California Dreamin' Collection

by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden

  As gently as he could, he pried another woman’s hand off his arm and dashed toward the door, which was just closing. From the corner of his eye, he saw a reporter and a group of fans hurrying after him, but he didn’t stop.

  He slipped through the door into a service hallway, pulling the door tight behind him, and hesitated. Which direction to go? Doors on one side led to what he assumed were other meeting rooms, and on the other, to a large, stainless-steel kitchen. A movement at the end of the hallway, a flash of pink like AnneMarie’s blouse. He hurried that direction.

  When he caught up to her, AnneMarie turned around. Her eyes darted back to the row of closed doors.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really didn’t mean to…” He took a careful step, feeling as if he’d trapped a bird, and one false move would send her flying away. “AnneMarie, if I had any idea that coming would have turned your night into such a circus, I never would have—”

  The door behind them banged open and the noise of the ballroom floated into the hallway.

  AnneMarie turned. She was going to bolt.

  Without thinking, Lance opened the nearest door, grasped her arm and pulled her inside.

  He glanced back at a group of reporters, fans, and hotel staff hurrying toward them, then closed the door, plunging the room into darkness. He clicked the lock, and ran his hand along the wall until he felt a light switch and pressed it. He turned around and realized that they were in a small custodial closet.

  AnneMarie stood a few feet behind him, her arms folded and her eyes wide.

  He couldn’t believe he’d screwed this up so badly. He raised his hands. “I’m not trying… I mean… I just wanted to get you away from…” He motioned to the door behind him, then dropped his arms. “I’m sorry I ruined your night and shoved you into a closet. I just wanted to talk to you.”

  She pulled her brows into a scowl. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t have to. Her glare could have melted steel.

  He rubbed his palm over the back of his neck “Listen, I really didn’t mean to ruin your event. I really thought I was coming at the end when most people would already be gone. I would never have—”

  The door handle rattled, and they both stared at it.

  AnneMarie looked from the door to him. “I have to get back out there. People will be wondering where I am.”

  “Not yet. We need to talk.” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he stuck them into his pockets. “Please, can we just… talk?”

  She remained silent, her lips pursed, but her eyes didn’t look like she still wanted to commit murder, which he took as a good sign.

  Lance slid two buckets from beneath the shelves and turned them over. “For an evening out, I usually prefer a location with fewer toilet scrubbers, but this isn’t bad.” He grinned and swooped his hand toward the makeshift chairs.

  AnneMarie looked at the buckets then at him but didn’t smile at his attempt to lighten things up. “Why are you here, Lance?” She folded her arms.

  “I saw you leave the ballroom and—”

  “No, why are you here? Why did you come tonight?” Her lips were pressed together tightly and she looked away. “Why are you doing this?”

  Lance reached toward her. “I thought it was obvious— to see you.”

  She shifted her weight to one side, avoiding his extended hand. “That’s not what I mean. It’s been so long… Why do you want to see me? Why now?” She darted a look at him then stared at a shelf of glass cleaner. “Is it because of what I said on the show? Are you feeling sorry for me… or are you just bored between super-model girlfriends?”

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Marilyn was right; this wasn’t going to be easy.

  “Just listen, okay?” He tried to think of the perfect words to say but came up blank. How could he explain that he’d always missed her? How he’d been so caught up in partying and fame that he’d lost sight of everything, even the best thing in his life?

  “I’m listening.”

  The gentleness in her voice threw him off balance. “Why didn’t you come to my concert that night?” The words burst out of his mouth, surprising them both.

  “What? Is that why—”

  He scrubbed both hands over his face. “I waited...” It was a relief to ask what he’d wondered for a decade, even if his brain wasn’t consulted before his mouth spewed the words. “My first stadium concert as the main act. I— dammit… Why didn’t you come?” He felt like he had something in his throat and tried to clear it as the memory of standing at the backstage door returned.

  The guys in the band begging him to hurry onstage because they should have started twenty minutes ago. His manager yelling. But he knew if he just waited a bit longer… And she never showed.

  AnneMarie sat on the bucket and her shoulders slumped. “I didn’t think you’d notice. You stopped calling, you cancelled dates, and when I called you, someone else always told me you couldn't come to the phone. You were so busy with your new life and didn’t have time for me anymore.”

  “Yeah, I was busy.” He sat next to her, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. He tipped his head to catch her eye. “But I wanted you to be a part of all of it. I was… I loved you.”

  AnneMarie looked down at the tile floor, but not before he saw that her eyes were wet. “I guess I was scared. Your world was so big and so different, and I was an eighteen-year-old, small-town girl. I didn’t think there was a place for me in it.”

  “I’m sorry. I just got caught up in everything. I should have—” His chest was tight. The hurt from her rejection had started him on the road to self-destruction, using drinking and girls to cover up the pain. But it wasn’t all her fault. Looking back, he could see more clearly. Their lives had been so out of sync, no wonder she had felt scared. “I wanted you there. I wanted it so bad, it hurt.” He brushed his hand up her arm, smiling when she shivered, and emboldened when she didn’t pull away. Her skin was hot and her eyes locked on his. He skimmed his thumb over her chin, and AnneMarie closed her eyes.

  He ignored the sounds from the hall and leaned close, brushing his lips over hers. “Remember Glass Beach?”

  A small smile lifted her lips. “Yeah, I remember.”

  He pushed the hair back over her shoulder, combing his fingers through the soft strands. “Do you remember what you said that night? Your poem?”

  AnneMarie pulled away. “Stop.” Her voice grew louder and took on an edge. She shook her head, slowly at first and then more firmly. “Just stop.”

  He stared at her. What had changed?

  “Lance, I’m sorry. I can’t do this again.” She waved her hands through the air as if to push away the memories. “I know what I said then, and what I said yesterday. When it comes to you, my feelings were— are— so complicated.” She dropped her arms. “I care about you, I really do. It’s just been too long.”

  Lance’s heart pounded and his skin felt tight as desperation overcame his thoughts. He was losing her.

  The door handle shook again, and she stood. “I have to go.”

  “But we can figure it out. It’s not too late.” He wasn't above begging.

  “No, Lance, we can’t.” Her expression was set. She bit her lip and rubbed one arm but didn’t look at him. “It is too late.”

  Lance watched her for a moment then pulled his phone from his pocket. “Marilyn can get security to clear the hall.” He sent a text and stood next to the door, his mind scrambling to find out a way to fix this. AnneMarie’s chin trembled, and when he saw it, Lance’s heart felt like it was being squeezed. “AnneMarie?” He lifted his hand toward her.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it might as well have been blasted from a blow horn. The two words said it all.

  Before long, the noise in the hall stopped.

  His phone vibrated, and he read the message then looked up at AnneMarie. “You’re good to return to the ballroom. Marilyn an
d someone named Sue have everything under control.” His chest was heavy. Marilyn had been wrong. It had been too long and there was too much to forgive. Why had he let himself hope?

  “Thanks.” AnneMarie moved past him and opened the door. She took a step but then turned back, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Lance, I wish…”

  “Yeah me, too.” He closed the space between them and pulled her against him.

  Lance held her, and she sank into him, burying her face against his chest and returning the embrace as if she meant it, as if the ten years and the gulf between them had never existed. She fit in his arms. This felt right.

  He tightened his arms and spoke against her hair. “I didn’t want to say goodbye to you again.”

  She nodded, barely moving her head. He brushed his fingers over her hair, wanting every detail of the moment to last: her scent, the feel of her in his arms, the way her body molded to his… everything seemed so perfect. But, all too soon it ended.

  AnneMarie stepped away and hurried out without a backward glance, leaving behind an ache he remembered all too well.

  He closed the door, sinking down onto one of the overturned buckets, and rubbing the skin around his eyes. He’d blown it. Another chance had been too much to hope for.

  The closet door opened.

  Lance didn’t glance up. Of course Marilyn would find him. “I’m taking the song out of the set,” he told her.

  Marilyn didn’t ask what he was talking about. “Leave it in.”

  He looked up and rested his arms on his knees. “It’s too late. We're pulling it.”

  “I’m your manager. It stays in.”

  Chapter Six

  AnneMarie folded her cardigan and laid it over the other clothes in her suitcase. She set her toiletry bag in an empty corner and fastened the straps to hold it all in place then closed the suitcase and zipped it.

  She sat on the small couch and rubbed her temples, glancing at the digital clock. Not quite 7:00 a.m. Her head ached— no surprise after a long sleepless night. Leaning back, she closed her eyes and let out a heavy breath. She felt anxious and unsettled. It would be good to return to her comfortable life in Aberdeen, where everything was familiar. She could sit at her tidy desk, pet her cat, and immerse herself in work without having to think about Lance Holden or the emptiness that had filled her heart yesterday after she’d walked away from him again.

  At least, that’s what her brain kept telling her. But her heart longed for something completely different. Doesn’t that dumb organ know I’m trying to protect it?

  The entire situation had been a weird coincidence— the two of them appearing on the same show on the same night. Without that strange twist of fate or her confession to Clyde, Lance would never have given her a second thought— she was sure of it.

  But he had thought of her. And for just a moment, it had seemed like there was a chance to go back to the past. Lance’s reminder of Glass Beach had brought back a surge of memories that AnneMarie had thought she’d successfully locked away.

  Glass Beach. He’d kissed her that night, and with her poem, she’d laid her heart open. They’d made promises to each other. She’d thought it was the beginning of something that would last forever. She’d been so young and hopeful; she would never have believed that it would all be torn apart a few months later. She hitched up her shoulders, and, with some effort, pushed the memories back where they belonged— deep inside, where they couldn’t hurt.

  What had happened was for the best. But she resented the “what if” that dug into her like a splinter she couldn’t remove.

  The now-famous tabloid picture of Lance Holden waist-deep in the ocean, kissing a curvy, bikini-clad starlet, popped into her mind and pushed away more of her regret.

  “I don’t belong in his world,” she said aloud, hoping to convince herself. She slid her feet into her shoes and let out another breath. It was over. But had she thrown away a second chance?

  Mercifully, her fitful musings were interrupted by the sound of the bedside phone ringing.

  She reluctantly crossed to it. “Hello?”

  “AnneMarie? Hi. It’s Marilyn Daniels.”

  Marilyn, as in Lance’s manager? AnneMarie’s heartbeat quickened. “Uh, hi.”

  “Listen, sorry to call so early, but I hoped to catch you before your flight. Do you have time to meet me for coffee? I’m down in the lobby.”

  “Why exactly are you here?” She didn’t want to sound rude, but she also didn’t want to think any more about Lance— or his manager, or his career, or his bikini-clad minions. She wanted to go home and pretend that the past 48 hours had never happened.

  “I just wanted to talk. I won’t take up much of your time. Fifteen minutes, tops.”

  “Did Lance…”

  “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

  The line was silent as Marilyn waited for an answer. How to reply? AnneMarie felt uncomfortable with the idea of meeting Lance’s manager, but she had to admit that a part of her was curious about the woman’s motives. Besides, it would be awkward if she hung up then walked past her a few minutes later on the way to breakfast. “I’ll be right down.”

  AnneMarie rode the elevator with a pit growing in her stomach. What did Marilyn want? Did Lance truly not know she was here? If so, had Marilyn come to scold her for the way she’d treated her client? She seemed protective of him, and AnneMarie was sure she hadn’t come to bid a fond farewell.

  By the time she stepped into the lobby, her emotions had leapfrogged over uncomfortable and landed on annoyed. Who did this woman think she was?

  Marilyn waved from a small chair in the lounge area. When AnneMarie reached her, Marilyn gestured toward another chair.

  AnneMarie took a seat across the table, and sat with clenched muscles, braced to defend herself.

  “I ordered us both a café au lait, if that’s all right,” Marilyn said.

  Her smile caught AnneMarie off guard. Instead of accusatory, her expression was sympathetic. “Thank you.” Looking closer, she noticed that Marilyn’s eyes, which had seemed bright when they met at the studio, were now bloodshot and red-rimmed. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Just tired,” Marilyn said. “Stayed up all night reading.” She yawned, and her friendly smile turned a bit sheepish. “I just had to know what happened with Gaston and Scarlett.”

  AnneMarie didn’t know what to say. Was Marilyn just making small talk? Had she really come to the hotel first thing in the morning to talk about AnneMarie’s book? Well, fine. She could talk books. “Did you like the ending?”

  “Loved it. I don’t think it could have been any better. I got pretty worried there for a while. I didn’t think there was any way the two of them could ever end up together. Not with all they’d been through. He’d messed up so badly, but once he’d changed and become the man she needed… and she saw that and forgave him...” Marilyn placed her hand on her chest. “It was just perfect.”

  And there it is. AnneMarie’s skin heated in irritation at the pointed comparison between the book and Lance. Even so, she couldn’t help but smile at Marilyn’s effort. She’d obviously put a lot of thought into her approach.

  They both looked up as a server placed steaming mugs in front of them.

  Marilyn took a sip and sighed. “Thank goodness for caffeine.”

  AnneMarie ran a finger around the rim of the cup. “Listen, I appreciate your not-so-subtle allusion to my situation.” She smiled and looked at her foamy drink. “I know what you’re trying to do. You care about Lance. So do I. But our lives are just too different.”

  “You know, I would do anything for that guy,” Marilyn said. “He’s like a son to me. Last night, he was so devastated that I was going to come straight over here to convince you to give him a chance.” She wrinkled her nose. “But the amazing speech I planned doesn’t sound so brilliant after a few hours of sleep, so I’ll spare you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Now you’re headed back home?<
br />
  AnneMarie nodded. “Yep, back to good old Aberdeen, Idaho.”

  “Your safe place.” Marilyn took a sip of her coffee.

  AnneMarie studied the woman’s face but sensed no censure, only kindness. She was grateful that Marilyn hadn’t gushed with sympathy, or anger, or expressed any kind of judgment. She seemed to understand what AnneMarie needed was someone to listen, and she found herself wanting to confide.

  “I live in the same small town where I was born. I’ve had very few romantic relationships, I rarely travel, and my life is slow and dull. Pathetic, isn’t it?” She sat back, surprised at herself for opening up to a stranger.

  But Marilyn didn’t seem at all surprised. For a moment, AnneMarie wondered if Lance found his manager easy to talk to as well.

  Marilyn swirled her coffee in her cup. “I don’t think it’s pathetic at all. Sounds heavenly— a slower life in the country, away from the confusion and stress. To Lance, it sounds like salvation. He wants the kind of life, where he can be grounded and move at a gentler pace with the one person who cared about him before all the fame made him doubt everything and everyone around him— even himself.”

  AnneMarie’s pulse sped up as Marilyn spoke.

  “You knew I couldn’t resist bringing the conversation back around.” Marilyn shrugged sheepishly.

  AnneMarie was grateful for her honesty, but it didn’t change anything. “Was that the brilliant speech you prepared?” She spoke in a light tone, hoping that Marilyn couldn’t see that just speaking about Lance sent her insides trembling.

  “Give me a little credit,” Marilyn said with a grin. “The best part is the conclusion.”

  “By all means.” AnneMarie raised her palm. “Please continue.”

  Marilyn cleared her throat and dramatically laid a hand on her chest. “It wasn’t easy for Scarlett Rose to trust Gaston de Vaux, but in my opinion, Lance’s saying ‘I’m sorry, I messed up, I miss you and can we give it another try?’ is every bit as brave as Gaston’s climbing a castle wall and challenging the evil warlord to a duel to win back his true love.”