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Leo flips around and leans on Isabella’s legs, hands propped on her knees. He tilts his head to the side and appraises me.
Is it possible he’s seeing what I saw in that picture? All of our similarities?
Am I a mirror he didn’t know he needed?
Because he’s mine.
I could play music to stadiums of thousands, make millions off a record, be an icon, a god to some.
None of that compares to the way my son is looking at me for the first time, knowing we belong to each other.
My eyes pinch with tears.
Hold on… just hold on…
Leo leaves the comfort of Isabella and comes over to me. I brace myself for impact, imagining he’s going throw his arms around me and hold on for dear life which may or may not make my still recovering insides scream with pain.
Instead, he stops right in front of me and grins. “You want to build Legos with me?”
The tearful feeling disappears. And I smile, unable to police myself. “Hell yeah.”
Five Years Earlier…
Isabella ditched her own party. She ditched her own thirtieth birthday party to go sleep with a twenty-something guitarist from the band playing in the backroom of a bar.
She didn’t expect much. Keeping her expectations low with men was always the way to go.
Her low expectations, though, were blown out of the water.
Rex the guitarist from Barstow was a machine in bed. His mouth wasn’t only suited for singing esoteric lyrics. And his fingers weren’t only suited for guitar strings.
He insisted she take his number when she told him she wasn’t going to spend the night. Isabella did so and thought nothing of it.
Until the next day when her brain was filled with visions of a sex god with a primal growling voice and an insatiable need to please her.
The memories were fuzzy, thanks to liquor and the haze of horniness. Isabella wrote it off at first, heading to her shift at the hospital. Better to keep the memory than to test it any further.
But the longer her shift went on, the more she wondered.
The more she had to know…
Was her memory playing tricks on her?
Or was he really that good?
Rex was woken up from a nap at six in the evening to a banging on his motel room door. He rubbed his face, forcing himself to sit up and swing his legs around.
The rest of the band had already headed back to Barstow. He shelled out a precious ninety-five dollars to have an extra day to sleep and avoid being packed into the van.
The club tour had been grueling, with some performances being wall-to-wall fans and others, like last night, background music to a rowdy night at the bar.
Except, last night might have been Rex’s favorite night of the tour.
And today had been a pretty good day too of rotting in bed, remembering his body with Isabella’s and trying to relive it as best he could.
A hand was barely comparable though.
The knocking came again.
