I see a smile sneak across her lips.
"Did you tell Grandma and Grandpa about the party yet? Are they coming?" she asks, deliberately changing the subject.
"I thought it would be better if you were the one to invite them."
She nods thoughtfully. "You're probably right. They'll do anything I ask." She gives me an evil grin.
"You're a bad child," I chide gently.
"I know, but you love me anyway?" The words end on a little question mark I'm not sure she intended, but it's telling, and it breaks my heart that she has ever doubted.
"Always," I tell her, my voice rough with emotion, "and forever."
She smiles gently and kisses Blanco. "I'm going to go call them. I'll ask Grandma if she has any ideas for more recipes for the party."
After she goes inside, I gently swing back and forth for a few more minutes. Stone can try to keep me from quitting, but he won't win. Because this—Grove City, Sara, Carly—it's working, and I won't lose them now. Not for all the money and fame in the world.
28
Carly
"You've been seeing rockstar dude a lot lately," Quinn says as we walk toward Ross's house.
"Well, I told you he's trying to reconnect with Sara, and he just bought that house. Lots of things he's needed help with."
Quinn snorts in disbelief. "He has the hots for you, Mom. It's really obvious."
I laugh awkwardly. "I really don't think that's—"
"Oh please." He sounds miffed. "Don't treat me like I'm a little kid. I'm not blind. He likes you."
I take a deep breath and pull my sweater closer around me. The days are getting shorter, and the nights colder. But the air is fresh, and the sky is so cloudless you can already see hundreds of stars. "Does that bother you?"
"I don't know, I mean, it's kind of gross, you know? But also, you're my mom, so I totally get why he'd like you."
I smile quietly. "And what if I liked him back?"
He wiggles uncomfortably, kicking at the sidewalk under our feet as we walk.
"I don't know. I guess it would be fine. I mean, like you said, it's probably stupid to think you'll never date anyone again. But isn't he going back to L.A., or New York or something in a few weeks?"
"Actually, he's saying he wants to stay here. He's...I don't know...ready to retire, maybe?"
We turn onto Ross's street and I can see his porch light up ahead.
Quinn shrugs. "Okay. I guess if that's good with you, it's good with me."
I try not to give too much away. "I'll keep that in mind, then."
"God. Everyone at school is going to hassle me about it."
"They'll tease you?" I ask, concerned that he'll be embarrassed.
"No. They'll think it's so cool, they'll all want to hang out with me."
He grins and I laugh, smacking him on the shoulder. "You poor thing. It's terrible being the cool kid in high school."
"Yeah." He leaps up all four porch steps in one jump. "But someone's gotta’ do it."
"I told my mom about our party," Sara says to me later as we’re making coffee and tea in the kitchen after dinner. Ross took Quinn outside to help move a couple of big potted plants he got for the backyard. "She said she found a table-top roulette wheel online that she could have shipped to us."
"Oh, that’s a great idea!" I tell her as I pour water into the Keurig and snap a pod into place.
Sara has chosen a Mississippi River theme, so she’s planning food like St. Louis barbecue and New Orleans gumbo, and gambling games like a penny-ante poker table and blackjack. We found a documentary about the Mississippi that we’ll show on a giant screen in the backyard, but Ross is in charge of the music, and he’s refused to tell Sara or anyone else what he has planned.
"How is your mom doing with you being gone?" I ask. "Is she lonely without you?" I give her a wink so she knows I’m partially teasing.
"She says she’s been getting a ton of work done, and she goes to yoga, like, every day."
"And how about you? Do you miss home a lot?"
She shrugs lightly. "I don’t know." There’s a pause and my mom instincts tell me to wait it out. She’s about to open up, and even if it’s just a little, it’s important. "There’s this one girl at my school, and she’s kind of a B, you know?"
I don’t have the heart to say I’m not entirely sure. I assume she means bitch, but she could mean Beyoncé…or a blonde…or a bigot? Instead of admitting my middle-aged ignorance, I just nod.
"What happened is, this guy Christopher liked me, and I didn’t even really like him. I mean, as a friend, but I didn’t want to date him. But everyone said he was going to ask me to Homecoming—which we don’t even get to have now, bee tee dubs. So this girl—Candice decided that she was going to be super jelly because Christopher wanted to go to Homecoming with me. I hadn’t even said if I wanted to go with him, but she just—"
Ah. Yep. Now I get it. "She’s been giving you a hard time, I’d guess."
Sara nods. "Don’t tell my parents. If they said anything to the school it would only make it worse" She looks up at me with her big blue eyes and I want to wrap her in my arms and keep her there until the rest of the world grows up enough to stop being jerks.
"I won’t say a word," I lie.
"Anyway. It’s okay being here. At least I don’t have to deal with Candice all the time."
"What about on Snapchat and Instagram?" I ask. Because I have a sixteen-year-old, I do know a few things.
"I blocked her."
"Good job. I’m proud of you for that." I put an arm around her and give her shoulders a little squeeze. "You’re pretty amazing. And she’s pretty pathetic."
"Right?" she says with conviction. "I mean, he’s just a guy. There are, like, a million of them and we’re only fourteen."
And that’s when I know that Ross’s ex has done her job. Sara may not have known how to cook, and she might be a little obsessed with labels and consumerism, but she’s got her head on straight. She’s not a future Kardashian, she’s a good kid and she’ll grow up to be a good person.
"Can I ask you a favor?" I tell her as we put the coffee and teacups on a tray. "Would you consider doing my makeup for the party?"
Her entire face lights up. "Really?"
I nod. "Honestly, I’m not very good at it, and yours always looks so perfect. I bet you can do a much better job than I ever do."
"It’s all about the contouring," she begins as we move toward the living room. "And just the other day I saw that my favorite YouTuber has a new video on doing makeup for older skin. I’ll make sure to watch that one."
I smile as she chatters on, and I can’t help but feel that if Ross is going to be in my life, Sara is the biggest, nicest bonus I could have ever dreamed.
29
Ross
The preparations for Sara’s party have taken over our lives. She’s designed invitations online and they’re shipping them so we can hand them out. The list of food is a mile long, I’ve been working every day on landscaping for the backyard. We’ve ordered the movie screen, the projector, and all sorts of decorations. We’ve also reserved tables and chairs from the local party rental place.
The music is my surprise for Sara. I’ve reached out to some studio musicians I’ve known over the years, guys who mostly stay in L.A. and play backup for recordings. We’ve put together a full-on brass jazz band to play New Orleans classics like they would have played on riverboats during the Mississippi’s heyday. The guy I know the best is taking charge of putting together the music, and I’ll sit in on a few numbers with my guitar. They want to play a couple of Odyssey songs, as well. While I don’t care about that, I have to admit that it would probably be a crowd pleaser, so I’ve agreed to it.
I turn over another shovel of dirt, eyeballing the big flowering shrub that Carly promises will look perfect in this back corner of the yard. I’m actually grateful when my phone rings in my back pocket. I feel like I’ve been planting things for weeks. Maybe be
cause I have been.
I see our manager’s number on the screen and take a deep breath. This won’t go well.
"Hey, Zeke. How are you?" I answer the call.
"How am I? I think I’m confused is what I am, Ross. I’m confused because, yesterday, my assistant said there was an email from you that I needed to read, and by the time I got to it today, there were also three voicemail messages from Stone and two from the other guys, telling me that you’re about to quit the band and send us all into bankruptcy."
Jesus. "Well, that’s not accurate, so take a deep breath and let’s talk," I tell him.
"A deep breath? Ross. The biggest star I have in my stable—hell, the biggest star that could be in anyone’s stable—has just announced that he no longer wants to tour and is hiding out in some Podunk town in the middle of nowhere. You’re having a goddamn nervous breakdown and you’re telling me to take a deep breath?!"
This is going even worse than I had imagined. "Zeke. Let’s back this up and start at the beginning, shall we?"
"God save me, Ross, where the fuck do you begin with something like this?"
"You begin with me. I’m tired. I’m tired of the constant travel, and I’m tired of feeling like I’m a jukebox that you shove quarters into and I play. I’ve missed most of my kid’s childhood, and I’m ready to stay put somewhere for more than five minutes." I slow my roll now to make my point as clearly as possible. "It’s not working for me anymore. I don’t give a damn about the parties or the women or the adulation. I want to have a home, raise my daughter, and maybe be part of something that isn’t on eighteen wheels and covered in billboards."
"You knew the deal when you signed on for this, Ross—"
"That was twenty years ago. People change, for fuck’s sake."
"Okay, okay." His voice becomes conciliatory, but I know it’s just a different tack. "You need a break. We can manage that. We’ll just postpone the next leg of the tour. Maybe move it to the first half of next year. Then you can have another three months to rest up and—"
"No." My tone tells him I’m not fucking around. "I’m not going back out. Not in three months or six or eighteen."
"Ross, we’re under contract."
"Then get us out from under contract. That’s your job."
He sighs. "Stone is talking a lawsuit. Against you. He’s livid and ready to go to the mat."
"We’ve had all of our assistants going back and forth about a time for a video conference with the whole band. I’ll talk to Stone and the rest of them. Get them to understand. But I need you to get the tour cancelled. I won’t be there, so unless they’re going to grab a new lead singer, it has to be handled."
"Fine. There will be penalties," he snaps.
"And I’ll pay them. Get me the total and I’ll talk to my finance guy about how we want to handle it."
"Jesus, Ross. You just had to go and ruin a perfect thing," he grumbles.
I chuckle. "We’ve been at it for two decades," I tell him. "You didn’t really think we’d keep it up forever, did you?"
"A man can dream, can’t he?"
"Sorry I can’t make your dream come true."
He groans. "Just promise we can talk more next week, after you’ve all had the video call. Maybe there are some other options you’d be willing to consider."
I agree and we end the call. I’m not concerned about the penalties for ending the tour. I can sign an endorsement deal to earn back the million or two it’ll cost me. But I am concerned about the lawsuit, so I make a mental note to get ahold of my attorney asap. The last thing I need is a very expensive and protracted legal battle with the guys I’ve spent most of my adult life alongside. It’s not the kind of karma I want as I start my new life.
I need all the good vibes I can get if I’m going to learn to be the man Sara and Carly have signed up for.
It’s after midnight when I quietly slip out the back door, locking it behind me, and sneak around front to the street. I thought Sara was never going to stop scrolling through her phone in bed. I can see that blue light under the crack of her door, so I know when she’s actually gone to sleep versus just turned out the lamp in her room.
I can’t help but chuckle at the role reversal here. The adult sneaking out of the house at night while the teen sleeps soundly in her bed. But I haven’t seen Carly alone in days, and Quinn is at his dad’s house tonight, so it’s a rare opportunity. I’ve left Sara a note in case she wakes up, but my plan is to be back in a few hours, well before daylight.
When I get to Carly’s house, I stand on her porch and text so I won’t scare her by knocking in the middle of the night. The front door opens just moments after I send the text, and there she stands, her long hair over one shoulder, wearing nothing but a tight tank top and some yoga pants.
"Hey," I say, stepping closer.
"Hey, yourself," she answers.
Her cheeks are flushed and I notice immediately that she’s not wearing a bra. I give thanks to the lingerie gods and run a finger down her bare shoulder.
"Want a little company?"
She smiles that secret smile that’s just for me, and my heart pounds in preparation to feel her lips on mine.
"Come on in," she tells me with a husky, late-night voice.
I step past her, kicking the door closed behind me before pulling her into my arms and crushing my lips to hers. She tastes like red wine and cinnamon, and I can’t help the growl that comes from my chest as I run my tongue inside her mouth.
"Missed you," I whisper, kissing the corners of her lips, and threading my fingers through her hair.
"You too," she answers before kissing me deeply.
My blood is hot and heavy, and I know if I don't get her to the bedroom fast, we'll end up on the floor of her foyer. I take her hand and begin to lead her toward the back hallway when, all of a sudden, something sharp digs into my ankle, shortly followed by a familiar hissing sound.
"Fuck!" I spat, hopping on one foot as I rub my ankle.
"Oh my God, Chuck! How did you get out?"
She picks up the beast and holds him in front of us, scolding him. He just narrows those evil eyes at me and hacks again.
"He hates me," I say, stepping back as he bares his needle-sharp teeth.
"No, he doesn't," she swears.
I eye first the lizard, then her. "Yeah, sure."
She laughs at me and I scowl because, seriously, who has an iguana for a pet, anyway? Why couldn’t Quinn get a dog or a cat like normal kids do?
But then, Chuck has been banished, and Carly’s in my arms again, and all I can think is that no matter what the lawyers and Stone and Chuck throw at me, it’s worth it.
An hour later, I lie in bed with Carly in my arms and stroke her hair. As much as I want to fall asleep right here, I know I can’t. I need to get back home because we have kids, and they’re not ready to find out about this quite yet.
"I’ve been meaning to ask," she begins, "how are things going with the band? Have you settled everything about cancelling the tour?"
My stomach tightens a touch as the cold water of reality hits me in the face. "We’re working on it," I tell her. "No one is very happy, so it’s a process."
Her hand smoothes over my bare chest and my heart does a little shimmy for her touch.
"You know, if you need to go on the last leg of this tour, I’d understand. Six months isn’t forever, and it might be good for us to have some distance, make sure this isn’t just a bit of infatuation."
I lean up on one elbow, gazing down at her in the dim light that pours in from the moon outside.
"Is that what you want?" I ask, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice. "For me to go back out on tour?"
She’s quick to change tacks. "No. Of course not. I just…"
"You just what?"
"I don’t want you to wake up one day a month from now, or a year from now, and regret doing this. Giving up your whole career to sit around in Grove City with me."
"Christ, bab
y," I whisper, leaning down and kissing her softly on her full lips. "That could never happen. And you need to know, I’m not giving up my career. I’m changing it. I don’t need to put out a new album every twelve months and tour three hundred days a year. I haven’t needed to in years, and that’s one reason I’d reached a point where I was really damn unhappy."
She slides her palm along my cheek, her eyes dark with emotion. "It’s a huge change, hon. All at once. It’s like a complete life reboot."
I chuckle at the description. It’s perfect. She’s perfect.
"It is. And it’s exactly what I need and what I want. But I can’t do it if you’re not backing me one hundred percent. If you’re not sure you want me here, or that you’re ready for this thing between us to get heavier, tell me now and I’ll—well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll try to honor your wishes, at least until I can convince you to change your mind."
She laughs at my blatant honesty and disregard for her preferences. I can’t help it. I want her too much to be noble.
"I want you here. Very much. And I think this thing between us already got heavier. But I don’t want to be Yoko Ono, you know?"
I laugh at her reference to the woman who supposedly broke up The Beatles. "Babe. Even Yoko Ono wasn’t Yoko Ono. No one’s going to blame you if Odyssey breaks up."
She exhales, and my dick hardens because her hip presses against it, and I’m pretty much in a state of semi-hard whenever she’s within striking distance, anyway.
"I don’t care what the world thinks. I care what you think. And down the road, I don’t want you to hate me because you realize you made a decision in haste or in the throes of lust or something."
I can’t help the smile that slides across my face.
"Why are you smiling?" Her eyes narrow in suspicion.
"The throes of lust?"
She purses her lips, but I can see the twinkle in her eyes. "You know. Maybe your judgment’s impaired by all the sex."
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