Two Years and Seven Seconds Later
August
My strut offstage wasn’t pretty. I nearly bailed over a set of cables, I accidentally knocked over the water glass I’d had the roadies set out, and I almost dropped my guitar while handing it off. Getting my hands on Gwen trumped a smooth exit.
Fans were great. Performing was a rush. Nothing beat wrapping her in my arms, especially when it had been three long weeks.
She grinned when I stepped backstage, clapping like it was the first time she’d seen me in concert. “You were amazing.”
I lifted her up and pressed my face into her neck. “Missed you so fucking much.”
She giggled when I bit her collarbone. “I couldn’t get here fast enough. Wish I could have caught the start of the show.” She said this while covering my face in kisses. I landed a dirty one on her mouth.
My brother wolf-whistled, obnoxiously enough to pull us apart. “You don’t get paid more for the peep show.”
I snagged a guitar pick from my pocket and flicked it at him. “Might need to amend my contract.”
He failed to bat away my pathetic assault and the pick hit his cheek. He curled his lip playfully. “Doubt Uncle Rex will be flexible, but I could book you at Hunk-O-Mania. Bet those women would slide money down your G-string if you show skin.”
Having Finch as my manager had invigorated my North American career, enough that I could split my time between Europe and here. Unfortunately, it came with his smart mouth. “The only woman I strip for is right here.” I kissed Gwen again.
Finch groaned. “You guys need to keep the PDA on lockdown.”
Gwen blew him a kiss. “Not a chance.”
Grumbling, he marched off, and I breathed in all things Gwen. “Happy birthday, Possum. Sorry it’s slightly late.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s the best one yet.”
“You say that every year.”
“I mean it every year.”
If we were alone, I’d make sure nothing beat this year’s celebration. I’d glide her zipper down and slip my hand into her panties, coat my fingers in her wetness and make her shudder. Then I’d make love to her all night. All morning, too. Man, did I miss her.
I’d arrived in San Francisco late this afternoon, had hightailed it to the Blue-Eyed Raven before Gwen had finished work. She, of course, had to spend time with Rachel and Ainsley before making the show. Our whirlwind of a life.
“Where’s my girl?” I asked while sneaking a taste of her ear.
“Right here.”
Damn straight. “And my other girl?”
“In your dressing room. Sarah’s with her.”
After much deliberation, Gwen had decided to call her mother and her aunt by their given names. Not Mom and Aunt Mary. Less confusion for her. As awful as Gwen’s childhood had been at times, she saw Mary in a different light now. As a woman who’d sacrificed everything to raise her. It didn’t undo the damage those years had caused, but it helped. As did getting to know her birth mother.
Another new woman in my life.
Except the only other girl I was itching to see had my nose, her mother’s eyes, and the prettiest wisps of dark hair this side of the moon.
Keeping a tight hold on Gwen’s hand, I led us to my dressing room. Sarah was reading a magazine while Lola slept in her portable playpen. An eleven-month-old treasure.
I went to reach for my girl, but Gwen tugged me back. “Don’t you dare wake her.”
“But it’s been three weeks.” I sounded like a whiney kid.
“I don’t care if it’s been three years. She has your vocal gift and isn’t afraid to show it. I may need a hearing aid.”
“But I—”
She pressed her finger to my lips. “…but I nothing. You’re gonna make little miss’s mom happy by taking her for a birthday drink while grandma watches The Voice’s future star.”
Sarah waved her magazine in a shooing motion toward the door. “I’ve got my van loaded already. I just need to pack Lola and the playpen, and we’ll be off. I’ll bring her ’round first thing tomorrow.”
Sarah moving to San Francisco last winter had been a godsend. My folks visited from Chicago a couple times a year, not enough to lean on them for support. Having Sarah in town meant Gwen could return to CrossFit and her other pursuits, while someone we trusted watched Lola.
The first six months or so between Sarah and Gwen had been dicey. Nothing easy about discovering your estranged aunt was your mother. The two had worked hard to move forward, even visiting Ted Mercer’s home together. He hadn’t had any other children, but they’d talked with his widow, had learned he’d left his criminal pursuits in favor of construction work. A simple life for a complicated man, in the end. The meeting had given Sarah and Gwen some closure.
Watching them together now, how easily they smiled, how Sarah strived to ease Gwen’s burdens, spend time with Lola, get to know our family? It choked me up at times.
“I’ll agree to whisking Gwen away on a late-night date,” I said, “if I get to carry Lola to your van.” I was needy to smell Lola’s baby smell, a mix of springtime and lavender and perfection.
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Fine, but you better not tickle her.”
“We have a deal.”
Gingerly, I lifted Lola and cradled her against my chest. My fragile sweet thing. She gurgled, the soft sound filling my heart until it nearly burst, and I fought the urge to wake her. I got her settled in her car seat without incident. I didn’t tickle or poke her just to see her open her eyes. Vibrant eyes, like her mother’s.
Gwen said Lola looked more like me. I thought she looked more like her. My wife. Words I never thought would describe Gwen Hamilton. Other words came to mind, the ones that filled my lyrics these days.
Partner.
Lover.
Mate.
Everything.
And always fever. For the rest of my life, I’d burn for this woman.
THE END