Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
HOLLIS
It is nine in the morning.
I just flew in from Las Vegas on a redeye. I am running on zero hours of sleep, five cups of coffee, and I’m currently knocking on Jonas’s front door, hoping he doesn’t kill me for the early morning visit.
He pulls the door open, dressed in nothing but a pair of black sweats, and gives me a once-over. “Man, you look like shit. What the hell happened to you?”
“I got married.”
His brows shoot up so high, they nearly touch the door frame. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that? ’Cause what I think you said was—”
“I got married. Do you have coffee?”
“Of course I have coffee.” He ushers me in, and we both head to the kitchen.
Keisha is at the stove, humming and making pancakes in a long, fuzzy pink robe.
My mouth waters. I don’t remember the last time I ate.
I headed to the airport with Pres around noon for her afternoon flight back to California.
Our goodbye was awkward as fuck. Do you kiss your fake wife at the airport? Shake hands? We settled on a brief hug, and even that went terribly.
After that, I just sat around for hours on standby until I could get back to Nashville.
I hadn’t wanted to leave in the first place.
But I needed to come back and make arrangements.
Which is why I am here at Jonas’s house at nine in the morning on a Saturday.
“The expansion idea…” I jump right in, eager to sell him my plans—the ones I came up with on the fly when I blurted out the crazy idea that we stay married. I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet with the need to get this all out. “Are you still on board with that?”
“You mean the one we’ve barely had the chance to discuss because you’ve been too preoccupied with Presley Creed for the last two months?”
“Yeah, that one,” I answer, not even bothering to deny it. I know I’ve been distracted. But to be fair, he was equally distracted during the first six months after he met Keisha, so I’d say I’m ahead of schedule.
“Yeah, why?”
“’Cause I want to open a club in LA,” I announce. “And I’d like to be on site to oversee everything.”
Keisha pivots to gawk at me while Jonas simply gives me an assessing gaze.
“So let me get this straight.” He folds his arms across his bare chest. “You get married in Vegas…” Keisha gasps, covering her mouth as her husband continues, “And now you want to run off to LA and open a club just so you can live with your wife, who I’m assuming is also Presley Creed? ”
“Yes.”
We look at each other for a moment, then a huge smile spreads across Jonas’s face. “I told you crazy things always happen in Vegas.”
He steps forward to pull me into a hug. “Congrats, man.”
“Don’t congratulate me yet,” I warn. “We don’t even remember getting married, and right now she’s using our drunken marriage as an excuse to distract her family from her thief of an ex-boyfriend.”
“Wait, what?” Keisha exclaims over her shoulder. “I’m gonna need you to back up and explain.”
So I do. Or at least what I remember. I tell them about the rush I felt when I saw her again, about our day of sightseeing, and how easy it was to fall back into our natural rhythm.
How I never wanted the day to end.
Then I recount the moment I woke up yesterday—the confusion and the realization that I wasn’t alone in that unfamiliar hotel room.
The ring on my finger.
I explain the deal we worked out.
Three months. That’s how long we decided on. Three months of living together, pretending to be in love and married, and then I’d make an excuse for why I can’t stay in LA anymore.
It’s too crowded.
I’m needed in Nashville.
We’re better off as friends…
I’ll be back in Nashville before Thanksgiving.
“Three months?” Jonas scoffs. “You know that’s not enough time, right?”
“Of course I do,” I snap back.
It’s barely enough time to get designs planned out. Definitely not enough time to get it opened, but I know I can’t stay any longer than that.
If I do, we’ll be heading into the holiday season, and I can’t imagine going through another Christmas with the Creeds, knowing it’s not real.
“It’s the best I could do,” is all I end up saying to Jonas.
I know I’m setting myself up for disaster because walking away from her was hard the first time around. Doing it again—no matter what time of year it is—will simply destroy me.
“You know you could just give her the money she needs to save her bar, right? You don’t have to stay married to her,” Jonas says. Keisha slowly turns around and stares at her husband. He looks back at her and then at me before raising both hands. “What?”
“I promised her I wouldn’t overstep. That’s definitely overstepping. And besides…” I nervously grip the back of my neck. “She doesn’t know about the club.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean she doesn’t know? Surely you mentioned your job once or twice over the last two months.”
“I did. I just may have led her to believe I work for you—not with you.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hollis.” He throws his hands up. “Why?”
“When I first told her about Velvet, she assumed, and I just didn’t correct her.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh. “You need to stop feeling guilty over your success.”
“I don’t feel guilty.”
“Okay, then, whatever it is—shame, unease, insecurity. It doesn’t matter. It’s unnecessary, and it’s a lie you don’t need to be bringing into your marriage.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “About all of it. And I’ll tell her eventually, but right now, I want to be there to help her, and I worry if she knows I can bail her out at any point, she won’t trust me to help.”
“And what if she doesn’t trust you when she finds out you’ve been lying?”
My throat bobs. “Then I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
“And she agreed to all of this? What did you tell her you were getting out of this deal?”
“I told her I needed someplace to stay?”
“Jesus fuck,” Jonas mutters as Keisha turns off the burner and starts to plate a few pancakes for me. I graciously accept, so hungry I don’t even bother with syrup. “Tell me she didn’t fall for that?”
“I may have said some other stuff,” I say between bites. “I honestly don’t remember. I just knew I needed to stay.”
“Why?” they both ask.
“Because she needed help,” I answer, remembering the way she compared herself to her siblings. It broke my heart that she didn’t see herself the way I did, and I intended to show her every day for as long as I was able. “And I wanted to be the one who offered it.”
“And if that’s all it is? Help from a friend?”
“Then I’ll find a way to be okay with it,” I say, my voice strained. “And I’ll see you in three months.”
Three days later, my apartment is packed up, keys turned in, and what I couldn’t fit in two large duffel bags is stored away.
“You sure you don’t want to keep your apartment?” Jonas asks for the third time. I have a mid-morning flight, and we’re meeting one last time at Velvet to go over everything before I leave.
“No,” I answer, leaning back in my chair. I didn’t bother cleaning out my office. There’s nothing here, no personal items at least. I’m sure Sabine would have something to say about that, but it makes packing simpler.
Shit. Sabine.
I probably need to update my therapist on my major life changes.
Are therapists still allowed to provide telehealth over state lines?
I push that issue aside and focus on the present. “I have no attachment to the place, so I don’t really see the point in wasting three months of rent holding onto it. Besides, I thought you’d be thrilled. Now you’ll have an excuse to talk me into something extravagant when I get back.”
He gives me a sideways glance. “I love you, Hollis, so don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m really hoping you don’t come back.”
I swallow, my throat thick with emotion as I try to stay grounded in reality.
He and Keisha caught me at a vulnerable moment that day in his kitchen.
I can’t go back to LA with the idea that this could be anything more than the deal Pres and I agreed on.
Doing otherwise will only hurt me. “That’s not what Pres and I agreed on.
And besides, everything is temporary, right? ”
“No, Hollis.” He gives me a sad smile. “The people who matter? They stay. Real love isn’t fleeting.”
I know he’s right. He’s been doing a damn good job convincing me he’s a permanent part of my life for years, but I’m afraid there will always be a part of me that doubts it all.
Who’s ready to run at the first sign of trouble.
He lets the subject go, knowing when not to push, and clicks on a file on his laptop labeled “LA.” I choke back a curse at the sheer number of files it contains: real estate listings, revenue and crime reports, demographics, maps. It’s all there.
“What the hell, Jonas? I thought I was supposed to be the research and numbers guy?”
He shrugs, pulling up some of the real estate listings. “Who do you think was the research and numbers guy before you came along? Anyway, this is where I think you should start.”
He points to a rundown-looking building. “Is that a hotel?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
This is why Jonas is so successful. He sees potential where others don’t, and it’s why he was able to grow a single restaurant into a multi-million-dollar business.
“Used to be kind of a big deal back in the day, but bigger, more extravagant hotels popped up in the nineties, and it was sort of forgotten. Several owners have tried to revive it since, but nothing’s stuck. ”
“And what makes you think we can succeed where others have failed?”
He grins. “We’re not in the hotel business.”
About ten hours, two flights, and one layover later, I’m in Los Angeles for the first time in over a decade. I’ve traveled a lot since I went out on my own. I’ve lived all over the country. In all that time, I’ve never returned to California.
Not once.
As the Uber heads toward the coast, I realize I wasn’t just avoiding the Golden State. I was avoiding them.
I was avoiding the Creeds.
The Malibu city limits sign comes into view, and a million memories seem to hit me all at once. That first day of school. Long walks on the beach. Lance teaching me to drive in his Mercedes as if it were no big deal. My first college acceptance letter.
My heart starts to race as we get closer to Creeds.
Since it’s late and Pres already took several days off, I agreed to meet her at the bar so I could grab a spare key before heading to her apartment.
I haven’t been to Creeds in years, and even when I lived with them, I rarely visited their family bar. We would all sometimes go during the day to help clean or restock, but I’ve never been there at night.
Tilly and Lance weren’t strict about much, but they were about that. No minors at the bar—especially their own kids.
The driver lets me off in front. I grab my bags and thank him. The salty smell of the ocean hits me immediately, and it’s like a balm to my soul. If I could bottle up all the good memories from my life, most of them would be on the beach—with her.
I take a minute to look up at the old bar. It’s had some updates. Fresh paint and a new sign, but otherwise, it looks just as I remember it. I head for the entrance. The door creaks as I walk through, but the music playing inside dampens it.
With the heavy bags slung over my shoulder, I look completely out of place, but no one seems to notice because everyone is focused on the band up front.
Everyone except me.
My eyes are pinned on the woman behind the bar—my wife.
Jesus, the thought alone sends a jolt through me, and suddenly I’m pushing through the crowd to get to her.
That’s when I notice how frazzled she appears. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun. Sweat dots her forehead, and she’s faking a smile while talking to someone and filling a glass from the tap at the same time.
I look to the other side of the bar, where there is a petite blonde pouring a line of shots while several people try to get her attention.
Pres once told me she requires a minimum of three bartenders when a band is playing, but I only see two. Firing Jace has left her short-staffed.
I don’t even think. I just move. Heading toward the back, I drop my bags behind the bar and pass the very confused-looking blonde. “Hey,” I greet her.
“Hi?” she stares, a little longer than necessary.
I make my way toward Pres, who’s trying to grab a bottle from the top shelf. Her eyes widen when our fingers touch, and I easily lift the bottle and hand it over to her. “Hi! You’re here! I didn’t realize what time it was. Sorry, it’s been—”
“Busy?”
“Yeah.” She nods, turning back toward the bar with her bottle of rum. “If you give me a sec, I can grab your key so you can get out of here.”
“Just give me the office key.”
She stiffens. “Office key? Why?”
“I just need to drop off my bags.”
“But I thought you were headed to the apartment?” she asks, mixing a mojito with the kind of ease that comes from years of practice. It’s impressive and kind of hot.
“And leave you to have all the fun? Nah. Besides, the band is great.”
She slides the drink over to the woman, who hands her a card and asks to start a tab. “You don’t have to, Hollis. It’s okay, really. I’m sure you’re tired and—”
“Pres. Let me help,” I tell her. “We’re a team now.”
Her gaze meets mine, and I wait until she finally relents. “Okay. But I’ll go drop off your bags. I don’t like people in my office. How about you take the next order? Brush up on those bartending skills of yours.”
“You got it, boss.”
“I’m not your boss!” she yells over her shoulder.
“No? Then what should I call you when we’re at work?” I ask innocently, not knowing where this flirty banter is coming from. Five minutes ago, I felt like I was about to drop from exhaustion, and then one look at her…
“Call me Presley. That is my name.”
“Nah. I think I’ll call you wife.”
“You’re ridiculous.” She rolls her eyes, taking the towel from her shoulders and placing it on mine.
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still my wife.” I shrug.
She rises on her toes and leans in close, so close I can feel her tits brush my chest. Fucking hell.
It reminds me of something. A memory I can’t quite recall. Did she touch me like this the night we got married?
Her lips brush my ear. “For three months,” she whispers. “Now get to work, husband.”