*~*~*
Dappled sunlight lit the Jeep’s windshield as Rex wound along the country roads toward the river, composing a ditty and humming bits to try out how it sounded. A catchy tune took shape, and stuck with him as he headed to the grocery store he’d located the day before. Pushing the cart along the aisles, he scanned the displays. What the hell was Cyn’s favorite dish again? Did she even eat meat? Damn his brain, playing hide-and-seek with some facts while others were crystal. To play it safe, he’d prepare a veggie-heavy stir fry. And buy her flowers.
He meandered past the racks of premade bouquets, daisies and lilies and roses… what sort did she like? In muted colors or bright? The latter, he’d bet, and selected some vivid orange and lime-green daisies in colors Mother Nature never intended but which matched Cyn’s sunny personality.
Outside, his cell chimed just as he popped the back door and began loading sacks into the Jeep. The display read Da Man. Freaking Harv. Again.
In the best Texan accent Rex could muster, he said, “Howdy, dude.”
“Don’t fuck with me, dude.” Harv was all business.
Rex wasn’t in the mood to deal with his attitude. “Whoa, y’all. I don’t swing that way. You must be lookin’ fer some other dude.”
“Where the hell are you, Rex? I’ve been trying—”
“Rex? Naw, like I said, you got the wrong number.” He clicked off.
The cell chimed two seconds later. Rex let it go to voice mail. One minute later, Harv called again. And again. So predictable, not to mention tedious. Only one solution in these situations—Rex powered down the phone. In the blessed silence, he whistled the song he’d begun earlier. Not a bad little number, maybe a tweak needed here and there.
He sped to the farmhouse, dumped the sacks in the fridge and strode to the piano to smooth out the rough edges.
The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the rug as he worked on the chords. Cyn should be calling soon. The phone! He whipped it from his back pocket, powered it up and cursed his manager. Ten voice mails, as many text messages. He groaned but played the first. Harv, in gloriously restrained rage. Priceless.
Each message grew progressively more intense. Again, predictable and tedious. Why did Harv bother when he surely knew Rex would delete them before listening to the full recording?
“Blah blah blah,” he chanted along with Harv’s monotone, but a phrase caught his attention.
Harv was saying, “Your fiancée is going to be really upset, dude. She was out of the country on a photo shoot when you were in the hospital, and you’ve been ignoring her ever since.”
“No, I haven’t.” Photo shoot? Rex scowled at the cell. “And Cyn did visit me.” Was Harv high again?
“Penny’s frantic, calling me because she can’t reach you, and now you disappear?” A beep sounded at the voice mail message limit, cutting off Harv’s whining.
Penny who? The very name left a bad taste in Rex’s mouth. Harv must be playing some mind game, a favorite manipulation. That much, Rex could recall. Curiosity had the better of him now, though, and he played the next message.
Harv’s heavy sigh distorted through the speaker. “Look, I know you’re not yourself…”
“Yes, I am.” He clenched his jaw.
“… and I know you’ve been messing around with this Cynthia woman. I’m hoping Penny doesn’t find out,” Harv warned, “but paparazzi could expose your tawdry affair. So after I hang up, I’m going to call Ms. Winterspoon…”
Rex gripped the cell tighter. “Don’t you dare, you son of a...”
“… and lay it all on the line. What’s at stake. Your engagement, the band, everything you two are jeopardizing”—Harv shouted the word—“with your carelessness. Okay? So do yourself a favor and cut her loose, and call me as soon as you get this. Adios, amigo.”
Friend? Harv had stopped being one of those decades ago, about the time the money started rolling in.
One more message. Rex grimaced at the cell and pressed the corresponding number.
Cyn’s sweet voice immediately soothed him. “Hey, my meeting ended. Listen…”
Uh oh. “No, Cyn.”
“… your manager left me a few voice mails. He’s pretty upset, and wants you to call him. He was adamant that I not see you, and he may be right.”
“Shit, shit, shit.” He looked for her name under his cell’s contacts, scrolling through the list a few times when he couldn’t find it. Strange. Must’ve gotten deleted somehow. He captured her number from the call, added ‘Cyn’ and pressed the listing and paced. Pick up, pick up.
“Rex?”
“Do me a huge favor, love, and block Harv’s number. He has no business calling you.” A fact Rex would make clear soon enough.
At her intake of breath, he went on. “I’m texting you my address. Your GPS will falter at the Y intersection but bear right and you’ll be fine.”
“Rex.” Too motherly-tender. Like he was a little boy who should know better. Like she was about to back out on him.
He would have none of that. “If you love me, get in your car now and stop only for red lights and stop signs and brake for wildlife, children and little old ladies.”
“But—”
“I need to see you. Tonight.” He hadn’t realized just how much until he heard her voice again. She was the only person who made sense in his life. The eye of the hurricane, the calm focal point in the chaos. The one he wanted to share everything with, like the song he’d finished today. He couldn’t wait for her to hear it. Her reaction would tell him whether the song would be a hit, as he hoped, or whether he should overhaul or kill it. She never sugar-coated her critiques, and he depended on her honesty. One of the few things that spurred him to strive to be better.
When she didn’t answer, he quietly begged, “Please.”
“Okay,” she said at last. “But we need to talk.”
Such a worry wart. One of the things he loved about her. “Top of the list. Right after eating and stretching out by the fire. And after…”
“Rex.”
“Kidding, love. Talking is top priority.” But the tremor in her voice when she cried his name gave him hope. And a sturdy boner.
“I’ll be there in about an hour,” she said. “Do you need anything?”
“Only you.” With whipped cream and a cherry on top would be delightful, but he’d take her any way he could have her.
“See you soon.”
The very lifeline his sinking spirit needed. “Excellent.”
The humming kicked in of its own accord, mirth bubbling up and curving his lips, joy providing the gusto to belt out the more dramatic parts. He found himself at the piano again, tweaking here and there, scribbling notes.
When headlights swung up the long drive, he stole a glance at the clock. “Argh, crapola.” He strode to the door, flipped on the outside lights and threw the door wide. “I didn’t know you were taking the Tardis, love.”
“Am I too early?” She held up a bottle of wine. “I did make one stop.”
“You cheeky devil.” He stepped onto the stone path, cold registering under his bare feet. He had a remedy. “Come here.” He grabbed her and squeezed, she looked so delicious and rare and angelic, the light catching the gold of her hair. To hell with dinner, he’d have her.
“Rex, you promised.” But she held him just as tight.
“Did I?” He swung her toward the house and strolled. “You’re confused by what my future self says. Tardis travel can be tricky that way.”
“We are going to talk.” Her strict tone was no-nonsense, but a mischievous gleam twinkled in her eyes.
“Of course. We’re talking now. As we speak.” He closed the door behind them. “Oh bugger. I’m so sorry.”
She set her purse and the bottle on the counter. “What’s wrong?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I haven’t even started dinner. I got caught up in a new song, and—”
She brightened. “You’re writing a
new song? Can I hear it?”
Bless her music-loving soul. She always knew what was most important. “I’d love to play it for you.”
She waved him toward the piano. “I’ll start dinner. Go.”
He grabbed her hips and pulled her close. “You shouldn’t be cooking. I promised to.”
She beamed up at him. “So hurry up and play me the song, then help me cook.”
“You are too good to me.” He kissed her hard.
Breathless, she laughed. “How could I refuse a sneak preview of your music?”
He practically danced to the upright, and slid onto the bench.
Amid the rustling of bags and utensils, she asked, “What are we making, anyway? Stir fry?”
“Yes.” He paused, waiting for some clue as to her opinion on the matter, but no expression of distaste followed so he stretched his fingers over the yellowed keys. “The old girl needs a tuning, but you’ll get the general idea. I want your honest opinion though.”
She pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Sugar coating’s for cookies.”
“Exactly.” He knew she’d understand.
The overhead light lent a sheen to her hair as she nodded from behind the island.
“Right. Here goes.” He lunged his fingers down and tickled the ivories, singing what few lyrics he had, filling in the rest by humming. The three minutes felt like forever, and when he finished, the silence welled up around him like a flood ready to drown him.
Nervous? He hadn’t suffered stage fright in decades. Maybe he hadn’t cared enough before. He did now. He rose and strolled toward her. Bright-eyed, she watched, paring knife paused over the cutting board.
He held up a hand. “Say nothing yet. Mull it over. I’m going to pour some wine.” Which he badly needed.
“You’re still filling in the lyrics, I suppose.” She expertly sliced celery and tossed it into the skillet.
He popped the bottle’s cork. “Yes, as inspiration strikes, the words flow. Alcohol helps sometimes.” He handed her a glass. “So does this.” He leaned in for a kiss, and drew her against him.
Thank all that was good and holy, for once she didn’t resist, but laid aside the knife and glass and slid her arms around his neck, turning her full concentration on savoring him. When he finally eased away, she released him slowly, her lips still puckered.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Who needs wine when you’re so bloody intoxicating?”
She relaxed against him. “God, I wish we could stay here forever.”
His heart danced a jig. She did? “Then we will. I’ll send for your things tomorrow.”
“Funny.” She turned, breaking his hold.
“I wasn’t joking.” He leaned an elbow on the counter to see her better.
She pointed with the knife. “No slouching.”
He straightened, confused. Did she mean his posture?
Handing him a knife, she laughed. “You said you’d help.”
“Oh, right. Course I’m not going to let you prepare this by yourself. You might screw it up,” he teased.
Her jaw gaped, but she smiled. “Okay, funny guy. Top this.” She grabbed some veggies and sang, “Choppin’ broccoli.”
He furrowed his brow. “I know this tune.” He sang along, “Choppin’ brocco-le-he.” Then nodded. “Saturday Night Live. Did we watch this skit together?”
She shook her head as she sang in a perfect Dana Carvey imitation, “Choppin’ broccoli.”
No, course not, this episode would have aired long ago, maybe a decade. How many years ago had he started dating Cyn? The fog would not lift from his mind, and weighed heavy on him. He shook it off. Who the hell cared when he was having so much fun?
“Spot on impression, love. Have you considered stand-up?”
“If my shabby chic business fails, I’ll keep it in mind.”
Shabby chic. Really? He couldn’t quite place the term, but did he like that type of décor? More stubborn fog, and it was beginning to piss him off royally. He gulped back some wine.
Cyn’s sidelong glance stuck. “You’re remembering, aren’t you?”
“Trying to. My brain’s stuck in neutral.”
She raised her wine glass and drank. “That’s why we need to talk.”
He bumped his hip against hers. “You going to rev up my memories?” As much as she revved the rest of him?
She stared at the counter a long moment, then set down her glass and pulled out her cell. “Do you remember the night we met?”
Had she snapped photos that night? “I wish I did.”
“This might help.” She pressed a few buttons and launched a video.
Rex stared at himself on the tiny screen. The old version, scruffy, unhappy. Something in his own eyes when the Rex on screen looked into the camera and said “This is for the sweet lady I met earlier” struck him deep. He wanted to ask when this had been taped, where was she in the video if this was when he’d met her, and about a thousand other questions, but managed only to stammer something like, “But” and “I.”
“You don’t remember anything about that night?” She looked up at him with such sadness.
“Sincerely, I wish I could.” He hated to cause her any pain.
“We met just before you went onstage. In the Green Room.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. Guess they didn’t catch that on video, eh?”
“Rex.” Urgency edged her hushed tone.
His own cell dinged with a text, and he drew it out. “Bugger.”
“Harv?” Cyn asked but sounded as if she knew already. She sipped her wine.
“Yep, again. Persistent asshole.” The man had ninja skills when it came to divining the truth about the band members, but did Harv really find it necessary to nag Rex to check his messages?
“He’s worried about you.” Cyn drained half her glass, stoic except for the haunted look in her eyes.
“Hey, don’t let him get to you.”
“Too late.” She swirled the wine, killed the last bit and poured more into her glass and his.
“Let’s power off our phones. Come on, do it.” He shut his down, then grabbed hers.
“We’d just be delaying the inevitable.” She stumbled over the word, and it came out inevitabable. She frowned and said slowly, “In-ev-it-a-ble.”
Drunk on two glasses? So. Fucking. Adorable. “Sounds good to me.”
Her glassy eyes stared at nothing, and apparently didn’t like what she saw.
With two fingers, he tilted her head to face him. “Listen, love. God knows I’ve run with the devil himself, and I have no clue how I was so lucky to land an angel like you. All I know for sure is that I can’t lose you, or I’ll lose everything good in my life.”
She blinked, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
Her small squeak tore at his heart. “Hey.” He held her close and rocked her in a bear hug. “We’re together. Nothing else matters, right?”
She burrowed into his shoulder and snuffled.
He had enough forethought to reach around her and flick off the heat under the skillet before murmuring, “Everything’s going to be all right. I promise, it’s going to be great.”
She pulled away to search his face. “That’s what I came here to tell you. You’re going to be fine.”
“We, babe. Together, we can do anything.” After. He smoothed her hair and feathered his mouth against hers, the lightest, most tantalizing kiss of his life.
“We can’t,” she moaned.
“Nothing can stop us.” With her, he could kiss the sky like Hendrix, minus the drugs. He’d rather kiss Cyn, so he did.
*~*~*
Oh no, not again. Cynthia’s head swam, and not from the wine. She got more drunk on Rex than anything in her life. His neck became the lighthouse in the storm, her arms the ring helping her hold on for dear life.
But oh, what a lovely storm they created. Naked in his arms, she floated in bliss.
He nuzzled her neck. “Sorry about dinner.”
“No, I’m completely satisfied.”
“Me too.” Who needed food? She could nibble on him all night.
“I could reheat it. Unless you didn’t care for it?”
She tilted her head to see him better. “Tell me the truth. You don’t really remember me, do you.” No need to ask, really. She just wanted him to understand the truth.
He set his lips in a tempting pucker. “If you mean specific dates and events, then no. But I remember you in the most important way—my heart recognized you the moment I saw you, Cyn.”
Such lovely words. Probably a song lyric he wrote, likely for some other girl. No matter how much she wanted to believe, she had to keep her head straight in all this.
“So that’s a big, fat no.” She rolled to her back and pressed her palm to her forehead. “I don’t know how we can have a relationship based on nothing.” Except sex.
“You call this nothing?” His laugh had no humor.
“Definitely not. It’s amazing.” She blew a breath. “Addicting. But I need something more solid.”
He nestled into her. “You’re the one who completes me. Who makes me whole.”
Was that a different song? “You know almost nothing about me.” And she knew less about him. Researching him online had only worsened things, confused her, trying to sort the hype from the real Rex.
His gaze grew intense as he stared at her. Oh God, she’d offended him. Worse, alienated him. He hated her now.
He gathered her closer against him. “I’ve an idea.”
“What?” She’d try anything.
“Let’s start right now. Rebuilding the foundation.”
Sounded interesting. “How?”
Letting out a long breath, he narrowed his eyes. “I know. We’ll reveal something about our pasts. Something we’ve done that still nags our consciences. You first.”
“Oh, okay. Let me think.” Nothing like being put on the spot. Her conscience pushed forth an old memory. “I once ditched the student I tutored to visit a friend in the hospital.”
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