Love's Road Home

by Lisa Lewis

  Tom immediately reached for the items. “Certainly you can have my autograph. One for each of you?” He looked from one grinning face to the other, both girls nodding so hard Beth was afraid their heads would snap off.

  “I’m Amanda,” said the Barbie fan. “And this is my sister, Emily.”

  The smaller girl gave a quick wave. “Hi.”

  “Well, Amanda and Emily, it was very nice meeting both of you.” Tom finished writing but hesitated before handing the pen and paper back. He tilted his head toward Beth. “This is Beth. She sings with Roadhouse, too, so do you want her to write something?” He flashed a teasing smile her way.

  Oh, geez. “Tom, no—”

  “Girls!” A harried-looking woman came down the aisle, her arms full with a purse, diaper bag, and restless infant. “What are you doing bothering these people—oh!”

  She’d just gotten a close look at Tom. “Oh. My. God.”

  “Mommy! Mommy, I was right! It is Tom!” Emily jumped up and down and tugged on her mother’s arm as she spoke. “And he gave us autographs, too! Look!” She pointed to the items Tom was returning to Amanda.

  The woman stopped staring at Tom long enough to look down at her daughters. “I’ll look later, Emily, but I think you two have bothered Mr. Crowley enough for today. Let’s let him eat his dinner.” Her apologetic glance encompassed Beth, too. “Sorry about this. They’re really big fans of your band—I am, too—but we couldn’t get to the show last night. Birthday party at the in-law’s house.” She rolled her eyes, indicating her opinion of the event.

  Her baby fussed a little more, and the woman turned to leave. “Thanks again, and sorry about the interruption.”

  “Not a problem, ma’am. It’s always nice to meet young fans. And they were very polite, too, weren’t you, girls?”

  His comment caused another flurry of giggles to erupt, but the woman still managed to get her young daughters heading toward the door. Amid waves and cries of “Thank you” and “Goodbye,” they heard the mother chastising her children.

  “Don’t ever do something like that again! You were supposed to be using the bathroom, that’s all. You’re both lucky it really was Tom Crowley and not some weirdo. Just wait until I tell your father what you did …”

  •

  Tom couldn’t stop smiling as he watched the family move away. Those girls were adorable.

  “She was wrong.”

  He turned back to Beth. “Hmm? Wrong about what?”

  “Little does that poor woman know, but you truly are a weirdo.”

  “Only about you, sweetheart.” He reached for his beer. “But she was right to scold them. I’d do the same to my kids if they ever wandered off.” And the instant he’d seen the girls, thoughts of having a family of his own had sprung to mind. They’d looked like miniature versions of Bethany, and his desire to get a commitment from her—soon—had flared up again.

  Beth picked up her fork and stabbed some more of her salad. “You were very good with those girls. I’m impressed.”

  “I love kids.” He, too, returned to his meal. “The fact that they were fans was just a bonus. They helped Roadhouse get where we are today.”

  Beth instantly waved her hand back and forth. “Wait, wait. You can’t skip ahead like that. You were talking about high school. The awful nicknames, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” It was an integral part of who he was today, not likely to be forgotten. “See, Leo and I used to use the school’s practice rooms after school. There was a sign-up list posted in the hallway. But whenever we’d put our names down in the morning, some jerk would cross them out and put our nicknames. At one point, somebody got too lazy to write ‘the Tiger’ and ‘the Lion’ and just wrote ‘the Cats.’”

  “I don’t see this getting any better yet,” Beth said dryly.

  “It did. Trust me. Our band teacher knew what we were doing, and he suggested we hook up with some other guys he knew. They didn’t play in the school band, but I think Mr. Seibert wanted to give them a reason to stay in school. And it worked. Normally we all wouldn’t have hung out, but our music brought us together.”

  “And this relates to bullies and nicknames how?”

  Tom laughed. “Turns out we were lazy, too. On the sign-up list, we didn’t feel like writing all five of our names, so Leo just wrote ‘the Cats,’ figuring everyone would know who we were. But Manny, he said that was too wimpy. He changed it to ‘the Wildcats,’ and that’s what we were called from then on.”

  Beth reclined against the high back of the booth and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “So your freshman nicknames led to your forming a band called the Wildcats.”

  “Yup, that about covers it.”

  Over the remainder of dinner Tom explained how his and Leo’s first band gained popularity not as a bunch of geeks but as a group of really talented musicians. They won school and citywide awards and were invited to play at numerous public functions, despite the fact that the band members often changed.

  “We definitely owe a lot to Manny, Frank, and Chris,” Tom said, giving credit to the original guys they’d formed Wildcats with. “But they eventually went their own ways over the years.”

  “Did they quit school like the band teacher thought they would?”

  “Frank did, but the others decided to put more effort into their classes so they could graduate on time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, but Leo and I could afford to split our time between academics and music, and we definitely didn’t want to give up the band.”

  “So what’d you do?”

  The waitress stopped by to clear their plates, and they decided to have coffee and share a dessert. When the steaming mugs and single dish of rich strawberry shortcake were in front of them, Tom answered Beth’s question.

  “We stuck it out together.” He watched as Bethany swallowed a spoonful of the cream-covered confection and had to clear his throat before continuing. “Sometimes there were four Wildcats, sometimes five, but there were never less than two.”

  A spot of whipped topping remained on her bottom lip, tempting him to lick it off. Then her tongue slipped out to get it, and that drove him just as crazy.

  “It must’ve been wonderful having such a great friend. Someone who was there through both good and bad times.” Her wistful tone escaped his notice as Beth reached for another taste of berries and cream.

  Her action kept his focus locked on her mouth, bringing to mind what she’d done with that mouth that very morning…

  The only excuse for what Tom said next was that a desire-induced fog had replaced all rational thought.

  “Leo was my best friend back then, and still is. That’s why I want him to be best man at our wedding.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Damn it! Regret instantly filled Tom. Once again, he’d let important words fly without a drop of finesse.

  He hurried to salvage the moment and erase the deer-in-the-headlights expression from Beth’s face. “Sorry. Let me try that again.”

  Tom took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips for a gentle kiss. Staring intently into her eyes, he asked, “Bethany Miller, will you marry me? Please?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and remained silent for a minute.

  It was the longest minute of his life.

  Finally, she pressed her lips together and opened her eyes. What he saw in the blue depths wasn’t what he’d expected, and he knew what he’d hear before she even said the words.

  “I’m sorry, Tom, but I can’t. I can’t marry you.”

  She pulled her hand away and lowered her gaze, not adding a bit of explanation.

  And that pissed him off.

  Yes, he was heartbroken, but now he was angry, too. Why the hell was she saying no to him?

  And that’s exactly what he asked. In nicer terms, of course, but only because they were in public. The restraint cost him dearly. “Why not?”

  Her eyes flicked up for a second bef
ore skittering away again. “Tom, please.”

  But his irritation only grew. He kept his voice calm and level but left no doubt of his displeasure. “No. I want to know why you can’t marry me. Because the only thing I understand is why you should. I love you and you love me. Isn’t that enough?”

  She didn’t answer him but instead looked him in the eye and asked a question of her own. “Do you remember when we first talked, that night at Gregory’s?”

  He nodded. He’d been intrigued by her right from the start and only more so after they’d shared a few drinks at the bar.

  “You brought up the song ‘Beth’ and said what a great song it was.”

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “I don’t want that to be my life. I don’t want to be that Beth, sitting around when you’re gone. And I definitely don’t want to be on the road most of the year like when I was younger.”

  Scenes of his own adolescence flashed through Tom’s mind like a slide show: His mother warning him of the unreliability of a musician’s life. Him trying to convince her he could make anything work if he wanted it bad enough.

  As the dinner he’d consumed rolled around in his stomach, Tom prayed he’d been right.

  “It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this a while.”

  Her gaze dropped again, and she fidgeted with her silverware. “I guess I have.”

  He figured he might as well get it all out in the open. “So you’re saying the only way you’ll marry me is if I quit the band?”

  “No!” Her eyes shot back to his. “I would never ask that of you. I know how much you love what you do.”

  “Then what do you want me to do?” Frustration made his voice louder, causing nearby diners to glance his way. Tom struggled to stay in control. And, once again, he reached for Bethany’s hand. “I love you and I love music,” he said quietly. “So why are you asking me to choose?”

  A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m not. I’m making the choice for you.”

  Tom could feel a muscle twitching in his jaw. “I’m not stupid, you know. Roadhouse’s popularity could last five years or it could be over next week. There’s no way to tell how long the ride will last, but it definitely won’t be forever.”

  He squeezed her hand tighter and reached over to wipe a second tear from her silken skin. “But understand this, sweetheart. I know, in my heart, that we can last forever.” He held her gaze, allowing her to see his soul, if she chose. “Don’t you believe that?”

  “I want to,” Beth whispered. She sniffed and roughly wiped the wetness from her face. “But honestly, Tom,” she continued hoarsely, “we haven’t known each other all that long. I knew Eric a lot longer, I thought I knew everything about him, and look what happened.”

  Tom slammed a fist on the table. “I’m not Eric!”

  “I know that!” She laid a warm hand over his clenched one. “I know you’d never intentionally hurt me like he did. But things would change between us just the same, and I don’t think I could stand it when that happened.”

  He tried once more to persuade her. “I trust my feelings and I trust you. But how can I get you to trust me? What do I have to do?”

  Beth unexpectedly pulled her hands away and stood up. She shook her head. “It’s not you at all, Tom. It’s me I don’t trust.”

  She spun away and headed for the exit.

  Fearing for her safety, Tom quickly threw enough bills on the table to cover the meal and a generous tip. As he rushed to follow Beth, his heart thudded heavily in his chest.

  It looked like his mother may have been right after all: Music and a family don’t mix.

  •

  Eyes closed, Beth sat curled up in one of the tour bus seats and pretended to be napping. After all that had happened lately, she needed some time to herself.

  Most shocking of all had been Tom’s proposal of marriage. She knew she hadn’t explained herself very well to him, but she’d been overwhelmed with emotions.

  Love for Tom. Desire to say yes. And fear. Fear that the future would be a rerun of her past.

  That feeling had filled her the most, to the point of panic. She’d had to leave the restaurant or risk a total meltdown.

  Luck had been with her: She’d managed to cross the street right before the traffic light changed, and the elevator doors had closed behind her just as Tom entered the hotel lobby.

  She’d spent the rest of the night alone in her room. Hannah hadn’t poked and prodded about what was wrong but instead gave Beth her cell number as she left, directing her to call if she wanted to talk.

  Beth hadn’t called.

  She’d lain in her freshly made bed and watched a sappy old love story on HBO. With tears rolling down her face and her shoulders heaving with quiet sobs, she hugged the extra pillow, swearing she could still smell Tom on it.

  Exhaustion must have claimed her because the next she knew it was morning, and Hannah was shaking her awake. They had to pack up and get on the road to Syracuse.

  She and Tom exchanged little more than a nod and “Good morning” during breakfast, and, feeling very awkward amidst the others’ liveliness, Beth had been happy to have the meal over with.

  Now, as they traveled east along Interstate 90, she could hear Tom’s voice farther back in the bus where he sat playing cards with some of the guys. Meanwhile, Hannah still silently perused the magazine she’d taken out earlier—it contained the latest fashion trends, no doubt.

  At the last minute her father had decided to ride on the band’s bus to New York, and he sat on a couch a few feet away, talking with Dylan.

  Why the change, Beth wasn’t certain. There was no reason to think that one of the band member’s had told him about the nasty package she’d received, so maybe he’d just wanted a break from the road crew.

  As Beth shifted position, trying to get more comfortable in the padded seat, George’s words caught her attention.

  “I love traveling. It’s one of the reasons I’ve stayed in the business so long. Always seeing new places, meeting new people. But New England was one of the areas I liked the best, especially in the fall. The foliage was beautiful.”

  Her father liked watching leaves change color? That was news to her.

  “Fall was nice, but winter was the best,” Dylan replied. “Snowmobiling and skiing—that’s what I’d be doing if there was snow on the ground. And if there wasn’t any in New York, there were a lot of resorts in Vermont that stayed prepared.”

  “A real outdoorsman, are you?”

  “Oh, yeah. I love it all. Georgia may not have the snow, but there’s still plenty to do. And I come back to New York to visit family pretty often. It’s funny how most of my visits happen during ski season, though. Very strange.”

  Beth’s mouth twitched in response to the wry humor in Dylan’s voice, but her father chuckled out loud. “Works out good for everyone, eh? Your folks get to see you, and you get to hit the slopes.”

  “Yup. It’s a perfect solution. I’ve always been big on thinking things through. Less aggravation in the end.”

  Hmm. She never would’ve pictured a guy like Dylan to be big on planning. He looked more like the flies-by-the-seat-of-his-pants type.

  Beth shamelessly tuned back in to the men’s conversation when she heard her name mentioned.

  “I’ll never forget when I took Bethany skiing for the first time. It was hard not to laugh, but I held it in because I knew she didn’t think it was funny. She was only seven or eight years old at the time.”

  “What happened?”

  As her father told Dylan the tale of her first skiing experience, Beth let the memories resurface.

  “I was working a four month winter tour for a rock band, and Beth had just come to live with me in late summer. The schedule had a couple of stops in Colorado, so on an off-day I decided to introduce my daughter to the joys of downhill skiing.”

  Now Dylan was the one to laugh. “Uh-oh. That sounds ominous.”

  “No, no. N
othing really bad happened. It just took a while to actually get to the skiing part.”

  Beth cracked her eyes open, wanting to see George’s face as he spoke. Would he really describe the day the same way she remembered it?

  At that moment her father turned to look at her, a smile on his weathered face. It broadened into a grin when he saw she was awake. “Remember that day, Bethany? When I took you to the bunny slope for the first time?”

  Beth nodded but remained silent. She glanced around the bus and saw he’d gained additional listeners with his loud voice. Leo, Sam, Jack, and Hannah were all looking at her father, waiting for him to continue.

  Tom, however, kept his eyes on her. She could still feel the heat of his gaze long after she dropped her own, too emotionally weary to act defiant.

  “Beth was a sensitive little girl,” her father was saying. “She’d see a baby crying and she’d want to comfort it. Same with puppies and kittens. She didn’t want to see anybody in distress.”

  George looked her way once more. “She’s still like that. Don’t let her tell you otherwise.” He turned back to Dylan. “But, anyway, I’d told Bethany that we were going to the bunny slope so she could get her first lesson, and she started crying. I thought she was mad she couldn’t go on the big runs, but that wasn’t it.”

  Beth could picture it like it was yesterday. Yet another moment of discontent in her upbringing with her and George not seeing eye to eye.

  “She was sobbing and screaming that she didn’t want to go, and I didn’t understand why. She’d been so excited to try skiing when we first got to the mountain.” George shook his head. “I swear, people probably thought I was beating the poor child.”

  Beth could feel everybody’s eyes on her, and she tried to curl up tighter into her seat. When her father finished this story, they’d all think she was nuts.

  “So what was the problem?” Hannah asked, her magazine lying, temporarily forgotten, across her lap.

  George looked to Beth once again, this time with a raised eyebrow. Should I tell them?