Finding Rhythm

by Lara Ward Cosio

  “Fuck me,” he said softly.

  She laughed. “Yep, that’s how we got here.”

  “Jesus, Fee. This is amazing. Are you feeling well? Should I have taken you straight home?”

  Wrapping her arm around his waist, she leaned into him. “I’m fine. This is exactly where we should be.”

  He squeezed her to him. “What a fucking day,” he said with a laugh.

  “The best day of my life, Con.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “You know, I think I might have always loved you,” she said. “Ever since we were kids.”

  “Of course you did,” he said and she laughed.

  They sat on the sand while he drank the champagne, talking and laughing as the sun set. And then they lay back and watched as the stars revealed themselves in the darkening sky. Everything felt new and ripe with possibility.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The house Martin leased was four blocks from where Celia and the boys lived. It needed updating, but otherwise was spacious enough for all the kids to have their own rooms. He wouldn’t bring them over until it was ready, though, which was why he was currently waiting for his sister, Margaret, to arrive to help him sort out what all he needed.

  Margaret was six years older, had been married since she was eighteen, and had four children of her own. Martin had always looked to her for guidance. Hell, he had always looked to all women for guidance. The irony that he was doing so once more even as he had proclaimed to Celia that he would figure things out for himself was not lost on him. But under the circumstances, he’d allow himself this help.

  Celia had agreed to a week on, week off schedule for custody. He suspected she was open to it because she thought he’d flounder under the single parent responsibilities. Or maybe she realized that the boys needed their father. Either way, he wasn’t going to screw this up.

  “Hello? You here, Marty?”

  Martin heard his sister’s call and went to the front door to greet her. She was tall and stocky, and they shared the same rich brown hair and blue eyes.

  “Brilliant of you to come,” Martin told her, giving her a quick kiss.

  He gave her a tour of the house, though there wasn’t a lot to see since it was empty. They finished back where they started, at the entry hall.

  She smiled. “So, this means it’s really happening? The divorce?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far, but yes, I expect so.”

  There was disappointment in her face, but also something else. Relief, perhaps? Martin was about to ask her about it when she spoke again.

  “Right. Well, we’ve got our work cut out here, don’t we? I hope you’ve got your credit card ready!”

  He laughed. “I do. And there’s a fine lunch in the bargain for you.”

  “Let’s make some progress on shopping before we do that. Ready?”

  “Lead the way, Mags.”

  Lunch was at The Winding Stair, a place Margaret had heard of, as it was an institution, but had never been to. The building housed a bookstore on the bottom floor and the restaurant on the second level, offering views of the river Liffey and the iconic Ha’penny Bridge. They didn’t have a reservation, but Martin was recognized and they were quickly escorted to a table.

  “I sometimes forget that you’re a rock star,” she said with a laugh as they sat down.

  “You’re not the only one,” he replied, thinking of Celia who had always seemed to prefer that he wasn’t one.

  It was an unpretentious atmosphere, with the décor made up of worn wood tables and floors, café chairs, and old girders from its past history as a tweed loom. They both chose the three-course menu, took the waiter’s recommendation for a bottle of wine, then settled into their chairs to rest from their busy morning of shopping.

  With Margaret’s help, Martin had purchased bed frames, mattresses, and bedding for himself and the boys. They arranged for delivery of a sofa, entertainment center, and television for the living room. They would continue on after lunch to get the basics for the bathrooms and kitchen.

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mags,” Martin told his sister. “You’ve been tremendous help.”

  “It was nothing you couldn’t handle on your own,” she replied. “But I don’t mind accompanying you.”

  “Ah, I would’ve been lost trying to make all those decisions.”

  “Marty, that’s not true. But then, you’ve always had this sort of complex.”

  He laughed. “Complex? What sort of complex do I have?”

  “The one where you wait for everyone else to make a decision. You’ve always wanted to be led. Shown what you should do.”

  He took a moment to absorb that observation. He couldn’t deny it. It was true in his life in general as much as it had been true in his marriage and within the dynamics of his band.

  “Which was why we were all so shocked by the news of you and Celia separating. Or, I should say, the news that it was you leaving her.”

  Martin started to respond but was interrupted by the waiter serving their wine. He took the time to enjoy a sip of the Vosne-Romanée pinot noir that was promised to pair well with his entree of potato dumplings with smoked aubergine before speaking.

  “Midlife crisis, I suppose,” he said with a weary smile.

  “Whatever it is, I’m proud of you.”

  This sentiment surprised him. Margaret was a traditionalist and a staunch Catholic. “Really?”

  She nodded. “It took bravery for you to do this, that’s for certain. Mind, I’m not pleased with you fucking about all over the world, but you obviously needed a change.”

  He laughed in surprise at her description of his escapades, and then continued laughing with a sense of joy and catharsis. After a moment, she joined him and the two laughed together infectiously, unable to stop as tears came to their eyes.

  “Oh, I needed that, Mags,” Martin said when they finally caught their breath and quieted.

  “Seriously, though. I think this will be good for you. You’ve never been on your own in your whole life.”

  “Neither have you. You left Ma’s house to get married.”

  “That’s true. But I’ve always known what I wanted and how to go after it. I’ve never needed anyone to steer me along, have I?”

  “No, you definitely haven’t.”

  “Tell me, what is it you actually want?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” he said with a sigh.

  “Me, I want a simple family life with John and the kids. Throw in a holiday to Spain. That along with my cooking and book clubs and I’m happy as Larry.”

  “I’m glad you and John are good.”

  “What do you want, Marty?” she asked again.

  He took a deep breath as he thought about it. He had, of course, thought of this ad nauseum. It was what had preoccupied him ever since Ashley had awakened his discontent. “I’ll tell you, what I want most is the chance to figure that out. But I suspect it comes down to wanting the air to breathe, and the opportunity to be different and try new things without being told to stay in my fucking corner and not disrupt the way it’s always been.”

  She smiled at him, blinking back tears. “You deserve that. And I know you’ll find what you need,” she told him and he felt a great sense of relief.

  This was the first time he felt genuine concern and confidence for what he was going through. Ashley had had her own agenda. He hadn’t shared this much with his bandmates. Sophie’s support was based on only partial understanding of his struggle. Lainey had come the closest of any of them to knowing what all he was faced with.

  Just as he was thinking of Lainey, she texted.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  “I’m told London is highly accessible from Dublin.”

  Lainey’s text perplexed Martin. He was still staring at it under the table while at lunch with Margaret when another text came through.

  “It so happens my movie shoot is in London. And due to an unfortunate accident with on
e of the stunt actors, we have at least two days off.”

  Martin smiled, thrilled that Lainey was not only close by but reaching out to him.

  “You’ll have to grab a commuter flight and come see me,” he told her. The route between the two cities was the busiest in Europe. She’d have no trouble getting to him. If she wanted to.

  “Who put that smile on your face?” Margaret asked.

  “Em, no one, really.”

  “Come on, let’s have it,” she said with a grin. “Is it the personal trainer, the groupie, or the actress?”

  He smirked. “Those are the only ones you know about. Could be any dozen of the other women I ‘fucked about’ with, couldn’t it?”

  “Fair play. John thinks you’re quite the man.”

  “Does he?” Martin asked. Margaret’s husband John was the most decent man Martin knew. He was a kind and attentive father and an active member in the church. A plumber by trade, he had started his own business and done well with it. But like Margaret, his primary focus was family. Martin had always thought highly of him.

  “Well, that Lainey Keeler is his celebrity crush, so he’s beside himself that you and she got together.”

  “Just a snog.”

  “Hot and heavy kissing is plenty enough for him,” she said. “I do feel bad for Celia, you know. It got really messy in the press.”

  Martin grimaced. “I know. I really wish it hadn’t. I just—I was clueless about the attention I could get. You know, I’ve never been the focus of things. Gav and Conor always took that role.”

  “Doesn’t look like there’s any turning back now. Just be careful.”

  “I will.”

  She nodded toward the phone he held in his lap. “With that. Whoever she is. Try to keep it private.”

  He smiled and nodded. It had taken all he had not to rudely ignore his sister so he could see what Lainey’s reply was until now. Looking down, he turned the phone over so he could see the screen.

  “Better for you to come here?” Lainey had asked.

  Going to London would probably allow them more ways to either hide out or blend in than Dublin. Given that Margaret had just cautioned him over this very issue, he was inclined to make the trip. But he wouldn’t break his current plans.

  He wrote her back, “I can’t get away until a bit later. Maybe be there around 9 or 10?”

  “I’m at The Savoy. Come straight to my room.” She added her room number.

  His evening plans had just changed from a quiet night in an empty house to something far more pleasing.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  It was just past nine o’clock when Martin knocked on the door to Lainey’s suite at The Savoy. He had walked briskly through the opulent marble lobby, avoiding eye contact as he headed straight to the elevator. Now he stood at her door, waiting. Hearing from her had been a pleasant surprise, and though he was eager to see her, he wasn’t sure what she had in mind for this date. He had brought a small bouquet of wildflowers for the occasion. But was it a date? A tryst? A booty call? He had no idea.

  Lainey opened the door. She wore jeans, a thin sand-colored cashmere top that draped softly, and bare feet, and he was reminded of how petite she was.

  “You made it,” she said with a smile as she pulled him by the hand inside.

  The suite was dimly lit but Martin could see well enough to know it was elegant and luxuriously furnished to feel like a home rather than a sterile hotel room. The drapes were open to reveal the nighttime view of London’s iconic landmarks, including the River Thames, Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben and the London Eye, and all the way along to the Canary Wharf. She had a fire going, creating an even more romantic atmosphere.

  “These are for you,” he said.

  She eyed the flowers and hesitated. “That’s really sweet,” she finally said. “But, maybe we’re not on the same page with this?”

  Ah, so it was a booty call. He couldn’t hide his disappointment, so he turned away and looked at the flames of the fireplace.

  “You’ve got a fire in September,” he mused for want of anything more to say.

  “I’ve got a fire in a London September,” she corrected him with a laugh.

  It was too warm for him. He wore jeans, a gray T-shirt and a black leather jacket. Turning away from the fire, he tossed the flowers onto the coffee table and took off his jacket.

  “Fuck buddies, is it?” he asked. Might as well be clear on the matter, especially since it now seemed that while he had been enjoying a lunch date with her in Santa Barbara, she had been sizing him up as a “regular hookup.”

  “Lovers, is a better description.”

  “Is this what you do? Take ‘lovers’ rather than have relationships?”

  “It’s less complicated. It allows us both to have our lives, see other people, and acknowledge that we’re just not a great catch at this point. I think it’s good to be honest.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he said, though it didn’t feel right. Wasn’t the thing about relationships that you took a risk on someone else? You made an effort to work it out if it was complicated? “So, what do you require of your lover?” Despite his reservations, the offer of sex without commitment was something he couldn’t refuse.

  “It’s pretty simple, really,” she said. “Whenever I’m available and in the mood, I’ll reach out to you. We can meet in a hotel room like this, have our fun, and then part ways. In between, I don’t see any need for calls or texts. Or flowers. I just want the connection of our bodies.”

  “What man would say no to that?”

  She smiled. “Do you want a drink?”

  When she had made them both a gin and tonic, they sat together on the sofa. Martin finished his drink in three gulps and set the empty glass on the coffee table. He waited as she sipped hers. The amber glow of the fire lit her delicate features and he stared at her, wondering what was going to happen between the two of them. And then it occurred to him he was doing what he always had—waiting for someone else to take the lead. Hadn’t he made a drastic life change just so he could put an end to being so passive?

  “Listen,” he said as he stood, “I’ve changed my mind.”

  She set down her glass and stood with him. “What do you mean?”

  “I like you, Lainey. Quite a lot. But I don’t want to be dictated to on what you and I will have. Either you fancy me or you don’t, but I’m not here for your amusement.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  He could hear disappointment in her voice, but he wasn’t sure what bothered her most—his unwillingness to play her game, or his willingness to walk away.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m still going to fuck you.”

  Her eyes widened before showing her excitement of the prospect.

  “But,” he continued, “I’m not following any of your other rules, so I guess that means we’re done after tonight.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said.

  “Isn’t it, though?” He leaned down and gathered her into his arms, pressing his mouth to hers urgently. She met him with the same degree of desire, and they kissed deeply.

  As much as he wanted her, he felt no need to hurry. If this was going to be their only time together, he wanted to make it last. She was content to move at his pace and they fell into a heated session with their lips and tongues synchronizing as well as they had during their first night together. Letting his hands fall down her body, he squeezed her backside and she pressed herself into him.

  There was no talking or exaggerated moaning as he touched her, and he liked that. She reached under his shirt to caress his chest and he quickly pulled the shirt off. He watched as she trailed her fingers over his skin, lingering over the defined muscles. When she got to the barbells in his nipples, she toyed with them for a moment, but it was more out of amusement than desire. She spent more time examining his tattoos, and soon she replaced her wandering fingers with her mouth, kissing the brightly colored designs. He had t
old Lainey why the symbols were so important to him when they spent that day together at the Los Angeles house. She was showing reverence and appreciation for the artwork on his arm, and it was the exact opposite of Celia’s reaction. The act felt so intimate and tender that he almost recoiled. As much as a part of him was interested in something more with Lainey, this reaction told him he wasn’t ready. She was right, things were too complicated. It was better to keep this encounter to pure sex.

  To that end, he helped her take her top off and cupped her bra-covered breasts in his hands as he kissed her roughly, his restraint gone now. She pulled away and looked at him curiously but he didn’t say anything. He was glad when she took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

  The room was lit only by the lights coming off the cityscape outside, and he watched as she wiggled out of her jeans and stood before him in matching nude panties and bra. Her dark hair was loose and fell over one shoulder, contrasting with her pale skin even more so in the dim light. He followed her lead and hurriedly removed his boots, socks, and jeans. As she crawled onto the bed, he grabbed her by the waist from behind and pulled her body to his. She reached up and back, dragging her nails against his scalp as he kissed the side of her neck and pinched her nipples. He found her body warm and responsive to his touch when he lowered his hand into her panties. It didn’t take much to bring her to a softly whimpering orgasm, and he was hard and ready in return.

  After only a moment to recover, she turned around and smiled at him. She kept eye contact as she removed her bra and panties and lay back on the bed. She was beautiful and sexy and perfect. He grabbed a condom from the pocket of his jeans and quickly rolled it on. The protection was a necessary annoyance but would likely help him last the way he wanted. Because he didn’t want this to be over too soon.

  She didn’t make it easy, though, when she pulled him down on top of her, guided him inside her, and wrapped her legs around his waist. This wasn’t the animalistic sex he’d been having since Ashley. This was an intense connection, with a woman who made him feel she was wholly invested in him. Or at least the experience.