Hold Me: Music For The Heart - Book One

by Faith Starr

  Not that I felt bitter or anything.

  So now I had to decide about whether I wanted to move forward and agree to go out with him.

  My heart told me I was an idiot for even considering it. My heart and mind were clearly at odds on the subject because my fingers jumped at the chance to reply.

  When I spent time with Joey, he treated me as if no other woman existed. But when we were apart, I had no clue when I’d hear from him again. Case in point: this entire family emergency scenario. He’d dropped me like a hot potato. I couldn’t continue along these lines. I needed more, especially in the form of real, solid communication.

  I got called away from my phone to deal with a patient before I could press Send. I ended up spending the rest of my shift getting the woman admitted and situated in the inpatient ward located upstairs in the hospital.

  At home, I ate a quick bite and took a hot shower, then settled in bed. I snatched my phone off my nightstand and read over Joey’s text again.

  Joey: Sorry I’ve been off the radar. I wanted to see if you were free any time soon to grab a bite.

  I checked the time. Kind of late, at least for me, but I knew he’d still be awake.

  Teva: I’m off on Sunday.

  Two entire days I’d have to wait to see him, a full forty-eight hours plus some. I hoped I wouldn’t chicken out during that time frame and change my mind.

  My knees bobbed up and down against the mattress. I held my phone, anticipating his response. For all I knew he could’ve been busy in the studio or out somewhere. I continued to stare at my stupid phone, willing it to give me a text. A call. Something.

  Maybe Real Housewives of who knows where would be on television and help distract me. I kept the remote in one hand and my phone in the other.

  I became so entranced by the show I settled on that I jumped when my phone signaled an incoming text.

  Joey: Can I see you on Sunday, then?

  Yay! My mind had made the right decision. I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. And my heart joined in with the celebration, beating fast with joy.

  For some reason, though, I sensed insecurity in his question, something I hadn’t seen or heard in him before.

  Teva: Sure. That would be fine.

  How about frickin’ fantastic? But he didn’t have to know I climbed out of my skin with excitement.

  Joey: Great. How about I pick you up at eleven for brunch?

  Teva: Sounds good.

  Joey: Thank you.

  Teva: For what?

  Joey: For responding to my text.

  My heart fell into the pit of my stomach. Why did he have to be so darn sensitive and gracious? Here I was, all pissed off, while he was mourning the loss of his father. Even though from what I’d read online they hadn’t had a close relationship, he had still lost a parent.

  I sighed. I had to reel in my own feelings and have compassion for his. The guy had to be going through a difficult time.

  Teva: I’ll see you on Sunday.

  Sunday came all too soon. I had no clue where Joey planned to take me, but I didn’t care.

  In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My palms wouldn’t stop sweating from both anxiety and anticipation along with a side of worry to go along with them. I wondered how our get-together would play out. For all I knew, he wanted to meet with me in person to inform me he didn’t want to see me anymore. But I didn’t think so. He could’ve easily done that via text—the method most assholes used these days.

  I snapped my eyes shut to collect myself and stop the insanity and insecurities running rampant in my mind.

  With a fresher perspective, somewhat, I opened them.

  Hair up or down?

  That was the dilemma I currently faced.

  I tried both styles, allowing my locks to hang loosely over my shoulders and then bunching my hair up, checking out each look in the mirror, the decision a no-brainer—hair up. Being my body felt overheated, keyed up on adrenaline about seeing Joey, I didn’t want anything resting against my neck unless it involved his lips, fingers…

  Stop it!

  Thank goodness Lily had a twelve-hour shift, so I didn’t have to deal with her fifty questions. I had a million of my own going on inside my head.

  Since Joey had asked me out to brunch, I wore a floral sundress with spaghetti straps, no bra. Which did not mean easy access.

  Okay, maybe a little bit.

  Hold it together.

  Merely being in the presence of Joey Fine had me all but foaming at the mouth.

  A simple pair of Tory Burch sandals, my big splurge several months back, completed my outfit. I probably resembled a woman from Palm Beach. My dress did look like one of Lilly Pulitzer’s designs. Not that I dug the show-and-tell lifestyle, but I did fancy nice things and treated myself to a few binges a couple times a year.

  When he knocked on the door, my heart skipped a beat, then pumped double time. Shit, I would need a beta blocker to lower my blood pressure if I didn’t start doing deep-breathing exercises. I didn’t understand why I let him affect me so severely. And how did he get inside the building without calling upstairs?

  Another fan must’ve let him in.

  With my hand on the doorknob, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

  There. Now I could proceed and let the man enter.

  And there he stood: his shaggy hair in perfect form, a blue polo which showed off the exquisite musculature in his arms, jeans that hugged him in the most delectable way. So much for deep breathing unless hyperventilating counted as a form of it.

  He smiled. His chest rose and fell in a noticeable manner. He obviously had the same nervous vibe going as I did.

  “Do you want to come in?” I stepped aside to make space for him to enter. “I just have to get my purse.”

  I went into the kitchen to retrieve it off the counter. I took a moment while in there to gather my thoughts.

  Feeling more in control, I spun around, only to bump into him. I grabbed my chest in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  He drew me into his strong arms and hugged me. I could feel his heart racing a mile a minute, which made me soften into him. And for some crazy reason, I started to cry.

  He leaned his cheek against my head and sighed, still holding me snuggly against his chest.

  When he released me, he had an aura of sadness surrounding him.

  “Are you sure you want to go out? If you prefer, we can order in, or I could make us something to eat?”

  He wiped my tears. I had spent so much time primping and preparing for our date, and now I probably resembled the Joker from Batman.

  “Whatever you want. I’m just happy to see you.”

  Shit. I had to get my emotions in check. More tears wanted to come out. I blinked rapidly to slow their release, to no avail. He destroyed my heart with his words and vulnerability.

  I dried my wet cheeks. He said nothing but swiped a few strays off my face as well.

  “Why don’t you go sit in the living room, and I’ll whip us up something to eat?”

  He gave me a once-over. “But you’re all dressed up, and you look so beautiful.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me whether we stay in or go out. I’m just happy to see you.” The truth no matter how I viewed the situation.

  He pulled me into his arms again. “I’m so sorry, Teva. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me for being such an asshole.”

  I retreated but held on to his arms. “Let’s eat here.”

  He nodded.

  “Go make yourself comfortable in the living room while I prepare us tuna melts, a gourmet meal.” I grinned and dropped my purse back onto the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay in here with you.”

  He leaned against the counter and watched me gather the ingredients.

  “Do you want some help?”

  “Nope, I’ve got it.”


  I removed my sandals then got busy mixing the tuna with mayonnaise and celery in a bowl. I added a dash of salt and pepper, a squeeze of lime, grilled the mixture on toasted rye, and we were good to go.

  We didn’t speak much while I organized lunch, an uneasy silence filling the small space in the kitchen. I think both of us had a lot to say and didn’t know where to start, or who should start for that matter.

  Once the sandwiches were ready, I brought them into the dining room along with the salad I had prepared.

  “Yum, this looks delicious.” His eyes lit up.

  I sat next to him and tucked my chair in.

  “Help yourself.” I gestured to the plate with the sandwiches.

  He motioned with his hand. “Ladies first.”

  “Such a gentleman.”

  “I try, what can I say? I see you got your stitches removed.” He pointed to the fresh pink skin on my arm.

  “Yup, all better.” I checked the healing wound out.

  He waited for me to take a sandwich, then took one for himself. He took a bite, wiping off some mayonnaise which had dripped onto his chin with his napkin. I had to force myself to stop staring. I was so captivated by every move he made. The man was truly mesmerizing.

  “What?”

  A hint of bashfulness overtook him. I could almost swear a touch of pink filled his cheeks. Oh my. Swoon-worthy.

  “Do I still have food on me?”

  I shook my head and smiled. Gosh, could I be any more obvious with my overt admiration?

  We carried on with trivial small talk.

  He leaned back in his chair and placed his hand on his belly. “That was fabulous. Thank you so much. I certainly didn’t ask for us to get together for you to have to cook for me.”

  “It was no problem at all. Do you want some coffee?” I stood and started collecting the dirty dishes. He rose to help me.

  “No, thanks. I think I’m good for now.”

  We did a quick clean up. He then followed me over to the sitting area. I sat on the sofa. He sat next to me, leaving a decent amount of space between us.

  I couldn’t take the tension filling the air any longer. One of us had to start talking about the real issue at hand. I figured it would have to be me, since he apparently had no intention of doing so.

  “Did you get everything taken care of with your emergency?” I wasn’t ready to reveal my knowledge about it yet.

  He shifted uncomfortably and leaned forward. He crossed his hands on his knees. “Yeah, everything’s all taken care of. Thanks for asking.”

  If the man could only see and hear himself, he’d know how unbelievable his response sounded. Joey wore his emotions on his sleeve. Or maybe I was used to dealing with people who struggled with their feelings on almost a daily basis, and could see through bullshit when I heard it.

  The time had come for me to put him out of his misery. I faced him and pulled one leg up, tucking it underneath the other one, being careful not to give him a peep show while doing so.

  “I read something interesting on the Internet.”

  His eyebrows rose, relief settled in. The poor guy probably thought I wanted to change the subject. Not this time, my friend. Little did he know the bomb was about to drop. Fortunately for him, I knew how to be gentle.

  “Oh yeah? What did it say?”

  “It said your father passed away.”

  He stared at me but didn’t blink. His muscles tensed. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cushion.

  “Is it true? Was that the emergency you had to attend to?” I watched him. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He then focused on me which I knew had to be difficult for him. I sensed his struggle.

  He tapped his foot. Nervous energy permeated the air around us. Anxiety seeped out of his pores. “Somebody posted that?”

  “Yes, as well as a picture of you and Dani leaving the service.”

  “Fuck, I can’t believe somebody did that. It was a private service. At least I thought it was.” Anger and frustration took over his worry. “Is there any privacy or respect for others left in this world anymore?”

  “I guess that’s par for the course for being famous. People don’t respect your boundaries.” I managed to maintain my cool, while he displayed a barrage of emotions through his eyes, mannerisms, and gestures.

  “Well it fucking sucks.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Why? It seems you already know about it.”

  I wasn’t about to take his sarcasm personally because I knew it wasn’t directed at me but rather at the situation. A typical reaction when people felt apprehensive about discussing their feelings.

  “I was hoping you’d feel comfortable enough with me to tell me yourself instead of me having to read about it online.” I clasped my hands together on my lap.

  “This is just fucking great.” He tapped his foot vigorously against the carpet.

  I remained quiet, providing him with a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out that way. I hate talking about my father.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you? Do you really?”

  I put my hand out in question. “I understand you must be feeling a lot of different things right now.”

  “My father was an asshole, Teva. Him dying was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

  He rose from the couch and went to the dining-room table to get his glass of water.

  “And please don’t judge me for saying that. I have my reasons. Good ones too.”

  He set the glass on the table and came back to the couch, this time sitting at a greater distance from me, his presumable coping mechanism for protecting himself.

  “The last thing I do is judge people for how they feel. If I did, I’d never make it in the profession I’m in.”

  Silence descended.

  I waited for him to pick up the conversation.

  “Okay, since you’re a professional who helps people deal with this sort of shit, let me ask you a question. Do you think it’s normal for me to be happy that my father is buried six-feet underground? And if you ask me, that’s still not deep enough.”

  He leaned back against the cushion.

  “What is normal, Joey? We feel what we feel.”

  In a sense, I had given him permission to feel however he wanted to about the situation. They were his feelings. He was entitled to them.

  “Yeah, well, I feel fucking angry.”

  His voice clearly revealed that. With legs spread wide, his foot resumed its nervous tapping.

  “It’s okay to feel whatever you’re feeling. Don’t try to fight it or hide it. Otherwise it’ll remain stuffed inside. You need to let it out.”

  “I’m afraid if I let it out, I’ll do some major damage.” He let out a deep breath.

  “Letting it out doesn’t have to be a physical act. Sometimes talking can be helpful in releasing some of it.”

  He scrubbed his hand over his chin. “My father was in jail when he died.”

  I didn’t tell him I knew. I wanted him to keep talking.

  “He went to jail when Dani and I were in high school. And he went there because of us.”

  He stared at me, wide-eyed, waiting for me to say something, anything. But I didn’t. I simply nodded in acknowledgment, encouraging him to continue.

  “That motherfucker put his hands on my sister!”

  I didn’t budge at the loudness of his tone, not intimidated whatsoever.

  “Were you there?” I wanted some clarification about whether he had witnessed whatever event he was about to reveal to me. If he chose to do so. I’d find out soon enough.

  He stared ahead of him, his gaze fixed on the wall. “I walked in on them. He had his hand covering Dani’s mouth. She had bruises on her body and…” He paused.

  I kept my cool. I heard about sexual and physical abuse almost daily, but never from someone I cared about, where it hit so close to home. I
did my best to keep my breath steady and remain supportive. I’d let him go as far as he wanted to without interjecting.

  “I started screaming at the fucker. I ran over and pulled him off her naked body, the fucking psychopath.” He balled both hands into fists and clenched his jaw, his breaths jagged.

  My heart ached for both Joey and his sister, but I continued to keep my feelings at bay, leaving only acceptance and an open ear for him to spill his guts to.

  “It was almost as if Dani was in a trance or something. But once she caught sight of me, she snapped back into reality and covered herself. My father swung at me and for once, I fought back. It took every bit of restraint I had not to kill the man right then and there. I knocked the drunk bastard out to protect my sister.”

  His words became softer, but his line of vision remained glued to the wall in front of us.

  “Dani called 911 at my insistence. The police arrived before our mother came home. She had no clue what had happened. She basically saw the police cars, our father in handcuffs, and lost her shit. I took her aside to fill her in on the severity of the situation. She cried hysterically, her eyes on our father instead of on me or my sister. When I told her what happened, you know what she said?” He finally gave me eye contact, his body weak, the couch supporting him by this point.

  “What?” I had been trained not to show judgment when doing initial intakes and assessments with patients. They were in fragile states, as were the family members I regularly had to consult with and educate. I also refrained from allowing my own beliefs to slip in while hearing this atrocity even though my heart hurt for him.

  “She fucking called me a liar!” His tone grew harsh again, but then he broke out into a fit of laughter. “Can you believe that? My sister had bruises all over her, had been raped by our father, the asshole had handcuffs on him, and my mother called me a liar. Of course my father tried to convince her I attacked him because I hated seeing him drunk. That poor Dani got hit in the crossfire. He denied the sexual allegations altogether. Well, unfortunately for him, his story lost merit when she pressed charges against him for physically and sexually assaulting her, on more than one occasion, I hate to say. Even with all the evidence supporting Dani’s case, to this day, our mother denies the sex charges, saying our father would never do such a horrible and disgusting thing to his daughter, his only girl. The lunatic denies the physical abuse as well.”