Which I never asked them to do. They insisted that I go to college and law school, and that they’d pay for it. When I’ve tried to pay them back, or at least arrange to make payments, they refuse to take my money every time.
No, I guess my mom would prefer the emotional ammunition against me.
I should have been secure enough in who I am and my love for this man—it should have beenenough.
When his song ends, he unsteadily steps off the stage and heads to a table down at the front corner of the dining room. He’s apparently the only one seated there and sets down his glass but doesn’t take a seat. He makes his way to the restroom and disappears inside. From the way Tom’s staggering, I hope Phil confiscated his keys. My guy doesn’t have a high tolerance for alcohol and a couple of beers can get him plastered.
I could follow him into the bathroom.
But another idea hits me.
A woman I don’t know is already up on stage and singing a song P!nk made famous. I hustle my way over to the DJ, who I recognize, slip him two twenties, and tell him what I want and when. To wait until Tom’s back in his seat before calling me up. I can stand off to the far side behind the DJ and remain out of Tom’s view. But before settling there, I grab Deanna, one of the waitresses, and pay Tom’s tab now.
And get his keys from Phil. Hopefully, I’ll be driving my guy back here in the morning to pick up his truck.
I’m tucked behind the DJ stand when Tom returns to his seat two songs later. From his red eyes and puffy nose—and from his playlist, which the DJ let me look at—I suspect he was crying in the bathroom.
I’m a bundle of nerves when the singer on stage finishes and returns the mic to the DJ. As he passes it to me, he smiles and gives me a nod of encouragement. He’s dropped the song down a couple of keys, but it’ll still be a hard one for me to sing.
Well, harder. I’m not a great singer to start with.
That’s not accurate, actually. I’m a horrible singer. I can’t carry a tune in a front-end loader, much less a bucket.
But for my guy? I’ll belt this one out with everything I have.
The DJ doesn’t announce me as I walk onto the stage. Tomas now has his phone in his hand and is playing his voice mails, I think, when the opening strains of Chicago’s “Hard to Say I’m Sorry” start playing.
That’s when Tomas looks up and our gazes lock. I can’t help smiling as his jaw drops open.
Did I mention I don’t sing well? There are cats in heat who sing better than I do. Nails on a chalkboard is a more soothing sound. Playing recordings of anything I’ve ever sung is a violation of the Geneva Convention regarding torture and humane treatment of prisoners.
None of that matters. The people here who now recognize me and realize what’s happening start cheering as I step off the stage and walk over to my guy, singing my heart out to him.
Please, let this work!
And as I reach the chorus, I drop to my knees in front of his chair. We’re both crying now and he throws his arms around me while the audience bursts into applause.
I give up singing and hold him tightly. “I love you,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m back for good, if you still want me.”
“Yes!” The booze on his breath nearly knocks me over as I kiss him again, but I’ll kiss him forever. Someone takes the mic from me and as the song fades out another singer takes the stage.
I stand, helping my wobbly guy to his feet. “Let’s go home, baby.”
“My keys.” He nearly falls over as he turns.
I keep him upright and at my side. “I have them.” I also pocket his cell, which ended up on the table.
He tries to turn. “I have to—”
“Already paid. You’re all set, tip and all.” I keep an arm around his shoulders and guide him outside and over to the passenger door of my SUV.
That’s when Tomas balks, putting a hand against my chest. “Herbdidsee you this morning! They were all right!”
Silently swearing, I help him into the passenger seat and buckle his seat belt for him. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I had hoped he didn’t recognize me. I wanted to talk to you after I finished working today.”
“Wait, what?”
I kiss him to shut him up. I hold his face in my hands and kiss this man the way I’ve dreamed about kissing him. “We can talk later. I’m here for work, but if you still want me, I’ll come back for good.”
