“When you fly away, remember to leave a forwarding address.” ~Johnny Outlaw
We didn’t get the answers about the drugs like we wanted, but I made the decision to trust Dalton, so that’s what I did. Despite the tabloids announcing he and his ex were ‘Secretly dating,’ ‘Caught in the Act at her Reception,’ and ‘Married,’ I stuck by him.
Although negative press sucks, Dalton leaving me sucks more. “Four weeks,” he says, holding my hand. With a smile on his face, he leans down and kisses me. “You can come anytime. I’ll fly you to wherever we are in the world.” He backs up with a deep breath, exhales, and says, “Goodb—”
My finger goes to his lips, and I say, “No goodbyes.”
“No goodbyes.” With a little arrogant smile playing on his mouth, he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I sit down on the couch and turn on the TV, pretending that my whole world isn’t turned upside down again. I click it off, unsettled in my own skin. The truth is my world is turned upside down and it takes too much effort to pretend it isn’t.
My phone rings and seeing Dalton’s name on the screen makes me smile. I answer quickly, “Hi.”
“I miss you already. Does that make me a pussy?”
“Not in my book. It makes you charming.”
“I wasn’t charming before?” he asks with a chuckle.
“I never said that. Anyway, I like when you say sweet things to me.”
“Holliday,” he says, the laughter gone from his voice. “I owe you for all the shit that happened.”
“No—”
“Please just let me say this.” He pauses, then says, “Thank you for being there and staying.”
I could make a big deal about it and torture him by going over it again, but I don’t for two reasons. One, because I believe him. And two, because I don’t want to rehash the negative. I’m liking the here and now too much to ruin it. So I say, “You’re welcome,” and leave it at that.
When Tracy arrives for work, she brings coffee, just another reason I love her so much. We sit on the patio, enjoying the nice day while working on the schedule.
“I’ve got a fitting tomorrow,” she says. “You can still come, right? I want a second set of eyes that I trust.”
“Of course. Can’t wait.”
“And we chose our baker and caterer. Deposits have been paid. How’s your dress shopping coming along?”
Looking at her, I lower my sunglasses. “Not great…”
“You haven’t shopped yet, have you?”
“Dalton was here.”
“Well he’s gone, so get your ass in gear.”
“Hey,” I say, “I wasn’t just sitting around—”
She points at me accusingly. “Oh I know you weren’t ‘sitting’ around.’ You two do it like rabbits.”
Cocking my eyebrow, I shrug. “I’d love to deny that,” I say, then giggle. “But you’re right. My sex life has never been better.” I shuffle some papers around, realizing I forgot to sign them yesterday. “But besides the sex, I actually did get some work done. I finished all the cards and after I sign this document, I’m all caught up.”
“Well, let’s keep it that way. I hate being behind. We have some busy weeks ahead, so you might have to squeeze some more work than usual in between the sex sessions. I need that pretty head of yours in the game. Fully in the game.”
It seemed so simple, in theory, to stay on top of things… until I had lunch with Rochelle a few days later for a mid-week get together. We sit and chat while Neil is content with toys on the table. It’s good to talk to someone who understands the crazy life that Dalton leads. But we mostly talk about our lives because I have a feeling most people don’t ask about her life much at all. This vibrant, intelligent woman probably gets overlooked in the shadow of her famous partner. I refuse to do the same.
She paints and gardens, reads with Neil, and cooks. These are the things she says she loves doing. It starts to make me think about the things I love to do besides work. As much as I complain about my work keeping me busy, I love it and have sacrificed a lot of other things in my life for it. But the two things I can think to tell her is that I love the beach—in all forms, from walking it to sitting there watching the sunset. The other is traveling. It’s hard to get away these days for fun, but I love it when I do.
“You should visit Johnny in France,” Rochelle says while cutting Neil’s carrots for him.
“I remember loving France. I haven’t been since my parents took me in junior high.”
“You should definitely go then. You can surprise him.”
“When do they go to Paris?”
“Two days, I think.” She scrolls on the screen of her phone, and nods. “Yep, two days.” Resting her chin on her hand, she says, “Some days I miss being on the road with them. I hated it when I was gone for months at a time, and then I had Neil, but it was an adventure I’ll never forget.”
I’ve been missing Dalton so much and I have a week until the convention… “You really think I should go?”
“I do. Go find your adventure, Holli.”
Looking across the table at this woman I’ve come to admire, I feel butterflies of anticipation building inside. I decide to take her advice. “I’m gonna surprise him. Send me the hotel details, okay?”
Her eyes are bright and I can tell she’s excited for me. She says, “This is gonna be so awesome and romantic. When you get back I want to hear all about it.”
“Definitely.” So I blame her—fair and square—for ending up in Paris.
My hands are sweating I’m so nervous. I release the handle of my suitcase and drag my palms down my thighs. Rochelle hooked me up with the suite number and contacted security so I’d get by. I’m new to all this secrecy stuff that goes into dealing with famous people. He’s checked into the hotel under the name Jared Harper. I’m sure there’s a story behind that, but for now, I knock on the door and duck to the side.
“Who is it?” That sounds like Cory.
According to Rochelle, he can’t keep secrets and will blow it, so I reply, “Room service.”
Muffled voices are heard through the thick wood of the old door then it swings open. Dalton is talking before he looks up. “I didn’t order any roo—”
Our eyes meet and a big smile spreads across his face when I say, “I had an unexpected wanderlust.”
He looks me over from head to toe, then leans against the threshold. “You have the heart of a poet, Ms. Hughes.”
“I stole the line—”
“I know a few other things you stole,” he says. Reaching forward, he pulls me to him by a belt loop.
“Okay, I confess,” I say. “I borrowed the line, but I’m keeping everything else.” I’m actually curious to what ‘other things’ I’ve stolen might include exactly.
“Keep’em. They’re yours anyway.” He kisses me, turning us around so I’m inside the suite. With his hands holding my face, he looks at me. “Hi,” he whispers.
“So yeah. I’m gonna clear out of here and give you guys some privacy,” Cory says, making his way to the door. Cory pulls my suitcase inside the room and then turns back to us. “Guess you’re not going anywhere, Johnny.”
Dalton looks at me smiling. “Guess not. You’re on your own, buddy.”
“Next time you see me, you’ll be an uncle for the second time.”
“And you’ll be engaged,” Dalton adds.
“What?” I ask, surprised by the news. “Rochelle’s having the baby and you’re asking her to marry you?”
Dalton laughs. “She went into labor this afternoon when we were in an interview. You should have seen Cory’s face when she called. They caught it on camera.”
The happiness I feel for this amazing couple is way beyond ecstatic. “Congratulations on the baby and the engagement.”
Cory smiles. “Thanks. Two kids, a house with a picket fence, and I’m finally thinking this music thing might just work out. So yeah, I’m gonna ask her.” Cory pulls a ring box from his pocket and opens it. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
We both lean forward and look, but I gasp, my hand to my chest and a huge smile on my face. When I look up at him, I say, “It’s perfect. Rochelle’s gonna love it.”
The ring appears to be vintage by the intricate detailing. Black diamonds cover the band.
Cory says, “She never was a traditional girl. Maybe that’s why she puts up with my shit.” Snapping the box closed, he walks over to his suitcase and picks it up. “I should get going. The car should be here soon and the jet is ready from the text I got a few minutes ago.”
He hugs me. “It’s good to see you, Holli. Don’t let this guy get into any shit he can’t get out of. Okay?”
“I’ll try my best. It’s good to see you too.” I release him from the hug. “Tell Rochelle I’ll be visiting next week and I’m gonna need snuggle time with that new baby.”
“Will do.” Turning to Dalton, he puts his hand out. “Brother.”
“Brother.”
With a strong handshake, Cory brings him in for a chest bump.
“Take care, man,” Dalton says, then backs up, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah, and I’ll let you know—boy or girl—when I know. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need any,” Dalton replies as Cory heads out.
The door shuts and we’re alone. Feeling on top of the world, I walk to the window and look out over Paris. The evening lights start to flicker on, making it even more magical. Dalton comes up behind me and presses his chest to my back while slipping his arms around my waist. With a whisper, he says, “You’re here.” He follows that with a soft kiss on my neck.
I turn in his arms, wrapping my own around his neck. “I wanted to see you.” I kiss him once, twice, and then add, “I’m starting to despise this touring thing.”
“Tour with me then.”
The invitation is flat and direct as if it makes all the sense in the world the way he threw it out there like that. “If you’re serious, I might stay for a few cities, but you’re stuck with me for the week regardless.”
“Mmmmm,” he hums. “I like stuck, but I prefer willing participant.”
“Willing, able, and wanting. Does that work better?”
He kisses me. “Much, much better.”
I spy his suitcase near the door, so I ask, “You were leaving?”
Looking over his shoulder, he says, “Ummm, yeah. I was supposed to fly back with Cory, but you’re here.”
“Oh no, I’ve ruined your plans?”
Caressing my face gently, he looks into my eyes. “You were my plans. I was flying back to surprise you.”
“You were?” I ask, looking up into his deep greens.
“The next two shows were cancelled.” He walks to the couch, sits, and scrubs his face with his hands. Joining him, I’m tentative when I sit next to him as he continues, “Dex needs a few days off, and we’re a band. When one goes down, we all go down. It’s a motherfucking sinkin’ ship around here, but you’re here, so none of that matters.”
I lean on him, loving the feel of his arm around me as he kisses the top of my head. “You were really gonna come see me?” I ask.
“Cory got the jet since he’s heading back for Rochelle and the baby, so I figured I’d come see you. I’d rather that than be here.” He makes it sound oh so casual, but I feel the sentiment. His hands slide under my shirt and bra and he kneads my breasts. His lips land on my neck and he kisses and nips his way toward my ear. “Now that we’re alone, what do you want to do?”
I tilt my head to the side, enjoying the feel of his lips on my skin again, and reply, “I want to see Paris.”
Everything stops—his lips, his kneading, and his hands leave my body. With a nod, he asks, “Unless Paris is code for my cock, not interested.”
Rolling my eyes, I say, “You and your code words. I meant the city.” Batting my eyelashes, I wait.
After a long pause, he relents. “Okay, if you want Paris, I’ll give you Paris. But later, you’re all mine. You’ve got an hour till we leave.”
I may have my own money, but I’m not accustomed to living extravagantly. I can definitely get used to this celebrity treatment. The car takes us to the Eiffel Tower and we get rushed in, passed the long line and right into an elevator they’re holding open for us.
Being with Dalton in public is different than I imagined. Maybe I just never thought about it beyond the time when the valet guy in Vegas recognized him, or at the beach when we separated. As we stare out across the city, I sneak a peek at him, realizing this is really our first time in public where others are around. We’ve dated months. Months… or have we?
“We don’t date, Dalton. We have sex.” I pretend the wind made me shiver, not my nerves.
“What?” he asks, looking at me, bewildered by the comment.
“I don’t think we’ve gone on an actual date. I know we’ve talked about it, but this might be the first time.”
He turns away, staring out into the night. Just when I think the conversation is over, he says, “I’m an asshole.” Standing up straight, he turns back to me and takes my hand. “I’m sorry, Holliday. You deserve better than that.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I just… being with you like this is new.” I squeeze his hand. “I guess our relationship has been a little unconventional.”
“Unconventional,” he repeats, rolling the word around in his mouth several times. “I need to make this right.”
“I don’t need right because what we are isn’t wrong. It’s us and I like it. It just feels different tonight. That’s all.”
We’re interrupted by two giggling teenagers holding their phones up to him. Two men come from around the corner and start to say something to them, but Dalton stops them and nods. He poses with each, then thanks them. When they leave, the two men remain, checking the premises.
“We should go. Are you hungry?” Dalton asks, taking me by the arm. His grip is firm, possessive.
I stop and resist. Pulling my arm back, I ask, “What’s going on?”
He looks around, causing me to look back over my shoulder. The two men are eyeing him and Dalton says, “It’s best if we leave now.”
The doors to the elevator open and we walk inside. Other people try to get in, but are stopped by the large men. After they step in and the doors close. I ask, “Are they bodyguards?”
Dalton stares straight ahead. “Yes.”
“Why do you have bodyguards?”
His reply is a hard glare. My stubborn side takes over, and I venture a guess, “We weren’t alone when I thought we were, were we?”
My statement sets him off. “Holliday, I can’t be alone in public. You’re not dumb. You live in the land of celebrities. You know how this works.”
“I didn’t know because we’ve been holed up at my place or yours anytime we’ve been together. So, although it’s very obvious to me now, it just surprised me to see them here.” I have a flashback of the first time we met at the bar with that drunk guy who hit on me. The security team that rushed in to escort him out… I look at the men standing in front of me now and it becomes clear. “They were in Vegas.”
“They’re almost always with me.”
The bell dings and the doors open. A few flashes go off, but the bodyguards keep any inquisitors at bay as we head for the car. The door is shut and there we sit in silence in the back of the car as it speeds away.
He sighs. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. I have no reason to be mad. I’m trying to process the level of your fame that you need bodyguards around you all the time.”
“I can’t even process it. I can’t do normal things. I told you this early on. I can buy whatever I want in the world except my freedom back. The memories of walking down the street and not being recognized are long gone.”
“But Cory and Rochelle. Their lives are normal and they don’t live in a gated communit—”
“I’m the front man. I’m the face of The Resistance.” He’s leaning his head against the window, his hand between us. “I pay the price so they can live like normal people. Rochelle helped orchestrate that early on. I didn’t mind at the time… I may sound bitter. I’m not.” Turning to look at me, he says, “I’ll never have what they have, but most days, I’m grateful for what I’ve been given.” He looks out the window. “This is the part where you decide if you can be a part of this life or not.”
My hand finds his and I slide across the seat. Leaning my head on his shoulder, I say, “I want to be a part of your life. This side of your life is new. I’m used to the bubble we’ve been living in.”
He wraps his arm around me and holds me against his side. With his lips pressed to my hand, he says, “Let me take you to dinner, a real dinner date.”
“I’d like that. But the guards don’t sit with us.”
He chuckles and it’s good to hear. “They’re actually good guys and they do protect my ass, but no, the guards won’t sit with us.”
The car stops outside of a bistro that is packed with people. Dalton hops out first, then offers his hand to help me out. When we enter the restaurant, he walks straight back and to the right to a rounded booth in the corner with glass and wood partitions on two sides. The maitre d’ follows quickly behind, greeting us in French then switching to English for our benefit. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Outlaw et Mademoiselle. Our specials are listed on the menu.” He doesn’t waste time with chit chat but leaves us alone to peruse the menu.
Dalton sits back and looks around the restaurant. He says, “They have really great soufflés. The black truffle and cheese pasta with smoked chicken is also good.”
“Dalton?”
His gaze rises to meet mine. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me on a date.”
His smile is charming and light, worry not weighing on his expression. “Thank you for coming to Paris.”
The evening is divine and we stay past midnight. Like time hasn’t passed, we talk openly and intimately all through dinner and the dessert course.
“That chocolate soufflé was orgasmic,” I say, sitting back, feeling full.
“Now I’m competing with a soufflé?”
“Never. You always win.”
“Good to hear.” He pays the check and we leave.
Back in the suite, I run a hot bath while he opens a bottle of wine and pours me a glass. After setting my glass on the edge of the tub, Dalton comes in and sets a chair in the middle of the opulent bathroom. He starts Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” and sets his phone on the counter. Sitting down, he takes a sip of his wine, keeping his eyes on me, and says, “Strip for me.”
“You want me to strip?”
“Yes,” he says, “I want you to strip for me.”
With the water filling the tub, I turn to face him, his eyes penetrating my body with an intensity that warms my blood. Without looking away, I take my shirt off and toss it on the counter. Sliding the zipper of my jeans down slowly, exposing my black lace panties, I reveal the tiny hot pink bow in the front. I turn my back to him and slide the denim over my hips and down my legs, stepping out and kicking them to the side.
I pick up my glass and take a large sip, letting my gaze slide over him as he relaxes in the chair, his eyes heavy as they look me over, a calmness settling in. I set my glass down, bending over and slowly rising, letting my own hand slide from my knee up my thigh, grazing over my panties and up my stomach to my lace covered breasts. I sway to the music with my back to him, my hips moving in time to the erotic melody. I see him in the reflection of the mirror. I like the look in his eyes as he takes me in. I like him watching me. With his eyes on my body and his hand over his erection, he says, “Show me your tits. I’ve missed them.”
Reaching around my back, I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the floor before I shut the water off and test it with my finger.
“I want to watch you take a bath,” he says. “I don’t want to talk. I just want to watch.”
When I glance over my shoulder, he licks his bottom lip then bites it.
The music stops suddenly and is replaced by his ring tone. We both look over at the counter, but he doesn’t move. With a nod, he encourages me to go on. The music continues when the ringing stops and I slip my panties down, one side then the other, gradually, I can tell too slow for his liking. He sits forward resting his forearms on his knees. He’s close, but just out of reach.
I step into the warm water and sink down, relaxing back. His phone begins buzzing on the marble, moving from the vibration. “For fuck’s sake.” He stands, setting his glass down hard on the countertop and picks up the phone to read his text. He turns his back to me and says, “I need to make a phone call.”
He’s not asking, so I pull the water up and over my chest and wait.
His eyes are on mine in the mirror as I start to lather with the body wash. He takes in every circle of motion I make. Sitting back down with his glass in hand again, he watches me as he talks into the phone, “What?”
I look down, pouring more body gel into my palm and covering my shoulders, but the chair skids across the slick tiles when Dalton stands abruptly.
I still, not wanting the water to splash, and watch as the depths of his eyes go shallow and confusion takes over. He looks up at the ceiling, and asks, “What did you say?”
His patience wears and his expression hardens as he’s told something he doesn’t want to hear. “No. No,” he says again, shaking his head. “No way. Double check… then check again. There’s no fucking way, Tommy. No fucking way.”
I rinse the soap off quietly and step out of the tub just as he hangs up, sensing something bad has happened. I grab the hotel robe from the back of the door and slip it on. He drops down on the chair again, sitting there in silence, staring at the empty bath tub. Wanting to know, but treading carefully, I kneel before him. “What’s wrong?”
“Rochelle had a baby boy.” He stares ahead, his expression blank.
“That’s great news,” I reply. Moving closer, I touch his arm. “Why are you upset?”
Dalton’s face loses all color and his eyes get glassy. The change over something that should be happy shocks me. Suddenly, his wine glass goes flying, slamming into the mirror—glass shattering into tiny pieces at our feet as the red wine splatters.
“Dalton!”
His eyes turn to mine, all hope gone. His voice is hollow when he says, “Cory was in a plane crash. There are no survivors.”