty of her face without obstruction. “Hold on, you mean the Justice Allen?”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t get too excited. He’s in London, filming.” I circle the hood and help her out.

  “How do you have the code to get through the gate?”

  “He’s a friend of mine. We were roommates back when he was a struggling actor and I was a drugged-out musician.”

  “So we’re eating breakfast at his house?”

  “Kind of. I needed somewhere private, and his property comes with a stretch of private beach.” Less chance of paps splattering our photo on the gossip sites.

  I guide her around the modern house to the beachfront patio where there’s a table dressed in linen, china, and crystal waiting for us.

  “Ethan.” She stops and stares. “Is this for us?”

  I grip her hand and curse internally when I feel the slight jump of her muscles. “Did you think I’d take you to McDonald’s for our last meal together?”

  “I should’ve known better, huh?” She lays down her crutch.

  I pull out her seat and sit across from her. “Coffee, juice, or water?”

  “Coffee, please.” She eyes the spread. “What’s for breakfast?”

  I pop the silver dome off a platter in the middle of the table. “Tah-dah!”

  Her eyes widen and laughter bursts from her lips. “Cannoli!”

  “Every flavor the best Italian pastry chef in Los Angeles could make. Minus toothpaste.” I wink. “I realize it’s not really a breakfast item, but who says we can’t have dessert for breakfast?”

  Her laughter quickly turns to tears and my own smile falls.

  “Shit, babe. I’m sorry.” I have no idea what happened. She went from deliriously happy to tears. I come around the table, and as much as I want to hug her, I hold back, fearing I might spook her. I kneel beside her and put my hand on her good foot, over her tennis shoe. “Hey, I’m so sorry. We can go. I don’t want to upset you.”

  She shakes her head and her tears quickly turn back to laughter. “I’m sorry, it’s not you. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I’m all over the place.” She sniffs and wipes her face with her napkin. “This is really sweet. I love—” She coughs and clears her throat.

  I try not to be disappointed at her not saying the words and have to remind myself for the millionth time that she has some shit, some very serious shit, she needs to work through.

  Once she stops crying, she says, “You’re amazing. You really are an incredible man.”

  “Can’t think of anyone who would say that about me.” I pull myself away and force myself to take a seat rather than pull her into my lap and keep her there forever.
“Just goes to prove that it’s you who make me a better man.”

  We enjoy our breakfast without any more tears. I spend the time talking about future plans and making promises that include a walk on the beach after her ankle is healed. I want her to know that I envision her in every minute of my future.

  Our time together is quickly coming to an end and I’m terrified that when I let her go, I may never see her again.

  Taylor

  Ten minutes of horror changes everything.

  If only I had known when I walked into that bathroom, I would leave a different person. Bruised and sore, the damage done to my body will eventually heal, but the emotional injuries feel permanent. I’m skittish, the urge to cry is always simmering close to the surface, and waves of hopelessness make me want to stay in bed and sleep all the feelings away.

  For the first time since that night, I feel… lighter. With the morning sun on my skin and the ocean breeze in my hair, Ethan looks at me, drinking me in as if he’s afraid he’ll blink and I’ll disappear.

  “I have a proposition.” He licks the sweet ricotta filling off his thumb. “Hear me out?”

  I swallow the cheekful of sweet pastry and wash it down with coffee. “I’m nervous.” I laugh, but my stomach tumbles with butterflies for no logical reason.

  His expression grows serious, his gaze locked on mine. “Come with me.”

  He can’t be serious. “I can’t work, I already told—”

  “No.” He puts his hand on the table, stretching it forward as if to grab mine, but freezes when I withdraw my own.

  I curse myself for my knee-jerk response. I want him to touch me, but every time he reaches out, I recoil.

  His eyebrows pinch together, but he continues. “Not to work. Just come with me. I’ll get us our own bus, or fuck it, I’ll buy an RV and drive it myself. Just come with me.”

  “I can’t. I have doctors’ appointments and therapy sessions—”

  “I'll fly you back for those. I’ll have a driver take you to all your appointments and bring you back to the airport.”

  I close my eyes. Just the idea of all that seems stressful and chaotic. “So I can what? Sleep in the same bed with you every night between back-to-back shows?”

  “Yes. If that’s all we can get, then I’ll take it.”

  I consider it for a minute, walk out a day in the life on the road in my mind, and terror strikes my chest. “I can’t. It’s too soon. I need a little more time to sort through…” I sigh. “Everything.”

  He pushes food around on his plate then nods. “Okay.”

  That was easy.

  He reaches behind him and pulls a long envelope from his back pocket before sliding it across the table to me.

  “What is it?” I open it while he explains.

  “One way. First class. To any city in North America.” He puts his hand on the table again and inches it forward as if I’m a wild animal he’d like to touch. I offer him my hand and he smiles softly. His big, warm palm envelops mine. “My offer stands whenever you’re ready.”

  “And if I’m not? If I decide I want nothing to do with being on the road or the industry? Then what?”

  He frowns and his hand squeezes mine. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Whether or not you see me as part of the industry.”

  I chew my bottom lip, considering his statement. A life at Ethan’s side would mean tours, long stretches of time apart, groupies, rumors, and more award events. A ripple of fear rolls through me and my throat constricts. Suffocating in memories, I pull my hand from his.

  “Fuck, baby.” His voice cracks with emotion. “It’s so hard not to gather you in my arms and hold you right now.”

  A shiver races up my spine. “I can hardly stand to be touched.”

  I compose myself as best I can, and when I look at him, I catch him rubbing his eyes. Just being around me hurts him.

  I gather the ticket into my lap. “Thank you for this.”

  He nods, opens his mouth, but clears his throat instead and nods again.

  “We should probably go. You’re going to be late.”

  He clears his throat, stares blindly at the table in front of him, and nods before he stands to help me with my crutch.

  Not another word is spoken until he pulls up to my apartment complex. He opens my door and helps me out.

  “I can get it from here,” I say.

  His brows drop behind his sunglasses. “Let me walk you to your door, make sure you get in okay.”

  I smile at his sweet offer and the concern in his voice. “I’ll get in okay.”

  He props his hands on his hips and stares at the ground. He sniffs. “I’m going to call you every day.”

  “You don’t need to do that—”

  His head snaps up. “Every single day.”

  “All right.” Deep down, I know he probably won’t. Life on the road is busy and he has millions of fans to cater to and perform for. “You should go.”

  He nods but doesn’t move.

  “Thank you for the perfect breakfast date.” I take a few steps on the sidewalk. “Take care of yourself, Ethan.”

  “You too,” he says, his voice cracking.

  I turn my back on him then, unable to stomach the hurt etched in his beautiful face.

  “Taylor, wait.” I freeze as his footsteps race up behind me, then he’s again standing in front of me. His sunglasses are off and his eyes are red-rimmed. “What do you want most? Right now, in this moment?”

  That’s easy. “I want to feel normal again.” I tilt my head, trying to read his expression, but he’s a blank slate. “What about you? What do you want most?”

  “Right now? I want to kiss you goodbye.”

  “I, ah…” I want him to kiss me. I’ve wanted him to kiss me since I showed up to his destroyed house yesterday, but… “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are.” He steps close but doesn’t touch me. “Keep your eyes open.”

  His hand slowly moves and I hold his gaze, cementing his face in my mind as his palm cups my jaw. I fight the urge to flinch as his pinkie ghosts over the bruise on my neck.

  “It’s only me. I’d never hurt you.”

  “I know.” My eyelids feel heavy, but I hold them open and keep eye contact with him. I sink into the comfort of his warm caramel gaze.

  Oh so slowly, he brushes his lips against mine. “Good?”

  I lick my lips to taste his barely there kiss, then lean in for another one.

  He smiles against my mouth as he kisses me again, the same pressure as the first. Warm. Tender. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  We kiss again, this one a little firmer, a little longer, and he pulls away again to check on me.

  “I’m okay.”

  When our lips come together again, he swipes at the seam of my mouth with the tip of his tongue. Tasting, testing, and cautious. I do the same, pushing myself further. I breathe out a soft sigh as he kisses me with such longing and reverence that tears fill my eyes.

  He pulls away with a growled, “Fuck.” Resting his forehead against mine, he seems out of breath. “I pushed you too far. I’m sorry.”

  I realize then his hand at my jaw is wet with my tears. I hold his palm to my cheek and shake my head. “No, you didn’t. That was the perfect goodbye kiss.”

  His frown doesn’t seem to agree. He kisses my forehead and releases me. I immediately miss his touch, but just fucking look at me! I’m a sobbing mess for no apparent reason.

  I swipe at my face and adjust my crutch as my shoulder aches from leaning on it. “You deserve to be happy.” I don’t know where the words come from. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

  He chuckles, but the sound is sad and makes my heart ache. “Like I have a choice?” He shakes his head. “That’s not how love works, baby. You’re my once-in-a-lifetime love. My heart is incapable of moving on without you, do you hear me?”

  My cheeks are soake
d with tears and I suck back a shuddering sob.

  “Four months, four years, it doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I love you.”

  My declaration is barely audible, but somehow he hears it through my tears and he answers with a shaky smile. “I can’t make myself walk away. It’s going to have to be you.”

  I laugh through my sadness. Then I turn and walk away.

  I don’t look back.

  And after I’m back in the apartment, I don’t check the window to see how long he stood there.

  Sometime later, I hear the growl of his engine as he drives away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Two Months Later

  Ethan

  “Thank you, Vancouver!” Jesse’s voice rings out over thirty thousand screaming fans in Rogers Arena.

  The lights go dark and we head off stage, concluding our thirty-eighth show in sixty days. I grab a towel from a new crewmember, a young guy named Sam they hired to take Taylor’s place.

  Speaking of Taylor, I spot Prophet standing near a row of crates as the crew readies to strike the stage at his command.

  I sidle up next to him. “You hear from our girl tonight?”

  He side-eyes me in a way that would be threatening if it weren’t for his grin. “I called her during my dinner.”

  “And? How’d she do?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, the prick leaving me hanging.

  I say, “I almost called an impromptu intermission just so I could call her and ask. I checked my phone three times and she didn’t text. I’m dying here!”

  “She wanted to tell you in person.”

  Midnight on a school night, and she has classes tomorrow. I shouldn’t call her and wake her. Fuck it, I call anyway.

  “Yo, Ethan!” Prophet calls to me as I walk farther from the stage for privacy, the phone ringing. “She aced it!”

  “Hello?” her groggy voice answers.

  “You aced it!” I holler into the phone, followed by a, “Fuck yeah, I knew you would. What did I tell you?”