Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

18

I walk outsidewith Red trailing behind me.

He punches in the security code for the wrought iron door that leads from the courtyard to the street, and I hear it snap open.

“Gotta use the code to get in and out?”

“In and out.”

“Hm. Security on lock,” I say, and Red grunts.

He won’t bring it up, but I know he pushed for these extra measures because of the stalker I had last year. Some forty-something-year-old man had delusions of me being his wife and managed to break into our tour bus and steal a bunch of my underwear. We saw him on the cameras but didn’t catch him until three weeks later when we found him in my hotel shower.

Showering.

And jerking off with my bodywash.

I shudder at the memory. Guy ended up in a facility for mentally unstable people, and I didn’t press charges because the label didn’t want a media frenzy. I still double check my locks on the doors and windows before I go to bed.

Red and I stroll down the street toward the riverwalk, stopping every few feet so Ziggy can sniff at something. She’s not very good on a leash yet. She pulls. She’s not very good at all, honestly. She’s house trained and that’s about it. Absolutely no manners. I love it.

The riverwalk is busy, but no one looks our way other than to say hi to Ziggy. I think people are scared of Red because he’s a giant covered in tattoos. It works out in my favor. I’m able to enjoy the scenery and the walk. The breeze tickles my skin and sets my nerves at ease. When I see a coffee shop, I flash Red a grin. I can’t see for sure because of his dark sunglasses, but I can feel his side-eye.

“Can’t bring the mutt in,” he states, and I shrug.

“Just stay out here with her. I’ll be like five minutes.”

“And when you get recognized?”

I shrug again. It’s a matter of time before it happens, anyway, and then my life will be a madhouse of bulb flashes and paparazzi tails for a few weeks. Then, hopefully, the excitement will die off and the mob will shrink from double to single digits.

“You want one of those frozen kid drinks?” I ask him instead of answering. He doesn’t say yes, but I know he wants one. Caramel flavored with whipped cream because my big scary ex-Marine bodyguard has the tastebuds of a five-year-old.

I give him a smile, then walk into the café.

It’s absolutely adorable, and it smells amazing. Like coffee and baked goods. The place looks like it used to be a car repair shop or something, because on either side of the doorway there are old garage doors. They’re currently up, making the front walls of the café open to the sidewalk, with just a metal railing separating the inside from the outside. There are a few tables and chairs placed along the railings, too, for a cute little indoor/outdoor dining experience.

There are a handful of people sitting at the mismatched tables. One guy has a giant textbook open in front of him, but he’s wearing headphones and scrolling through his phone. A woman at one of the front tables is working on a laptop with a half-eaten scone sitting on the tabletop next to her. Someone in the corner is reading a newspaper.

No one is paying any attention to me, and my body sags with relief. I may have been ready for the attention, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

I walk up to the register and the kid behind it greets me with a confused smile. I’m still wearing my aviators, so I know all he can see is his reflection in the mirrored lenses.

“Hey,” he says with a cock of his head. “Welcome to Port Town Beanery. What can I get started for you?”

I scan the menu again, then order a large latte with an extra espresso shot for me, and a caramel frozen coffee for Red. With whipped cream on top.

“And can I get six blueberry muffins to go, too?”

The kid nods. “Sure thing. Name for the order?”

“Priscilla,” I say, giving him one of the aliases I use in public, then walk to the bulletin board on the wall and look it over while he makes the coffee.

I’m reading a flier about the town’s summer concert series on the water—a bunch of tribute and jam bands, including one that probably plays covers of my songs—when my phone chimes. I pull it out of my pocket but can’t read the screen with my sunglasses on. I pull the sunglasses down the bridge of my nose and unlock my phone screen.

Red

Your mutt has to pee.

So take her to go pee?

Come out here.

I roll my eyes. I’m not leaving my coffee just so I can walk down the block and be babysat while my dog pees in the grass.

Coffee isn’t ready yet. Just take her before she pees on your shoes again.

You’ll be right back. I’ll be fine.

The text bubbles pop up, then disappear, then pop up again, then disappear. I glance out the window and find Ziggy doing the puppy pee wiggle around Red as he frowns at his phone. I smirk. Just as I’m about to text him again, his response comes through.

I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.

I send him a poop emoji, then he puts his phone in his pocket and stalks away.

I bring my attention back to the bulletin board and scan some more fliers—a garage sale tomorrow on Chestnut Street, a lost cat named Nibbles, some kid home from college for the summer who wants to babysit, pet sit, house sit, or clean your pool—then a small gasp startles me. I glance toward the sound and find a little girl, maybe seven or eight, with wild brown curls staring up at me through wide, bright blue eyes.

I flick my eyes to the barista, then bring my finger to my lips. “Shhh.”

I point to the hallway with the bathrooms, out of sight of the barista and most of the customers. She nods quickly, then turns and skips toward the hallway. I follow.

As soon as we’re alone, she starts bouncing.

“Omigod are you? You are. You are, right? I mean you are but omigod, omigod.”

I laugh and nod. “I am.”

“Prodigious,” she whispers, and I laugh again.

“Prodigious? How old are you?”

“Seven and three quarters.”

“That’s a big word for a seven-year-old.”

“And three quarters,” she corrects, then grins wide, showing off two missing teeth. “I’m smarter than my dad.”

“You’re probably smarter than me, too,” I tell her, and she smiles bigger. “What’s your name, Miss Genius?”

“Brynnlee. You can call me Brynn. Some people call me Brynn. ‘Cept my dad. He usually calls me Boss.”

“I like Boss. Are you the boss?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” She glances over my shoulder. “There’s my dad! Can you sign one of my books? Dad! Can she sign one of my books?”

I’m all smiles when I spin to greet the girl’s dad, but the smile disappears immediately the moment my eyes land on the man in front of me.

He looks different, yet exactly the same, and for what feels like years, we just stare at each other. His shoulders are broader, his short sleeves snugger around his biceps. His sharp jaw is covered with a dark, neatly trimmed beard, but I can still see the little dimple in his chin, and a memory flashes through my head of pressing my index finger into it. His hair is shaggier than I’ve ever seen it, and the dirty blond has darkened, but the stern slash of his eyebrows is just like I remember, and his mouth is the same one I still see in my dreams.

He's holding a bag full of books, and I open my mouth to speak just as he places his hand on Brynn’s shoulder and moves her behind him. My stomach drops. The action is such a parental thing to do. Like he’s protecting her. I furrow my brow. Is he protecting her from me?

And then it hits me.

This is his daughter. Brynn is his daughter.

I do the mental math, and it all adds up.

I have to force the image of him standing in the middle of my raggedy Miami living room out of my head. I grit my teeth and breathe slowly through my nose, trying like hell not to spiral into that memory. The cell phone. The ultrasound picture. The just once. But then a third surprise grabs at my chest and squeezes, and it’s all over for me.

There’s a ring on his left hand. It’s black, and looks like it might be made of silicone, but there’s no denying what it is. A wedding band.

“They’re going to make you marry her.”

“No way, they wouldn’t.”

“They will.”

“It doesn’t matter what they want. I won’t do it.”

I almost want to laugh. Levi Cooper is standing in front of me, shielding his daughter from me like I’m some dangerous stranger, and he’s wearing a wedding band. My eyes fly behind him, scanning for someone who could be a wife. The once who became the one. When I see no one, I look back at his face, but he’s not looking at me.

He’s staring at my hand.

My left hand.

And suddenly, my emerald sham of an engagement ring feels like my own sword and shield. I flex my fingers, watch his jaw tense, then bring my hand up slowly and press it to my chest. His eyes follow, stick for a breath, then rise to my face.

“Uh, Dad, can you hear me?” Brynn says, and I watch as she tugs on his shirt and pokes her head out from behind him. “Can she, Dad? Please?”

Without saying anything, without taking his hard eyes off me, he hands the bag of books to Brynn, and she drops quickly to the floor and digs through it. She pops back up with a magazine in hand.

“Oh, no.” Brynn looks at me. “I don’t have a pen. Do you have a pen?”

“Priscilla,” the barista calls, and I blink, shaking my head slightly to rid myself of the fog that came with Levi’s reappearance.

“My coffee,” I say lamely before looking back at Brynn, forcing a smile.

I scan her face, looking for Levi, but the curly brown hair and blue eyes must come from her mom’s side of the family.

“I’ll get a marker from the barista, okay, Boss?”

She nods, showing off her toothless smile, and I give Levi a wide berth as I pass him. I release a shaky breath when I round the corner back into the café, but then gasp when I see what’s waiting for me.

There she is. It’s her. She’s here.

Flash.

Sav, when did you get into town?

Flash.

Are you here with Torren King?

Flash.

Sav is it true you’re engaged now?

Show us the ring, Sav.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

“Fuck.”

There have to be ten to fifteen paparazzi on the sidewalk, plastered to the metal railings and leaning into the café with their cameras pointed at me. I don’t recognize any of them, but that doesn’t mean some of them didn’t trail me from L.A.

Thankfully, a barista is standing by the front door, and it looks like she’s locked it, but it’s only a matter of seconds before one of these idiots realizes he can just hop over the railing and come inside. Damn it.

Is this really a hiatus, Sav?

Did the band break up because of your relationship with Torren King?

Did he cheat on you again? Did you cheat on him again?

When did you get out of rehab, Sav?

Sav, what do you have to say abo—

I turn and head back into the hallway, reaching for my phone to call Red for an escape plan, and run smack into a hard chest. His hands wrap around my upper arms, and even though it’s only for a split second—barely enough time to get a full inhale of his spicy, clean scent—it feels like he pulls me closer. Like his hands tighten. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

“C’mon.” He growls, then spins and shoves me down the hall.

I don’t ask. I just do as he says. He grabs Brynn’s hand and hurries past me, and I follow him to an exit door that leads out into the alley behind the café.

“White truck,” he says, gesturing to a vehicle parked at the end of the alley. “Run.”

So, I run.

Me, Levi Cooper, and Levi Cooper’s daughter sprint through the alley, dodging rocks and potholes, until he’s opening the back door of a beat-up old pickup truck and tossing Brynn inside while I climb into the passenger seat and shove myself onto the floorboard between the bench seat and the glove compartment.

Levi cranks up the truck just as my phone starts to buzz, so I twist my body awkwardly until my hand can reach into my pocket and pull out my cell.

“Red,” I pant into the phone.

“Where are you?” His voice is steady, no hint of panic, but I know it’s probably there.

“I’m okay. I’m with a...” I flick my eyes to Levi. He’s staring straight out the windshield. “I’m with a local. They showed me the back way out. Has anyone seen you?”

“No,” he says, and then it sounds like he’s running. “Can the local bring you back to the rental?”

I swallow and look back at Levi. He nods once, confirming he’s been listening, but he still doesn’t look at me.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be at the gate. Have them drive in.”

I tell him okay, and then I hang up.

“Where’s the rental?” Levi asks, voice hard and cold. No warmth. No fondness. Nothing but steel formalities and thinly-veiled anger.

I tell him the address and he flips the turn signal, turning the truck around and heading back to my side of town.

“Those men were reprehensible,” Brynn says from the back seat. I almost forgot all about her. “They were so rude.”

“Shit,” I grumble, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Brynnlee. Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. But that was simply atrocious.”

I snort out a laugh. This kid is a trip.

“Sorry you didn’t get your coffee,” she says, and even though I can’t see her because of how I’m squished on the floor, I can hear the sincerity in her voice.

“That’s alright, Boss,” I tell her cheerily, “I’ll get my latte later.”

I’m trying like hell to act like this whole incident hasn’t made me feel extremely unsettled. Just another day in the life of an infamous rockstar. Just another nightmare in the brain of a scorned lover. No big deal. I’m not rattled. Just as calm and cool as ever.

I feel the truck slow and see the wrought iron gate of my rental looming in the windshield. It opens slowly, and Levi rolls the truck into the courtyard. I unstuff myself from the floorboard and reach for the door handle, making eye contact with Red through the window.

“He’ll need to talk to you,” I say to Levi.

He says nothing to me as he shuts off the truck, but he turns to Brynn in the back.

“Stay here.”

“But Dad, can’t I—”

“Brynn. Stay. Here. This isn’t up for discussion.”

I glance at her, her brow furrowed, and her lip poked out in a pout. This is the first time since I’ve met her that she actually looks her age. She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Fine.”

Levi opens his door and steps out, so I do the same, taking a moment to send Brynn a smile.

“It was nice to meet you, Boss.”

Her lips twitch into the smallest smile, then she looks away, still pouting. I temper my chuckle and shut the truck door. I don’t see Ziggy, so she must be inside. I’d ask after her, but Red’s already in a heated discussion with Levi when I walk to them. He’s got some papers in his hand and my shoulders tense.

“I’m not putting my name on anything,” Levi says with a snarl.

“This is for your benefit as much as Ms. Loveless,” Red snarls back.

Both of their jaws are tense, their biceps flexed. Red has a couple inches on Levi, but I actually think Levi could hold his own—at least for a few minutes—if they ended up having to throw down.

Levi’s bigger now. More sculpted. Not bulky, not the kind of big you get from lifting heavy weights in a gym, but lean and hard. Defined in all the best places. A manual labor build. Before I can stop it, a visual of him braced naked above me flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but wonder how he’d look now. Same position. Same act. Older Levi.

“What’s going on?” I ask, squaring my shoulders.

“The local doesn’t want to sign the NDA.”

I whip my eyes to Levi, but he won’t stop staring daggers at Red.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want my name on anything regarding Sav Loveless,” Levi says to Red, and my fury flares. I grit my teeth and breathe through my nose before speaking, burning my glare into the side of his face.

“If you think you can take this to the press for a payout—”

Levi barks a sinister laugh, and when he finally looks at me, it takes all my strength not to flinch. Instead, I straighten my spine and narrow my eyes. Fire with fire.

If he can be an asshole, so can I.

“I said I don’t want my name on anything. I don’t want the association. I sure as shit am not going to take this to the press.”

God, that hurts. I grind my teeth harder, my pulse point in my neck is thrumming so rapidly that it feels like it might explode.

“If you don’t sign this NDA, we will be forced to get ahead of it. Contact the label. Who knows what they’ll do to spin the story in my favor—”

“What fucking story?”

“Whatever bullshit one you’re cooking up for the media paycheck.”

It’s a bluff. I’m bluffing. He says he won’t go to the press, and I believe him, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him win this. I take a step forward.

“I’ll be protected regardless. Signing the NDA just makes this easier for everyone.”

He raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

“Because the label has done a great job keeping your name out of the tabloids so far, right?”

His implication is like a punch to the gut. I want to gasp. I want to wince. I want to hit back harder. I do none of it. I tilt my head to the opposite side and arch my own brow.

“You want to take that chance?”

We stare at each other for fourteen seconds. I count them out in my head, waiting. I blink once and then I see him give. A flare of his nostrils, an almost imperceptible growl that makes my toes curl, and then he turns to Red.

“Give me a fucking pen.”

Red slaps the papers in his hand, then a pen, and Levi signs without reading anything.

“You can’t t—”

“It’s not a problem.” Levi cuts Red off, then shoves the freshly signed NDA back into his tattooed hands.

Levi turns to leave, and I direct my attention to the little girl in the truck. I force a smile for her sake and wave goodbye, just as a broad chest moves into my view. My head jerks back and my eyes fly up to meet Levi’s. Once again, his are filled with barely restrained anger, and it makes me want to slap some sense into him.

Why in the actual fuck is he treating me this way? If anything, I should be the one giving him attitude. Not the other way around.

“What?” I spit out, and I watch a muscle in his cheek twitch.

“Stay away from my daughter.”

My jaw drops open on a gasp, my eyes flare wide. For a breath, I’m actually speechless. I force a swallow and fist my hands at my sides. There’s no way I heard that correctly.

“I’m sorry, but what did you just say?”

“I said stay away from Brynn. She’s a good kid and unfortunately, she idolizes you.”

I blink, waiting for more, but he says nothing. He doesn’t have to. I recognize that tone. I recognize those words and the sentiment he’s so loudly hurled behind them.

“And you’re worried I’m going to, what, corrupt her? My unsavory ways might rub off on your seven-year-old?”

His face doesn’t change with my statement. He doesn’t even flinch. No remorse or shame. I hit it dead on.

“I don’t want reality to ruin the image she has in her head. She’s too young for that kind of disappointment.”

“Right,” I force out, “because Sav Loveless in reality is so terribly disappointing. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

“Tabloid fodder?”

He drags his eyes down my body, stopping on my ring, then back to my face.

“So, you’re saying you haven’t been in and out of rehab? Dating half of Hollywood? In a toxic relationship with your trashy bassist? That’s not you? It’s some other Sav Loveless? Some other band?”

His questions are rhetorical, and his voice is damn near mocking, so I don’t say anything. I keep my shoulders straight and my face blank. I could defend myself. I could list all the positive things I’ve done and ramble off my successes. But what’s the point?

“She’s a good kid,” he says again. “She doesn’t need your influence.”

I huff out a laugh and shake my head slowly.

“God. You sound just like your momma, you know that? Guess the apple didn’t fall far after all.”

The muscle in his cheek twitches again as we stare at each other. It’s a new tell, I realize, but I’m not sure yet what it’s giving away. I wait for him to make the same jab—bring up my mom’s drug use and rotating list of bedroom guests—but he doesn’t. I resist the urge to let my eyes scan his face and instead I hold his hard gaze. I have a lifetime of experience shielding myself from the judgment of others. It stopped bothering me a long time ago.

No one’s opinion of me could ever hurt worse than my own.

Until now.

The distance between us seems to shrink as he leans forward, looming over me.

“Stay away from her,” he repeats, and the protectiveness in his tone gives me chills that I don’t want him to see.

I take a giant step back, cock my head to the side, and bring my left hand up in a mock salute. I force a sweet smile and flutter my eyelashes, a pleasant picture of obedience.

“Whatever you say, Sir. Any other requests before I kick your pompous, patronizing ass out of my courtyard?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, a whisper of a ghost of a smile. His eyes drop to my smirking lips and stick there for long enough that my breath catches. Then they land on my emerald engagement ring again. He jerks his head no, a response to my question, then starts to stride toward his truck. As he passes me, his steps slow. He’s so close I can feel his heat even though we aren’t touching.

“Welcome to town, Ms. Loveless,” he says, his deep voice curling around my stage name in a way that feels almost indecent. “See you Monday.”

It takes a moment for his last sentence to register in my mind. When it does, he’s already backed out of my drive and Red is closing the gate.

See you Monday?

I hear Red’s boots on the cobblestone as he comes to stand next to me.

“Is he the guy from—”

“The lap dance and the Perv Pen,” I confirm with a nod.

Red hums in surprise but doesn’t say anything else. When I feel his eyes on me, I glance up at him and scowl.

“Ms. Loveless? Really?”

Red shrugs. “Professionalism.”

I snort and roll my eyes. Professionalism my ass. He just wanted to be intimidating, as if being 6’5”, jacked and covered in tats isn’t enough.

I turn and walk toward the house. I need to find my dog and my guitar.

See you Monday?

Damn it. I’m almost afraid to find out.