Lennon Reborn

by Scarlett Cole

  Jordan cuffed Elliott around the ear and everyone laughed.

  Elliott rubbed the back of his head. “Fucker,” he cursed. “Anyway, at the core of it, no matter how big our families get, or which countries we decide to live in, or whether we ever record another record, at its very core, it’s us. The famous fucking five.”

  On cue, Elliott’s phone rang, the guitar solo from “Kissing Kendalee,” the song Elliott had written for his girlfriend, as the ring tone.

  “Poutine run,” Dred and Nik said at the same time as Elliott stood and walked to the kitchen to answer it.

  “Poutine run?” Lennon asked, wondering what the fries, gravy, and curd cheese had to do with anything.

  “Kendalee is craving the shit out of it.” Jordan answered. “Elliott knows every late-night place in the city that sells poutine.”

  The things you’d consider doing for a woman you loved.

  You loved.

  The words had slipped into his mind unfettered. He looked toward the bedroom.

  The guys began to gather their jackets.

  “Hey, are you guys around tomorrow?”

  “Whatever you need,” Dred said. “We can meet up at my place if you want.”

  Lennon nodded. “I want to talk to you about Jennifer.” He needed to tell them about his life before them, about his sister.

  If they were shocked, none of them said a word about it. Once they were all gone and the apartment was quiet, he put the empty beer cans on the counter. He was home. He allowed the warmth of that feeling to seep into his bones.

  “You should come to bed.”

  Georgia. Her voice was husky.

  “You should be asleep,” he said, pulling her sleepy form against his. Her eyes said she’d been sleeping, her skin warm to his touch from being under his sheets. She wore a Preload tour T-shirt she’d found in one of his drawers.

  “I woke up missing you,” she mumbled into his chest.

  “Then let me make it up to you,” he said, leading them back to his room, hitting the light switches as he went. The small lamp on the table next to the bed cast a warm glow. “But I need to get you out of this first,” he said. “No matter how fucking cute you look in my tour shirt.”

  Once she was naked, he tucked her back into the bed.

  “I don’t want you to think I was prying, but I heard your conversation,” she said as he stripped off his clothes.

  “Yeah,” he said as he crawled into the bed to join her. He groaned as the covers fell softly over his body.

  Georgia cuddled up next to him. “I wish I had a family as loyal and supportive as yours is, I guess.”

  He slid his hand along her spine until it hit the curve of her ass. Focus on the gratitude, Jack had said. Focus on the moments. There was still so much to talk through, to sift through, but tonight had felt like a start.

  “I think I love you, Georgia,” he said. “I mean, as much as I know what the fuck that feels like. But . . . yeah . . . I think I love you.”

  Her eyes went wide and were so fucking clear he could see himself reflected back at him. He’d shocked her. Fuck, he’d shocked the hell out of himself.

  She pressed her palm across his heart. “I know coming back here has been emotional for you, and I can only imagine how full your heart must feel. But the only thing worse than you not telling me you love me would be you telling me and then changing your mind. So please, be certain you mean it.”

  He did . . . didn’t he? The words hadn’t just appeared from nowhere. Surely, he’d felt them before he’d said them.

  “Let me show you how much I mean it,” he said as he lifted her hand from his chest and laid a kiss on her palm. “Vulnerable” appeared to be his word of the day. It wasn’t a word he associated with himself, and it certainly wasn’t a word he associated with Georgia. She was always so strong. For her patients, for herself, and for him. But there was a softness to her tonight that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He allowed his thumb to trace the curve of her lip.

  Tonight was about tenderness. Tonight was about embracing vulnerability, not burying it so deep it could never be accessed. Gently, he replaced his thumb with his lips, savoring the softness. Tonight was about the two of them, here in his bed. Showing her what he struggled to say.

  He slid his hand along the dip of her waist, along the curve of hip, and along her thigh, lifting it up over his. He wanted her open to him so he could touch her intimately while he kissed her. Her tongue brushed against his, and when his hand slid between her legs, his fingertips just brushing her wet lips, she gasped.

  “You’re everything I want, Gia,” he said, stroking her gently, slowly, waiting for the moment she was drunk on his touches. She was wet and ready for him, but he was in no mood to hurry.

  “Please,” she whispered, those dark eyes of hers never moving away from his.

  He was going to drown in them.

  As she pleaded with him, he slid his index finger into her, curving it in a way he knew drove her wild. Her hips bucked in response as he dragged it out slowly. “Have I told you that I love how responsive you are?’ he said, repeating the action, going a little faster this time.

  Georgia gasped and pressed her lips to his. “Don’t make me wait for you,” she whispered.

  He wasn’t sure if she meant wait for him to orgasm or wait for him to show her how much he loved her too . . . but either way, before the night was through, he hoped to prove he was capable of both.

  “Let me give you what you need,” he said, sliding a second finger into her slick pussy. Fuck, he knew how good it was going to feel when he finally got to slide into her, feel her all around him, all over him. His dick was already harder than an iron bar.

  Her hips began to move against him, and he could feel the warm breath of her moans against his cheek. But her eyes . . . they never left his. Not for a moment. He could tell the moment her climax hit, from the shudder that shook her body to the way she tightened around his fingers.

  “Lennon,” she whispered.

  “I’m right here,” he replied as he rolled her onto her back. He wanted to slide deep inside her, but first he wanted a taste. He placed his fingers inside his mouth and sucked on them as she watched. “Have I told you how much I love the taste of you?” he asked, looking down at that perfect place between her thighs. Placing his hand by her thigh, he lowered himself so he could kiss her intimately. The moment his tongue touched her clit, her hips lifted off the bed, but he didn’t care. Let her press herself against his face. If she wanted anything from him, she could have it. Anything at all.

  Maybe this was what it was meant to feel like. That overwhelming need to be there for the other person. The desire to share whatever it is you have and provide for them. He’d made fun of his friends for finding the very thing he worshipped.

  This woman.

  Their women.

  He’d been cruel back then because of envy and loss, but back then, he hadn’t realized the half of what he’d been missing, the true value of what they had found.

  Georgia’s hand stroked his head, and he realized his thoughts had caused him to stop. He rested his forehead on Georgia’s thigh, too raw from his thoughts to look at her yet.

  “Lennon,” she whispered. “I love you too.”

  Forcing himself to take a deep breath of air, he raised himself to his knees. That fucking word. Vulnerable. He looked into her eyes, and saw nothing but the love he had for her reflected back at him.

  Georgia reached for the condom and handed it to him, and quickly he covered himself.

  “Make love to me, Lennon,” she said, opening her arms to him, and he did as she asked, lowering himself over her body, and pushing himself deep inside.

  They both groaned as he entered her, but all thoughts of control went out of his head as she cradled him in her arms and wrapped her legs around his hips. They were pressed so tightly together, so connected, that they felt like one.

  Lennon began to move faster, Georgia’s
hips coming up to meet his. The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the room, the sweetest fucking sound in the world.

  “Come in me,” Georgia begged. “Please, I’m ready,” she gasped.

  And so was he. His balls began to tighten.

  There’s no place like home.

  A shiver trailed down his spine as he gripped her ass and tilted her to where he wanted her.

  There’s no place like home.

  And as she tightened around him and he spilled himself deep inside her, the thought came to him again.

  There’s no place like home.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I still think you should have let me do that to you on the plane,” Lennon said with a grin as he rolled off Georgia’s sexy-as-fuck body and made his way to the edge of the bed.

  Gia, who wore nothing but a smile and a flush across her chest, shook her head. “Private plane or not, that flight attendant would have known what we were up to.”

  Unable to resist her even though they’d just had sex, he ran his hand up her thigh. Sadly, he couldn’t decide if he wanted her again—because fuck knew it was hard to keep his hand off the woman who had gotten under his skin—or whether he was trying to distract himself from the real reason they were currently in a hotel in Oxford. They were due at Robson’s lab in two hours, and as the hour got closer, his sense of panic was growing.

  It meant accepting.

  It meant moving on.

  It meant no way back to the drummer he used to be.

  You could be a different kind of drummer.

  No, he couldn’t. There were too many hurdles to overcome to sound less than he once was.

  It sucked.

  He won’t be able to help.

  Your arm will be too fucked up.

  It won’t work.

  It might.

  It won’t.

  It might.

  “Hey,” Georgia said as she sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Are you okay?”

  Run and hide, or stay and explain?

  Run and hide.

  Make some stupid comment about sex with her blowing my mind.

  The flight attendant. The plane.

  Fuck.

  Something funny.

  Be honest.

  “No. I’m stressed the fuck out that this won’t work. And I’m not sure I didn’t just cross a line. I love being with you, and God knows what kind of mess I’d be if you weren’t here with me, but I think I just used you as a distraction. What we just did, as incredible as it was, was so I could stop thinking about what’s going to happen this afternoon.” He looked down at the bedding and fiddled with the corner of the sheet.

  “Hey,” she said again, this time placing her hand on his chin and angling his face so he had to look at her. “I love that I’m the person you feel you can do that with. Whatever you need, I’m happy to provide. Momentary escape is one thing, but hiding behind those escapes is something altogether different. What you are doing today is a huge step. Next time tell me why you need me. Let me comfort you. And if you need a stress-relief quickie, or a lazy night of lovemaking, or cookies and cuddles on the sofa, I’m here for you.”

  She was his calm voice of reason. “Unless we are at forty thousand feet and all bets are off, right?” he asked.

  Georgia nodded and smiled. “Unless there are on-hand witnesses, in which case you can just suck it up like a good boy.”

  Lennon laughed as he stood. “You know, you could suck it up,” he said.

  Giggling, she turned for the pillow and threw it at him. “You know what I meant.”

  He did. “Thank you,” he said, leaning forward to slide his hand around the back of her neck. “I mean it, Gia.” The simple kiss he gave her felt nowhere near adequate to express how much it meant to him that she understood him, accepted him for who he was. When he pulled away she smiled at him and his heart burst open.

  “Go get in the shower,” she said. “It’s an exciting day, Lennon. And whatever Robson says, the prosthetic you get here will be the absolute most cutting-edge one available.”

  He tugged her by the arm. “Fine. But you’re coming in the shower with me. Literally.”

  Ninety minutes later, they sat in a manufacturing lab—well, hospital—with medical robotics, sipping tea. Fucking tea. From a china cup with biscuits named after tea. Rich Tea they were actually called, although they reminded him of the Arrowroot cookies he could get back home. Robson was dunking them in his fancy cup and eating the soggy mess in one bite.

  “I love this challenge,” Robson said. “I’ve been thinking about how far we could go. There are basically two directions we can take.” Someone pressed a button on the laptop, and a video came to life showing a robotic hand with a decent range of motion. “This unit has electrodes that sit inside the unit and press up against the skin. There are wires that are passed down through the forearm of the unit into the microprocessor situated in the hand. You flex your muscles in a particular pattern, and the arm does what you want to do. The pros are that there’s no need for surgery. The cons are that there’s no two-way feedback—you can’t feel what the hand feels.”

  Lennon watched in amazement at what the hand could do. Georgia had been right when she’d said that no matter what Robson built for him, it would most definitely be better than anything he had seen in the prosthetic clinic in New York. Under the table, he placed his hand on Georgia’s thigh and squeezed it gently. He’d been so caught up in what it would mean for his drumming that he hadn’t considered the other benefits, like holding her like he wanted to. Like carrying grocery bags while holding her hand. Things that might appear small and inconsequential to others, but would mean the world to him. There was real truth to the saying that you didn’t know what you’ve got until it was gone. Perhaps it was time to take stock of what he had and appreciate it, even if the list wasn’t all that long.

  The video changed and Robson sat up in his seat, the switch in his excitement level palpable. “But this option is the one I hope I can talk you into. This is a modular limb that responds to human thought and has two-way feedback. You want to pick up a cookie with the first option, you’ll probably break it because there’s no way of telling just how hard a grip you have on it. But this hand has feedback. We could put over a hundred sensors into this hand. Sensors that would tell you whether something is hot, whether your grip is too tight, or in your case all the variables you need to know to be able to precisely hit a drum with the level of force and tension you need. It requires surgery, some reinnervation, but nothing like you’ve already gone through. We’d find the residual nerves from each of your fingers. The nerves run from the finger tips all the way to the brain, and when the arm is amputated, those nerves end where your residual limb does. They don’t just disappear. In layman’s terms, we find them and connect them to sensors we place in your arm. Through the arm sensors, you’d be able to control exactly what your hand was doing. And through the hand sensors we’d place in the prosthetic, you’d know immediately when you’ve completed the thing you’re trying to do.”

  Georgia ran her hand over his and gripped it tightly. “I had no idea it had gotten so advanced,” she said. “Each of the fingers appears to be moving independently.”

  “That’s exactly it,” Robson said. “It’s taken several generations of advances in technical prosthetic design just to get the pincer action between the thumb and index finger right. And now all of the fingers can work independently.”

  Lennon ran his hand across his cheek. “How new is this?” he asked. “Like, would I be the first to have this done?”

  “Yes and no,” said Robson. “The surgery to reconnect the nerves to sensors has been done before, but by no means has it been done extensively. There’s been a bunch of great work done by the applied physics lab at Johns Hopkins among other places. But I’d love to see how far we can push it. To try it on someone who relies on feedback through his hands as part of his job would be truly exciting.

&nb
sp; A low-grade buzz began to spark inside of Lennon. He wasn’t one to hope, but this had potential. Yet he’d just been coming to terms with the fact that his drumming career could be over, and a part of him was scared to let himself get his hopes back up, just in case it didn’t work.

  “What would it take to do this?” he asked.

  Robson pushed across a contract, and Lennon took a look. He’d need a calculator to convert the pounds into dollars, but his best guess would be a couple of hundred thousand, roughly split into the surgery, the robotics, and the occupational therapy to learn how to use the new kit. It was a huge sum of money, an amount he would never have been able to afford without Preload. So, to spend that kind of money to get the career back that he loved seemed worth it.

  Gratitude for the opportunities he’d been given threatened to drown him. He could barely focus on the video that was still playing the background. It struck him that so many people would never be able to afford what he was able to undertake. He’d had a talent that he’d worked damn hard on, that had brought him to this place. He’d had brothers who’d worked just as tirelessly as he had to build the success they’d celebrated as a band.

  He could barely breathe.

  Georgia leaned over and rested her chin on his shoulder. “You okay?” she whispered.

  Lennon held her gaze and nodded before turning to Robson. “When would we start?”

  Robson grinned. “Whenever you want. But you’d need to commit to spending a fair amount of time here in the UK with us over the next twelve months. We’d start with a whole bunch of very detailed measurements. Then there would be a significant amount of trial and error on the robotics side. We’d need to do the surgery here in the UK. We’ve partnered with specialists at a London hospital. There’s recovery from that. And then there is significant work to be done collecting data on how the system is working after it has been put in place.”

  Twelve months. That was a long time. He needed to be in Toronto with his brothers. Their quick pit stop had taught him that. But he had eight months before Preload was re-grouping. And, hell, he wanted to be with Gia.