Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll)

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Dream Me Off My Feet (Sex, Love, And Rock & Roll) Page 52

by Kisner, Stevie


  She nestled further into the plush recliner, closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. Happy new year. What a load of crap. This new year will most certainly see me a widow. And quite possibly an unemployed one. I can’t be dragging my son around the continent… hell, halfway around the world just to keep a paycheck. How irresponsible is that? And JT may say he loves me, and he may even believe it, but he’ll grow tired of us soon enough. Connection since childhood be damned, he’s not prepared to be an instant father. Especially to a psychically gifted headstrong almost-teenager who’s facing deep grief and sorrow.

  I know what I heard him say (or think or however the hell it got into my head) about getting married… but can I trust that? That’s today, while I’m still out of reach and Zach is not a full-time concern. So far, the two of them have gotten on well enough, but their interaction has been limited and the weight of responsibility isn’t his to bear. Oh, damn it all to hell and back again.

  I want to trust him, trust he’ll still mean what he says. But the circumstances will be so different. How can either one of us know what sort of adjustments that will entail?

  Where are those prescient dreams of the future now, when I really could use one?

  I’m too unsettled, so uncertain.

  She felt a warmth tickle at the edge of her awareness, and it brought a feeling of wholeness. The doubts loosened their binding and she realized the source of her comfort. JT’s here in the hotel somewhere. I can feel him. The scowl she didn’t know she’d been holding relaxed and the corners of her lips almost hinted into a smile.

  Why do I question what he brings to me? Fate isn’t telling me what our future holds, but our past has us inescapably tangled and I need to remember that. Faith in other people has never been my strong suit. I’ve seen too much of what’s inside them for that, but JT’s more than ‘other people.’ This time I just have to trust and believe.

  ***

  JT had smoked the entire cigarette in silence, seemingly fascinated by the bouncing motion of the white rubber tips of his canvas sneakers. The quiet was beginning to frazzle Mark’s composure. He thought a small distraction, something to make JT look up from studying his shoes, might get the ball rolling again.

  He tried for a low noise, nothing more than clearing his throat really, but it kicked off a loud jag of coughing he was helpless to stop.

  JT looked up with alarm. “Are you alright, Mark? Can I do anything?”

  Mark waved him off but the dry hacking continued, broken only when he caught a breath and started coughing anew. JT sat useless as Mark’s face turn a vicious shade of crimson. As the seconds stretched on, the coughs began to dwindle and a small trickle of blood seeped from Mark’s nose.

  Mark groped for the water bottle on the bedside table but only succeeded in knocking it over. JT picked it up and popped open the black sport cap as he handed it over. The sides crinkled in noisily as Mark took several long pulls from the bottle before choking out his thanks.

  “You gave me quite a fright.” JT was now perched on the edge of his seat. “Your nose is bleeding a bit. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “As okay as I’m gonna get.” He touched one fingertip to the thin line of blood under his nose. “Oh, that’s not bad. It’s been worse.” He pulled a tissue from the box next to the bed and swiped the blood away. Noting JT’s look of concern, he elaborated. “It’s all the damn fluid retention. Makes me cough and has me so swollen that anything at all pops a capillary. I swear, if I even so much as think about bumping into something, I get a bruise.” He shook his head, a tiny bittersweet smile on his lips. “It’s gotten so that any pressure on my skin aches. I can’t even give Kori a hug anymore.”

  “That’s got to be difficult to live with,” JT replied. “Kori does have a hard time keeping her hands to herself.”

  Mark didn’t respond. He knew what JT was trying to say but waited to hear how he would elaborate in his attempt to extricate his foot from his mouth.

  “That didn’t sound very good, did it?” JT somehow managed to look both sheepish and mortified. “What I meant was that she hugs people hello and goodbye, she touches when she’s talking to you, that sort of thing. The first night I met her, before I’d even offered her a job, she was feeling the side of my head for a lump after I whacked myself getting into the rental car.”

  “She’s not usually so familiar with people, actually. She only started hugging my closest friend a couple of years ago, and he stood as best man at our wedding.”

  “Really?” JT said, raising a single puzzled brow.

  “She’s normally far more reserved around people she doesn’t know very well. But then, she did know you. She just didn’t know it at the time.”

  JT lapsed into a brief silence. “I guess you’re right. Neither of us knew we were face-to-face with our mental visitor. Hell, back then I hadn’t even realized I was being visited,” he said, then went back to pondering the blank beige wall.

  Mark waited out the quiet, certain JT would break it again. He didn’t have to wait very long.

  “But going back to what you said earlier, my intentions are… Damn! This is so fucking awkward. I feel as if I’m in some arcane period piece and have to justify myself to a lady’s father. It’d be bad enough if it were just that.” He stared moodily down at the carpet under his ever-tapping shoes.

  “You think it’s strange? How do you think I feel? I’m giving tacit approval to my replacement.” After a moment of tearing tiny shreds from the bloodstained tissue in his hands, Mark went on in a voice rough with unshed tears. “She’s my wife, JT. The love of my life. I want to be absolutely certain she’s in good hands after I’m… gone.”

  “I can guarantee you that.” JT stopped his contemplation of the floor and lifted his head, staring at a point on Mark’s chin. “She’s inside of me. She has to be, to fill the space where my heart used to be because she took off running with it when I was just a lad and thought she was my imaginary friend.” So much for never telling him. He raised his eyes to meet Mark’s. “We figured it out over holiday. This mental thing has been going on between us for as long as either of us can remember. So yeah, she’s in good hands, Mark. I’d be completely adrift without her.”

  ***

  The boys had made a valiant effort to stay awake and see in the new year, and they almost made it. The video games eventually took more concentration than either of them could muster and they’d taken up residency on the two couches in the living room of Paul’s full-sized suite to watch television. They didn’t last long.

  Kori pulled the comforter from Steven’s bed and draped it over him to ward off the chill from the overzealous air conditioner. Her attempts to wake Zach were in vain, as she’d expected. He was too tall and too heavy to carry back to their room, even though four doors down and across the hall wasn’t all that far, so he was staying right where he was.

  “That kid sleeps like a stone,” she muttered while removing the soft thermal blanket from Steven’s bed. She folded it in half as she walked to Zach, then tucked it around him. I hope Paul doesn’t mind finding both boys here in the morning.

  Kori considered heading back to her room now that the boys were asleep for the night. She wasn’t worried about leaving them alone until Paul returned. It was, after all, a security floor with access restricted to those with a room key, and the band had reserved the entire floor. But the thought of going back to her room gave her pause.

  Either Mark would be awake or he wouldn’t be, and if she were perfectly honest with herself, neither possibility held much appeal. The problem wasn’t that she didn’t want to be there with Mark. She did. But what she wanted really didn’t matter. She was physically unable to spend long periods of time with him.

  For an ordinary person, spending lengthy stretches with a terminally ill man would be difficult and draining. For a person with extrasensory gifts it was exhausting. Throw into the mix a love for that dying person and the situation had every possibility of becoming
a serious health hazard. It wasn’t that he consciously took from the people around him, because he didn’t. Kori gave her energy to him freely. There was no escaping it, even when he was asleep. Each shallow inhale, every irregular rasping exhale tore into her and out came the energy siphon again. She didn’t know how she channeled it and she didn’t know how to prevent it.

  Zach fed him, too, in most likely the same unstoppable way, and it showed. Kori made sure that not only did he get to bed at a decent hour (as decent as could be expected, anyway, given the circumstances) but that he actually slept long enough to get adequate rest. Nonetheless, the strain was evident in the deeply creased purple smudges under his eyes.

  She knew boys his age should not look like walking posters of exhaustion. And it made her angry.

  Angry that the son gave and the father took, even though both were helpless to stop it. Angry that he didn’t have all that much time left to spend in his father’s company and it was harming him to do it. Angry that she was forced to make the choice to separate them for hours every day. Angry that she had to choose between ‘bad’ and ‘really awful,’ and ‘something good’ was not on the list of options at all.

  She was angry at the Higher Power for ripping such a wonderful man from their lives, and she was angry at fate for bringing him to her in the first place. If she’d never known him, never loved him, she would not be losing him.

  And anguish would never have become her most intimate and evil friend, whispering its double-edged daggers of heartache and doubt. She found herself listening to the words even as she rebuffed them.

  All the while, her conscience demanded to know what right she had to self-centered pity when there were others who depended on her for understanding and support.

  At a time when she should be filled with gentle compassion and love, she found in herself very little of either. Her soul instead roiled with anger and despair, a raging kettle ready to explode.

  She loathed herself for every bit of it.

  ***

  Mark looked at the bedside alarm clock, squinting to make out the green luminescent digits through the gloom. He’d turned out the lamp when JT left, hoping for some long-elusive sleep. All he got for his efforts were tail-chasing thoughts and sleepers swimming in his eyes. He rubbed them away and looked at the clock again. Eleven thirty-five. Was it really just five minutes since JT left? How could so many things pass through my mind in such a short time?

  Satisfied that JT was being honest, if not completely forthcoming, Mark had let him off the hook with a final request. He’d reached over to the nightstand and picked up the envelope containing the parting message to his wife, then held it out to JT. “Take this, and make me a promise, JT.”

  JT took it and read the words written on the front. He was fairly sure he knew what was inside. “Of course,” he said.

  “Keep it for me. It’s for Kori. But wait to give it to her until after this tired old body has had enough and sets me free.”

  “I’ll sock it away and keep it safe. Is there …” He looked up from the envelope. “That is, did you have a particular time in mind for this?”

  “I’ll let you decide that. You can read it if you want to. I think maybe you should. Then you’ll know best when to give it to her, when she’ll be ready to accept what I need to tell her.”

  JT looked uncertain. “Are you sure you want me reading something so private?”

  Mark’s genuine laugh took JT by surprise. After a brief return of the alarming cough, he caught his breath and was able to reply. “Can anything really be private between the two of you? No, I think it’s wiser that you know what it says. You’ll need to be prepared for what her reaction might be. She just might decide to shoot the messenger.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I have. The time’s got to be right, but don’t wait too long to give it to her. It’s better to pick at a fresh wound than at a healing scab.”

  ***

  Mark switched the light back on, then picked up the beside telephone and punched in Paul’s room number. He really wanted Kori to come back, even if she had to bring the boys along. He was desperate for a distraction from the nonstop barrage of thoughts. He just hoped Kori being in the room wouldn’t aggravate them instead.

  He knew jealousy and hurt were useless and stupid, but what he thought didn’t had no bearing on his emotions.

  He listened to several rings and wondered if he’d dialed the wrong room extension. One more ring, just in case the boys are being loud and she can’t hear the telephone. Then I’ll hang up and dial again.

  ***

  Kori smoothed her hand over the wide tape, making sure it was fully stuck down. These boxes have a long way to travel. It wouldn’t do to have any of them coming open. Satisfied that the flaps were well-sealed, she straightened and pressed a hand into the small of her back. “Oooh,” she sighed. “I can’t wait to just sit still. That long overseas flight is looking more and more appealing. No more packing, no more lifting. No more unexpected memories whenever I pick up something to pack…”

  The shrill sound of a ringing telephone interrupted her thoughts. Habit tracked her feet into the kitchen and she picked up the handset without bothering to check the caller ID first. It’s probably JT, calling from the drivethrough ‘cause he forgot what I wanted them to leave off my hamburger. “Hey, handsome. Hold the pickles and the onions,” she laughed into the mouthpiece before she’d even settled the phone against her ear.

  The dial tone droned its reply.

  “That’s weird,” she muttered to no one in particular. She turned the phone to look at the caller ID readout on the back and knit her brows. It didn’t display any new calls.

  Before she could wonder further, the ring sounded again. Kori hesitantly put the phone to her ear and heard the burring dial tone once more.

  “What the —” Hey! nudged a voice in her head. Wake up! That’s an actual telephone ringing out here in the real world.

  She jerked her head upright with a gasp, glancing around the room with wild eyes. The vestiges of the dream lingered and she was momentarily lost. Where was her kitchen? She realized she wasn’t at home but was still confused. Another ring of the phone cleared away the last of the fog. Recliner. Hotel room. Two boys sleeping on separate sofas. Paul’s suite. Paul’s current girlfriend in LA doing makeup for a movie… all righty, now.

  She impatiently retracted the recliner’s footrest and popped up onto unsteady legs. As had become her norm since Mark’s physical condition began to plummet, her brain woke up first and her body lagged a step or two behind. She located the cordless handset on the wet bar and snatched it up.

  “Hello?”

  ***

  JT’s suite was across the hallway and down a few feet, and he staggered the short distance, suddenly exhausted and with a blossoming headache. He wasn’t sure how he was going to keep Korina out of his head about this, and all he wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep. For the first time in years, he couldn’t wait for a tour to be over.

  He opened the unlocked door to his suite and headed straight for the nearest chair. He wanted his bulky black leather carryon bag and it always managed to find a home in the chair closest to the door. Oh, lovely soothing dimness. Fuck but my head’s really starting to pound. He didn’t turn on the light; the suites in the hotels they favored were all laid out the same, no matter what city the hotel was in. He’d left the curtains open when he headed out for the arena and the glow from the rising full moon cast just enough light to keep him from barking a shin into something heavy and sharp.

  Just as expected, the bag was in the nearest overstuffed recliner. He unzipped the main compartment and tucked Mark’s letter into the inside pocket. There. Safe and sound ‘til she gets it. This bag only leaves my sight when it finds a nice easychair to rest in until the next flight or bus trip. He zippered the bag shut again then toed out of his shoes with a weary sigh. He pulled off his T-shirt as he straightened and dropped it to the
floor, then unzipped his jeans and walked toward the bedroom.

  ***

  The edge of huskiness in her voice made it apparent that she’d been sleeping, although she denied it. Never one to show any weakness, that’s my Kori. Soldier forward ‘til she collapses, then get right up and do it again. Mark experienced a pang of guilt for waking her, but only a tiny one. She really needed the rest, but then so did he and at least she could still fall asleep when she sat still long enough.

  He hoped that Kori being nearby would bring sufficient comfort so that he, too, could get some rest. She said she had to leave a quick note for Paul and one for the boys in case they woke up, and then she’d be on her way down the hall.

  Kori softly kissed Zach’s forehead and brushed the hair from his face. “Happy dreams, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  She looked briefly for her shoes then remembered she hadn’t worn them for the quick walk down the hall. After stuffing her cigarette case and lighter into her pocket, she gave a final glance around the room. The note for Paul was on the wet bar next to the telephone but she wasn’t sure the boys would see the one she’d left for them. Where can I put it so they’ll find it? Maybe stuck to the TV screen? I wonder if there’s any adhesive tape around here…

  ***

  JT found his way to the flat expansive shape in the dark bedroom and sat down on the edge to pull off his socks. Deciding it was too much trouble to shed his jeans, he reached up to the already turned-down bedclothes and tossed back the corner, then swiped his hand over the pillow to get rid of the little chocolate mint that seemed to sprout there in every hotel room. I never will understand what the hell that custom is for. It’s horrible for your teeth at bedtime, the mintiness won’t last until morning to cover any disgusting morning breath, and if you forget to move it… I remember the last time I couldn’t find the blasted thing and woke up with melted chocolate in my hair. He heard the soft plop as the candy hit the carpet.

 

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