Xander
Daylight threatens to break at any moment. We’re lying here together, and it seems unreal. I can hear our heartbeats in the silence between us. In all the years we’ve been apart I’ve never found anyone that makes me feel like she does. It’s as if my heart closed off after our breakup and it took her letting me back in to reopen it. Hearing her say those three words to me last night and telling her I felt the same—it was the truest and most honest feeling I’ve ever shared with anyone.
I’m rubbing circles along her back and she’s tracing the lines that are inked down my side. We slept only a few hours, but I feel more rested than I have in weeks. I woke up this morning ready for her, so I put my hands between her legs and did everything to her I’ve wanted to do over the past month.
Now she’s lying on my chest and the sapphire earrings are still in her ears. “My grandmother would be happy that you still wear the earrings she gave you.”
She clutches one and twists it in her ear. “I never take them out. They’re the most special gift I’ve ever received.”
My hand catches the back of her neck and I tilt her head toward mine. Her statement makes me equally as happy and sad.
“I loved her too, you know. I’m sorry I didn’t make it to her funeral.”
“Yes, I miss her, and my grandfather. At least they didn’t have to be apart long. The six months my grandfather was alive without her, he was lost. I moved in with him when his depression took over. Really he just didn’t want to live without her. And at eighty—who could blame him? He had been with her for so long and he just really loved her.”
Silence takes over and we lie here together.
“Tell me something?” she asks, flipping onto her back and staring at the ceiling.
“Anything.”
“How do you see this going?” she asks, motioning between the two of us.
My lips twist into a sad smile as I pull her onto my chest. “We’ll take one day at a time together. Twelve years is a long time and we have a lot to learn about each other. But I’m not planning on spending any more days apart.”
“Do you think relationships can work that way?”
“What way is that?”
“That something once broken, irreparably, like us, can be so easily mended?”
I shift to hover over her, taking her wrists and pinning her arms to her sides. Kissing her neck, I slide my tongue up to her mouth before answering. “I think all relationships are different and each one has its own dynamics. There are no rules to follow. So, yes, I think if we both want this bad enough there’s no reason we can’t have it.”
Her eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips, and I take that as a sign not only that she agrees but also that she wants me to kiss her, which I most happily do.
? ? ?
We’ve spent the morning naked in bed, ordering room service and just talking. We talked about my brother and his decision to leave the band. I even told her about the difficulty I had accepting his decision. She told me about her years in Chicago and that she hasn’t seen her family in some time. She told me why she stopped singing last year, and I was really proud of her for taking a stand and trying to gain control of her own career. Then she finally told me about her money worries and why she doesn’t want to piss Damon off. We got lost in so many conversations that when I finally pick up my phone to check the time, I bolt straight up. “Shit, it’s almost eleven.”
She pushes up onto her elbows and looks up at me. “I have to go. We’re supposed to meet on the bus in less than an hour,” she says, rushing out of bed and quickly pulling her dress over her head.
I nod and stand to stretch.
She stares at me—her dark eyes gleaming and her mouth twisting into a smile that I can’t resist returning. Then I pull her to me so I can kiss her. She tugs on my lip and presses her body to mine and there it goes. Fuck, I have to get this under control.
“I have to get ready,” she breathes.
“I know.” I’m already pulling her dress back up over her head. “But you can be fifteen minutes late. The bus won’t leave without you. I promise.”
? ? ?
Ivy’s full of confidence and poise onstage without her trademark guitar. Both of her hands are on the microphone stand and her head is down, waiting for the music. She’s wearing a short one-piece black outfit with lace sleeves. When she slipped it on this morning, I thought we were going to be really late for the show. And when she started out the door with it on I had to stop her.
She smirked at me. “What?” she asked.
“Why are you wearing your pajamas to perform?”