Page 89 of My Song for You
Callie
“Mommy!”
Logan’s voice somehow broke through the hammering in my head. Whoever had invented alcohol needed to be shot. Although I guessed that by this time he was long since dead.
But that was a moot point. The sentiment was still the same.
I opened my eyes. The Sahara had more moisture than my eyes did after last night. Taking a chance that the pounding in my head wouldn’t worsen if I sat up, I gave it a try. My stomach made its presence known, but it promised to behave ifIpromised never to drink another drop of alcohol again.
That could definitely be arranged.
Logan signed that he wanted to watch TV. Since I wasn’t up for any Mother of the Year awards, especially after last night, I could get away with him watching it all day while I recovered from my hangover.
A glass of water sat on my bedside table, along with a bottle of aspirin. I was positive I wouldn’t have left them there last night before falling asleep. A vague memory slipped in of Jared walking me home from the lounge, of jumping in the puddle, of Jared helping me change into my pajamas. I glanced down. Yep, it hadn’t been a dream.
Unlike before, Jared hadn’t stayed with me during the night. He’d helped me into bed and left. But what did I expect? He had proposed yesterday and I’d rejected him.
But it wasn’t like he’d meant it. He’d done it for the wrong reasons. He would quickly get over it. I wouldn’t be so lucky.
I swallowed a couple of aspirins and downed the entire glass of water. Another memory paid a visit—Jared giving me a couple of tablets and a glass of water before helping me out of my dress. He’d saved me from an even worse hangover. He could have just dumped me on the bed, still in my wet clothes, and left, but he hadn’t. He might not love me, but he did care about me. Wasn’t that enough? I could have married him and remained Logan’s mother. I would’ve been able to legally adopt him, and no matter what happened between Jared and me, Logan would still be my son. Wasn’t that all I desired, to still be Logan’s mother?
Two months before, the answer would’ve been yes. Logan and I were family, the only family each of us had left. I had convinced myself that I wasn’t lonely. That I was perfectly happy being a single mom. Until a few weeks ago, I’d had everything I thought I wanted.
How wrong I had been.
After Logan had finished his breakfast, I left him to watch TV while I showered. Then I emailed a couple of friends in San Francisco I hadn’t spoken to in two years. At first, after I moved away, we had emailed regularly, but over time it became harder and harder to keep it up. They were all going one way with their lives, and I had gone in a different direction once I became Logan’s legal guardian.
I spent the rest of the morning studying my artwork and the pictures in Logan’s books. Jared’s suggestion that I should illustrate kids’ books sneaked into my head. But what did I know about it? It was one thing to create pictures to hang on the wall. It was something entirely different to illustrate books.
That wasn’t the only thing to sneak into my head and refuse to leave. I kept thinking about Jared. About his tongue exploring mine. About his warm, callused hands skimming across my skin. About how it felt when he filled me up, both physically and emotionally.
By lunchtime, my head and my body were on speaking terms with me again. My heart, not so much. I took Logan to the local playground, but everywhere we went, I kept thinking about Jared. It wasn’t just because Logan looked so much like him. It was the things he said that reminded me of Jared. It was the places we had visited with Jared.
I dribbled the soccer ball along the recently mowed grass, almost expecting Jared to steal it from me, like he had when we’d played a week earlier. The air even had the same sweet scent of freshly cut grass as back then. I had been edging closer to the goal, which Logan was guarding. Just as I was about to get into position to kick the ball, Jared had hooked his arms around me and swung me away from it. Laughing, I’d squirmed, attempting to escape, and lost my balance. That had resulted in Jared losinghisbalance. We’d landed on the ground with me straddling him.
I smiled at the memory. It was one of many that I had of Jared, with and without Logan. Not all involved making out or sex. I missed our talks after we’d put Logan to bed. Jared always knew how to make me smile and laugh. And even though he could have spent his evenings drinking with his bandmates or seducing groupies, he didn’t. He’d spent them with me—making me fall even further in love with him.
After I settled Logan into bed, I began work on a new digital design. I’d been mulling around ideas inspired by Celtic symbols for the past three days, but I hadn’t come up with the right idea. Until now. The memory of my puddle-jumping fun last night was exactly what I required.
I spent hours getting lost in the flow of the lines, the colors, the look of joy and wonder on the little girl’s face as she jumped in the puddle. Her fiery copper hair fluttered gently in the breeze. Surrounding her, the woods were a peaceful green, the dirt ground fresh and alive from the recent rain. Water. Fire. Earth. Wind. She was the inner circle of the fivefold Celtic design. She was the element required to bring balance to the picture.
Noticing how late it was, I checked my phone. The smile on my face waned. Other than a text to see if I was okay after last night’s drinking binge, I hadn’t heard from Jared. He finally sent me another text several hours later, telling me the band would be busy for the next few days.
And after that, who knew what would happen. Pushing Limits was about to begin their promo blitz for the upcoming album, and following that came the tour.
Jared was the center ring to my own personal fivefold design and I was losing him, but there was nothing I could do about it. My parents’ marriage had been solid because they’d been in love. I craved what they had, which meant I couldn’t settle for anything less.
Jared cared for me, no doubt about that—but it wasn’t enough.
Chapter 39
Jared
After leaving Callie’s apartment, I returned to mine, grabbed my notebook and pencil, and spent the next four hours scribbling down words and phrases, imagery, and symbolism. This was my usual process when writing a song. I would brainstorm, sometimes for days, trying to figure out exactly what I longed to say.
Except this time I didn’t have days.
When the words stalled, I played around with the melody on my guitar. I kept going until my eyes were bleary and I had yawned for the third time in the past two minutes.
