Heads Carolina

by Grea Warner

  “But—”

  “Bethany, do you think we can sit?”

  “Uh ... yeah.” We were still in the foyer ... inches from the escape door. As I started to follow him, my legs actually felt stiff from standing so frozen and tense for that amount of time.

  We entered the living room—the same room where we worked together all those days and where he had kissed me the day before. I sat on the sofa. Ryan, leaving an appropriate amount of space between us, just as he always had, joined me.

  “It’s, you know, the stereotypical story.” He dove right into the topic we had put on pause in the foyer. “She rose to fame, and things changed between us. At first it wasn’t really either of our faults. We were kind of growing differently. But it wasn’t working. We tried. Man, did we try. And she had an affair—a fling—and I just couldn’t try anymore.”

  As I listened, I recognized the honesty in his voice. I had grown to know it through our collaborations. His new revelation made me want to go back and look at the lyrics we had written to see how much had potentially been done with his divorce in mind.

  “You’re divorced ... divorced? Not like separated?” With all the new co-parenting and living together arrangements, it did make me wonder.

  “Divorced, Bethany,” he confirmed. “For many months and not living together for a year. Yes, we have kept it a secret. She has some court connections, and we have managed to keep things hush-hush.”

  “But why?” It wasn’t as if divorce was something new in Hollywood.

  “She’s on top of her game, especially with this tour, and part of her persona is attached to me—the classic, wholesome singer who is happily married. And when I got the show, they wanted to tie the same image in, too. We thought it was a good idea to let things appear as is until ... I don’t know ... until it’s a better time to announce it. For now, it’s the way it has to be.” When I didn’t reply in any fashion, he prompted, “Talk to me. Please.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I felt bad because I could see how much it took for him to tell me everything he just had ... to trust ... to put his heart and heartache out there.

  “I told you because, yes, I was burned, but I want to move on, especially since I have gotten to know you.” His soft smile showed his sincerity.

  He had stepped up again, and I needed to do or say something to reassure him that he had been right to do so. “Can I see the papers?” I asked.

  He did a quick blink. “The divorce papers?”

  “Yeah. I know that makes me seem ... I don’t know. I—"

  “I’ll get them.” He spoke confidently, got up, and exited the room.

  I could vaguely hear him talking with the kids, and it made me momentarily push my insecurities away and wonder about them. What did they know? How were they affected? And knowing all that I found out, how was it going to affect me? I had feared when originally coming to the house that everything was going to change, and it most definitely had. Except, it was in a whole different way and direction than I had suspected.

  Ryan reclaimed his seat on the sofa and handed me a piece of paper. “There are others, but I’m pretty sure that’s what you want to see.”

  I hardly even looked at it. Their names, the formal signature, the petition date, the final date blurred in my vision, and I quickly handed it back to him. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask for that. It’s personal. It ... gosh ... Ryan ...”

  “You’ve been hurt or deceived before.” He said it calmly and matter-of-factly as he scooted the paper across the coffee table. “I can hear it in your lyrics but—"

  But ... I had never said anything directly. I did then. “Yes, hurt and deceived ... both personally and professionally.”

  I felt tears threatening my eyes. They weren’t about the past, though. It was more of a relief from all the stress I had been feeling that morning and the night before. The tears were because I could relax.

  And since he had been so honest with me, I explained, “Hutch, my college boyfriend, went back to his ex from high school. I thought they were over. Turns out, I was a placeholder.”

  “Hmmm.” His acknowledgment sounded empathetic. “He’s not the bastard though, right?”

  “What?” It took me a second to understand and rewind to when Ryan had overheard me speaking with Willow about Andre. It was taking me a lot of seconds just to comprehend the afternoon that far. “Oh. No. The bastard was because I was depressed and drinking. I seem not to make the wisest choices after a certain amount of beverages. Andre was a one-time, no-emotions understanding. I had never done something like that, and I don’t want it to ever be that way again,” I added, realizing I wasn’t talking with Ryan in that moment as a fellow music collaborator. So, the last thing I wanted was for him to think I was some kind of slut. “And professionally,” I trudged right on, “I was promised a job once. It was actually what got me out to California. I was told to pack my bags and move here because the job was mine. I did, but I didn’t have it in writing. I got here, and guess what? I’m sure you’ve heard this one before. The job was given to some higher up’s niece or something.” He nodded, and I continued, “So, I quickly learned to wait for proof.”

  “I get it.”

  “When that happened, I probably should have just turned around and went back home, but it was embarrassing. There had been a party and send-off. I didn’t want to admit I failed.”

  “I get that, too,” he said with even more conviction.

  “Do-over?” I asked after a pause.

  “Do-over? Do-over what?”

  I was the one who bit my lip that time ... the one leaning in. But he met me halfway. Oh, and then that kiss ... our lips together. It was very mutual and very magnetic. It was soft and sweet and a sense of relief. And that time it didn’t end in heartache or confusion.

  ***

  We ended up talking for a while after. I found out a little more about Kari and how it was in the beginning of their relationship. And if I was honest, I was glad to know they didn’t meet in a similar way he and I had. They actually met through a mutual friend on a blind date. In fact, she wasn’t and had never been a client of his ... and she didn’t write a stitch of her own tunes.

  He also mentioned how the agreement was that he kept the house with the kids since Kari’s touring schedule was so demanding and she was away from LA a lot. When in town, Kari had her own condo in a building owned by her record label. Since it also housed recording studios and other apartments for music execs and out-of-town guests, the press was none-the-wiser when spotting her there.

  Ryan said he and Kari were on good terms and they spoke ... but mostly about the kids. And it was then when it dawned on me that during our entire time collaborating, he hadn’t once spoken on the phone with Kari as normal couples did on a regular basis. Hindsight and all that. Ryan didn’t necessarily mind talking about Kari, but we did clip the conversation as quickly as we could. Exes, after all, were not usually a good source of conversation, no matter the circumstance.

  His kids, however, I already knew were a bright spot in Ryan’s life. He was starting to tell me exactly what they knew about his relationship with their mother when Joel came running in. He was flailing his arms as if he was Batman Junior.

  “Daddy, when’s the puppy thing? This princess stuff is bor-ring.”

  “Joel, say hi to Bethany.” Ryan always seemed to instill good manners with his children.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, Joel.”

  He immediately went back to his mission at hand. “Daddy, when’s the puppies?”

  Ryan shook his head and rolled his eyes at his son, but he spoke to me. “I promised we would go to this dog event today. Parade, talent show—that kind of thing.”

  “Sounds like fun,” I offered, thinking of our family dog in Carolina.

  “Yeah.” Ryan ruffled his son’s hair. “But somebody has to understand we can’t have one.” Joel’s pout almost perfectly mimicked his sister’s from earlier, and Ryan c
ontinued, “Maybe once things settle down and someone learns to take care of his room, he can take care of a puppy.”

  “I can!” His eyes enlarged.

  “Said every kid in the world to every parent who ends up walking, bathing, and cleaning up dog poop!” Ryan exaggerated the last word in a comedic way, surely to get his son to laugh.

  “Joel, if it makes you feel better, I can’t have a pet either.”

  “Is your room messy, too?” The little boy seemed amused and appalled at the same time.

  “No. We’re not allowed to have animals in the building where I live. At least you have hope. Keep working on your room.”

  Ryan winked at me and then said to his son, “Go get your sister. We really do need to get going.” When Joel bounded out of the room, Ryan said, “I’ll get a car to come pick you up. No arguing.” And he kissed me to seal the deal.

  “How could I argue that?” I smiled.

  “I know this isn’t ideal—the secrecy. But it is what it is for now. I want to see you and get to know you more and ... kiss you. But if you—”

  “I’m good. In fact, so much better than last night or this morning.”

  He left out a breath of air. “Yeah, geez, me, too.”

  Our mouths merged a few times, and I said, “And, I’m definitely good with that.”

  Chapter Five

  Ryan and I talked on the phone that Monday while I was walking home from the coffee shop. In irony of ironies, we weren’t going to see one another until Thursday, and it would be at his office. We no longer had the excuse of meeting privately at his home since the songs were written and I just needed to meet with the sound experts and record. I consequently had scheduled more hours at the coffee shop, and he was catching up at the office before the big push of the live Singer Spotlight shows.

  “You didn’t end up getting talked into a four-legged fur baby, did you?” I answered non-traditionally, inquiring about the Thompson’s puppy outing.

  “No.” Ryan chuckled. “Love my kids and actually love animals, but our life and a dog’s needs are not a good combination right now.”

  “I understand.”

  “I think you do.”

  I surged forward, asking about a television promo he had been scheduled to do for Singer Spotlight earlier in the morning. “How did your interview go?”

  “Well, interesting you should ask. That’s kind of why I called.”

  “Yeah?”

  “They asked about you.”

  “Me?” I momentarily stopped my stride. What about me?

  “Yeah. It threw me for a second, too,” he admitted. “They wanted to know if we ever ended up meeting after the little tweet fest.”

  Ryan knew I had kept everything quiet about meeting with him because of my fear of failure. And since I hadn’t recorded anything yet, there wasn’t much for him to be talking about on his end, either. But still, they asked.

  “What did you say?” I held my breath.

  “I said, ‘She’s a pretty damn good kisser.’”

  “Oh my gosh, Ry—!” I stopped myself. I should have known he was joking, just as we always easily did with one another. But since we were talking so seriously right then, it had initially caught me off guard. “Depends on who I am kissing,” I spouted back.

  “I’ll need to keep on top of my game.”

  “You definitely have game,” I reassured. “Where are you, by the way?” I asked, knowing he surely didn’t say the kissing comment in front of anyone. “What did you actually say?”

  “In the car.” That explained the tinny sound of his phone. “I put a little feeler out there for you. It was free promo that I couldn’t pass up. I just said we met and there is some potential in the future. A kind of ‘one to keep an eye out for’ kind of thing.” He paused. “Okay?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, because it really is happening.”

  “It is. Who knows if that part will even air? They asked a lot of questions, and the segments aren’t too long. Besides, the real focus should be on the show. Watch tonight. Even if that part doesn’t air, they might write about it somewhere. Besides, you’ll get a chance to see me look like an idiot on TV.”

  “I’ll get popcorn and my dartboard ready.”

  “But I said something nice,” he teasingly whined.

  “All right,” I conceded. “I can’t call you after, though, right?”

  “No, the darn sponsors’ event is tonight.”

  His disdain was audible. I knew he didn’t want to go to the banquet. It was to honor and appreciate the elite sponsors of a charity he and Kari contributed to regularly. And I was quickly learning that no matter how much Ryan liked to help, he wasn’t into praise or formality.

  “Sorry,” I genuinely lamented.

  “Thanks. I gotta run. Talk later?”

  “Sure thing. Bye, Ryan.”

  ***

  I was able to keep up pretty well with the higher-level music jargon, despite only being a wanna-be singer-songwriter with a simple guitar, pencil, and paper. My classes in college helped the cause. But I was also glad Ryan was there that Thursday. He knew when to clarify and ask questions of the audio tech, Morrison, with whom we were meeting.

  When it appeared our discussion had come to a natural close, Ryan—dressed more professionally than I had seen him in a while—confirmed it. “My kids started their spring break today. The neighbor is watching them just for this meeting. So, I’m gonna bolt if you think we’re all set.”

  “Sounds good to me, Ry-man.” In addition to having hair like his namesake—Jim Morrison, the audio expert also seemed to have the easygoing attitude of the sixties era. “We’ll see you next week, then, pretty lady.”

  “Great.” I stuck out my hand to shake his.

  “Oh, so formal. Not a hugger?” the hippie audio guru asked.

  When I shrugged and wrapped my arms around the man, I could swear I heard a low grunt from Ryan. I internally chuckled and physically pulled away. “See you next week,” I concluded.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  But Ryan denied Morrison’s offer on my behalf. “I still have some things she needs to sign. Catch you next Friday.” Ryan opted for the handshake, and I could tell it was a particularly firm one.

  “I have to sign something?” I asked once Morrison left.

  Ryan hadn’t told me that when we had spoken on the phone previously, and we had talked on both Tuesday and Wednesday. Tuesday it was mostly about his interview and them cutting the part about me. And during Wednesday’s conversation, he prepped me for the meeting with Morrison. But both days were also perfect excuses for us just to talk.

  “Yeah, I’m going to draw up something for you to sign.” He finished gathering his things in his folder and then came around the desk to meet me. “A no-hugging contract,” he whispered since his door was open. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  I kind of liked the little jealous side of Ryan Thompson. It made me feel like we belonged and were connected. The bad part of that, though, was resisting the urge to touch him. I knew I couldn’t kiss him or even swipe at his hand. I knew the reason why, but it was hard.

  As we walked out, Ryan told his secretary to have a good weekend. The entire staff was off Friday through Monday for the Easter holiday. Since there were a few lingering people in the hallway, though, operation small-talk commenced.

  “You walking? Do you need a ride?” he asked.

  “I borrowed Willow’s car. I knew the meeting wouldn’t be long.”

  “Oh, good deal.”

  “The kids excited for Easter?” The question sounded legit to any bystander, plus, it was something I was genuinely interested in.

  “Yeah. This will actually be the first year we are home. We usually go to my folks’ place in Iowa, but things are too busy here right now. I need to find places in the house to hide the baskets.”

  “You mean eggs.”

  “Yeah, and the baskets.”

  “Hmmm. Never
heard of hiding the baskets. Of course, we never did any of that,” I said while pressing the elevator button.

  “No?” He both looked and sounded surprised.

  “Jesus is the reason for the season.”

  “Oh, right.” Ryan, of course, through our many collaborations, knew my father was a pastor.

  “Yeah,” I sulked. “I wanted the darn bunny and chocolate.”

  He lowered his voice and, changing the subject, said, “I am hoping like crazy the elevator is empty.”

  When I tilted my head and creased my eyebrows in question, he quickly lifted his. Before I could react again, the elevator doors opened, and, indeed, the car was empty. No sooner had I pressed the garage floor button and the doors closed, did Ryan take me in his arms. The longing to touch one another was over. I felt his arms around my waist and his lips on mine. I lapped his tongue in reply until we heard the ping of the elevator. And then the short ride was done way too quickly.

  When our fingers brushed exiting the lift, I took a further step away and Ryan grumbled. I knew the situation was a difficult one for him, too, but I kept reminding myself it wasn’t as bad as I had initially thought. The Ryan-Kari situation was temporary. Everything would be out in the open eventually.

  We walked only a couple of steps when Ryan stopped and said, “This is me, the dad-mobile.”

  I had never seen his car, but of course it was his. Not only did Ryan have a prime, marked spot in the indoor parking garage, but his car was a BMW—a newer, sleek, luxury automobile. And it was painted a deep blue color, almost identical to his gorgeous eyes.

  “Dad-mobile?” I practically shrieked. “It’s a freaking BMW. No BMW can ever be considered a dad-mobile.” I non-abashedly looked inside the windows to witness, yes, the car seats but also the dark leather interior, the top dash gadgets, the sunroof ...

  “It’s comparable to your Tesla ... or was it a Porche?” he teased.

  I turned and playfully hit him, realizing almost instantly that it probably came across as too friendly. “Sor—"