You Had Me At Christmas: A Holiday Anthology (2 page)

He’d been relieved to pass on the autopsy, because it would mean dissecting cause—and his culpability. Now he knew he was hanging onto the love of his life by a thread. Meeting as strangers let them step outside their lives, maybe find a way to talk about their problems that wouldn’t make things worse. As Bob, Jared wasn’t the son of a bitch who’d lost his wife’s trust.

The waitress fussed around, placing napkins and coasters just so, unloading tiny bowls of olives and nuts, their drinks. Obscuring his view of Kayla, who looked like an old-school movie star in that figure-hugging red dress. She’d loosed her hair from the ponytail of her day job—wrangling their two kids—and it fell over her shoulders in dark waves.

Looking at her, Jared saw grace. It was the way she picked up her glass and the way she sat, her straight back a counterpoint to her lush curves. He loved all the contradictions in her appearance—the heart-shaped face balanced by a strong nose, the finely-boned hands with the clipped square nails, unpolished. Glitter sparkled in her hair, probably one of Maddie’s projects.

His wife, his love. Who was looking at him with a cool wariness that killed him.

She jerked her head toward the waitress, making him conscious that he was being rude.

“I’m sorry, I missed that.”
I don’t give a goddamn what the olives are stuffed with or how often you flick your hair. Go away, I need to seduce my wife.

He’d grown into his looks in his early twenties, and the band’s stylist had enhanced them with a great haircut, a great wardrobe. Suddenly, women wanted him. But it was his wife he had to impress. The one who had fallen in love with him when he was a skinny nerd.

“So, Betty,” he said, when the waitress finally got the hint. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Not a lot to tell.” She stirred her mulled wine with the cinnamon stick and paused to breathe in the fragrance.

Cinnamon and spice and all things sensual, that’s what his girl was made of.

“I’ve lived most of my life in a small town. I met my husband young and we have two kids. Until last year I worked as the office manager at my old high school and my husband was a stay-at-home dad by day and a musician by night. He won a place in a famous rock band, we moved to L.A. and now I’m a mom full-time.” Removing the cinnamon stick, she placed it on the napkin. “His job is glamorous and exciting, mine is unglamorous and exciting.”

She was sticking to the facts, revealing nothing.

Not mentioning that she’d loved her home-town and struggled to adjust to living in the big city, mostly alone with the kids. Jared’s trajectory with Rage had been so fast, catapulting him from unknown to famous in one reality show season, then on a world tour within weeks.

No mention either of how involved she’d been in the community they’d left, or whether she missed her friends, or Jared’s large family and her mother. Kayla’s brother wasn’t someone you missed.

But he wasn’t surprised she was playing it safe with feelings. How many times had he shut her down when she’d tried to tell him she was finding things hard?
Don’t rain on my parade, baby. It’s all about me, finally living the dream
.

He’d been annoyed by her inability to understand the immense pressures on him, without ever acknowledging she faced the same pressures in adjusting to a rock star’s lifestyle.

He’d seen the money, the new house, the cool parties as more than compensating her for having to give up her world for his. Forgetting he’d had the support of his bandmates and his mentor to guide him while his wife navigated her way mostly alone, because of his touring schedule.

Which was why he’d arranged for his family to travel on the European leg.

His wake-up call came when Kayla took their kids home early after a major fight, leaving him shell-shocked, terrified, and finally willing to take a good hard look at who he was becoming. Through the remaining weeks of the tour, he’d sworn to put her first. He’d been home for over a month now, living a “normal” family life. And his wife was faking orgasms.

He picked up the beer recommended by the waitress and knew he wouldn’t like it. A craft ale from England, served at room temperature. “You went on a tour leg with him…tell me about that.”

Ignoring the handle on the glass mug, she cradled it between her hands, absorbing the warmth. “Private jets, five-star hotels, rock-star husband…what’s there to say? I’m living the dream.”

“And yet here you are, Betty.”

“To have fun, Bob, not to bitch and moan.” Lightly said, yet he flinched. His words. There were so many he wished he could take back. Too many hurts now reliant on being forgiven.

She looked at him over the rim of her glass. He saw a spark of anger, the ash of resignation. “Besides, you wouldn’t find it interesting.”

“I would now,” he said quietly, and she assessed him. He kept himself still, kept himself open, channeled non-threatening Bob, not the guy she expected to see, her ego-driven husband.

A ghost of a smile played at the corner of her mouth, suggesting she was onto him. God, he’d missed her. “How about I talk about what I’ve learned instead, Bob?”

“Sure.” He braced himself.

“I’ve learned how to say diaper in six different languages, including the Queen’s English—nappy, couche, windel, luier, pannolino, panal…” Putting down the glass mug, she smiled at him.

He smiled back.

“I’ve learned that big league rock stars stay in exquisite hotels full of designer pieces that break easily under little hands, and that no hotel room is ever big enough for two pre-schoolers. Nor is a private plane.”

Kayla had a habit of twisting her wedding ring when she was reflecting. She touched her ring finger now and glanced down.

“I have it safe,” he said.

“I’ve learned that little kids never overcome jetlag if they’re constantly traveling and that no tour nanny—however helpful—will be on call at four a.m. when they’re wide awake and ready to start their day.”

Jared been out cold by then, finally released from the post-concert adrenaline of performing in front of fifty thousand screaming Rage fans. Kayla glanced over, checking his interest levels, and he nodded encouragement.

“I’ve learned to travel with home-brand milk formula and cereals so that when they’re starving at four a.m. I have something they’ll actually eat, and that no matter how good a party is, it’s no substitute for getting two hours extra sleep.

“I’ve learned that when it rains every day for two weeks, a hotel bathtub provides more hours of entertainment than any museum or coffee shop.”

She picked up her mulled wine and sipped it, the words flowing easily now.

“I’ve learned that London parks are full of dog poop and to carry extra kids’ shoes. I’ve learned that ten minutes of Daddy being fun—because that’s all he’s got to spare—will result in exactly two hours of follow-up whining.” She looked into her mug, frowning. “Which is weird, because an equal amount of Skype time at home while Daddy is away leaves them perfectly happy.”

Jared had forgotten the endless wet weather in Great Britain because it hadn’t mattered. To him. The same way that it hadn’t mattered that he’d revved up the kids with wild play and sugar rushes to appease his guilt at not being able to spend much time with them.

She seemed to realize who she was really talking to, because she smiled again, too brightly.

“I’ve learned that little kids and rock tours don’t mix, no matter how much you want them to. And some people would say, ‘You’re crazy to have even tried,’ but what did I know? I’d never traveled out of the States before.”

He put down his untouched beer. “You left out that you’ve learned not to count on your husband.”

“He was there to be a rock star, not a family man.” She reached for her non-existent ring again. “In retrospect, I feel like all I did was complain. Neither of us knew how crazy the demands on his time would be.”

“Maybe he did,” he said. “Maybe he wanted his family with him so badly, that he figured ten minutes here, thirty minutes there, a coffee or meal snatched together with the kids, was better than nothing—for him.”

He’d wanted to wallow in glory and adulation, not return to his hotel room to see Kayla barely coping. After concerts, he’d wanted her waiting up for him, all starry-eyed at his awesomeness, not asleep and mumbling, “Okay but it’s a quickie. Our kids will be up in a few hours.”

And when he did spend time with them? Damn, but they’d better be cheery and smiling and as delighted to see him as everyone else. “C’mon family, I’ve got five minutes, make it good.”

He’d been a prick.

“Even if he couldn’t give you any more time, he should have given you a lot more understanding.” He waited until she looked at him. “Maybe he’s desperately sorry for being such a selfish ass.”

“And maybe she knows that. Anyway, enough about me.” She steered the conversation into safer waters. “What’s your story, Bob?”

“I grew up in a small town, a nerd in an athletic family. Three sisters, all older. As a kid I spent most weekends at their sports meets, sitting in my parents’ car listening to music. One of our neighbors was a bass guitarist and something about the sound…dispossessed and dark…called to me. Bass has got shivers, layers, sediment. I have two passions in my life, and music is one of them.”

She didn’t ask, “What’s the other?” Perhaps because she no longer believed his answer.

“I wasn’t a loner at high school—with three sisters I couldn’t be—but I did live in my own world with music, and didn’t notice other people much. But I noticed her.”

He leaned forward to pick up an olive, conscious of Kayla’s sharpened focus.

“This girl was a dynamo, always cheerful and friendly. She must have been involved in half the clubs in high school.” The olive was salty and tart with a shot of sweetness from the pimento in its center. “She tried out for the school band but even playing the triangle, someone had to nod a cue or she’d miss the beat. She just laughed it off and moved on to something else.”

He chewed thoughtfully. “She didn’t care about her image the way the other pretty girls did. What mattered to her was giving everything a try and encouraging other people to have a go.”

Swallowing the olive, he washed it down with warm beer. “I don’t know why she decided to make me one of her pet projects, or even how she found out I wanted to become a professional musician.”

He paused, waiting. He’d never thought to ask her that before.

“Perhaps she didn’t, at first,” Kayla offered. “When you played she might have been blown away by how freaking
good
you were—despite her own lack of talent on the triangle—and figured it was your lane.”

“She started dropping career pamphlets in my locker on how to develop a music career and pestered me into playing in the orchestra for our high school production. I messed with her a lot because I was cool and full of self-doubt. And one day she called me on my bullshit.”

Absently, he looked at his hands, with light calluses on the left fingertips from the frets.

“She said, ‘You have to believe to succeed’, which was the lamest cliché I ever heard, except that I did stop pretending and I believed. And when that belief wavered, when people told me how hard it was to break through, or suggested I give up and get a proper job, this girl believed for me.”

He stopped, emotion thick in his throat. Took another sip of beer. “I lived with a houseful of women, I wasn’t going to tie myself down young, but she was irresistible, like trying to stay out of the sun.”

He wanted that sun’s warmth again, wanted to bask in her love so badly.

K
ayla swallowed, unable
to look away from those dark, liquid eyes. “Sounds like a fairytale.”

“It is. I married her.”

She finished her mulled wine. The dregs were bitter and gritty. “And yet here you are, Bob, on a secret assignation with another woman.”

She was proud of how light and playful she kept her tone.

“Kayla—”

“Betty.”

“Kayla,” he repeated. “I—”

Laughing shrieks distracted him. Kayla looked up. Had one of the exotics gotten loose from their bamboo cage?

Half a dozen women clattered through the bar, in clothes that paid no mind to the temperature outside—crop tops revealing honed bellies, legs bare under sexy minis. A brunette in a strapless dress straightened a lacy bridal veil over a riot of curly hair.

Their whoops and raucous laughter suggested this wasn’t the bachelorette party’s first bar, confirmed by the slightly lurching gait of the bride-to-be. She steadied herself on the black quartz counter. “Five fireball shots, barkeep, my girls are paying, and a tomato juice for my sober driver.”

As she hitched up her strapless dress she made eye contact with a guy waiting for service. “Look your fill, buddy, cause tomorrow I’m taken… No, not tomorrow. When am I getting married again, girls?”

“Next weekend, Paula,” they chorused.

“Holy shit, I gotta find someone to flirt with.” Swinging around, her gaze swept the room for prospects.

Kayla grinned and said to Jared, “Look taken.”

“I am taken.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

It was a nip of a kiss, light but provocative, and so unexpected it flustered her.

“Too soon, Betty?” he asked politely but she recognized that inflection in his voice. Husky and knowing, dirty and dark. He wasn’t sorry, not one bit.

“Actually, Bob, I was thinking, is that the best you can do?”

His eyes darkened. God, she loved it when she turned him on. “You think you’re safe because we’re in public?”

She let her chuckle answer.

He leaned forward again, and she waited, lips slightly parted. These days, he wore expensive cologne, but she could smell
her
man underneath the warm sandalwood. A scream split the air, making them start.

“No fucking way,” yelled the bride-to-be. “It’s him… Y’know,
him
.”

Jared tilted his head to glance over Kayla’s shoulder. “Brace yourself.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Make it fast, so we can return to the slow.” Collecting her bag, she stood. “I’m going to the bathroom.”