“My life is more chaotic in some ways and less in other ways. It’s not just about me anymore” ~ Johnny Outlaw
I didn’t know my heart wasn’t beating until I saw Dalton again, and it’s now triple-timing. Standing center stage at the microphone, he isn’t singing, but he’s humming a melody I recognize from many nights in bed. Without any instrumental accompaniment, he starts singing the song we played the night before when we were together. It’s not a part of the concert playlist, but I think it should be. A sliver of his stomach is revealed as he takes hold of the mic, his T-shirt riding up while his jeans hang low despite the belt.
His voice is strong, the emotions raw, so real as he sings the first chorus. Then he stops, looking out into the empty arena. There are no fans screaming his name, no photographers recording or taking photos. Just the road crew setting up on stage, the technician at the soundboard on the floor… and me, sitting in a row too far back for Dalton to really notice. But he stares out anyway as if he can sense me.
The technician tells him to sing one of their faster hits and on command, he does without reservation. His voice is unique and intimidating in talent, and has a sexual undercurrent that drives me wild. But considering how many hits they have, his voice drives a lot of women wild.
I stand up and start walking toward the stage. The tech cuts him off, requesting Dex, the drummer, on stage for his check. Dalton walks away from the mic, but stops. I’m close enough for him to see me if he looks in my direction, but a war seems to be waging in his head and he shakes it. When I reach the barrier on the floor, I yell, “Hey rock star?”
He turns with a wry grin sliding into place. It’s the one that can get me naked anywhere. Slowly, he walks closer until he’s at the edge of the stage. “What are you doing here?”
“I had an unexpected wanderlust.”
“I like you lusting.”
I laugh and step up on the barrier, leaning closer. “What does a groupie have to do to get her idol alone?”
“Idol, huh?” He squats, his arms resting on his knees as he watches me. “I could get used to that.”
“Go ahead. There’s no point in hiding the truth.”
Hopping down to the floor, he lands, then moves in front of me. My lips reunite with his. When we part, he says, “You have never understood the depth of my love for you. I could never be your idol, when I happily bow at your feet.”
“I don’t want you bowing. I want you face-to-face, your lips on mine, and your arms around me.”
He does just that and we kiss again. With the barricade still between us, I lean my head on his chest and say, “I missed you too much to stay away.”
“I miss you always.”
We order room service and have an early dinner since he has the show tonight. Sitting across from each other at the table by the window, I say, “Watching the sun set always makes me reflective.”
“I don’t need reflection. I’ve done enough of that for five lifetimes.”
He has too. From his childhood to Cory’s death, he’s been to the darkest recesses of those dreaded places in his head. Pulling him back was not easy, but I love him too much to let him dwell in the despair that impaired him. He’s such a beautiful man—inside and out—he deserves to live this beautiful life to its fullest. Changing the subject, I say, “The colors of the sky are amazing.”
“The way the orange bleeds from yellow to red—”
“And the purples and blues. It’s stunning.”
He looks at me, and asks, “If you could have anything, only one thing, what would it be?”
Slumping down, I lift my leg up onto the chair under me and get comfortable. “Hmmm… that’s hard. Let me think about it. How about you?”
“I think I would have played some small gigs before hitting the road on this big tour.” His expression isn’t somber. He’s resolved.
“Why?” I ask.
“I feel lost on stage sometimes without Cory. I think playing some smaller shows would have prepared me for the stage without him there.”
“Your shows are sold out. Fans are loving the tour. Tommy says your voice is stronger than ever. I agree with him. The time off in Ojai helped you, so how would playing small shows better your performance?”
He pauses, his discomfort obvious as he turns his drink around in his hand. When he sets it down on the table between us, he looks me in the eyes, and says, “In most bands, the drummer sets the pace, the beat of each song, pacing us. But not with us. Cory did. He was an amazing fucking guitarist. So much talent. Did you know he wanted to be a drummer in high school?”
I watch him as he tells the story. “He met Rochelle and that was it. He would have learned any instrument she was interested in just to spend time with her.”
“Wow. He’s a guitar legend because of her,” I say, reflecting on the memories of Cory and Rochelle together.
“She’s a natural. She didn’t have formal lessons. Just picked it up and started playing. Did you know she hasn’t played since we finished the album?”
“I know it’s not easy for her,” I say, referring to her getting over Cory’s death. “But she’s a strong woman and she’ll remain strong for the boys.”
He nods as he looks out the window. When his eyes meet mine again, he asks, “What about kids?”
“What about them?”
“We haven’t talked about kids in a while. Where’s your head at?”
Looking down, I take my drink and down two big gulps. “Not while you’re on the road.”
“The tour won’t last forever, but there will probably always be some traveling.”
“I want you home longer than two days at a time when we have kids. I want you there for the birth. I don’t want to be hoping you make it to the hospital in time.”
The passion he feels about this comes through in his determined tone. “I’ll be there.”
“I’m not asking you to stop forever. I’m just asking around the time I would be due.”
Hope rises in his face. “So what you’re saying is we can start tonight?”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I want to share all the moments with you. That includes peeing on the stick.”
The left side of his mouth lifts up as he looks me in the eyes. “I’ll even hold it if you want.”
“This train has officially jumped the rails,” I joke, shaking my head. “I think I can handle that part.” My smile falls as the reality of the conversation takes hold. “Are you really ready to have kids and settle down?”
“I’m a music man, so I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to settle down. I know this isn’t my last tour—”
“I’m not asking you to give this up. I’m just asking you to be present when you are home.”
“Lying in bed all day isn’t enough?”
“I love lying in bed with you all day. But we can’t do that with a baby.”
He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. After a long pause, he says, “I’m not saying now. I’m just saying one day. I’m almost thirty and although I had no idea what my life would be like once I left Texas, I know that I want it to be with you, so let’s just say ‘one day’ and take the pressure off.”
I can’t seem to take my eyes off him—his handsome face mixed with his sweet words and vulnerable side. It’s enough to make my ovaries give in right here on the spot. “I can do one day with you.”
Dalton’s fingers dance down my skin and I exhale, the air pushed from my lungs when two enter me. I open my legs and he reaches, obliterating everything but this moment.
He watches as my back arches, his teeth scraping across his bottom lip as his eyes devour me. Leaving me bare, empty without his touch, he kneels at the end of the bed. Adrenaline from the show earlier courses through him and he grabs my ankles, pulling me down the mattress until his mouth is on me. I gasp from the intensity of the union as he alternates between sucking and his tongue greedily taking all my willpower, making me come. Dalton is above me, stretching my arms high above my head. Holding my wrists in one of his hands, he lifts my leg with the other, making me bend at the knee. With my other leg hanging off the bed, he’s quick, ridding any thoughts I might have had of gentler sex. I take his pounding, relishing his need for me.
Caught up in the act, I free my hands and push off. I’m lithe, fast as I roll over and look over my shoulder. Wiggling my ass, I try to lure him over. “Don’t leave me waiting,” I whisper my own demand.
I see the spark in his eyes. He’s a man who can’t resist a challenge or luckily, he can’t resist me. Facing forward while he tries to get control of the situation, he comes to me, crawling up the bed until his cock is touching my backside. “You want me, Angel? You want this?” he asks, rubbing one hand over my ass and using his other to stroke himself several times. He’s riled up after the show, high on the adrenaline and I’ve got a contact high.
My breathing picks up from the anticipation and I wait… and wait.
“Answer me.”
Our eyes meet over my shoulder while I hold steady on all fours. “I want you. I want you so much.”
Rubbing the tip of his cock against my pussy several times, I clench wanting to keep him there. He’s at my entrance and I wait while the pressure of his hands slide up my back. Gripping me by the shoulders, he pushes in achingly slow. But I know how to get what I want, so I beg, “Johnny?”
A mumbled “Fuck” is heard from behind me.
“Fuck me.”
Slam!
“Ahhh,” I react loudly, the sounds of his own pleasure weighing equally with mine.
Clawing at the sheets beneath me, I hold on and meet each conjoining with my own thrusts back. He stands tall on his knees, his hands gripping my hips, leveraging my body to his will. “So good,” I moan.
“So good, but…” He thrusts hard a few more times, then pulls out suddenly.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, disappointed he stopped when I was getting so close again.
“I want to see your face. I want to memorize it and remember it when you’re gone.”
My mouth drops open. Managing to close it, I swallow hard. “Okay,” I reply, my voice soft, my heart blanketed in his sweet words. I move to my back and he positions himself and pushes in. This time he’s gentle in his touches, his body moving with calculation, taking his time to illicit a deeper desire.
Stroking along his hairline, I reply, “It’s not been long, but I’ve missed you, missed this so much.”
All at once, we come together, our bodies moving with desire. No holding back, I moan again and he drops down all the way, burying his head against my neck. His warm breath and the weight of him on top of me brings me to the edge again. When he kisses me, our tongues uniting, I concentrate on my orgasm and pulling it forth. All the stimulation teasing my mind and I let go.
His loss of control will be visible later, but I don’t care. As my body relaxes, his teeth sink into my skin. The weight of him covers me as we attempt to recover from our passion.
My breathing is staggered. “I need to get up,” I whisper. When he moves, I slip out of bed and use the restroom. After freshening up, I go back into the bedroom to find Dalton asleep. I quickly check the time before setting the alarm for one hour and climb back into bed. Snuggling against his back, I wrap my arm around his middle. This is Heaven on Earth, our own paradise found.
In the darkest hours of night, the bed dips and I wake. Dalton’s back is to me as he sits hunched over. “Are you okay?”
Without turning around, he says, “Before you go off and defend why it’s okay and tit for tat and all that shit, I know I don’t have a right to be jealous or say shit about this photoshoot you’re gonna do. I know I make videos that probably don’t sit well with you. It’s art. I get it, but it sucks and I don’t like the thought of some guy touching you.” His tone is jaded, deep with emotion—aggression, frustration, concern, sadness.
I remain motionless, taking in his words. He adds, “So when you’re doing the shoot, don’t lose yourself and don’t do anything that you aren’t comfortable doing. Photographers like to push boundaries, to get ‘the shot’ at the expense of the model. They think in terms of them, not you. There’s an agenda. Don’t get caught up in it, Holliday. Trust me, the photos will always surface.”
Wanting to be offended that he thinks I can’t handle myself, I’m too tired to get that upset. He’s on my side and only wants the best for me. I finally gulp, then say, “I’ve done other photoshoots.”
“Not like this. You’re taking Limelight in a new direction and changing the image of the company. Represent it how you want the public to perceive it.”
He’s had photos surface that he’s not fond of, ones that were taken of him when he was high or drunk. They aren’t flattering, but he dealt with it. Maybe it’s easier for those types of images to be dismissed because he’s a musician. Me, not so much. I learned in that first year of marriage that we’re a brand in and of itself. What we do individually affects the other whether it’s business related or personal. We are a reflection of each other. What we do matters to the other. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Please keep us in mind,” he says. His voice is low and I barely hear him, but the gist is caught without a threat or any harsh words as he lies back down.
“I expect the same.”
He closes his eyes and says, “I know.”
We lie in the breaking hours of day… or I do, listening to him breathe as it steadies with his sleep—my newest favorite pastime. I don’t remember falling asleep, but my eyes burn when he turns allowing more light to shine across the room. Dalton is standing at the window staring out. He’s not moving, but he is dressed. “Morning,” I say and lightly clear my throat to rid the roughness.
“We’ll be in New York at the same time.”
“We’ll make sure to see each other.” I sit up, leaning on my arm. “Why are you dressed?”
“I have to leave. Our jet takes off in an hour.”
“Were you going to sneak out on me?”
He scrubs his face with his hands, obviously tired. “I hate goodbyes.”
“I hate when you sneak out.”
“I hate sneaking out, but I hate that look in your eyes more—the one that makes me feel like I’m letting you down.”
I get up and go to him. Holding him from behind, we both stare out the window now. “You’re not letting me down. I just hate seeing you go.”
“It’s a vicious cycle.”
“It sure is.”
He turns around and we kiss. The eagerness of my arrival is gone this time; a sadness embraces us just as our tongues embrace each other.
When we part, he runs his hands up the sides of my neck until he’s cupping my face. “Don’t forget me when I’m gone.”
“You’re hard to forget and I enjoy remembering you too much to try.” Making sure to look him in the eyes, I add, “I love you more than you will ever know.”
“I love you deeper than you thought possible.” With a small smile on my face, I climb back into bed. He takes hold of the suitcase handle and says, “Wanderlust is a magical thing.”
“I hope it strikes soon.” I roll, turning away from the door, not wanting to watch him leave and close my eyes. He walks out leaving the goodbye in silence, both of us hating saying it more than hearing it.