No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1)

by Layne Harper

  Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I remember my phone is back in the kitchen. I’m smart enough to know I can’t walk home. I need to either call Bella to ask for a ride or Uber. Frustrated, I drop the bag on the floor.

  There’s no sign of Aaron when I enter the kitchen, and my phone is missing. It’s not like I misplaced it. I know exactly where it was resting when Aaron threw his fit.

  Glass fragments litter the hardwood floor near the dining room table behind the chair where Aaron had me to sit to play out one of his fantasies. The wine appears more like a dripping blood stain.

  I refuse to clean it up. He threw the temper tantrum. He’s a big boy and should deal with his own messes.

  Ugh, but now I have to find him and/or my phone. I have a feeling they’re in the same place.

  The night is crisp, and the lights inside the pool make it look so inviting. Pools in the Garden District are rare. A discarded white towel rests crumpled on the deck by the pool stairs. I guess Aaron doesn’t pick up after himself. Another of Seamus’s jobs?

  Without knocking, I open the studio door. Aaron is on the other side of the glass. He has can headphones on and is sitting on a stool, playing the guitar. The guy at the controls motions for me to take a seat without removing his eyes from Aaron.

  The dichotomy of Aaron. He swings from stone-faced, angry at the world, to looking like the god of sex while he strums a guitar dressed in nothing but a pair of old, faded jeans, his hair still tussled. When did he remove the wetsuit? It doesn’t matter. I know why women are obsessed with him. They see my fallen angel.

  A dial is flipped, and the sounds of his guitar fill the studio. I lie down on the sofa and let the music bathe me. It’s moody and raw. The guitar wails as if it’s crying and it stirs me. Awareness dawns as the playing comes to an end. Aaron is expressing his anger and frustration through his music. My anger dims somewhat. It’s as if I’m incapable of staying mad at him when he’s vulnerable.

  When he quits playing, I sit up, as he takes off the headphones and rests the guitar in a stand near the door. He glistens with sweat as he exits the studio.

  “That was fucking insane, Johnny. Have you written lyrics yet?” Bobby is beaming.

  “Close.” He glances at me, but his face doesn’t betray what he’s thinking.

  “Let’s keep it acoustic. I don’t think we want to add anything to it.”

  “Great. I’d like to work on lyrics. But first, I need to put MK to bed.” He walks over to where I’m sitting and offers me a hand.

  I take it and stand.

  “Tell Bobby good night.”

  “Good night,” I reply as Aaron leads me out the door.

  Bobby says, “We’re all real glad that you’re okay.”

  “Thanks,” I say as the door shuts.

  “Are you still leaving me?” Aaron asks in a soft, gravelly voice, giving my hand a squeeze.

  “You acted like a child. Smashing a wine glass—how rock star of you.”

  “No, sweetheart. We trash hotel rooms. You must’ve mistaken me for someone else.” The relief is evident in his voice.

  He holds the door open and I enter, turning towards his bedroom. We walk in silence. He sits on the edge of the bed and watches me remove my yoga pants and replace his T-shirt with a fresh one.

  “You’re staying?” he asks in a whisper.

  “If you want me to.” I guess I just assumed that I was still welcome.

  “Of course I want you to.”

  I lean against his closet door. “Are we going to discuss your fit?”

  “Do we have to?” he asks as his eyes cut to the floor.

  I think he’s embarrassed. “Yup.”

  “Sorry. I just lost my temper when you wouldn’t listen to me.” He sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, I like to be in control.”

  I position myself between his spread legs. My arms wrap around his neck as he grasps me at my waist. His head is against my breast. This isn’t sexual. I’m feeling needy, and he’s responding. I don’t want to let him go. Right now, we’re perfect. He’s not trying to be my knight or Knite in shining armor. I’m not worried I’m his latest phase or play-toy. We’re just two people who need each other.

  He pulls back and looks up at me with sad eyes. “I can’t stand that you’re hurt. I mean, I don’t understand what’s going on inside of here.” He touches his head. “Like, I feel the same way as when that bastard tried to hurt Jude, except I dealt with it by beating the shit out of him. I don’t think taking a baseball bat to your coffee table will make me feel any better. I can’t stop being so fucking angry that you’re injured.”

  He swallows and kisses my chest. “Then, when I saw you going against the doctor’s orders and hurting yourself, it made me crazy.” He holds me tightly again. “You have to take care of yourself. You can’t let this happen again. I can’t find out you’ve been injured by seeing that your phone is at the hospital. Those minutes when I didn’t know what was going on were fucking awful. Almost as bad as Jude’s birth. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive or if you’d ever be okay again.” Kisses are dotted over my chest. “MK, if you want me to stay sane and sober, for the love of God, please quit being so damn clumsy.”

  That makes me giggle. I’ve always had the unique ability to trip over my own feet, miscalculate a doorjamb, choke on air, or simply find the nonexistent bump in the carpet. Mom even stuck me in ballet to try and teach me grace. Eventually, I think the teacher felt guilty for taking her money and suggested I find another sport.

  “I’ll try,” I reply.

  That seems to satisfy him.

  “Did you eat?” he asks.

  “Few chips.” I shrug.

  “Fuck. I also promised you’d eat.” He takes out his phone.

  I touch his hand and meet his eyes. “I don’t want food.”

  Crawling under the covers of what I’ve come to think of as my side of the bed, I pull the duvet up around my ears.

  He leans down and kisses me on the cheek and then the lips. “Did you take your medicine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you clean your cut?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re hoping to finish up tonight. I’ll check on you.” He kisses me again before standing up. “I love you, MK.”

  I smile. “I love you too.”

  As he walks out of the room, I yell, “I want my phone back.”

  His response is to wiggle his behind as he shuts the door.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’m handwriting this because I’m not allowed to use electronics. I don’t think I’ve held a pencil in years . . . but I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, I had a bit of tumble. Okay. It was more like a gigantic splat into the corner of my marble coffee table. A concussion and stitches later, I look like a prize fighter after he’s lost—badly.

  (insert pic of my face here)

  Before you start messaging me, I had a couple of glasses of wine hours earlier, but I wasn’t drunk. This was a simple case of me being the ultimate klutz. The doctor says the cut will heal and fade. That’s the good news . . .

  (insert pic of my face comparing it to the glass of red wine)

  The bad news is I will no longer be able to choose my vino by matching it to my face color palette.

  What this little hiccup has taught me is what great friends I have in my corner. They knew just what to do and made sure I received the best care. I’m one very lucky girl!

  The next day, I’m eating a bowl of cereal because it’s really my best and only choice. Fingers crossed my doctor’s appointment goes well so I can start getting my life back in order.

  I miss my computer and access to the outside world. I miss my site. My followers have no idea about my accident and probably are wondering where I am. I don’t think I’ve ever taken this long of a break from Twitter. I miss Bella, Nyall, and my family. I even miss Tripp and want to thank him for taking such good care of me.

  The back door opens, and Sam strolls
into the kitchen. She’s dressed in workout clothes and looks like she just finished a run. “Don’t tell me that’s all he has to eat.”

  “It’s better than Pop Tarts.”

  She makes a gagging face. “I’d offer you something else, but since we’re leaving today, our fridge is bare.”

  I rest the spoon in the bowl. “Did you guys finish last night?”

  “Early this morning. Want some coffee?” she asks, already preparing the pot.

  I nod. “What do you think?” I’m curious. Aaron has shared nothing.

  She leans against the counter. “It’s a very different album than we’ve ever made. Once again, Johnny is a genius. We’ll hear the finished product in a couple of days.”

  I’m wondering if Grace did indeed leave. “Has Grace heard it yet?”

  “No. She’s back in Austin.”

  That answers that question.

  I couldn’t begin to understand how an album is made, and now is probably not a good time to quiz Sam. Instead, I’m on more of a fact-finding mission. “Where do you live?”

  “Most of the time, when we’re not on tour, we’re in Austin. We have a place in town and then a house in the Kerrville area.”

  Who’s the we?

  The coffee is ready and she fixes us each a cup. We move to the dining room table. I take the chair which I’ve come to think of as mine, since it’s where I sat while Aaron acted out his fantasy.

  Sam sits across from me. “What’s that stain on the wall?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I realize the glass has been cleaned up and the wall scrubbed but there’s a light purplish mark which remains. I shrug. “Who knows?”

  No point in airing our dirty laundry.

  “Johnny said you have a doctor’s appointment today.”

  I touch the bandages. “Yes. Hopefully, a good report. I was just sitting here wishing for my computer and to get back in the swing of things.”

  “Your head?”

  “Much better.” I smile. I like Sam. This is such a normal, pleasant conversation.

  “You touring with us?” she asks as she blows on her coffee.

  I don’t know anything about a tour. Aaron hasn’t mentioned it. I don’t want to be presumptuous. But talk about great blogging material . . . “Who knows?” I shrug. “Does Grace go on tour?”

  “Good question.” She smiles. “She’s a really great person, MK. I know she comes off as a bit rough, but you’ll grow to see she’s that way because she’s fiercely protective of us. And no. She usually attends the first couple of shows to help fix all the problems, but then she returns to Austin and runs Johnny Records. There’s also the club he owns, and his other dabbles.”

  She continues, “I thought about your question last night when you asked if you were one of Johnny’s messes. This’s going to sound odd, but I don’t know how else to say it. He treats you like he treats Jude. There’s the same care, compassion, and concern. I don’t know what your future is with him, but you’re the only girl he’s cared enough about to introduce us to.”

  I take Sam’s hand across the table and give it a squeeze. “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate your friendship and kindness.” She didn’t have to share that with me. I feel like at least one person in Aaron’s life is on our side.

  She squeezes my hand back.

  Aaron walks in the room, dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and nothing else. My necklace lays against his tattoo heart, and it makes me happy. “That’s what I like to see. Ladies playing nicely. Sam, can you teach Grace how to do that?” He walks around the table and kisses my head. He meets Sam’s eyes. “What’s up?”

  “Just saying bye to MK before we head out,” she replies, and gives him a wink as she stands up. “Take care.” She waves over her shoulder as she places her mug in the sink and walks out the back door.

  Aaron takes her vacated chair and reaches across the table. He turns my chin in one direction and then another as he examines my face. Looking satisfied, he sits back, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Head’s less throbby.” I push the cereal bowl away. Too much sweetness. I pick up my coffee.

  “Is throbby a word?”

  “If it’s not, then it should be. Heard you finished the album.” I change the subject. I’m tired of discussing me.

  “Yup.”

  That’s it. He doesn’t elaborate. He slides my unfinished bowl of cereal in front of him and begins eating.

  “When can I hear it?” I ask.

  “When your brain is better.”

  “Brain is just fine. Can I hear it now?” I reply as I take a sip of coffee. The bitterness kills the sweetness. So much better.

  “We’ll let the doctor make that call.”

  “I heard you play last night.” I protest.

  “One song.”

  We sit in silence for a bit while he eats. When he’s finished, he stands up, carrying the bowl to the sink. He can clean up after himself when he wants to.

  “I’m taking a shower,” he announces as he walks out of the room.

  Immediately, I sense something is off. He’s distant. There wasn’t one suggestive comment or sexual innuendo.

  The rest of the morning and early afternoon he’s moody, restless, agitated. He sits for a moment, then stands up and paces. He goes to the studio, spends some time there, then comes back and is almost jittery. I’m still having to practice concussion protocol so I’m stuck lying on the couch in the dark living room, watching him look uncomfortable in his own skin.

  Finally, at two o’clock, I stand up and head to the bedroom to get dressed. It’s ridiculous how excited I am to go to the doctor. It’s a distraction and hopefully clearance to go back to my normal life.

  Aaron enters the bedroom, throws on a black pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, leather boots and a baseball hat that says in scroll print Las Vegas. He doesn’t say anything to me, but I hear him leave the bedroom and visit with someone in another part of the house. I can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s two male voices.

  When he comes back into the room, he asks, “You ready?”

  “Just about.” I pin my bangs away from the cut, hoping it will make it easier for the doctor to examine me. My bruising is much better. It’s faded to shades of green and yellow. I still look like hell, but it’s nice to see a positive change. Visual improvement makes me feel hopeful I’ll get the news I want.

  When I exit the bedroom, Aaron sits on a bar stool, staring at his phone, while his leg bounces up and down so quickly that it’s almost a blur.

  I lean against the doorjamb. Everything about today feels off—almost like a picture not quite in focus.

  After a few moments, he looks up, spots me, and gives me a little smile. “Car’s out front.”

  I walk past him, and he follows me out the front door to the waiting black SUV. Zed is in the front passenger seat and Seamus is driving. They’re quiet also. It’s as if we’re attending a funeral instead of a doctor’s appointment.

  I try to make small talk. “I bet my fans are wondering where I am. I don’t think I’ve ever gone this long without posting.”

  He replies with, “Uh . . . huh,” as he drums on his thigh.

  I keep on. “I have so much to share. You know, my site really has some legs. I’m thinking of opening a retail store on Magazine Street one day. There’s a location I’ve been eyeing for a bit. Wouldn’t that be fun? I could have a cooking school and sell the pieces of furniture I refinish. So cool.”

  He turns to me. His eyes are dilated, and he vibrates with energy. He pulls me into his lap, and I squeal in surprise.

  Aaron’s hat is pulled down far enough that it shades his eyes, so I can’t gauge what he’s thinking. He tucks me against him and rocks me like a baby.

  I’m not okay with this, and he’s not comforting me. It’s as if he’s soothing himself. But I let him. I don’t know why I don’t protest. I should. I should push him away and remind him I’m not an infant.r />
  He whispers in my ear, “After your appointment, let’s fly to Vegas and get married.”

  My heart falls to my stomach, and I feel sick. My eyes grow so wide they bug out of my head. Breath catches in my lungs, and I don’t think I’m able to breathe. I scoot out of his grasp and lunge for the other side of the car. “Excuse me?”

  Aaron reaches over, taking my hands, trying to pull me back, but I don’t let him. “Come on, MK. You love me. I love you. What more do we need? We can be there in four hours. Married before midnight.”

  This must be the impulsive Johnny Knite who Grace warned me about. Adrenaline surges through me, and for a split second, I contemplate opening the car door and jumping out. I can’t get married to him. It’s too soon. I don’t want a Vegas wedding. I want to get married and have my dad walk me down the aisle. We’ll eat passed hors d’oeuvres and a sit-down meal. I want to shove cake in his face and have a first dance. Not Vegas. Not like this. Not when he’s so manic.

  “Say something, MK,” he pleads as his eyes study my face. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “You’re leaving me hanging, and I’m feeling like a fool.”

  I swallow hard. “No.” I shake my head. “No. I mean, it’s not that I wouldn’t consider marrying you some day, but that day isn’t today. Not like this, Aaron. Not when I feel like you’re proposing because you’re out of sorts for whatever reason. Not when I have a bruised face and possibly still a concussion. Not when your daughter can’t be present.”

  He drops my hands and stares out the window the rest of the way to the doctor’s office. I’m at a loss as to what to do. Surely he couldn’t have been serious. Marriage isn’t something to be taken lightly. I have to know him better and make sure that we’re right for each other. It all makes sense in my head, but my stomach feels like acid.

  My eyes travel between Zed and Seamus. If they’ve heard this conversation, they have zero reaction. Do they think this is normal? Maybe it is. Maybe in Aaron’s rock star world, he’s used to getting everything he wants. Is me turning him down the first time he hasn’t gotten his way?

  I feel so lost. I wish there was a Dummies Guide To Dating Rock Stars. Whatever it cost, I’d buy a copy.