by Nicole Casey
“You look terrified,” Jude whispered. “Take a deep breath.”
I shook my head and peered out onto the stage, inhaling sharply as he drew me into his arms, smiling that now-familiar grin at me. It should have steadied my nerves but if anything it made me more anxious.
“You do it,” I breathed. “I -I can’t.”
“What do you mean?” Jude demanded, peering down at my face in shock. “This is what we’ve been working toward for two years! Of course you can – and you will!”
I lowered my head mournfully, a thousand doubts flooding through me. They weren’t out there for me, they were out there for Jude. I wasn’t Juniper Jane anymore, I had no following of my own. Jude had gained notoriety in his own right, branching out from No Excuse to go solo while we raised the twins.
I had been grateful to step out of the spotlight for a time, the taste of my sell-out personality still leaving an acrid taste in my mouth.
When had I ever made a decision and stuck to it? What was I doing there?
“You’re second-guessing yourself again,” Jude murmured as the din from the club outside swelled. “You’re overthinking.”
My mouth parted to argue but he knew me too well. He could read my distress all over my face.
“You go out first,” I insisted. “Warm them up at least.”
“No.”
The word was flat and firm.
“Please, Jude? I – I think I made a mistake thinking I could do this. I’m a mom now, soccer parent and – ”
“And you’re a sister, a friend, my soulmate and my muse,” he murmured, his emerald eyes boring into mine, dispelling all my fears as we shut the world out. “If it wasn’t for you, no one would even know my name, Gen.”
I felt myself relaxing, losing myself in the warmth of his hypnotic tones. He always knew just what to say, what to do to alleviate my crazy when it crept in on me.
I liked to think I did the same for him.
“You need to focus on me, just like we rehearsed,” he told me, his words even, as if he was singing them to me. “We aren’t here, we’re in the trailer, pouring over sheet music. We’re wrapped up in each other with the guitar. Close your eyes and picture it.”
Inhaling shakily, I did what he suggested and the noise from beyond the stage faded away.
Suddenly, I was in the trailer but not recently. I was there in those early days, before the twins, before the heartbreak. We were laughing and struggling to find the right lyrics, making up silly words that didn’t fit. There was a box of cold pizza and the scent of our lovemaking lingering around us.
In my mind’s eye, the scene shifted and I saw Jude, lifting Cheyenne over his head, spinning her around like a helicopter as Wyatt squealed for his turn and then we were all staring at our new house in Baton Rogue, the four of us huddled beneath the loblolly pines, the scent of gardenias wafting up from the garden to meet my nose.
Slowly, I opened my eyes and smiled at him, realizing that what he said was true. So much had changed since we had first met. My priorities were different now but my heart was still very much the same. There was room enough for my love of family and my love of music.
Jude had given me everything I ever wanted, proven here as the crowd outside waited for us to make our debut.
“There she is,” he chuckled, noting the relief in my eyes. “Crisis averted?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “I’m ready.”
He nodded, clasping my hand and tugging me through the wings.
As the curtain cleared my face, we met with the band onstage and a roar of approval greeted us. Instantly, my eyes fell on familiar faces at the front of the packed club and my pulse quickened again to make me lightheaded.
“What are they doing here?” I cried as Jude led me to the mics. He grinned boyishly and waved at Elsa and the others who seemed bursting with pride sandwiched between a mass of adoring fans.
“They’re here for you, obviously,” he whispered back and I was speechless with gratitude. They were all there, Jake, Marybeth and her husband, Charlie, Carrie and her boyfriend. I hadn’t called them. I didn’t want them to see if I failed on our first night before a live audience. This wasn’t YouTube. This wasn’t a series of “likes” and trolls. This was the real deal. We would know if we had what it took as a couple, if I had what it took at Geneva Rousseau, not Juniper Jane.
But I was so glad they had taken the trip to LA, knowing that finding sitters and taking time off work couldn’t be easy for them. I couldn’t believe that Jude had called them, knowing they still had not forgiven him, even after all that time.
“Ladies and gents,” Jude called. “Thank you all for coming to our debut live show.”
Hoots and cheers followed his announcement but Jude held up his hand, peering at me through his peripheral vision.
“Some of you know me,” he continued as the din settled slightly. “Most of you know my beautiful girlfriend and mother of my children, Geneva.”
My heart almost exploded with outpouring of screams which ensued and I blinked quickly, overcome by emotion as I saw that they really were there for both of us.
“We’ve been through a lot together,” Jude continued, his voice carrying somehow, despite our fans’ vocal adoration. “A lot of crazy shit, in fact, most of it mine.”
Appreciative laughter.
“So,” Jude said, turning toward me, his eyes gleaming with love. “I wrote this for Geneva because, without her, I’d be nothing but a wasted soul, strumming through life without purpose.”
He reached for his guitar and strapped it over his shoulder, playing lightly as the bassist found his line.
This wasn’t part of the show and I stood, watching him curiously.
“What are you doing?” I mouthed, my brow furrowing in confusion but he was focussed on the song which I had never heard.
“You held me together even when I was gone,” he sang, a sweet, melancholic tune flowing through me. “You gave me the strength to carry on.”
A lump formed in my throat as a few light whoops escaped the patrons.
“I never knew was missing in my life…”
Our eyes met and I couldn’t stop a single tear from sliding down my cheek when he dropped to his knee and beamed up at me, a gasp emanating from my lips.
“But I know now that I need you for my wife…”
I didn’t hear anything else as I knocked him to the stage, smothering his face with kisses, the shock of the moment overwhelming me. I didn’t need to hear anything else.
Jude laughed as I straddled him, his father’s guitar still pressed between us as I finally lifted my head to stare at him. There was no one else there even though I could hear the insanity from somewhere above me.
“Is that a yes?” he asked and I laughed, full streaks of tears streaming my face as I nodded.
“Of course it’s a yes,” I whispered, leaning forward to kiss his lips. “Are you sure this is what you want? I mean – ”
“Am I sure that I want to grow old with you, the mother of my children, my inspiration and the best thing that ever happened to me? Yes, I’m sure.”
“We’ve – we’ve just never talked about it,” I murmured. “Why now?”
“Because, Gen, the thought of ever being without you makes me sick inside. I was away from you and our babies long enough and whatever ride we’re about to embark upon, here, tonight, I want to do it unified.”
“Would y’all say yes already and get the show started?” Marybeth yelled onto the stage, breaking the bubble around us.
I turned to glare at her playfully.
“I already did!” I called back.
“Whoo hoo!”
“Come on,” I laughed, reluctantly climbing off him. “We better start the show before they start throwing tomatoes.”
We stood but I couldn’t resist sneaking in one last kiss before claiming my mic. Our time had come finally and no matter what happened that night or any other, we wouldn’t be apart again.
>
“Let’s do this!” Jude cried and the drummer kicked off our first song together with a smash of the cymbals.
Yes, I thought happily. Let’s do this thing called life. Together.
- The End -
Six Years Later
A Second Chance Romance (The Viera Triplets 3)
1
Draven
I watched the tablet fizz in the glass of water as my stomach made an unsettling noise. It wasn’t a hangover; it was an ulcer in the making. I had warded them off before and I hoped I didn’t have to go back to the doctor again.
I guess Indian food is out of the question for lunch, I thought wryly. Not that I ever wanted to eat Indian food but knowing that it was off limits somehow made it more appealing.
My stomach snarled again, and I silently apologized to it for the joke.
“Mr. Archer, Sarah Miller is on line one and Avery Carlissi is on line three.”
I groaned aloud and rolled my eyes before snatching up the phone.
“Take messages on both and hold all my calls until eleven,” I told Abby, glancing at my desk calendar. I stifled yet another grunt of agony as I realized what I had in store for me that day.
“Actually, hold all my calls until after lunch.”
“Yes, Mr. Archer,” Abby chirped back, and I wondered, not for the first time, if she got a kick out of dealing with the angry souls who endlessly called the offices.
She always sounded so damned happy when I told her to brush off the clients as if she thrived for the moment that she could feed someone more bad news.
I was probably imagining things, living vicariously through someone who might be happy in the realm of misery I called work.
Eyeing the glass of antacid warily, I picked it up and choked it back before I could change my mind, gagging on the liquid slightly before placing the empty glass on the desktop.
It was only Monday.
I flopped into my leather swivel chair and turned to the computer, trying to get my mind in order to face the week.
A knock on the door proved to be a happy distraction and I turned my attention to the doorframe expectantly.
“Come in!” I called, and Vern stuck his head inside.
It was comforting to see that he seemed as frazzled as I felt most days but of course I made no comment to his disheveled hair and raccoon eyes barely hidden behind his glasses.
He resembled a man doing the walk of shame home after a spotty Friday night in the city.
I tried to envision Vern drunk and the thought terrified me for some reason.
“You busy, Drave?” he asked, and I did not comment on the inane nature of the question.
Am I busy? I’m a junior partner. Of course, I’m busy.
But Vern was a senior partner. I was never too busy for him even though the world was constantly falling apart around me.
“Nope,” I lied, sitting back and exhaling as the Alker Seltzer did its magic in my stomach. “What’s up?”
“Do you know Ryerson Sterling?” he asked, and I was beginning to wonder if today was going to be ridiculous inquiry day.
If so, I didn’t get the memo.
Ryerson Sterling was likely the richest man in our part of North Carolina, a self-made billionaire with half a dozen media companies under his umbrella corporation.
I think our firm had been advertising with his stations and papers for twenty years minimally, never mind the corporate and tax accounts we had been bequeathed on his behalf.
Sterling was the closest thing to royalty New Bern had ever seen.
Still, I maintained the easy expression on my face and nodded simply.
“Of course,” I replied. “I would wager that anyone over the age of twenty-five knows who Ryerson Sterling is.”
Vern sauntered into spacious inner office and gingerly sat on the edge of a modern chic chair facing me.
He sighed heavily, and I arched an eyebrow in curiosity.
“What happened?” I demanded. “Did he kick the bucket?”
Vern’s brow knit, and he scowled slightly, shaking his head.
“It’s worse,” he replied. “His wife has filed for a divorce.”
I almost shrugged indifferently but I caught myself.
Another celebrity divorce? What’s the big deal? It happened once every sixty seconds, even in our quiet town.
I decided to voice my question.
“Why do you look so pained?” I asked and if possible, Vern appeared even more glum, his somber face becoming a mask of stone.
“Because Angeline Sterling has retained us to handle it.”
Suddenly I understood the problem.
Our firm handled most avenues of law from corporate to criminal and everything in between. The term was “full-service” law firm although I always found the name a little cheap.
It was not hard to foresee that with such clients came an entirely different spectrum of the field; divorces.
That was where was I came in.
I, along with half a dozen other associates, handled the cutthroat business of splitting up assets and division of property for those who wished to be rid of their significant others.
It wasn’t a glamorous job, but someone had to do it.
Not to mention the commissions afforded me luxuries a boy from Newark could only have dreamed of from the trailer park fold out bed which had been mine until college.
And now it seemed, I had the daunting task of fighting with one of our longest standing clients.
“You can’t entertain the idea of representing Angeline,” I gasped. “Ryerson is our client.”
Vern shook his head mournfully, his puppy dog eyes growing sadder.
“Actually,” he corrected me. “They are both our clients. Angeline’s family has been with the firm longer than Ryerson. They have always seemed like a packaged deal to you but the Voigts were here well before Sterling.”
My stomach jeered at me again.
“Does he know that she’s jumped in and hired us yet?” I asked, hoping to see some way out of the potential mess.
“I have no idea,” Vern sighed. “And it would be a conflict of interest to tell him anything.”
I knew he was right, but I also knew that Ryerson Sterling was not apt to take the news kindly.
No matter what history his soon-to-be ex-wife had with Kirkpatrick-Campbell, Ryerson was not going to enjoy having to seek out another firm for his end of the divorce proceedings.
Not when this firm knows everything about him already. It’s a conflict. It can’t happen.
“Anyway,” Vern grunted, rising to his feet like a tall, exhausted stork. “I just wanted to give you the heads up. You’re likely going to be handling her case.”
The information was a double-edged sword.
On one hand, it was flattering to know that he trusted me with such an important client but on the other hand, did I really want this on top of everything else I had to worry about?
It wasn’t like I had much of a choice in the matter. When the senior partner spoke, us minions jumped to do his bidding.
My only hope was that conflict applied and I wouldn’t have to deal with it.
A man can pray, can’t he?
I watched the senior partner walk towards the door with speculative grey eyes.
When I thought about it, I really had much less to worry about than Vern and at moments like that, I was grateful I didn’t have his job, no matter how alluring the benefits of senior partner might be.
Stop thinking that! I yelled internally. You’re cursing yourself!
Of course, I wanted to be a senior partner. What else was I working toward if not that?
“I’ll keep you updated,” he warned me, and I nodded.
“All right.”
When he retreated into the office, I gazed up at the ceiling, somehow sensing that my Monday jitters were about to get worse.
As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and I immediately tensed.
&nbs
p; “Come in,” I called, trying to keep the stress from my voice.
I exhaled in relief when I saw who it was.
She walked toward me, half-smiling in her bemused way, a paper cup in hand.
“You look as eager to seize the day as I feel,” Yvette commented, depositing the coffee before me.
“It’s Monday,” I replied easily. “Thanks.”
It had been our tradition for as long as I could remember; alternating coffee days.
Had it started in college? I could barely remember even though our school days at NYU were not that long ago.
It just seemed to me that Yvette had always been a permanent fixture in my life, bearing coffee and gracing me with that mildly amused expression as if she knew secrets which no one else did.
A strand of silken hair had slipped from her chignon and tickled her rosy cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice it as she peered over my desk and looked at the calendar upside down.
“Ooh,” she taunted. “Beasley and Hunter today. You are a glutton for punishment on a Monday morning.”
“I just want them wrapped up,” I explained, taking a sip of the double espresso, she had brought. “How many months can people argue about a cat?”
Yvette grinned and plopped unceremoniously onto the chair Vern had occupied a minute earlier.
“It is the age-old question of divorce attorneys,” she replied laughing. “If it can be fought over, it will be.”
“And people ask us why we never married,” I said.
A slightly awkward pause followed my words and I chuckled to ease the tension.
“I don’t mean you and me,” I explained, and she nodded.
“I know.”
She glanced at her hands and grinned as something occurred to her.
“I think the next time someone announced their engagement, I am going to let them sit in on a mediation for eight hours.”
I chuckled at the thought.
“It would never work,” I informed her. “No one ever thinks it’s going to happen to them.”
“I know,” Yve agreed. “That’s what makes us so much wiser. And richer.”