Hot Nashville Nights

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Hot Nashville Nights Page 15

by Sheri WhiteFeather


  I told him what I wanted, and he furrowed his bushy white eyebrows. My hope waned. His reaction didn’t strike me as positive.

  “I only have one black diamond,” he said. “And I just set it in a piece this morning.”

  “If I buy it, can you remove it from the setting?” I was determined to make this work in my favor. I didn’t want to leave empty-handed. Or empty-hearted, I thought.

  “Sure, I could do that. But maybe you better take a look at it. It’s over five carats and is a rare stone. I’m not trying to lose a sale, but it’s a pricey piece of jewelry.”

  “I’m not concerned about that.” I would spend whatever was necessary to have a stone and have it today. I’d already talked myself into thinking I needed it.

  He looked me over, probably thinking I was crazy. Maybe I was. But I didn’t care. I was hell-bent on leaving here with my talisman.

  “It’s over this way.” He came out from behind the counter and led me to a small glass case.

  I spotted the diamond before he pointed it out, and my heart slammed to the back of my throat. It was set in a woman’s ring. A solitaire. Just the stone and a shiny gold band.

  “It’s an emerald cut,” he said.

  I didn’t know one style from another, but the diamond was a rectangular shape. The color was opaque, denser than I would’ve expected. Yet it still seemed magical. I leaned over the case, staring at it through the glass.

  “Most black diamonds on the market are man-made,” he said.

  “But this isn’t?”

  “No. It’s completely natural and untreated.”

  I was mesmerized. Not only by the diamond, but by the ring itself. Now I wanted to buy it for Alice, which made no sense. There was no guarantee that I would win her back. Or that the song I was going to write would even reach her ears. She might refuse to listen to anything I had to say.

  But I still had to try. I wasn’t going to mention how close I’d come to relapsing in the song. That needed to be said in person, face to face, eye to eye, if I ever got the opportunity to talk to her again.

  “Is it an engagement ring?” I asked.

  “That’s what I designed it to be.” He unlocked the case and removed it, turning the price tag in my direction.

  The cost didn’t deter me. I held the ring in my hand, feeling its energy. “I heard that black diamonds represent strength and power.”

  “That’s true. They do. But they also represent relationships that are destined to prevail, no matter what the odds.”

  Now I knew, absolutely knew, I was making the right decision. I loved Alice enough to devote myself to her, to try to be the man she needed. So why not ask her to marry me, if it was possible? A humble proposal, I thought, fraught with hope.

  “I want it,” I said. “But don’t remove the stone from the setting. Keep the ring intact.”

  “That’s a wise choice.” He studied me. “Wise, indeed.”

  Did he suspect that I was lost and trying to find my way? Could he tell that I was aching over an estranged lover? Or how desperate I was to win her back?

  We returned to the front counter, and I gave him a credit card for the purchase.

  He put the ring in a velvet box and said, “This is some of my finest work. Natural black diamonds can be difficult to cut. That’s part of why they command a higher price. I could’ve easily fractured it.”

  “But you didn’t.” And now the ring was in my possession. A symbol of strength and power and defying the odds.

  But would Alice give me a chance? Or did I have too many strikes against me to repair the damage I’d done?

  Fourteen

  Alice

  I spent several distraught hours alone in my condo, trying to escape the pain. I wanted to crawl into a deep, dark cavernous hole and never come out. But when the solitude became too much to bear, I called Tracy and my sister, asking them to come over.

  After they settled in, the three of us gathered at my dining room table. I sipped the chamomile tea Mary had brewed and relayed my story.

  “Oh, no,” was all Tracy could seem to manage. She looked stunned beyond words.

  Mary, however, slipped into repair mode. I recognized the fix-it need in her eyes. It was her nature to try to hold everything and everyone together. She hadn’t been able to cure Mama’s depression, though. Our mother should have gotten professional help for that.

  “Would it be so bad to have Kirby as your father?” Mary asked. “It’s obvious how much he cares about you. Plus, you’d have Brandon, Tommy and Matt as your big brothers, and their kids would be your nieces and nephews. You’d have a whole new family.” She paused. “You should agree to take the DNA test. You should try to embrace this, no matter how it turns out.”

  I gaped at her. “Don’t you even care that Mama cheated on Daddy? That she lied to us and told us she only had one affair with Kirby?”

  “It concerns me, yes. Absolutely. But what’s the point of being angry about it now? Mama is gone. We can’t be mad at her over it. That’ll only make things worse.”

  Easy for her to say, I thought, with her perfect life. “You’re not the one whose paternity is in question.” She hadn’t been betrayed by the man she loved, either. I still couldn’t believe that Spencer had kept Kirby’s secret the entire time we were lovers. “If Kirby is my dad, then what? Am I just supposed to forget about Joel and his family?”

  “Of course not. This isn’t a case of you shunning Joel’s family or not keeping him close to your heart. He’s my dad, too.”

  “He’s your dad for certain,” I reminded her.

  Mary sighed. “I get that you’re hurting. And I know you’re devastated about Spencer’s involvement in it, too. But I think he really was trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to be in love with him anymore.” I glanced at Tracy, drawing empathy from her. She knew what it was like to be left in shambles by someone she loved.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” Mary said, interrupting my sad exchange of looks with Tracy. “After everything you went through when we were kids, you deserve to be happy.” She heaved another sigh. “I can’t do much about Spencer. But do you want me to kick Kirby’s ass for you?”

  I knew she was joking, but I appreciated her saying it, anyway. “Thanks, but you care about him too much to do that.” He’d even walked her down the aisle at her wedding. “He should be your dad, not mine.”

  “Oh, sure.” She cringed. “And how creepy would that be? Me married to his son?”

  “That might be a bit of problem.” I found the will to laugh. But mostly I was just trying to keep from crying. Kirby was the last person on earth I wanted as a parent.

  I finished my tea, and Mary popped up to refill it. She probably would’ve baked my favorite raspberry cookies if the ingredients were available.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “About the DNA test?” I shredded the cover of a fashion magazine I’d left on the table, tearing it bit by bit. “I can’t even think about that right now. I can’t deal with any of this, least of all what Spencer did to me. I was so careful when I first started sleeping with him, doing whatever I could not to get attached.”

  Mary put the teapot down. “You can’t help who you love.”

  “And he doesn’t even love me back.”

  My sister frowned. “How do you know he doesn’t?”

  “He never said that he did, not even when I called him out on it.”

  Tracy caught my gaze. “Would you get back together with him if he said it?”

  “I don’t know if there’s anything he could say or do that would make a difference now.” I piled up the shorn paper. “He didn’t just keep an important secret from me. He broke my trust, my heart.”

  Ripping me clean apart.

  * * *

  I
cried myself to sleep that night, and the next morning I got up, needing to get away from Nashville. I texted Mary and Tracy and told them I was leaving town for a few days and not to worry about me.

  But where should I go? I considered flying to LA and staying at the Chateau, but that would only remind me of Spencer.

  I opted for Oklahoma City, returning to the place where I grew up and where my youthful rebellion had begun. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, that was going to accomplish. But it was where my fractured heart was taking me.

  I got myself together and packed a bag, preparing for a long drive. On a good day, it would take about ten hours.

  And this wasn’t a good day.

  I took breaks along the way, stopping to eat and use public restrooms. By the time I made it, it was pitch dark, and I was exhausted. I checked into a motel with an old-fashioned neon sign, a gimmicky illusion of simpler times.

  My room was adequate: a full-size bed, a standard nightstand, a faux wood table and a generic TV. I could’ve gone to a luxury hotel, but I liked the privacy this offbeat motel provided.

  I showered, using the mini soap, and went to bed in wrinkled pajamas. I was far from the fashionista I normally was.

  I slept fitfully, pushing the covers away, then pulling them back up. Nonetheless, I awakened early and decided on fast food for breakfast.

  The mopey teenager behind the counter kept stealing glances at the world outside her job, and I was tempted to tell her to appreciate her youth and not throw it away like I’d done. But I doubted that she was interested in hearing what a lonely twenty-five-year-old had to say.

  I sat by a window, with a dismal view of the parking lot, and picked at a ham-and-egg sandwich.

  Two cups of coffee later, I drove to the park where Mary and I had sprinkled Mama’s ashes. It pained me to hate my mother, especially with how vehemently I’d loved her in the past.

  I exited my car and walked down a bumpy path, heading for the enormous oak we’d chosen as Mama’s unofficial marker.

  I found it, tall and strong, amid a grouping of smaller trees. Thankfully, there was no one in this section of the park except for me. I stood at the base of the tree, its branches spiraling above my head.

  Was Mama’s spirit here?

  “Why did you keep so many secrets?” I asked her in a soft and shaky voice.

  I waited for her to defend herself. But there was no answer. Not even a leaf blowing at my feet.

  “And what about Kirby?” I went on to say. “Is he my father? He seems to think that he is.”

  Once again, there was nothing, no insight into Mama’s side of the story. Clearly, this was getting me nowhere. But I kept waiting for a sign. A hope, a glimmer. Something that proved she was listening.

  I dropped down in the dirt and drew flowery pictures with a stick. I even glanced up at the sky and looked for heavenly shapes in the clouds. But no ghostly stirrings materialized, no mother-daughter comfort.

  I should’ve called it quits and left the park. Instead, I told her about Spencer. I talked and talked, revealing how deeply he affected me. I’d never shared these sorts of feelings with her before. But there’d never been a boy worth mentioning until now. Of course, Spencer wasn’t a boy. He was the man I’d mistakenly fallen in love with.

  I paused, then said, “Spencer and Kirby are really close. They’re extremely loyal to each other. But it’s so confusing, with how hurt and angry I am.” I glanced up at the sky again, frustrated that I couldn’t feel her presence.

  Still, I prattled on. “Kirby said that he’s sorry for everything he did. He even took responsibility for seducing you. And get this—he wants to be my dad. He seems to want it more than anything.” I sighed to myself. “Maybe I need to take that DNA test. Maybe knowing the truth will make it easier.”

  But could I do it without Spencer? I put my hand in my pocket and clutched my phone. Should I call him? Should I confide in him? Or would that be too painful?

  “Tell me what to do, Mama,” I said, still talking to my dead mother and getting no answers.

  Was I wrong, the way I’d left Spencer, with no concern for his feelings or well-being? I’d told him that I loved him, but what kind of love was that?

  Did I owe him an apology for getting so angry, for blaming him for everything that went wrong? I hadn’t given him time to come to terms with his feelings. I’d chastised him for his fear and confusion, instead of letting him work through it. Maybe if I’d stayed there with him, if we’d...

  Just as I prepared to call him, my phone vibrated against my hand. I checked the notifications and discovered a text from Spencer with a video attached.

  Oh, my God.

  I watched the video, my heart quaking, my pulse skittering. He’d written a song for me, a haunting ballad, and taped himself singing it at his piano.

  I played it, over and over. The music was soft and compelling, the lyrics honest and tender. I found it beautifully romantic, but laced with angst, too. A man struggling to find his way back to the woman he loved and asking for her forgiveness.

  He’d titled it “Spencer in Love.”

  I was wrong when I’d told Tracy that I didn’t know if Spencer could say or do anything that would make a difference to me now. His song was a reflection of who he was, of how he felt, of how much he loved and needed me.

  Just as I loved and needed him.

  I peered up at the sky one last time. Maybe Mama was here after all, guiding me toward my future.

  * * *

  I called Spencer, and we raced through an emotional conversation, our hearts beating much too fast. We needed to talk calmly in person. He offered to come to me, saying that he would book the first available flight, whether it be a private jet or commercial airline. Then tomorrow, we could drive back to Nashville together.

  We ended the call, and I heard from him again a short time later. He couldn’t get a flight as soon as he’d hoped. He wouldn’t be here until tonight.

  I headed to the mall and shopped for a new outfit to wear, then spent the rest of the day cooped up in my motel, thinking about how it was going to feel to see him.

  Evening finally rolled around, and I sat on the edge of the bed, awaiting his arrival. He was due any moment. He’d texted me from his Lyft.

  A knock sounded, and I jumped up.

  I opened the door, and there he was, all six feet two inches of him, dressed in a leather jacket and his usual torn jeans. Yet in spite of his familiarity, he seemed different. When I searched his gaze, I noticed a nervous flicker in his eyes. But I ignored it. I was anxious, too.

  “Alice.” He said my name, and I practically fell into his arms.

  He wrapped me in his warmth, in the strength of his body, and we stood in the doorway, locked in a desperate embrace. His mouth found mine, and we kissed. I stood on my toes to reach him. He was wearing boots, and I was in ballet-style flats.

  We separated, and I led him into the room. Neither of us spoke for a minute. We simply breathed each other in.

  Then he said, “You look so pretty. But you always do.”

  “Thank you.” I gestured to my ensemble. “I bought this today.” A feminine blouse and a short black miniskirt. “We can go to a nicer place. A hotel, if you prefer.”

  “I’d rather be here, where you chose to stay.” He glanced around, as if he was picturing me alone the night before. “I’m sorry that I put you through so much misery.”

  “I’m sorry, too, for not giving you time to figure yourself out.” I paused to consider the look in his eyes. He still seemed nervous. Maybe too nervous? It made me wonder if something was wrong.

  He removed his jacket and hung it on the back of a dining chair. “I made so many mistakes.”

  “We both did.” I couldn’t fault him for his, not when I’d created problems of my own. “I love the song you wrote for me.” I’d t
old him over the phone how incredible it was, but I thought it was important to repeat it. I’d also told him that I’d made peace with my mother at the park, and I was willing to take the DNA test to unmask my paternity.

  He released an audible breath. “You were always meant to be my muse, but I never expected to need you so badly.”

  “I feel the same way about you.”

  We stared silently at each other, and in spite of the depth of emotion between us, our reunion turned awkward. Something definitely wasn’t right.

  Unsure of what else to do, I inquired about his mentor. “Does Kirby know you’re here? Did you tell him I was in Oklahoma and that you were coming to see me?”

  “Yes, I’m keeping him informed.” He hesitated. “Are you going to be able to handle it if he’s your dad?”

  “I’ll do the best I can.” I didn’t want to hold grudges anymore, to keep hating Kirby. I’d spent too many years mired in anger. I didn’t know how easy it was going to be, letting go of all that hurt, but I was willing to try. For myself, for Spencer. I was even doing it for my mom. “It’s going to be scary taking the test, though.”

  He nodded. “Waiting for the results will probably be the hardest part.”

  “I’ll definitely be on pins and needles.” I studied his solemn expression. “I still want to help you find your dad when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.” He tugged a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “I need to tell you something that I didn’t include in my song.”

  “Go ahead.” At least now I would know what was troubling him.

  He frowned. “I almost drank again. When I was alone and missing you, I opened up a bottle of rum, the same brand I played around with on the night we first hooked up.”

  My heart skipped a worried beat. “But you didn’t drink it?”

  “No. But I came horribly close.”

  “Are you still craving a drink?”

  “I’m not craving anything except to be with you. But are you sure you want to be with me? Even if I stay on the straight and narrow, even if my nightmares go away, I’ll always be a recovering alcoholic. That’ll always be in my blood.”

 

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