Page 105 of Hideaway Heart
I kissed the top of her head and stroked her back. “Your call. You did a good job of speaking your mind at the table, by the way. I was proud of you.”
“I didn’t say all the things I wanted to.”
“Maybe not, but you didn’t just sit there and let him treat you like a child. It’s a start. Give yourself some credit.”
“Thanks. By the way, I don’t really want you to stay in a different room. I just didn’t want their questions. Stay in here with me.”
“I’ll stay wherever you want me to.”
“Right here. Please.” Her body relaxed against mine. “My safe place.”
Long after we turned out the light, got under the covers, and reached for each other in the dark, her words stayed with me.
I liked being her safe place. I worried about what would happen when I was gone. I hated the fact that I probably wouldn’t see her again once I left town.
But there was nothing I could do about it except make sure she’d stay safe once I was gone.
* * *
Starting the next morning, I dedicated every waking hour to Kelly’s security. I contacted Jackson Cole, my previous boss, and asked him for advice on hiring skilled, trustworthy guys, and he gave me the number of some people he knew in the area. I conducted interviews. I supervised the testing of every camera at her house, the motion sensors, and the alarms. I changed the code on her gate. I met with the guard at the gatehouse of her subdivision and asked a hundred questions about what safeguards were in place. I performed background checks on her driver, her chef, her housekeeper, her landscaper, her agent, her stylist—even the pool guy.
My favorite candidate for Kelly’s full-time security was a guy named Marius Boley, and not just because of his intimidating size. He was a former Navy guy (yes, I’m biased) in his early thirties, whose name I’d gotten from Jackson. Newly transplanted from L.A., he’d provided security for a well-known actress for the last three years, and she’d given him glowing reviews. He had a wife and one daughter, and they’d moved back to this area to be closer to his wife’s family. He’d take care of finding additional bodyguards for her tour when the time came, and he understood he was not to leave it to the record label or anyone else.
He had a firm handshake, good eye contact, answered all my questions correctly, and had experience dealing with paparazzi.
Speaking of which, I’d also heard back from Zach Barrett. No surprise his contacts had discovered the car had been rented to a guy named Lawrence Hooper, who had a Tennessee driver’s license with a Nashville address. “Need more?” he asked. “He must have flown in. I could get his flight information.”
I thought about it for a second, then decided against it. “Don’t waste your time. I know who Hooper is, and if I had to find him, I could.”
“Okay. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you. And good luck with the bar opening.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Every day, I maintained contact with Veronica and Austin, who were working hard to make sure Buckley’s Pub could still open on time. Veronica promoted on social media, Austin and my dad spread the word around town, and I reached out to all my old high school buddies, letting them know there would be a new place to get together and watch the game. The fucking barstools still hadn’t arrived, but if we had to, we could get along without them. We had everything else in place.
Kelly was busy with rehearsals and fittings and appointments every day, but when she’d arrive home in the late afternoon, we always took a run together, worked out in her home gym, practiced the self-defense moves, and often took a swim late at night. At first, we were careful not to touch each other romantically when others were around, but by the end of the weekend, we’d gotten fairly reckless, especially in the pool.
There in the dark, beneath the surface of the water, her arms and legs would twine around me, and my hands would seek out all my favorite places on her body. Our lips would meet, wet and warm and hungry, and we’d get so worked up, we’d race from the pool to the bedroom without even drying off, dripping through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hall, and across the carpet.
We were usually good at being quiet, but sometimes I’d have to put a hand over Kelly’s mouth while I fucked her because she’d get carried away and start to cry out.
Afterward, we’d lay in her bed, damp and breathless, submerged in whatever this was between us.
But we’d stopped talking late at night. Sometimes I even faked falling asleep quickly to avoid a difficult conversation.
We were getting too close to goodbye.
* * *
One week after I arrived in Nashville, I woke up and forced myself to face reality—Buckley’s Pub was opening in three days, and I needed to get back. Marius was coming over later to meet Kelly, and if she liked him, he was hired. He would take over from here.
I looked over at her, and my blood warmed at the sight of her sleeping, naked and bed mussed. Immediately I rolled over and curled my body around hers, inhaling her sweet, summery scent. How many more times would I get to do this? What if I walked out of here tomorrow and never saw her again? What if I never met anyone who made me feel this way, like I wanted to keep her close to me all the time? What if I never met anyone who trusted me the way she did? Or whose trustmatteredas much as hers did? What if I never found someone who challenged me like she did? Made me laugh like she did? Made me want to drop to my knees just so she didn’t feel so alone?
How was I supposed to go from seeing her and talking to her and hearing her sing or laugh or whisper every single day and night to nothing at all? It would be like having an addiction and quitting cold turkey. I wasn’t sure I could do it.
Suddenly I felt angry. Why the fuck had I let myself fall for her this way? Hadn’t I known better? Hadn’t I always been so careful to keep relationships casual? I’d been so fucking sure of myself, so cocky and carefree. Even when I’d imagined how I’d feel about my future wife, it was nothing like the way Kelly Jo Sullivan had knocked me off my feet. I didn’t know which way was up anymore. I tried to picture my life without her in it, and I didn’t like it at all.
But I didn’t want to love this woman, with her world tours and sold-out shows and rabid fans and social media bullshit and dickhead paparazzi chasing her around. I wanted a laidback, small-town life. I wanted privacy and freedom. I wanted someone who’d belong to me, not the music industry. I didn’t want to share.