by Virna DePaul
My head aches as I go through everything that’s happened, trying to piece it all together. The day he left on the bus, he said he had to go back to work, to take care of business stuff that couldn’t wait.
Of course he did, Kara! I curse myself. He was meeting with his damn brothers to tell them all about you!
You’d think after Carter I would’ve learned. But it only took a handsome man with a beautiful smile and who kisses like part angel and part devil to make me fall under his spell. That, and the fact he’d been ready to beat off a mugger for me. And that he’d helped me paint a mural in the dead of night. And how he’d been so proud of the painting he’d done on my body. And how he’d followed my lead and played guitar as I sang to a small-town auditorium. And the fact that his body made mine feel like it was floating.
I want to be mad at myself for being so stupid, for falling for a man who all along had an agenda, but there’s something inside me that stops those thoughts. I hadn’t been stupid--I’d been trusting. And the minute I figured out who, well, what he was, I’d walked away. Big difference than from before, when I’d blindly run away.
I’ve barely been gone twenty minutes when my phone starts buzzing over and over. Every time it does, I give it the middle finger. I know it’s Declan. When I stop for a break I’ll need to put a block on his number so I won’t keep getting these calls, because there’s no way I’m going to pick up. I won’t listen to him try to explain his actions.
I realize I’m being slightly hypocritical--I’ve been hiding who I really am just as long as Declan’s hid who he really is, but there are some major differences. First, he knew who--or what--I am for a lot longer than I’ve known what he is, and second, me hiding who I am was for my self-protection. Declan hiding who he is was for his own financial gain.
For now, though, I put my phone on silent and toss it back onto the passenger’s seat. He won’t hear from Kara Hester ever again.
I don’t even know how far I’ve driven by the time I realize I need to stop and get gas. And food. And coffee. But when I get back into the van, I lean my forehead against the steering wheel and cry until there are no tears left.
15
DECLAN
I’ve just pulled out my waffles when my phone rings. It’s my brother Owen. I stick my earbuds in, dump my three waffles into a to-go bag, and stick a banana under my arm. I head outside to the coffee shop I saw a block away before clicking on the call.
“How are you guys holding up?” I say. I still feel guilty that they’re putting out fires for me, but at the same time, I don’t regret a single second of the extra time I’ve had with Kara. Hell, I’m still reeling from the sexy way Kara woke me up this morning. She had her lips wrapped around my cock before I’d barely opened my eyes. Now, that’s worth waking up for any day. Of course, I had to return the favor. I hope we woke up the whole building.
“We’ve got everything under control but I got another call from Carter McCall. He said if we want our shot with Heart Demons, he needs to meet this week or he’s going to suggest another agent to partner with.”
I frown. I still have no intention of working with McCall, but I can’t keep blowing off Heart Demons either, not without damaging my professional reputation. I think of Kara. Of how I don’t want our time to end. But I also know we can’t just keep driving forever. Eventually, we have to get back to the real world.
That means I need to start dealing with things. My career. And hers.
I use my shoulder to open the door to the coffee shop. “Tell McCall I can meet him in three days. With the band. I’ll listen to them, but just so you know, I’m not going to work with McCall under any circumstances.”
“Your call.”
“Right.” I hesitate, then say, “I also want you to call Peter Simons. Check if he’s taking on new clients.” Simons was a music agent. One I liked and respected.
“You got a referral for him?”
“Maybe. I’ve met someone who has talent. Amazing talent. And if I can convince her to give the business a go, I need an agent for her. One that’s not me.”
“Ahhh. The plot thickens. Because having you as an agent would what? Be a conflict?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. The kid at the counter asks for my order and I order a latte as I wait for some response from Owen.
“You gonna fill me in in three days?” Owen finally says.
“Hopefully I won’t have to. Hopefully you’ll meet her yourself.” I grab the latte the barista hands me and work to figure out how to balance the waffles, banana, latte, and my phone.
I can practically hear Owen’s stunned silence on the line.
“Seriously? So first Hunter with Dani. And now you with…”
I clear my throat. “All in good time, Owen. Will you call Simons for me?”
After Owen agreed and we caught up on a few other business matters, I finally end the call and start walking back. I’m determined to finally tell Kara the truth about who I am. To convince her I didn’t go on this road trip just to manipulate her into signing with my agency. That’s why I’m bringing Simons into the picture. He’ll do right by Kara, and that’s all that’s important. She’s in love with music, with performing, and the songs she creates brings something good to the world—something fucking amazing.
Hopefully between the two of us—Simons and me—we can make her understand that hiding from music forever isn’t an option for someone whose very blood sings. Kara can’t survive without music. It’s in her bones. In her heart.
Just like how she’s in my heart.
I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk and sag against the hotel’s rough brick exterior. Am I really in love? Can it actually happen this fast? But my heart is beating a million beats an hour and my mouth is dry and all I want to do is throw my arms around Kara and kiss the hell out of her, so yeah, I guess falling in love can happen this fast. This intense.
When I knock on the door to our room, no one answers. I knock again. Maybe Kara went to get something?
I try calling Kara, but she doesn’t pick up. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I know something’s wrong.
I finally get the front desk clerk to issue me a new key to the room, and when I burst inside, Kara isn’t there. And neither is her stuff.
She’s gone.
I go to the window and see that her Volkswagen bus is missing, too. I’m confused, my thinking muddied by the mix of emotions and thoughts churning around inside my body and my mind.
Somehow, I don’t think she’s on a grocery run. Somehow, I know she’s left me. But why?
It’s when I see my business card on the side table that I understand what’s happened.
I go cold. I drop the food on the table and sit down on the bed, taking the card and gazing at with hollow eyes.
She knows who I am, and she ran.
In her eyes, I’m just like Carter, aren’t I? Declan, you stupid fuck, I mentally yell at myself. You waited too long and now you’ve lost her.
But something inside me immediately rebels at the thought.
I can’t lose Kara, not until I’ve told her how I feel about her. Because I’ve learned from losing my mother that life’s too short to go without saying “I love you” to those who matter the most. I have a lot to say to Kara, and yeah, that includes an apology. She might not accept it. She might tell me to go fuck myself. But I’m not letting things end like this.
I pack up my stuff. I head outside. I call up an Uber. And when the driver pulls up to the hotel and asks for my destination, I tell him to head south.
Toward Kara.
16
KARA
I’m somehow able to get my shit together enough to drive all the way down through Florida and onto the highway through the Keys. As I drive, I turn the radio up full-volume and alternate between crying and raging, with some calm in between. I like the calm. During those times I think about all the good things that being with Declan over the last few days has g
iven me. The adventures. The fun. The excellent sex. Then the waterworks or anger hit again.
By the time I reach Key West, I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically.
The air here in the Keys is humid and smells of the ocean, a familiar fresh and briny scent that’s followed me for days now and reminds me—yet again—of Declan. It’s late—I’ve been on the road for about twelve hours, stopping only a few times to fill up the tank or get a bite to eat. I hit the corner of Truman Avenue and Whitehead Street, right by where Hemmingway used to live, and know I’m close to the marker of the southernmost point. Close to my final destination. But I’m not ready to see the point yet—not in the right headspace, not in the right mood. So I pull over to check my smart phone for a cheap place to spend the night. Here, with all the tourists, I won’t be able to pull off on some random beach or a side street and sleep in the van.
I sigh. Most cheap places are booked, and so are all the Airbnb rooms in the area. So I say fuck it. I’ll splurge on a room at the Waldorf Astoria a couple of blocks up from the southernmost point. I’ll see the point tomorrow, after I’ve regrouped. For now, all I want is a shower, a nice bed, and the bliss of sleeping. I can’t cry when I sleep, right?
I check in and head to my room, where I open the windows and let the fresh air wash over me. For a second, I start to tear up again, but force the emotions down. I’ve wallowed enough in self-pity. Yeah, of course I’m still feeling the brunt of the roller coaster of emotions over Declan, but I don’t want any part of this last week spent with him to ruin my special moment of seeing the southernmost tip of the United States. Tomorrow, that moment will be for me to enjoy. Alone, since that’s where I’ve now found myself, but I can still enjoy it.
I order room service and eat an entire ribeye steak and drink half a bottle of wine. After, I shower, then head to bed and do my best not to dream of Declan. Yeah, right.
In the morning, I get up with the sun, memories of a dream where Declan and I were frolicking in some waterfall by a beach still drifting through my mind. I wonder if I’ve seen that beach before, but come up empty. I’ve spent five years drifting around the United States, always with a destination in mind: the westernmost point, the northernmost point, the easternmost point, the southernmost point. But these destinations were less about the actual places and more about seeing the country I love.
As a country western singer, I’d been singing about a land I knew only a small fraction of, and by spending the last five years on the road, I now knew most of the nuances of what makes our country great. What makes the people great. I’d started my journey in Nashville, Tennessee, and up until a day ago had been to forty-eight of the fifty states, having even driven through Canada to get to Alaska a couple of years back. Left on my list was Florida. And now here I was.
In a few moments, I will have ticked off all destinations on my list when I stand at the site of the southernmost point of the US. I’ll be done.
I grab a latte and scone from the hotel’s café and set out walking. The morning sun is filtered through heavy and low clouds, but the air is warm. I’m in a tank and cut-off jeans and my black leather boots. Between my tattoos and outfit, I must look like a badass, although I feel like I’m anything but. In fact, I don’t quite know how I feel. I mean, no way am I still the sweet and innocent calico-clad cowboy boot-wearing Kara Hester who wooed the country with her sweet country western tunes, but I also no longer feel like Kara the drifter, slipping from town to town, getting a tattoo in each state of the country.
In a minute, I’ll be seeing the last marker on my list. And then what?
Maybe I’ll start my journey all over again. Drive around the states for another five years. But the thought depresses me. Why is it that after so long of being on my own, after these few days with Declan, I’m suddenly lonely? Unhappy with drifting? Why am I suddenly hating that I have no purpose, no agenda? No goal?
I finish both the scone and the latte as I cross Whitehead Street and toss the empty cup into the trash bin. I look up and see the point—a small crowd of people are standing around, taking pictures. That will be me in a few seconds. Usually when I get to one of these major points I’m excited, but there’s no buzz in my stomach at the moment. Instead, I feel a sinking sensation, almost like dread.
I push forward, though, head down, not looking forward, waiting until I get right to the big red marker. When I arrive, I stop and put my hand on the cool, painted surface and look out over the ocean, squinting to see as far as I can. There’s the choppy grey waves with white tips of the Atlantic, a couple of sea birds. Three children run ahead of me, dashing excitedly to the edge where they can go down and touch the water. They’re excited and gleeful, but I’m not.
I let out a whoosh of breath and back up. This is it—the end. The end of my journey. So why don’t I feel excited? Elated? Thrilled? Why do I feel…
Why do I feel empty?
And then I see him. Declan. He’s sitting on the curved cement bench near the marker. Just…sitting.
Suddenly, I’m no longer empty. I’m full. Bursting with emotion. Sensation. Excited and terrified, amazed and angry that he followed me here.
Declan had come after me.
But why? To convince me to sign with his agency? To push me back into music? Of course, my mind whispers. He lied to you, pretended to be someone he wasn’t, just to manipulate you into his world. He’s not just like Carter—he’s worse, because he played with your heart.
Yet his expression belies what I’m thinking. His expression doesn’t radiate schemer or manipulator. It communicates sadness and regret, affection and relief, even hope, and despite myself, I move toward him when he gestures to a space on the bench next to him.
Mentally, I justify my actions, my inability to walk away from him when he’s actually in front of me, the way I should. What the hell, I think—he can’t hurt me any more than he has already, right?
He looks tired, and when he plops a wrinkled paper bag in front of me, I blink.
“I got you a banana,” he says.
When I just stare at him, he clarifies, “You asked me to get you fruit.”
I blink. “Yesterday.”
“Bananas don’t go bad too fast.”
Too bad the same can’t be said for our relationship.
“You look like crap,” I say.
“Paid an Uber driver to get me to this place. Cost a small fortune but made the guy’s week. I knew you’d come here, but I didn’t know when. So I stayed. Slept on this bench.”
“Seriously? Why would you—” I cut myself off. I know the answer. He wanted to find me, and the only way to find a drifter is to be one step ahead of them. He knew where I would go, just not when. I suck in a breath and start again. “Listen. Nothing you can say is going to make any of this better. You’re not going to convince me to sign with your agency.”
“I know.”
That answer surprises me but I plow ahead. “I don’t want to sign with anyone. I made a promise to myself that I would never place myself in someone else’s power like I did with Carter McCall.”
“I know that, too.”
“You lied to me. You never once said anything about being a big-shot agent. You let me think you were some random surfer dude, a beach bum.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you had the balls to come find me.”
He doesn’t wince or beg. He just shrugs. Shrugs!
“You’re right,” is all he says.
We stare at each other.
“So, that’s it?” I watch him. “You came here to…to agree with me?”
“Well, you wouldn’t take my calls or respond to my texts, so I had to find you in person. And there’s something important I need to tell you.”
When he doesn’t say anything else, I grab the bag and pull out the banana. He’s right—the banana is fine. Unlike my heart. Which is doing weird twisty things inside my chest. I unpeel the banana, trying to keep the shaking in my hands down to a minimum. I don’t want De
clan to know how deeply I’ve been hurt. Pride may goeth before a fall, but I’d rather fall than let him know how much he’s hurt me.
“So what is it you so desperately need to tell me, Mr. Kiss?” I say, conjuring up as snotty a tone as I can manage without my voice cracking.
Declan leans forward. “I need you to know that I’m incredibly sorry for lying to you. Truly. I didn’t tell you who I was because I knew you’d react with distrust. Which, considering you left me without a word, I’d say was a correct guess on my part.”
I bristle. “You’re blaming this on me?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not.” He runs his fingers through his hair, looking frustrated. “Here’s the thing. I figured out who you were fairly early on, and when I did, I knew that if you knew I was a talent agent, you’d bolt. And at that point, I couldn’t let you go.”
“Because you wanted to sign me.”
“No. I had no clue who you were when we first slept together. There was something magical about that night, something I found that for the first time in ages I wanted to pursue. When I figured out you were Kara Hester, I was already hooked. As time went on, I justified the fact I wasn’t telling you the truth about me by arguing in my head that you weren’t telling me the truth about you. But that was a bullshit excuse, and I’m sorry for that.”
“You should be,” I scoff. “You should be sorry for everything.”
“And I apologize. I honestly apologize.” His eyes soften. “But even though I was lying by omission about who and what I was, you have to believe me, I stayed for Kara not Kara Hester. I stayed for the girl who paints murals on old buildings and lets her body be a canvas for art. The girl who almost got me arrested during one of the most fun experiences of my life. The girl who played her heart and soul out for a crowd at a town fundraiser. The girl who snuggles up to me in her sleep, the girl who brings me to ecstasy. Kara, the person, was the one who interested me. But…”