The Reckoning

by S. L. Scott

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I feel lost on stage sometimes without Cory. I think playing some smaller shows would have prepared me for the stage without him there.”

  “Your shows are sold out. Fans are loving the tour. Tommy says your voice is stronger than ever. I agree with him. The time off in Ojai helped you, so how would playing small shows better your performance?”

  He pauses, his discomfort obvious as he turns his drink around in his hand. When he sets it down on the table between us, he looks me in the eyes, and says, “In most bands, the drummer sets the pace, the beat of each song, pacing us. But not with us. Cory did. He was an amazing fucking guitarist. So much talent. Did you know he wanted to be a drummer in high school?”

  I watch him as he tells the story. “He met Rochelle and that was it. He would have learned any instrument she was interested in just to spend time with her.”

  “Wow. He’s a guitar legend because of her,” I say, reflecting on the memories of Cory and Rochelle together.

  “She’s a natural. She didn’t have formal lessons. Just picked it up and started playing. Did you know she hasn’t played since we finished the album?”

  “I know it’s not easy for her,” I say, referring to her getting over Cory’s death. “But she’s a strong woman and she’ll remain strong for the boys.”

  He nods as he looks out the window. When his eyes meet mine again, he asks, “What about kids?”

  “What about them?”

  “We haven’t talked about kids in a while. Where’s your head at?”

  Looking down, I take my drink and down two big gulps. “Not while you’re on the road.”

  “The tour won’t last forever, but there will probably always be some traveling.”

  “I want you home longer than two days at a time when we have kids. I want you there for the birth. I don’t want to be hoping you make it to the hospital in time.”

  The passion he feels about this comes through in his determined tone. “I’ll be there.”

  “I’m not asking you to stop forever. I’m just asking around the time I would be due.”

  Hope rises in his face. “So what you’re saying is we can start tonight?”

  “No,” I say, laughing. “I want to share all the moments with you. That includes peeing on the stick.”

  The left side of his mouth lifts up as he looks me in the eyes. “I’ll even hold it if you want.”

  “This train has officially jumped the rails,” I joke, shaking my head. “I think I can handle that part.” My smile falls as the reality of the conversation takes hold. “Are you really ready to have kids and settle down?”

  “I’m a music man, so I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to settle down. I know this isn’t my last tour—”

  “I’m not asking you to give this up. I’m just asking you to be present when you are home.”

  “Lying in bed all day isn’t enough?”

  “I love lying in bed with you all day. But we can’t do that with a baby.”

  He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. After a long pause, he says, “I’m not saying now. I’m just saying one day. I’m almost thirty and although I had no idea what my life would be like once I left Texas, I know that I want it to be with you, so let’s just say ‘one day’ and take the pressure off.”

  I can’t seem to take my eyes off him—his handsome face mixed with his sweet words and vulnerable side. It’s enough to make my ovaries give in right here on the spot. “I can do one day with you.”

  Dalton’s fingers dance down my skin and I exhale, the air pushed from my lungs when two enter me. I open my legs and he reaches, obliterating everything but this moment.

  He watches as my back arches, his teeth scraping across his bottom lip as his eyes devour me. Leaving me bare, empty without his touch, he kneels at the end of the bed. Adrenaline from the show earlier courses through him and he grabs my ankles, pulling me down the mattress until his mouth is on me. I gasp from the intensity of the union as he alternates between sucking and his tongue greedily taking all my willpower, making me come. Dalton is above me, stretching my arms high above my head. Holding my wrists in one of his hands, he lifts my leg with the other, making me bend at the knee. With my other leg hanging off the bed, he’s quick, ridding any thoughts I might have had of gentler sex. I take his pounding, relishing his need for me.

  Caught up in the act, I free my hands and push off. I’m lithe, fast as I roll over and look over my shoulder. Wiggling my ass, I try to lure him over. “Don’t leave me waiting,” I whisper my own demand.

  I see the spark in his eyes. He’s a man who can’t resist a challenge or luckily, he can’t resist me. Facing forward while he tries to get control of the situation, he comes to me, crawling up the bed until his cock is touching my backside. “You want me, Angel? You want this?” he asks, rubbing one hand over my ass and using his other to stroke himself several times. He’s riled up after the show, high on the adrenaline and I’ve got a contact high.

  My breathing picks up from the anticipation and I wait… and wait.

  “Answer me.”

  Our eyes meet over my shoulder while I hold steady on all fours. “I want you. I want you so much.”

  Rubbing the tip of his cock against my pussy several times, I clench wanting to keep him there. He’s at my entrance and I wait while the pressure of his hands slide up my back. Gripping me by the shoulders, he pushes in achingly slow. But I know how to get what I want, so I beg, “Johnny?”

  A mumbled “Fuck” is heard from behind me.

  “Fuck me.”

  Slam!

  “Ahhh,” I react loudly, the sounds of his own pleasure weighing equally with mine.

  Clawing at the sheets beneath me, I hold on and meet each conjoining with my own thrusts back. He stands tall on his knees, his hands gripping my hips, leveraging my body to his will. “So good,” I moan.

  “So good, but…” He thrusts hard a few more times, then pulls out suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, disappointed he stopped when I was getting so close again.

  “I want to see your face. I want to memorize it and remember it when you’re gone.”

  My mouth drops open. Managing to close it, I swallow hard. “Okay,” I reply, my voice soft, my heart blanketed in his sweet words. I move to my back and he positions himself and pushes in. This time he’s gentle in his touches, his body moving with calculation, taking his time to illicit a deeper desire.

  Stroking along his hairline, I reply, “It’s not been long, but I’ve missed you, missed this so much.”

  All at once, we come together, our bodies moving with desire. No holding back, I moan again and he drops down all the way, burying his head against my neck. His warm breath and the weight of him on top of me brings me to the edge again. When he kisses me, our tongues uniting, I concentrate on my orgasm and pulling it forth. All the stimulation teasing my mind and I let go.

  His loss of control will be visible later, but I don’t care. As my body relaxes, his teeth sink into my skin. The weight of him covers me as we attempt to recover from our passion.

  My breathing is staggered. “I need to get up,” I whisper. When he moves, I slip out of bed and use the restroom. After freshening up, I go back into the bedroom to find Dalton asleep. I quickly check the time before setting the alarm for one hour and climb back into bed. Snuggling against his back, I wrap my arm around his middle. This is Heaven on Earth, our own paradise found.

  In the darkest hours of night, the bed dips and I wake. Dalton’s back is to me as he sits hunched over. “Are you okay?”

  Without turning around, he says, “Before you go off and defend why it’s okay and tit for tat and all that shit, I know I don’t have a right to be jealous or say shit about this photoshoot you’re gonna do. I know I make videos that probably don’t sit well with you. It’s art. I get it, but it sucks and I don’t like the thought of some guy touching you.” His tone is jaded, deep with e
motion—aggression, frustration, concern, sadness.

  I remain motionless, taking in his words. He adds, “So when you’re doing the shoot, don’t lose yourself and don’t do anything that you aren’t comfortable doing. Photographers like to push boundaries, to get ‘the shot’ at the expense of the model. They think in terms of them, not you. There’s an agenda. Don’t get caught up in it, Holliday. Trust me, the photos will always surface.”

  Wanting to be offended that he thinks I can’t handle myself, I’m too tired to get that upset. He’s on my side and only wants the best for me. I finally gulp, then say, “I’ve done other photoshoots.”

  “Not like this. You’re taking Limelight in a new direction and changing the image of the company. Represent it how you want the public to perceive it.”

  He’s had photos surface that he’s not fond of, ones that were taken of him when he was high or drunk. They aren’t flattering, but he dealt with it. Maybe it’s easier for those types of images to be dismissed because he’s a musician. Me, not so much. I learned in that first year of marriage that we’re a brand in and of itself. What we do individually affects the other whether it’s business related or personal. We are a reflection of each other. What we do matters to the other. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please keep us in mind,” he says. His voice is low and I barely hear him, but the gist is caught without a threat or any harsh words as he lies back down.

  “I expect the same.”

  He closes his eyes and says, “I know.”

  We lie in the breaking hours of day… or I do, listening to him breathe as it steadies with his sleep—my newest favorite pastime. I don’t remember falling asleep, but my eyes burn when he turns allowing more light to shine across the room. Dalton is standing at the window staring out. He’s not moving, but he is dressed. “Morning,” I say and lightly clear my throat to rid the roughness.

  “We’ll be in New York at the same time.”

  “We’ll make sure to see each other.” I sit up, leaning on my arm. “Why are you dressed?”

  “I have to leave. Our jet takes off in an hour.”

  “Were you going to sneak out on me?”

  He scrubs his face with his hands, obviously tired. “I hate goodbyes.”

  “I hate when you sneak out.”

  “I hate sneaking out, but I hate that look in your eyes more—the one that makes me feel like I’m letting you down.”

  I get up and go to him. Holding him from behind, we both stare out the window now. “You’re not letting me down. I just hate seeing you go.”

  “It’s a vicious cycle.”

  “It sure is.”

  He turns around and we kiss. The eagerness of my arrival is gone this time; a sadness embraces us just as our tongues embrace each other.

  When we part, he runs his hands up the sides of my neck until he’s cupping my face. “Don’t forget me when I’m gone.”

  “You’re hard to forget and I enjoy remembering you too much to try.” Making sure to look him in the eyes, I add, “I love you more than you will ever know.”

  “I love you deeper than you thought possible.” With a small smile on my face, I climb back into bed. He takes hold of the suitcase handle and says, “Wanderlust is a magical thing.”

  “I hope it strikes soon.” I roll, turning away from the door, not wanting to watch him leave and close my eyes. He walks out leaving the goodbye in silence, both of us hating saying it more than hearing it.

  “Absence is sometimes just absence without any ulterior motives.” ~ Johnny Outlaw

  I thought it would get easier, that I would get used to the silence that fills our home. But I miss the little things. I miss Dalton strumming on his guitar. I miss the way he hogs the bed and covers me with his heat at night. I miss his playful side and the way he watches me as if he can’t take his eyes off of me. I miss his jeans and T-shirts lying on the bedroom floor where he dumped them. I miss those stupid little hairs in the sink that remain after he shaves. I miss the fucking toilet lid being left up.

  I miss him.

  Dwelling on issues was never a good skill of mine. Usually, I’m more of a tackle and confront kind of person. So I push all my sad emotions away that Dalton’s absence has created and focus on my work, something that I’m better at. Fortunately with the new deals in place, I have plenty to do before the photoshoot.

  On Sunday, Tracy and I board a plane for New York. I have no idea what to expect from this shoot and doubts have been creeping in regarding the new brand imaging. Maybe a little guilt as well, though I wasn’t sure what I was guilty of, yet.

  Due to scheduling conflicts at the last minute Sebastian, the model had to push our shoot until Tuesday. Tracy was not thrilled since everything else had to be rescheduled but by the time we were on the plane, she was calm and collected again. What I wasn’t thrilled about was this ‘cleanse’ diet Danny suggested. Pushing the shoot one more day meant one more day of me living off herbal waters and lettuce.

  I wasn’t good with lettuce. I liked lettuce, sure, but living off lettuce and water wasn’t helping my mood. The flight attendant asked what we’d like for our dinner and I started to drool over airplane food. That was a first. Tracy ordered her pasta with cream sauce with an extra buttery roll and the cheesecake for dessert. I practically growled, “Nothing for me.”

  “Holli, you’re thin enough. You always look good. You should eat.”

  “These ads are going to be in magazines, including Elle and Cosmo.”

  “I know all this, but you still don’t have to starve yourself.”

  Her dinner is placed in front of her, the smell wafting in front of my nose as it’s passed over me to Tracy’s tray. “Do you think Giselle eats pasta with cream sauce when she has a photoshoot to prepare for?” I snap, crossing my arms and now totally annoyed.

  “You’re not Giselle. You’re Holli. You own a business that you built from the ground up from your mind and creativity, not your looks, so slow the rage and have a roll.” She sets a roll down on a napkin on the tray in front of me, then turns and puts her headphones on and starts eating as her movie on the screen in front of her lights up.

  She’s right. Shockingly, I’m not a supermodel. I roll my eyes at my ridiculousness and order, “I’ll have what she’s having.” I can always start back on the water and lettuce tomorrow.

  I devour the noodles. Best dinner ever… at least when you’re hungry. But soon after, I get sleepy. My arm slips off the armrest waking me up. I look around to gather my senses and realize we’re still on the plane. Tracy says, “We’re landing soon. Did you get some rest?”

  I laugh. “I wasn’t even tired. I think the carb overload made me pass out.”

  Just as she begins laughing, the pilot comes on and announces our impending arrival and we prepare for landing.

  We get our stuff from baggage claim and head to the long taxi line. “Where are we staying?” I ask after we settle into the cab at the airport.

  “I rented an apartment in SoHo. On the last trip, you said you were tired of hotel living and I thought it would be fun to be in the neighborhood since we’re here for a few days.”

  “We’re having the Nordie’s buyers over to the apartment?”

  “It’s no ordinary apartment.”

  And it isn’t.

  The apartment is stunning. Wood and marble play together in a modern and clean, but classic way. The wood gives the floors warmth and the marble compass insert is striking. We stand in the grand entrance with our mouths hanging open. She steps forward and says, “The best part. We’re having the shoot here too. Our other space was booked for Tuesday so we’re shooting in the master bedroom and in the living room. Come on. Let’s check it out.”

  I follow her through the grand entryway to the living room. A wall of windows greets us with a large white sofa in the middle of the floor. The tones of the room are neutral—white and beige—with a pop of black here and there. “This room is gorgeous.”


  “Can’t you just see using the couch with that view?”

  The buildings are lit up against the dark background. Even though it’s night, I bet the view is just as great in the day time. “I can,” I reply in awe. We retrieve our luggage from the foyer. “So if we’re using the master bedroom, where are we sleeping?”

  She smiles and does a giddy clap and little jump. “You can sleep in the master. The look is messy for the campaign, just waking up and sexy. It will be perfect. Just keep your clothes out of sight.”

  “You mean, don’t be a slob?”

  “Precisely.”

  We laugh, and my phone buzzes. I walk to the window. “Hello,” I answer feeling the love for my love.

  “Are you in New York?”

  “We just got to the apartment. Dalton, you better hold onto your bank account. I might be in love with this place.”

  Hearing him laugh makes me happy and I smile. “Spend it. We can’t take it with us.”

  “You say that now… before you’ve seen the price tag.”

  “Good point.” I hear him exhale as if he’s tired, but he says, “I could be there in less than two hours.”

  “Do it.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “I would do anything to tempt you right now.”

  His laugh is lower, more relaxed. “I like the offer, but I have a show tomorrow night.”

  Though I knew he couldn’t visit, I’m still disappointed. Looking at my watch I see the time. “It’s after one in the morning. Why are you still up?”

  “I was worried about you. I wanted to make sure you made it safely.”

  “I made it safely,” I repeat, finding a spot in a chair and staring out the window. “What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

  “I’ll check in with Tommy in the morning. I know we have to do some press, but I’m not sure after that.”

  Standing up, I confess, “I ate really amazing pasta on the plane tonight.”

  “Wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “I’ve been on this diet for models—”