by Meghan March
I grab the phone, fully intending to hit IGNORE, but when my eyes cut down to the screen, I see Holly’s name. I hit PAUSE on my laptop, and answer immediately.
“Holly.”
She breathes heavily into the phone for a beat before saying, “Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m about to be a hell of a lot better than just okay. But your note said you wanted to hear me scream your name, Mr. Executive, so here I am, following orders.”
Fuuuuck. My dick jumps in my pants. I totally forgot about the vibrator, completely and totally forgot about it. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but apparently it is.
All my concerns about today fall away at nothing more than the thought of her pleasure.
“Are you telling me that right now, you’ve got that vibrator buried in your sweet pussy?”
“And a plug up my ass.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Holly,” I say on a groan. “You haven’t made yourself come yet?”
“No. I wanted you to hear me.”
“Good girl.”
I pull the phone away from my ear, hit the button for speaker, and lay it on the desk. Then I reach for my belt and undo it, purposely letting the buckle clink together.
“Are you—?”
“I’m getting my cock out so I can jack myself off to the sound of you coming. I miss you, Holly. Miss your hot little cunt, your tight little ass, and those perfect fucking tits.”
“Holy crap. I think I almost came just hearing you say that.” Her voice shakes over the phone.
I smile. “Good.”
As soon as I’ve got my hand wrapped around my cock, I realize I’m woefully unprepared, so I head to the bathroom, snag some lube, and make my way into the master suite, all the while telling Holly the dirty things I’d do to her if I were there.
“Because you liked having my cock in your ass, didn’t you?”
“I’m pretty sure I came until I almost blacked out, didn’t I?”
“You’re fucking perfect, woman,” I say as I strip, settle myself on the bed, and lube up. “Now we’re going to see how good you are at getting yourself off.”
Her laugh makes my dick even harder. “I already know I’m good at that, Crey. Trust me. Lots of practice in the one-handed action department.”
I groan at the visual and wrap my hand around my cock. “Okay, baby. You said you already have it inside you?”
“Yeah.”
“How close are you to the edge?”
“Pretty freaking close.”
“I want you to slow down, tease yourself for a minute.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?”
“Are you getting bossy with me, Holly?”
“Maybe. I really want to come.” Her tone takes on just the whisper of a whine, her desperation bleeding into every word.
“Soon, baby, I promise. First I want you to circle your clit, bring yourself all the way to the edge.”
Her moans and whimpers are driving me crazy, and I stroke myself right to the same goddamn edge.
“Crey, please. I need—”
“Turn up the vibe, baby, and then I want it nice and snug up inside that tight little pussy, pressing against your G-spot. I want you to take it deep like you’d take me. Get yourself there. All the way. I want to hear it right now. Because when I come all over my hand, I want to hear you screaming my name.”
Her harsh oh my God precedes louder and louder moans. “Crey . . . I’m gonna. I have to . . . I can’t . . .”
“Come for me, Holly. Right now. Right the fuck now.”
My order is sharp because I’m teetering on the edge of control, my balls pulled up to the base of my cock, my orgasm about to blow.
“Crey!” Her moan approaches a scream and I wish, more than anything, I were there to see her face as pleasure drags her past the point of no return.
I lose my own ironclad control, and her name echoes in our bedroom. A few beats later, I drop my head back on the pillow.
Her voice comes through the phone. “Crey, are you still there?”
“I’m still here, baby. You just fucking destroyed me from over six hundred miles away.”
A soft chuckle comes through the phone, followed by a few minutes of nothing but our heavy breathing as we both recover.
Eventually Holly speaks first. “I’m glad I caught you tonight. I’m sorry about earlier. Mama came home. She appreciated the vacation. So, thank you for that.”
My hackles rise. “Your mother came home? Are you okay?” I grab the T-shirt I tossed aside and clean my mess off my hand and stomach. “Fuck, I should’ve stayed.”
“It’s okay, Crey. Don’t freak out. It was actually . . . good. We talked. I think she and I might actually be in a semi-okay place at the moment. If you were still here, I don’t think that would’ve happened, so maybe things needed to happen like this.”
The tension gripping me eases only a fraction. “Are you sure? Because, fuck, Holly, from what you’ve told me about your mother—”
“I know, but she’s still my mama, for better or for worse, and if there’s a chance it can be for the better, then I need to believe that maybe she has changed. I know I’ve set myself up for the fall before, but she actually seems different this time.”
Bad feelings churn in my gut, but I can’t bring myself to crush the hope in Holly’s voice. All I can see is that little girl in the pictures at her gran’s, wishing her mother would be like the other mothers and actually give a damn about her instead of the man-of-the-minute in her life.
I choose my words carefully. “I support you, Holly. So whatever you decide is best for you, I’m going to support that too.”
The soft laugh that echoes through the phone slips into my chest and grips my heart.
“You’re right, Crey. This is as real as it gets. I love you. I’ll talk to you in the morning?”
“Absolutely. I love you too. Good night, baby.”
When I hang up, I’m smiling. I need to figure this shit out with my uncle tomorrow, because I’m flying south ASAP.
Head aching a little from the wine, but thankfully not hung over, I roll out of bed and tiptoe down the stairs. Gran’s bedroom door is wide open, and it appears that Mama never came home last night.
I shove down the sarcastic voice inside me that wants to say, Shocking, really? Like I told Creighton, I need to believe she’s changed.
I brew a cup of coffee and peek out the window to the front porch. I’m still grateful people have decided I’m not really worth noticing, even in this small town. Grabbing one of Gran’s hand-knitted afghans, I go out onto the front porch and curl up in the rocking chair.
It’s dawn, still cold enough out that steam is rising off the pond across the road. There’s a peacefulness here that doesn’t exist anywhere else.
Crey’s right; I’m not ready to sell this house. I may not make it back here as often as I’d like, but having this place as my haven seems imperative. Coming back to my roots was the right choice. No matter how many fans may know my name, and no matter how crazy life may get, I’m just a simple girl from Gold Haven, Kentucky.
And now, after coming home and seeing this place through my slightly jaded eyes—and through Creighton’s eyes—I’m okay with being that girl. Just like everyone else, I’m the sum total of my experiences, and I wouldn’t be where I am today, married to the man I’m crazy in love with, if I didn’t walk the path that was set out in front of me.
As I rock in the chair on Gran’s porch and watch the sunrise paint the sky, I can’t help but be grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given. Memories of hardships fade away, overshadowed by all the goodness.
A while later my cell phone rings from inside the house, interrupting my solitude and general contentment with the world. Levering myself off the chair, I cross the porch and push open the door to grab it off the counter and answer it.
Obviously, I’m hoping it’s Crey. But it’s not—it’s Tana.
“Hey, girl, what’s going on?” I haven’t talked to her since I told her why I left New York the second time just before I headed to Gold Haven.
“Have you seen the papers or the gossip sites today?”
My stomach drops to my feet. “I’m not going to like what you have to say, am I?”
“Oh shit. You haven’t.”
“Nope. No tabloids on my front porch here.” I swallow back the rising apprehension and drop into a chair. “How bad is it?”
“It’s pretty bad, babe. Your mama sold a tell-all exclusive to Yapper that they posted about ten minutes ago. And this morning, the news also broke about your husband being sued by his own shareholders for corporate fraud or something like that. That was in the Wall Street Journal, not Yapper, but I didn’t know about it until I read the Yapper article and they linked to it. Your names are on everyone’s lips today.”
“What?”
I’m glad I’m not holding my coffee cup any longer. It would be shattered on the floor right now.
“You know how they say no publicity is bad publicity? Well, today let’s really hope that’s true for your sake.”
I shove out of the chair and stride to Gran’s bedroom, and sure enough, all of Mama’s stuff is gone. Stumbling back against the warped oak door, I slide down it and drop my head between my knees. My hand shakes so much, I can barely hold the phone to my ear.
“What did she say?” I whisper.
Disappointment, disgust, and anger well up inside me, my stomach twisting and flopping. I gave her the benefit of the doubt like the sucker I am. What was I thinking?
Tana sounds almost hesitant as she speaks. “I think Creighton probably got the worst of it. I had no idea he was married in college. The whole thing was buried. Rumor has it the girl faked a pregnancy to snag him, and then when she realized he wasn’t getting a dime from his uncle, pretended to lose the baby. Everything about you just mostly makes you sound like a girl crazy in love with her husband.”
The sick feeling multiplies as my neck and cheeks grow hot. I’m responsible for Creighton’s personal business being spread all over the pages of a rag—personal business I knew nothing about.
Annika was pregnant? Or at least pretended to be? He left that out, along with the fact that he was going to get sued. Did he know that was coming? I remember the tense set of his shoulders when he answered the call from Cannon. He must have known. But why didn’t he share that with me?
“Tell me about Creighton getting sued.”
“You really didn’t know?”
Tana’s question comes out as shocked, and a small sliver of me can’t help but wonder what else Crey may not be telling me. I hate that kernel of doubt.
I bolt up off the floor, and begin pacing the room. “Please, Tana? I wouldn’t be asking you if I knew.”
“Shit. And here I thought you were just the fucking queen of keeping secrets.”
“What are you talking about?”
My crazy feelings crash into each other like cars at a malfunctioning stoplight. Frustration wins out, and I want to reach through the phone and shake it out of her.
“He bought Homegrown fucking Records, Holly. For you.”
Blood rushes through my ears, deafening me.
“What?” I whisper.
“Holy fuck, you really didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know.” My voice is getting louder as the shock turns to confusion and disbelief.
“Shit,” she whispers. “That’s kinda huge. How could he not tell you?”
I drop my head back against the wall.
“What else hasn’t he told me?” I mumble.
“I don’t know, babe. He’s your husband.”
“So, what do I do now?” I don’t know if I’m asking myself, Tana, or the universe in general. Luckily for me, Tana has an answer.
“Get your ass back to Nashville. Come to my place and lay low.”
My phone beeps with another incoming call. I pull it away from my face, once again expecting to see Creighton’s name on the screen. But it’s not. It’s Chance.
“Shit. Chance is calling me too. I better take it.”
“He’s gonna tell you the same thing that I am. Get your ass back to town, and your people will circle the wagons.”
“Thank you for the heads-up. Now to do damage control on my life.”
“You got this, babe. Love you.”
I hit the button to flip over to Chance’s call.
“You heard the news that you’re news?” he says without preamble.
“Yep. Just now.”
“Good. Get yourself back to town. You’re gonna lay low and finish your songs. Boone says he’ll put you up so you’re out of the public eye. I’ll send you Garcia to get the songs finalized, and then you and the band can practice at Boone’s. We’re going to cut that album as fast as we fucking can.”
It’s so much information to take in, I’m reeling. “Slow down, Chance. This is all—”
“No time to slow down, kid. As of this morning, you’re the girl everyone’s talking about. We need to ride the wave before it goes south.”
I should appreciate his opportunistic business sense, but I need a second to breathe. “It’s my goddamn life, Chance. Not a fucking wave.”
“I know, doll. But all you can do is hold on and enjoy the ride. Call me when you get to Boone’s.”
I pause in my pacing, the phone still to my ear, and I listen to nothing but dead air for ten seconds before I snap out of it enough to hang up.
Seriously? That’s it? He didn’t even stop and ask me if I wanted to stay at Boone’s. I planned to crash behind Tana’s gates. I grit my teeth, knowing I’m about to ride into the shitstorm of the century.
My stomach twists and turns with guilt. Mama better be long gone, because if I track her down, there’s no telling what I’ll say or do. And Creighton . . . I don’t even know what to think. The guilt that I’m the reason his past is smeared across the tabloids fights with the hurt that he didn’t tell me he bought the label and is facing serious legal issues because of it.
This is supposed to be as real as it gets, and yet he said nothing. Why? And why hasn’t he called me today? I stare down at my phone and quickly search for his contact. I tap his cell number, trying to figure out what I’m going to say.
But no need—the call goes straight to voice mail.
I call again.
And again.
And again.
Nothing.
Finally, I call his office. Instead of the receptionist I got the last time, I get a prerecorded message thanking me for my call before offering me the number of the PR department at Karas International. I blink as I lower my phone to the counter.
Seriously, Creighton? What is this?
The only thing I can fathom is that they’ve been overrun with calls about today’s news. For a moment I think about calling the PR department and asking them to have the boss call his wife. But I decide that’s not the best course of action.
My imagination is jumping all over the place. Is he locked inside some kind of super-top-secret meeting that he can’t get away from? Was the Homegrown deal the reason he stood me up when I needed to be back in Nashville? So many secrets, and I’m not privy to a single goddamn one of them.
So much for this being as real as it gets. Because real is telling your spouse that you’ve bought their record label. Real is telling your spouse that the shit is about to hit the fan because you bought their record label.
And from my side of the fence, real is apologizing that I opened my goddamn mouth to my mama and gave her anything to tell the press.
I want to rage at him and apologize all at the same time.
Why is love so damned complicated?
When he still hasn’t called by the time I’m shoving my bags in the Cadillac, rage is winning out. Where the hell is my husband?
The bowling bag is the last thing I put in the backseat. I thought about leaving it, but said s
crew it. I have a feeling that screw it is going to be my mantra of the day.
Your mama sells you out to a tabloid? Screw it.
Your husband buys your record label and doesn’t mention it? Screw it.
Your husband gets sued after buying said record label and doesn’t mention that either? Screw it.
I slam the car into gear and tear out of the drive. I’ve got one stop to make before I leave town, so I crank the wheel in the direction of Logan’s service station.
I’m pretty sure the tires on the Caddy are smoking when I squeal to a halt. Screw it.
I fling the door open and hip check it shut. Screw it.
I march across the pavement and throw open the door, not slowing to ring the bell for service. The music is once again blaring, so I stalk to the stereo and slap a hand on the power button. Screw it.
Logan’s head jerks up from the Mustang. “Again? What the hell is your problem with Zeppelin?”
“They were all men. That’s enough.” Although I’m not too happy with womankind—or motherkind—today either.
Logan leans back against the cherry-red front end of the car and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Karas again?”
I throw my hands up in the air. “Obviously! Well, him and my mama.”
I pace the garage, stepping over air hoses and metal legs of the huge car lifts as I spill the entire sordid story.
Logan’s eyes are wide when I finish. “You’ve had a rough morning, girl.”
“No kidding.”
“What can I do?”
I recall the reasons I came here to begin with. “Two things, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Anything you need. All you have to do is ask.”
I briefly consider asking him to track down my mother, but decide that’s the worst possible idea.
“Can you sell my Pontiac?”
“Of course. Just tell me where to send the money.”
“I’ll worry about that later.” I pause in my pacing and face him. “I also need you to get a locksmith out to my gran’s and have the locks changed for me. If you get word my mama’s back in town, I want her arrested again for breaking and entering if she tries to get back inside. The house is mine, and I don’t want her in it. Last time she stole stuff, and I’m finished with that crap.”