Erv raised his hands. “No way. I just went through a nasty split, remember?” He blanched. “Oh sorry. Maybe you don’t.”
“No worries, I remember everything.” And he saw everything in a new light. The accident had given him a clarity about life he’d previously lacked. As if from a distance, he viewed where he’d started down this current path, the twists and turns he’d followed, and how it all had gone awry. To appease his mates’ lust for rock glory, he’d sacrificed his dream of creating music that excited people because of its originality, its energy. His vision of generation after generation embracing his songs had faded, replaced by the constant scrabble to stay on the airwaves, with Harv and the label execs pushing for more of the same old, same old.
The accident could have taken away everything from him, but it had only stolen his memories. Through the mist in his mind, Cyn had shone like a beacon of sweet light, beckoning him to follow. When he held her in his arms, the world held hope again. Possibilities blossomed. Happiness bloomed in the sunshine of her smile. She was the one right thing in his world, and he couldn’t give up on her.
He checked his cell for a return message, but knew before flicking the button there would be none. Her hurt and confusion had come through loud and clear. All the more reason for him to remain consistent, so he could prove to her he meant what he said.
Surely she’d understand and open to him again.
The limo stopped outside the convention center. A valet opened the door and Rex stepped out, squinting against the storm of camera flashes. Suddenly Mr. Personality, Tad brushed past and waved, a literal Jekyll and Hyde when it came to these public events. Normally Rex tolerated them well enough, but not today. His body might be present, but his focus—and his heart—were on the East Coast. In the farmhouse. In Cyn’s embrace.
“Dude.” Harv’s shrill voice cut through.
Rex shook off the fugue state. “Yeah, yeah.”
He jammed his hands into his jeans pockets, and strode ahead, suit jacket flapping. He kept his head down and ignored the reporters’ shouts. So desperate for a word from them, which they’d then twist into something negative.
A fresh-faced guy, probably a college student, ushered them to the dressing room. “Shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes.” He popped up in Rex’s face, hand extended. “Truly an honor to meet you. I’ve been a fan all my life.”
Ouch, way to make him feel old. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Brandon.”
“You a musician, Brandon?”
The guy beamed. “I play guitar. Your songs inspired me to start writing my own.”
Rex squeezed his shoulder. “Never give up, kid.”
“I won’t.” Brandon backed away, excitement causing him to bump into the wall.
When the kid returned twenty minutes later, he apologized for the extra wait and led them to the stage. “Would you listen to my CD?” He pressed a disc toward Rex.
Rex slung an arm around the boy, who appeared about the same age Rex had been when he was trying to break into the business. “Tell you what. Give it to that man over there.” He pointed to Harv. “Tell him I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t give you feedback.” Over the kid’s shouted thanks, Rex waved, fell in line behind his mates and took the stage. He’d barely reviewed the song sheet, but could have guessed the lineup. Same old, same old.
After the third song, an idea struck. He covered his mic and called over his shoulder, “Hey, I have a song I want to try.”
Tad scowled over his drum kit. “We haven’t practiced it. We haven’t fucking learned it.”
“I know. Just gimme a few minutes, will you?”
Erv shrugged. “Go for it, man.”
John nodded. “Whatever.”
Rex waited for Tad to relent. The drummer shook his head and slouched. Sign enough.
Rex stepped close to the microphone. “This is for the sweet lady I met in the Green Room.” The spotlight narrowed around him as he played. He’d poured all his love and pain into music, churning out song after song. Tonight, he sent this song out into the universe as a message of love to Cyn. She might never see this concert, but her heart would hear it.
Depending on her reaction, he’d either be the most tragic figure on the planet, or the happiest man alive.
*~*~*
The trill of the telephone grated Cynthia’s nerves. She tossed the half-finished pillow she’d been working on. “Not again! Leave me alone.” Rex called a dozen times a day. Harv kept reminding her to give Rex his space.
Tia shrugged. “The price of popularity.”
“So not funny.” Cynthia pressed a palm to her forehead. “I need to get away.”
“A vacation? You?”
“For a few days. To clear my head. I’ll do some research for new projects so it’s not a total loss.”
“But you have to be in court on Monday.” Tia’s soft tone tiptoed around the bad news.
Cyn threw her head back. “Gah, I forgot.” How could she? Except that Sterling had become completely irrelevant to her existence. Rex’s warmth and gentleness filled her thoughts instead.
“Or…” Tia rested a hand on her hip. “You could get away for the weekend. You do need a break.”
The strength that had ebbed from her for days seeped back, bolstering her. “I do. A break from Sterling, so our marriage is kaput, over and done with, once and for all.”
Tia waved a fist. “That’s the Cynthia we all love. You go, girl.”
Cynthia nodded, her head filling with ideas. “I’ve been holding back the business, holding back my life, until the divorce was final. But you know what? I don’t care if he takes it all. I just want my damn life back.”
“That’s the spirit.” Tia grew serious. “Except you really shouldn’t give him anything. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“If that’s what freedom costs, I’ll gladly pay the price.” But running away, even for a few days, wouldn’t solve a thing. “I’m staying home this weekend. To work.” And strategize. Next week, the divorce would provide her with a fresh start. A do-over on life. This time, she wouldn’t waste a minute of it.
After Tia left late Friday, Cynthia turned off her phones and set to work. From her frustration arose a frenzy of creativity. She laid out designs for furniture, accessories, and wall décor. The longer she worked, the more ideas flew at her. Exhausted but satisfied, she fell into bed Sunday night. No matter what happened in court the next morning, she’d survive. Better than that, she’d thrive. Sterling might steal part of what they’d owned, but never the one thing that would see her through anything—her creative spirit. She loved what she did, and no one could take that away from her.
As she lay smiling at the ceiling above her bed, she remembered her phone and powered it up.
One voice mail from Rex. She should just delete it, but she couldn’t. She pressed the button and braced as the message played.
After a heavy breath, Rex said, “Sweet Cyn. Sorry to keep pestering you. This will be the last one, I swear. I just had to share my revelation. My memory’s fully restored, you see. And I realize that I was using you as an escape. I was trapped in a life I hated, in a band that was dragging me in a downward spiral. My subconscious saw you as everything good that my life was lacking. Everything good and right. You felt like home, and I ache for you every day. I…” He cleared his throat. “I apologize for the uncomfortable position I put you in. I still want…” He huffed. “Never mind. I know you don’t want to hear from me. I’ll respect your wishes. With great regret. And great frustration. And… ah, oh fuck.”
To ease the hollowness inside her, the emptiness that cried out for him, she hugged herself. What the hell was she supposed to do?
Have faith, he’d said. Yeah, right—then his fiancée showed up. The photos of them together in Austin proved it, though she had to admit, Rex hadn’t looked one bit happy. And the girl’s smile was too smug, maybe a tad triumphant.
“Guess,” he said, “there’s nothi
ng left to say except thanks for the memories.” The grit in his voice dug deep. “The best I’ve ever had.” The message ended there.
A sob escaped as she dropped the cell to the bed. “You bugger.” He knew exactly what to say to get to her so she’d reach for the phone, and beg him to come over. Then they’d end up in a tangle of bodies on the floor, and her heart would be in the worst tangle of all.
Swiping away her tears, she grabbed her cell. Instead of dialing, she texted: I never said that.
Said what? came his immediate reply.
That I never want to talk to you again. I do miss talking to you. It was true. She wished it weren’t.
Another message arrived. I want to see you.
A stray tear slipped down her cheek. I can’t.
She stared at her cell, waiting for his response. “Why aren’t you responding?” she nearly yelled at her phone. Had he given up?
His next text read, You *could* see me. You *should* see me.
Her vision swam in tears and she brushed them away. We never had anything real. We met by chance, and you thought you knew me but you never did. The whole thing was a mistake, literally. So no, I can’t.
Another long pause left her even more unsettled. God, she’d never have said those things to his face. Damn texting. She hated it.
Her cell signaled a message, and she whipped it up to read, You’re right. Forgive me.
She stared at the words, trying to decipher some hidden meaning. Some clue to indicate he wasn’t truly giving up. All she saw was utter defeat.
The cell screen went to black, and she reluctantly placed the phone on the table. Within easy reach, just in case. If he changed his mind, needed some comfort…
It required a conscious effort for her to release her hold on the phone. Trying to clear her mind so she could sleep became a Herculean task, but the morning would bring the unpleasant task of the final split from Sterling. Sleep was necessary so she could keep her wits about her. And then kick Sterling’s ass in court.
Imagining him laid flat and beaten, her standing over him with her foot planted on his back, gave her the peace she needed to drift to dreamland.
In the morning, her nervousness returned in triplicate. The more she chanted, “Everything’s going to work out fine,” the less she believed it. Her suit might give her a dowdy appearance but she wanted them all to know she meant business, and intended to keep hers.
She’d no sooner entered the courthouse than her attorney, Jane Allen, cornered her.
Looking impeccable in her Armani suit, her hazel eyes appeared sharper than usual behind the black-framed glasses. “Good news. Your ex’s attorney advised me that they’re withdrawing the request for half your assets.”
For someone announcing good news, Jane was as stone-faced as ever. Three-inch stilettos made the woman loom over Cynthia, who had to tilt her head up to speak to her.
“Seriously? Why?” Was Sterling setting her up for some sneak attack?
Jane moved her briefcase in front of her and gripped it with both hands. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Cynthia had thought hiring a female lawyer would make the process less awkward. A little sisterly understanding would have gone a long way, but if Ms. Allen had any concept of sisterhood, she hid it well.
“I’ll be ecstatic when it’s all over.” And a few margaritas wouldn’t hurt, either. Until Cynthia knew what Sterling was up to, all bets were off.
Sterling and his attorney entered the courthouse but hovered at the opposite end of the hall. He glanced at Cynthia once, but appeared startled and turned away so quickly, she only grew more nervous.
What the hell was he up to?
Finally, they were called before the judge. During the proceeding, Sterling was unnaturally tight-lipped, responding to the judge when spoken to but otherwise silent. Within moments of the dismissal, he whirled from his seat and strode to the exit.
So cold and callous, his move knifed through her. Had he forgotten her so quickly? Fallen out of love with her so completely? After they split, she might have hated him at times, but mostly because he’d shattered her heart. No, not totally, she knew now. Maybe shattered her illusions about what their relationship was all about. Then Rex burst into her life and showed her the meaning of real intimacy.
Still, Sterling could have at least pretended to show some sadness. Guilt would have been nice, too, but she wouldn’t fool herself into believing he regretted the affair.
Jane gave her a tight smile. “You’re a free woman.”
“Yes.” It left Cynthia a little breathless.
On the walk to the parking spot, she powered up her cell. A text message appeared from Sterling. Her heart fluttered. So he wasn’t an unfeeling bastard! Well, the bastard part, yes, but… Her pulse quickened as she pulled up the message.
I need to pick up a few things yet. When’s a good time?
Stunned, she absently wiped away a tear. Tonight would be fine, she typed, and hit send.
I’ll make it quick, said his response.
Another breath stealing, mind boggling message she couldn’t decipher. Sterling, the wordsmith, typically chose his words carefully to have maximum effect. His careless answers spoke volumes about how much he didn’t care. It would have hurt less if he’d physically punched her. Eight years, null and void. She wasn’t looking for a second chance, only a little humanity for crying out loud.
“Lookin’ for validation in all the wrong places,” she sang to herself, and climbed in her car. Like some crazy nightmare, the attorney’s voice repeated in her head, You’re a free woman... free woman… free woman.
“I know!” She banged a hand on the steering wheel, then slid her gaze to the car sitting at the red light beside her. The driver, a fiftyish man, frowned at her, and she called over, “I’m divorced.”
“I’m not surprised.” His car engine roared as the man sped away.
The light had turned green, so she accelerated. “What’s his problem?” Then it hit her. Oh geez, did he think she was coming on to him? A chuckle burst out, then another, and by the time she got home, she laughed so hard her belly hurt.
A delivery van pulled in behind her car, and an old man tottered to the rear and opened the doors.
“Hello?” She leaned around the side. “I think you have the wrong address.”
He squinted at a scrap of paper in his hand. “Does Cynthia Winterspoon live here?”
“Yes, that’s me, but—oh, those are gorgeous.”
The man had reached inside the van, then shuffled toward her with a vase spilling over with exotic blooms. “They’re for you.”
“How sweet.” Tia must have splurged on them to cheer her. Cynthia relieved him of the heavy vase. “Thank you.”
“Have a nice day.” With a wave, he tottered back to the driver’s side and pulled away.
She dipped her face in their sweet scent and carried them inside. The house seemed different somehow. Brighter, and more cheerful, like it, too, had been relieved of a burden.
She stopped in the center of the room. “Everything’s going to be better from now on.” The sound of her own voice, so quietly confident, startled her at first, but then reassured her.
Her cell was in her hand, ready to dial Tia to thank her, when Cynthia read the card.
The flowers aren’t as lovely as you, but I hope they bring you cheer on this difficult day. Love, Rex
Rex! How she wished he were here so she could bury her face in his chest, snug in his embrace. God, she missed him.
A clattering sound came from inside the garage. She crept to the kitchen door that connected to it and listened. A thud, then footsteps.
Fear tiptoed down her spine in tiny, freezing steps. She glanced around for some sort of weapon, but rejected the kitchen knives—it would be like handing the intruder a murder weapon to use against her.
Should she dial 911? But what if it was just a neighbor, or a cat, or…
Only one way to find out. She yanked
open the door. “What are you… oh. Sterling?”
The alarm on his face was almost comical. “Sorry. Just getting my golf clubs.” He dragged the bag toward the door.
She shook her head in disbelief. “But you said tonight.” The rest of her argument strangled in her throat. He was here. They should get it over with.
A duh look flashed over his face as he flailed an arm. “I told you I needed to pick up my stuff.”
So strange. Something was definitely up with him. She moved in his direct path. “I would have gathered your things if you’d given me a heads up.”
He stepped around her like she had some contagious disease. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Yeah, I’m sensing that.” She folded her arms over her chest. “What is going on?”
His shoulders slumped. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
“About what?”
He stared at the concrete floor. “I can’t say.”
And wouldn’t look at her. “Did you get a different copy of the settlement or something? Because now you’re just freaking me out.”
He stared longingly outside. “I promised him I wouldn’t tell—”
She moved into his line of vision. “Promised who?”
He groaned. “That rock guy.”
Rock guy? Her mind flew to landscapers, but she’d never hired one. She liked to work outside herself. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Rex Reynolds.” The way he said it, she was the one playing games.
Now she was even more confused. “You talked to Rex? Why?”
“Mostly, he talked to me. Not a real pleasant conversation.” Sterling loosened his tie. “But we reached an agreement.”
An unsavory suspicion crept over her. “What kind of ‘agreement’?”
Averting his gaze again, Sterling expelled a breath, like she was being difficult for no reason. “Look, you have what you wanted—your business, your freedom. I’m out of your life, and I need to get out of here fast.”
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