Chapter 162

Tessa slammed the trunk of her car a few hours later. The sun was lower in the sky—the world a little clearer than the last time she’d been just in that spot. She’d taken one last long walk up and down the beach she’d cried at, healed with and ultimately broken down on. The sand knew all her fears, caught most of her tears and soaked them up, spitting them back out into the big salty sea where they belonged.

She loved it, she would miss it, but she didn’t need it anymore.

What she needed was her store, to go home and help Nic with her very first child due in the next few months. She needed purpose and something to do with her time.

She needed to learn how to live in the real world again and how to mesh with Jon’s family. And—she winced as she sat in her seat—she needed to figure out a little retribution for Jon’s love tap. Reaching into her bag for her sunglasses, she bumped into a hard, plastic case.

“What’d I stick in there now?”

Her poor purse was the catchall for just about everything. The edges and shape said jewel case, but she used her iPod exclusively these days. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d actually bought a CD. Detangling it from the depths of her purse, she flipped it over. Jon’s bold print slashed across the front. “Play me,” she murmured.

Pressing the CD button on her stereo, she slid the blank CD into the slot and jammed her car into reverse. He probably made a car tunes CD for her drive home. He could be a sweet guy when he wanted to. She figured it was more likely that he was going to try to teach her the joys of Southside Johnny yet again. The man was ruthless in showing her his hero’s catalogue of work. Backing out of the drive, she turned up the stereo against the popping gravel under her tires.

A thrumming bass filled the car followed by a heavy guitar and a mishmash of male voices arguing about the talk box versus guitar manipulation. The incredibly deep voice of one man and Richie’s familiar laugh filled the car.

Surprise and pleasure slid through her in equal parts. He’d given her some of the studio outtakes? Maybe he had been listening?

Catchy lyrics and the odd marriage of twang and slick, bombastic Jovi blasted from the speakers as she hit the highway. She found herself tapping on the steering wheel as the coast filled her rear view.

One song slid into another as she was transported into Jon’s studio—into the center of the creative process. Lyrics that spoke of lost highways and summertime infused the speedometer with a little too much speed.

Jon’s husky whisper rasped over the microphone as Richie’s guitars enhanced the mood. It was the roughs of their work with acoustics and the telling imperfections of demos. She could hear the odd frustration in Jon’s voice where the words weren’t quite right yet. But in the midst of it all, the ones he did get right were thick with personal meaning instead of shrouded in metaphors and storytelling. Jon’s voice ached and the raw, acoustic nature to the song left her speechless.

You used to live to say you love me…now you’ve got one foot out the door.

Then you turn around and ask me—do we got it anymore?

Tears burned in her throat as emotions tumbled as fast as Richie’s chord progressions. Sadness and hope raced against the wild strumming of both Jon and Richie’s acoustic guitars. The chorus bled out until it was just his husky voice that told her he’d come back for her. She knew it probably wasn’t directed at her, but right at that moment, she felt the words in her gut.

Just as any other fan, it spoke to her heart and her soul. As if there was anything she could hold back from him—but if there was—it was gone now. The fact that he gave her this one thing, the personal heart of his music before it was picked apart and manipulated for public consumption—diamonds couldn’t mean more to her.

Before she could catch her breath Richie’s acoustic strumming flowed and Jon’s whisper was back. Hope and the hard talk between a couple shuddered through her little car. She could see every moment of the story unfolding—every piece of the pain Jon lived with when she shut him out. The hope he’d infused into the lyrics as the woman—as she opened up.

Did he really feel that way about her? The voice that crooned as beautifully as Jon’s, could only belong to one woman. Sweeping guitars and the polished feel of the song spoke of studio tweaking, but Leann took the song and infused it with her haunting vocals and the pain that lived in the words.

Let’s put our two hearts back together…and leave the broken pieces on the floor.

Make love with me, baby…’til we ain’t strangers anymore.

She flicked the key off, shutting down the music. Too much. Fumbling with the door she opened it to scorching July heat that bounced off the pavement. Tucking the keys into her jeans she walked off the turbulent emotions his music always caused. Before she knew him so intimately, the music had been enough to make her bleed. Now, with everything she knew about him, both in her own heart and his, it seemed all the sweeter and just…more. More pain, more happiness, more loss. Everything felt so big and so much more important.

Rubbing the heel of her palm against her chest, she walked to the vending machine. Digging for change, she slapped the flat of her hand on the wide, palm-sized button.

Water, crisp and icy, filled her mouth and pushed the worst of the lump down her throat. They had become strangers. It had been as much her fault as the situation. Would she have even thought of leaving him, demanding an audience with his family, or a definition of what they were if it weren’t for what they’d gone through?

Did fate have to deal them that kind of hand to really find the answers? If the hard questions weren’t asked, just how long would they have left it at the status quo?

With her afraid to ask for everything and him afraid to give everything, they’d settled in limbo. Happy without the push and pull of true interdependence, they’d fed off the easy sexual side of their relationship. The sex had blended into love—the love took a left turn into fear.

She gulped down the last of the water and heaved in a breath. It was the fear that had taken over and it was the fear that she would need to learn to live with. He made her feel so much. The music and the man would twist and burn inside sometimes. As much as he shared, as much as he cared—it was nothing even close to what came out of him when the music took over.

Jogging back to the car, she hit the rewind button for the first time and listened to Strangers again. Punching the accelerator, she let the lyrics sink in. She let Jon and Richie tell her tale, the everyman tale and made space in her heart for the ache and the joy.

Even before she’d let him back in, even before the healing, he’d tried to re-write their history. She’d live with the self-fulfilling prophesy. With each mile, she left those broken pieces on the road, on the beach and in her rearview mirror.

Welcome to the party, c’mon in and disappear…

You’re feelin’ like a stranger, but all your friends are here.

“Jesus,” she nibbled on the corner of her thumbnail as the song ripped out her insides. Richie was the heart of the song and Jon facilitated the emotions. The guitar ruled with its wailing harmonies and visceral crunch of notes.

It’s okay to feel a little broken…Everybody’s broken.

God, she couldn’t have heard that right. Backing up the song, she felt it, heard it again. Richie’s guitar clutched and ground out the echo of Jon’s words. This had to be the song that had shredded Jon that one night. He’d made love to her so sweetly, so overwhelmed with pain and his unwavering need for her. He’d been so stirred up about Richie’s pain and his need to help his friend…it had flowed into the music and into their lovemaking until the echo resonated even now—so many months afterward.

And here in a sensory memory that filled her gut with hope and love, she felt the tear splash on her arm. It took on more meaning now as it matched her as well. He’d told her that he didn’t know what he’d do without her—that he needed her strength. Even now, she knew that she’d let him down—they’d let each other down. The song allowed for faults, allowed for being human in every way. And with the hope and the vitality of the song, there was also a bone deep sadness.

The deafening silence of the car as Broken ended only emphasized the heartbreak and the passion in their music. The quiet was heavy with a thousand thoughts. She started the CD over again and let the songs sink into her.

The hour flew by until signs for Red Bank warned her of her impending arrival. She’d thought about calling Nic, but decided the surprise factor was better. She was just about to rewind the CD when another song filled the car.

Simple guitars were the backdrop and Jon’s smoky voice the killer. She could see him at the mic, lips pressed against the filmy shield, those blue eyes closed and focused as the song built. As the force of the song ripped her guts out.

“Oh, Jon.”

This above all else showed the pain and the hope that was so much a part of her man. The fact that he kept it a little separate from the rest showed her that it was an important song—one she needed to pay attention to. It was like an open diary of a man’s viewpoints on life, love and what a woman could mean. Richie’s guitars blew through Jon’s husky voice in that sneaky way that heightened the emotions, molded you and kicked you in the ass on the way out.

Alarm clock rings, it’s 6:45. I like waking up with you on my mind. Knowing that you’re saving me…one more time.

Just who had saved who? She flashed the song back as she pulled into Chapter’s parking lot. Swirling hope and hard times, larger than life sounds blended until there was no doubt that it was about finding your way through the shit and finding sunshine. For her, for him, for any of the guys in the band. The last few years had been nothing but happiness mired in struggle.

In this song—happiness won. She let the song flow out, stepping from her car. The familiar blacktop steamed beneath her sandals, the brick face of her store faded to a dull red with the front facing sun all day. Summer flags that fluttered on each side of her sign like bookends, the wide expanse of glass showed off her wares and the theme window.

God, she missed her window. Someone had done well enough with a grouping of beach reads and beach chair, but it needed sand and a messy beach bag with an iPod, shades, beach towel, and lotions—A sizzling hot, romance lying in the sand with a bookmark peeking from the middle.

Work was calling her, as it called Jon. She was underdressed in shorts and the filched Springsteen tee, but she would see her store and Nic. She fought a grin at the hugely pregnant woman couldn’t be missed as she lorded over the cash registers. Nic was efficient and graceful even as she worked around her distended belly.

She hovered around the side of the store, where drop-offs and returns were stacked. She watched as Nic checked out the handful of customers in line, waiting for her to look up and see her. When the last customer left, Nic arched her back, blowing a lock of hair out of her eyes. She turned to go back into the cash-box and spotted her. “It’s about goddamn time! Do you realize how pregnant I am?”