No Tomorrow

“Lyric, he really is at a hospital. He had some broken bones, so he’s been in a lot of pain and sorta grumpy. And he had to talk to some special doctors about why he feels depressed and confused sometimes, but he’s feeling much better, and his body is healing. He asked about you this morning and I told him all about your new songs and how you’re teaching Mickey tricks. He’s excited to talk to you and see you again.”

She narrows her eyes at us. “Are you lying to me?”

“No,” Josh insists, putting his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. “Your mom is telling you the truth. I promise you.”

She stares at us both with the first look of severe distrust I’ve ever seen in her eyes and it cracks my heart in two. This is how children lose their magic and innocence—from the crap life deals.

“Why didn’t you tell me? He’s my dad…”

“It’s very, very private. And he wanted to talk to you himself. When I talked to him this morning, we talked about him coming to visit. He loves you. It’s hard for him to talk about all this and he’s not ready yet. You know how sometimes when you don’t feel good and you just want to be alone, and lie in bed and nap and watch TV? That’s how he’s been feeling. He just needed some time alone to rest.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“When can I talk to him, then?”

“I’m not sure. But what I can do, is call his friend Reece and I can ask him to tell Blue that you’d like to talk to him, and I’m sure he’ll call you soon. Okay?”

“I guess.” Her face twists into a disappointed frown.

Josh smooths her hair and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs. “This is one of those things in life that adults understand but it’s really hard for kids to understand. You have to try your best to just be patient and trust your mom, and trust Blue,” he explains softly. “Why don’t you write him a nice letter? I think it’ll make you feel better, and I’m sure it will make him feel better, too. He must be missing you just as much as you miss him.”

“Can I do that?” she asks. “And maybe make him a card with a poem and print it on the computer?”

I nod enthusiastically “I think that’s a great idea. He’ll like that a lot.”

“Okay. I’m going to do it right now.”

As we watch her walk back to her room with her head hanging down, the anger and frustration I felt weeks ago for Blue rises back to the surface and I clench my jaw in an attempt to suppress it and not start venting about it to Josh, which will only make things worse.

“He better fix that,” Josh says when I glance up at him. “That’s all I’m saying.” He points down the hallway. “He needs to make this right somehow, because she doesn’t deserve to feel like that. She’s just a kid.”

I nod. “You’re right. And he will.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

I pack my clothes, throw my makeup bag in the suitcase, and kiss Lyric and Ditra goodbye at my front door. I tell them I’ll see them when I get back from my business trip in two days. Lyric, as always, is excited about Ditra staying at our house with her because Dee is going to teach her how to bake a different cake each night. I have no idea when my best friend turned into Martha Stewart, but I hope there’s some cake left over for me when I get back home.

I wave goodbye to them as I back my car out of the driveway, then I drive eight miles across town to the hotel near the park. My stomach burns with anxiety as I park my car in the parking garage and then make my way to the hotel lobby. I bypass the front desk and go directly to the elevator, getting off on the second floor.

Room 1205.

I hesitate in front of the door, fluffing my already-fluffed hair, straightening my already-straight shirt, taking extra breaths I don’t need to take.

I knock lightly on the maple door and time seems to screech to a halt as I wait. My suitcase feels twice as heavy as it did a few seconds ago, the handle slippery in my damp palm.

I shouldn’t be this nervous, and it’s silly that I am, because it’s only….

Blue.

Evan.

The door opens and I’m staring up into eyes the color of faded denim.

He steps to the side and I cross the threshold so he can close the door behind me. After placing my stuff on the floor I turn to face where he’s still hovering near the door.

I expected him to look different after spending six months in a hospital recovering from various physical and mental issues.

But I didn’t expect him to look so much better.

Not that he’s ever really looked bad. He was born with the kind of good looks that can’t look bad no matter what mess he made of himself. But holy shit, the man standing in front of me is like Blue version 2.0 with the extended elite upgrade package.

His wavy hair is a few inches shorter, just a bit past his collarbone instead of the mid-chest length it’s been since I first met him. It makes him look mature and more handsome.

The feather still hangs from his ear, but he’s explained it came from a good bird.

It’s obvious he’s not only put some weight on, but also muscle. The width of his arms and shoulders appears to be almost double what they were and I’m already fantasizing about what he must look like now with his shirt off. I’m surprised with how healthy and vibrant he looks—like one of those people who goes to the gym, gets eight hours of sleep every night, takes vitamins and drink lots of water. He no longer looks like a rock star who spent the majority of his life wasted and battling inner demons. He looks amazing and sexy and... calm. Nervous, yes, but also radiating an inner calmness.

A shy smile crosses his lips from where he’s still rooted by the door, and it sends my pulse into a frenzy. Stuck between smiling back and crumbling to tears, I freeze under his gaze. I’ve missed him so much. For months I’ve loved and hated him and everything in between. That night, he instilled such a deep fear in me. He stripped me of my trust and left me abandoned with a filleted heart. I truly felt as if he was gone and I’ve been communicating with his ghost for all these months.

But he’s here in the flesh and he’s so incredibly vivid and real. His scent has already permeated the room, enveloping me, coaxing memories out of their hiding places. The warmth of his body is ebbing toward mine, luring me.

“Hi.” My voice is a shy whisper when I’m brave enough to finally meet his eyes. The last time we saw each other was just before he left for California. Before it all went to hell. It’s been six long life-changing months since we’ve touched or kissed. The sporadic letters, texts, and phone calls we shared during that time left many gray areas that we’ve been avoiding like sink holes. That is, up until a few days ago when he sent me a text asking me to meet him here for a weekend alone to make things right as he put it.

“Hey.” He slowly steps closer to me, his smoldering eyes still locked onto mine. My heart flutters like a hummingbird as he backs me up against the wall, grabs my face in his hands, and lays a kiss on me that makes my legs buckle and steals my breath. He sweeps his tongue over my lips and into my mouth, seeking mine to dance with his. With a faint whimper, I reach up and wind my arms around his neck, pulling him into me. Forgiving him. Shaking slightly, he moves his hands to my waist and lifts me up like a doll, using his body to pin me against the wall as he kisses me with deeper desperation. I wrap my legs around him and pour all the emotion and passion that’s been bottled up inside me for months into our kiss.

This wasn’t what I was expecting, but it’s without a doubt exactly what I want and need.

Him.

Us.

This.

He pulls back and we stare at each other breathlessly.

“I love you…” He strokes my cheek. “I miss you…” He moves his thumb across my lips. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No…never.” I pull his lips back to mine and he plunges his tongue into my mouth, devouring me, sucking the air from my lungs. I grip his wide shoulders and tighten my thighs around him as he moves his lips to my neck, his teeth biting into my flesh, his tongue following. Hurting then soothing. Rough fingertips dig into my waist; he grinds his hips into mine, igniting the desire between us.

So many questions; so many things I want to say perch at the tip of my tongue…but maybe the questions have already been answered, and nothing really needs to be said at all right now.

He unbuttons my shirt with one hand while he kisses me, and I follow his lead by pulling his T-shirt up and over his head. My eyes widen at the sight of his muscular shoulders and biceps, the glimpse of hard abs.

I trail my fingers over his tattooed chest, drawn to the solidity and hardness, the new aura of strength he exudes. Once again, I’m a moth to his flame.

He pulls down my bra and sucks my bare breast into his mouth as he unbuttons my jeans, pulls down the zipper and slides his hand beneath my panties. When his fingers glide over my clit and reach my wet lips he groans deep in his throat and flicks the warm slippery metal of his tongue piercing over my nipple. I arch my back against the wall, thrusting my body up into his mouth and hand, clutching his hair.

Reaching between us, he undoes his jeans, shoves them down, then tugs my jeans and panties down just enough to bare me to him.