Ким Карр - Mended

I can’t stop myself from turning at the sound of her low, creamy voice through the intercom. Her profile is nothing short of perfection. She sets her guitar down, and when she lifts her head our eyes collide. For the briefest of moments I think I feel the stirring of her heart in mine. She blinks and gives me an obligatory nod before shifting her gaze. I do the same, but my nod is slow, wistful, wanting, and I don’t look away. I watch as she studies the music sheets in front of her. Her deep blue eyes practically dart with enthusiasm as she points to the papers on the stand and starts explaining something to the guys. She glances quickly at me again and notices my stare. But she immediately averts her gaze and continues with her conversation, tapping her leg to her own beat. She looks beautiful—every curve of her body is visible. She’s wearing fitted jeans that hug her narrow hips and a tank top that clings to her perky tits. She is perfect.

Phil extends his hand as I approach him. “Hey, man, good to see you.” Phil is the kind of guy who punctuates every sentence with man.

“You too.”

He gives me a friendly thump on the back and with a broad grin he leads me over to his desk.

“We’re just in here for rehearsal time,” I let him know because I see him slithering into recording mode.

“I know, man. But I couldn’t help but listen in. I think we should record a track and remix Ivy’s voice in with River’s.”

“Glad for your enthusiasm, Phil, but we’re not ready for that.”

“No, man, you have to hear this. I’ve already played around with it. Just listen.”

He pulls up a sound bite on his computer and hits PLAY. Her voice surrounds me, followed by River’s, and I have to tell him, “It sounds fucking amazing.”

“I know, man, I told you. Imagine what it will sound like if we pop that sweet tart in an isolation booth.”

I suck in a breath and hold it to keep myself from pounding a guy who’s always been a friend. Letting it out, I slide my eyes toward her. “Her name is Ivy, man.”

He laughs. “Yeah, man, I know her name. I just like the sound of the words pop and sweet tart mixed together with isolation booth, if you know what I mean.”

Anger flashes through me as I shoot fire at him with my eyes. “I wouldn’t talk like that. It might get you in trouble.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only kidding around,” he says, with concern ringing clear in his voice.

I turn to leave the room, throwing over my shoulder, “I’ll get back to you on the remix.”

Garrett pounces on me when I push on the large steel bar across the heavy door to exit the studio through the rear. “Where are you going?”

I gesture down the hall toward the alley. “I need to get some air. I have a fucking headache and the air in the studio is stifling.”

“How about an aspirin?” he asks.

“I’m good.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I just needed some fresh air. And what’s with the fifty questions?”

He eyes me. “Your past with her isn’t going to be an issue, is it?”

“No, Garrett. I’m just beat.”

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

He puts his hands up. “I’ll leave you alone, but how about we grab some dinner tonight?”

“Sounds good.”

He turns around and walks back toward the studio. I keep going and open the last door leading me outside. The sun shines bright and the sound of the music fades as I take the three steps to the sidewalk, where I can finally breathe. Blurry from exhaustion and hungover from too much booze, I give in and stumble backward. Sitting on the bottom step, I cradle my head in my hands and pray I can do this—that I can handle being around her every day and still do my job.

Ivy

Music has always been my everything. But when I was young, it really was all I had—it was my shoulder to cry on, my confidant, my best friend. I was an outcast in school because I kept to myself. I was always writing lyrics, and the other kids didn’t know what to make of me, so they made fun of me instead. I didn’t really care. I didn’t have time for friends. My mother kept me busy. She wanted me to be an actress and she made me go on audition after audition. I hated the thought of pretending to be someone else in front of a camera. I hated the thought of acting, period. That wasn’t what I wanted to do. I just wanted to share my music with others. But my mom saw it differently. We had very little money and she worked two jobs and odd hours to make ends meet. She thought if I acted we’d be secure. So if I wasn’t running lines for a part I didn’t want, I was going on auditions. I’d gotten a few parts here and there, but nothing permanent. I was also responsible for taking care of my younger sisters. So, like I said—I had no time for friends.

Then I met him—he got me, understood me, accepted me, guided me, showed me who I could be. Before I knew it, music and Xander Wilde—they became my world and stayed that way all the way through high school. I loved him. He was everything I didn’t know I wanted and everything I needed. But my world turned upside down the day he betrayed what we were, what we had. I was shocked, surprised, and heartbroken, but somehow I think I always knew I wasn’t enough for him. After that I left LA and never looked back. I couldn’t be what he needed, so I never sought him out again. And why would I, anyway? All I felt toward him was hatred. I locked him away in my mind and tried so hard to never think about him. Now, without warning, he’s come back into my life, and my world feels like it’s been turned upside down.

A shiver ran through me and somehow I knew he was there—it was the strangest thing. I felt his stare and when I looked up into those eyes blazing with an intensity I once knew so well, they were boring into me. I felt a sharp jab of pain for what we had shared as the eyes of the boy I once loved quickly morphed into the eyes of the man I hated. The eyes I spent years looking into—the ones that sometimes look green but if you study them long enough you’ll see their hypnotic flecks of brown.

He was the same, but different in a few ways. His startling hazel eyes, his tousled brown hair, sharp jawline, and strong, lean frame hadn’t changed that much. He was so good-looking—not in a pretty or adorable way, but more in a rugged, handsome way. But he looks harder, even more closed off now. Then again, I’m sure I do too. Staring at him across the pool, I got lost in my thoughts. He was a boy no girl could ever forget. My mind filled with all the things I’d missed about him—our conversations, his protectiveness, his cocky grin, his charm, the way he said “fuck” just because. So many things I didn’t want to remember, but they were all right here in front of me.

I never looked back and wondered if I made the right decision. Even now I know leaving Xander is something I shouldn’t be questioning. But the moment our eyes connected at the pool, all the hate I had been carrying around for years dissipated instantly. It scared me. How could just one look erase the bad memory and replace it with all the good ones? He was giving me the same look he used to give me when I’d cross the school grounds and spot him waiting for me—with his smile so genuine that his eyes lit up. It was the look that told me how much he loved me. I only stifled the need to run to him by remembering my fiancé was by my side.

Confusion tangled deep within me, but I couldn’t resist setting my sights on him again. A hint of a smile crossed my lips. God, he was magnificent—broad shoulders, lean waist, toned arms. It might sound clichéd, but even when we were both fourteen and I noticed him for the first time I thought he was tall, dark, and handsome. And I couldn’t help but fall for him. With his first grin in my direction—I melted. When he first played his guitar for me—he scored my mind. When he first kissed me—he stole my heart. And when he cheated on me—he took a piece of my soul. I was broken. His love broke me, and music was my only refuge.

I reminded myself that I hated him. I had once trusted him, confided in him, given him what I’d given nobody, and he stomped on us like we were nothing. I thought I was over him—I’d moved on long ago. But seeing him just brought it all back. The feelings I had for him were still there in my heart. I realized it the instant his stare reverberated through me and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. But I pushed those feelings aside—hate felt better than love, especially when I saw who the girl was that was standing next to him with her fingers in his hair. A wave of jealousy swept through me—I wanted to be the one running my fingers through his hair.

But seeing him was like a sign I didn’t know I was waiting for. I finally knew it was time to break off my engagement to Damon. It had been time for a while—in fact, I never should have gotten engaged to him. The man I was going to marry was not the man I wanted to marry—that man was standing across the pool.

But breaking my engagement wasn’t because of Xander—I had decided to do it before I saw him. The simple truth was Damon and I were never right for each other. I loved him in my own way. He had nurtured my talent and helped me with my career. I had trusted him in a world where trust was hard to find. But I had matured, grown up, figured out what I wanted—and we didn’t want the same things.

He wanted me to put out another album—just like the first one. He also wanted a family right away. I wanted the independence to make my own decisions. I wanted to give my career time to grow before starting a family. That left us at a crossroads in our relationship when he suddenly asked me to marry him. He wanted me to take a year off and create the album of my dreams. He said he’d help me get it out there, help me sell it, and I loved him for supporting me.

Yet his job demands had intensified, and suddenly he was insisting that I travel everywhere with him—he wanted me by his side. I had written the songs for my album, but they weren’t being produced. Damon was adamant that he knew what was right for me. Somehow I had become his arm candy and all we were doing was arguing. I was so unhappy, and I knew what we’d had for each other was gone—I just hadn’t figured out how to tell him we were over. And then, without even knowing it, Xander made it all so clear. My relationship with Damon was one of comfortable love, not true undying love. And I wasn’t going to settle.

The next day things unexpectedly came crashing down with Damon. We were at the pool and my gaze steadied on Xander again. I couldn’t help but be drawn to the sight of him. To his strong, stubbled jaw that I wanted to cup in the palms of my hands, to his pale hazel eyes that were pinned on me, to all of him. Damon saw me staring, and he must have sensed what I was feeling, because he exploded, dragging me from the pool. When I finally told him the name of the person I was looking at, he slapped me. That was it. I wasn’t sticking around any longer. I was done the moment his palm struck my face. I wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag. My father used to hit my mother and me until one day he just up and took off. I wasn’t going to repeat my mother’s mistakes in any way, shape, or form. Xander’s seeing me afterward made me so angry, and his concern made me furious—the hate I had for him was back in full force. I didn’t need his help—I didn’t need him.

As soon as I got back to the room, Damon was full of remorse. We discussed our situation, and he surprisingly took our breakup better than I could have imagined. He wanted me to keep the diamond ring—but I couldn’t. I should have never accepted it from him to begin with. So I left it and left him.

Our personal relationship was over—but dissolving our business relationship wasn’t as easy. For some reason he didn’t want to let that go. I contacted my attorney, and he told me he would start the litigation needed to terminate our contract, but it wouldn’t be quick, easy, or cheap. I hadn’t earned any money in the past year and didn’t have much money left. I was supporting my mother and my sisters, and my accounts were draining fast. One of my sisters was in med school and the other two were in college. I couldn’t let them down. So when Zane Perry was diagnosed with a mild form of vocal cord paralysis and the Wilde Ones needed a new lead singer, I thought it would be the perfect arrangement.

When I left Xander’s house the night we’d all agreed I’d replace Zane, I went to meet my cousin for dinner. Logan was really tired and I was glad because Xander’s touch was still burning through my body and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Arriving home early, I struggled to sleep. Images of Xander, on top of me, under me, beside me, in me—I couldn’t erase them. Even after all these years I remembered how we were together. I could see the sensuality of his raw, naked body. I could smell him. I could hear the groans he made when he came. And in the darkness of my own room, I used those memories to help relieve the need that had surged within me from the moment I first saw him again. I held my breasts and slid my thumbs over my nipples. I ran my hand down to my sex and touched myself. I imagined it was him touching me, pressing his thumb against my clit—taking me to the edge and back simply because he could. My heels pressed into the bed and my fingers gripped the sheets so tightly I nearly tore them as my body finally found its release.