by T. I. Lowe
Mave escorts me back to my door. Casting a look around, he steps into my space and wraps his arms securely around me. “I’d really like another taste of those sweet lips.”
My heart is pounding so passionately in my ears, I’m not able to hear myself mumble out my permission. I wait for him to present me with one last kiss, but am caught off guard when he licks my bottom lip slowly. My entire body jolts at his boldness.
“Mmm… Delicious.”
He saunters away, leaving me holding on to the doorknob to support my wobbly legs, panting like a lovesick girl.
Oh. No…
I am a lovesick girl.
Oh. No!
•♫•♫•♫•
I’m already awake when the bed dips slightly before a warm body snuggles into me. My eyes open and regard the little Snow White lying on the opposite pillow—green eyes sparkling and that heart-shaped mouth grinning.
“Santa came and he ate all the cookies we made him.”
“So why are you in here?” I pull Grace closer and press a kiss to her forehead.
“All the doors are taped up. I can’t get to Momma and Daddy.”
I chuckle. “Tell Uncle Mave about it.”
“I already did. He’s downstairs making coffee and proheating the ovens for you.”
“Preheating,” I correct. Well, isn’t that sweet of him. “So, you want me to help wake everyone up?” She nods and those glossy-black curls bounce all over. I can’t help but run my fingers through them.
“Can I brush my teeth and hair first?”
“Okay, but I don’t have to do I?”
“It’s Christmas. I suppose you can get a pass on that for a little while.”
“Izzy, I love you.”
“Aww, and I love you. So much so, I wish you were my little girl.” I tickle her sides until she’s hiccupping in giggles.
After she calms back down, Grace asks, “Why don’t you have kids?”
“I haven’t found the right man to have them with, yet.”
I scoot out of the bed and head to the bathroom with my little friend on my heels.
“I saw you holding Uncle Mave’s hand. Looks like y’all’s hands fit together real good.”
As I pull my hair in a messy bun, I eye her through the mirror. She looks back at me so serious that restraining the laughter wanting to bubble out is quite challenging. She’s so darn cute and curious for a nine-year-old.
“Uncle Mave fits you.” She’s a determined little thing, too.
“I’ve only known him for just over a week,” I say around my toothbrush. “It takes longer than that to know if someone fits.”
“I knew you fit right as my friend that day we met. And Daddy says he knew Momma was his when he was younger than me.”
The toothbrush stills in my mouth as I gaze down at this little girl, who is adequately schooling me on true love.
“You make very good points, Miss Grace. I really do like Mave, so we’ll see.”
“So, you gonna let him keep you forever?”
I rinse and place the toothbrush back in the holder. “That’s a decision he and I will have to make together some day.”
She looks out the open bathroom door and smiles. “I think he wants to keep you.”
I turn and find the handsome guy in question standing there—nodding his head in agreement. His tousled hair, rumpled T-shirt, and flannel night pants easily kick my heartrate up. A drum dangles close to his hips with the strap around his shoulders, and he’s holding a set of drumsticks. The man is downright adorable. My body automatically gravitates closer, wanting to take him in more.
Oh my. How did I let this happen?
The genuine smile on his face gives away to the fact he caught this bathroom conversation. Thankfully, he lets that topic pause for now.
“You ready to wake everyone up?” There’s an air of mischief surrounding him.
“Yes!” Grace squeals.
“Follow me, ladies.”
We do as we’re told, following him to the end of the hall. All at once he starts beating the drum as he rushes to the other end of the hall. We watch on as doors go to slinging open with bleary-eyed people stumbling smackdab into the webs of tape. Each one is covered in strips of tape with glares positioned towards Mr. Drummer.
“Merry Christmas, suckers!” Mave yells at full volume and goes back to beating his drum. He’s standing right in front of Trace while the poor guy tries unraveling himself from the tape. Mave is going to town playing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” I think this is his way of getting back at Trace for the morning wakeup calls on the bus.
“Mave!” they all yell back.
“Come on, ladies. Time to make our getaway.” He abandons the drum and swoops Grace up on his shoulders. Taking my hand, he leads us away from his angry mob.
After everyone’s bellies are well past bulging, we waddle into the massive den where the ten foot Christmas tree twinkles and the stone fireplace crackles with a lazy fire, causing the space to glow with warmth.
I expected a toy store and a new car to be left by Santa, but am completely surprised by what is on display. A modest showing from Santa sits in front of the tree. Oddly enough, Grace and Will seem completely content with it. A few new dolls and art supplies sit in wait for Grace. New drumsticks and a custom guitar case wait for Will to claim them.
This crowd seems so unaffected by their fame. It’s very humbling.
Once we are all settled down, Dillon leads us in a heartfelt prayer, thanking God for His ultimate gift, Jesus Christ. He then takes his time thanking God for each one of us. I’m completely caught off guard to be included in his thanksgiving to God. He is most definitely the designated leader of the group and seems to be leading this family properly.
He says amen with the group joining him. They pray before everything also, never forgetting to thank God. This entire time I’ve spent with this amazing group of people has been a gift. I smile a warm thank-you over to Jewels and she grins back. Yep, she knows she’s the best.
“Izzy, we draw names amongst us and give out acts of love. Thank you for your gift this morning. My belly is still in appreciation.” Dillon pauses to rub his belly. “I think Mave has taken care of you with a gift of love.”
My cheeks blaze hot as I look over at Mave. Chuckling, he shakes his head and dips close to my ear.
“I got you something else, doll. But I won’t mind giving you more of that first gift any time you want.” He hands over a card.
Inside is a recipe of his Momma’s smothered fried chicken with a promise to cook it for me sometime. Not wanting to be left out in giving, I tear the face of the card off and after finding a pen, I quickly jot down a recipe for stuffed monkey bread with my own promise to make it for him. He smiles appreciatively before moving his attention over to Dillon.
“I drew Dillon’s name. Here.” He hands Dillon a shirt box.
Before Mave can retreat, Dillon grabs him up in a manly hug. Sniffles sound from the larger-than-life rock star, flooring me.
Clearing his throat, he passes the box over to Logan. “Mave gave us all a gift. He’s finally going to let us share his songs.”
“It’s about time,” Max says, offering his twin a huge hug. “Dude is lyrical, but has been too stingy to share his gift.”
“Not stingy, but shy.” Mave mumbles out.
The hugging continues until all the band has had their special moment.
Dillon wipes his eyes. “Stellar gift, Mave. No doubt, this is going to be our best album.”
The day lazes along with me coloring with Grace, the guys serenading us with Christmas songs, and us eating off and on. I took a timeout to call Momma earlier. It’s only our second Christmas without Daddy, so I was worried about her spending it alone. Come to find out, my worrying was unnecessary, for which I’m glad. She genuinely sounded good. I was also surprised to find out that Mave called and asked her to check on his mom and grandpa. Of course, she went further than that, making Ch
ristmas treats. She was tickled to report spending the entire day at the Judith’s home. Chills ran through me at how our families have mingled simultaneously. I told him about it, and he seemed genuinely happy about it, too.
As I lay in bed, all I can do is thank God in repetitions for blessing me with all of this unexpected life. After losing Daddy so sudden, I allowed fear to hold me prisoner—scared to move forward with the unknown. I thank Him for blessing me by placing Jewels and her family in my life as well, and for the fact she didn’t give up on me. Because I’m realizing how much that no would have hindered me from experiencing.
Chapter Thirteen
Mave
Doll baby is all kinds of giddy today. Since Christmas, she seems to have finally allowed those beautiful wings to spread. I’ve hardly seen a blush in days, except for when I kiss her—and that’s all kinds of good.
Ever since we’ve pulled into New Jersey, she keeps whispering to me that she has a surprise for everyone. I guess she used her eight hours on the bus wisely. The rest of us, not so much. Blake got a new haircut against his will. Tate received a hot pink manicure while he napped. Trace sort of got locked in the bathroom for an hour until Jen threatened to end our lives if we didn’t let him out. Pregnant woman can’t hold her water—whatever.
With no clue as to where we’re going, Izzy has us all crammed in two SUV’s and has given our drivers instructions to our destination. Little Grace is all about it. She’s sitting between me and Izzy—more like, bouncing between us.
“Please, please, please tell me. I can’t take it!” Grace whines, slapping me in the process for the hundredth time.
“Yes. Please tell her. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” I grouch, rubbing my cheek.
“The wait is over. We’re here.” Izzy giggles this out while pointing to the sign of the arena that just came into view.
“Ice skating?”
“Yay!” Grace shouts out, making my ears ring. I throw my hands up, shielding her wild limbs from colliding with my face. Little chick is losing it.
We climb out and meet the rest of the crowd at the entrance. I already know what’s coming.
“This might not be the best idea,” Jewels says hesitantly.
Izzy deflates at her comment.
“Sweetheart, I need my drummer to have two working arms. We can’t afford having him breaking another bone. Eventually they are going to get tired of mending back together.” Dillon actually sounds worried. He’s clearly not joking.
“Another bone? Just how many bones have you broken?” Izzy whispers over to me.
“How many do I have?” I shrug. Seriously, I’ve lost count of how many breaks I’ve endured.
“The rest of us can skate. Mave can sit out with Jen,” Trace says.
“Forget that. I’ve never tried this. I’m curious—”
“Oh no. Dude, you know all about curiosity killing the cat,” Max pipes in.
“Whatever. I’ve not been in a cast in what… eight months? All’s good, Izzy. This is a great surprise. Thanks for planning it.” I lay a kiss on her lips before heading in.
In no time, we are all donned in ice skates and hitting it. Blake busts it right off the bat. Trace just keeps doing this stiff shuffle, looking like he’s about to mess his pants. I watch all them take a stab at it, before taking to the ice.
Dillon says I don’t have a healthy enough dose of fear is why things tend to happen to me. Maybe he’s right, but I just don’t want to miss out. I’ll be darned if I’m gonna let some slick ice and sharp skates own me today. It will be the other way around.
Pushing off from the edge, I surprise the whole bunch of us, when I totally rock it. My skates glide over the ice like a champ. Seriously, I’m lapping them and even pull off skating backwards. All those younger years with only a skateboard as a mode of transportation have probably helped with this whole balancing thing. I’m rocking it.
“How ya like me now, suckers!” I holler over to Max and Trace, who are trying to peel their bodies off the ice.
Racing around the rink with Will and Logan—who are both showing the ice who’s boss as well—I work up a mean sweat. This skating kicks butt. As the time races by, the tension releases from my shoulders and the endorphins flow through me.
I swipe Izzy from Jewels and Grace, and we glide around, weaving in and out of other skaters with ease. Chick can skate, too.
“Very cool idea, doll.” I squeeze her hand.
“Thank you. Seems you’ve had the largest time.”
“Oh, I have. I’ve outskated every one of them punks.” We both laugh as we pass Tate, who’s laid out on the ice again.
We skate along with me humming “Brown Eyed Girl.” Izzy hasn’t stopped smiling. The day has been perfection. Content with the world, my eyes keep sweeping over to my ice-skating companion. The thought flickers through my mind to reach down and kiss her, but scatters away with a body slamming into my back. Limbs tangle with mine and send me and some kid colliding with the ice.
Searing pain races up my leg until it burns the back of my throat.
“Mave!” Izzy shouts. Glad I had enough sense to release her hand or she would have fallen, too.
“You all right, kid?” I ask the teenage boy.
“Yes. I’m so sorry. My buddy said it was you and I was trying to get close enough. And it is you. You’re Mave King. And I couldn’t stop…” The star-struck kid takes in the crowd surrounding him and gasps. “Holy crap! It’s all of you. You’re Bleu Streak!” Dude’s eyes are bugging out.
Dillon and Logan yank me and the kid up and help us off the ice.
“Can I get your autographs?”
“Sure, man,” Dillon answers. Blake automatically produces paper and pens. Dillon signs, and then passes it to the rest of us. It’s all I can do to scribble out my name from drowning in pain. Ben catches me with a look and I shake my head. He reads me and knows he needs to move the kid and his friends along.
“Say, how would you guys like free tickets to the concert tonight?” he asks them. They go crazy and give Ben their numbers and then the bodyguards effectively move them on.
Everyone seems over skating, so we move to the benches and start shucking off the skates. I get my right one off, stalling on the left.
“How much for these skates, my man?” I ask the guy helping us. He’s been our personal host the entire outing.
“They run about eighty bucks.”
I fish out a hundred dollar bill from my wallet and hand it over to him.
“What? You so great at it, you think you need to keep the skates?” Max mocks.
Gingerly unlacing the skate, I mutter, “No. I ruined them.” Taking a deep breath, I pull it off and discover it dripping red. After tossing it in the trash can beside the bench, I look up and catch all kinds of confused eyes watching me.
“Dude’s skate cut me.” Lifting the leg of my jeans reveals what I already felt was there—a deep, nasty gash oozing a substantial amount of blood. “I need to head to the emergency room, so I can get this stitched up before the show.” My jaw is clenched in pain, causing it to be difficult to get my words out.
“I told you,” Dillon bellows out.
“Chill out.” I wave my arms around. “Both still work.”
Without any more commentary, Dillon picks me up like I’m a flipping baby and rushes me to the SUV. Him, Izzy, and Max pile in with me. I guess it takes three to hold my hand.
Izzy is on repeat all the way to the hospital. “I’m so sorry… This is my fault… I’m so sorry…”
The hospital deems us special, I suppose, because they allow all three of them back in the exam room with me. The pain is pulsing up my leg, locking my jaw. Silent, I stare up at the ceiling and ignore everyone and everything. Shutting down is how I’ve learned to deal with pain.
Not surprising, the first thing they offer is a shot for pain. Dillon and Max are quick to tell them no for me.
“But he’s in a lot of pain.” The youn
g nurse looks worried for me. I try to offer her a smile, but it feels more like a grimace.
“He’s tough, darlin’. No worries,” Dillon answers for me again. We’ve done this song and dance enough over the years.
All Izzy can do is hold tight to my hand silently. She looks so defeated and I just can’t offer her anything right now, which sucks. I’m focusing on not moaning like a baby.
Little time passes before I’m whisked out for an x-ray which reveals a chipped shinbone. The doctor informs us of this as he stitches me up.
“I told you so,” Dillon mutters.
“Be mad at me. It’s my fault.” Izzy is crying now.
I glare over at Dillon to make her better.
“I’m not mad, sweetheart. Just worried for Mave. Guy has had a hard go of it. I hate it when he suffers.”
There’s no doubt that my man would take on every ounce of my pain if he could.
The irritating tugging finally stops, and the doctor sits back from my leg. “Twelve stitches. The chip is what it is. I can’t cast it with the cut. Keep it iced and elevated. It’s going to hurt like nobody’s business. I can give you a shot for pain to help you get through the concert and then a prescription.”
“No thanks,” I grunt out as I ease to the edge of the table.
“But Mr. King—”
“Look, I’m on this side of a drug overdose. Not many get to keep breathing to tell the tale. I am, so I can’t.” I swallow down the pain and continue, “I’m not a pansy. I’ll deal.”
The doctor looks sympathetic. I pat him on the shoulder before slowly standing. “Thanks, man.”
“If you reconsider—”
“I won’t.” The first step punches me in the gut. It hurts so bad, it sears all the way to the tips of my fingers.
“How about some crutches?”
“Nah, man. I’m good.” Taking several deep breaths to steady myself, I limp towards the door. I think everyone follows me out. Not sure. I’m too caught up in pushing against the pain and my demons to notice one way or the other.