Nikki

Detroit

Andrés was found outside the employee entrance of our hotel the night of our concert. The security team detained him physically, and since a restraining order was in place, he was arrested and taken into custody.

I received the news as we finished our set. He was held for two outstanding warrants—one in California for possession of an illegal substance and one in Arizona for assault charges against a woman he apparently dated after me.

Promises are sacred to Tulsa. It’s a code he lives by—keeping his word. It’s something I value in his character and have tried to live by myself.

I never made a promise to Andrés. Only a threat to reveal what he did to me to get him to drop the charges against Tulsa and Laird. So, I owe him nothing except to follow through.

The statement I gave to the lawyer Rochelle set me up with will be filed by the time we reach our next tour stop. It will corroborate the other woman’s claim that he’s a danger to society. He won’t get more than five years for what he did to us, but the drug charge will make his sentence worse if he’s found guilty.

* * *

Pittsburgh

I didn’t last past Detroit.

Not in terms of pain from my injuries, but my heart was aching. Someone who’d been so much a part of my life since forever didn’t know who I’d become—couldn’t celebrate with me—and that was no longer something I could handle. She deserved better. So, that’s how I found myself crying on the phone with her on a Thursday afternoon in a hotel in Pittsburgh.

Even though I loved the idea of surprising her, I knew it would hurt her more if she knew others had been brought into the secret long before her. I couldn’t keep my marriage from Lauralee any longer. She was upset, as I’d expected, but thankfully, she understood my reasoning.

“I want to be mad at you, Mrs. Crow, but I’m actually just so happy for you I can’t be angry.”

“Oh, Lauralee, thank you.”

“You’re a married woman now. Holy wow. That’s crazy. I can’t believe you eloped. That’s so romantic.”

“It’s not how I ever saw myself getting married, but it feels right, it felt right.” Just like Tulsa. “For what it’s worth, you would have totally loved the bridesmaid dress I considered for you.” I laughed. “It had great ’80s puffy sleeves with shoulder pads for extra—”

“Now that’s just plain horrible. Maybe I don’t forgive you after all,” she said, giggling. And we are okay.

She let me off easy, forgiving me and making me promise not to keep any more secrets.

Also, I’d either have to name my firstborn after her or she’d be told first when I got pregnant.

I’ve always liked her name.

She was happy with that, and the huge basket of chocolate chip cookies and coffee I sent her the next day.

Her text in response was perfect: Okay. You’re forgiven. L xx.

* * *

“From the top,” Tulsa says. His acoustic guitar sits on his lap as he gets ready.

The first part is the easiest; I’ve played it so many times recently. He joins in at the chorus, harmonizing in notes and singing back up for me. I used to think he was all ego with a playboy chip on his shoulder. He’s not. He’s respectful and kind. His heart is made of gold, and his personality is my personal sunlight.

Tulsa Crow may get what he wants, but I’ve realized I want to give him everything he desires. My love for this man runs deep.

Breaking into my silent love affair with him, he says, “The song has come together.”

“I love when we come together.”

He tucks some hair behind my ear and cocks an eyebrow. “Is that an invitation?”

“I have an open-door policy when it comes to you.”

“God, I love to open your doors. How much time do we have?”

“Not long enough before we have to leave for the arena.”

We both sigh in sync. Before we get up to pack our guitars away, I lean over and kiss him. “I love the song.”

“It’s beautiful, like you.”

“Will you play it with me for Laird?”

“I’ll do anything you want me to as long as I get rewarded with more kisses.”

“It only costs me kisses?” Kiss. “I’m winning with this deal.” Kiss.

“You won already.”

“You’re talking about you, aren’t you?”

“Sure am. Now c’mere and kiss me again.”

I do because, fuck it, I choose him. “Let’s be late.”

* * *

New York City

Held without bail after being deemed a flight risk, Andrés will be spending the next few months waiting for his trial since he pleaded not guilty.

I’ve never felt safer.

I’m finally free from that sinking feeling I thought I’d always have to live with. I don’t any longer. At least for a few months. Our lawyer feels the case is strong enough to send him away for a few years.

All I can do is pray he actually sees the error of his ways.

As my fame grows, and the media covers me more often, I focus on my surroundings, and for safety, I carry pepper spray now.

It’s pocketed away, though.

Standing in the middle of Times Square, we ask a kind stranger from Germany to take our photo. When we get my phone back, I wrap my arms around Tulsa’s neck and lift onto the balls of my feet. “What city is this?”

“Lucky Thirteen.”

“Thirteen different cities. Thirteen kisses.”

With a smirk, he holds me close by my ass. “We didn’t kiss in LA.”

“That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to make up for it.”

With that, he kisses me right beneath the electronic billboard advertising our sold-out tour and The Crow Brothers record. I’ve never been happier.

* * *

Atlanta

The package was waiting for me when I checked into our suite. We may have to hide our union from the world, but we refuse to in private. We now stay together. Always.

He pulls a key from his bag, slices the top open, and then hands it to me. “What is it?”

“I have no idea. Lauralee told me to open it with you here, though.” I pull the packing paper from the top, and my mouth drops open. “Oh, my God! She did not!”

“What’d she do?”

I start laughing so hard as I pull the product from the box. “I think this is actually for you.” Handing it to him, he looks curious and confused, so I read the note inside. “For those times when you can’t be together. Congrats on the nuptials. Wishing you love and laughter, Lauralee.”

With the plastic gift in hand, he holds it up. “Um . . . am I supposed to stick my dick in this?”

“Yes.”

“And why would I do that?”

“It’s a customized dildo kit. A joke we once shared.” I’m laughing too hard to explain more. I finally take it from him and sit on the bed.

Standing in front of me, he asks, “Customized?”

When I finally catch my breath, I wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes. “Yes, you stick your dick in to make the mold, and we send it back to the company. They make a dildo from the mold, and then when I’m on the road, or you’re on the road and we can’t be together, we can still be together. If you get my drift.” I add a wink for flair.

“Your friend is very weird. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Maybe we should have registered for gifts.” He starts laughing. “We obviously can’t trust our friends and family.”

I toss it over my head and lie back. “Maybe you should always make sure to leave me with a way to remember you.”

As he slides my shirt up, exposing my bra, he starts kissing between my breasts. “Now that’s something I intend to do.”

* * *

Miami

It’s just past midnight. People still walk on the beach along the ocean, but it’s private enough. The two bodyguards standing twenty feet away aren’t my favorite way to spend a romantic night with my husband, but I’m slowly acclimating to having them around.

Especially after how Tulsa has become the media’s new favorite It guy. Women are all over him, Rivers, and Ridge. Apparently, that’s what we’re calling Dave now. Deep down, he’ll always be Dave to me.

Jet gets his fair share of attention, but since he’s open to talking about the love of his life, reporters and paparazzi fixate on the available Crow brothers. At times like these, I hate that I can’t claim Tulsa in public. He’s amazing, and never lets any female near enough to touch him, which I appreciate, but I want the world to know about us. I want to be by his side. It’s been a lesson in patience. In other words, I think I was a spoiled before, because I am not good at being patient at all.

Don’t even get me started on my brother and cousin’s attention from the ladies and groupies. They’re more than happy knowing that Tulsa isn’t up for grabs . . . literally. I overheard Shane say, “More for us,” the other day. Ick.

Tulsa and I have stolen nights, hours, even minutes, anytime we can along the tour, especially this last leg. But it will soon be coming to an end, so I planned a midnight picnic at the beach. Otherwise, we’d never even see this beautiful ocean before jetting off to Texas tomorrow.

With full bellies and a little wine in us, we lie on a towel in the sand, staring up at the stars. “I used to try to find the stars wherever I was in the world. They gave me something solid to hold onto. I felt that if I could find them, I could always find the strength to keep pursuing my dreams after he tried to destroy me.” I don’t have to say his name for Tulsa to know who I’m talking about. He reaches over and brings my hand to his chest. His heart beats strongly, giving me all the strength I need these days.

We’re both tired from touring, but it’s moments like these when I love how many facets of Tulsa’s personality I’ve gotten to know. He’s still cocky—often— but nothing is hidden between us. No secrets. Just love.

Turning my head to look at him, I add, “Somewhere along this tour, I stopped looking for the stars and found you.”

* * *

Houston

Tulsa always watches our show. Sometimes, he’s in the audience, attempting to blend in, though, he always stands out. Sometimes, he watches from backstage. Where he is during the show may vary, but he’s always waiting for me when I come off stage and that never changes. He’s the first person I see. I walk into his sweet embrace, his words making me feel like I can do no wrong.

Maybe in his eyes, I can’t.

I’m not willing to test the theory.

“You were amazing tonight,” he says into my ear.

I take him by the hands and lead him to a little room I scoped out earlier. It’s hard to be sneaky with a bodyguard following us, but he’s good at keeping our secrets. We slip inside, but Tulsa opens the door and hands his drumsticks to him. “Hold these please.”

“No problem.”

The door is closed again and, this time, locked. Kissing him on the neck, I leave a wet trail as I work my way up to his ear and rub against the outside of his jeans. “I want you.”

My bruises are still obvious, though fading, but he’s still careful when he touches me. Too careful, for my liking. He asks, “You want me to fuck you?”

“I do,” I say, still high from the stage. “God, your face. I just want to ride it. Make me come, baby.”

“Fuck, woman. How can I say no to that?”

“I’m hoping you can’t. We don’t have much time.”

He gets to his knees before me and lifts the hem of my dress. Taking the sides of my bloomers, he has them down to my ankles in seconds. I step out of them and wait for what I hope is a fun surprise.

His deep blue eyes dart to mine, and I think I hear him gulp. “What’s wrong?” I ask, pretending I don’t know why he stopped.

Taking my hot pink thong down my legs, his eyes return to my legs. “Nothing.” A smile takes over, though, and then he starts chuckling. “I was wondering what happened to these.”

With my fingers under his sexy jaw, I lift it until he’s looking at me again. “You took my underwear that night.”

“Technically, you threw them at me.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You did. Don’t worry, though, you’re a sexy drunk.”

I begin to laugh. “You’re lucky we’re together, or I’d be seriously pissed that you lied to me. I tore my hotel room apart looking for these. I was worried I gave them to—”

Standing with the panties in his hand, he says, “Worried you gave them to the hottest guy you’ve ever seen?” He shrugs with a smirky smirk on his face. “You did. We have ten minutes left. You want to waste them talking or . . .” His hand slides under my dress and two fingers slip between my thighs.

My head falls forward on his chest, and for the next nine minutes, we feel and touch, kiss and come.

I close the door behind us as he takes his drumsticks from the bodyguard. Before he can run off, I call to him, “Hey, hot stuff. You forgot something.” When he looks back, I toss him the panties. “Break a leg.”

My man walks away swinging hot pink lace around the tip of his sticks as he heads onstage. My panties are tucked into his pocket when he sits on his stool.

The lights are down, and I wait with bated breath as he kicks into a solo. When the lights flood the stage and the guitars kick in, screams of excitement fill the arena as The Crow Brothers bring the audience to life, like Tulsa does to me.