Holiday Loves
Page 51
With painfully slow movements, he lowered the strap of my dress, then shimmied my panties down my thighs to the floor. I stood naked before him. His eyes darkened, his pupils taking up the circumference of his irises. He only broke our connection as he lifted me into his arms and then carried me to the bed. Laying me down, he stepped back to strip away his clothes, and like a predator, crept back up the bed.
* * *
Sunlight filtered in, and as my eyes fluttered open, I briefly forgot where I was. But plush bedding and gentle breathing from beside me reminded me that I was with Owen and today he would leave. We hadn’t spoken of a future; I wanted one, but declarations hadn’t been uttered. And although I prayed for it, I knew the chance was slim. I lived in New York and he lived in Chicago. We had known each other for less than two weeks.
* * *
It had only been an hour since Owen left, and I found myself lying in my apartment when my phone rang. Owen.
“I only have a few seconds. The plane is on the runway about to take off, and I know it might sound crazy, and I don’t expect you to respond or say it back, but I love you.” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t form words. I tried, but my voice had been rendered useless.
“I—” It was as if my mouth was sewn shut; I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say back. As I tried to speak, I heard someone in the background and then Owen’s breath in the phone.
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” Then I heard the sound of the phone hanging up.
He was gone.
Tears fell.
Every image from our weekend played back. Every smile. Every smirk. Every glimmer of his eye.
The tears fell faster and faster.
I couldn’t let him go without telling him. He needed to know. Even though I was scared and I wasn’t sure how this would all work out in the end, I knew I loved him, too. As crazy as that sounded, I had fallen in love with him.
Picking up the phone, I dialed him back. It didn’t even ring, but went straight to voicemail. He must be in the air now. But now that I knew how I felt, I would keep calling. Because now that I knew, I needed to expel the words.
Time crept by, and when the two-hour mark came and went, I called again. Voicemail again. I didn’t leave a message. I would give him another few minutes to land and then I would try again.
Another twenty minutes passed and his phone rang, but he still didn’t answer. This time I left a message.
“Please call me back. I have something to tell you.”
I tried to keep myself busy, to distract myself, but every task seemed meaningless. The words left unsaid danced against my tongue, and I wondered if this was it. If I had lost my chance. Familiar feelings started to choke my mind, blanketing me in self-doubt.
By the time I was laying down for the night I still had not heard from him. But he said he loved me . . .
When the clock hit nine, my phone rang and I jumped. Excitement coursed through me, and my hand shook as I picked it up.
“Hi.”
“Sorry it took me so long to call you back. My brother picked me up at the airport, and then we had dinner with my parents. Is everything okay?”
“I love you,” I blurted out.
“What?” He sounded confused.
“I love you. I know I didn’t say it before. When you did—”
“I didn’t tell you that expecting you to say it back. We’ve only known each other for nine days and been around each other for half that time, so I understand—”
“No, I do. I do love you. From that moment on the stairs, I knew—”
“The stairs? That’s when you knew?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t find you and I got scared that you left, and, well, when I saw you . . .”
“When you saw me you knew,” he said in his confident voice, already knowing my answer.
“Yes,” I confirmed, my voice sounding stronger, conveying the level of my feelings toward him.
He let out a soft chuckle. “That’s the moment I knew, too. When you were standing there, I saw the look in your eyes. The way the light hit them, I could see the unshed tears. That moment I realized I never wanted to see you cry. That I would do anything to see you smile, and when I went to you and you did, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life seeing that.”
“I feel the same way. But I’m here and you’re there. Now what do we do?” I all but whispered through the phone.
“We make it work,” he said with no hesitation.
“But how?” My own unsure voice gave me away.
“Don’t worry about that, Emma. I’ll make it work.” Again, there was no falter in his voice. He meant every word and I believed him.
We would be together.
* * *
Owen stood in the great ornate space in front of me. He didn’t look nervous, only happy and in love, and when his eyes met mine and his smile spread across his face, everyone in the room could see how in love he was. This moment had always been my favorite, but when it happened to me it was unlike any feeling I had ever experienced. Hope. Home. Family.
I was complete.
* * *
Imperfect Truth
Through Her Eyes
trans·fer·ence
ab·so·lu·tion
Illicit
Clandestine
Sordid
Explicit
* * *
Ava Harrison is a USA Today and Amazon bestselling author.
When she’s not journaling her life, you can find her window shopping, cooking dinner for her family, or curled up on her couch reading a book.
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Gone For You
Jayne Frost
* * *
My knee bounced up and down as the cab inched along in the heavy afternoon traffic on I-35. Pulling out my cell phone, I hit redial.
“Yeah?” Logan answered, sounding as frazzled as I felt.
“Have you heard anything?” Biting off a piece of my nail, I spit it onto the floorboard.
The cab driver glared at me in the rearview mirror, and I gave him an apologetic smile.
“Not in the last five minutes,” Logan said. “I told you I’d call if I heard anything. Where are you?”
Dragging a hand through my hair, I looked around for anything remotely familiar. But it was no use. I was from Austin, for Christ’s sake. And the only time I ventured the two-hundred miles north to Dallas was for a gig.
“Fuck, dude. I have no clue.”
“Just get here as fast as you can. Christian’s phone is still off.”
Logan’s voice held an edge of fear. The same undercurrent fluttering in my belly.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just call if…”
“Yeah, yeah, I will. Fuck. Lindsey’s here. I gotta go.”
He hung up before I could reply. Normally, I was a buffer between Logan and our half-witted manager, Lindsey. The insensitive bitch could work him up in a hot minute under the best of circumstances. Today? I’d be lucky if he didn’t kill her before I arrived to stop him.
Meeting the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror, I asked, “Hey, man, how much farther?”
Shrugging, he shifted his focus back to the road. “About twenty minutes in this traffic.”
He turned the music up to avoid further conversation, so I took off my glasses and rubbed my tired eyes. When I got the call that Christian had been in an accident, I jumped in the first cab I could find, not bothering to wait for the car service our record label had on standby. At the moment, I regretted that particular decision. The cab looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a year, and the driver reeked like he hadn’t bathed in just as long. His funk permeated the entire space.
I hit the button to crack the window. Nothing. Another failed attempt and I barked over the sound syste
m, “Hey, can you open the window back here?”
“No can do. Too many fumes out there.”
Unfuckingbelievable. It smelled like a dog’s ass in here, and the dude was oblivious. Dropping my head against the back of the seat, I stared at the stains on the ceiling.
“Before we get back to our super set, we’ve got some news,” the DJ on the local rock station began in a somber voice. “I’ve just gotten word that Christian Sears, bassist for the band Caged, has been involved in an accident this afternoon in Dallas.”
I jerked upright. “Turn that up!”
Startled, the driver did as I asked.
“We haven’t got any official word yet on his condition,” the commentator continued. “Caged is scheduled to perform this Saturday at the AT&T Stadium for the Rock Texas Music Festival. We’ll keep y’all advised. Our thoughts are with you, Christian.” And just like that, the DJ’s voice morphed into his cheery radio persona. “And now back to our Monday super set. Here’s the latest from Caged, ’Above Me,’ on 97.1 The Eagle.”
Cursing the traffic, my headache, and the God-awful smell, I hit the cracked, vinyl seat with a balled fist.
“I knew you looked familiar,” the cabbie said, when he coasted to a stop at yet another snarl in traffic. “You’re Colin, right? The guitarist from Caged?”
“Cameron.” My attempt at a smile failed miserably. “Cameron Knight.”
“Man, I love your music.” Gunning the engine, he cut across two lanes of traffic and maneuvered the cab onto the shoulder. “I’ll get you there as soon as I can. Hold on.”
My shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
As the taxi barreled past the four lanes of gridlock, I curled my fingers around the edge of the seat so I wouldn’t slide into the door. The dread coating my stomach slithered north, a ball of cement in my throat. Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard against the bitter taste. And for the first time in a long time, I prayed.
* * *
Scanning the waiting room of the emergency ward at Parkland Memorial, I spotted Logan seated in the corner, doing his best to look inconspicuous. As inconspicuous as a six-foot-four-inch rock star with long, blond hair in a three-hundred-dollar, custom fitted shirt could look. At his side, Lindsey tapped on her iPhone.
Jerking her gaze to mine when I walked up, she said, “Cameron, it’s about time you got here.”
Her annoying voice faded as I focused on Logan. He wasn’t easy to read, but the lines on his brow and the serious set of his jaw gave him away. He was worried. “Heard anything?” I managed to choke out.
“They’re taking him back for a CAT scan or an MRI,” he said quietly, his gaze darting to the people sneaking glances at us. “Something like that. Checking for internal injuries. I haven’t seen him yet. The doc says it doesn’t look serious.”
“Thank God.” I sank onto the chair beside him with a thud. “Where’s Sean?” Looking around for the missing member of our band, I noticed a couple of camera phones pointed in our direction.
“Cafeteria,” Logan grumbled. “He left as soon as he heard Christian was in the clear. Fucker is a bottomless pit.”
Chuckling, I took a couple deep breaths, and the tension ebbed from my body. “So now we just wait, huh?” When Logan nodded, I stretched my legs, crossing them at the ankle. Out of habit, I dropped my gaze to the floor. Caged wasn’t newsworthy enough to garner the attention of the mainstream press, but our celebrity made us ripe for tabloid fodder. I didn’t want this little meeting to end up on TMZ. Or worse.
Lindsey heaved a sigh. “You guys should head back to the hotel and get some rest.”
If she was genuinely concerned for our well being, that would be one thing. But that wasn’t it. We had a show coming up. Media commitments. Rehearsals. Lindsey was only protecting her investment.
Shrinking in her seat when Logan and I scowled at her, she went back to fidgeting with her phone. But Logan was done. I could see it in his eyes.
“You know what, Lindsey? he snapped, failing to hide his disdain. “Why don’t you get the fuck out of here? And do…whatever it is you do.”
She blinked at him. But before she could reply, her phone rang, snagging her attention. “I have to take this.” Hopping to her feet, she headed for the automatic doors.
Jaw clenched, Logan tracked her movements. “I’m about to strangle her, bro. Her phone has been going off every five minutes. She actually had the nerve to ask if I could do a phone interview while we waited.”
I glared at Lindsey through the dirty windows. Pacing in a tight circle, she puffed on a cigarette, her arms flapping as she spoke. I couldn’t stand the woman. Hiring a company from L.A. to manage us was the biggest mistake we ever made. At the time we didn’t know any better, but every day it got harder to deal with her shit.
A petite redhead in blue scrubs sidled into the room. Logan and I sat up when she headed straight for us. She appeared to be our age, mid-twenties, and she was seriously cute, with flaming red hair and big green eyes. And from the way her gaze lingered on our faces, she knew exactly who we were.
“Are y’all waiting for news on Mr. Sears?” We nodded in unison and she glanced down at her clipboard. “Um…Christian…Mr. Sears, has been admitted for observation.” When Logan’s face fell, she added quickly, “He’s going to be fine. It’s just a precaution. He’s asking for you.” Her gaze volleyed to me. “Both of you.”
We were on our feet, our sights set on the double doors marked “trauma,” before she’d even finished.
“No, wait—you can’t go through there,” she called, rushing after us. “He’s on the fourth floor. Room 402.”
Logan powered to the bank of elevators while I paused to offer her a smile. “Thanks, darlin’. Our friend Sean went to the cafeteria. He’s about six two and—”
“I know what Sean looks like.” She fluttered her long lashes. “I’ll tell the duty nurse to send him up as soon as he comes back.”
“Thanks again…” I dropped my gaze to her name tag. “Sophia.”
“You’re welcome…Cameron.”
When her smile turned from shy to downright seductive, I glanced at her left hand for a ring. Force of habit. Finding no band, I inched a little closer.
“Cameron!” Logan bellowed. “Come on!”
Shrugging, I tossed the cute little nurse a wink and then sauntered toward him.
“You’re a fucking dog,” he muttered, hitting the button for the fourth floor when I stepped onto the elevator.
“Woof,” I growled as the doors whooshed closed on Sophia and her pretty green eyes still glued on me from across the room.
* * *
“Dude, it’s not funny.” Christian winced, clutching his side. “My ribs are killing me.”
Perched at the foot of the bed, I frowned at him. “That’s what you fucking get. Why would you go for a bike ride in the middle of the city when you don’t even know where you’re going?”
The band usually stayed in Irving when we were here, close to the old stadium. We knew that area. But this time the promotor had booked us at the Omni Hotel in the middle of downtown Dallas. No bike lanes, and nothing but four lane highways and busy side streets as far as the eye could see.
Christian shrugged sheepishly. “I needed the exercise.”
That proved my theory that the cure was worse than the disease. Of the four of us, only Christian would have a bike delivered so he could get in his ten miles instead of going to the gym at the hotel like a normal person.
“When are they letting you out of here?” Logan asked, pushing off the wall where he’d been standing.
“Tomorrow.” Christian stifled a yawn, his eyes drifting closed for a second as he spoke. “They’re keeping me here in case I have an aneurysm or something.”
The worry lines etched on Logan’s brow deepened.
According to the doctor, Christian had a slight concussion and a hairline fracture on two of his ribs. Other than the pain meds that were making
him drowsy, he didn’t appear any worse for the wear. The door swung open, and Sean Hudson, our drummer, stepped inside.
“Took you long enough, dickhead,” Christian said, a lopsided smile creeping over his face. “I could have been dying while you were wolfing down a burrito.”
Ignoring the comment, Sean crossed the room, laying a hand on Christian’s shoulder. “You ever pull something like this again; I’ll kick your ass. You’ll be playing that bass from a wheelchair.”
Christian smiled up at Sean, patting the hand that was pressed to his shoulder. “I’m good, bro. Just a few bumps and bruises.”
“Jesus,” Logan groaned. “I need to get the fuck out of here. Before I grow a vagina.”
Logan wasn’t comfortable with this type of emotion. Never had been. I was surprised it took him this long to reach his limit.
“Don’t…shit…don’t make me laugh,” Christian snorted, wincing as his hand flew to his side. His shoulders quaked, and he tried to choke back his laugh.
Lindsey’s high-pitched squeal drifted from the hallway, sucking the air out of the room.
“I’m Mr. Sears’ manager,” she huffed. “Of course he wants to see me.”
Barging into the room a second later with a nurse on her tail, Lindsey’s five-inch heels clicked on the worn linoleum.
“Christian,” she cooed in a saccharine sweet voice. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Christian nodded at the nurse who looked ready to snatch our manager’s Chanel purse and strangle her with the gold chain. “It’s fine,” he said in an apologetic tone. “She can stay.”
With a final glare at Lindsey’s back, the nurse spun on her heel and retreated from the room, her ponytail swinging behind her.
“Spreading sunshine wherever you go, eh, Lindsey?” Christian asked wearily, throwing an arm over his forehead.