by Mandi Beck
My head cocked, I look at him. Does he not see what he’s accomplished? “Stone. Look at me.” I wait until he brings his angry gray eyes my way. “You’re your own cure. You. You walked into rehab on your own and walked out sober and you’ve stayed that way ever since. That’s something to be proud of. I’m not saying that being an addict is something to be revered for, but being a survivor, and facing your demons head on, is.” His eyes dart to every corner of my face and then back to my eyes. This is the most intimate moment I’ve initiated since he came back into my life and I want nothing more than to hold him right now. Heal him. Fill the cracks that his addiction left behind. But I won’t. I can’t. I’m still too broken myself.
“Only you could ever see the good in me, Birdie. Always.” Stone reaches out and runs his callused finger down the side of my face before dropping his hand to the granite again, squeezing the edge. “The day I vowed to get sober I made a promise to myself that when I finally got you back in my life that I’d never lie to you again.” I lower my head so he can’t see the hurt there. That’s something I can’t get past. All the lying and cheating. It haunts me. Niggles at me whenever I feel myself weakening toward him.
He goes on speaking, not forcing me to look at him for which I’m grateful. “Do I want a drink right now? Fuck yes. A hit? A pill? Absolutely. But then I think about you. About Lyric. I think about how brave you are. All I put you through. And the thought of taking that sip, that line, turns my stomach.” With a finger under my chin, he makes me look at him now. He won’t let me hide from him and I’m not sure that I want to. “For as long as I live, I will never be that guy again. That’s no lie, Birdie.”
The kettle shrieks scaring the hell out of both of us. With a startled laugh, I grab it off the burner, pouring the water into the mugs. Grateful for the interruption. I go about doctoring his tea the same as I do mine only with a double dose of sugar for him.
“Plus, that isn’t why I’m not ready to go back on tour,” Stone tells me as he takes the steaming brew from my hand. My eyebrows drawn, I watch him and wait. When he doesn’t answer right away I take the bait.
“Why then?” Him wrapping his large tattooed hands around the dainty cup shouldn’t be sexy, but it is. Looking up from his hands, my gaze collides with his. “I’m not ready to leave you. You or Lyric.”
“Stone—”
“I know, Wills. I know. You have JD. But you gotta know I’m not going anywhere. Even when they do finally make me go on tour, I’m coming back here. If you and the little bird are here, this is where I’ll be.” Sipping his tea, he gives me a moment to let that sink in.
“Stone, that’s nuts. You have a home in Austin, the studio.”
He interrupts me again. “None of it matters if you’re here.” Stone pins me with a look of pure determination. “If I have to steal you from him, I will. I will remind you of every pretty word, stolen moment, every fucking memory until you can’t handle it anymore if that’s what it takes, but I’m not walking away, Willow. You can’t make me. Lyric deserves a dad who loves her mama as much as he loves her little girl. That guy’s not JD. It’s not.” My lip trembles as I watch him place a hand over his heart. “I’m your rhythm, Birdie. Me.” His words are strong and ring true.
I can’t do this with him. I need to think, to breathe, and I can’t do either with him so close. Using his fucking words on me. People always say that actions speak louder than words, but with Stone it’s just the opposite. His words hold all of his meaning. Drawing in a Stone-scented breath, I walk to the other side of the kitchen. “You have to go, Stone. It’s late and you shouldn’t be here.”
He snorts. “You worried your little boyfriend is gonna show up and get the wrong idea? Let him, Birdie. Better yet, tell him. He’s not your guy.”
I shake my head, rubbing at my temple and the headache that’s starting to form. “Joaquin won’t—he’s not . . . we’re not—”I stammer. “We broke up,” I say and then take a sip of my still too hot tea.
At this revelation, Stone hops down from the counter, his grin kicking up one side of his mouth, lips curling in mirth. “When did this happen?”
“Couple weeks ago I guess.” I don’t dare tell him it was the night he sang for me at The Dirty Bird. “You know what? I’m not discussing it with you. I’ve had a long day. I need to get to sleep. I have another class in the morning.” Putting my mug down, I start for the front door, hoping with everything in my being that he follows. After a moment he does.
Once there he turns to me, “You know you don’t have to work, Birdie. You and Lyric never have to want for anything as long as you live.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets he watches me.
“Stone, I told you, that money is yours. You earned it. Just like I’m earning mine.”
His eyes are calm, his gaze steady. “Okay, Wills. Okay. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.”
Before I can argue that with him, he’s on the sidewalk strolling to his house which is still entirely too damn close.
Stone
IN THE STUDIO AT THE Dirty Bird, I make adjustments to the lyrics in the notebook in front of me. The guys are still in Austin for a couple more days and I’m getting stir crazy at the house. It’s too fucking quiet without those assholes. Dane is there, but that motherfucker is so quiet he might as well be a mute. Shit’s unnatural.
Cigarette clamped between my teeth, I play the bridge again. Hitting the body of the Martin with my wrist, the snap on my leather cuff adding to the melody. I hear the door open and look up to see a glaring Bear.
“Cora is gonna kick your ass for smoking in here.”
With a grin I nod and take a long drag of the cigarette. He didn't come in here to bitch about my smoking. “What’s up, Bear?”
“New song?” He lifts his chin in my direction.
“Yeah, man. I did a ton of writing in rehab, but I’ve felt . . . inspired lately, I guess you can say. Amazing what you can get done when you’re not fucked up and your mind is clear.” I laugh wryly. “If only someone had told me sooner.” I take one more deep pull before putting the cigarette out.
“What’s it called?” Bear asks, coming further into the room.
Slowly I release the smoke from my lungs, watching it swirl between us. He’s never really been nice to me. I mean that one night at The Dirty Bird when I sang to Wills he pretended to be nice to me, but this is different. I feel like I’m being tested or some shit. “Willow’s Lyric.”
He nods approvingly. “Will they let you name another song after her?”
I snort, “I don’t give a fuck what they say about shit. My contract with them is almost up. If they want to keep me, they’ll stay off my ass.”
This piques his interest a bit. “Are you thinking about leaving and going with someone else? They’re a big label; bands would kill to be signed with them.”
“Not sure. The guys and I have talked about starting our own label. I don’t want to tour as much anymore, and if Fall Out had their way I’d be touring for the next three years with no break. I’m not doing that. I’m done with that shit.”
“You just hit big, what, like five or six years ago now? You really done with touring?”
“Yup. What kind of life would that be for Lyric? And I don’t want to be gone so much that I’m some deadbeat absentee father. I had one of those. Not what I want for her.” I cross my arms over the top of my guitar. “I lived my childhood in foster homes. Some I didn’t think I’d even survive. One or two I almost didn’t. I just want Lyric to have a happy fucking home. One where she knows she’s safe and loved. Give her a couple brothers to watch over her little ass.” I laugh, a little embarrassed that I just admitted all that to a man that barely likes me. Clearing my throat, I keep going, might as well let him in on the plan. Fucker’s gonna have to like me eventually, I’m not going anywhere. “So, yeah. I’m done with the crazy, never-ending tours and parties and bullshit.” I reach for my smokes on the stool next to me and light one up, glancing in his direction ex
pectantly when he doesn’t say anything right away.
“So I take it you know that she and Joaquin broke up?”
The smile that slips over my face can’t be helped. “I do.”
Bear shakes his head and laughs. “Don’t look so upset about it.”
“She was never his to begin with.”
“No. I guess she wasn’t,” he says thoughtfully. “Do you mean everything you said? About Lyric and making a home with Willow?”
“God damn right. Every word,” I say with conviction.
“Are you planning on taking her away from here? From us?” He raises a hand to halt my answer. “I mean, if she’ll have you.” The bastard smirks at me.
“I’m all done being first. I put my dreams ahead of everything because music, ya know? And Wills let me because it was our thing. She may not have wanted in the band, but we made music . . . together. And then I let the devil get me. Let addiction take everything that meant anything to me and just leave me empty. I’d been lost for a long time. But not anymore. I have purpose. I found my rhythm again. Willow is my rhythm. I finally feel whole again. Unbroken.” Inhaling slowly from the cigarette, I exhale even slower, trying to organize the chaos of my thoughts and eventually answering the question he asked. “If Willow says this is where she and Lyric want to be, then this is where we’ll be. We can work shit out with the band and the label. If they don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. If I learned anything in rehab, it’s that we only get this one life. We may get a couple redo’s, but you gotta make them count. I want to make this one count.”
Bear just watches me for a second. Weighing my words. “Well, if you’re serious, and I believe that you are, I’ll help you in any way that I can. I only want to see them happy.” He pierces me with a steady glare and then nods. “If you guys decide to move forward and start your own label, you’re going to have some legal shit to wade through. Tell Judge to call me. I can help with all of that.”
With narrowed eyes, I jerk back a little surprised and give him a dubious look.
“What? Don’t let the beard and flannel fool you, eh? Underneath this whole lumbersexual thing I’ve got going on, I’m an attorney.”
Before I can stop myself, I burst out laughing. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that Paul Bunyan over here is a fucking attorney or that he just called himself a lumbersexual that has me doing my best to smother my laughter with the back of my hand.
“Keep laughing, you little prick. I was a partner at one of the largest, most prestigious law firms in Montreal.”
“No shit?” I ask incredulously.
“No shit. That’s actually how I met Cora. Her first husband died and left her his half of The Dirty Bird, but his partner tried to screw her out of it so she hired me to help. The rest is history,” Bear says, smiling fondly at the memory.
“And the partner?”
“Also history,” he says smugly.
“Well-played, sir. I’ll let Judge know.”
We sit for a few seconds just in the moment, bonding or some shit. It’s weird as fuck, honestly.
Testing the waters, I ask, “Did we just become friends?”
“Not a fucking chance, rock star.”
Lips lifted in a smirk, “Didn’t think so.”
Parked outside Willow’s place, I pop a lolli in my mouth. I found out from my new friend Bear that Wills has a class and that Cora has Lyric today visiting her mom. It’s something she does regularly which gives me a couple hours to spend with Birdie. As soon as she pulls up, I hop out of the truck and make my way over.
“What are you doing here, Stone?”
“You know, you say that a lot. If I was a weaker man it would probably hurt my feelings.”
“You’re right, I do, and I think I’ve even apologized for it once before. Maybe,” she says thoughtfully, walking toward her house. Before she makes it to the door I snag her arm.
“Come for a ride with me, Birdie.” My request has her whipping her head in my direction.
“You have the truck here?” Her voice holds reverence and a little bit of excitement that she can’t hide. There are a lot of memories in that old truck.
“I do.”
She shakes her head no and looks away. “I can’t go. I have to go and get Lyric.”
“You’ve always been shit at lying. You know that, right?” I tease. “She’s with Cora visiting her mom and all of the old folks. I already talked to Bear.”
“And he told you? That traitor,” Willow mumbles.
“Come on, Wills. Come for a ride with me,” I coax, tugging on her arm again. My hand tingling where it lies against her soft skin. “Just come with me, Birdie?”
“Where, Stone?”
“I don't know. For a ride. Like we used to before shit got crazy.” I see the memories dance across her face. We used to drive with no destination in mind. Just get in the truck and go. Willow’s feet on the dash and the wind blowing in our hair. We'd find secluded places, quiet lakes, fields of wildflowers, abandoned barns. And we'd just be. Or we’d fuck like we weren’t out in the open. Up against those weathered barns, after skinny dipping in the lakes. And sometimes we made love lying among fragrant flowers, their scent mingling with ours. They were some of my favorite fucking moments. And then the band hit big and we couldn't get away by ourselves like that anymore because people recognized me. I didn't miss those drives so much then. But fuck if I don't miss the hell out of them now. Toronto couldn’t give zero fucks about who I am. And who I am is a man who wants to take a ride with his woman. Thankfully, I’m allowed to be that guy here.
It only takes a moment, but I see it in the softening of her features, the relaxing of her shoulders, the biting of her bottom lip, that I’ve won. When I let my fingers run down her arm to her hand and tug once again, she lets me. Before she can change her mind I lead her to the curb. Without releasing her I reach with my other hand and open the passenger door and help her in, reluctantly letting her go in order to close the door. I walk around the hood of the truck and glance through the windshield to see her watching me. My lips lift in a half smile on their own accord and I toss her a wink. She’s right where she needs to be. Where I need her to be. My rhythm.
Willow
BEING BACK IN THIS TRUCK brings so many memories flooding back. Some smack me in the face with their intensity, some soothe over me like a caress. All of them make my heart race.
“Do you have any idea where you’re even going?” I ask him when he heads down the road.
“Nah. We never knew where we were going in Austin though either,” he reminds me. It’s true. We didn’t. We would just drive and talk and sing and laugh. Every one of those rides always ended with him and I naked. Sometimes only partially so, but naked where it mattered. I flush at the thought and it of course doesn’t get past him.
“Whatcha over there thinking about, Birdie?” he drawls. His voice has always held his Texas roots but only slightly, which suited him. Nothing about Stone screams Southern gentleman or good ol’ boy. He’s reckless and looks it. With his tattoos and piercings and the way he dresses like a legit rock star. Worn jeans, boots, t-shirts, and even a leather jacket most days. He’s no cowboy. But he’s perfect. Beautiful. Stone was born to be a star. He looks the part and he for damn sure acts it. He’s everything you can’t control and I never wanted to. Until it was too late. But I see now that even then I didn’t want to change him, just to help him find his way back to who he was. The man he was meant to be.
“Nothing. Just wondering where we’re going.”
He scoffs. “Oh my beautiful, girl. You really lie like shit, baby.” Stone smirks that smirk, and I squirm in my seat, pressing my legs together until he points at them. “See, that right there is another one of your tells, Birdie. The first one was that pretty blush just across your cheeks and the second is when you squeeze your legs real tight like that,” he mocks in that sexy rasp of his. “Like you’re either trying to will yourself not to get wet or you know there’s no
chance of that so you need to find some relief.” Before he goes on, he glances over at me quickly then brings his eyes back to the road. “I can help with both; all you have to do is tell me which memory has you so hot.”
I want to hit him for knowing me so well. “The memory where you shut up.”
He throws his head back and laughs, drawing my eyes to the strong column of his neck and the ink dancing with the movement of his laughter. I can’t deny what he said. Being around him again has been a constant reminder of just how potent my body’s reaction to him is still. All he has to do is smile, speak, breathe and I want him. Even though my heart is telling the rest of me that it’s not ready to get Stoned again. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss this. We always had so much fun together, all except for that dark time in our lives where Stone wasn’t Stone. I don’t want to dwell on that anymore though. I need to make a decision. I’m either going to forgive him and move forward, or I’m going to hold on to the painful memories and use them to keep my heart safe and my walls erected. I’m just not ready to make that decision yet.
When he’s finished laughing at me, he reaches for the glove box and pulls out a lolli. I’m almost certain he’s doing it on purpose. “I don’t want to smoke with you in the truck,” he says as he unwraps the sweet treat and pops it in his mouth.
“Since when?” I ask baffled.
Rolling the ball to his cheek so he can talk around the stick, “Since I read somewhere that it’s not good for Lyric. Even though she’s not here you can have the chemicals and shit on your clothes and they can rub off on her.” He’s so matter-of-fact about it. So serious and informed.
“You read up on it?” That’s the part that stuck out to me the most. I heard everything he said, but it’s that part that grabbed a hold of my heart.
“Yeah. It’s been quiet at the house with the guys gone, and just me and Dane there, so I’ve been reading.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t realize just how much of a big deal it is.