“What?” She hardly dared breathe, because she knew he didn’t have the slightest intention of answering her question with words. And when he pressed his lips to hers, ever so slightly, before applying gentle pressure that demanded a response, she knew her prayer had been heard.
He hadn’t forgotten.
Nick straightened, giving a wink that made her want to hide under the blankets. “Is that what you remember too?”
“That sort of rings a bell.” Lynette watched the light play in his eyes, afraid to believe it.
“Would you believe me if I told you I spent the last five years dreaming of doing that again?”
“Nope.” She grinned and folded her arms across her chest. “But it was an admirable attempt at flattery.”
“It’s true.” Somehow he managed to look dejected and completely self-assured at the same time. “And that kiss in the park the other night? Exceeded those dreams big time.”
“Nick.” Lynette laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. “I kind of liked it too, if you must know.”
He grew serious again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole story about me and Mindy. It was just so stupid. I should have ended it ages ago.”
“Yes, you should have. And it definitely needs to end now, if you intend to take me out for dinner again. Or kiss me again.”
“I know. And I do intend to take you out for dinner again. And kiss you again. Quite thoroughly. Just as soon as you’re feeling up to it.”
She flushed under his gaze. “You better get out of here before they kick you out.”
“All right. I’m going.” He studied her for a long, exquisite moment she didn’t want to end. “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Okay, Nick.” She let out a happy sigh and snuggled under the blankets again. “See you tomorrow.”
After he left, just before she drifted off again, Lynette had the alarming thought that for the first time in a long time, she felt happy.
And she didn’t quite know what to do with that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gray woke up drenched again, shaking, desperate to push off the cloying darkness that clouded his mind and tugged him back to places where he could forget everything. All it would take was a few hundred bucks, a couple of snorts, or a shot in the arm.
He pressed his fists to his forehead and shut his eyes.
No, no, no. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, go back down that road. It would kill him.
Literally.
Lynnie had scared him half to death, with that whole not-breathing episode on Friday night. The last time he’d seen her like that was after Mom’s funeral. He hadn’t known what to do then either. But she was home now and seemed back to normal. He wouldn’t survive if anything happened to her.
Once daylight flooded his room, Gray forced himself out of bed and stood for a long time under the lukewarm shower, listening to the pipes screaming at him. It was better than listening to the screaming inside his head.
He needed to talk to someone.
Sunday. Dr. Miller might be on call. He couldn’t remember. He could call his new AA sponsor, Doug. An older guy, reminded him way too much of Pops. If those options didn’t pan out, he wasn’t above hightailing it down to that church Lynnie toddled off to almost every week.
Pastors were supposed to help the afflicted.
Gray dressed, glanced around his bedroom, and tried to keep his mind on track. Maybe he’d take Pops for a walk on the beach later. He seemed to like their little adventures, and to his surprise, Gray found he enjoyed his father’s company, even if he wasn’t all there half the time.
He wandered down the hall on the second floor, peeked into rooms until he came to the one Victoria had been occupying. A suitcase lay open on the bed.
A thousand regrets launched, and he gripped the side of the door for support. “Tor?” He shuffled into the room, glanced around. No sign of her. Her musky perfume hung in the air, tapped at the rusted locks around his heart, and made a flagrant attempt at prying them loose.
She liked it here. He could tell. She’d started singing again.
But he’d known she’d leave eventually.
Three framed photographs sat on the chest of drawers by the window. They went everywhere with her. Gray stood in front of the dresser and stared at the images.
Her parents. Good people. They’d liked him at first. The photo was a few years old, before all the trouble started. A much younger Victoria stood between them, smiling, happy. And totally oblivious to the tractor-trailer load of pain headed her way.
The second photo was of him.
Gray let out his breath, not sure when he’d been that young and carefree. The first year they’d met, maybe. His hair was longer, and he’d had that awful goatee thing going on she’d quickly convinced him to get rid of. He sat at a piano, glancing over his shoulder at the photographer with a grin that said life was good.
And it had been.
Gray closed his eyes. Much as he was loathe to, he knew it was time to undo those locks that confined his memories and remember when it all began.
Gray played a few chords. Scribbled on the sheet music in front of him and tried again. They’d had their first gig the previous night. A small bar in LA, but the place was packed out. Neil was ecstatic, already on the phone booking more gigs. A record producer had been in the crowd. They were meeting with him later that afternoon.
Neil convinced the hotel manager to give Gray use of the piano in the ballroom for a couple of hours. They’d made mistakes last night. That couldn’t happen again.
Gray concentrated on the music and tried not to think about what might come next.
The sound of someone clearing their throat stilled his fingers and forced his eyes upward. A young woman stood in the doorway, watching him.
Gray blinked as she came into the room. She was short, but walked with a self-assured air that told him to pay attention. Her jet-black hair hung straight, rested on slender shoulders, and framed a pale, perfect face. Luminous eyes the color of caramel looked him up and down. And then she smiled.
Holy Mother of Wonderful.
Gray sucked in a breath and steadied himself on the bench. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet.” She came a little closer. “I hear you’re on your way to becoming the next Springsteen. Thought I’d come see for myself.”
He managed to get a grip as he checked her out. She was hotness to the tenth degree. Tight jeans, a well-fitting T-shirt, and Chuck Taylors. A bit too much makeup, but it didn’t matter. She had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.
A grin tickled his lips. “You don’t look old enough to know who Springsteen is.”
Her laugh was even more enticing. “I’m from New Jersey. It’s in the first-grade curriculum.”
It was his turn to laugh. “How did you get in here?”
“My cousin is the concierge.”
“I see.” Gray pushed his arms high above his head and worked the kinks out of his neck. “So what can I do for you, Miss—?”
“Montgomery. Victoria.” She came forward and stretched out a hand. “Actually, the question is, what can I do for you?”
“Really.” Gray smiled and took her hand in his. The minute he touched her, electric fire filled his being. He let go and cleared his throat. “You should probably elaborate.”
She nodded, folded her arms, and put on a businesslike expression. “You’re going to need a manager.”
“I have an agent.”
“Yes. And Neil Downs is one of the best. Which tells me a lot about you. He’s also extremely busy. He’ll book your gigs, concerts, work out your deals, but he’s not going to follow you around and remind you where you have to be when.” She tapped a long red fingernail against her forearm. “He’s not going to tell you that you could use a haircut or that your wardrobe could stand a complete overhaul.”
He wanted to ask what she knew about his wardrobe but was having way too much fun counting the flecks of gold in her ey
es.
“Are you listening to me, Mr. Carlisle?”
Gray pulled his feet up onto the bench and hugged his knees. “I’m hanging on your every word.” He expected some reaction, but she stayed quiet. “Am I correct in assuming that you think you’d be perfect for the job? You want to be my . . . manager?” He almost laughed, but she was so serious he didn’t dare.
“You could hire me on a trial basis. Three months. If it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings.”
Gray stood, rounded the piano, and leaned over it. “How old are you?” He’d just turned twenty-one, and she didn’t look anywhere near that.
“Twenty-two.”
“Lower.”
Her cheeks lifted with her smile. “Nineteen. But I turn twenty next week.”
Great. He sighed and played with his grad ring. “You’re not in college?”
She niggled her bottom lip with her front teeth, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m not really interested in higher learning. Of the institutional kind.”
Gray gave a low whistle. Oh, she was good. “Yeah. It didn’t hold my interest either.”
“I promise you, I know what I’m doing. I have references.”
“From who? The parents of the kids you babysat for?” He let out a groan and shoved his fingers through his hair. “Nice to meet you, Miss Montgomery, but I’m kind of busy.” He moved back to the piano bench and sat.
“Gray.”
He closed his eyes. If he kept them shut long enough, she’d be gone and he wouldn’t have to acknowledge what was going on here. What he’d known the moment she’d walked into the room.
A conversation he’d had with his mother years ago, when a girl he’d thought was “the one” had broken his heart, played in his memory.
“I know how you felt about her,” Mom had said. “But she wasn’t the girl for you. One day, when you’re older, you’ll meet her, the one. You’ll know.”
“How?” Gray asked.
“When you meet her, you’ll feel it. Right here.” She placed a hand against his chest. “She will speak to your soul.”
“Puh-lease.” He’d rolled his eyes and screwed up his nose. Mom was always so dramatic. But something inside him said to listen. And remember.
His mother had been right.
The way Victoria Montgomery spoke his name confirmed it.
Gray looked at her again. Cursed his mother’s intuition and gave in. “Does anybody call you Tori?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Well, Tori, you can start by getting me some decent coffee. I take it black. I think there’s a coffee shop across the street. And grab me something to eat. But make it fast, I have an appointment this afternoon.”
“At two.” She whipped out a cell phone and punched the keys. “With Starsong Records. Which is why you’re going to come with me, right now—don’t give me that look. We’re going to fix that hair of yours, get you some decent clothes, and find you a razor. And while we’re doing all that, I’m going to give you a lesson in the finer art of saying please and thank you.”
“Dang, girl.” Gray’s smile sizzled all the way down to his toes. What was he getting himself into?
“Let’s go.” She snapped her fingers and tipped her head toward the door. “We don’t have all day.”
Gray pushed to his feet, grabbed his jacket, and walked toward her. “Tori Montgomery, I think you’re going to regret the day you walked in here and took over my life.”
His hand shook as he reached for the third photograph.
Three years old, blond hair, blue eyes, and a cheeky grin.
Guilt and shame seized him.
“What are you doing in here?” Tori marched into the room lugging a laundry basket. She set it down on the bed and winged a couple of unspoken words his way through angry eyes.
He fumbled to put the picture back in place.
She hated when he touched her stuff.
“Sorry.” He coughed and moved away from the dresser.
“Whatever.” She began to sort her clothes. There were a lot of them. Gray picked up a black Van Halen shirt and attempted to fold it.
She allowed him to be helpful for all of two minutes.
“Give me that.” Tori snatched a thin chemise from his fingers, balled it up, and threw it into her suitcase.
Gray sank onto the edge of the bed, his heart thundering. This couldn’t be happening. Once again he found himself in a situation he had no control over.
Another mess he had no clue how to clean up.
She continued her frantic folding in stony silence, although it looked like she couldn’t care less how the clothes ended up in the case, so long as they got there.
“Could we . . .” Gray stayed her hand and closed his fingers around her thin wrist. Her pulse pounded through her skin and reached right through him.
“Could we what, Gray?” Those amazing eyes nailed him, challenged him, and dared him to admit his sins.
He shook his head and let her go. “When are you leaving?”
“I’m catching the ferry. I’ll get a bus back to New Jersey. Should be home for supper.”
“You talk to your folks?”
“Yes.” She yanked clothes off hangers, threw them into her case, stalked the room, and began to gather her belongings.
“And they’re okay with you coming back?”
“They’re okay with it. They know I’ve been clean the past two years. I promised them I’d still get counseling. I’ll get a job. They . . . they said they’re willing to give me a second chance.” Her voice got muffled, like it did whenever she was working to shove down her emotions. The past couple of days, since she’d voiced her intentions to go, he could barely stand to listen to her.
“Would it make a difference if I told you I was sorry?”
She turned, clutched a photograph to her chest, and took slow steps toward him. He didn’t have to ask which one she held.
“Sorry for what, Gray?” she whispered. “Sorry that you seduced me, slept with me, got me pregnant—then told me you could never love me like I deserve—that we could never have a future together? What—exactly—are you sorry for?”
Gray lowered his eyes and pressed his fingers into his legs. “All of the above.” He looked up and found her watching him.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. She closed the gap between them and held out the photograph. “If you want it.”
“Thanks.” His throat burned as he stared at the silver-framed image of the daughter he would never know. “She’s lucky she has you.”
“She barely knows me. A few visits here and there don’t measure up to being a real mom.” Tori’s sigh was thick with regret. “You know I wasn’t in any shape to be a mother when she was born. I’m not so sure I am now. My folks are the only parents she’s known. What if she doesn’t like me? What if I . . . mess up again?”
“You won’t.” He stood, put the picture on the bed, pulled her against him, and let her bury her face against his chest.
After a while, she looked up at him with a sheepish smile and tried to step out of his embrace. He held tight.
Gray studied her face, wanting to commit everything about her to memory. In a few hours she’d be gone. “Why did you stay?”
“What?” Her eyes widened.
“With me.” He let his fingers run along the side of her jaw, across her full lips, and down the slender neck he’d been secretly admiring for way too long. “After everything I put you through, everything that happened, why didn’t you just leave? You could have worked things out with your parents. Got your life together back there. Been with Tess all this time . . . but you didn’t. You came back to me.”
She pressed her lips together. “I knew Tess was happy. Safe. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve lived this life so long, on the road, with the band, and you. I didn’t know how to leave and start over. I believed Tess was better off without me, that my going home would only confuse her. And you needed me.” Tori lifted a thin eyebrow and showed
him the smile he knew he’d never get over. “I’m a little masochistic, I admit.”
“A little?”
“Okay, a lot.” Thick, wet lashes came down over eyes. Her hair was getting longer, no more spikes, just gorgeous dark curls that framed her face and hid her expression from his scrutiny. “But I don’t believe that anymore. I need to go home, Gray. I’ve wasted too much time already. I need to be with my daughter.”
Our daughter.
Neither one would say it.
Gray let her go and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Pulled out the wad of cash he’d withdrawn from the bank the day before and took her hand in his. “Here. It’s not what I owe you, but I think my checks are bouncing.”
She snapped her head up, stared at him, the cash, and then him again. Her mouth hardened into a thin line. “That’s not why I stayed.”
God help him, she was tearing his heart out.
“Just take it, Tor. Take it for her.”
“Fine.” She took the bills and shoved them into the pocket of her jeans. “Are we done then? I need to get packed.”
The self-preservationist returned.
Gray gave a reluctant smile. “Can I drive you to the ferry?”
“Lynnie’s going to.”
“Oh.” He folded his arms across his chest and quelled the urge to cough. A shudder grabbed hold and shook him anyway.
“You okay?”
“Sure.” As okay as he could be watching his entire life walk out the door. “I . . . um, don’t have your number.”
“You don’t know my cell number? You only called me a million times a day.”
“I mean your address.” He scratched his jaw and tapped a bare foot against the rug. “I might want to send you chocolates or something.”
“Chocolates?” She laughed and placed the last pile of clothes inside the beat-up case. The green canvas was covered with stickers and emblems and flags of all the countries they’d toured the last few years. She yanked on the zipper, maneuvering it around, closing her life up and hauling it away, out of his. “Gray, when have you ever seen me eat a piece of chocolate?”
The Things We Knew Page 21