Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1) (23 page)

He sleeps
until Will gets home from preschool and starts worrying him to no end. The
afternoon is filled with Mave going to town on Will’s little drum set. The set
is so small that he has to kneel in front of them in order to play. It’s quite
comical to watch. I shoot Dillon another text that Mave is going to break his
son’s drums, but I don’t get a reply. The next thing I know, a van pulls up and
unloads a full set of drums. How does Dillon make these things happen so
quickly? I haven’t a clue.

So, for
the next several days, I feed Mave abundantly with Will in awe at how much food
the scrawny man can consume. Tate has had to make a few food runs in this short
of time. Mave spends most of his time cramming food in his mouth and beating
away on those darn drums until my ears won’t stop ringing. Will has loved it.
The little guy would wear these ear protective headphones Dillon sent him and
play his drums right alongside Mave. I’ve sent Dillon lots of pictures and
videos. Still with no replies. Mave has shared a few video chats with Will and
Dillon. I’ve eavesdropped and have not like what I’ve overheard. Mave has had a
field day, ragging Dillon on our little secrets. I can tell by Dillon’s tone,
he’s not taking too kindly to it either. I beg Mave to stop adding fuel to the
fire. I desperately need Dillon to forgive me and Mave smearing it in his face
isn’t helping my cause at all. The guy has been relentless.

Mave is
definitely acting like his old self, albeit a puny one. He still sleeps a lot.
Maybe it’s his body’s way of repairing the drug damage and giving him a break
from the withdrawals. I’m thankful he gets those reprieves because I’ve seen
his demons sneak up and attack him. He’ll break out in a cold sweat from out of
nowhere and will wander off outside until the episode passes.

All in
all, the last several days have been great. We talked Dillon into stretching
the visit for two weeks, much to my relief. I’m not ready to let my friend go
just yet. Mave is looking healthier and like his old self. We even snuck the
boat out at sunset last night, with Tate captaining, for a cruise around the
lake. It was a peacefully clear night, and Mave really enjoyed it. He also gave
Will a more animated version of the whole boat explosion incident. He even
included the arrest part, which I had omitted from my version.

But all
things have to come to an end, it seems. So this morning after Will was off to
school, Tate sat us down and said the rehab center is requiring Mave to return
for another month. He also said that the band thought that it is in Mave’s best
interest to finish out the program. Mave had nodded his head solemnly in
agreement.

With a heavy
heart, we said goodbye an hour ago. I hate goodbyes. I’m sick of being left. I
feel like I have spent my life telling people goodbye.

Chapter Nineteen

I’ve been sick to my
stomach with worry for the past week ever since Mave left. Dillon is keeping
quiet and I’m becoming unnerved by that. I’m back in my office desk at the
computer, trying to dig up anything on the band. Word is the band is back in
the studio, recording a new album. I haven’t the faintest clue if this is true
or not. Dillon won’t speak to me still. It’s been two and a half months and I’m
getting right tired of it.

There’s a
knock at the door and it brings me out of my depressing thoughts. “Come in,” I
call out as I close my laptop. I’m not expecting the gentleman that enters.
He’s in a perfectly tailored suit and is wearing horn-rimmed glasses. My
stomach gets queasy at the sight of a fancy briefcase in his manicured hand.

He heads
over with his free hand stretched towards me. I take it as he introduces
himself. “I’m Bernard Rivers.”

“Jillian
Whitman,” I say as I see Jen wander towards the door like a fly to the bug
zapper. I ease over and close the door in her face.

I hear her
call out on the other side, “Well now. That’s just flat out rude.”

I ignore
her and head back to my desk. “How can I help you?” I ask as I motion for him
to have a seat as I do the same.

“I
represent Bleu Streak, and I have just a small matter of business to take care
of that involves you.” Now my stomach plummets completely. I can barely breathe
from the pain.

“Okay,” I
say, nervously.

He pulls
out a thick set of papers from his briefcase and hands them over to me. “The
band label would like to compensate you for the songs you have written for
previous albums.” He then passes over a check with more zeros than I have ever
seen on a check with my name on it. I’m instantly dizzy from it. My songs have
made their way on albums throughout the last several years, and I always
thought it an honor they continued to use my lyrics.

“What?” I
look at the check in disbelief.

“You
realize your songs have been a major contributor to the success of Bleu Streak.
It’s only fair business for you to be compensated. You will also begin
receiving monthly royalty checks based on sales. This was decided upon by
Dillon Bleu, and each band member has signed legally binding contracts in
agreement to Mr. Bleu’s request. Your name is already on the albums, indicating
you are the songwriter of the songs. Mr. Bleu wanted to settle this matter
sooner rather than later.”

I can
barely swallow at this point. It’s like Dillon is getting all of his ducks in a
row. I try clearing my throat as the lawyer shows me where to sign on the
documents. I should probably have my own lawyer look these over, but I’m in
shock, and to be honest, I don’t care. The check sitting on my desk is much
greater than my last five years’ worth of paychecks combined. I really never
thought twice about ever making money off of Bleu Streak. This one definitely
took me by surprise.

“You have
any other papers with you that need my signature?” I nearly whisper and cannot
meet his eyes.

“No. I
only handle legal matters pertaining to the band. Not personal matters of Mr.
Bleu.” Mr. Rivers answers without meeting my eyes either. It’s like we are
playing
don’t catch the eye
game and
it’s making me even more uncomfortable. So I guess he knows more papers are on
the way. My eyes prick with tears at this realization.

The lawyer
stuffs the papers back into his briefcase. “I represent other bands as well,
Ms. Whitman. You are one talented songwriter. I would be happy to get you in
contact with them.” He hands me a business card.

“I
appreciate that, sir. But there’s no way I could ever write for another band.
Bleu Streak is where my loyalties lie.” I try to hand him the card back, but he
won’t accept it.

 
“Keep it in case you ever change your mind.
You never know what the future holds,” he says with one more handshake, and
then leaves me.

I stare at
the check for the remainder of the afternoon with a feeling of pure dread. I
worry my future is holding divorce papers and my last goodbye from Dillon Bleu.

Another
week passes with no other lawyers turning up. But I’m still waiting. I just
know it’s coming. I don’t want it to happen, but I’m just ready for it to be
over with, all the same. I’m back in my office, trying to focus on work, but my
focus is fuzzy. My brain is a constant haze lately.

“Hello,
sunshine,” Jen says as she enters my office carrying her usual coffee cup along
with a thick package. She plops the package down and sits opposite of me. I
have already spotted that it is from California. “It came certified. I had to
sign for it.” She’s waiting for me to open it but I can’t bring myself to do it
just yet. I push it to the side and ask her to go check on the pool guy. Jen
eyes the package suspiciously once more, but heads out the door without one
word of comment.

Later this
afternoon, Jen is about to climb the walls. “Open that dang package right now
or I’m going to do it for you!” She lunges for it. I snatch it away before she
can get ahold of it good. It’s driving her mad that I’ve not opened it.

“Your
freaky nosiness is not healthy,” I bicker.

As it is,
I can’t put it off any longer. I want the sting of it over with before Will
gets home from preschool. I take a deep breath and tear into it. I am confused
and then shocked at what I find. This was nowhere near what I thought would be
in this envelope.

There are
two first class plane tickets to California and two tickets to a private Bleu
Streak performance, along with hotel reservation details. Dillon has scribbled
a quick note:
It’s time my son knows who
I am. I expect you to be there
. I want to call and scream at him that I’ve
been working on that, but there’s no use. He won’t answer.

Jen sees
the tickets. “Hot dang!”

I roll my
eyes. “So I guess me and little man fly out in two days.” I rise from my desk
on unsteady legs and set out to getting everything ready for this unexpected
trip. Feelings of relief and apprehension wash over me at the same time. I
guess it is literally time to face the music.

By the
time the plane lands in California, Will is overjoyed and I’m overwhelmed. My
nausea got the best of me twice during the flight. I’m a bundle of nerves, but
feel a bit better when I spot Tate waiting for us in the terminal. He takes
care of loading our luggage, and we set off towards our hotel in record time.
This guy is quite efficient. I’m starting to see the true value of having a
personal assistant. I wish I could steal him away from Dillon. But Tate is a
smart young man, and I think this is just a pit stop along his way to success.

“Dillon
said to get you settled in and then escort you to the auditorium later,” Tate
says as he opens the doors to the luxurious hotel suite.

“Okay,” I
mumble as I take in the lovely space. Everything is plush in creams and light
greys. Will spots a massive welcome basket, full of baked treats, and beelines
straight to it. I follow behind him and rummage around for some plain crackers.
I still don’t feel so good after my first-ever flight. I grab a ginger ale from
the fridge that is conveniently stocked and plop down on the super-soft couch.
Tate goes right to work on putting the luggage away in the bedrooms. Then he
grabs Will a juice box and is leading him out to the balcony before I have
enough wits about me.

“Tate,” I
call weakly after him. “You don’t have to do all this, but thank you.” I lean
my head back on the couch and shut my eyes, but open them again when Tate
speaks.

“You don’t
seem to be doing too well. Was the flight rocky?” he asks as he pauses by the
French doors.

“First
time flying, so I don’t know,” I say.

Tate
quietly chuckles. “You’ve got a good hour before we need to get ready. How
about you rest while me and this little dude hangs out.”

I whisper,
“Okay,” and doze off immediately.

* * * *

The
auditorium is only a few miles from the hotel, and we are there in a flash. I’m
feeling a lot better after the nap and a soak in the massive tub. I’m wearing a
simple white maxi dress that Leona dropped off while I was packing. She
demanded I wear it to the concert. Will is sporting a Bleu Streak T-shirt that
Dillon sent him with his jeans. He looks so handsome with his shorter hairdo. I
styled it with some gel. He’s just so darn cute.

We enter
through a side door and Tate escorts us to the front row. The place is already
packed, and the crowd is murmuring away. I can’t help but be nervous. I make no
eye contact as we take our seats. The person sitting next to me clears his
throat, and it’s all I can do not to cry. I look up through watery eyes and see
Kyle sitting beside me.

“Surprise,”
he whispers and gives me a sideways hug.

Will
bounces in Kyle’s lap with excitement. We’ve not seen my brother in almost six
months. “Uncle Kyle, I missed you!”

“I missed
you too, buddy.”

Before I
can find my voice, the house lights go down. The crowd erupts in applause when
the stage lights come up and reveals Bleu Streak minus the drummer, perched on
top of stools with Dillon in the middle and mics before them. First thing I
notice is he has cut his long locks off and is now sporting a short messy do
that is wildly similar to his son’s new hairstyle. I’ve never seen him with
short hair. It’s stunning. His face is completely opened now and his features
are so well defined. His square jaw, with the normal bit of stubble, is such a
gorgeous sight with no shield of hair. With no hair to hide those purple-blue
eyes, it’s easy to see them sparkling under the stage lights. I don’t notice
the other change until he starts working the chords of his guitar. I spot new
ink on his wedding-ring finger, but I can’t make out what it is from here.

Without a
word of welcome, the band launches into a mellow acoustic rendition of Creed’s
“With Arms Wide Open.” Dillon parts those lips and the words just flow out,
velvety. He only looks at Will and me for the entire song. I know this
performance is just for us and no one else here tonight. This is one of the
most beautifully written songs I have ever heard. The lyrics speak about lives
changing in a mighty way, full of hope and joy. He sings about a man and woman
creating life and how that life changes everything. The desire for a future and
a man praying for a blessed life for his family. As I listen, I finally feel
like I can breathe again. I don’t think I have since Dillon left almost three
months ago.

As they
reach the middle of the song, the other band members stop playing and Dillon
takes over with the guitar break before he begins to sing so achingly sweet
again. The man’s voice is absolutely brilliant, and I can’t control the
emotions he summons out of me.
 

The crowd
erupts as Dillon eases the song to a close. He gazes out over the audience as
though it’s the first time he’s noticed they are here too. It takes forever for
them to settle down enough so that Dillon can speak. The band waves and smiles,
and then try to quiet the crowd by turning their attention to the band leader
perched in the middle of them. I see the respect he has so graciously earned
over the years as head of this extraordinary group. The feeling they emit is a
united family, and I am a blessed woman to get another opportunity to be a part
of it. I know the look Dillon is giving me. It’s the look of absolute love and
adoration. And most importantly, forgiveness.

“Welcome
to this private gig, tonight. Hope you don’t mind if we keep it keyed down. My
son is in the audience, and I want him to still be able to hear when he walks
out of here later.” The crowd laughs and I nudge Will’s leg. He is grinning ear
to ear and his own little dimples are on display.

A
stagehand takes Dillon’s guitar and hands him the ukulele I gave him. “This
next song is new, and it’s for my son. It’s titled “My Will.” The single
acoustic version drops tonight.” The crowd cheers at this.

He takes the
ukulele in his long graceful hands and begins to strum the little instrument
and the place fills with a jovial sound. Trace has maracas and begins to shake
them to the rhythm Dillon is creating with the ukulele. Max and Logan join next
with hushed guitar chords. It sounds like a celebration, and quickly becomes
one when Dillon adds the sweet lyrics. Everybody claps along.

My Will…My Will…My Will

I am yours and you are mine

And everything else is gonna be just fine

My Will…My Will…My Will

I got you and you got me

We’re rooted together in this family tree

My Will…My Will…My Will

I got my Will

I’m well on my way`

Living this life

Day by day

My Will…My Will…My Will

You got me and I got you

Come on now

Our dreams are about to come true

Be my Will

Always my Will

Stay with me my Will

The cheery song
repeats back through after a quicker beat bridge. It’s a lively song and I
absolutely love it. Will does too. He’s bouncing up and down in Kyle’s lap and
clapping along. It doesn’t get past my attention that my son is keeping the
exact beat to the song.