Chapter 12 Carissa #2
I want to give myself this.
I wasn’t sure at first, but after considering it for a few days, I told him to book the space if it was still available.
He rented a small house on the outskirts of town, not far from the studio.
He knows the person who owns the studio and the house, so we’re guaranteed that our presence there will be discreet.
It felt like the right thing to do after we’d been apart for nearly two weeks.
Even if it’s complicated, and I basically have to sort of kidnap Wilder out of a freaking park, I’m seriously looking forward to having time together with him again that isn’t a phone call or a text. Those were great, but they only go so far. I’m beyond physically aching to be close to him again.
We didn’t want to risk someone spotting me picking Wilder up from his house or recognizing him if he came to mine. We both thought hiding in plain sight might be best. Hence, the park.
As soon as I near the east side of a large greenspace with a giant bear statue spouting water out of its mouth, paws, and rump into a basin below—making this up would be hilarious, but it’s for real—I wonder if we’ve made a mistake.
The place is packed. Benches. Sidewalks.
The grass. People are spread out on blankets, walking, jogging, ambling, talking, flirting, making out, pushing strollers, biking, reading, listening to music, and picnicking.
No one is out there taking photos of the bear.
I can’t imagine why not. I definitely want some.
An old man unfurls himself from a bench bracketing the grassy part of the park.
It’s shaded by two towering trees. He’s stooped just about in half, with scraggly gray hair stuffed up under a fedora-style hat, checkered brown pants pulled up way past the waist area, a blue dress shirt under a vibrant red sweater vest, and black suspenders on top of it all.
I quickly veer out of traffic, pulling over to the loading zone in front of a row of parked cars. I flip the hazards on and unlock the doors.
The old man suddenly chucks his walker aside and breaks away, racing down the sidewalk. Luckily, no one seems to be paying attention. I guess if you’re not wowed by a fountain bear with water coming out of its rear end, you’re not going to be intrigued by an old man suddenly finding his stride.
The back door of the car flies open, and the old man hurtles into the backseat.
I lock the doors and peel away as soon as he slips his seatbelt on and tucks the top part behind him so he can remain hunched down.
I can’t speak for a few blocks. My heart is hammering right up in my throat. “I hope no one saw that.” Hiding out in a park in the guise of a senior citizen is exactly the kind of attention Wilder doesn’t need, especially after the past few weeks he’s had.
Maybe a few people would understand, with the band being under such intense scrutiny after news of the breakup, but there are so many others who would make up stories about him going off the deep end, straight into a pre-midlife crisis.
Wilder peeks around the passenger seat and up above the middle console.
“Maybe just lay low for a few more minutes until I’m out of the city.
” It’s going to be more than a few minutes to get out of downtown Sonoma, and Wilder is wearing one of those synthetic masks made to look like real skin with the features painted on.
I reason he’s probably had it on for a while, and ten to fifteen more minutes isn’t going to kill him.
The mask has a strange odor that reaches me up front, but it’s quickly drowned out by the familiar scent of Wilder himself.
No get-up is going to disguise the clove, cedar, and mint scent that so perfectly mixes with his body chemistry.
It’s strong in the car and has the end result of driving me nearly feral.
Once we’re out on the freeway, he sits up in the backseat. He throws the fedora aside and yanks at the mask. It makes a wet sucking sound as it gives. It’s more than a little creepy, given that the eye holes and mouth hole suction off, and then a whole lifelike neck wobbles under the thing.
“That’s uh… sort of haunting.” I turn my eyes back to the road to keep from looking at it.
But I do compromise and allow myself a few glances back in the rearview mirror at Wilder’s lovely face.
He’s a bit red from being under the mask, but just as beautiful as ever.
“You’re not, though. I’m really glad to see you. Like really glad.”
Wow. This is totally me going utterly speechless, getting sweaty in the underarm, and wet and bothered in the panties.
Real-time me is not the me who had endless hours of thoughtful, introspective pining behind the songs I wrote.
I think, given the weeks we’ve had, it’s natural to run out of words and get sort of choked up.
I might not have the words, but I’m smiling too big.
Foolishly. The people passing us probably think I’m kind of batty in here, grinning wide enough to split my face.
For all they know, I’m listening to raunchy smut audiobooks in here, and that’s why I’m grinning.
Or a comedy podcast. Grinning while driving is perfectly acceptable, actually.
“I missed you,” I breathe, my smile dropping away. The air sucks out of my lungs and out of the whole car.
“I missed you too. I missed your easy smile. I miss the way you bring light into any room. Even in the middle of the day, there’s always space to get brighter.
I missed how when you’re with me, everything feels like it’s going to be okay, even if it’s a complete mess.
And not because you’re a fixer and a nurturer and a nurse by trade.
But because you’re you, and you have sunny, happy, and delicious pheromones. ”
“I’m not sure that’s been scientifically proven,” I say.
“How’s Woof Woof Dog? And the cats?”
My smile creeps back, growing with every second. It’s sweet he’d think about them, and even sweeter that he’d ask in such a way that it’s clear he wants to hear the answer.
“They’re fine.” My hands tighten on the wheel. “How are you? Really?” I should stop saying the word really. It’s such a shit word.
He waits a beat before answering. It’s perfectly cool in the car. Unlike my classic coupe, this thing has air conditioning beyond unrolling the windows. But it doesn’t matter. I start sweating until my T-shirt clings damply to my body.
“Truly? I’m tired in every way. I haven’t slept much.”
I want to pull the car over, but he squeezes my shoulder like he can hear my thoughts.
A fiery tingle shoots through my body like I accidentally brushed up against a whole herd of hairy caterpillars.
In a good way. Also? I know caterpillars don’t travel in herds.
Do they? Because that would be so freaking cute. And terrifying.
“I’ll just lie back for a bit here, and I’ll be okay. Losing a few hours of sleep hasn’t ever stopped me yet, and it’s not going to prevent me from absolutely treasuring every single minute I spend with you in Reno and along the way.”
Splop. There goes my heart, falling down to my feet.
It would be easy for Wilder to turn on the natural-born charm or fall back on the flirty rockstar persona he’s perfected over the years, but this is just him.
Honest. Open. Raw. He’s tired, but he’s also excited.
He just had a few weeks of hell, but he wants this.
He made an effort to make this trip a reality for us because he cares.
He wanted this, and I’m honored I can be his safe place.
“You don’t have to just lie back. Sleep if you can. It’s not the biggest car, and I don’t imagine it will be comfortable, but if you start now, you can get about four decent hours.”
“That’s incredibly boring for you.”
“I like incredibly boring if it helps you feel better,” I say honestly.
“I’ll just close my eyes. Even that would help. They feel like I accidentally sprayed myself with lemon juice while trying to make that frozen cream lemonade everyone is talking about.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“We’ll have to give it a go.”
“I really enjoyed the last time we cooked,” I say. Really? Really. That word needs to drop straight out of my vocabulary.
Fucking. Internal. Sigh.
He laughs. I don’t just love the sound of it.
Love is too simple a word for the way the sound rolls through me, warming the cold parts of me, erasing lingering doubts, and softening the parts of me that are still somewhat wary.
Not of Wilder, just of life and the world in general.
I was never one of those people who were blessed enough to be na?ve, not even when I was young.
I don’t want to think about all the things that could go wrong.
I just want to enjoy the few days we have together. I’ve only been in a studio one time, and just for a few minutes, so this is a brand-new experience for me. It’s just going to be us. Alone. And that is nothing short of magic.
“I really enjoyed last time too,” he murmurs.
Then, he goes silent for a few minutes, and when I hit a clear stretch of road with no one around, I crank my head back and quickly look to make sure he’s not drowning in the shitstorm that hit.
If he wants to get up in his head, that’s okay.
He has every right. But drowning? I’ll pull this car over and pull him out of it somehow.
He’s not drowning.
There’s no imaginary shitstorm or flood or cesspool rising higher and higher.
Jackson Wilder, a man who absolutely cannot drift off anywhere other than his bunk on a tour bus or maybe in a hotel bed if that strange medium of major exhaustion but not too much sleep deprivation is involved, is sound asleep with his face pressed right up against the window.