Page 10 of Collide

“No.” I don’t wish to share with her how we came up with the name.

“It’s rather metaphorical, isn’t it?”

I set my guitar across my lap and stare at her. “How?”

“My mother was a star, and whenever she was with Hank Paige, they collapsed.” I remembered well the fireworks between Kit Carrigan and Hank Paige. Their on-again, off-again relationship made backstage a hostile environment sometimes. Of course, we were only with their tour for a few months before everything fell apart.

“Sometimes stars merge, making something larger than the two alone.” I try to sound positive, keeping my eyes on her. I have a strange sense that colliding with Ivy and connecting with her would make me a better man.

“Are you trying to impress me with your astrological knowledge?”

“Is it working? Impressing you?” I flirt. I don’t think she’ll want to hear about how hiding in the dark backyard to count stars and observe their patterns was a way to dull the pain of an abused kid.

She quietly giggles. “Since I have no idea if you are correct, I’ll admit it sounds impressive. To be larger than you are is better than alone.”

Is she lonely? Is this about Cash? I should ask, but I don’t.

“Hawaii was my mother’s favorite place,” she tells me. “It was the place where she was a mother, not a celebrity. She loved this penthouse. Maybe the view was part of the reason.” Ivy looks up one more time. We remain silent for several long minutes until my fingers can’t help themselves, and I strum my guitar. Ivy is a song waiting to be sung, and I want to sing her. With her head tipped back, she closes her eyes.

“Want me to sing to you? It might put you to sleep,” I tease because upon my second read of the words I thought would be the greatest ever, the song sounds boring so far. She chuckles softly and notices the pages on the table. She reaches for the notebook, but I’m faster. Her face lights up as she looks at me. “No one samples the mastery until it’s a masterpiece.”

She sits back in the seat and tucks her feet differently this time, her knees pointing at me as she shifts to rest her side against the cushion. I don’t sing, but I continue to play, looking over at her occasionally and noticing her eyes drooping.

Cash was a lucky man to have her, and he was a fool to leave us, but being smart wasn’t his forte. Everything came easily to him. He was a visionary but not a go-getter. Things just happened for him. The music. The connections. The women. And the drugs. I want to hate him for what he did, but my heart forgives him. I loved him like the brother I didn’t have, and with that came an acceptance despite his bad habits. He was a collapsed star.

I don’t know how much time passes, but Ivy drifts off. When I stop strumming, she doesn’t move.

“Ivy?” I whisper. She doesn’t stir. I prop my guitar against the loveseat and stand, rubbing my hands against my thighs. I whisper her name once again a little louder but not loud enough to startle her. Slipping a hand behind her back, I tuck my arm under her bent legs.

“Gage,” she mutters, her voice low and sleepy.

“I’m going to carry you to bed.”

“You want to sleep with me,” she teases in her groggy voice.

You have no idea. But I chuckle off her flirty words. “Not tonight, gorgeous.” She wraps her arms around my neck, allowing me to adjust her to cradle her against my chest. I carry her to her bedroom. Tommy’s given her the master suite for privacy while he takes another room and us guys share the last bedroom. As I lay her down on the mattress, she releases me, rolling on her side.

“Stay with me,” she whispers, and I stare down at her back. Grabbing the blanket, I pull it up over her so I’m not tempted, though I’m so tempted. If only I thought she asked in earnest. For some reason, I know I’ll give this girl anything she asks for, but not until she’s ready.

“Some other night,” I repeat, hoping I’ll get a second chance with her.

6

IVY

I dream he stays, just holding me. I don’t think I’ve ever cuddled with a lover. I think back on the variety of men, and the immediate answer is no, no I have not.

Men can hold you but don’t let them hold your heart.

What would it feel like if someone did both?

I wake surprisingly refreshed, feeling lighter with one week down and some extra company to fill our time. The boys are going parasailing this morning, and Tommy and I plan to hit the pool. Now that he knows I’m pregnant, I don’t feel as self-conscious about removing my cover-up, but I might keep it on for good measure. Tommy takes us to a roped off section of the pool deck that’s guarded by security to give us privacy. It screams someone important over here, but it also assures us people won’t constantly pester us.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop the ladies from lingering and checking out my uncle. No matter how many years have passed since the band broke up, Tommy is recognized everywhere he goes. He’s graying at the temples, and it’s mixing in with his beard. In a few more years, he’ll be an interesting mix of salt and pepper. The women taking their time to stroll by don’t seem to care he’s almost forty compared to their late twenties.

“You know, you should find an older woman, one more your own age,” I tease.

“Now where would the fun be in that?” He winks, and I’m thankful that at least as I age, he’s no longer going for women who are in their early twenties. He’s tapping closer to thirty, lately. I chuckle as I respond.