by Cherrie Lynn
He would have been thirty years old today. They would have gone to Brennan’s, his favorite restaurant, as they always did on his birthday. She might have skipped the bananas Foster, though, being pregnant. Knowing it was made with rum would have left her paranoid.
And her inability to drink was too bad, because she damn sure needed a glass of wine right now. She practically licked her lips staring at the bottle of chardonnay in Regina’s luxurious kitchen; her mother-in-law’s slim, perfectly manicured fingers were wrapped around a glass of it right now. So were Savannah’s.
No. Fucking. Fair. They got to indulge in a little liquid comfort for this ordeal. Here Rowan was, expected to make it through hormonal and stone-cold sober.
All too soon, the guests began to arrive, and she had to be on her best behavior. To start, it wasn’t so bad. Like any reunion, people talked, laughed, gossiped, and ate and drank. She made the rounds that were expected of her, enduring their pitying eyes, answering questions about how the pregnancy was going, and if she was getting everything ready.
And of course, the ever-present “If you need anything, call me!”
People always said it. But no one seemed to understand how hard it was to actually do.
She told the lies they all wanted to hear. Yes, she was excited. Yes, she felt well. Yes, everything was fine. Inside, she was screaming and crying and raging at them all. I don’t want to be here. He wouldn’t want me to be here if I didn’t want to be.
Tommy’s dad, Charles, was really her saving grace. He was like a big teddy bear, always with a joke or a kind word whenever they were needed. She gravitated toward him even more than Savannah, because he more than anyone else seemed to understand how overwhelming his wife could be at times.
“How you doing, kiddo?” he asked, holding his own glass of wine. Seeing him heartbroken after the death of his only son had been the worst thing she’d ever witnessed in her life.
Except for Tommy, as strong as he’d been, lying lifeless in that hospital bed. Except for the doctors telling her he was gone, a memory she fought out of her mind most days of her life since.
“I’m okay,” she said, glancing around at the guests. “I could really use one of those, though,” she teased, gesturing toward his wine.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you on that one. This was all her idea, you know. And when she gets an idea . . .”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I know.”
“Thanks for coming. You know how much we love you. I don’t see enough of you around the house.”
“I love y’all too. I’ll have to stop by more,” she said, wondering if she could follow through. Being in this house now, with all of its happy memories of holidays and parties, was making her skin crawl.
She supposed she was being a hypocrite. The people in this house couldn’t be blamed for avoiding her grief. No one wanted to be around it. Hell, she didn’t want to be around it herself.
Charles hugged her, kissed her cheek, and moved on to talk to his brother James, who had been Tommy’s favorite uncle. They’d hit the gym together a lot. James had been a wrestler and had sparked Tommy’s interest in it.
He might still be here today if he’d gone into business like his father had wanted.
She had to shake those thoughts off; they were useless. They were also inevitable, so she buried them as best she could and ambled over to where Savannah and Regina were speaking in hushed tones in the dining room.
Roughly forty-five minutes had ticked past at a glacial pace, and Rowan was beginning to wonder what the acceptable amount of time for her visit would be.
Regina smiled at her, but Savannah had a tightness around her mouth, and she was holding her wineglass in a stranglehold. As Rowan watched, suddenly suspicious, she downed half of it in a single gulp.
“I’m thinking I might leave pretty soon,” she ventured, watching her mother-in-law’s reaction. “I hope that’s okay. I’m pretty tired.”
Regina’s face remained perfectly smooth, ever the elegant hostess. “Why don’t you sit down?” she asked.
Because it won’t fucking help, she wanted to fire back. Her exhaustion was purely emotional.
“Mom,” Savannah said while Rowan was still searching for a retort, “if she’s ready, let her go. That was the deal, right?”
“I just think it would be a little rude to walk out on this many guests so soon,” Regina said. Her tone was perfectly reasonable, but Rowan could detect the anger sparking in her dark eyes, the same that she’d witnessed in the clinic parking lot.
“That was the deal, though,” Rowan said quietly. “I would show up but—”
“The deal,” Regina scoffed. “This is a deal?”
“This is your deal,” Rowan shot back, unable to hold the words in. “You’re lucky I’m here at all.”
“Don’t do this,” Savannah hissed. “Do. Not.”
Rowan licked her lips, smoothed her hands over her belly, and gathered her strength. She walked away, heading to the kitchen to search out something to quench her parched throat. The wine bottle still called to her, and one glass probably wouldn’t hurt, but Regina would throw a shrieking fit. So she served herself some of the punch and drained the glass.
“Is that good?” Tommy’s other uncle Ray teased her with a laugh.
“Needs rum,” she said, dipping out another glassful. “Lots and lots of rum.” He gave her an uneasy chuckle and sidled away. Regina was watching her with an air of stunned disbelief. Her heels clattered across the ceramic tiles as she approached.
“Don’t embarrass me, Rowan,” she warned, setting her glass down. She’d probably had just enough to remove the few filters she normally had. “You’re acting like a child.”
“Not your child, though,” she said, turning to face her fully. “Though you seem to forget that sometimes. You’re not my mother, Regina.”
“You’re right about that.” Regina’s eyes were like flint. Color was rising in her cheeks. “But we took you in like you were our daughter, when you didn’t have a mother.”
Rowan felt her hands begin to shake. The only image as horrible as Tommy lying lifeless in a hospital bed was that of her own mother, wasting away from the cancer that ravaged her already slight body. She hadn’t even seen her father after his accident, neither at the hospital or at the funeral. After his accident, he’d had a closed casket.
“I had a mother,” she said, dangerously quiet. Savannah, she noticed, had given up, set down her wineglass, and escaped up the staircase, probably going to her old bedroom. “She was wonderful. She would never have pushed me into something like this.”
“Fine. Go home, Rowan. Go home to your empty house . . . which was Tommy’s. Which we helped him pay for, I’m sure you’ll recall. Go back to the life he gave you, which was given to him by us. Go ahead. Go.” She gestured to the front door. People had been trying to politely ignore them, but by now they’d dropped all pretense and were openly staring, uncomfortable expressions all around. Rowan felt silent tears slip down her cheeks.
“Maybe you started him off in his life, but he made it himself,” she said quietly, wiping her face with a napkin she plucked from an elegantly stacked pile.
Regina clapped her hands together once, making her jump. “Oh, yes, you’re absolutely right about that as well. So go spend his money, then, instead of ours.”
“Regina,” Charles called sharply, his tone booming through the room.
“It’s okay,” Rowan assured him quickly, walking past the woman she hardly recognized anymore to head to the door. “I’m leaving.”
He tried to gently stop her. “No, Rowan, don’t. Why don’t you go lie down for a bit, and we’ll clean up and talk this all out?”
“I’m done talking,” Rowan said as Regina said, “I want her out,” at the same time.
Shaking her head, Rowan stood on tiptoe to give Charles a hug. “Thank you for everything,” she said, meaning it. He was the only one on her side, it s
eemed. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he insisted, following her when she released him and headed toward the front door, giving her apologies to all of the guests, who looked incredibly awkward but were gracious as she went by.
When she grasped the handle of the massive front door, she remembered Regina’s initial desire for this shindig and turned to address them all.
“By the way, it’s a girl. Thank you all for coming.”
And she walked out into a raging downpour.
In the silence of her car, dripping and shivering, she pulled her phone from her handbag. He answered so fast it was as if he’d been sitting on top of his own phone. “Zane?” she said, struggling to keep the anger and tears out of his voice.
“Yeah, darlin’?”
His voice was more soothing than the deep breath she drew to calm her raging heartbeat. “When do we leave for tour?”
Chapter Eight
The flight was bumpy and wretched. She hated to fly, hated it, and she didn’t even have the option of popping a Xanax.
But Zane had promised to meet her at the airport, and thirty minutes from now according to the pilot, she would see him again. That was enough reason for a double dose of Xanax.
He’d sounded genuinely thrilled that she wanted to come. Her flight had been arranged and paid for, and he’d even arranged her transportation to the airport. She hadn’t had to do a thing but pack . . . and actually go when the driver had shown up at her door. The moment of truth.
One flash of memory of Regina’s words had been enough to propel her pregnant ass out the door. Whatever else happened, she was going to have a good time just this once, try to put all the bad thoughts aside, and enjoy the life she had.
The plane touched down with a bump, and she was finally able to unclench her teeth and look out the window at the ground racing past. Her jaw ached from tension, but maybe she could grab some Tylenol at the airport.
As soon as she disembarked, though, all discomfort was forgotten. Holy shit, this was happening! He’d told her he would be waiting for her at baggage claim. Since the band had the show tomorrow night here in Atlanta, he might be trying for a clandestine look, but he hadn’t told her one way or the other, so she kept her eyes open as she tugged her rolling carry-on bag behind her. Unsure what to pack, she’d thrown a little of everything in her bags. He’d assured her she’d be able to have laundry done at the hotels.
A crowd of people already stood around the carousel she aimed for. She surveyed them, searching, searching . . . and oh God, there he was.
She’d almost forgotten the shock of seeing Zane in person, so tall and charismatic. He stood with what must be his bodyguard, and she watched as he surveyed the steady stream of travelers walking by. Looking for her. Zane Larson, standing right there by baggage claim amid an unsuspecting public, looking for Rowan Dugas. He wasn’t even in any sort of clandestine attire; his hair was pulled back and his clothes were casual. Faded jeans with Vans and a dark, fitted T-shirt. A legit rock star among these people, and they didn’t even realize it. Incredible. He could hide in plain sight.
Then their eyes connected across the river of people, and his face broke into a grin that made her heart skip a beat. He cut through the traffic with the same grace he navigated the stage, and a heart-stopping moment later, she was in his arms.
Oh my God.
He felt so good. Strong, solid, warm. She covered her eyes with the hand that wasn’t pressed against his back, horrified that she was going to cry. “I’m so glad you came,” he said, his voice deep next to her ear. It raised the hair at her nape.
“Me too,” she said, wobbling a bit as he drew back to look at her.
“You look gorgeous. Was your flight okay?”
“As well as can be expected.” She chuckled, still reeling from that hug. Keeping his arm around her shoulders, Zane navigated her over by the baggage carousel.
“Point out your bag and Jase will grab it. Then we can blow this scene. Fuck, it’s good to see you. We’re gonna have a great time. I still can’t quite believe you did it.”
“You thought I would chicken out?” Rowan let a teasing note of accusation enter her tone. His grin widened.
“Will you smack me if I say yes?”
“Smack you? Nah. I’d say you’d gotten to know me pretty well. I still can’t quite believe I’m here either. But I’m glad.”
“Are you hungry, thirsty? Anything you need?”
She shook her head, watching the bags as they descended on the belt and thumped onto the carousel. Finally hers came into view. “There it is. The red one.”
Zane motioned with his free hand and Jase hopped into action, snatching it right away. Only then did he walk over to join them. Zane clapped him on the back. “Rowan, this is Jase. This guy right here is my right hand. You need anything and I’m not around, go to him. He’ll take care of you. Jase, Rowan Dugas.”
Jase offered a gigantic hand for her to shake, and hers disappeared in its grip. He was at least six-five if he was an inch, big and barrel-chested with a bald head and cold, flinty dark eyes. “Pleasure, Rowan.” His voice was pleasant enough, not the Rottweiler bark she had expected.
“Nice to meet you,” she returned, thinking she wouldn’t ever want to get on his bad side, and feeling sorry for anyone who had. If she remembered correctly, she’d seen a few fans complain about him on social media, but it was good that Zane had someone with Jase’s dedication looking out for him. There were crazy people out there.
A limo was waiting for them outside at the curb.
Immediate flashbacks swamped her, of riding to the Houston show with Savannah. Back then, with her sister-in-law, she’d been able to squeal over the opulence of it, but now she had to play it cool. Despite his casual attire, Zane sprawled in the leather seat like he belonged there. And he did. She felt so horribly out of place she was afraid to move lest she break something or otherwise make a fool of herself.
Jase sat across from them, gigantic arms crossed, making small talk while they pulled away from the airport. Rowan was simply trying to keep her hands from visibly shaking. She’d hoped, after all of their conversations, that seeing Zane again would be like seeing an old friend, but no. It had thrown her into a tizzy no less intense than the very first time, when she’d nearly fainted in front of him in his dressing room. She could barely recall that conversation.
Funny how nothing could change, but everything could change. Her reaction to him was no less intense than it had always been, but her feelings ran so much deeper. She could no longer blame this attraction on his voice, or on being starstruck. It was him. It was the juxtaposition of security and danger. The way he looked at her, the way he knew her when he shouldn’t. He made her feel like everything was fine when nothing was fine. Calm in the middle of crazy. Right in the middle of so much wrong.
His knee pressed against hers. His hands rested casually on his thighs, fingers long and graceful, a musician’s hands. He wanted to put those hands on her body. He’d said as much. She honestly didn’t know if she would survive letting him do so.
The hotel wasn’t far, so she didn’t have long to agonize over it. They swept through the luxurious lobby and into the glass elevators, riding up to the top floor. It all passed as if in a dream. Rowan found herself staring down at her forearm as the capsule shot them up and up, thinking she should pinch herself to see if she would wake up alone in her bed at home.
But no. She’d done this. She’d taken the plunge, said “fuck you” to all reason and gotten on the plane. Whatever happened . . . she supposed she was ready.
“The room is under Richard N. Balzac,” Zane informed her as the elevator slowed to a stop. He stared nonchalantly up at the digital floor number, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, grinning. It took a moment, but once Rowan surveyed his expression and then Jase’s smirk, the meaning dawned on her, and she laughed. Dick ’n’ ball sack.
“Clever.”
“My inner twelve-year-old t
hinks so.”
The doors swept open. Jase led them out, pulling Rowan’s rolling luggage behind him. All she was aware of was Zane’s gentle touch at the small of her back, wondering how that touch would feel if it grew insistent, desperate, frenzied. If he would be gentle or rough, demanding or eager to please. If she was even ready to let him show her.
Jase dropped off her luggage in the suite, taking it into what appeared to be a second bedroom, and while her anxiety eased up a thousandfold, a little disappointment gnawed in her gut. At least Zane wasn’t being presumptuous. He was leaving this all up to her, and she appreciated him so much for it. More than she could say.
But then Jase said his goodbyes, exhorting Zane to text when they were ready to go to dinner, and they were alone in this massive suite.
“Tired?” Zane asked, watching her as she took in the classy, minimalist surroundings. Deep, plush rugs, a wall of windows showing the gorgeous skyline, couches piled with pillows. Hell, if she didn’t have her own bed, she could happily sleep in the living room.
“I’m okay, actually. Glad to finally be here.”
“Jase mentioned going out, and I had planned on it, but if you wanted to stay in, we could totally do that. Say the word.”
Rowan mentally went over the wardrobe she’d packed, wondering if it included anything suitable for dining wherever he wanted to go. He must have read her mind, because he said, “My tastes are pretty mundane. I’m happier in a burger or pizza joint than I am in some elegant restaurant.”
“And yet you’re in the penthouse,” she teased.
“Yeah, well . . . I do have my concessions to fame, I suppose.”
Then an awkward silence descended, and she ambled over to gaze out the bank of windows. “Beautiful,” she said, struggling for anything to talk about. “I’ve never been here before. I got to travel quite a bit with Tommy’s fighting, which I always enjoyed.”
He was watching her; she could feel the weight of his gaze as if he’d touched her. It made her feel self-conscious, unsteady. She absently ran her hand down her belly, feeling huge all of a sudden. Hell, she felt twice as big as when he had seen her before.