“That’s why this is your farewell tour?”
“Yeah.” He was silent for a while, threading his fingers through my hair over and over again. “Not sure who I am without the band. Not even sure how to find out. But seeing what you’re doing…maybe it gives me hope that I can become someone besides a bass-playing punk rocker.”
We were from opposite worlds facing the same existential crisis.
“You probably don’t have a minivan to sell. But if you did, you’d be surprised at how liberating it feels,” I ventured.
His laugh was music to my ears.
“I’m so sorry, Vonn.”
“I know, baby. I am too.”
“I didn’t know Tommy. But I bet he’d be proud of how you’re mentoring his son. Garrett really looks up to you. The rest of the band too. But you especially.” It was the truth. Vonn was patient with the boy who was barely a man, guiding him through the pitfalls of money and fame.
Vonn pulled me down so my back was flush with his front. He nuzzled into my neck. “Thank you, Brooke.”
“Morning.” Vonn’s rough voice was even more jagged when it was laced with sleep.
I stretched luxuriously in his warm, solid arms. “Mmm, morning. What time is it?”
“Early. Go back to sleep,” he said, slipping away from me.
“Mmmph.” He gave me a pat on the butt, pulled the covers up around me, and left the room. I heard Betty jingling after him. I’d get up in a minute to feed her, I decided. Just one more minute snuggled up between sheets that smelled like Vonn.
One minute turned into another REM cycle. When I woke again, the sun was unnaturally bright outside, reflecting off the blanket of white.
Betty was curled up next to me, her tail thumping rhythmically on the duvet.
I gave her ears a ruffle and rolled over to bury my face into the pillow as my brain slowly came back online.
Christmas morning.
The concert.
Vonn Barlowe.
Last night.
I launched myself into a seated position and peered around the room. No underwear or socks or pants that didn’t belong here. No watch or phone or condom wrappers. No evidence that I’d spent the night sharing secrets and having wild sex with the punk rock god.
Had I dreamed the entire thing? I flopped back against my pillow. Was I imagining his scent on my sheets? The delicious soreness between my legs?
Another smell caught my attention. Coffee.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, and I reached for it.
Michelle: Okay. I know I hit the eggnog pretty hard last night. But am I hallucinating or is there a sexy silver fox shoveling your driveway????
I bolted out of bed and whipped the curtain back from the window.
There in the midst of an official winter wonderland was Vonn in jeans, sunglasses, and a Henley with the sleeves pushed up, shoveling my driveway.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. It really had happened. I’d spent the most intimate night of my life with the man of my dreams.
I raced to the bathroom and quickly executed my routine, spending a few precious minutes on mascara, tinted lip gloss, and making my messy bun just right. I dressed at top speed while my mind raced through the events of the night before. Ending with Vonn’s confession about Tommy.
The scales weren’t balanced. He’d shared something so intimate with me that I felt like I still owed him.
Deciding not to overthink it, I grabbed the moleskin journal out of my nightstand drawer. I flipped it open to a page.
BECOMING
I was meant for more than this
Too much for one life to hold
Release the guilt and pain
For not being what they wanted
Feeling a little queasy reading my own words on the page, I closed the notebook, and I headed downstairs.
My side ached. My forehead head was sore. But my mood outweighed my physical condition. I felt buoyant.
In the kitchen I poured myself a mug of coffee, noting that there was already a path shoveled from the back door to the barn. Shaking my head, I went to the front door. Betty dashed out when I opened it and raced to Vonn’s side. She gave a happy bark which he returned with a shovel of powdery snow that had her jumping in the air in delight.
He must have sensed me because he planted the shovel in the snow and turned to face me. “Morning, gorgeous.”
My insides turned to quivering mush.
“Morning. I see you didn’t miss your morning workout.”
He grinned and started toward me. That was I noticed two things: Michelle was plastered against her living room window, staring at us and Vonn’s SUV had been cleaned off.
“You have to go,” I guessed as he mounted the steps. Disappointment settled over me like a wet blanket.
Vonn took the mug from my hand, set it down, then dragged me in for a long, hard kiss.
His face and lips were cold from the winter air. But the rest of his body pumped off heat that had me snuggling into him.
When he pulled back, he ran a thumb across my cheek. “Runway will be clear in about half an hour,” he said.
A Christmas anti-miracle. Crap.
“I understand,” I said.
“Still got time for a cup of coffee, if you’re willing to share,” he said.
“Since you made it I think I can spare a cup.”
He nudged me back inside and whistled for Betty. My dog dragged her face out of the snow and trotted to the door.
“You pour,” I suggested on our way back to the kitchen. “I’ll feed Whinnie. She gets cranky if I don’t follow her schedule.”
“Already done,” he said.
I stopped on the linoleum. “What? How?”
He nodded toward Addy’s binder on the counter. “Your girl’s instruction manual.”
“Wow,” I whispered.
He flashed me his trademark smirk as he thumbed open the bottle of Tylenol. “Sore today?”
“In a variety of places for a variety of reasons,” I admitted with a grin.
He passed me two tablets, then poured himself a cup of coffee.
We were facing each other on opposite sides of the counter. I reached over and grasped his arm. “Vonn, thank you for last night and this morning. I just… Thank you.”
He leaned down on his elbows, bringing himself closer to me. “Thank you.”
“I’m not writing the story,” I told him, the words coming out in a rush. My editor would shit a brick. Which meant not only would I not be getting the staff writer job, I also wouldn’t be getting any more freelance assignments. But what had happened between me and Vonn was bigger, more significant than a job.
He cocked his head. “Why not?”
“It’s not right. Sharing with the world what you shared with me?” I shook my head.
“I wouldn’t ask you to give up your dream for me,” he said quietly.
“To be honest, after looking at it from your perspective, I don’t think I’d be happy as a journalist. I love music. Not prying into people’s tragedies.”
Vonn’s confidence in me meant more than any job or any byline.
I’d find another way, another job.
He reached out and cupped my face in his hand. “You’re a hell of a girl, Brooke.”
“And you’re one sexy Santa.”