36. Chapter 36 #3
“You don’t have to believe me, but I’m telling you the truth. I love Summoner.”
He shook his head. “How can you love him? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why not? Why does love have to make sense?”
“Because he is old enough to be your fucking father!” His nostrils flared. “I’ll bet you haven’t even thought about what will happen in 15 or 20 years when you’re wiping his ass and tending to his fucking bedsores!”
“Your dad has enough money,” I said flatly, trying to keep my composure. “I’m sure we could hire someone to do all those things.” Inside, I was a jumble of nerves.
“Make me understand!?” he demanded, frustration etched into his features.
I shook my head. “No. You don’t have to understand it, Evan. It’s not your relationship. It’s not your fucking business.”
“That’s my dad! Of course it’s my fucking business!”
I rolled my shoulders. “No, it’s not.”
“Just so you can drain his bank account and stick him in some home in a couple of years?”
I rolled my eyes.
He leaned forward, cutting an imposing shadow over me. “You’re tearing my family apart!”
“They tore it apart before I ever showed up!”
His rage brushed against me in waves. But I couldn’t back down. I didn’t think he would hurt me, but people did unfathomable things within their rage. I was a quaking knight, rattling in my armor, defending my relationship with a chipped sword.
“I’m sorry about your family. I’m sorry that me being around is disturbing things, but I won’t apologize for loving Summoner.
I’m thankful I get to be with him. I didn’t…
” I paused, attempting in my drunk mind to sort my thoughts and feelings into perfectly-structured words.
“…I didn’t know anyone could love me the way he does.
I never thought of myself as worthy. But we found each other.
He has my heart.” My smile couldn’t be helped.
Eyes wide, Evan punched the wall beside me. His fist was barely a foot away from my face. The wall vibrated from the impact. His anger washed over me, making me flinch. It was as if the world held its breath, and we stood frozen, waiting for anything to happen.
My legs became weak as he turned and sulked towards the bathroom. With the wall holding me up, I stood there as my fear subsided and the wings of love tickled my chest. I stood up for my relationship. I stood up for myself. But this was more than enough reason to head home.
I headed back outside, but I wasn’t in the mood to sing anymore. After obliging a series of selfies, I dragged my slowly-sobering self upstairs, only tripping once. I opened the bedroom door, surprised to see Summoner still awake, sitting at the desk.
“Hey. What you doing?” I kicked off my sandals.
“Just thinking and finishing up something.” He pushed back his chair and motioned me over.
Giggling, I climbed onto his lap.
“It’s daft, but I’ve got something for you to take home to your dad.”
I nuzzled his neck. “You are so set on winning my dad over, aren’t you?”
On the desk were signed copies of Summoner’s first 2 albums, Daydream of Colorful Aquatic and Idly in the Sun. I gasped.
“You think that’s a good enough apology for deflowering his daughter and making him unable to listen to my music?”
“I do. I’m so jealous.”
“Don’t be.”
“My Dad gets signed albums and I get you?”
“Yep.”
With that, he carried me to bed. Quickly shedding our clothes in forgotten piles on the floor.
Naked.
Just wrapped up in each other.
In the middle of the night, sleepless, hazy time stretched.
My leg draped across his torso. His hand rested on my ass.
The pads of my fingertips played along his collarbone.
Summoner was brilliance. Being with him was being basked in its warmth.
No wonder Kay didn’t want another woman near him.
She understood the feeling better than anyone.
She knew the ache that came with drought. The pain of his absence.
My fingers worked their way along the thick muscles in his neck.
I traced his body. Recording the feelings for later.
These were the moments I didn’t want to leave.
Beyond the crickets outside the window, all I could hear was the quiet humming frequency between us.
My last night in Spain, and we were together. It was all I could ask for.
His chest rose and fell under my arm as he sighed. “Poppy.”
My pussy clenched.
God.
“The way you say my name…It does things to me. It’s not fair.”
My body ground against his in a shameless expression of desire. His fingernails bit into the softness of my ass. I moaned.
“You do things to me too, Poppy.”
My hand caressed his cheek, brushing against his sexy vacation stubble. The sensation of my palm against the blunt roughness of his beard sent goosebumps down my spine. It turned me on. Desire burned inside me, but fatigue overpowered. Physically and emotionally.
“Sorry Spain wasn’t perfect.”
I leaned my chin on his shoulder and looked up at him. He stared at the ceiling, his lids heavy.
“It wasn’t perfect, but I loved it.”
He grinned.
We couldn’t change what happened. No need to rehash any of it.
“You really are something special, Poppy.”
I scoffed, forcing him to look at me. He looked so tired. Tenderly, I reached up and brushed my fingers across his lips. His breath hitched against my touch. My caress of his mouth lingered. The home to that wonderful voice of his.
“Do you remember when I said everyone was a bit broken?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I read something the other day about the Japanese patching broken pottery with gold and silver. They call it kintsugi.”
“Kintsugi?”
“Yeah. I mention it because I think you’re patched up with gold. You are wonderful, Poppy. You are gold. I know what that voice inside your head can do because I have it too, but you need to know that voice is wrong. Depression be damned. You’re so much more than you think.”
You are gold.
There was warmth and comfort in his words, melting away the need to tell him all the reasons he was wrong. Leaving me to bask in the glow of our love.
“I’m hoping you could humor me?”
“Sure.”
“If you were to, say, interview me, what questions would you ask?”
I laughed. The threadbare, half-baked plan that brought us together. Over the years, I had thought of questions I’d love to ask Summoner the rockstar. But now, naked in the arms of the man I loved, I wasn’t that starstruck fangirl anymore.
“Really?” I asked.
“Really.”
“…Uh, I guess I’d ask you about your career and stuff.”
His hand caressed my lower back. “Come on, Poppy. Give me your best shot.”
My heart backflipped in my chest. I’d finally gotten my interview. This was a gift. The circle was complete.
Spine straight, I cleared my throat and put on my best interviewer voice. “Okay, okay. You’ve written songs that are etched into the fabric of music history. You haven’t put out an album in years. Do you still write songs?”
“Yes. I try to write something every day. To me, songwriting is a muscle that must be exercised.”
Every day?
…His notebook.
I swallowed. “…What makes a good song?”
“Hmmm…I’d say the element of surprise for me as the creator and for the listener. Both are crucial. I’ve been playing for nearly 60 years, and whenever I can find some unknown element, something that sits pleasantly on the ear, my job is done.”
“You’re a self-taught musician. Do you think that has helped or hindered you in any way?”
“I don’t think it’s hindered me. I have a keen ear and it’s something I’ve learned to lean on over the years. Improvising and learning are things I, as a musician, never stop doing. I always strive to learn more and to be better than yesterday.”
My body felt warm. Summoner had finally given me the thing I sat in the snow for.
But now, I didn’t want it. It was too clinical.
Too far removed from our current situation.
And for some unexplained reason, through every question I asked and every answer he gave, I felt him slip further away. Just beyond my grasp.
I laid my head on his shoulder, placing my hand over his heart. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Poppy. Never forget it.”
Summoner’s arms closed around me. He squeezed me against his chest, stealing my breath. I wanted to tell him that although I was leaving, I was his. But my words stayed on my tongue.
Softly, Summoner started to sing. His silken voice wasn’t in English.
It took my drunk and tired brain a moment to recognize he was singing in French.
The words on his tongue melded together with their own naturally melodic rhythm.
The lyrics sounded painful, aching. I didn’t understand the words, but they sounded so familiar. Like something Nina Simone sang.
“Ne me quitte pas…”