Reverb

by S. M. West

  My thoughts are to be acknowledged but neither dissected nor engaged. Like leaves on the surface of a lake, I’m to take note and quietly watch them float by. That is all.

  It’s so simple but also tricky because I’m training myself to shut everything out. The mind that is constantly running is being asked to stop. To still. She takes me within myself where it’s only me, my breathing, and my positive intent.

  Meditation works, and I find myself calmer, more focused as we check out of the hotel, I go to a short meeting, and then we grab some lunch. Our flight leaves at three in the afternoon and we’re back in LA at a little after six in the evening.

  The limo and driver are waiting on the tarmac when we get off the plane. Our luggage is placed in the trunk, and we slide into the back seat.

  “I can get the driver to drop you off first at the hotel.” I turn on my phone, waiting to see if I have any missed calls or texts.

  “I don’t want to go to the hotel.” She rests her head on my shoulder and places a hand on my bicep. “I want to go to your place.”

  “Okay, my place it is.” I smile, easily accepting the possibility of Eva becoming a permanent part of my life.

  25

  We have time

  EVA

  He wasn’t exaggerating when he referred to his home, perched on a hilltop in Bel Air, as a mansion. His home is gigantic. Modern, marble and glass.

  He starts to take me through the place and quickly gives up. There’s no denying it’s beautiful, but it isn’t him. His friends, Silas and Pansy, have a home, lived in and warm. It’s something Jared always wanted.

  Even if he never uttered the words, never dared to say them out loud, his desire for a family, to be loved, and to have a home was scrawled across his beautiful features.

  We enter a large bedroom with a king-size bed, and he drops his bag onto the floor, turning to face me.

  “Are you hungry? We can have dinner, or is there something else you’d like to do?” He winks, his tone suggestive.

  I giggle, and a strange fluttering stirs in my stomach. New York was amazing, all of it. And the sex…the sex was wonderful. I felt as if I’d found myself again.

  My body came alive. Jared played my body like I was made for him. I’d soared and exploded from a pleasure I’d long since forgotten. I want more with this man. I want it all.

  Gazing over his shoulder, bright blues, greys, and a touch of yellow and purple grab my attention. An enormous abstract painting of forget-me-nots hangs above his bed.

  I suck in a breath, and my hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my God. It’s breathtaking.”

  He peers over his shoulder and then back to me, grinning. “I needed you near me and when I saw that, I had to have it.”

  “It’s lovely.” Words fail me and emotions consume me. “What’s your most favorite place here?”

  “What do you mean? In my house?”

  I laugh. “Jared, this isn’t a house. It’s more a hotel but yes, where do you go? There must be a place, apart from this room, that feels most like you?”

  He folds his arms, narrowing his eyes, not an ounce of animosity in them. “What are you trying to say, Eva? You don’t like my house?”

  “No. Not at all.” Shaking my head, I reach for him and grab his hand. “I just don’t feel you in most of this place. You’re here. This bedroom is like you.”

  “Yeah, I guess I can see that. There’s only a few places. Next to the kitchen and my bedroom, I’d say my studio. Come.”

  We wind our way through the house, stopping at various pictures of Jared with famous people or because something intrigues me, until we arrive in the kitchen.

  I smell them before I see them. A big smile breaks out across my face. On the counter is a platter of freshly baked churros.

  “I can heat up our dinner. I think it’s butter chicken, and these are for dessert.” He lifts the plate and brings it to my nose. “Or we can take these with us now.”

  As if there’s any other answer. “Now, please. Did you have these made especially for me?”

  He smirks. “I texted my housekeeper before we left New York. She makes them for me all the time.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “They are not as good as yours, but I think they’re still delicious.”

  I swat his arm playfully and snag a churro, breaking off a piece and popping it into my mouth. The cinnamon doughy goodness brings a moan to my lips, and Jared’s pupils dilate and darken.

  “These are great and still my favorite.”

  “Mine too.” His thumb brushes at the corner of my mouth, where I’m guessing there is sugar or a crumb.

  He lifts his thumb to his mouth and licks the tip. His fiery gaze ignites a blaze of need low in my core. I clench my thighs together in an attempt to stave off my yearning.

  “Okay, let’s go.” I break our connection, averting my gaze to the fridge. “We need some milk.”

  I grab two individual-sized bottles of milk, and we trudge through the house, farther and farther, winding through hallways and different levels. At double doors, he pushes through to a big room, much like many of the others, but immediately I sense him.

  Dark warm colors. Simple furniture. One side of the room has a cozy sitting area complete with a couch, armchair, and coffee table, as well as a small, round dining table with four chairs. The other half of the room is a recording studio, complete with equipment and a booth filled with microphones.

  “It’s a soundproof studio. Silas envies my setup.” The delight in his voice is hard to miss.

  “He has his own studio, right?” He nods and I ask, “How do you feel about Silas producing?”

  “Fine, I guess.” He shrugs. “Why do you ask?”

  “Um…I sensed an unease about you at that party. And I wondered if maybe you want to do something other than perform. Like maybe branch out like Silas did? Or something else. But there was something that unsettled you.”

  He leans against a wall, studying me. “You’re good. You still know me well.” His expression is rueful. “Those parties are one of my least favorite things about this business. The bullshit schmoozing, letting people get in your face. Everyone wants something from you.”

  He stops, regards the booth, a far-off expression taking over. “I could say more. I will…there’s just so much we still need to talk about.”

  “Hey, we don’t have to do it all at once. Not now if you don’t want to. I didn’t ask to put a downer on this. We’ve got time.”

  Striding to stand in front of me, he clasps both my hands. His thumbs gently rub across the top of my knuckles.

  “Do we? Do we have time?”

  “Yes. Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Sometimes, I worry the past few days have been a dream. I’m gonna wake up and find out that you are still gone. That none of this is real.”

  “I’m real and so are you.” Pulling my hands from his, I slide my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest.

  The steady drumbeat of his heart helps settle the growing unease within me. Suddenly, I’m questioning our reality. Maybe all of this, our reunion, is too good to be true?

  “Okay, enough of this.” He kisses the top of my head. “Over here is what I want to show you.”

  We walk toward a beautiful glass shelving unit, and he pulls down the picture frame. It matches the one he gave me for Christmas when we were in high school.

  The picture of us, taken by my mother, is still in it. I have mine in my suitcase, and for all those years I lived in Spain, it sat on my dressing table. Next, he lifts a small box from the shelf, and I smile as he opens it to reveal the guitar picks.

  “This is my most favorite place in the house, where I feel closest to you and most myself.”

  “I love it.”

  We both stare down at our two shining youthful faces. So happy.

  “We were so in love even though we didn’t know to call it that.”

  “Yeah.” His tone is wistful as he takes my hand
and we settle on the couch, talking, eating, and laughing.

  “Play something for me,” I say.

  “What do you want me to play?”

  “Something from the Eva album or, no, play me something new.”

  “Nah, none of those songs are ready.”

  “Please. It doesn’t have to be perfect or even the entire song. I just want to hear you sing.”

  “Okay, just a few lines.”

  “Thank you.” I lean forward, pressing my sugary lips to his.

  Arms wrap around my back, pulling me closer, and he deepens our kiss before getting his guitar. There are several guitars lining a wall, and I don’t know the difference other than some are flashy and others more understated, including the one from Molly.

  With a gleaming guitar now in hand, he perches on a stool, rests his guitar on his lap, and smiles. “You’re the first to hear this. It’ll be the first single we release on my own.”

  Nodding, I curl my legs under me and lean forward to rest my elbows on the arm of the sofa. His fingers glide the length of the neck and he positions his digits along the fingerboard.

  He strums a few beats, sliding into a haunting rhythm that’s matched by his raw and raspy voice. The words speak of extreme highs and lows, obsession, and cravings. I’m not sure if the fixation is love in general, a person, or a substance. It makes me cry.

  I’ve always loved this man. And always will. I’d been starving since I was told he died. Hollow. He feeds me with his words. Fills me up with his being. Heart and soul.

  Once the song is over, the guitar is placed back in its case and I dry my eyes.

  “That was beautiful.” I bound into his arms, planting a kiss on his lips.

  He stumbles back, tightening his hold, and chuckles. “Glad you like it.”

  “You are so talented. I wish I could have been there for all of it. To have been at your side, cheering you on.”

  A light dims in his eyes. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to put a damper on things.”

  His gaze dips to my mouth, and his warm, soft lips brush against mine in the briefest of kisses. I sigh into his mouth, wishing I could erase all the years apart, all the time we lost, with just a kiss.

  My hands weave into the strands of his hair at the base of his neck and we stay like that, kissing for I’m not sure how long. My heart soars, weightless and free, and I can hardly believe we’ve found our way back to each other. It doesn’t seem possible. And yet, of course it is, we are Jared and Eva.

  We are meant to be.

  Jared breaks our kiss and peers down at me intently. His lean, firm fingertips trace one of my eyebrows and then the other. My eyes flutter closed, reveling in the sweet sensation of his gentle touch.

  The warmth of his palms envelops me as his hands move to cup my face, causing me to open my eyes. Fingertips caress my face, thumbs gliding sensually under my jaw, and everything inside me is trembling.

  His nose glides against mine, and my head spins and body tingles. He can’t get close enough. I want more of him.

  All of him.

  His eyes are heavy lidded and his lips find mine, kissing me slow and sweet. Then deep and long. Over and over. He’s making me crazy with his mouth. So much so, I don’t even know my name.

  Our kisses are infinite, and we’re perfect.

  Once again, he’s the first to pull away, and I shamefully moan, lamenting the loss of him.

  His lips hover over mine, cresting at the corners into a pleased smile, and he whispers into my mouth, “I love you.”

  “I love you always.” I gift him a silly, happy grin and his, in return, slays me.

  He brushes back my hair and studies me, and there’s no missing something is on his mind. Rather than push, I wait, hoping I convey my openness, willingness to talk about anything. No matter how painful or ugly it might be.

  “Have you come back to me?” So many emotions dwell in the deep rumble of his voice.

  “Yes.” As if there is any other answer. I angle my head back to fully look at him. “Why are you asking?”

  His hands skate over the length of my hair and then my arms, and my lashes flutter, sparks shooting inside me, heating every nerve ending in my body.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask…” Whether he is aware or not, he steps back, putting distance between us. “Miguel…”

  Pain encircles his features at the mere mention of the name, and I swallow past my closing throat. This conversation is inevitable, and he should know about Miguel, although it’s complicated.

  “Is he the same Miguel you would see when you visited your grandfather?”

  I’m not surprised he has figured this out or that it’s the first thing he asks. Whenever I returned from Spain back in high school, Jared would be anxious for details about Miguel despite my insistence that we were only friends. Nothing happened. At least, not then.

  “Yes.”

  Why am I not saying more? An intense burning gathers in the corner of my eyes. Until not too long ago, I didn’t regret Miguel in my life. He helped me overcome so much, especially during my recovery. But all of that changed.

  Miguel feels like a betrayal to what Jared and I had, no, have. And I find the words to make sense of it just aren’t forming on my tongue. The topic of Miguel feels like an insult, salt in the proverbial wound. He has no place between us and what we’re trying to rebuild. But I can’t avoid it—we have to talk about him.

  “Is he—” Jared starts at the same time I rush to say, “He isn’t—”

  A loud click or buzz and then a male voice booms through the room.

  “Mr. Grange, you have visitors. Mr. Palmer and Ms. Dobson are on their way.”

  My eyes widen, and I pull away as if someone just walked in on us. “Are you expecting them?”

  “No, but Silas is like my brother, and he knows he can drop by whenever. He probably wants to hear about the trip to New York.”

  “He’s a good friend and seems invested in your solo career.” My chest pangs, wishing Bianca and I could be close. Now, with the lie, it’s going to take a lot of work to even get back to where we were.

  “Yeah, but he also feels guilty.” Bitterness colors his tone.

  “Why do you say that? From the little I saw of them, they both care for you. And you said so yourself, he’s like a brother.”

  “Silas was the one to break up Trojan…I mean, the other guys agreed so he didn’t just make the decision for all of us.” He exhales harshly, shrugging. “But I was the only one who wanted to keep the band together. And now, I’m the only one pursuing a solo career. The others have moved on to other things.”

  It isn’t clear if he’s more upset about Trojan being over or that the others have chosen career paths that don’t involve or interest him. It’s possible that he feels abandoned, once again.

  “You’ve moved on too. But the great thing is, you’re still friends. A family.”

  He smiles, nods, and saunters to the door to open it at the same moment they appear.

  “Hey, J. Hi, Eva.” Silas claps him on the shoulder and waves at me with his free hand. The other holds a large brown paper bag. “How was New York?”

  “Hey.” Pansy enters, carrying a similar bag. “Eva, great to see you again. Hope you like Chinese. We’ve got more than enough and a little of everything.”

  She starts to clear the round table at one end of the room. I take the bag from Silas and let the guys talk about Jared’s trip.

  “Did you have fun in New York? Isn’t it such a great city?” Pansy rests chopsticks, napkins, and cartons in the center of the table.

  “I had a great time, but it was too short.”

  “You’ll have to go back. Jared goes often, so there’ll be plenty of chances for you to go again.” She folds the brown paper bags and pushes them to one side of the table.

  “Do you like other natural or alternative treatments like yoga?” She tilts her head to one side and studies me as if hoping she ha
s read me right.

  “Yes. In fact, meditation and float therapy have been critical to my successful recovery.”

  “Oh, float therapy—I’ve always wanted to try it.” She pulls two chairs out and sits in one, patting the table in front of the other for me.

  “Hey, Pansy, Eva, do you want water or green tea?” Silas asks from a kitchenette outside of the studio.

  We both glance over and respond the same. “Green tea, please.”

  “When you say recovery, do you mean from the accident?” Pansy crosses one leg over the other.

  “Yes. I had a brain injury which required rehabilitation and learning new ways to manage pain.” I sit across from her, resting my elbows on the table. “I get headaches that are usually brought on by stress or not enough sleep, and if prolonged, they turn into migraines.”

  “And meditation or floating help?”

  “Yes. And of course, a good eating plan and exercise—you know, all the things we should be doing—help too. Why were you asking?”

  “Oh, next time you go to New York, I’ll give you a couple of shops to check out. I think you’ll like them.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  “And if you were serious about yoga, come over tomorrow if you want.”

  “Oh, yes, for sure. Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?” Silas slides in beside Pansy.

  Jared places a hand on my shoulder, lightly kissing the top of my head before slipping into a chair next to me. “You good?”

  “Yes.” I squeeze his thigh, and a sexy lopsided grin skates across his mouth.

  “Eva’s coming over for yoga tomorrow. Or whenever she wants.” Pansy opens a carton, passing it to Silas as he’s closest to her.

  He groans and looks directly at me. “Eva, you’re making me look bad. You’ve only just met us and now you’re doing yoga with Pansy. She’s been after me to do it for years.”

  “Whatever.” She ruffles his hair, laughing. “I no longer want you to do it with me.”

  “Ouch.” He places a hand over his heart and pouts. “That cuts deep.”

  “Guys, this is getting old.” Jared grabs a carton from the middle of the table and hands it to me. “Pansy, just face the fact that Silas isn’t going to do yoga. He isn’t man enough for it.”