Chapter 36
36
Shane
Get married.
Roberta makes it sound so easy. She even said it. “Easy. Get married.”
What the fuck am I going to do? Cat’s not going to want to get married. Not when we’ve been trying to get divorced this whole time.
Fuck.
I pull into the parking lot of Parkdale Retirement Home and lock up her Toyota. Though it’s tempting to let thieves steal it. The air-conditioning is shit, the check engine light is on half the time, and the steering wheel is tight on the turns.
Spying my Ferrari parked away from other cars, I smile, knowing she’d taken good care of it this morning on her drive in.
The buzzer sounds, alerting me before the doors slide open. I nod at the camera in thanks before stepping inside and catching Cat’s eyes. She waves, my pretty girl, my gorgeous wife. Mine.
I’m a fucking caveman, but I have no shame. I’m not losing her, not again.
Holding her finger in the air, she nods. I catch her drift and detour to a table by the window to wait for her to finish with her patient. Staring out the window, I think about how I’ll tell Cat about us not being married. Or if I just let it go and pretend I never heard different than we did before.
“Mr. Big and Strong is back.”
I turn to find the little lady from last time standing behind the chair next to me. “Mrs. Winston, right?”
“You can call me Maggie.” She eases into a chair like she was invited. I don’t mind. She was entertaining last time. She looks over her shoulder like she’s making sure no one’s eavesdropping, and then asks, “You’re here to see Nurse Cate?”
“I am.” I glance across the room at her, sitting beside the patient and holding her hand. She’s the kindest soul I’ve ever known.
“Love runs deep like a river through your veins. No matter how long you’re apart, the other person is always with you.”
I’m feeling seen in ways that make me shift in the chair, but I push past that and reply, “It does for me.”
“It does for her, too. She doesn’t talk about you because she’s always so uptight.” I smile along with her, appreciating those qualities about Cat now that I know where they stem from—strength. “But I also see the change. She’s a pretty girl, but she carried sadness in her eyes that even a smile couldn’t hide.”
“I don’t remember sadness. I only remember sunshine.”
Touching me gently on the wrist, she says, “That’s because she shines for you. That’s how love works when you find your person.” I have a feeling she knows this for a fact. She checks her watch. “Want to watch Wheel of Fortune with me?”
Cat looks like she’s going to be caught up for a while. “I’d love to, Maggie.” I stand and then assist her getting up.
She quickly latches onto my arm, leading me straight for the ugly beige couch in the middle of the room. “Invite me to the wedding.”
“What wedding is that?”
She looks back at Cat. When she turns back to me, she smiles. “I’m not going to live forever, so hurry up and make her your wife.”
“I intend to.”
Thirty-five minutes later . . .
Maggie has slept through the show more than she’s watched it. But every time her eyes opened, she looked to make sure I was still here. So I stay until I get a tap on my shoulder. “Hi,” Cat whispers. “Want to go outside?”
Maggie perks up and looks in my direction. “It was good to see you again.”
“You, too.”
“Maggie, do you think Shane’s still my Marty?” I have no idea what Cat means, but she’s smiling like it’s a good thing.
Maggie rests her arm on the back of the couch and angles toward her. “No.”
“No?” Cat asks, surprised. “I thought?—”
“No. This is your Henry, Nurse Cate.” Maggie reaches her hand out, and Cat takes hold of it between both of hers. “It’s not about one kiss. It’s about a lifetime, an eternity together, creating a family, and loving each other through the years.” Maggie says, “Martys are fun. Henrys are forever.”
Turning back to me, Maggie taps her watch. “Seal the deal, Mr. Big and Strong. Time is a tickin’.”
I wink, and she winks right back. Cate takes my hand when I come around the couch, and says, “She’s a spitfire.”
“She sure is.”
We walk into the sunshine and down to the corner. Holding my fob for me, she says, “No dings.”
It’s funny how that car used to be my pride and joy. Now it’s the cargo inside. “Good to hear.” I hand her the Toyota keys as we stroll to the Ferrari. “It was good to see you in action.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” she says. “I have to say if I weren’t already charmed by you . . .” She signals back to the building. “Seeing you in there with Maggie would have done it.”
“She’s a nice lady and thinks highly of you.”
Humility creases her cheeks into a smile. My sweet girl. “Before I forget, I got you a diagnostic assessment with Dr. Lazlo in Beverly Hills. Unfortunately, he’s so booked, he can’t see you for six weeks.”
Always thinking of me. “Thank you. I appreciate you doing that for me.”
“I’ll help however I can. I’ll send you the details so you can check the tour schedule for any conflicts.” She starts to lean in for a kiss but stops herself and looks back at the building. Taking my hand, she pulls me to the other side of the car. “Dragging me into the shadows to have your way with me?”
“I wish.” She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me instead. It’s a solid substitute. Pulling back, she sinks back on her heels, but since she’s standing on a curb, she’s closer to eye level. “So what happened this morning? Did you talk to Roberta?”
“I talked to Roberta.” Why does doing the right thing feel so fucking wrong?
“And? What did she say?”
I run my fingers through my hair and glance toward the intersection. It’s not the light that has my attention. It’s a long lens. Fuck! “Get down.”
“What the hell?” She’s lying in the dirt, pushing herself up and then dusting her hands off. “You got my white coat dirty.”
“Sorry, babe.” I peek up, still spying the lens just above the bushes at the corner.
She huffs. “I like the way you get to lie low on the cement while I’m tossed in the flower bed. What the hell?”
“There’s paparazzi taking photos of us.”
She whips her head back to look, her hair flying over her shoulders. “Where?” she asks.
“Down at the corner. They’re not great at hiding. Most of the time, they don’t bother. They want that picture, the face front photo. It sells better for them.” She scoots to the curb next to me and sits with her head lowered. “A photo of us kissing . . .” I scrub a hand over my face. “Fuck.”
“What do we do?”
“I’ll call Rochelle. She’ll take care of it.”
Wrapping her arms around her legs, she asks, “Who’s Rochelle?”
“She’s the one who handles these situations for the bands at Outlaw Records.”
“Does she also happen to be the one who gets you phone numbers not listed and addresses of places of business?”
Chuckling, I sit beside her. “I’m not one to give away my sources.”
She nudges me and then laughs. “So tell me, rock star, how long do we need to hide out?”
“Well, that’s where it gets tricky. We need a plan.”
Her eyes light up like Christmas morning has come early. “I love a plan.”
Two hours . . . I managed to distract the paparazzi long enough to get her inside so she could work, but I ended up driving around half of LA to keep them busy.
Five Weeks Later . . .
The photos never came out. Neither did the truth about the marriage.
I never claimed to be the hero of her story. I was always meant to be the villain. So I left the truth out by omission. She even lost her house because of this mess. I don’t want to be the one who breaks her heart over it twice. Kill the messenger . . . yeah, no thanks.
I’ve wanted to tell her but we’ve both been busy, and I don’t want to waste the time I do get with her on frivolous details like, “You know how we thought we were married for the past year? We’re not. Want to head down to the courthouse and get the deed finalized?” Yeah, that doesn’t roll off the tongue. You know what does? Her sweet cli?—
“Yes. Yes. Yes, lord of the stage.” She gets me every time with it.
“Fuck yes!” I hit my peak just as she reaches hers. Our bodies align in a release of ecstasy. But it’s when we’re lying in the aftermath, Cat cuddled to my side, that I finally get the nerve to say, “Move in with me.”
Her breathing had been steady, but it stops altogether. Lifting onto an elbow, she finds my eyes through the moonlight in her bedroom. Before she has time to overthink it, I caress her cheeks and ask, “Will you move in with me, babe?”
Resting her hand over my heart, she replies, “I want to live with you, but you live so far from my assignments. I leave by six to make it to work by eight when I stay over there.”
“There’s nothing reasonable about my request. I stay here when we’re together because I don’t have a morning job to report to. So I get it. But I want us together. I want to come home from the road and have you there. I want your stuff and your books around my living room, your mugs in my cabinet. I want you lying on the chaise at the end of a long day like you love to do. Cat, I want you.”
She lies back down, her head on my chest and her leg over mine like I hadn’t said anything at all. “Babe?” I whisper.
“I want all those things with you, too.” Tilting her head up again, she says, “It’s a really long commute two times a day, upward of two hours in either direction.”
“I’ll buy you a house. Anywhere you want it. You can have your garden and flowers filling the beds. Kittens. I’ll buy you as many kittens as you want even though they become cats. Anything you want.”
Sliding up higher, she strokes her fingers through my hair and smiles. “Let’s start with what we have and grow from there. For you, I’ll commute. When you’re touring, I can stay at the apartment.”
“Or you can come with me. Not give up your career. I know how much you love it. Just to the show in Albuquerque. I can fly you out Friday after work. We’ll come back Sunday. What do you think?”
“I’d love to see you play live, lord of the stage.” She can’t even say it with a straight face. It surprises me she can climax to it. That makes two of us.
“I still can’t get over the fact you were the secret woman Shane was dating.” Nikki hugs Cat again when we run into each other backstage.
“It’s been a whirlwind,” Cat replies.
“All the best romances are,” she says. “Hey, can I ask you a favor? This dress has a hook that’s come undone . . .”
While they work on the wardrobe malfunction, Laird says, “Poppy approves.” He laughs. “Not that you need our approval by any means, but we’re more than a band. You know that, right?”
“I know that.” We bring it in for a back clap and push apart again. “Where is this coming from? Need a babysitter and buttering me up?”
“The twins do miss you. Where have you been hiding?”
“We’re moving in together.”
“That’s a big step.” If he only knew all the other steps we’ve been through. “If you’re happy, I am. You and Cat should come around when we’re back in town.”
I look toward the sunlight when a garage is opened nearby. Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “I want to. I want her to meet Poppy and the twins. We’ll make plans when we return.”
Tommy whistles. “Get your asses over here. You’re being announced.”
I slip to Cat’s side as she turns to look for me. “Hey,” she says, “break a leg. Just not yours.” She never fails to make me smile.
“You know where to go?”
“Tommy said he’ll help me find my seat.”
“Good.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the stairs that lead to the stage. “Stay close to him. Crowds can be finicky.”
“Don’t worry about me, babe. Just have fun. I will be.”
I kiss her quick as my sticks are handed to me. Watching her walk away is fucking painful. At least I have the memory of what she did to me in the dressing room to keep me company while we’re apart.
The lights go out, and I run up the stairs first to settle onto the stool. A roadie hands Laird his guitar stage right, and Nikki waits just off stage left, ready to run out and kick into the first song. Standard operating procedure.
I’m not looking for them. I’m looking for Cat. With the stage lights out, I can’t see jack shit, though I can hear the noise of the crowd grow louder with the two of us out here.
I count us in and slam down on drums. The lights come up and kick into the song Laird and I worked on. It has a sick opening beat and was made to kick off the set. Nikki runs out, waving to the crowd before putting her own guitar on and taking center stage at the mic.
Left of her foot, I see my wife. So goddamn beautiful dancing to our music.
It doesn’t take but half a song for our eyes to connect. I play the rest for her.
Four songs end, and Tommy changes places with her. I keep playing, and my hands know where to go all on their own. My shoulder is already giving me trouble, though. Next week is the appointment.
A scream, a fight, and beer flying in the air has Nikki pointing at where security is needed. When I see where she’s pointing, I stand at attention, noticing the scuffle. I hit the notes but don’t see Cat.
Sitting again, I try to get a better view, but security is in the way. I lean left, then right. There’s no good angle to check on my wife. And then I see her being shoved into Tommy from a fucking asshole in the audience.
I throw my sticks and run before thinking about what to do otherwise. Jumping off stage, I head to the railing and lunge into the crowd with my fist meeting the fucker’s face.
“Your shoulder is broken. You’re going to need surgery,” the medic says, “and you might have a broken rib or two. We’ll need x-rays to determine what you didn’t mess up out there.”
“You should see the other guy,” I reply, eyeing Cat next to me.
“I did. He’s not faring better.”
“I hope he’s faring worse.”
The medic doesn’t laugh, which is probably the appropriate response. “Your knuckles are swelling. Keep the ice pack on them and decide whether the ambulance will take you to the hospital to get your shoulder set or you’re riding in the private SUV.”
“I’m not riding in an ambulance.” I smirk, giving Cat a wink. “The SUV works. Anyway, I have my personal nurse with me.”
The medic starts scribbling something and then stands to dig through his bag.
Cat whispers, “That’s one way to handle a bad rotator cuff. In a blaze of glory.”
“Worked out, didn’t it?”
“Not for the other guy.”
“Damn right. That’s what he gets for shoving a woman.” I lower my voice so only she can hear me. “That’s what he gets for shoving my wife.” I can make myself feel bad. Who shoves a woman? Even more so, mine?
She has been summing me up with every once-over she gives. Kicking into nurse mode, she asks, “Are you in pain?”
“Not a bit. Whatever they gave me is working, baby.”
Shaking her head, she laughs. “Good to know.”
The medic returns to the catering table, where we were propped up when we were rushed backstage. The guy sits in front of her, and asks, “How’s your arm?”
“It’s bruised. It’s definitely not broken. See?” She winces when she moves it, but she’s right. It doesn’t look broken, according to my uneducated opinion.
He takes her temperature, then checks her blood pressure. “All normal, which is good under the circumstances. Are you currently pregnant or might be without prior knowledge?” Cat hesitates, so he says, “It’s standard to ask. You can just say no if you’re not.”
“I’m thinking.” She’s thinking? What kind of answer is—oh shit.
“Are you pregnant, babe?”
Her eyes dart to mine as panic rises inside them. “I don’t know.”
What the fuck?
I take her hand in mine, fighting through the pain in my shoulder. Tears well in her eyes when she says, “I might be.”
Turning back to the medic, she says, “I’m a week late, but I was under a lot of stress recently, so I didn’t feel it was necessary to take a test just yet.”
“Would you like to take a test now?” he asks, keeping his voice down.
“I probably should.”