by B. B. Miller
I cup his cheek and lean closer. “They’re going to love you. And not just because they’re fans, but because you’re you. How can they help but love you? Especially knowing that I do?” A shy smile curves his lips before he presses them against mine in a soft kiss. He reaches and cups the back of my head, his long fingers tangling in my windblown hair, and begins to deepen the kiss . . . until we startle apart at the sound of a screen door slamming.
“Oh, you’re here! Frank! They’re here!” I smile apologetically at Kennedy before opening my door and stepping out of my car, just as Mom makes it to the gravel driveway. I’m immediately enveloped in a hug, the scents of vanilla and cinnamon surrounding me. She’s wearing a burgundy wrap top and crisp chinos, in the new consultant-approved colors of the establishment. She looks very California chic, but still my mom. She pulls away and takes me by the shoulders, a smile eclipsing her face, but her eyes are glued to the tall man behind me. I take a deep breath and step back to stand next to him.
“Um, Mom, let me introduce you. This is Kennedy Lane,” I offer, trying not to sound anxious. “Kennedy, my mom, Terri.”
My mother stares at him like she’s just seen the sun, but Kennedy simply smiles politely. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Walker. It’s a beautiful place you have here.”
Thankfully, she snaps out of her daze and takes his offered hand. “Oh, please, call me Terri. Mrs. Walker makes me feel ancient,” she gushes, and I hide my smirk as she struggles to maintain a calm façade. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Kennedy. When Abby first told me about this mystery donor, I knew there was something special going on with whoever it was. And now that I know the mystery donor is you. Well, I can see I was right. I mean, how could she help it? You’re even better in person than on your album covers.”
She winks—actually winks at him—and Kennedy chuckles as I feel my face flame. “Mom—”
“Holy fuck, she wasn’t kidding.” My father’s shocked exclamation interrupts me and causes all three of us to look up at his stunned face as he stands at the edge of the porch. Dad gapes at us for a few seconds, before he barrels down the steps, walks straight up to Kennedy with uncharacteristic boldness, and starts pumping his hand. “Frank Walker. Damned nice to meet you, Mr. Lane. Your Flaming Solstice album was genius, sheer genius.”
Kennedy bites back a laugh. “Uh, thank you, Frank. Call me Kennedy.” He gently removes his hand from my father’s enthusiastic grip as my mother simply rolls her eyes.
“I was worried about this,” she mutters to me, and then says more normally, “Frank, honey, Kennedy has to play with that hand, you know.”
“Oh, right. Um, sorry,” Dad says, his cheeks pinking. Mom jumps into action.
“Abby, why don’t you take Kennedy in the house? We’ll meet you in the dining room. I need to have a few words with your father,” she suggests sweetly, although her eyes are boring into my father’s.
“No problem.” I unconsciously take Kennedy’s hand to lead him in the house, not realizing until too late that the simple action has probably made my mother’s day; her eyes light up as if she’s won the lottery, but I know she’s only happy for me. She was distressed when she heard about Lucas’s sudden appearance and is equally thrilled that I’ve taken this opportunity to bring Kennedy to meet them.
I lead him through the cozy sitting room and, past the stairs leading to the guest rooms, to door with a discreet “Staff Only” sign. Behind it lie Dad’s study and my room. They have only one other couple staying with them right now, and Mom assured me on the phone this morning that they’re newlyweds who have barely stepped out of their room for two days.
“Where’s your parent’s room?” Kennedy asks casually, stepping up to the broad windows that line the dining room and give a panoramic view of the surrounding vineyards.
“They’re at the other end of the main floor, which is a good thing, believe me,” I mention with a shudder. “You don’t want to know what goes on in there.”
He laughs and leers at me. “I don’t think they’ll want to know what will happen in your room tonight, either.”
“What’s happening tonight, dear?” Mom’s voice floats to us as she and Dad join us.
“Oh, I was just mentioning to Abby that I’d heard the ‘Niners game is on television tonight,” Kennedy says smoothly. “I thought it’d be nice to relax and catch the game.”
Dad lights up like a Christmas tree. “You like football, Kennedy? That would be great!”
“Football, ugh,” Mom sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I swear, I don’t see what’s so exciting about a bunch of grown men chasing a stupid ball that doesn’t even roll properly.”
“Um, Terri, Abby’s been telling me that you’ve made a bunch of improvements to the place lately,” Kennedy interjects smoothly. “Would you mind showing me around?”
“Oh!” Mom blinks at him, her impending rant neatly derailed. “I’d love to show you. Raphael—he’s our consultant—has been an absolute godsend!” She takes his arm to lead him through the house, and I catch his eye over the top of her head; he sends me a mischievous wink, to which I mouth, “Kiss ass.” He swallows his laugh, and I trail along behind them as Mom chatters away.
After Mom talks his ear off, we are able to escape for a few hours for a lengthy hike around the property, even daring to venture into the farmer’s market at the outskirts of town. Miraculously, no one recognizes Kennedy—that we know of at least. It’s beyond relaxing to be able to behave like a normal couple, walking around and chatting about normal, everyday things. No crowds of groupies or hyper bandmates. Just us.
By the time we make it back to the inn, Kennedy almost looks like a new man. The tenseness around his eyes and the tightness in his shoulders has disappeared, and he playfully swings our joined hands back and forth as we head up the back kitchens steps. I can’t help my giggle when we step into the kitchen with our wares; Dad has shed his regulation khakis and polo shirt for worn blue jeans and an ancient Redfall T-shirt, and he’s shuffling awkwardly by the sink.
“Uh, it’s almost game time, Kennedy; that is, if you’re still interested,” he mumbles, trying unsuccessfully to hide his excitement.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” He plucks a few bags of chips out of one of the grocery sacks and offers them to him with a winning smile. “I hope you don’t mind, but I don’t often have the chance to indulge these days—Tucker would have a cow if he knew I was eating this stuff.”
Dad eyes the collection of Cheetos, fried pork rinds, and kettle chips with surprise. “Man after my own heart,” he mutters, a smile playing about his lips. “Abby? You joining us?”
“Ah, I’ll be in for the second half, Dad,” I promise, glancing at my mother. “I don’t want to abandon Mom in the kitchen.” I don’t get to see my Mom that often, and I know she’d appreciate the help. And although it’s just the four of us—the newlyweds finally left their room to seek dinner in town—it’s not fair to make her cook for everyone.
On his way past me, Kennedy leans in close. “You sure?” he asks quietly, his eyes concerned. “Would you rather I stay and help?” Sweet man. I shake my head quickly and give him a quick kiss. “No, go bond with my Dad,” I assure him. “I’ll be in to get you shortly.”
He gives me a cheeky grin and turns to where my dad is beckoning.
It’s almost halftime when dinner is ready, so I head down to Dad’s study to fetch the men. But their low, serious voices catch my ear.
“I almost jumped on a plane when she told me, to hell with the show in Berlin,” Kennedy was saying. The frustration in his voice causes me to pause in the doorway, just out of sight. It sounds like Kennedy is on the sofa with his back to the door, while Dad is, no doubt, in his beloved Barcalounger.
My father grunts softly. “I can’t believe he just showed up like that. I tell you, I almost died a thousand deaths when I saw that animal with his arm around her neck and a gun pointed at her head.”
My stomach lurches and my hand fli
es to my throat; they’re talking about Lucas. My brow furrows at Dad’s obvious distress as he continues, “And that kid just stood there! He’d put my baby’s life in danger, and then just stood there watching it happen like a-”
“Fuckwit,” Kennedy grumbles, and I hear Dad snort.
“Exactly. When I saw the open door and heard the yelling, I knew it would be bad. But to walk in on that.” He pauses, and I can only hear the play-by-play announcer on the television for a few minutes. The emotion in my father’s voice when he resumes speaking brings tears to my eyes. “When I hit the floor, I didn’t even feel the bullet in my shoulder. Afterward, I thought someone had ripped my arm off, it hurt so damn much. But at the time, the only thing in my brain was that I had to stay conscious as I took aim . . . That this was the most important shot of my life, and I’d better make it a good one or else my baby girl was going to . . .” He clears his throat roughly, and Kennedy takes a ragged breath.
“I thank God that your aim was true, Frank,” Kennedy says hoarsely, and my heart leaps to my throat. To hear Dad recount the worst day in my life is heart wrenching, but to hear the pain in Kennedy’s voice as well is almost too much.
I’m about to step into the room, when my father’s firm voice stops me. “So, are you going to be good to my girl? Don’t think that I’m so much of a fan that I wouldn’t kick your ass if you do her wrong.”
My eyes fly open in alarm. Wanting to spare Kennedy from any more fatherly “advice,” I round the corner, only to stop in my tracks when I find Dad’s eyes fixed on me over Kennedy’s shoulder. He must have heard me at the door.
“You have nothing to fear,” Kennedy says surely. Dad’s eyes flicker back to Kennedy’s, but I can’t move. “I know my life is unpredictable to say the least, but I promise that I’ll protect Abby from the craziness as best I can. She’s . . . I can’t even describe it.” He chuckles wryly. “She’s everything I ever wanted and more. I don’t know what else to say without sounding like some sappy cliché. She’s everything to me, Frank. I love her.”
I let out a breath and glide to Kennedy’s side automatically. He glances at me, his blue eyes shining and a soft smile curling his beautiful lips. I’m melting a little inside, until Dad’s gruff snort breaks our moment.
“That’s all I need to know,” he mutters, his mustache quivering with his suppressed smile. “Let’s go eat.”
Dinner is lighthearted, with more of my mother’s stories about Raphael the Consultant and some of the more eccentric guests they’ve hosted. “I finally had to tell her that, although I was more than willing to accommodate a vegan diet, I wouldn’t do the same for her Pomeranians. The little shits chewed up one of my best comforters,” Mom growls. “I wasn’t going to feed them for the privilege.”
Kennedy tries to stifle a yawn, but my mother catches him. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was that late. You’ve missed the second half of your game.”
“Eh, they lost anyway,” Dad grumbles, not-so-secretly pocketing his smartphone as he rises from his seat. Mom shoots him a look.
“Well, I’m so glad you both could join us for the day. It’s been wonderful to meet you Kennedy,” she gushes. She refuses our offers to do anything more than help clear the table, saying she’ll pop everything in the dishwasher in the morning, and Kennedy excuses himself to fetch our bags from the car. Once we’re alone, she pulls me into a hug.
“I’m so happy for you, sweetie,” she says in my ear. “He’s marvelous, and he’s absolutely smitten with you.” She pulls back and smiles lovingly, smoothing my hair back from my forehead. “You have an interesting time ahead of you, but you’re more than up to the task. Just enjoy your time together, trust in yourselves, and everything will work out as it should.”
I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks, Mom. And thanks for letting us invade for the day.”
“Pssh, no thanks needed, sweetie. We’re thrilled that you were both able to be here. So, I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast before you leave, yes? Good—sleep well, you two.” She gives me an innocent look that immediately makes me wonder what she’s up to; but before I can question her, Kennedy returns with our bags and she wanders off to lock up for the night.
“Hmm.” I look after Mom for a minute, before following Kennedy down the hall to our room. I see him step inside and stop abruptly.
“Hey, Abby?” Kennedy calls softly, his voice tinged with amusement. “Is this what I think it is?”
“What?” I hurry my pace and step into the room, expecting to see one of my mother’s quirky towel animals that are her current obsession sitting on the bed. Instead, my mouth drops open in horror.
“Oh my God!” Sitting in the middle of the room, in all its glory, is my parent’s tantra chair. “Oh my God, oh my God,” I chant, my embarrassment growing when I see the small card bearing Mom’s distinctive scrawl sitting atop it with the direction, “Use me.”
I snatch up a sheet that is acting as a dust cover over a short stack of wine crates and swiftly cover the monstrosity, but Kennedy’s bark of laughter draws my eyes back to the crates.
They aren’t crates.
I’m staring at the broken pieces of another tantra chair, one that has obviously already succumbed to my parent’s ardor. My mortification is complete. I squeeze my eyes shut, as if by doing so the mess will magically disappear, and feel Kennedy’s strong arms slip around me.
“Hey, she even left us an instruction manual,” he teases, his voice barely holding back his laughter.
“No, no, just hell no,” I shoot back, my own laughter finally winning out over my embarrassment. I fix him with a saucy look over my shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind trying one someday in the future, though.”
His eyebrows shoot up at my declaration, and I giggle at his speechless state. He looks like an eager teenage boy who just saw porn for the first time. I take my overnight bag out of his slack hand and sashay into the ensuite washroom, leaving him standing there gaping at me.
Sometime during the night, I find myself staring at the ceiling. I don’t know if it’s the quiet, or the fact that I’m overly warm, trapped as I am in Kennedy’s scorching embrace. We didn’t make love tonight, content simply to curl up in each other’s arms. Okay, mostly it was because I couldn’t quite bring myself to have sex in my parents’ house after the encounter with the ‘chair of love’. It was a little difficult for him to squeeze his long frame comfortably into the humble double bed my parents keep for me here, but he didn’t complain.
I manage to extricate myself without waking him and gingerly get out of bed. Snatching his discarded shirt off the floor, I slip it on and pad soundlessly to the window to peak through the blinds. It’s a beautiful, cloudless night.
“Abby?” I turn at his sleepy murmur. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I assure him quietly, and then smile at his deliciously rumpled state. “How would you like to go for a walk? I want to show you something.”
“Now?”
“It’s the best time.”
He blinks a few times, but nods, a slow smile curving his lips. He slides his legs over the edge of the bed, leans over to retrieve his jeans from the floor, and slips them on. Standing, he scratches his chest distractedly before pulling another shirt from his bag. I smile at his drowsy disorientation and take his hand. Grabbing an old, faded quilt off a stack near the bedroom door, I lead him carefully through the silent house and out the kitchen door. “Don’t we need shoes?” he whispers, still not quite awake.
“Not unless you’re squeamish about walking barefoot on grass,” I tease, and he growls playfully, giving me a quick pinch on the ass. I squeak out a giggle and skip ahead a few steps, before taking his hand again and leading him silently away from the house. There’s just enough light from the quarter moon to allow me to see where we’re going. In a few minutes, we reach my little knoll; on the far side, I lay out the quilt with a practiced hand and sit. I smile up at him and pat the soft fabric beside me until he joins me.
> He glances over his shoulder toward the house. “They can’t see us here. This is my secret spot,” I inform him with mock seriousness.
“Secret, eh?” he says with a smirk. I shrug.
“Well, not really. I used to sit here a lot when they first bought this place after Dad was shot, and I usually find my way here whenever I visit. It’s a nice place to sit and think.”
He reaches an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to give me a gentle kiss against my temple. Warm air, full of the earthy, dry aroma of the surrounding vineyards, floats over us. With a soft sigh, I lean into his warmth, and we lay quietly while we gaze up at the sparkling sky. It’s like all the stars in the heavens have come out to play just for us.
“It reminds me of the winters back home when I was a kid. Adam and I would trudge out to the backyard and lie on the snow watching the stars come out until Mom hollered for us to get our butts inside before we froze to death.” He chuckles. “This is considerably warmer.”
I smile. “That’s a nice memory.” Rolling onto my side, I prop my head up on one hand, while the other slides up under his T-shirt to caress his firm chest. “Want to make another nice memory?”
He sucks in a breath and a slow grin spreads across his face. “What about your nervousness about having sex in your parent’s house?”
“We’re not in my parent’s house; we’re in the backyard.” He smirks and reaches to grab the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“So we are,” he whispers, before firmly pulling my lips down to his. My heart pounds in my chest as we tussle together on the old quilt, kissing and groping each other like a couple of teenagers. Kennedy’s lips are a contradiction—soft and firm at the same time—and they leave a scorching trail across my throat. I gasp when I feel his hand squeeze my bare ass hard.
“Commando, Abigail?” he purrs. “What a naughty girl. One would think you were planning this.”