Ah. He wants a decoy while he’s half in and half out of the closet. It’s a small price to pay in exchange to live in a nice house and have a man in mine and Lyric’s life, even if only as a friend.
“I guess I can do that. Will you do the same for me if I need a good-looking guy on my arm?” Finally, I could have a date for the company holiday party.
“Hell, yeah.”
“What if you get involved with someone and want them to move in? Nobody is going to want to live here with me and a three-year-old and a dog and a cat.”
He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “That’s the last thing I’m worried about. I have no plans of getting involved or wanting to live with someone for a long time, trust me.”
“What if I meet someone?”
As if.
“If you’re dating someone and you want to hang out here, I’m totally down with that. I don’t want anyone moving in, though. If you get to that point, you’d have to find a place.”
“That’s fair,” I agree. “Can I think about it for a few days? This is a lot to absorb.”
“Sure. I’m not going anywhere.”
I already know I’m going to say yes, though. Josh is handing me the perfect situation on a silver platter: a fake boyfriend that I can hide behind while I wait for Blue to come back.
Chapter Twenty
2003
“What are the chances we can have those new ad layouts by noon?”
I spin my chair around to face Dave, a thirty-something, average-looking account manager who’s leaning casually against the doorframe of my office, wearing a smile on his face like he didn’t just ask to completely derail my day.
“You know damn well I just got out of the Monday morning status meeting, Dave. You were there. That only gives me two hours to go through all these changes.” I gesture to the project folder on my desk that has about fifty red sticky flags poking out of it.
“Don’t kill the messenger. Production is pushing us to belt this out today. Do what you can.” He walks off before I can rattle off a list of reasons why this process shouldn’t be rushed.
“Dammit,” I swear under my breath, wheel my chair across my office to open the window for some fresh air, then scoot back to my desk to tackle this new deadline. I switch on my desk radio to my favorite station and dive into the layout change list.
As stressful as my job can be, I love everything about it. I’m never bored, and the time flies by—a massive difference from when I worked as a receptionist, which seems like forever ago. I sing along softly to the radio as I work, glancing at the clock every so often to gauge the likelihood of me finishing by noon. So far, things are going smoothly.
I’m leaning over one of the documents, trying to decipher someone’s incredibly scribbly handwriting, when a rock ballad playing on the radio rips my attention away. Dropping my pen, I snap my head up and raise the volume a little.
“Slayer of my heart,
Wish of my soul….”
Goosebumps spread over my arms, and my pulse beats rapidly in my veins as I stare at the tiny speaker in a state of disbelief.
I know those words. I know the sound of that guitar.
And I would know that voice—that unique, gravelly, sexy voice—anywhere.
Blue…
With my breath caught in my chest, I listen intently to the lyrics, and the voice, that captivated me so long ago, to the melody I still play on that tiny music box. Hot tears sting my eyes as the song nears the end, and I silently beg the DJ to come on and announce the band and song name.
“That was the new hit single ‘Slayer of My Heart’ by No Tomorrow that climbed to the top of the charts last week.”
Holy. Shit.
My entire body is shaking from shock, and my heart is thumping wildly in my chest. This is real. Like really, really, real. I’m not suffering from some kind of stressed-out Monday morning hallucination. I just heard Blue—my Blue—on the radio, singing and playing guitar. And not just any song, but a song he told me he wrote for me. About me. The DJ just called it a hit single, on the top of the charts.
The edges of my vision blur as I stare at the radio. This is surreal. Like a dream. My head feels like a balloon—empty and floating off into a place so far out of reality that I can’t reach it.
I press my fingers into my temples and close my eyes.
I take a deep breath.
A pop song comes on the radio next—a song that’s on my aerobics playlist.
It grounds me somewhat. Brings me back from the shock.
When—how—did all this happen?
“How’s that coming?” Dave pokes his head into my office and I quickly wave him away.
“Not now,” I say abruptly, turning away to hide my state of anxiety.
Jesus. This can’t be happening. I grab my water bottle and sip, taking deep breaths in between to try to calm the jitters quaking through me. Hundreds of questions fly through my mind like a whirlwind.
Shoving my project folder aside, I open up the search engine on my computer, type in No Tomorrow band, and within seconds my screen is filled with links to various web sites and articles, with the band’s official web site the first result. I click on it and tap my finger impatiently on my mouse.
The page finally loads a large photo of the band standing in an alley, with Blue front and center looking hotter than an orgy on the desert, shirtless with a scuffed-up black leather jacket doing nothing to cover his inked-up six-pack abs.
Swallowing hard, I scan the text beneath the photo: Evan “Blue” Von Bleu, lead vocals and guitar; Reece Blackstone, backup vocals and lead guitar; Alex Oakley, Drums; Koler Simms, bass.
Evan Von Bleu.
I finally have the name of the father of my child and the man I love. How fitting that he has an exotic, sexy name. Somehow I knew there was no way in hell his name was going to end up being Evan Smith. Scrolling down further, I read.
No Tomorrow emerged from the grunge rock scene in early 2002 with their debut album, Things I Never Said. The group’s mix of dark and sensual lyrics coupled with Blue’s distinctive raspy tone and effortless ability to hit a remarkable range of notes made them an instant hit. Singer/songwriter Von Bleu’s sad and incredibly haunting vocals suck you right into his soul. The band often plays several acoustic songs during their live shows, which truly showcase Von Bleu’s musical and vocal talents.
I read on about a current world tour, top hits, and critic reviews. When I click to the photos page, a deep pain hits my chest and radiates through my stomach. The photographs of Blue on stage, singing in front of thousands of people, tear me up just as much as the ones of him sitting alone on a tour bus, a cigarette dangling from his lips, notebook in his lap, with a faraway look in his eye.
I know that look so well.
My beloved, tortured Blue isn’t homeless anymore. He’s a popular rock star, with a web site and fans and articles written about his musical talents. It’s clear from all this information he’s wanted, loved, and respected by fans and peers.
But still alone. I see that.
Leaning back in my chair, I stare at his picture opened full screen on my monitor. His hair is blowing across his face, but I know behind it his eyes are royal blue and filled with wanderlust. I ache to reach out and touch him, feel the solidness of his body beneath my fingers, breathe in his scent, have his fingers grasping my flesh and his whisper against my ear.
An overwhelming longing for him washes over me, drowning me in memories of our time together, and dredging up the heartache that came with it. Seeing him again, even in photographic form, has torn apart the cracks in my heart, and my emotions are seeping out. My head throbs trying to process all this unexpected news, and nausea is roiling my empty stomach.
My focus has been hijacked, and it’s impossible for me to function this way. Trembling, I gather up my paperwork and shove it back in its folder, turn my computer off, and grab my jacket and purse.
Dave appears at the other end of the hall as I’m locking my office door. “You’re going to lunch? Are the layouts done?”
Flustered, I shake my head and avoid eye contact. “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I have to go home.”
“Now? I told you we need—”
“I’m sorry, but I need to go. Have Sue take care of it, or it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Walking away from him, I know I just put a fault line in the foundation of stability and normalcy I’ve tried so hard to build in my life, but I’m powerless.
I drive to the mall, walk past the cinnamon bun place without stopping to get one—which is a first for me—and go straight to the music store. Fifteen minutes later I’m back in my car with the No Tomorrow CD.
“You’re home early.” Josh sits up on the couch, uprooting Archie and Acorn who were both using him as a bed. “You okay?”
Clutching the CD that I just spent two hours listening to while driving around aimlessly, I burst into tears. I recognized all the songs that Blue used to play in the park and in the shed. Back then he only actually sang three of them, but now they all have accompanying lyrics, and I swear he put our entire relationship into poetic words of heartache, love, and loss. Or maybe I’m flattering myself. Maybe some of those songs are about other women in his life, but my heart is telling me they’re all about me, and us. I know our story, and these songs are dripping the blood of our relationship.