by B. B. Miller
“I’m surprised to see you, Nadia.” I manage to keep a conversational tone. “We were just going to talk about the call with Parker.”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I have several other ideas of my own that I’d like to discuss with you, Kennedy,” she purrs, flipping open her leather notebook.
“Mr. Lane.” His voice is silky smooth, but the underlying steeliness is unmistakable. At her startled look, he elaborates, “I prefer Mr. Lane, if you don’t mind.”
I manage not to gape at him. It was all “we’re past Mr. Lane” a few minutes ago.
“Oh, of course,” she stammers, momentarily flustered. “Mr. Lane, if I may continue?” Kennedy simply listens quietly, a secret smile playing about his lips, but I get the feeling it’s not directed at anything she’s saying. His legs are casually crossed, and he absently rubs the tip of one long finger back and forth over his knee. My attention jerks back to her when I suddenly realize what she’s suggesting.
“So why don’t we just step down to my office, and I can show you the preliminary drawings.” She delicately tucks her pale blond hair behind her right ear. “You don’t mind, do you, Abigail? I know you have a full schedule today.” Her eyes glow with anticipation, and she leans forward, no doubt giving him a good view of her ample cleavage. I’m appalled.
“Nadia, may I have a word.” I begin, but Kennedy overrides me.
“Ms Baskov, is it? I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. In fact, I would prefer conducting any arrangements for my involvement with Parker’s dream with Miss Walker directly. I realize it’s an imposition on her part, given all she has on her plate, but I’m just not comfortable working with you in any capacity.”
“I beg your pardon?” Nadia looks like she can’t believe her ears, and honestly, I can’t blame her. I have no idea where he’s going with this.
“Well, I hadn’t wanted to bring this up in front of your boss.” He smiles, but it’s not reflected in his eyes. “But the way you were eye-fucking me the last time we met was completely inappropriate. And your blatant display today hasn’t done anything to improve your standing. You’re lucky your boss is so generous; if you worked for me, you’d be out the door already.”
Nadia’s mouth drops open as she stares at him in disbelief. “What? I’ve never . . . I assure you that . . .”
Kennedy rises to his feet, prompting me to do the same. “Don’t even try. You think I don’t know when a woman is hitting on me? Not exactly the behavior I’d expect from a charity.” He looks at her scathingly. “Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Walker and I have an important call to make.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I ask as we sit at my laptop, Skype blazing on the screen. My heart pounds with a sudden burst of nerves. Kennedy’s blistering lecture had put Nadia’s complaints about me in a different light. She disappeared with her tail between her legs quickly, but I know I haven’t heard the end of this. Trying to shake off the confrontation, I focus on what’s really important. I know how much this is going to mean to Parker, but I have no idea what kind of impact it may have on Kennedy.
“Yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Kennedy asks with a confidence that impresses me.
“Reactions can be very intense when you first meet these children, and you’re well . . . you.” He glances at me, those icy blue eyes hard. “Kids are very perceptive if they sense you’re freaking out, or feel sorry for them. Let’s just say I’ve seen something that could be a wonderful moment ruined.”
“Have a little faith in me. I know how much this means to him.”
“I know you do,” I say gently. “But, Kennedy, seeing a picture and reading about him is very different than actually talking to him and hearing his voice. It’s an emotional experience for most people.” I run my finger along the edge of the laptop. “He thinks he’s having a call with his uncle. He’ll be in his room at the hospital, and his mom will be there. You might see some equipment around him, an IV for example.”
“I’ll try not to focus on that.” Kennedy lifts an acoustic guitar out of its case and places it in his lap.
I click on the call button and wait, smiling as Parker comes into view on the screen. Nothing can really prepare you for seeing a child this way. Parker’s blond hair is gone, his bald head covered by a dark green Redfall bandana, his bright blue eyes cloudy and tired. Those haunting eyes blink at the screen, and then blink again, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
Kennedy pauses, his eyes darting around the screen. Despite my earlier warning, it’s hard to miss the IV stretching to his bed, disappearing under a Redfall T-shirt that hangs off his frail little frame. I smile and give a wave to Parker before Kennedy speaks, his voice strong and sure.
“Hey, Parker. How’s it going?”
Parker’s cracked lips widen into a smile that lights up his face before he turns away from the screen. “Mom! Come here!” His voice sounds strained, a bit labored. He turns back to focus on the screen, and I see a bit of life creep back into his eyes. “Holy . . . wow. Is that really you?”
“Yeah, bud. It is.”
“I’m supposed to be talking to Uncle Tim.”
Kennedy laughs, his eyes widening. “Well, if you want, I can go and you can call Uncle—”
“No! I just can’t believe it’s really you. Mom! Come see. Kennedy Lane is on the computer!”
I see Parker’s mother, Joyce, with a beaming smile come into view. She gives a wave, mouthing, “Thank you,” before wiping a stray tear from her cheek.
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on tour?” Parker asks.
“It’s starting soon. We’ll be doing some shows in London first.” Parker smiles, his eyes wide and excited. “So, tell me about your day.”
“Well, I had a chemo treatment earlier.” He says the words as if we’re just talking about the weather.
“Shi . . . I’m sorry, bud.”
“I’m used to it. And anyway, I listen to you when I have them, so it not’s so bad.”
I feel my heart stutter at how brave Parker is in the face of such an intense struggle. “I’m glad it helps. Hey, I hear you’re learning to play the guitar,” Kennedy comments, lifting his own so Parker can see it.
“Yeah. When I can.” He nods enthusiastically, reaching up to tug the bandana down on his head. I can see a series of red marks along his arm, a bandage around his wrist. “I get tired fast though, so I’m not very good.”
“I doubt that’s true. Do you want to play something with me now?”
“Really? Mom! Can I?”
Behind him, Joyce nods, disappearing from view. “This is so cool. Ben will never believe it,” he gushes.
“Who’s Ben?” Kennedy asks, slipping the guitar strap around his shoulder. His hand squeezes the neck of the guitar, as if it’s holding him in place, grounding him.
“He’s another kid down the hall. He has CF. We hang out sometimes.”
Kennedy seems thrown for a bit, but recovers quickly. “What have you learned so far?”
“Just a couple of songs. Mom wanted me to learn ‘You Are My Sunshine’ because she sings it to me every night. And the start of ‘Sweet Home Alabama,’ ” he says, leaning back as Joyce sets a well-used guitar in his lap.
“Nice guitar.”
“Mom got it at a garage sale. It’s okay,” Parker says, dropping his eyes from the screen to study his fingers as he carefully positions them on the strings.
“Hey, no Gibson is ever just ‘okay.’ That’s your first lesson, Parker.”
He lets out a laugh that splits my heart open, followed quickly by a cough. Joyce appears, placing a clear straw to his lips, and I watch him take a sip. Kennedy turns away from the screen, glancing at me, and I offer him an encouraging smile. “Okay. Let’s go with ‘Sweet Home Alabama’. It’s a good one to learn when you’re first starting out. “I’ll count you in, okay?” Parker nods, singularly focused on the guitar. “Three, two, one.”
The chords of the familiar song
fill my office, and I find myself holding my breath as I hear Parker join in. The fact that he’s able to do this at all, despite the pain he must be in, is nothing short of a miracle.
“That’s it. You’re doing great, Parker.”
He lifts his face to the screen with a smile, his fingers faltering. “Oh, sorry.” He shakes his head, looking disappointed.
“Hey.” Kennedy presses the guitar against his chest. “Never apologize. You know how many times I had to practice before I got this song right? I lost count. And I still practice every day. You’re really good at this, Parker. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?”
“That was so cool,” he says with a tired smile.
“You want to know something else that’s cool?” Kennedy asks, glancing over at me before focusing back on the screen. “I’m coming to visit you soon.”
“You are?” Parker’s eyes grow wide, and I suck in a breath. We didn’t discuss a visit before the concert. I guess this is what they mean by unpredictable rock stars.
“Yeah. If that’s okay. Would you like that?”
“That would be great! Mom!” He turns away from the screen. “He’s coming to see me. Do you know when?”
“I have to get through the next couple of weeks of the tour, and then I’ll be there. As soon as I know the date, I’ll let you know. How about that?”
Parker clears his throat. “That would be so awesome.”
“Hey, thanks for playing with me. Get some rest now, okay?”
He places his palm up on the screen, and Kennedy doesn’t hesitate, covering it with his own. “Thanks, Kennedy.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon.” Joyce gives a wave from behind him, before pulling Parker into her arms, and the connection is broken.
Kennedy stares at the blank screen, and slowly, I reach around him to exit out of the app. He blinks up at me, and I can see his blue eyes gleam with unshed tears. With my heart pounding, I gently set my hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay.” I hope I’m right.
I’m munching on a hum bao as we stroll through the heart of Chinatown. I hum in pleasure, savoring the succulent combination of savory pork and lighter-than-air sweet bread.
Once the call with Parker was over, Tucker whisked us out to a waiting SUV. After a heated conversation about boundaries and rabid fans, Kennedy managed to convince him that we wouldn’t get mauled in Chinatown. I wonder if Kennedy is ever left alone. Does he ever get downtime?
“That happens to be my favorite Chinese bakery.” I gesture behind us, as I continue to enjoy my treat.
He swallows and grins at me. “Mine, too. See, we do have something in common.”
“I never doubted it. It was just a matter of finding it.” Although the streets are as busy as usual for a weekday, the locals here don’t pay much attention to us. He tosses our wrappers in a trashcan and glances at me while we walk.
We pass an elderly woman gesticulating and arguing loudly with a street vendor over a bushel basket of some vegetables, and I can’t help but giggle—I don’t understand the words sizzling through the air, but I bet they wouldn’t pass a censor. Kennedy shoots me an amused smile and then clears his throat.
“So, tell me, why do you do what you do? I’ve shared some of my thing. But I want to know how you got here. How long have you been with What’s Your Dream?”
“A little more than three years.” I pull the strap of my tote bag higher on my shoulder.
“You’ve always wanted to help kids?”
“And their parents. It’s kind of a passion of mine.” I glance up to see him watching me with interest. “When I was sixteen, one of my good friends began having migraines. They were affecting her vision and balance and would make her terribly sick. She thought they were just something she’d grow out of, but she was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.”
He sucks in a breath. “Holy shit. She was sixteen, too?”
“Yes. It was hideous. Her family wasn’t poor, but they weren’t rolling in money, either. Just a normal family. They didn’t have the greatest health insurance. It covered some things, but not nearly enough. They had to take out a second mortgage to pay for the treatments. They worked for a while, but it made Beth even sicker than the headaches did. The town and their church held fundraisers for them, and the hospital charity helped some, but they ended up losing almost everything.
“Beth was the oldest of three girls. Her younger sisters were twelve and ten, and I felt especially sorry for them. They were not only terrified of Beth dying, but they also felt resentful toward her for sucking up all their parents’ time and the family’s resources. It’s a tough dynamic that many families in that position experience.”
“I can imagine,” he says, frowning.
“My mom and I helped as much as we could. Little things, like cleaning the house so Beth’s mom didn’t have to do it, or making them dinner for the week. After watching everything she and her family went through, I always wished there was something more that I could do to make their lives easier. But I was just a kid.
“Beth was an amazing cellist. She dreamed of playing in a symphony someday, but she never got that chance. She died just before we were to graduate high school.” My voice catches, my heart aching with old sorrow for my friend. “Before she died, Beth told me that she would’ve given anything to have her dream, even for one day. That’s why my job is so important to me.”
Startling me, he takes my arm and quickly pulls us into an alley. His searches my face, his hands resting on my hips pressing me to the brick wall. “Abby . . . Fuck it . . .”
My heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest as he lowers his face, his eyes flashing pure sapphire fire. And when his lips touch mine . . . It’s sheer perfection. My knees buckle, and I cling to his jacket as hugs me closer. I’ve never been kissed like this. His lips are smooth, warm and supple, but with firmness I feel all the way to my toes. He owns this kiss, taking as much as he’s giving, and I’m lost. Absolutely lost to the sensations coursing through me. The stubble on his chin gently scrapes against my skin, but I don’t care. It’s not important. The fact that someone could discover us at any second isn’t important. Breathing isn’t important. But this kiss is everything.
“Jesus, Abby,” he mutters when we finally break apart. We’re both panting as if we’ve run a marathon, and maybe we have. I feel light-years beyond where we were when we’d left my office. His eyes are wide, giving him a lost and vulnerable look I haven’t seen before on him. “What are you doing to me?”
“I . . . I was about to say the same.” I can only manage a hoarse whisper, the shockwaves still reverberating in my heart. But then a thought pierces me, making me gasp.
Oh my God—what am I doing?
After all my indignation over what Nadia said and did. I’m no better than she is.
“Stop.” His voice is just above a whisper, but it’s as if he screamed it. An inarticulate noise escapes me, and I try to pull away, but he holds me fast. “No, I mean stop thinking whatever you’re thinking,” he says more forcefully. “Right now. This isn’t wrong.”
I try not to cringe in embarrassment. “Isn’t it? I’m so sorry.” I can’t finish; I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could will the last few minutes away. But if I could, would I really want to? I’m not sure. I feel split open. More exposed than I’ve ever been, and I try again to step away. He lets me, but keeps a firm grip on my hand.
“Come on,” he commands, pulling me along. I manage to move with more grace than I think I’m capable of at the moment, considering my legs feel like jelly.
“Wait—” I try to protest, but he surprises me by stopping again and placing his hand against my cheek.
“No more waiting.” He gives me a searing look. “We need to talk.”
Kennedy
“MY MOUTH IS on fire!” Abby fans her hand in front of her mouth, and I pass her the bottle of water once more. “Holy God, that’s hot!”
My gaze fixed on her l
ips, plump and full from the searing heat of the meal. “Heard that one before.”
We’re sitting together on a bench in one of the parks in Chinatown as she tries not to laugh, not to give anything away. It’s hard to know what she’s really thinking. But that kiss says more than words ever could. Even as we sit here, the subtle glances, the brush of her fingers against mine as we both reach for the next taste off our shared plate, the tension thick and heavy, swirls between us.
Despite all of this, she’s been a pro at trying to ignore this pull between us. We’ve talked about the weather, my tour, her family, everything essentially, except what we need to.
“So, are we going to talk about this?” I motion between us, leaning back on the bench.
Her eyes widen, glancing down nervously at the dragon design on the napkin in her lap. “We can’t . . . I can’t do this with you, Kennedy.” Her voice is quiet and laced with doubt. A sea of doubt that I need to wade through or drown in.
“Can’t or won’t?” She’s killing me with the intensity in those eyes.
“Do you know how it would look? If we . . . you know.”
“I don’t give a fuck how it would look.” My voice is gritty, and I can feel the anger rise.
“But I do. I have to. This is more than just you and me. It’s the reputation of the charity, and every single child’s dream.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” she counters, righteous indignation blazing. “If something happened before everything was finished with Parker, it could look like I . . .”
I lean forward, my jaw clenched as I try to rein in my frustration. “Are you saying that no one would believe I’d want to be part of Parker’s dream on my own? That somehow if we’re together, that’s the only reason I want to help? Some low expectations you’ve got there.”
“You of all people know how the tabloids are . . . the rumors.” She pauses, struggling to find the right words. “You’re you. Not some no-name. I can’t be splashed across the cover of some gossip rag.” She quiets, but I can still hear the struggle there, and it gives me a glimmer of hope.