Derrick

The night sky is overcast. Bummer. It’s not raining, so whatever. I can still work with this weather. Our fingers are intertwined, but I was idly spinning her ring around her finger moments earlier. I love seeing that band on her hand.

Jaymes Anne-Marie Masters.

I’ll never tire of seeing that name on documents or hearing it spoken. We’ve not been married but six months, but it’s been the best six months of my life. The band traveled Europe over the summer. She, Ace, and I had a blast exploring the cities during the day. Our nights were completely our own or booked with concerts. She opened our shows by performing three songs live. One song was ours that we performed together acoustically. A song written when I was seventeen and in love with a raven-haired girl with tranquility found in her eyes that settled the raging waters of my soul. The other two songs were all her. Written by and sung by her, sitting on a stool in the middle of a big stage.

She’s the bravest soul I know. Not because she has no fear in performing solo, but because she has no fear when it comes to things and people she loves.

Her wounds healed, leaving a small scar up near her eyebrow. I tell her it makes her look tough. She says being tough makes her tired. I think it’s the baby. Reaching over, I rub my hand over her round belly. A little fist or hand follows mine and I smile. Jaymes says, “You woke her up.”

“I only touched your belly.”

“She’s already a daddy’s girl.”

Chuckling, I rub again. “Could be a boy. I think that’s a fist I feel.”

“It’s probably a heel. And since we don’t know if it’s a girl or boy, I’m going with it’s a she. I need to combat some of the testosterone in our home.”

Home.

She’s my home. Ace is my home. This baby is my home.

Family.

It was the missing link to happiness. Who knew? I somehow knew it wasn’t the bevy of one-night stands that slipped out the next morning. To think Jaymes was in the same city, her soul waiting for mine to return . . . I wish I would have seen things clearer, seen through the lies she told to protect me, sooner. It took a lot of living for me to discover what I’d been searching for was here all along. I know it now. I see her and that amazing heart of hers at work, at play, at love, at life every day. It took us going through hell to find our own heaven. Now that we’re here, I’m never leaving.

A guard meets us when we arrive. We’re let on to the private property and I pull into the lot to park. She knows. There’s no hiding the surprise now.

“The Hollywood Bowl? What are we doing here?”

Getting out of the car, I say, “You’ll see.” When I come around, I help her out. I grab our guitars from the back of the car and watch her smile grow. “I know.”

“I know you know. You never forget anything.”

“That’s not true. I just remember the best of things.”

Walking with a guitar in each hand, I ask, “How do you feel about playing a few songs with me?”

Her arm wraps around mine and she rests her head on my bicep. I pop it, flexing so she thinks I’m still as sexy as she did when we reunited. I’ve gotten a little mushy since she got pregnant. Ice cream. I’ve never eaten so much as I have in the last six months. Mushy by my standards. I’ll add two more days back into the current workout schedule.

The side door is opened for us and I thank the manager for making this happen. We’re led to the stage and look out. The moment is quiet, the feeling mutual and overwhelming—so much has gotten us to this point. When your dream comes true, it’s good to take some time to appreciate the journey and savor the reward.

I set the guitars down and get two chairs off to the side for us as my words come echoing back. “I’m going to play that stage one day. Just you wait, baby.” I set one down for her, and kiss the top of her head when she sits. “You, my songbird, are going to sing for the world.”

“I was right.”

Her eyes flick to mine, her lips swept up in a smile. “You’ve sung for the world. Just like you were born to do.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

This time, I look her way. With my guitar across my lap, I say, “That’s highly unlikely.”

“I wasn’t born to sing. I was born to love you, to make babies with you, to live a happy life with my family.”

My smile comes, just like it always does for her. “Are you happy?”

“The happiest.” She glances out at the empty seats, and says, “Not even eight years later and here we are. Your dreams were big enough for the both of us and carried us here.”

Spinning my ring around, the engraved ace symbol comes to the top. “I used to think my dream was to play this stage, but now that I’m here, I realize my dream already came true the day I got busted behind the gym smoking.”

“You’re always so charming. Keep it up and I might believe you one day.”

“Your sarcasm, Mrs. Masters, has been duly noted.”

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m a sucker for that story. Tell it to me again.” She strums down the strings and watches me.

So I say, “Hey—”

“No. No. No skipping over the good parts. Start from the very beginning.”

“I’ll sing instead,” I say, laughing. I start playing my new song, the one where I get to sing about a girl in a flower-covered dress and a name that starts with J. I move my chair closer to hers and look into her eyes.

My forever.

She’s always been my muse, but now she’s the melody that plays in my heart, the one that made it worthwhile to go back to the start.