by B. B. Miller
My thoughts immediately go to Abby and Parker. The reasons I want to change this vicious cycle my life has become, and the main reason why I’m not currently plowing through a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch I know is lurking in that liquor cabinet.
Tucker glances at me from his perch at the piano bench at Mom’s words, digging into another brownie from the tray Dad put out. Once our initial confrontation and subsequent meltdown was over, Dad had urged Tucker inside. He was appalled that he had been left to wait outside. Tucker, of course, took it all in stride.
“I haven’t been. That’s true. But I’m trying,” I admit.
Mom’s hand shakes slightly as she sets her teacup down to the saucer. “The doctor gave me the prescription just before the funeral,” she offers calmly as if she’s just commenting on the weather. “It helps when things get . . . hard.”
I’m in no position to judge her, even though it’s taking everything in me not to. “I know what that’s like.”
She glances at me, her half-smile forced. “I know you do. I haven’t been . . . I haven’t been fair about this . . . About what happened,” she starts slowly, her red-rimmed eyes searching mine.
I give her a tentative smile. “Let’s not do this now, okay? We have lots of time to talk about it.”
She glances at Dad, looking for some sort of acknowledgement it seems. “Yes we do, son,” he says, taking her hand with a squeeze.
“You haven’t changed anything?” I linger by my childhood dresser, glancing at the framed photo on top. Adam, Robin, and me dressed up like the Three Musketeers for Halloween. No girly princesses or ballerinas for Robin. She demanded to be a Musketeer, much to the horror of every single one of her friends.
I catch Mom’s eye in the mirror, and she frowns. “I thought about it.” She looks away, scanning the room. “It felt wrong to change it.” She sinks down to the edge of my double bed, her shoulders slumped. She looks so defeated it breaks my heart. She nervously picks at the frayed edge of her sweater. “And I wanted you all to have a place to come home to.”
Taking a seat beside her on the bed, she leans against my shoulder. “I wish I could—” I start, but she interrupts me quickly.
“So do I. But we can’t. We can’t go back,” she whispers.
“We can’t just stay in limbo either,” I answer gently, knowing that whatever progress we’ve made is raw and tenuous at best.
She lifts her head from my shoulder, looking up at me. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”
“I don’t really know what I’ve been doing,” I admit. “Hiding. Trying to numb the pain.”
“In a way, it feels like I’ve lost both of you. And I know that’s my fault.” Her voice is strained, cracking under the weight of what she’s been carrying around for the last few years.
“No, Mom. It’s not your fault. I could have called, visited.”
“And I could have, too,” she cuts me off. “We’re more alike than you might want to admit.”
Her tired eyes search mine as she takes my hand, and I try not to lose it completely. “Maybe we can, I don’t know. Start over?”
My words hang in the air. A simple suggestion, a promise, a hope for something that will start to take us both out of this misery. She smiles slightly, squeezing my hand. “We can try.”
In the distance the thunder rumbles as I grip the cool marble headstone. Slowly, I trace the etched R over and over with my fingertip. My boots sink into the soft, wet grass as I crouch down at Robin’s grave. My throat is parched, and my heart hammers in my chest.
“Fuck, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is where you would tell me to suck it up.” I stare blankly at the black marble.
Beloved daughter, sister, friend.
Four words summing up someone’s life.
“I met someone.” I shake my head, trying to get a grip on the whirling emotions. “She’s . . . making me question everything. You would love her. She doesn’t put up with my shit either. Dark and light. Good and evil.” Another round of thunder rolls, the first drops of rain hitting my face. “Okay, I get it. Maybe I’m not evil. Misguided? Is that better?” I glance up at the threatening clouds, silence greeting me. “Thought so.”
The wind picks up; it’s uncharacteristically warm for the impending storm. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by. Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you every day. Every single day, Robin.”
I rearrange the bright pink Gerbera daisies I brought her, pressing my lips to my palm before resting it over her name. “I’ll be back soon. I’m going to make you proud of me.”
Standing up, I slide my sunglasses back on, shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket, and make my way back to Tucker. The sky opens up with another crack of thunder, the rain softly falling as I haul open the door and slip inside.
“Where are we going?” He wastes no time in starting the engine.
“Back home.” My leg bounces with nervous, pent-up energy. I can’t even begin to process the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been riding today.
“To your parent’s place?” He starts down the gravel road as I stare out the window, the black marble of the headstone fading while we move down the path towards the gates of the cemetery.
“No. To California.”
Abigail
“My goodness, what’s got you so happy this morning?” Tess takes my latte while I divest myself of my coat and hang it up on the hook behind my door, and then hands the steaming cup back to me.
I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face. “Oh, I just had a nice weekend.”
“Oh, me, too.” She sighs and holds the stack of files in her arms against her chest. “I met this guy last weekend down at the Wharf, and he asked me out. Six-foot-plus, dreamy green eyes, and a package that makes me see stars, I swear.”
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head at her oversharing. “But enough about me,” she continues, eyeing me mischievously. “Spill, boss lady. What happened with the rock god last week?”
“Nothing happened.” I ignore her skeptical huff. “I ran into him in the hotel, and we talked about the Jensen dream.” It’s the truth, as far as it goes. Anything else that happened is private.
“Humph. That’s it? How can I live vicariously through you if you’re not going to give me more than that to work with?” She plops the stack of files on my desk.
“Guess you’ll just have to deal with it. What’s all this?” I wave a hand at the mountain of paperwork.
“Duane’s office finally worked through some of the post-dream financial reports.” She smiles sympathetically at my sigh, before turning to her notes to read off my packed schedule for the day. I’m barely going to have time to breathe. But I can’t concentrate on the list, knowing what’s coming next. “And you made a last minute addition at two. Something for the Jensen dream?”
“Yes. It’s a little unorthodox, because the final details of the dream fulfillment haven’t been fleshed out yet, but Kennedy Lane is coming in to make a Skype call to Parker. I arranged it with his mother yesterday.” I grimace internally. Not only haven’t the details been fleshed out, but I haven’t even gotten a signed fulfillment contract yet.
I brace myself for her reaction, and I’m not disappointed. Her mouth drops open for a second, then a brilliant smile emerges.
“Parker will love that!” She makes a few notes, humming softly to herself. “I’ll get conference room one ready for you, okay?”
“Great. So, anything else I need to know for now?”
She squirms a little. “Nadia asked for a few minutes. Um, did something happen between you two last week? She was hell on wheels while you were gone.” I grimace. I know I still have to deal with her today, but she can wait.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll call her later. Is that it?” She nods and finally leaves me in peace. Not that I feel very peaceful. My stomach flutters with excitement in anticipation. There is something about him beyond his larger-than-life persona
and tragic problems that calls to me. The glimpse of the man I saw in New York. That, I think, is the real Kennedy. At least I hope it is. That man was as shy as he was cocky, as introspective as he was glib, and talented in ways I can’t comprehend. He made me laugh, he made me think, and . . .
A shiver runs through me as I remember, yet again, the feel of his arms around me. Okay . . . I’ll admit it. He’s also one of the sexiest men I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.
Leaning back in my chair, I shake my head at myself. I need to calm down. It’s just another dream fulfillment. Besides, he would never . . . I let out a soft grunt. Sister—remember? I’ll just keep my private thoughts private, and after this is all said and done, I’ll take them out of their box every once in a while to fantasize over until I find someone else who makes my heart pound and my blood race.
Right? Of course, right.
I’m steaming through a pile of publicity ideas April has sent me when I hear a light tap at my door. Expecting Tess, I barely manage to keep my sour grunt inside when the door opens and I see Nadia instead.
“I have a few proposals for you to review.” She steps into my office and sets a small stack of folders on my desk, as if it’s just a regular day. I have to say I admire her chutzpah.
“Fine. Please sit down, Nadia. I’d like to discuss your behavior last week.”
Keeping her expression neutral, she ignores my request and remains standing. “I’m not sure what there is to discuss.” She looks down her nose at me. “I suppose the timing could have been better, but someone needed to point out how your little ‘meeting’ last week could affect our image. I’m not going to shy away from that simply because you’re my boss.”
She sticks her chin out, the picture of confidence. “There’s a difference between candor and slander. You were out of line last week, Nadia,” I retort with quiet seriousness. Her self-assured smile falters, as if she hadn’t expected me to stand my ground. “You went beyond advising me about our image. You practically accused me of sleeping with a client, either for personal gain or to secure a donation. So, based on a few blurry photos, I’m either a skank or a whore, is that right?”
Her eyes shoot open. “No! I just thought . . .” she stammers, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Abby, I’m sorry, but—”
“Fine. Apology accepted.” I let her squirm for a beat. “For the record, my private life is just that—private. It will never interfere with the work of this foundation, nor would I ever do anything to jeopardize the good work that we do.” I lean forward in my chair as my eyes drill into her. “And I expect the same from every member of my staff. Got it?”
Her lips mash into a straight line. “Got it,” she says flatly. “Anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” I take a sip of my latte, using the moment to calm myself. Nadia is good at her job, and until now, we’ve never had any problems. She can be standoffish at times, but it’s only because she cares so deeply for the kids; she has to distance herself to maintain her objectivity. We all work seamlessly together—usually—and I don’t want to jeopardize our team by wallowing or rehashing her careless words any more.
“What are you doing at two? I’m meeting with Lane today, and I thought you might like to join us.”
“He’s coming here? Today?” She looks shocked. “Why?”
“We’re going to have an initial call with Parker.” I let some of my excitement seep into my voice. “This is one of the things I wanted to discuss with you today. Parker is going to be thrilled. You’ve been working so hard on this, I thought you’d like to be there, too.” There’s no reason why she shouldn’t be there. She’s our giving director, after all. Plus, it’s a way to get things back on track between us.
“I can’t today,” she mutters in consternation, frowning at her feet. I can practically see her trying to reshuffle her schedule in her head. “I’m leaving for LA after lunch to meet with Lucas Films. It took weeks to set this meeting up; I can’t reschedule.”
“Well, this is just the first step; we have a lot of work ahead of us. Maybe April can join us today instead.” I shrug, and then gesture to the files she set on my desk. “Did you have something in particular you wanted to discuss in any of these cases now?”
She shakes her head, coming out of her thoughts. “What? Oh, no. I’ll see you at the morning huddle, okay?”
“No problem. See you.” She looks almost constipated as she turns and heads out the door. With a satisfied smile, I turn back to my work. That should put all that ridiculousness to rest.
Finally, the hour arrives. I pace around my office and try to pretend I’m not excited. I nervously smooth down the burgundy wrap dress I’ve paired with my New York boots. I love these boots, and I seem to remember that Kennedy did, too. That’s not why I’m wearing them, of course.
Tess buzzes, startling me, and I jerk the door open. I hear an amused snort, and there he is. All smiles and tousled hair, and carrying a guitar case. I struggle to keep my grin at bay. “Mr. Lane, how nice to see you again.” My voice is a tad too breathy to be professional. “Won’t you come in?”
His eyes twinkle with mirth. “Thank you, Abby. And I’m pretty sure we’re past the Mr. Lane phase.”
Tess gives me a surreptitious wink as he saunters past me, before turning her attention to Lane’s ever-present bodyguard, who has planted himself in a chair next to her desk.
“Won’t you sit down?” I offer as I close the door, but turn to find he’s already situated on my sofa. He grins impishly at me, making me laugh. He’s traded in his hoodie and leather coat for a black crewneck sweater and a canvas jacket the color of cognac. He looks casual but neat, with three or four days’ stubble on his chiseled jaw, and his color is good. A great improvement over the first time we met. I sit opposite him in one of my low chairs, and we sit there grinning like fools, until we both try to speak.
“I liked your song—”
“I’m glad you texted me—”
With a laugh, I wave for him to go first. “I’m glad you texted me,” he begins again. “I was beginning to think you were pissed off with me for the paparazzi shots, even though they were pretty fuzzy.”
I shrug. “I’ve been in photos before, for events and things. I’ve never had paparazzi swarm me like that, but the photos didn’t bother me. I had to do a little damage control here, though.” He looks at me with concern, and I quickly change the subject. “I really liked the song,” I blurt and try not to squirm under his intense gaze. God, why am I so nervous?
“Yeah?” His voice is almost shy. “I was sorry about how that night ended. I thought that might make up for it.”
“It was beautiful. Raw and edgy, but beautiful.” I pause, searching for a way to lighten the suddenly intimate mood. “I hope you didn’t get in too much trouble with your team that night.”
He laughs. “Nah. I’ve been in worse trouble, believe me. Tucker knows that sometimes I just have to get away, although it makes him nervous. And Brodie . . .” A shadow passes over his face. “Well, Brodie needs to back the fuck off. He frequently has trouble remembering he’s only running the tour, not my entire life.”
“I could see that.” I remember the scathing look Brodie gave me that night.
“Hey, what did you mean about damage control?” I tense, not really wanting to go down this road with him, but his expression is so earnest, I find myself explaining.
“One of my colleagues read a little too much into the fact that we were together,” I say delicately. “She’s spent quite a bit of time on Parker’s dream, and then I’m suddenly seen ducking out of a taxi with you. I tried to explain it was completely innocent, of course, but she was worried by how it might look to our Board.” He looks confused for a second, and then his eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish I was,” I grumble, embarrassed. “It’s been taken care of. No worries.”
“It was that blond chick, the one who came with
you to the Fairmont, wasn’t it? She gave you shit about being with me?”
How does he know? “Nadia—” I begin, but his laugh cuts me off.
“Well, you know what they say,” he mutters sardonically. “A good offense is a good defense.” He chuckles, a wry smile curving his lips.
“What do you mean?” I look at him in confusion, but he ignores my question.
“Don’t worry about it. No one in their right mind would ever seriously accuse you of doing anything improper.” His teasing makes my face heat.
“But I do want you to see how serious I am about fulfilling Parker’s dream, to see if you’d agree to something more.”
“More?”
He fixes me with a look that virtually liquefies my insides. “More.”
My mouth dries instantly as we stare at each other, the room crackling with tension. But before I can say anything, there’s a quick knock and the door opens. I blink in surprise and scramble to my feet.
“Nadia! I didn’t think you—” I don’t get any further before she strides confidently in the room and holds her hand out to Kennedy.
“Nadia Baskov, Mr. Lane. It’s so nice to see you again. Abigail invited me to your meeting, and I was fortunately able to move a few things around to accommodate her. I’m sorry I’m late.” She smiles at him as if he’s the answer to the mysteries of life. She’s still wearing her crisp navy suit, but I swear she’s undone one of the buttons on her silk blouse. What the hell?
Kennedy looks at her with an indecipherable expression before rising with the grace of a panther and reluctantly shakes her hand, releasing it almost instantly. She moves to sit next to him on the sofa, but instead of retaking his seat, he abruptly steps over and takes the chair next to mine. Nadia’s smile wavers for a split-second, but she recovers and gracefully sinks to the sofa.
The door is still open a fraction, and I can just see Tess hovering outside. I wonder what Nadia said to her before she came in. I also wonder how she managed to reschedule with Lucas Films; she better not have canceled on them outright.