Her eyes narrow at the corners, but her lips twitch.
“Yeah. I thought I had it all under control. The baby was taken care of. I never missed a rehearsal. Knew my lines cold. Executed all my numbers flawlessly.” A husky laugh shakes her shoulders. “But, apparently, I didn’t have Rhyson under control. We had, what we in the South like to call, a come to Jesus meeting.”
“Yeah, I think Grip and I just had one of those this morning,” I say wryly. “He wants us, the kids and me, to go on tour with him.”
“Wow.” Surprise widens her dark eyes. “That would be hard for you, huh?”
“Very.” I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “I was going to focus on the New York office while he was on tour. I knew we were missing each other, but I just thought it was a season. I just don’t want to let anyone down, especially not Grip.”
“You’re helping run one of the fastest-growing record labels in the country and managing some of the biggest stars on the scene,” Kai says gently. “You have a two-year-old and an infant who’s still breastfeeding and not quite sleeping through the night. Cut yourself some slack.”
After I had Nina, I had so much to do at Prodigy that I threw myself into work. Then I got pregnant with Martin and ran myself ragged preparing for maternity leave. I cut leave short to get back and make up for lost time.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I smile weakly. “I just thought everything was running smoothly. For Grip to feel that we’re drifting . . .”
I link my fingers in front of me and shake my head helplessly.
“Bris, we’re married to brilliant men. They’re possessive, intense, demanding. They want everything.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
Kai’s smile is wistful.
“But they give everything, too,” she says. “There isn’t anything Rhyson wouldn’t do for me. Nothing he wouldn’t give up for me. Loving him, living with him, is like standing in a storm sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our guys are rare. I hit the lottery when I met your brother, and I don’t mean because of his money. I wouldn’t trade him for all the movie roles in Hollywood. I’m a lucky woman.”
Her phone rings from her purse, and she reaches for it, but holds our stare.
“And so are you,” she finishes, glancing at the screen. “Speak of the devil.”
“Rhyson?” I ask with a smile, because he’s probably waiting at home with a ruler to measure how much skin they’re allowed to show in this movie.
“You guessed it.” She puts the phone to her ear and grins. “Hey, you.”
“I’m gonna go,” I whisper, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
She nods and waves.
“Yeah, we insisted on the no nipple clause you wanted,” she says, rolling her eyes at me.
Demanding. Intense. Possessive.
That’s Grip, but Kai’s right. I wouldn’t have him any other way. I have big decisions ahead of me. I can’t lose him, but I can’t lose myself either. I don’t want to resent him down the road because I feel like I missed out on something. I do have two young children. I am running a booming record label.
And I can’t remember the last time I gave Grip a blow job.
That’s kind of my thing. I’m really good at it.
But I also can’t remember the last time we watched television together or discussed politics or something he’s written. I’m driving home and combing my thoughts for those missed moments when the phone rings.
“Mrs. O’Malley,” I say, using the car’s phone connection so I can remain focused on the road. “How are you?”
It’s been months since I spoke with the woman who sold us our place in New York, but I’m always glad to hear from her.
“I’m not . . .” Her voice breaks. “Bristol, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to get into the apartment.”
I frown and get off on the exit that takes me home.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You sound upset.”
“There’s a letter,” she says, tears soaking the words. “From Patrick.”
My heart stumbles in my chest at the name of her husband who lost a prolonged battle with Alzheimer’s a few months ago.
“Where?” I ask, feeling her urgency reach me across the phone and across the country. “What letter?”
“The home he lived in at the end, the staff found some of his things that had been left in another room. Before he . . .”
She breaks off again and her small sob tears at my heart.
“Go on, Mrs. O’Malley, please.”
“At the end, he lost speech and wasn’t even connected to this world, but he must have had a flash of memory before he died,” she continues with difficulty. “He wrote a note telling me there was one letter I never found. We used to leave letters for each other all over the house, and there’s one I never found.”
“We’ve done significant renovations, Mrs. O’Malley.” I rack my brain for anything we could have unwittingly discarded. “I haven’t seen anything. I’m not sure if it would still be there.”
“Is the tree still in the greenhouse?” she asks, hope pinned to every word. “On the roof?”
“Yes! We haven’t touched the tree.”
“Good,” she breathes. “When I was working on a difficult design, I would go out there to plant flowers. Dig around until things made sense. There was a bed of roses at the base of that tree.”
“There still is,” I assure her.
“He buried it there,” she says tearfully. “It may only say don’t forget the wine for dinner. I don’t care. Any word from him, anything. I’ll take anyth—”
Her words are lost in tears. I allow her space, not knowing where to begin comforting her. I’ve only had a few years married to Grip and I would be inconsolable if he died. She and Patrick were married fifty years.
“I’ll call and let building security know you’re coming,” I say after a few moments. “They have all our codes on file and can get you in.”
“Thank you, Bristol,” she whispers. “Give Grip and the kids my love.”
Grip and the kids.
“I sure will,” I promise with a tearful smile.
Four
Grip
I hear the garage door open and close, followed by the chime of the security system when someone enters the house.
Bristol’s home.
I glance at my watch, noting how late it is. She’s been gone all day. Other than a text telling me she had something come up, I haven’t heard a thing from her. After our conversation this morning, that doesn’t bode well.
I pull the cover over Nina’s narrow shoulders before turning out the “big light” as she calls it. I poke my head into the nursery to make sure Martin is still asleep. He’ll be up for a feeding in a few hours.
A few hours. With my wife, who I hope didn’t bring any work home. I canceled tonight’s studio session so we could have some time together. I don’t want to come off as the guy who expects his wife to set aside her ambitions to follow me. It isn’t that. It’s just not the right time for us to be apart. And if we can arrange it so she and the kids can come with me . . .
Of course, we can. I have lots of money and so does Bris. Prodigy is her brother’s label. If there was ever a recipe for flexibility, we’ve got it. It’s a matter of priority. I know what my priorities are. Will ours align?
When I enter the kitchen, she’s transferring food from take-out containers to plates. She looks up with a wary smile when I enter.
“Hey,” she says softly, pulling silverware from the drawer. “Did you get my text that I was picking up dinner?”
“Yeah, sorry I forgot to reply. I was giving Nina her bath.”
She sets the plates onto the marble countertop and perches on one of the bistro stools, nodding to the seat beside her.
“Sit? Eat?” she asks and pulls out a bottle of wine, pouring herself a glass. “Wine?”
I don’t answer but I take the other stool and pick up a fork. I don’t realize how hungry I am until I have my first bite.
“Hmmm.” I chew the succulent chicken and the fresh vegetables. “That new place up the street?”