Page 37 of After Care

“You’re kind of stubborn, aren’t you? I didn’t have you pegged for that.” I bristled at the comment. How wrong he’d read me. How wrong I’d read him.

Lawson Colt. It didn’t make sense, but it did. He couldn’t be Tommy Carrigan to his sister, Kit. They would appear like a married couple with the same last name. Sister and brother acts had been a thing of the past. Not to mention, Lawson Colt had already been making a name with his indie band. Then his band disappeared. Had he given up his band for her? My shoulders fell, though not completely relieving the tension. His presence lingered only a moment longer before he stepped out of the kitchen. Jared took the dishes I stacked and started drying them. Petty had disappeared as soon as his duty was replaced by me.

“He didn’t mean it,” Jared said, speaking low. “I think he might have liked the anonymity. He can’t go anywhere without being recognized. It’s crazy.” Memory flashed to the girls in the bar that first night, and more of them at the pool the next day. The dive bar where he said a local could hide, and the way a name passed us to the front of the line at the restaurant the night before. He was a freaking rock star in his own right.

“I’d like to understand, Jared, but I feel a little foolish. I had no idea, and considering you all did, including my Caleb, and no one said anything…” My voice trailed off and liquid welled in my eyes. I blinked several times. A hand came to my back, but I shook my head.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, a phrase I’d said a million and a half times during a marriage of deceit. It was fine that David worked late. It was fine that he travelled too much. It was fine that he used our money to take a trip when he wanted a break from his life. Fine. Fine. Fine.

My shoulders fell completely, but the tension still pinched my back.

“Would you mind pouring me another glass of wine?” I asked Jared.

“Anything you want, Edie.” He stepped around me for the opposite counter. “He really likes you. I know that. He’s never dated anyone your age.” He paused, and I looked up at him, eyes narrowed. He was reflective a moment. “That sounded wrong.”

Petty’s head popped around the corner. “Well, he dated, cough, cough, women your age when he was younger. Then when he got older, they got younger.”

“Not fucking helping,” Jared yelled with a false laugh, pushing Petty’s head away from the kitchen entrance.

“What I mean is—”

“Jared.” I paused, blinking back the additional tears in my eyes. “Would you mind if I finished the dishes myself? It’s a good distraction. Go watch the game or something.” I smiled weakly, but hoped to convey that I really wanted to be alone. I was embarrassed enough, felt foolish enough, and had already created enough of a scene. I needed peace.

Jared nodded and pointed over his shoulder. “I’m right out here if you need anything.” Nodding, I swiped at a tear before it escaped and returned to scouring the dishes.

+ + +

“Do you have any idea how fucking long I’ve been looking for you?” Tommy snapped, crouching down next to the chaise lounge where I lay. I’d texted Masie and Caleb after I snuck out the employee entrance of the penthouse, telling them I was headed to the bar. I didn’t mention which one, although I’m certain they both knew why. I took a glass and the bottle of wine from the counter and went to the beach instead. I didn’t want to be around people.

My eyes opened fully, as I’d been dozing after finishing the bottle. Impulse forced me to reach out and I cupped his cheek, drawing down to his chin, and then scratching at his neck with my knuckles. That prickly scruff brought me a strange comfort. Releasing his face, I slowly pressed myself upward, allowing him space to sit. He remained crouching a moment, watching me before he set a bottle of whiskey in the sand and took the seat opposite me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, darlin’.” He paused, and I waited. He was right; I was stubborn, but this time it was justified. I could wait a long time. In fact, I’d been waiting a lifetime for someone like him, yet somehow, I felt like he was already slipping away.

“You didn’t trust me,” I said, understanding all his reasons why and still not liking the answers.

“It wasn’t that. Not one bit. I liked that you didn’t know me. Him,” he corrected. “I’m still me. I’m still Tommy Carrigan.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, lifting my head to look at him.

“My name is Thomas Lawson Carrigan, Jr. My dad is Tommy, so they called me Lawson. I took the name Colt because it sounded bad ass and went with the vibe of our band. We wanted to be something classic, like the old 45 records, although Colt45 sounded tuff. A gun. Alcohol. Bad things. Bang,” he signaled with two fingers towards the rolling ocean. He looked out at the water and I observed his silhouette. His beautiful, silver-streaked hair and matching scruff beard. The buff of his body and the curve of his plump lips. He was gorgeous, while I was me. Short hair, curling in Cs and Qs, streaked with silver and white blonde. We didn’t match.

He was a rock star. I was just…me.

I turned away from him, looking down at the hand he returned to the arm of the chaise. He made music with his fingers, music that melted girls’ hearts and soaked their underwear. I had been one of those girls. I had stood, mesmerized, falling in love with him and his words, when he played at that Chicago venue all those years ago. Twenty-five plus years ago, and here he sat. He’d made it in life. I’d never felt more incompetent.

“You’re a fucking rock star,” I said, shocking him with my use of the word. “And I’m a fool.”

He rolled his head to face me, but it was my turn to look away.

“I thought you saw me differently than some groupie. I thought, maybe, you felt something for me.” Tears I refused to shed clouded my eyes. “You must have laughed double-time at my lack of music history, hoping, no, knowing, I’d never figure out who you were. You could keep up the charade.” I shook my head, disappointed in myself. My ex lied a hundred times and I never caught on. How had I fallen into this empty feeling again?

“I didn’t lie to you. I just left it out. And I’m not sorry you didn’t know. Your knowledge of the music industry is awful, and I loved it. It was interesting to watch you speak about things you lacked understanding about but were excited to share. Seeing your face light up as you realized you loved a song after I played it for you, or trying to describe one you liked without knowing the artist. It was refreshing that you wanted to impress me, but in a totally unskilled, unbiased way. And not recognizing me allowed you to get to see me without all the other bullshit clouding us.”

“Us,” I whispered. How could there be an us when only one of us was truthful?

“You are different, darlin’, that’s what I like so much about you. You don’t see the other stuff. You only see me.” His voice faltered. “Or maybe I just hoped you had.” Silence surrounded us for a moment and I shivered with a chill in the night breeze.

“Please, beautiful,” he begged. “Please, don’t let this change anything. Be mad at me, if you want to. But I kept the truth from you so I could feel like a normal man.”