I’ve been trying to call Vista for a week, but she won’t pick up the damn phone. I know why she’s not answering—she saw the news. She saw me with Calista.
The media are a bunch of savage dickheads with nothing better to do than to try and tear people down. Now it’s more bullshit and more fires I have to put out. They saw her and me together and assumed we were an item.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Calista and I are…well, I wouldn’t call us friends exactly. More like two ships passing in the night. We’d hook up whenever we happened to be in the same city at the same time. It wasn’t anything more than that, and we were both cool with it. But all that’s over now.
So even though we’re not friends, we’re also not enemies.
I was doing an appearance at Boulevard3 when I ran into her. We shared a couple drinks and talked a bit, caught up. We ended up getting pretty deep. I confided in her about Vista and the baby, and she told me that I was fucking up a good thing. I informed her that Vista was the one who told me not to come back, and she quickly reminded me that she also said not to leave. I’ll never figure women out. They say one thing and mean another. In the long run, though, she helped me open my eyes to what an asshole I’ve been, and now I think I can finally see where Vista is coming from.
She was testing me, and I failed. Miserably.
I was pissed off at her for shutting me down. No one, aside from my father, has ever told me to get my head out of my ass and be a man. Which, I guess, is why I took it so wrong. Vista reminded me of my father, harping in my ear, and I resented her for it.
When I left, I had convinced myself that I was doing what was best for her and the baby. With me out of the picture, they could be normal. But that’s not the case. They’re no safer from the media than I am. If anything, they’re even more vulnerable. At least I can outrun it. All it takes is hopping on a plane.
I’ve been telling her and myself that I’m working my way back to her, all I need to do is tie up some loose ends, make good on my commitments so I can come home. But the truth is, that’s not what I’ve been doing at all.
Talking with Calista has opened my eyes wide. She made me see that what I’ve really been doing is running. All this time, I’ve been the dickhole who’s ruining Vista’s life.
Even my father, bastard that he is, had enough of a moral compass to stick around and raise me.
I send one more call through, begging Vista in my mind to pick up the damn phone. Now that my blinders are off, it feels as if the distance is eating me alive. Every second that passes, it’s as if I can literally feel myself losing her.
I can’t fucking lose her.
Vista is the only real thing I’ve ever had in my life. She’s the only person who’s ever taken the time to really get to know me and accepted me for who I am, warts and all, something my own parents couldn’t manage to do.
With her, I have a family, and I refuse to let it go without a fight.
“Three minute warning.”
I glance up at the stagehand or whatever he is and nod. I’m doing another fucking interview. This one is for Jimmy Kimmel. It used to be that I would blow a gasket, I was so excited to do shit like this. This time, nothing. It’s like I’m on autopilot. None of this registers. I’m just going through the motions, blindly following instructions as they’re dished out.
It’s Kimmel for crissake! I should be a nervous wreck, and instead, I’m thinking about ditching out and jumping on the first plane back to Ohio. Vista is taking up every thought in my head. I just need her to pick up the phone so I can explain. I need her to know that I choose her. I need her to know that I love her and I haven’t given up on us.
“Mr. Black,” the stagehand hisses as if this isn’t the first time he’s called my name, “you’re on.”
Standing, I straighten my suit jacket and follow up to the edge of the curtains. He waves me forward and I walk out onto the stage following the general intro music and screaming fans. Kimmel stands and shakes my hand, and then I sit in the chair closest to his desk.
“How are you?” he asks as the audience winds down.
As soon as I tell him I’m good, the audience roars louder than before. He chuckles. I chuckle. Then we get on with the interview.
“I think the ladies here tonight are a little excited to see you, Levi.”
They roar again and I grin at them, playing up the part of the sexy bad boy they crave so much.
“Does this ever get old for you?’
“Nah, how could it? Isn’t it every man’s fantasy to have so many beautiful women love him?” They scream again, catcalling me. We go back and forth a few more times, riling up the audience, before Kimmel digs in.
“You’ve been making headlines lately,” he informs me as he leads the conversation into deeper waters. “Is it true you’re going to be a father?”
I nod hesitantly but no less proud. “Yeah, yeah. A little less than two months to go.”
“That’s wonderful. Congratulations.” I thank him accordingly, already sensing where the line of questioning is headed—the same place it always does. “Now we all know the tabloids have a propensity for stretching the truth. So why don’t we clear something up tonight.” I nod for him to go ahead. I’m ready. Leaning into one arm, he tilts his head and says, “Some people are claiming you’re dating your sister. In fact, they’re claiming your sister is actually the mother of your child. Is there any truth to that?”
I am so fucking glad that David and Lara’s divorce was finalized yesterday. Now I can speak with total truth and without having to dance around definitions. “No, that’s not true.” And then I toss in for good measure, “Vista and I were never related.”
“But isn’t it true that your parents are married, making her your stepsister?”
“For a time, yes, but that’s no longer the case. And being stepsiblings doesn’t actually make us related. We were never connected by blood, and we weren’t raised together, so we never looked at each other like that.”
“So what do you look at each other like?”
“Just a man and a woman.”
“Are you in love?”
For this, I look directly into the camera, hoping that she’s watching this, and say, “One hundred percent, yes.”
“I’m sure that comes as a disappointment for all the women out there to know you’re off the market,” Kimmel grins widely.
“I’m sure,” I reply with a tight smile of my own. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about other women. There’s only one that I care about.
“You said you’re expecting in a couple months?” I nod. “I’m sure you keep a tight schedule now that you’re in the off-season. What does Vista think of all this traveling? Is she enjoying the sights?”
I shift in my seat. “She’s at home, actually. Running a business takes a lot of time and commitment, so we thought it best for her to stay back.”
Kimmel’s brows shoot up. “Sounds interesting. What kind of business?”
“Physical therapy.”
A knowing smile spreads across his face. “You just came back from some time off following an injury that sidelined you for a couple months. Does her profession have anything to do with how you two got together?”
“I’m going to have to plead the fifth, Jimmy.” I laugh, sparking everyone else’s laughter. It’s better to keep them on their toes, smiling along, so they don’t turn this into some kind of witch hunt. As long as they feel connected in some way, everything will run smoothly.
“We have to take a break, but before we go, is there anything you’d like to say to Vista in case she’s watching tonight?”
I suck in a large breath, gathering my thoughts quickly. Finding the right camera, I stare into it as if she’s right there, looking back at me. I picture her tear-stained face the last time I saw her and tell her, “You were right, princess. It’s you and me. So don’t lock that door just yet. Make sure you leave a light on.”
As messages go, mine is pretty cryptic, but with a little thought, I hope if she’s watching she gets it.
After a few more minutes of shooting the shit, I leave Kimmel’s stage and climb into the back of the limo, giving my assistant instructions to take me straight back to the hotel and to book me on the first flight out. I’m not staying in L.A. another second. It’s time to go get my girl.
***
I step off the plane and stretch my limbs before I head off to baggage claim. It’s past midnight. I’m not sure how many hours I’ve been in the air, but it’s enough that I’m tired, sore, and grouchy. It feels so damn good to be back on solid ground. It feels even better knowing that Vista is less than an hour’s drive away.
Urgency grabs hold of me as I meander through the terminal and locate a cab. I was so focused on getting back, I didn’t bother setting up any travel plans. It’s probably better this way anyway. I don’t have to answer to anyone.
The streets are fairly clear of traffic at this time of night, and I don’t have to tell the driver to hurry. He has a natural lead foot and nothing is in his way, so I sit back and pull out my phone. I’m sure she’s asleep by now, and I don’t want to disturb her, but there’s a little part of me that’s too impatient to hear Vista’s voice to wait.
“I’m sorry. The person you are calling isn’t answering their phone. Please leave a message and they will get back to you as soon as possible.”
Sick of hearing that generic, robotic message, I jamb my finger on the “end” icon and tuck the phone back in my pocket. Staring out the window, I watch the city lights zip past, counting down the minutes until we arrive.
When we finally do, I toss a chunk of cash at the driver, throw my bag over my shoulder, and leap out. When I burst through the lobby door, Manny, the security officer I hired to watch over Vista, pops up from his reclined position.
Startled, he shouts after me. “Hey! You have to check in first!” I jerk my head to the side so he can see my face, but I don’t stop for a second.
“It’s okay, Manny. It’s me, Levi!”
“Oh, hey, Mr. Black!” he greets as I rip open the door to the stairwell. If he says anything else after that, I don’t hear it.
I take the stairs two at a time. The elevator probably would have been faster, but right now stopping for anything feels like a death sentence. I have to keep moving. Standing still for any length of time is an impossibility.
When I reach her floor, I barrel through the door and pound down the lengthy corridor until I reach hers. She’s probably asleep by now, but I’m prepared to wake up the whole damn building if I have to.
Banging my fist on the solid wood, I wait, huffing as I struggle to drag oxygen back into my lungs. She doesn’t answer right away, and I imagine all types of scenarios. Did she look through the peephole, see it was me, and decide to let me stand out here and rot? Is she hurt? Is she even here?
I check the number on the door. 236. Definitely the right apartment. I pound on it again, more demanding this time. Then I pick up faint movement on the other side.
When the door opens, I release a relieved breath. There she is, her hair a ratted mess on top of her head, dressed in nothing but a long black t-shirt that strains over her swollen belly. Goddamn, she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
“Levi, what the hell are you doing here?” she asks, her voice raspy from sleep.
Definitely woke her up. My gaze tracks over her once more, and then I get annoyed. “Do you always open the door to strangers in the middle of the night? What if I was some crazy axe murderer?”
She rolls her eyes in that huffy way of hers that drives me crazy and gets me hard all at once. “I have a peephole,” she informs me, pointing to it. “And for the record, even though I saw that it was you, I almost called the cops anyway. Why the hell are you pounding on my door this late at night? Are you trying to get me evicted?”
Pushing the door open, I invite myself inside since she’s clearly not going to. Setting my bag down on the coffee table, I turn to her and ask, “Did you catch the show tonight?”
After closing the door and securing the locks, Vista crosses the room, bypassing the couch and climbing back into bed. Not that it makes much of a difference. They’re practically the same room.
Still, after all this time apart, even that small amount of distance is too much. Kicking off my shoes, I crawl in beside her.
Her eyes pop open and she hisses, “What are you doing in my bed?”
“Talking to you. What does it look like?”
“Like you’re in my bed. Get out.”
“No. Now tell me, did you see the show or not?”
“Since I’m not a glutton for punishment and I have no clue what you’re talking about, obviously not.” She releases a huge yawn that makes me smile. Dammit she’s adorable. How did I stay away this long?
Digging out my phone, I type in my name and Jimmy’s and instantly get a hit. Just as I thought, someone’s already uploaded it to YouTube. Damn, I love technology sometimes.
Handing the phone off to her, I tell her, “Here, watch it,” figuring it’ll make more sense if she sees it than if I try to explain it.
Casting me a suspicious frown, she takes it and rolls onto her back, getting comfortable. Holding the phone in the air, over her face, she starts the feed.
While she lays there watching, my attention drifts lower to her abdomen. It’s fuller than it was last time I was here. Rounder. Without thinking, I reach out and rest my hand on it, earning a sharp look, but Vista doesn’t tell me to stop, so I don’t.
I listen to the interview progress with half an ear, until I feel a strong bump directly beneath my palm, then I’m not listening at all. My attention is one hundred percent riveted to what’s happening in her stomach.
Several sharp jabs hit the underside of my hand and right before my eyes, I watch her basketball of a stomach roll and shift, bulging and sinking in this crazy ass dance that has my heart trying to beat clear out of my chest.
I have never seen anything like it. To imagine a whole person inside there, moving around, is mind-blowing. I have a million things that want to burst from my mouth right now—namely, a shout of pure elation—but I keep it bottled up, afraid that if I make even the slightest sound, she’ll boot me out the door.
I’m not stupid. I know I fucked up pretty bad. But I’m here, and she’s here, and this is happening, and I’m hoping to fucking God that she still feels something for me.
“Just one more chance,” I hear myself whisper as I move down the bed and curl my arms around her belly, holding our son the only way possible. “I know you hate me right now, and you have every reason to, but please don’t send me away. Please tell me we can still fix this.”
The plea shutters out of me and I’m shocked to realize that I’m crying. Like real fucking tears. My fingers swipe at the moisture coating my cheeks and I stare at them, dumbfounded because I can’t recall the last time I cried.
I’ve broken bones and smiled through the pain.
Feeling something soft touch my hand, I look up to see Vista’s fingers curling around mine. Her face is obscured by the phone, but what I can see of her is set aglow. I don’t know if she’s responding to my whispered plea or the video. I don’t even know what it means, but that single touch gives me a shred of hope.
Afraid to move, afraid that if I do it will break the spell and she’ll take her hand away, I hold as still as possible. The only thing that moves is my head, because I can’t help myself from kissing her hard stomach, from running my lips tenderly across it. It’s so unbelievable that we made an entire person together. The love I feel for both of them can’t be described.
I listen closely as she gets to the part where Jimmy asks me if I want to say anything. Her hand squeezes in mine as we listen to my words together.
“You were right, princess. It’s you and me. So don’t lock that door just yet. Make sure you leave a light on.”
The video jumps ahead to the rest of the interview and Vista presses the button on the side of the phone to shut it off, taking the light with it. The room is dark and full of shadows now, but I can still make out her general form. Setting the phone down on the blankets beside her, she asks softly, “Keep a light on?”
There’s confusion and a touch of humor in her tone, and I feel what some might describe as a bashful smile curl the corners of my mouth. “Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a poet.”
There’s a long pause and I hold my breath, bracing myself for whatever she has to say.
“When was the interview?”
“Tonight. Well, last night, I guess. I lost track of my days on the flight. I left as soon as the interview was done.”
“You flew all the way from California?”
I nod against her stomach, realizing the way that I’m curled around her, with her hand in mine, is about as intimate as two people can get without having sex.
“What did you mean by the light thing?”
Shit, I knew I should have been clearer. That’s what I get for trying to be clever. Groaning at my own idiocy, I explain. “It was just my way of saying that I was on my way and to wait up for me. I guess I fucked that all up, huh?” I grimace, glad for the darkness. If she could see my face now—“Hey!” The room is suddenly brighter than the sun, forcing my eyes into narrow slits.
“You trying to get back at me for leaving by burning my eyes out of their sockets, woman?” I complain, rubbing them furiously. It takes some time, but they eventually adjust to the light.
When I can focus, I see Vista is laying there, nestled in a mound of pillows, staring at me with this unreadable expression. I can’t tell if she’s happy or if she’s about to rip my balls off and serve them to me for dinner.
A slow smile breaks out and, using the hand that’s holding mine, she pulls herself up to sit. The action forces me to sit back on my knees, bringing us inches apart.
“Sorry,” she says with a smile that tells me she is anything but that. “I was just keeping a light on for you.”
My jaw drops and I study her for any indication that she’s pulling my leg. Maybe this is just her way of punishing me, getting my hopes up before she drops me on my ass. But when I look into those soft brown eyes, all I see is sincerity.
“Am I hearing you right?”
“Depends on what you think you’re hearing.”
“I think I just heard you say that you forgive me and that you can’t live another second without me.”
Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, Vista replies, “I think you might be right.”
My heart fucking soars. With a growl, I lunge, tackling her back onto the mattress. Her stomach means I can’t climb on top of her like I want to, but that’s not going to keep me from sucking on those plump lips.
Cupping the side of her neck, I pull her to me and take her mouth with force, plunging my tongue inside and swirling it with hers. She tastes like a dream, one I never want to wake up from. When her fingers tunnel into my hair, her lips and tongue dancing eagerly with mine, it’s nearly impossible to restrain myself.
I tell her I love her between each kiss, tell her how fucking sorry I am for being such a son of a bitch, and she kisses me back eagerly, telling me without words that she forgives me. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it, but I’ll take it, because without her my life means nothing.
Drawing back slightly, Vista presses a delicate hand against my chest and peers up at me with a vulnerability I’ve never seen before. “Tell me this isn’t a dream,” she says breathlessly.
“If it is,” I tell her as I settle in beside her and wrap her up tight in my arms so that we’re facing one another, “then I don’t wanna wake up.”