by Lyla Dune
He entered the corner pub. As he’d expected, he was immediately bombarded by locals. Reporters stalked him, snapping pictures of various women who flirted with him. He drank until he was able to let the crowd fade into the background.
His mind drifted to Sam. He’d considered getting her phone number from the Marshalls, but they weren’t in Cardiff. They’d gone back to New York for a spell. He could probably get their number from Graeme, but then he’d have to explain why he needed it, which meant he’d have to come up with some far-fetched lie or tell the truth. Neither of those options appealed to him. At all.
Why hadn’t Sam called?
He closed his eyes and envisioned her looking up at him as he’d entered her. She had had the most captivating expression, as if she’d been found, which is exactly how he’d felt. Found. The soft moans she made drove him wild. The way she said his name as she gripped his arms, rocking her body against his, her desperate need for release. When she’d come for him, each time she’d been less inhibited than the time before until she was screaming in passion, and he was lost inside her. She had ripped his heart wide open and kissed his soul. Now that he knew she was out there, that a woman with the ability to bring him to life existed, he had to be with her.
He downed another pint. In his mind he saw Sam on the beach, her long blonde hair in the wind, her nude tanned body backlit by the setting sun, a smile on her face, and an outstretched hand beckoning him.
He felt himself smile, and a bright flash went off in front him. He blinked and pushed away a camera aimed at his face, centimeters from his nose. “Bugger off. “ He snatched the camera out of the pot-bellied imbecile’s hand and slammed it on the bar, breaking it into pieces.
“You’ll have to pay for that.” The whiney sorry excuse for a man whimpered.
“Gladly.” Brock bit off. “If I break your arm, I’ll gladly pay for your trip to the hospital as well. I’ll even autograph your cast.”
He’d had enough. With a firm push, he shoved the reporter out of his way. He barreled through the crowd, bumping into paparazzi and chattering locals unapologetically.
“Where are you going?” A scantily clad woman grabbed his arm.
He looked her up and down, from her dirty, ash brown hair to her plump figure poured into a spandex dress four sizes too small. He didn’t mind a voluptuous figure, quite the contrary, but skanky women were revolting.
He shuddered. “Unhand me.” When he looked into her eyes, he recognized her. He’d gone to school with her long ago, but he didn’t recall her name.
“I thought we could catch up on old times. Come have a drink with me.” She smiled with nervousness in her eyes, as if she feared how he might respond, as if her self-worth was contingent on his answer.
Christ. She was imposing herself upon him, and he was expected to be polite? He didn’t give a rat’s arse. “Move.” He pushed past her and stormed out of the bar into the humid night air.
This. This is what being in Cardiff did to him. It turned him into a despicable person. He had to get out of there and back into Sam’s arms.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Departure
When Brock awoke, his father stood by his bed. “Your mum has been released, and I’m free to bring her home. Want to join me?”
A fog filled Brock’s head and nausea caused him to break out in a cold sweat, but he couldn’t turn down his father’s offer.
On the way to the hospital, Brock slumped in the passenger seat with his forehead against the cool window. His mind rattled awake. With his mother recovering well enough to come home, he’d be able to return to North Carolina. Would Sam be glad to see him?
His father jabbed him in the ribs, “What’s her name?”
“Who?”
“The woman who has you in a tangled knot?”
“Tangled knot? What do you mean?”
“I know that look on your face. You’ve been thinking of a woman since you’ve arrived. She must be quite a lady. What’s her name?”
He couldn’t deny it. “Sam Carlisle. She’s a gorgeous musician whose managed to brand her name across my heart at record speed.” A half-hearted laugh croaked from his chest. “And what makes it so frustrating is the fact that I don’t have any way of reaching her, unless I mail her a letter.”
“Then send her a letter.”
“Ha. A letter is what got me into this mess with her in the first place. I gave her, what I believed to be, the most magnificent love letter ever written. She’s ignored me ever since. Safe to say, she doesn’t fancy letters. To be quite honest, she doesn’t fancy a lot of things. She gets her feathers ruffled over the smallest of things sometimes and blasts me out of the blue. She leaves me dizzy, but I can’t get enough. It’s infuriating and exhilarating at the same time.”
“She sounds like a handful. I like her already.”
“You’d adore her, Dad. I hope I can repair the damage and have a go at something real with her.”
“Something real. That sounds serious.” His father glanced over at him. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think you’d never open yourself up to a woman.”
“Such confidence you instill in me.” He laughed.”Thanks for that.” Brock heaped on the sarcasm.
“I’m happy for you.” His dad chuckled and patted Brock’s arm as he pulled into the visitor’s parking area at the hospital.
Brock tensed at the sight of paparazzi lined along the street. “Don’t these morons ever call it a day?”
“No. You have your choice—give them something to post that is positive or negative. What’s it going to be?” He could always count on his father to be the wise one in the family.
“Positive. Let’s go get Mum.” Brock stepped out of the car and waved to the crowd. Reporters swarmed. He put on a fake smile and said, “Thank you for all your support and prayers. My mother’s recovering nicely, and we’re to take her home this morning. I’d appreciate if you all stand back when we bring her out. As I’m sure you can understand, she’s in a delicate state, and too much commotion would not be good for her.”
He held up a hand and refused to say another word. He knew some would honor his request, but most would not. However, he had done the polite thing, which was what his father expected him to do—be the gentleman he’d been raised to be, instead of the sulking wanker he’d been the night before.
HIS MOTHER SAT at the kitchen table in a fuzzy yellow robe. Color had come back to her cheeks, and her hair was pinned into a tidy bun. Graeme sat beside her, holding his baby girl in his arms, a pink blanket wrapped around her tiny body.
Brock’s mother tickled the baby’s cheek and said, “You’re a pretty one, Laura. You’ll steal all the hearts. Yes you will.” Her speech still revealed a prominent slur. The doctor said he had high hopes that slur would improve in time.
The baby squirmed and curled her slobbery mouth into an adorable smile.
Graeme’s wife Tara leaned her head against his shoulder. Her wavy light brown hair fell in soft curls around her face, her porcelain pink skin aglow. She carried more weight now than she had before the pregnancy, but the extra pounds looked good on her. They rounded her out and made her face cherubic.
Graeme kissed the crown of Tara’s head and bounced the baby in his arms.
The love that filled the kitchen seemed otherworldly. Brock had never witnessed such a display in this house, the house he’d called home for nearly twenty years. He’d offered to purchase a larger, more prestigious house for his mother and father, but they’d both insisted on staying in this small cottage near the hub of town. For the first time, this quaint cottage proved to be a proper home for a close-knit family.
His father came up behind him and slapped him on the back. “You going to stand here in the hall all morning?”
He searched his father’s eyes, trying to see if he was as touched by the sight in the kitchen as Brock was. He found the answer. Yes. The light in his father’s dark eyes shined brightly as he smiled at the gather
ing around the kitchen table.
“Mum looks good this morning, Dad.”
“Yes. Yes, she does. I think we’re going to make out just fine. This experience has changed her. In some physical ways it has been a hardship, but in other ways, in the ways that matter most, she’s come out of this a more affectionate woman.”
“I agree.” He studied his mother’s face, her joy, the way she cooed at the baby. “Listen, Dad, I’m going to be heading back to the other side of the pond tomorrow.”
“I expected as much, and I think it’s what you need to do. We’re fine here now. Join me in the study for a moment?”
Brock stepped inside the study of dark paneled wood and bookcases floor to ceiling. A large cherry desk sat beneath a shuttered window that let in morning light through opened slats. The table lamp, nestled next to a threadbare floral chair, cast an incandescent glow. The familiar scent of tobacco lingered in the air. Next to the lamp was his father’s favorite pipe embellished with the carving of a fox hunt.
His dad closed the door behind them, and his face became somber.
Brock didn’t understand the reason for the change in mood. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right, so right it has me counting my blessings.” His father lifted a wooden box from a nearby bookshelf and opened the lid. He pulled out Gran’s ruby ring and held it out to Brock. Brock opened his hand, and his father placed the ring in the center of his palm. “You’ve held your grandmother’s heart in the palm of your hand since the day you were born. She wanted you to have this, when you’d found the woman who captured your heart. I think you’ve found that woman.”
The ring sparkled in the light streaming from the windows. The yellow gold reminded Brock of Sam’s hair. The large oval ruby stone surrounded by minuscule diamonds resembled a rose bud drenched in dew drops, waiting to unfold its petals.
Something awakened and rustled in the dark and lonely recesses within him. Brock knew this ring belonged on Sam’s finger, and he belonged by her side.
THE SUN SAT high in the sky. Rays shimmered on the calm water dotted with paddle boarders enjoying their mid-day laps up and down the waterway. A clammy film of sweat coated Sam’s skin. She rolled her bass toward her truck parked in the shady carport. The fragrance from the white English roses Brock had recently planted in the front yard wafted through the air. Every day since he’d left, she’d smelled those roses and thought of him.
She wished he’d come back home to her, but she had to put her trust in fate, just like Leah had told her. Between Leah and Myrtle, Sam had held up surprisingly well since Brock’s disappearance. That didn’t mean she had come to terms with his leaving, it just meant she’d been able to function in his absence.
Myrtle pedaled her extra large tricycle down the side of the road, headed toward the restaurant for lunch. Sam waved to Myrtle and lowered the tailgate. After putting her bass into the bed of her truck, she drove toward the drawbridge. A few yards down the road, she heard “Inside the Aquarium” by Inked Religion on the radio.
She’d played the bass part on that recording because their bassist Brandon had been in the hospital, recuperating from a car accident and hadn’t been able to lay down the tracks in time for the release date of the album. They’d been signed by a local indie label called Wavation.
Her solo hit the airwaves, and she swerved. Myrtle pulled onto the shoulder of the road to keep from being hit.
Sam came to a screeching halt and cranked up the radio. She called out to Myrtle. “Listen, I’m on the radio.”
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Myrtle scrunched her face and stomped over to Sam.
“Listen. That’s me.” Sam plucked her air bass right there in the driver’s seat.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Myrtle danced in the street, shaking her bottom with all her might.
Mazy barreled over the bridge in her purple hearse with her radio wide open, honking her horn as she neared Myrtle and Sam. She stopped smack dab in the middle of the road, jumped out of her vehicle, and boogied with Myrtle.
“Shake it, Myrtle.” Mazy turned a cartwheel and finished her move off with a Michael Jackson spin, crotch grab and all.
The song ended, and Sam put her palms on her face. Her cheeks were sore from smiling so hard. “I can’t believe it.”
Mazy walked over to the truck and slapped the driver’s door. “You hit the big time now, bay-bay. Boomyow.” She high-fived Sam.
Myrtle kept on doing her little jig and waving to people as they drove around her, whistling and hooting with huge grins on their faces.
Mazy said, “We got to go celebrate and tell Leah and Kendal about this. Come on, Myrtle, let me buy you a drink. You’re bound to be thirsty after all that wiggling.”
Myrtle attempted to moonwalk and damn near fell on her butt. Luckily, she grabbed the handlebar of her tricycle just in time. She dinged her little bell in the process of breaking her fall. She dinged a couple more times for fun. “Saved by the bell.”
Mazy made a rimshot sound and struck her imaginary drums. “Myrtle, you could have been a Vaudeville superstar.”
“Fan dancing is my specialty.” Myrtle shimmied her shoulders, jiggling her floppy-water-balloon boobies.
Mazy mimicked Myrtle’s moves, and nothing on her skinny body jiggled. She looked down at her chest and made a sour face. “I swear I’m going as Dolly Parton for Halloween just so I can see what it feels like to need a bra at least once in my life.”
LEAH FURROWED HER eyebrows. “Inside the Aquarium…I think I heard Inked Religion play that before. Has a heavy rock beat to it?”
Mazy attempted to sing, “Sometimes it feels like…I’m on the inside…looking outside…through the aquarium….” She sounded like Rod Stewart on helium.
For the next hour or so, Sam told them about her recording session and how everything fell into place as if she’d been playing with Inked Religion for years.
Her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. Brock sprang to mind. Could he be calling? Her heart beat fast. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sam. This is Tox from Inked Religion.”
He must not be on his cellphone. “Hey, Tox. I just heard Aquarium on the radio. I freaked. It sounds so good.”
“I’m glad you caught it. They’ve played it three times today. It’s amazing. Listen, Brandon is still out of commission, and we’ve just booked four more gigs for next week. We really need you. Hope you’re available.” Spider’s cymbals crashed in the background and Jones ripped a solo on his electric guitar.
“Let me check my schedule and call you back.” Sam wanted to do the gigs something fierce but she couldn’t just ditch her girls.
“She’s available.” Leah hollered loud enough for Tox to hear.
Mazy and Leah huddled together.
“Did ya hear that?” Sam asked Tox.
Tox laughed. “I’m relieved. The spin you put on that bass line for Aquarium is killer. Swing by tomorrow around noon, and we’ll fill you in on all the details.”
“Sounds like a plan. Later.” Sam hung up and made eye contact with Leah.
Leah applauded. “You did it, girl. All these years you’ve dreamed about being on the radio, showing your pops that you had what it took, living the dream he died too early to live for himself.”
Sam could have burst into tears just thinking about how happy her father would have been to witness this moment in her life. He’d always dreamed of making the big time, hearing his music playing on the radio. She’d taught herself to play his bass with his dream fueling her own. She wanted to make him proud. And for the first time, she knew she’d succeeded.
She wondered if Brock would be proud of her too. It would’ve been nice to share this moment with him.
SAM STOOD ON the beach, admiring the freshly painted Carolina blue house. It contrasted perfectly with the pink and orange sunset. The once sandy lot had been transformed into a lush, putting-green-style lawn bordered with flower
ing plants in a array of colors. It was gorgeous.
She’d been pissed that Brock had wanted to change things, but he’d made good choices. Hopefully, he’d like the paint color as much as she did. It really suited the house and the island.
Being mad at him had taken more energy than she had to give. Myrtle was right, it was far more useful to remember the loving moments shared than to speculate. That didn’t stop her from wondering where he was, if he was okay, and why he’d left. Maybe one day she’d get the answers to those questions. Today, she’d simply appreciate the changes he’d made for the better, including the changes in her heart that told her she was worthy of the love she’d been missing. She’d never settle for less again.
BROCK STOOD IN the master bedroom of the beach house and looked out the sliding glass door. Sam waded in the water and gazed back up at the house, shielding her eyes from the sun. She looked perfect in her cutoff shorts and white tank top, just like the day he met her. He wanted to run out to say hello to her, but kept himself hidden from view. What if she didn’t want to see him? What would he say?
The bedroom was just as he’d left it, unmade bed and all. It was as if she’d closed the door on all the memories that bedroom held. He could picture her arching in pleasure as she straddled him in the moonlight. The fragrance of her intoxicating scent lingered in the air. That was probably just his imagination, but it seemed real. He’d memorized her scent, her taste, the timbre of her moans.
There she was, a flesh and blood woman on the horizon, knee-deep in waves, and the sky blushing at the sight of her beauty. He unpacked his poetry journal and began to capture the moment in verse, hoping the process would lead him to the right words to say to her when she came back inside and found him there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Return
After writing for about an hour, Brock put down his poetry journal and squinted from the sunlight striking the balcony at the precise angle to damn near blind him. Using a salute to shade his vision, he took in the oceanic view. A faint electrical shock zapped his heart when he spotted Sam trekking toward the house. Halting mid-way along the beach path, she put her phone to her ear. As she talked on the phone, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and grinned like a lovestruck schoolgirl. Was she talking to a bloke? Her body language was set to flirt-mode—dragging her toe in the sand, tossing her head back with laughter. What the hell?