by Lisa De Jong
I saw that kid at the grocery store for the first time, and I swear it felt like I was looking in the fucking mirror. The thought of walking away from a child that could be mine left me feeling a little hollow. I knew it was the right thing to do though, as hard as it was to let go. I saw that sweet little boy smile up at his dad with complete adoration in his eyes. I never wanted to do anything to change that. To see her family so happy, I just couldn’t be the asshole to step in and stir up a shit storm that could possibly tear that little boy’s whole world apart…or Kaitlyn’s. Her family was her life. That much was obvious by the smile on her face and the way she looked at her husband with respect and admiration. It just wasn’t in me to barge into her life and demand answers that could possibly turn her whole world upside down. I didn’t want to hurt her like that. So instead, I hurt me.
I walked away without any answers so that she could be happy. That’s how much I fucking loved her. I just hoped the trust fund was enough to show her that I knew and that I cared. I wasn’t just walking away because I was a dickhead. I walked away because I couldn’t bear the thought of tearing her down by ruining her family. I couldn’t be a part of her life, but I could help provide for those boys’ futures. And if one of those boys just happened to be my son, then I could live peacefully, knowing I’d done right by him. He had a family—a mommy and a daddy who loved him very much. Then there was me, who he might never meet again—who may or may not be his biological father—but who loved him enough to help take care of him in his own way. A way that he, nor others, would ever truly understand unless they were in my shoes. I just hoped that Salem could see the situation through my eyes.
I plopped down into the backseat of Vance’s car. He was silent for several minutes while I sat there quietly, watching the scenery blur past the window.
Thoughts of Salem seeped into my head. She was fucking amazing. My admission of that fact stabbed me right in the chest, and suddenly I felt as though my heart had betrayed me. Kaitlyn was the only woman I’d ever loved. I hadn’t opened myself up for anyone like I had for her. I hadn’t let myself become as vulnerable for anyone like I had for her either. And then there was Salem, who marched back into my life unannounced and stole the very breath in my lungs on more than one occasion. It was scary, but it was fucking incredible. I didn’t really know what to think or how to feel.
All this time I’d thought there was only room in my heart for me to love one person. I was wrong. Just because I’d let go of one love didn’t mean I couldn’t open myself up to love again. Just because I’d allowed myself a little happiness after a soul-crushing loss like that didn’t mean my heart was betraying me. It just meant that I was moving beyond the pain of the past. It meant I was letting go, giving myself permission to find love again. It could happen. It was happening. It was so fucking beautifully tragic.
Vance’s voice jarred me from my thoughts. “Boss, you okay?”
“Oh, uh, yeah…” I stammered.
He watched me through the rearview mirror. “She must be somethin’,” he speculated.
“Yeah,” I nodded, already missing her. “She is somethin’.”
Vance and I spent the rest of the ride back to the hotel in silence. I needed to get my head in the game. This was a huge trip to New York. We were playing Madison Square Garden in just a few short days. We had meetings with our recording agents and marketing strategists. We had interviews on morning news shows and guest appearances on late night comedy shows. I needed to move past my spectacular weekend with that incredible woman and gear up for a busy week.
Chapter Twenty-One
SALEM
A couple of weeks had passed since our trip to New York. Chris had been traveling the northeast, selling out show after show. Each night that passed was another night that my longing for Chris grew exponentially. In some ways, I welcomed the feeling, but in other ways I kept my heart guarded. After all, he was still considered a rock god among the ladies, many of whom were more than willing to take advantage of any opportunity to spend time alone with him.
However, each night that we spoke on the phone, my apprehension momentarily disappeared. There was just something about his soothing, melodic voice and our deep conversations that put all of my fears at ease.
“I want to know more about you, Salem,” his voice poured from the receiver late one night. “I want to know everything.”
“Like what?” I asked, wondering what I could possibly tell him that he didn’t already know.
“I don’t know…your hopes, your dreams, your fears. Anything.”
“Ask me whatever you want,” I urged. “I’m an open book.”
He paused for a moment, “Okay, where do you see yourself in ten years?”
I thought about it, mulling the question over in my mind. “Hmmm, I think I’d like to see myself opening my own counseling center. By then, Alexis will be in her twenties. She’s considering going to college to study speech therapy or something along those lines. Maybe we’ll work together someday, providing services across the board.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out,” Chris said. I wondered if he was thinking about where he fit into my plan.
“Pipe dreams,” I sighed. “Working for a non-profit agency like the pregnancy care center, I’m sure I’ll never make enough money to start up my own business.”
“You never know. Someone once told me to never give up on my dreams.” I almost heard him wink through the phone. I knew he was talking about me.
I chuckled. “You’re right. I remember. Anyway, so what about you? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
“Me? Well, I know this whole celebrity gig won’t last forever. Maybe I’ll open my own recording studio. Settle down. Have a family. I don’t know. This business is so here and now that it’s really hard to think about the future. Kinda scary, actually.”
Settle down? Have a family? Suddenly I wondered how I might fit into his plan and why he was so scared of it. “So, besides the future, what’s your biggest fear?” I asked, twisting a strand of hair self-consciously around my finger.
“Hmmm, snakes. I’m definitely scared of snakes.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean…what are you really afraid of?”
Chris sat quietly for a few moments. Just as I was about to tell him that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to, he piped up, “I’m afraid of myself.”
Himself? Why the hell would he be afraid of himself? “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m afraid of me…of screwing up…terrified of finding one glimmer of happiness in my life and doing something stupid to mess it all up, just like I’ve always done.”
“What are you talking about? Just take a look at yourself, Chris,” I told him, baffled. “Look at where you started and see how far you’ve come.”
“Yeah, I know. And I fight every day to stay here. I walk through life afraid of one wrong move that will take it all away. I just don’t want to end up…like my dad.” His voice was thick with sadness and fear.
I shook my head in protest. “But, his situation was different. Your dad did what he thought he had to do to provide for his family. He knew the consequences when he made those deals, never knowing which deal would be last…the one that would land him in prison.”
“Exactly,” Chris confessed. “I never know from day to day which mistake I’ll make to lose everything.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not a drug dealer.” Are you? I suddenly doubted everything I thought I knew about him.
“Of course not,” he said, putting my mind at ease. “I mean, I may not be doing anything illegal, but in case you haven’t noticed I’m a perpetual fuck-up. I mean, look at my history, Salem.”
“Your history doesn’t define your future, Chris.” Unless you include me. And in that case your history with me could certainly define your future. But I didn’t want to go into all that.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m just terrif
ied of falling back into my old habits, my self-destructive nature…making poor choices that reap bitter consequences.”
“You won’t,” I promised.
“Yeah, but how do you know I won’t?” he asked, sounding desperate, like he didn’t trust himself.
“Because I’m right here,” I said softly, “to help you, support you, and encourage you. That is, as long as you want me here.”
“Honestly,” he whispered, “I can’t imagine it any other way.”
****
A few days later, Chris’s knock at my door startled me. I wasn’t expecting him so early. He had decided weeks ago that when he left Cleveland, he’d take I-77 instead of I-75 so he could swing through Charlotte on his way to Atlanta. Alexis just happened to be spending the weekend at her dad’s house, so it worked out perfectly.
I hadn’t had time to shower or apply my makeup or change clothes. I still had my hair up in the messy bun I’d slept in the night before. Half of the afternoon was spent trying to perfect homemade biscuits from scratch. He was so excited about this homemade meal that there was no way I was going to serve him biscuits I’d popped out of the can. I wiped my hands on my grandmother’s old apron, smoothed out my hair as best I could without a mirror, and headed for the door, heart racing.
When I reached the door, I glanced at my reflection in the window and almost changed my mind. No makeup, hair sticking out all over the place, and flour all over my face. He knocked again. Dammit. The hottest rock star on the planet was about to see me looking like I could turn Medusa to stone.
“Salem?” Chris’s muffled voice called through the thick, wooden door.
Shit. Oh well. Now or never.
I reached for the knob, creaking the door open slowly while I peeked outside. Chris stood on my front stoop with a vase full of gerbera daisies. My favorite! I bit my lip, taking in his sexy sculpted pecs in that tight, thermal shirt, and then I remembered what I looked like.
Chris stood, dumbfounded, holding the vase in front of him and staring at me. I cringed, totally embarrassed.
I hooked a few stray strands of hair behind my ear, which immediately fell right back into my face. “I…I’m sorry,” I stammered, wrinkling my nose. “I didn’t get a chance to change before you got here.”
“Wow,” Chris responded with wide eyes. “You look…you look normal.”
I looked around, confused. “Thanks?” Was that a compliment?
He cleared his throat. “No, I mean…you look amazing. Most of the girls I see are dressed to kill in their five inch stilettos and short, tight dresses, trying way too hard to impress the band, but you…you look…” He gulped and said softly, “like home.”
I peered up at him. His dark eyes watched me as I nervously twisted my apron around my finger. Home? Home meaning…something he could come home to? My knees almost buckled beneath me and my heart raced in my chest. “I…I’ve been making biscuits,” I said a little too brightly. “Breakfast for supper.”
Chris smiled warmly. “I can tell. You have some flour on your nose.” He tapped my nose, chuckling as he added, “And in your hair.” Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across my cheek. “And right there, too.”
The sensation of his fingertips along the side of my face sent a jolt of lightning to my toes. The warmth of his skin on mine spread across my cheek. I closed my eyes for a millisecond and nearly leaned against the touch of his thumb as it stroked my cheek. Oh god. I melted under the blaze of his caress.
“Oh,” he said, jerking his hand away from my face. “These are for you.” He held the vase toward me.
I immediately missed his touch, and instinctively reached up to cup my cheek as if I were trying to trap the tingle on my skin. “Thank you,” I said, taking the flowers from him and inhaling their scent. “Please, come in.” I motioned for him to step inside.
“Thanks.” He slipped out of his jacket as soon as he stepped into the foyer. “Something smells delicious.”
“Oh! I almost forgot!” I rushed into the kitchen and jerked open the oven door. Grabbing an oven mitt from the counter, I yanked the pan off the rack. My third attempt at making biscuits was finally a success. On the hot stone sat one dozen perfectly formed, fluffy, golden brown biscuits just waiting to be doused with gravy and devoured.
I set the pan on the hot pad just as Chris walked into the kitchen. “Wow. You got the scratch-made biscuit thing down to an art,” he noted with admiration.
I laughed, admitting, “It took several tries.”
He smiled back. “It took my grandmother five years before she perfected her biscuits.”
“Well, let’s just see if they taste as good as they look,” I warned, lacking confidence in my baking skills.
Chris walked to the stove, peering at the pots and pans on the burners. “Fried livermush and sausage gravy? You really know the way to my heart, huh?”
I smiled at him. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I haven’t fixed homemade sausage gravy in years. I’m just praying it’s edible.”
Chris grinned at the lumpy gravy. “Anything homemade is better than drive-thru food.” He looked at me and laughed. Not the kind of polite laugh you’d use in awkward social situations, but the belly-aching, horse laugh you’d use when you’re one hundred percent comfortable with the person you’re talking to.
“What’s funny?” I asked, happy of the fact that he’d let his guard down in front of me, but still reeling over the fact that he was standing in my kitchen.
He shook his head. “I just thought of that time in juvie when DeAndre asked Mrs. Collins what we were having for lunch that day, and she’d said, ‘I’m serving everyone’s favorite today…cow patties.’” He imitated sweet old Ruth’s voice to a tee. My heart swelled at the goofy look on his face. I loved that he was so comfortable here. He sighed nostalgically. “The look on DeAndre’s face was priceless!” Then Chris burst out laughing again. It was contagious, and I burst out laughing too. Every time we’d try to stifle our laughter one of us would giggle again and the whole fiasco started over. Finally getting it under control, Chris sputtered, “I guess…I guess where he comes from…‘cow patties’ have a different meaning!” He chuckled again, and I couldn’t help but grin.
I wiped a giggle-induced tear from the corner of my eye and caught my breath. “I have some great memories from that place.”
Chris nodded. “Me too. I learned a lot about love and life in that place…” his voice trailed.
Not wanting to be reminded of past pains, I changed the subject. “You hungry?” I asked eagerly.
He smiled, patting his flat stomach. “Starved.”
I imagined the rippled abs underneath his shirt and wondered what it would be like to touch them…to feel his reaction to me touching them…
“Well, let’s eat!” I shook myself from my fantasy and grabbed a plate, filling it full of scrambled eggs, fried livermush, and fresh fruit.
Turning around, I handed Chris the plate. He tore his biscuit apart and slopped some gravy on top of each side. I hadn’t eaten gravy biscuits in years; I’d almost forgotten how to fix them. Thank god for the internet.
I fixed my own plate, and we sat down across from each other at the small rectangular table in the middle of the kitchen.
Chris enjoyed his food moaning with almost every bite. It made me laugh how vocal he was. It also made me think about that dream, and how he moaned in my mouth when I kissed him. Don’t even go there, Salem. But I couldn’t help it. “Salem, this is the best damn sausage gravy I’ve had since my grandma made it for me before she passed away eight years ago.”
Whoa. I felt honored being compared to his grandmother. I suddenly felt like I’d won a lifetime achievement award for my kitchen skills. “Thank you,” I said, taking a deep breath and leaning back in my chair. I’d barely eaten half of what was on my plate. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.
Chris, on the other hand, devoured his food, practically licking the last drips of gravy off of my Mikasa
French Countryside dinner plate. “Now all I need is a pillow and a blanket,” he said with a very satisfied smile, rubbing his full belly.
I laughed, loving all of this. Chris in my home. Sitting at my table. Eating my homemade food. It was all very fulfilling in a way I’d never even noticed I was missing.
“I guess it’s funny the first time you hear it,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table. “My grandfather always told the waitress that at every single restaurant we ever went to. It was embarrassing when I became a teenager. After about nine hundred times, it just wasn’t funny anymore. But I knew you’d get a kick out of it.”
That reminded me. “Speaking of family, how are your parents?”
He grimaced. “I don’t talk to my folks as often as I should.”
“But your dad’s doing better?”
He nodded, smiling, “Yeah, once he got out of prison, he got his life straight. I was already living at the beach by the time he got home, so I was one less kid to have to pay for. They didn’t have to struggle so hard to make ends meet. And now they don’t have to struggle at all. I make sure of that.”
“That’s sweet of you.” I glanced down at the food I’d pushed unconsciously to one side of my plate.
“Eh, I do what I can. It’s the least I can do, really,” he said humbly, shrugging his shoulders and staring off into the distance.
The look on Chris’s face suddenly became very serious. “Salem,” Chris sighed. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
The tone of his voice made me nervous. “What is it?” I asked fretfully.
****
CHRIS
I’d been waiting for a chance to talk to her about Ethan. My stomach churned and my heart pounded in my chest. It would be the first time I’d admit aloud to anyone what happened between me and Kaitlyn at the beach. Not even Jeremy knew the whole truth. I barely had the courage to tell Salem, but it had to be done. I didn’t want any secrets between us.
“It’s about Kaitlyn…” I sputtered, feeling my heart thumping wildly.