Lennon Reborn

by Scarlett Cole

  He had dimples. He’d shaved, and she could see them clearly. While they were sexy as all hell, they did make him look younger. She hadn’t really considered their age difference too much before but one smile from him had her immediately forgetting all about it. He radiated . . . something. Charm. Charisma. Energy. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but their limo driver had noticed it when she’d lingered over his handshake, as had the three ladies waiting for the valet at the front of the hotel. They’d given Oscar-worthy hair-flicking performances as he’d walked by. So had the very polite Melinda, who had checked them in and fumbled giving him the room key without ever actually asking him to identify who he was.

  Maybe he’d simply begun to find his way. After all, he’d had PT today and was now wearing a compression sock like he was supposed to, and he had seen a trainer. He’d also confessed that the two combined had knocked him out, leading him to spend most of the afternoon asleep on the sofa.

  “When you said I need to do more outside of work, is this what you had in mind?” she asked playfully.

  Lennon had been exuberant when she’d returned from the hospital. He’d told her she had an hour to get ready and to pack for a one-night stay. When she’d complained about the work she’d planned to do on Sunday, he’d kissed her senseless, then reiterated that he’d see her in the lobby in an hour.

  “Promise me you’re game to try anything,” he said as the elevator continued to climb. His look turned heated, and warmth pooled between her thighs, a sweet reminder of the time they had spent in bed together.

  “As long as you don’t spank me and expect me to call you “sir,” because I am so not down with that dominant shit.”

  He placed his hand on her cheek. “Angel, I could get you to call me Santa if I wanted.” Firmly, he pressed his lips to hers. “And I’ll only spank if you ask me nicely,” he whispered. He stepped back with a grin as the elevator opened.

  “Welcome home, for the next twenty-four hours at least,” he said as he led her through the hallway into the opulent Presidential Suite. Giant windows lined one wall of the sumptuous living room. It was dusk, with enough light in the sky for it to be blue, but the lights of the city were still bright in contrast. A red rug sat on a wide-planked dark-wood floor. Sofas decorated with coordinated silk cushions sat around a low wooden table with a beautiful Asian-style bowl on top.

  “Lennon,” she said. “This is too much.” It wasn’t that she hadn’t stayed in places like this before, but for someone else to pay for somewhere like this was too much. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, though, because she wasn’t.

  Lennon slid his bag from his shoulder and repeated the action with hers. “I wanted tonight to be special. So far, you’ve only gotten to see the side of me that’s”—he shrugged—“me after all this. I wanted to spend the night with you like me. I want to forget everything about the last month except you. Because you are hands down the silver lining to this cloud.”

  Georgia placed her hands on either side of his face and went up onto her toes to kiss him softly. “I’m happy to take you as you are, but if you need to forget for tonight, I can do that too.

  There was a subtle cough to their left, and Georgia stepped away quickly. A sharply dressed man in a black suit stood near the dining room.

  “Mister McCartney, Doctor Starr. My name is Wayne and I’ll be personally assisting you this evening. May I take your bags and coats, please?”

  Lennon assisted her in slipping out of her black Burberry trench coat and handed it to Wayne. “I’m Lennon. This is Georgia,” he said, shaking Wayne’s hand.

  Georgia did the same as Lennon removed his jacket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wayne,” she said.

  “May I get you started on the 2004 Louis Roederer Cristal Rosé as per your request when I return?” Wayne asked.

  Lennon looked to her, and she nodded. Two of her favorite words: “Cristal” and “rosé.”

  As Wayne disappeared into what she assumed was the bedroom with their bags and coats, she wandered to the left of the large wood-paneled room, where a table was set for two. Round wicker mats, beautiful crockery edged with gold, chopsticks and cutlery, multiple glasses, and the most stunning floral arrangement with citrus green and orange flowers complete with white candles graced the table. A silver-colored menu sat on each place setting with the heading MR. L. MCCARTNEY & DR. G. STARR.

  Underneath ran a list of seven delightful courses.

  “As first dates go,” Lennon said, slipping a hand over her shoulder, “how is it?”

  It was as if he’d read her mind.

  “It goes perfectly, Lennon,” she said, even though the words didn’t come close to explaining how special he’d made her feel. It left her a little breathless that he’d gone to so much effort for her.

  A loud pop sounded from over her shoulder, and she looked in the direction of what she assumed was a small kitchen. A moment later, Wayne reappeared with two glasses on a silver tray, offering one first to Georgia, then Lennon. “Your dinner service is scheduled to begin in fifteen minutes. Does that still work for you, Mister McCartney?”

  “It’s Lennon, please, and yes, that’s perfect.”

  Georgia bit back a grin. “I might not be able to get my head around “Sir,” but I could totally get my head around calling you “Mister McCartney,” she whispered so as not to offend Wayne.

  Lennon grinned and clinked his glass to hers. “I’ll drink to that, Doctor Starr. Let’s go sit down,” he said, taking her hand.

  It seemed rude to tell him that she actually wanted to go exploring, so she followed.

  An hour later, Georgia was looking at the half-finished fifth course, her hand on her close-to-full stomach. Bison with blueberry compote. “I promised myself I was going to pace myself so I could enjoy every course, but everything has been so good that I’ve cleaned my plate every time.”

  Lennon laughed and sipped his wine, the delicious Syrah that Wayne had opened much earlier in their meal to allow it time to breathe in a beautiful wide-bottomed decanter. “It gets a lot lighter from here on out,” he said, studying the menu. “Dessert, then after-dinner drinks and coffee.”

  “You know how you said when we arrived that you wanted to forget the last month?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “We aren’t talking about anything that happened in April.”

  “I know,” she said, cutting another piece of the tender meat. “I just wondered if you would be comfortable sharing what happened to you. Why you ended up in foster care? If it’s not too painful,” she added hastily.

  Lennon chewed his final mouthful of food. She couldn’t decide if he was stalling for time.

  “I don’t want to pressure you,” she said when he didn’t look up.

  “I gotta be honest. Normally, I’d blow that kind of question off. But I think I want to tell you. I just can’t decide if now is the right time.”

  Georgia placed her hand across the table and reached for his, grateful when he took it. “It can wait.”

  “I’m glad you get me, Georgia.”

  “I’m glad I get you too.”

  The rest of the meal passed in more playful conversation, and by the end of the dinner, Georgia felt quite inebriated. It wasn’t her usual state, but it was liberating to shed a layer of her usual reserve. Wayne had cleared the table, and retired for the evening leaving them with wine and glasses. Music was playing from Lennon’s phone through the speakers, and it made her smile. He’d picked jazz, even though he wasn’t a huge fan. Count Basie was singing about the key to the highway. Her body began to sway in time to the music.

  Before she could process what was happening, Lennon had spun her and taken her in his arms. There was something about the way their bodies lined up while she was wearing her tall heels that thrilled her.

  “I like this dress,” he said as they circled their way around the living room.

  Georgia sighed, placing her forehead against his shoulder. “I like this,” sh
e said quietly. She caught sight of their reflection in the glass, her rough and ready rocker with ink down his arms, holding her close. But it was the look on his face that shocked her the most. He’d never looked so torn.

  “I was found abandoned in the toilets of Jane Street subway station,” he said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  A cold chill slithered down his spine as he tried to figure out why the fuck he’d started speaking.

  Up until the moment the words had fallen from his lips, he’d been content to hold her close and dance in a way that probably made him look like a pussy. But that hadn’t mattered because for the first time in his life, he’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

  And then he’d spoken.

  Georgia was silent, but her hand gripped his a little more tightly and the hand around his waist held him a little closer. She wanted to know, but somehow he knew that she wouldn’t force him to reveal his secrets, at least not yet.

  If you tell her, she’ll leave.

  If she knows the truth, she won’t want to stick around.

  Nobody ever did once they knew.

  But his silence didn’t appear to be fazing Georgia. Perhaps he could risk it.

  A low-grade headache began to bang at his temple, and he realized that he’d been clenching his jaw. He took a deep breath and kissed the top of her head.

  “My mom was three days shy of her sixteenth birthday when she had me. And I wasn’t her first. She’d already had my sister Jennifer, who was fourteen months older.” The words stuck in his throat as they always did when he thought of his sister and her blonde pigtails. He wondered how she would have grown up, what kind of person she’d be, what kind of relationship they would’ve had had she still been alive.

  Georgia looked up at him. “I had no idea that you had siblings,” she said.

  “I don’t, I mean, I did, but I don’t anymore. Fuck. Can we sit down?” He needed to sit, he needed air, he needed a boatload of vodka and a couple of the painkillers in his bag.

  He wanted to stop, wished he’d never started this stupid conversation. What the fuck had he been thinking? He forced himself to face Georgia. “Are you sure you want to hear all this? When I booked the hotel for tonight, this was honestly not what I intended to spend our time here doing.”

  Georgia took his hand, turned it over so his palm faced upward, and began to massage it with her thumbs. “I want to get to know you, Lennon. Not just sexually, but emotionally. And what happened to you, whatever it is, is a part of who you are. This”—she circled her hand to gesture around the room—“tonight, is a wonderful treat. But getting to know you is the best gift you could give me.”

  It was difficult to hold her stare, and he looked away, focusing on the red and gold dish that sat on the low table. The feelings he’d begun to develop for her had felt real, real enough that he’d allowed himself to daydream about what could happen between the two of them. But now that seemed to be unraveling, and he couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt the need to leave, grab his bag, take a plane back to . . . to where? Home? Where the fuck was that?

  His heart began to race, words stuck between his head and his throat.

  “Lennon,” Georgia said softly. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

  You will.

  You’ll go.

  And I’ll break.

  Don’t leave.

  But they all do.

  “Goddamnit,” he cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he marched to the window and looked straight down toward the ground. “I just can’t . . . shit. Georgia, I . . . I don’t even know how to . . . what to . . .”

  “Hey,” Georgia said, slipping between him and the window before placing her hands on his biceps. “Lennon, look at me.”

  He couldn’t. He was mortified, and horrified, and embarrassed, and hating his mother and the long-term effects of the way she’d treated him. He’d just made a fool of himself, but so what? It wasn’t like it was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. Except this time mattered. It was Georgia, and he couldn’t just brush her off like he did everyone else in his life.

  “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely while remaining focused on the ground. “They called it failure to thrive,” he said. “Wait, let me back up. She didn’t want me because she knew her parents would kick her out if they found out she’d gotten pregnant again. She was fourteen when she had my sister. My grandparents, being assholes, kicked her out, but somewhere between the Children’s Aid Society and the police, she ended up back home with them. They were embarrassed, coerced, forced . . . I don’t know, but they ended up agreeing to look out for my mom and my sister. At sixteen, she knew they’d kick her out again. So she abandoned me in the subway after giving birth alone.”

  When Georgia’s palm pressed to his cheek, he couldn’t help but lean into it. While he hated to admit how much he wanted it, he soaked up the contact. He kissed her palm and then risked looking into her eyes. They were wet with unshed tears. It hurt that he’d caused them.

  “I know this is hard,” she said, her voice wavering, “but I’m right here with you, Lennon. Touch me, hold me, look at me. . . . Do whatever you need to convince yourself of that.”

  He pulled her to him with so much force that she almost tripped, but he caught her. Would catch her a thousand times over . . . until she wasn’t his to catch anymore.

  And even then . . .

  He whispered into her hair. “They found her. She had complications after the birth and ended up in the hospital. The system gave me back to her. To a child who didn’t want me. She never held me. My story made the papers. I looked it up once and saw a comment from a journalist who said they wished I’d been a girl so I could be called Jane.” He shook his head gently. Who the hell would want to be named after the subway toilet they’d been dumped in? “Public interest overtook decency. Being reunited with my mom was . . . Anyway, once the embarrassment of my being their grandchild and their daughter’s name being smeared all over the paper had died down, her parents kicked her out. She didn’t want anything to do with me, but she was forced to take me with her. But she never held me, never played with me or talked to me, barely even fed me.”

  He should let go of Georgia. They should sit. They should talk like normal people. But instead he tightened his hold. Terror gripped him as he relived the story of the people who had left him. She would leave him too, and he’d be left with nothing at all. No reason to . . .

  Live.

  The word slithered over his skin, around him. It was like being in a nightmare while he was still wide awake.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he began to release her.

  “Don’t be,” Georgia murmured against his chest. “Keep hold of me, Lennon. It’s okay.”

  It’s okay.

  It’s okay.

  It’s okay.

  It is.

  It’s not.

  “Some family friend felt bad, let her stay in his finished basement. He was a trucker. Never home. Or so the police report said.”

  Georgia wiggled against him and moved so she could look up at him, and he suddenly felt the courage to release her from his grip but not his grasp. He placed his hand on her hip, and she leaned back against the windows of the Mandarin. God, she was fucking spectacular, but now wasn’t the time to tell her. Because what she was offering him, her unconditional support, was more beautiful.

  “Why was there a police report?”

  “My mom didn’t want me, so she would just ignore me. She’d play with Jennifer. Take Jennifer out. She registered her for kindergarten. She told Jennifer I was a secret. And my mother got a job. And she just ignored me. I don’t even really remember most of it happening. I was too young. But I have these flickering memories. Of being covered in shit. Of a heavy piece of wood being put over my crib to keep me in it, even when I was too big to fit in it properly. Apparently I learned to stop crying because no one ever came.”

 
“Oh, Lennon.” She placed her hands over his. “That’s unbearably cruel. You have every right to feel hurt and betrayed. No mother should treat her child like that.”

  “Yeah, well. Cut to the chase. One day she left Jennifer and me alone while she went out. I was half-starved and begged Jennifer to find something for us to eat. She didn’t want to do it, but I pleaded with her because I was so hungry. She fell off a stool in the kitchen trying to reach a box of caramels. She was six. The stool . . . I don’t know . . . She fell.” He sniffed, and exhaled sharply, but it wasn’t enough to stop tears from pooling in his eyes. “She came to the crib and lay down next to it. Told me her head hurt, and there was blood coming out of her ear. I held her hand while she died.”

  He attempted to brush away the tears that rolled down Georgia’s face, even as tears fell down his own.

  “So, Mom came home,” he said, rushing the words, certain that if she started to say anything of comfort, if she started to say things that filled up the bleakness inside, he’d never finish. Because after he’d told her his story, he was never going to tell another soul. “She found Jennifer, and she cried. But as she was holding her, she noticed the caramels on my blanket. She lifted the wood off the crib and dragged me out and slapped me around the head until my ears bled. She screamed at me that it was my fault. And do you know what was worse? She’d only called the ambulance for Jennifer. She hadn’t mentioned me at all. I heard her, as I lay on the floor, say that her baby girl wasn’t breathing . . . as I lay there trying to . . . trying to . . .”

  Breathe.

  Move.

  Crawl to his sister.

  Protect his sister.

  Protect himself.

  Lennon fell to his knees and sobbed before he could stop himself. Georgia sat down next to him and wrapped her in his arms. And he let her. He let a woman he wasn’t supposed to fall for hold him as years of hurt flooded out. Tears stained his face, his jeans, her perfect fucking dress.