Almost Fate

by Kylie Gilmore

  The room broke into applause. Probably thinking the embrace was an agreement on her part. “How could you?” she hissed in his ear.

  She caught his smile out of the corner of her eye, which only made her madder. He was putting on a show. She tried to pull away, but he scooped her up in his arms and carried her right out the door.

  “Put me down,” she said through her teeth once they were alone in the hallway.

  “Don’t be mad,” he said. “I love you.” He gave her his soulful puppy-eyed look.

  “Put me down before I start screaming, which will surely bring Ellie out here and plenty of photos for the gossip mags.”

  He set her down. “Was it because I didn’t have a ring?” He smacked his forehead. “I screwed up the proposal. I should’ve had a ring. We’ll pick one out tomorrow.”

  She forced a deep breath in and out. “We talked about this. We have a good thing going. Don’t ruin it with marriage.”

  He cradled her cheek with one large hand, and hot tears stung her eyes. “Come on, I’m not ruining it. Marriage would be a new beginning for us. Babe, I’m ready. Really ready. I want a family with you.”

  A pang of longing went through her. She’d always wanted kids. She was crazy about her two-year-old nephew, Michael. But she didn’t kid herself that Griff would ever truly be a family man. He’d get bored, and she’d be stuck at home with the kids while he toured with a bunch of groupies throwing themselves at him. He’d stray just like he did to his first wife, and she’d never forgive him.

  She pulled away. “That’s not us. Our life is the music, the travel, the fans, the press, which is great, but that’s not a family life.”

  “We can make it work,” he said with such sincerity that for a moment she almost believed it.

  But then the door opened and one of his admirers, the lip-curling, young blond actress, stepped out. “Hey, Griffin,” she purred. “We want an encore from you.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him back inside.

  He gave Christina an apologetic smile over his shoulder. The same one he gave fans whenever he had somewhere else he had to be.

  And that was exactly why Griffin Huntley would never settle down and be a family man. He was a sucker for the spotlight. He craved it more than he’d ever crave the mundane routine of having a wife and kids. Christina had done the right thing turning him down.

  ~ ~ ~

  Griffin pulled Christina into his lap on the limo drive home and nuzzled her neck. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which part are you mad about?”

  She met his eyes, and even in the soft glow of the streetlights he could see the tension in her jaw. She was one tough cookie. “All of it.”

  “Could you be more specific? I need to know what to apologize for.” He stroked her hair back from her face. “Was it not having a ring?”

  She blew out a breath. “I don’t care about a ring. You used me for publicity.”

  “I want the world to know how much you mean to me.” He really did, and if that meant that Ellie got the scoop, that was fine with him. His young fans would dig him as a family man too. He wanted that so badly. He had no family. His mom had died a couple of years ago, he was an only child, and his dad, also a musician, had always been a wanderer. Last time he’d heard from him was ten years ago when Griffin had put out his first album. “Is that all? I can propose to you at home instead.”

  She got off his lap. “Griff, we talked about this.”

  He got a really bad feeling in his gut. “Can you shut the glass, please?” he called to the driver, who closed the divider separating the front of the limo from the back.

  Christina’s mouth formed a flat line. Another really bad sign. “I don’t want to marry you.”

  He took her hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Why not? We love each other.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think we’re made for that. Besides, we’re happy now. Why ruin it?”

  “I know I screwed up my first marriage, but I’m older now and wiser. I’ll do better, I promise. I won’t cheat on you.”

  Christina was silent.

  “I haven’t been with anyone since I met you. Even when we were just friends for a year. You know I haven’t.” Not for lack of opportunity either. Women still came on to him on a regular basis. That was just part of the rock-star gig. But Christina was truly all he wanted or needed.

  She sighed. “I believe you, it’s just…”

  I don’t trust you. He practically heard the words she wouldn’t say out loud. He knew he’d been a total asshole to his first wife, fooling around on her and flaunting it in front of the press, but he wasn’t that guy anymore. He could do better.

  She looked so forlorn that his chest ached. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Can you take a chance on me? On us?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

  “I want a legacy. What’s the point of all this money and fame and talent if I have no one to pass it on to?”

  She met his eyes with her bright blues. “Your music is your legacy. You don’t need me to be your baby factory for that.”

  “Baby factory! No. Our child would be born out of love.”

  “And when would you see our child?”

  “You could travel with me.”

  “That’s no way to raise a family. On the road.”

  “Then I’ll stop touring. I’ll retire.”

  “No! You are not giving up everything you worked so hard for just for some fantasy life. I refuse to be the reason Griffin Huntley’s life went down the drain.”

  “Dammit, Chris. I love you. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  Her blue eyes flashed at him. “It means everything. And so does your music. I want to be there with you every step of the way. We don’t need a piece of paper to have that.”

  He scowled. He couldn’t believe the one time he was finally ready to settle down with someone she wouldn’t have him. She loved him. Why did she keep denying him? He told her he would do better this time around. He pulled out his cell phone. There was already an article and picture of his proposal on the Savage Release website. His proposal was trending on social media. Fans were wondering if the rumors were true that she’d said yes. He went onto his Twitter account and confirmed that he would be marrying Christina.

  He held the screen up to her. “I just told the fans the rumors of our marriage were true. Now you have to marry me.”

  “I think we need a little time apart,” she said quietly.

  He couldn’t breathe for a moment. His chest clutched and he feared he was having a heart attack. “No,” he managed. They’d been inseparable for three years now—at home or on the road. She’d never wanted to spend any time apart, and he hadn’t wanted that either.

  But he didn’t keel over because he heard the next part loud and clear.

  “I need some time to think about us,” she said. “And so do you.”

  “I don’t need to think!” he shouted.

  She knocked on the divider. When it opened, she told the driver, “Let me out here.”

  “Don’t do this,” he said. Christina never ran away from an argument. She always faced confrontations head-on. He knew what this meant—she was dumping him. He couldn’t lose her. “Please.”

  “I have to.”

  And then she left him right in the middle of the city. It was the craziest, worst thing that had ever happened to him—from proposal to dumping in one night. He sat there for a moment in shock, unsure what to do. He had nowhere to go, no family, no friends he could trust with the kind of grief that swamped him. But he couldn’t go home. Her scent was in the sheets, her clothes in the closet, her toothbrush next to his in the holder. His chest ached. Everything would remind him that she was gone.

  “Can you just drive around the city for a few hours?” he asked the driver.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He sank back in his seat and threw his arm over his eyes to hide t
he stinging tears. After an hour of wallowing, he checked his cell to see if Christina had said anything online about him. Maybe she’d tell everyone she’d said no to his proposal. He scoured all the usual news sites and then went on to the music sites. Nothing from Christina, but a small article caught his eye. Ron Colton, guitar player of the White Lions, dead at the age of sixty-five.

  He swallowed hard. That was his dad.

  ~ ~ ~

  Christina went to her parents’ house in Brooklyn, her usual haunt when she was licking her wounds. She had the key and let herself in, quietly stealing upstairs, heading to her old bedroom.

  “Christina Marie,” her mom called, “is that you?”

  Christina froze. She thought she’d been so quiet. “Yeah, it’s me, Ma.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning,” her mom said. She knew Christina returned home when she needed comfort. She’d spent a good amount of time back home after her divorce.

  “Okay.” She went to her old twin-size bed with its pink plaid comforter and flopped down. But she couldn’t sleep. After a half hour of restless tossing and turning, she quietly grabbed some fresh sheets from the linen closet and made up the bed. Then she took off her dress and slipped under the covers.

  She still couldn’t sleep. She missed the heat of Griff. She was used to sleeping, skin on skin, pressed up against him. Hot tears stung her eyes. She was beyond exhausted. What was she going to do about Griff? He kept pushing and pushing for something she knew was just going to ruin everything.

  He’d been on this kick ever since Thanksgiving at her brother and sister-in-law’s house. She got it. He saw their happy little family and thought it’d be cool to have that for himself. But they weren’t meant for that. She had too much baggage from her first marriage, and, honestly, she didn’t trust him. He’d swear up and down to be faithful, but she knew the temptations of the road would be too much for him to resist. That was the bad part about falling in love with an internationally famous rock star—you couldn’t have a normal life.

  The tears finally fell in earnest. She cried until she had nothing left and finally fell into an exhausted sleep. When she woke to an empty bed, it was with the dawning realization that she didn’t care about having a normal life, she just wanted him.

  “What happened?” her mom asked when she got down to the kitchen. She set a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Christina. Then a cup of coffee that was half cream and no sugar. Her Italian mom always did know how to feed her.

  “Nothing,” she said, taking a fortifying sip of coffee. “Just a little fight.”

  “He running around on you?” her mom asked, narrowing her blue-green eyes. “Men do. They stray. Not your father, of course. The man is still hot for me.” She patted her dyed black hair in its short bob. “Whadda ya gonna do?”

  Christina cringed. “Ma, please. TMI.”

  “Was he a cheating, lowlife rat?”

  “No.” She sipped her coffee.

  “Then what’s the problem?” her mom asked, settling at the table with her own coffee.

  Christina was not about to tell her mom Griff proposed. She’d get excited. Her mom still held out hope for more grandchildren. She took a bite of toast instead.

  “I heard he proposed,” her mom said casually.

  She choked on her toast. “How do you know that?”

  “Your brother set up the Googly Alerts so I could keep track of where you are.” She smiled proudly. Her mom had only recently gotten a computer. Christina sent a silent deadly message to her brother for hooking their mom up with the Internet.

  “Google Alerts,” Christina muttered.

  Her mom ignored this. “I saw your shocked face. I guess it was a bad shock?”

  She sighed. “You know Griff. He belongs to the fans. Not to me.”

  “Meh. I dunno. Every time I see a picture of him, he’s only got eyes for you. And at Thanksgiving, he spent a lot of time with our little Michael.” She raised a brow in question.

  “A nephew is one thing. His own kids are another.” She pushed the eggs around on her plate. “That’s not us.”

  “Kids are overrated,” her mom proclaimed, gesturing wildly. “They take and take and take and then they leave you!”

  “Ma, we visit.” She and her brother, Dave, both lived nearby. She was still in Brooklyn, and Dave and his family were an hour and a half away in the suburbs of Clover Park, Connecticut. The woman knew how to lay on the guilt.

  Her mom waved a hand in the air dismissively. “What do I care if I never get a grandbaby out of you? Sure, you’re thirty-six years old already, but do I care? No, I do not. Of course your aunt Helen, that’s all she can talk about. Her little Sammi, Joey, and Charlie. Pfft. Just a bunch of hassle if you ask me.”

  “You can’t guilt me into giving you grandbabies.”

  Her mom took her hand and squeezed. “But you want children.”

  She blinked back tears and nodded.

  “And Griffin doesn’t?” her mom asked gently.

  “No, he does, but…I just can’t see how it would work. He’s on the road most of the year. I mean, kids need stability. You can’t just uproot them and bring them into that lifestyle.”

  Her mom’s dark brows shot up. “What lifestyle?” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Does he do the marijuana?”

  She nearly laughed. That was probably the only drug her mom knew about.

  “Or the cocaine?” her mom added. “I heard it’s big with the rock stars.”

  She shook her head. “You know he’s not like that.” She was glad Griff had never gone the drug route, probably because he didn’t hit the big time until his thirties when he had his head on straight.

  “You know what I think?” her mom asked.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” she said dryly.

  “I think you’re scared. You’re letting the past dictate your future. So what if Anthony impregnated his receptionist? Ancient history.”

  Christina cringed. That was her ex.

  Her mom leaned close. “I heard they’re getting a divorce. Serves him right. You were too good for him.” Her mom took a sip of coffee and studied her over the rim of her cup. “Steph’s pregnant again.” That was her sister-in-law.

  “Oh, good,” Christina said, the words barely making it past the lump in her throat. She took a sip of coffee. “Good for them. I’m happy to hear it.”

  Her mom took Christina’s hand and pressed the back of it to her soft cheek. “I want you to be happy. If that’s with kids or not, just do what makes you happy. Life’s too short. Ya know?”

  She nodded, her throat tight. She knew that very well from her previous job on the oncology ward. People taken too soon from their loved ones, their lives cut short before they had a chance to do what they really wanted. She knew what she had to do. She had to go back home, talk this out with Griff, make him understand that she wanted to be with him. Just the two of them, no marriage contract needed. She hoped their time apart, as short and as excruciatingly long as it felt, gave him some perspective. Helped him understand that what truly mattered was that they were together. Hopefully he’d stop asking for more.

  “Thanks, Ma. I’m going to head back home.”

  “So soon? You haven’t even seen your father. Stay. Have some brunch with us. It’s the least you can do after waking me up in the middle of the night with a heart attack. I thought we were being robbed!”

  Christina sighed. “You knew it was me. I’m the only one who comes slinking home at three a.m.”

  Her mom made her blue-green eyes comically wide. “I was about to get the wooden bat.” She kept it under the bed just in case. Christina had offered to have an alarm system put in here, but her mom hadn’t trusted it. She thought the police would know her every move.

  Christina laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll stay a little longer.”

  By the time she got home, it was nearly noon. There weren’t any lingering fans or paparazzi around the front stoop.
That was odd. At least she didn’t have to deal with any questions from the press about her supposed marriage.

  She punched in the code and burst inside. “Griff!” she hollered. “We need to talk!”

  She was met with empty silence. She did a quick inspection. His favorite black leather jacket wasn’t in the hall closet. “Griff!” she called.

  Maybe he’d slept in. Maybe he was still wearing it after their long night out. Though her faulty logic should have given her pause, instead it merely fueled her panic. She feared she’d pushed him away. He felt things bone-deep, maybe he was hurting enough to take a real break from her. She sprinted up the stairs to their shared bedroom. No Griff. The bed was still made.

  She went to the closet. Some of his clothes were missing. Not all of them. That didn’t mean all that much. He had the funds to buy a whole new wardrobe wherever he went.

  She called his cell and it went to voicemail. “Where are you? Call me.”

  But he didn’t call. Not that day. Not the next. She had no idea where he was, no idea if or when he was coming back. Three days with no replies to her numerous calls and texts made her fear she’d lost him forever. He was done with her.

  Where the hell was he? He’d gone off the grid. No tweets, no pictures, no news, nothing. And then, finally, some pictures emerged—Griff with his arm around pop superstar Sydney Roy, Griff smiling with his arm around a beautiful young brunette woman, and, worst of all, Griff playing guitar in a bar, gazing at the same brunette standing in Christina’s spot! She always stood on the right, front row, and Griff always gazed at her when he played. She looked closer. The brunette had purple streaks in her black hair and piercings all the way up both ears, giving her a punk rock vibe, and she was wearing Griff’s black leather jacket! Dammit. Griff didn’t share his jacket with just anyone. Even Christina had only worn it a couple of times. The woman must mean something to him. More than just a fan. The pictures were from Eastman, Connecticut.

  That was it! This New Yorker was heading to the wilds of Connecticut to claim her man. Nobody messed with Christina Olsen’s man and got away with it.