“No one ever said it would be easy.” ~ Johnny Outlaw
I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I don’t want to fight, so I let it slide when I hear the alert that someone has entered the house. I stay in my room with the door locked, but I can hear him rummaging around the kitchen and watching TV. My attitude is bad right now, my sarcasm at a high. I’m so glad he’s so okay with everything because I’m sure not. Rolling my eyes, I roll over and close them, hoping to sleep.
In the middle of the night, I open the door and sneak out. I tiptoe into the living room and find him asleep on the couch. I click off the TV and take the blanket from the chair to drape over him. Sitting down on the coffee table in front of him, I lean down and tilt my head to the side to look at him, really look at him. It’s been too long.
He’s better looking than any photo or memory can serve. Like me, he has dark circles under his eyes as well and I find comfort in that, like he might have actually lost some sleep too while we were apart. Leaning in even closer, I tuck the blanket over his shoulder and slowly, ever so lightly kiss him on the cheek. I can’t resist. He shifts suddenly and his lips are against mine, his hand on my neck. My eyes close and I stay there, needing this as much as he does. But I come to my senses and stand up quickly, trying to leave. He grabs my hand before I escape and says, “Stay, Baby. I want you to stay.”
I can’t say anything, unsure of the emotions that might come out, so I slip my hand from his and go back to the bedroom. I’m too tired to fight and it’s too soon to make up. I get back into bed and go to sleep instead.
I smell bacon.
Dalton doesn’t cook, so I’m curious as to who is. I slip on my robe and open the door, peeking into the hallway and looking in all directions before I step out. The coast is clear so I continue down the hall and across the living room to the kitchen. Holding onto the corner of the wall, I spy Dalton standing at the stove with his back to me. There’s a plate of bacon next to him and a stack of pancakes plated next to that. I watch as he goes to the fridge and pulls the orange juice out.
Even though I’m starved and the food smells amazing, I’m dumbstruck by the fact that he’s here… and shirtless… and cooking for me. Or maybe he’s cooking for himself. Who knows? I turn around to head back to the bedroom when I realize that many wrongs can be righted by crispy bacon, but our troubles run deeper than an incredible smelling plate of pancakes with extra syrup.
My stomach growls and I rub it, whispering, “I’ll feed you soon, baby.”
“You can feed the baby now, if you like. I cooked breakfast for you, for you both.” I turn around to find him standing there with cooking tongs in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. He holds it out to me. “I didn’t squeeze it, but I bought it for you.”
A reply comes in the form of another growl from my tummy. His eyes lower to my hand. I remove it and loosen my robe just enough to hide the shape of my body, feeling a little uncomfortable. My body has changed in ways that he might not find attractive anymore. I’ve changed in ways he might not find attractive anymore. All my self-doubts about where we stand after all these lonely months hit me. “I should get dressed.”
“You should eat, Holliday.” He references behind him. “I made it for you. I know it doesn’t make up for anything, but please… eat.”
I lick my lips and my bottom one ends up tugged under my teeth in debate. “It smells really good. You’ve never cooked before.”
“I’ve helped you cook before and I can read directions,” he says with a smallish smile that hits my heart full force by its charm.
My head knows better than to fall for his lines this time around. “I’ll eat, but only because I don’t want it to go to waste.”
I straighten my shoulders and take the orange juice from him as I walk by with the intention of getting stuffed. He makes me a plate and then makes one for himself and sits down across from me at the table. I inhale half the pancakes before I feel his eyes on me, drawing mine up to his. With a piece of bacon in hand, I point at him. “Don’t think this makes it all go away. I’m serious.”
“I know you are. But I am too. I’m back and I’m going to put us back together.”
“What if I don’t want to be put back together with you?” I take a big bite of the bacon, but keep my eyes trained on him.
He sets his fork down and rests his arms on the table. “Do you not love me anymore? Has it been that easy to forget me?”
Gulping, I look down not sure if I want to answer that because he’ll see through my strong front, right into my weak heart. But my feistier side has every intention of doing just that. “Easy? The last four and a half months have been the hardest of my life. Everything we said we’d never be, never do to each other, we did. And then when I fly across the country to be by your side, I find another woman has already replaced me. So easy is not the word I would ever choose or ever think of when I’ll think back on this time.” I stand up and add, “Thank you for breakfast.” Wanting to leave before the anger grips me again, I grab one more piece of bacon off my plate and the glass of orange juice and go.
“I hope we’ll be able to talk about this soon. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
Turning back, I say, “Who said I will be?”
His expression falls, taking any hope he held with it. And now I feel bad. I turn back around knowing now is not the time for this discussion. I can’t carry around this much armor if I ever want to find peace.
After a long shower, I get dressed and settle down on the couch for a few hours to recover from eating too much. I’ve been using the paperback in my hands as a cover to sneak peeks at Dalton. He’s been sitting in the chair by the window messing with his phone for the last twenty minutes. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of him. I can see the difference in him this morning. Beyond his sweetness toward me, I don’t quite remember his eyes being that green, that vibrant. I’m guessing as time passed without him, they had dulled in my memories. I shift on the couch so he’s not framed so perfectly by the large windows. Trying to get back into my book, I turn the page with irritation, the corner catching my finger, tearing into my skin. “Ouch!” I mumble to myself.
The blood pools at the tip and I hold it up when I decide I need a Band-aid. But Dalton’s there taking hold of my hand. “It’s not too bad,” he says, analyzing it, then leans forward wrapping his lips around it.
Holy… the feel of his tongue wrapped around my finger shoots sensations through my body like a current being awakened. I wiggle as nonchalantly as I can as I pull my finger back. The blood is all gone. Gulping, I take my finger back from his gentle grip and look into his eyes. He asks, “Too soon?”
“I’m not sure,” I reply, standing up and maneuvering around him to escape to the bedroom. As soon as I enter the hallway, I lean against the wall, needing to catch my breath. My heart is racing and my mind is a whirlwind challenging my best interest.
“You okay?”
I jump, startled, and so busted by him. He smiles as he stands there, watching me. All flustered, I wave my hands in the air erratically. “I’m fine. Okay. Just fine.” I raise my chin into the air and hurry to the bedroom. As soon as the door closes, I fall against it and instantly lock it behind my back. Putting my hand to my head, I check my temperature because I feel so heated. “Damn him.”
Running to the nightstand, I grab my phone and call Tracy. When she answers, I whisper, “He’s here.”
“Holli? Is that you?”
“Dalton’s here.”
She starts whispering. “Why are we whispering? And oh my God, he’s there? Where’s there? Where are you? At home?”
“He’s here in Ojai. He showed up a few hours after me.”
“When did you get there?” she asks back in normal volume.
“Yesterday. Long story, but Tracy, he’s here and he looks really good and I missed him, but I’m still so mad at him and hurt.”
“Take it slow.”
“I am, but all I want to do is jump him.” Damn him and his tempting tongue. “How am I this horny when I’m pregnant?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. Ask Rochelle about that. All I know is you have to be strong—emotionally and physically. He can’t just waltz back into your life like nothing happened. He owes you an apology or thirty.”
“First of all, Dalton doesn’t waltz, but even if he did, I wouldn’t just let him back in that easily—emotionally or physically. But I can’t keep him out of the house and I kind of don’t want to. I need to hear what he has to say, but I can only do that when I’m feeling good and strong. Maybe after dinner or at least after another meal when I’m not so stuffed. Oh and he cooked me breakfast and he doesn’t cook, ever. But he did for me and the baby.”
“That sounds very thoughtful, Holli.”
“I know. That’s the problem. He came back and he’s like a different person, but somehow is still him. You know I’m weak to him. Remember Vegas?”
“I do remember Vegas.” She starts laughing. “Maybe different is good. I mean maybe he’s realized his mistake and he wants to make up for it.”
Sighing, I peek out the window. “He’s been teasing me all day, dilly-dallying around the property, checking on things like the sprinkler heads and gutters. Just super normal things that he doesn’t usually do. Oh,” I say, completely offended, “And he’s shirtless.” Damn those abs and biceps. I lift up on my knees. Did his shoulders get broader?
“Well, well, well, Mrs. Dalton.” Another loud laugh is heard. “It’s hot out there today.”
I snap, “It’s not that hot. He’s teasing me on purpose.”
“Or tempting you. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You sound pretty damn weak right now. I think his evil plan is working.”
Dropping my head against the cushion, I reply, “I know. I told you. I’m so weak. Send some backbone my way.”
“I don’t have any to spare, but I do have the final contracts for the card line.”
“That’s a positive. I’m behind on those by the way.”
“I know. I also got you an extension.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey Hols?”
Dalton drops down into the grass and starts doing pushups. I roll my eyes, but return my gaze even faster. “Good God, that man!”
“Holli?”
Her screeching tone brings me back to the call. “Huh?”
“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. This isn’t about the rest of the world. You and Johnny, what happens between you is only between you two. Don’t let the media run your relationship anymore. Talk to him or let him talk to you, but talk.”
She makes me smile. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Do. For you and that baby. Now go enjoy your weekend and see what happens next.”
“I’m on pins and needles myself, wondering exactly that.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too, Trace. Thanks and we’ll talk soon.”
“Bye.”
After hiding out in the room for an hour, I decide to spend time reading in the backyard. When I walk into the living room I catch a glimpse of him through the window and stop to watch. With a measuring tape and spray paint in his hands, I can’t tell what he’s doing, but it’s intriguing, so I stand off to the side so he can’t see me and stare.
My gaze slips down like a sweat bead caressing each of his muscles. I gulp and then bite my lip. He sure didn’t let himself go when he lost himself. From head to toe and back again, I enjoy the view and even linger a few moments on his strong jaw. He’s always had that sexy, cut jaw line. Articles have been written about it. I’ve licked it, sucked it, and kissed it too many times to count. I take a long shuddering breath, my whole body remembering what it’s like to be with him.
I drop down to his tattoos, admiring the tiger one on his chest that I’ve enjoyed in very dirty ways. But something else catches my eyes. I do a quick checklist of his tattoos. Hula girl. Forty-four for Hank Aaron. Texas Flag. Three .45 Colt guns over his ribs. The tiger covering his heart and an unrecognizable one in the center of his chest. Mother of Zeus… Ugh! He got another tattoo while we were apart. Furious, I grab his shirt on the way out the door.
Stomping toward him, I say, “What have you done, Dalt… I mean Johnny.” Damn it! I’ve been trying to call him by the name he seems to prefer these days. My slip. My bad. I take a deep breath and try to pull myself together.
“What?” he asks, looking up, so freaking innocently.
I point at his body. “What’s that on your chest?” Then I gasp, covering my mouth with my free hand. “Did you… You got—”
Looking down, he points to his new tattoo. “I got your name right over my heart. Some think the heart is on the left side of the body, but it’s actually right in the middl—”
“I know where the heart is, but why’d you get my name tattooed? That’s permanent, you know,” I say stupidly, still dumbfounded.
“You were always with me Holliday. I could feel you. I just couldn’t touch you.”
My lips part and I suck in a breath since he stole mine away seconds earlier. It’s hard to stay mad at someone when they say such amazing things, but I must. I throw the tee at him and say, “Put on a shirt!” I walk back inside and huff as I lean against the counter. He’s playing hardball with this shirtless, tattoo business. If he keeps going like this, I’m gonna have to cause some trouble of my own.
Before I have time to put any retaliation plans into action, four men show up with boxes and lay them on the lawn. I toss the push-up bra and extremely low-cut shirt I was going to put on for Operation Counter-Tease Attack, and instead run to the kitchen window to spy on them. What is he up to? I have no idea what they’re building, but I’m getting mad that they’re messing up the lawn.
I stay seated with a bowl of soup in front of me and watch them like I’m watching TV. An hour after they start, I stand up when I realize what’s happening. “For fuck’s sake!” I storm back outside. Dalton waves at me, a huge smile on his face, an electric screwdriver in his hand. His shirt is off again and thoughts of romance novels come to mind as I imagine the dirty things I want to do to him right now. “Come here please.”
He walks over, wiping the sweat from his hairline with his forearm. Gah! He’s too sexy for his own good and mine. “Hi,” he says so innocently.
“You’re building a play-thingy?” My heart melts just a little saying it out loud.
“A playscape.”
“I figured, but why?”
“For the baby. We don’t have a park or anything nearby, so I thought I’d create one here for him… or her?” His voice goes up at the end as if I’ll actually answer that. “And because I wanted to do something for it.”
Rubbing my stomach, I snap, “It’s not an ‘It.’ ”
“I don’t know what we’re having. I’m sorry. I’m new at this.”
“That’s because you’ve missed it all.” But even though I feel that way, I suddenly remember to leave some of the armor behind and say, “I don’t know what we’re having either, but I know it’s not an it!”
I turn to leave, frustrated I even bothered to come out here, but he grabs my hand and says, “No matter if the baby is a boy or girl, the baby will be loved.”
“Will it?” My anger slips out so easily and I hate that, but I can’t help wanting to hear more of his declarations. His touch feels too good and I selfishly stay.
“I’m sorry, Angel. More sorry than I’ll ever be able to express through words. I want to ask you for forgiveness, but I can tell you’re not in a place to give that to me, so I’ll try to earn it, even if it takes forever. I screwed up. It was a hard lesson to learn, but when I heard you had disappeared, all of that, all my problems seemed trivial in comparison. I was driving cross country and suddenly realized that everything I thought I was looking for was here all along. I haven’t shown you how much I love you and this baby, but I promise I will.”
The grin that greeted me in Vegas in that corridor shows up and I soften, just a little to the notion of our being together again.
He says, “Everything I need is standing before me wearing a Foo Fighters shirt that looks like the one Dave Grohl gave me three years ago at my party down on Sunset. And even though it makes me fucking insane seeing you wear another bands shirt, I understand that everything I own, you own, so I’ll let you take the jab at me because I deserve it.”
Heat rises in my cheeks and I take my hand back from him. Looking down at the shirt which has a large photo of Dave Grohl smiling on it, I feel that maybe I do want to have our talk sooner than later. The guys call him over to inspect something. When he turns back, I say, “Guess you need to go.”
He sounds disappointed. “Yeah, guess so.” He revs the electric screwdriver and that makes me smile uncontrollably.
As he walks backward away from me, I say, “Just so you know, the shirt wasn’t a jab. It was just the top one on the pile. I’m still partial to The Resistance.”
With an arrogant grin shining across his face, he takes a chance, “What about me? Are you still partial to me?”
“Don’t push your luck, buddy,” I say, laughing.
His screwdriver rests against his chest as he feigns a hurt heart. He revs it again and I roll my eyes because that man is utterly ridiculous. I walk back into the house with a huge grin on my own face. Even if I tried to wipe it off, I couldn’t, so I let it stay just a little while longer, enjoying its return.