ALMOST HOME

by Williams, Mary J.

  “Damn it, Kane. Pull your head out. I get it. She’s your first love. A throwback to your Razor’s Edge days.” Frieda’s voice rose to new heights drawing the attention of the one or two bar patrons who hadn’t already taken notice. “But she’s bad news. Did you know she has a fiancé? Fucking you and fucking him over at the same time.”

  Joplin groaned, her head falling forward. Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse, Frieda managed to add another layer of awkward. Kane didn’t speak, he simply raised an eyebrow and waited.

  Normally, Joplin preferred not to air the details of her private life in public. But Kane had to live with these people, work with them, socialize. She had nothing to hide. So, for his sake, she set aside her need for privacy and aired her slightly soiled laundry in public.

  But Joplin spoke the words to Kane as though they were the only two people in the world.

  “Frieda’s right, and wrong. I was engaged. Bradley Sheerer. Entertainment lawyer. I don’t love him. Never did. However, when he proposed, I said yes because…” Joplin shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time is the best answer I have.”

  Kane turned his back on the bar crowd. Joplin had his full attention.

  “You were engaged? As in, not now?”

  “I planned to break up with Bradley once I returned to L.A.”

  “A likely story,” Frieda scoffed.

  Joplin ignored her, as did Kane.

  “Bradley had the same idea. Except he was too impatient to wait. He ended our engagement on the phone.”

  “What a low-life slug,” Paz said. Others muttered their agreement.

  “My heart wasn’t broken,” Joplin told Kane, willing him to understand. “And I hate the weaselly way Bradley did the deed. However, if he hadn’t, if I were still engaged, I never would have gone to your apartment. Not while I was committed to another man.”

  “What a load of crap,” Frieda shouted. “You can’t believe her?”

  “I can,” Kane said. “And I do. Joplin wouldn’t lie to me.”

  Joplin touched his cheek. He kissed her hand and smiled. The crowd dispersed, giving them some privacy.

  “Guess I owe old Bradley a thank you.”

  “No. You don’t,” Joplin assured him. “But I am grateful. The last three days have been a gift beyond my wildest dreams.”

  Kane took a deep breath and hesitated. If Joplin didn’t know better, she would have sworn he looked nervous. Kane? The man with ice water in his veins? Impossible. Then again, the ice water used to be mixed with tequila. Now that he was sober, she’d learned the world was open to a whole new set of possibilities.

  “I know you have a job waiting back in Los Angeles. Important things to do.” Holding her hand, threading his fingers through hers, Kane shrugged. “Any reason you can’t stay until the end of the week?”

  “I have a very efficient assistant. Bit of an Eve Harrington type, but I don’t think she can take over my budding empire in one week.”

  “Just to be certain? You said yes, right?” Kane asked.

  Nodding, Joplin walked into his arms and let out a sigh of pleasure. A hug from Kane Her new favorite thing.

  “Eve Harrington.” Kane brushed a kiss onto her ear. “All About Eve. Bette Davis. Anne Baxter.”

  “Look who’s been studying up on the classic movies.” Joplin laughed. “I’m impressed.”

  “TCM got me through a lot of long nights after my last stop in rehab. Instead of drinking, I watched Gene Kelly singing and dancing in the rain.”

  “Remind me to write a thank you note to Ted Turner,” Joplin said. She took a deep breath. “Kane? How did Frieda know about Bradley?”

  “Good question.” Kane frowned. “No reason she should know about your link to Razor’s Edge, either. Unless you said something the other night when the two of you first met?”

  “We compared notes on sleazy bar rats and designer shoes,” Joplin said. “Nothing about us or our past.”

  “Maybe Frieda googled you.”

  “Or,” Joplin speculated. “someone decided to use your friend’s protective instincts as a weapon against me. Against us.”

  “Who?” Kane shook his head. “And why?”

  Joplin had a good idea on both counts. Just to be sure, they needed confirmation.

  “Maybe you should speak with Frieda alone,” Joplin said. “She’ll be more likely to cooperate if I’m not around.”

  “Frieda is a friend. The first one I made here in Stillwater. She talked me into sticking around.” Kane sighed. “I trust her, or I did, to have my back.”

  “You believe me, that’s the only thing that matters. Let’s call the subject closed.”

  “No,” Kane said. His eyes were sad but determined. “I need to live a clean life, Joplin. No booze, no drugs, no lies. And no manufactured drama. We both know the identity of the person behind Frieda’s accusations.”

  “Yes.” Joplin nodded. “What’s the next move?”

  “May I borrow your phone?”

  Kane took his wallet from his pocket. He extracted a slip of paper. Looking at Joplin, holding her gaze, he typed in the number. Holding the phone to his ear, he motioned for her to stand close—close enough to hear both sides of the conversation.

  “Hello. State your case.”

  Five years. Yet, Joplin recognized the cultivated Euro-trash accent with a touch of Texas twang.

  “Lilah,” Kane said. “We need to talk.”

  Delilah let out a screech of delight, and Joplin cringed. Like an ice pick to the brain, she thought.

  “Kane. How wonderful. We haven’t talked in ages, naughty boy.”

  Naughty boy? Joplin stifled a snort. Shaking his head, Kane rolled his eyes.

  “Two things, Lilah. First, stop sending the tequila. I should have said something before, but—”

  “Joplin wasn’t around to make you,” Delilah said, a shot of venom coating her words. “Really, Kane. I thought you were over that simpering blonde.”

  Kane placed his hand over the phone.

  “Simpering?” he scoffed. “Not in this or any other lifetime.”

  Joplin barely controlled a snort of laughter and fell in love with him a little bit more.

  “Kane? Are you still there?”

  “No more, Lilah. Our divorce isn’t something we should celebrate.”

  “Celebrate?” Delilah let out a short, harsh bark of laughter. “I send the tequila because I mourn the loss of you, my love. Every year. Every month. Every year. I count the minutes you aren’t by my side.”

  Joplin’s stomach turned, sickened by Delilah’s overly dramatic twaddle. The only thing that kept her from spewing vomit was the look on Kane’s face. He didn’t buy the poor me, routine for a second.

  “We weren’t a love match, Lilah. We weren’t anything but a three-month mistake that the judge in Reno graciously and mercifully corrected.”

  “The judge was a toad,” Delilah declared.

  “Moving on.” Kane placed an arm around Joplin’s waist. Another layer of connection—for him and her. She heartily approved. “Did you recruit Frieda, my friend, to spy on me?”

  “Seems unlikely, my love.”

  “Then how did Frieda know about Joplin’s fiancé?”

  Delilah didn’t answer immediately as though weighing the best road to take, the one that would cast her in the best light. Eventually, she drove into the lane reserved for concerned, protective ex-wives.

  “I was only looking out for you,” Delilah cajoled. “In case you tumbled off that slippery old sobriety wagon, I wanted to be there. Ready to lead you back toward the straight and narrow.”

  “By sending you a bottle of tequila,” Joplin whispered.

  “You deserved to know the truth,” Delilah continued. “Joplin Ashford cheated on her fiancé. With you. After all the years you kept her on a pedestal, a shining beacon no other woman could compete with, you needed to see the truth,
Kane. She’s human. Just like me.”

  “You’re right,” Kane said. “Joplin is human. Very human. But believe me, Lilah, she’s nothing like you. Thank God.”

  “Kane. I—”

  “We’re done, Lilah. I wish you well. But do not contact me again. Understood?”

  When Delilah spoke again, there was a hitch of unshed tears. For the first time, Joplin heard genuine emotion in her voice.

  “You really mean it.” Delilah exhaled, her breathing shaky. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

  “Then I will. Goodbye, Lilah. Have a good life.”

  Kane ended the call, handing the phone to Joplin. She felt a zing of happy relief when he tore the paper with Delilah’s phone number into small pieces.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Relieved.” He sent her a half smile. “Does that make me a heartless bastard?”

  “She wasn’t good for you, Kane.” Joplin frowned. “Maybe I’m not either.”

  “Wrong.”

  “I’m part of your past,” she said, gripping his hand. “A constant reminder of a time you’d rather forget.”

  “If I could forget the bad, I’d have to forget the good, too. Jax. Beckett, Morgan. Skye. The music we made, the joy of standing on stage with them, the thrill of hitting all the right notes. I need those memories. They’re precious.” Kane pressed his cheek to hers. “As are you. Then and now. I cherish every second that you’re in my life.”

  “Okay.” Joplin didn’t know what else to say.

  “Okay.” Kane laughed. “Kind of mushy?”

  “In a good way.” She cleared her throat. “One more question about Delilah, then she’s history.”

  Kane didn’t seem to love the idea. He shrugged.

  “Shoot.”

  “Did she take your money?” Joplin said in a rush. “You wanted a divorce. Did she only agree if you signed over the rights and future royalties to your songs?”

  “I was stoned out of my head.” Kane sighed. “But I wasn’t brain dead. I never would have agreed to give away my music.”

  “Yay!” Joplin felt a rush of relief. “Where’s all your money?”

  “Three years ago, when I’d regained a few brain cells, I hired a lawyer to set up a trust. She’s the executor. If I want to spend a significant amount of money, she needs to sign off first.”

  “For instance, the money you needed to set up a local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous,” Joplin said.

  “Charitable donations. I’m a sucker for anything to do with kids.” Kane rubbed the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. “I don’t need a lot of money, Joplin. If I can do something, anything, to help protect children in need, I will.”

  Because no one protected you. Joplin’s heart twisted in her chest. She was determined not to cry, but Kane—so good, so kind—made keeping her tears in check harder and harder.

  Determined to lighten the mood and give Kane a gift he never saw coming, Joplin leaned close.

  “Want to see something?” she asked in a hushed whisper.

  “Something I haven’t already seen?” Looking around the bar at the growing crowd, Kane grinned. “Maybe we should find someplace a bit more private.”

  “Down, boy,” Joplin said, laughing. “What I have in mind can be done in public. Watch.”

  Joplin tapped the video she’d queued up on her phone. Filmed at a concert in Australia by someone in the audience, the recording wasn’t the best quality. However, there was no mistaking the identity of the man on stage.

  “Jax.” His smile wistful, Kane couldn’t take his eyes from the screen. “Is this a recent concert?”

  “Very recent.”

  “He looks good.” Kane chuckled. “Still getting used to the beard, but the look works for him.”

  “These days, everything works for Jaxon Cross,” Joplin said. “He’s redefined the definition of a scorching-hot career.”

  “He deserves every accolade.” Kane placed an arm around Joplin’s shoulders. “Damn, he looks good. In the spotlight. Right where he belongs.”

  “Take a deep breath,” Joplin warned. “Might not seem possible, but Jax is about to look even better—with a little help.”

  Kane shot her a puzzled look. When she simply shrugged, he focused on the video and listened as Jax stepped up to the microphone.

  “For my last song, I planned to do something off my latest album,” Jax told the crowd. “Instead, with the help of a friend, and your indulgence, I’d like to dust off an old tune you might remember.”

  Turning to face the band, Jax played the first five notes of Savior. The song Kane wrote for Razor’s Edge. The band’s first number-one hit.

  The audience exploded out of their seats when Skye Monroe joined Jax on stage. Joplin felt every muscle in Kane’s body tighten.

  “Jax and Skye? Together after all these years?” Kane’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Am I seeing things?”

  “If you are, millions of YouTube viewers experienced the same hallucination.”

  Jax’s voice cracked as he sang the first line, and Skye seemed a little shaky at first. Joplin didn’t think Kane noticed. If he did, like the rest of the world, he didn’t care. The performance was magic, the chemistry between the pair sizzled.

  More than a blast from the past or a slice of bittersweet nostalgia, watching Jax and Skye felt fresh and new. Instead of looking back, dwelling on what might have been, they’d embraced the present with an eye toward the future.

  Kane touched the screen and smiled.

  “They look happy.” He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Joplin. “Maybe in love?”

  “Maybe,” Joplin agreed, mentally crossing her fingers. “Ready for video number two?”

  “With Jax and Skye?” Shaking his head, Kane chuckled. “They’ve been busy.”

  “Nope.” Joplin tapped the screen. “The next video is a solo. But I think you’ll recognize the singer. Ready?”

  Intrigued, Kane nodded, his attention focused on the phone, and Joplin focused on him. His dark eyes widened as the performance began. Slowly, his lips formed a goofy grin.

  “Hello, Beckett. Nice voice. Good stage presence,” Kane said. “He wrote the song?”

  Joplin nodded, tucking her phone into her purse.

  “Jax. Skye. Beckett.” Kane ticked off the ex-members of Razor’s Edge on his fingers. “YouTube sensations. Aren’t we missing someone?”

  “Morgan doesn’t sing or play,” Joplin said. “Hasn’t since the band broke up. Kind of like you.”

  Briefly, Kane closed his eyes and sighed. If she hoped he would finally explain why he’d abandoned his music, she was wrong.

  “Never like me. Morgan was too disciplined, too smart, to drown his problems in a bottle.”

  “Kane—”

  “Not now, Joplin. Please? Our friends are happy. Something of a minor miracle, all things considered. Can we take a moment and be grateful?”

  “Are you happy, Kane?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Seems that I am.”

  “Me, too.” Joplin kissed his cheek. “Me, too.”

  The music on the jukebox changed from Elvis Presley’s Jailhouse Rock to Linda Ronstadt’s haunting rendition of Blue Bayou. Kane held out his hand.

  “Dance with me?”

  Joplin nodded and stepped into his arms. Holding her close, Kane wasn’t content to sway back and forth. The man had some smooth moves, leading her around the floor, synced in perfect rhythm with the song.

  “Let me guess.” Joplin let out a delighted laugh. “You took a class.”

  “Several,” Kane said. “Not to brag, but my Argentine tango is a thing of beauty.”

  “You? Brag?” Joplin snorted. “Never.”

  Laughing, Kane’s hand tightened around her waist, bringing Joplin’s body flush with his.

  “I took a Swedish massage class.” Lowering his voice, Kane’s lips bru
shed her ear, and her legs turned to jelly. “Would you like me to share my technique when we get back to the apartment?”

  Kane had her at massage. But Swedish? With technique? The answer to his question was a freaking no brainer.

  “Yes,” Joplin said. “Yes, please.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ♫~♫~♫

  KANE SET JOPLIN’S suitcases in the back of the SUV. After a week of dark clouds and snow flurries, the sky was a bright, cheery, blinding blue.

  “Perfect weather to drive by,” he said, squinting at the sun. “Long as you own a pair of dark glasses.”

  “I do.” Joplin patted her purse.

  Joplin was needed in Los Angeles. Though she told her uncle not to expect a miracle, Danny Graham was determined to see his plans through for a Razor’s Edge reunion—with or without the band. The concert hall was rented. The invitations sent out. The after-party would be catered by one of the most prominent chefs in the city.

  The event had disaster written all over it, and Joplin was worried how Danny, already weakened by a terminal illness, might react.

  “He’s living in a fantasy world. Like something out of Field of Dreams.” Joplin sighed. “Set the stage and Razor’s Edge will come. Except, they won’t.”

  “I’ll be there,” Kane said, taking her hand. “Just have a few things to take care of first.”

  She took a deep breath. “You could come with me.”

  Green eyes, filled with hope, need, fear, looked at him, and all Kane wanted to do was pick Joplin up in his arms, take the stairs to his apartment two at a time, slam the door, and turn the lock. The hell with the outside world. They’d be happy—until they weren’t.

  Neither Kane nor Joplin lived in a cocoon. Together or apart, they had responsibilities, people who counted on them. She knew he was right. Unfortunately, the last time they made plans, he disappeared, leaving her to pick up the pieces.

  Kane could make all the promises he wanted, and Joplin could say she believed him. But he knew, deep down, she doubted his word. He couldn’t blame her. Trust had to be earned.

  “Friday. Without fail.” Kane took the invitation from his pocket. “Time and location. You already have my R.S.V.P. But black tie? Really?”