Kim Karr - Mended

“Yes!” Garrett says, pumping his fist in the air.

“Ivy, not that I don’t appreciate the offer. But what does your fiancé say about all this?” I ask her.

Nix clears his throat. “Hey, Xander, we didn’t get to that part of the news yet, but she broke it off with him.”

Ivy’s eyes collide with mine. For a moment I wonder if she’s doing this for us, but only for a moment, because I have to quickly look away from the hate I see in her face. “Damon aside, why would you want to ‘collaborate’ with us?”

“I want back in the music industry and I can’t do it on my own right now. Garrett and Nix told me River wasn’t exactly keen on hitting the road, so I wondered how you’d feel about having the two of us? I could stay on the road full-time and he could pull off whenever he needed to.”

“A few things have changed,” Garrett says. “River won’t be joining us after all. Dahlia has a complication and can’t go on the road.”

“Well, then, it looks like the situations we both find ourselves in seem to be a win/win. It’s a simple case of I help you, you help me,” she responds.

The room goes silent while I study her. It sounds like a business deal between two strangers, but we are far from that. Or are we? I bow my head, not sure what to say other than yes, because I sure as hell want her. “Okay, so if we do this, what’s next?”

“We start rehearsing. We have time to nail most of the tour songs before we have to hit the road again,” Nix says to all of us, and I’m not sure if he’s trying to persuade himself or me.

“I can meet you in the studio with Leif as early as tomorrow.”

We all turn our heads her way, but Nix is first to question her. “Leif? Who’s Leif?”

“Leif Morgan. He’s been with me from the start. He plays keyboard and bass,” she says softly, then adds, “And he travels with me. If you don’t mind?”

I nod and Nix and Garrett tuck their apprehension aside. There is nothing diva-like in her request. I know she’ll mix with us well. She’s the same girl she always was.

“We have ten days. It’s a piece of cake,” Garrett says confidently.

Her eyes find mine. “Look, Xander, we can give it a shot. If it doesn’t work out, what are either of us out?”

What can I say? She’s right—we have nothing to lose and everything to gain. We spend the next hour mapping out a strategy and discussing playlists. Changing from a male to a female lead means some minor lyrics changes. We decide I’ll go through those songs while the band rehearses the others.

“Anyone hungry?” Garrett asks.

“I wouldn’t mind something to eat,” Nix chimes in.

“I could throw together my famous Enchilada Bake,” Garrett says enthusiastically.

“What the hell is that?” I ask.

“You’ve had it before—a can of black beans, a jar of enchilada sauce, and a tube of biscuits.”

“How about we order pizza?” I counter and look over at Ivy. “You in?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I actually have to get going. Logan’s in town for the night and I told him I’d meet him for dinner, but I’ll see you all tomorrow. And thanks again.” She walks over to Nix and Garrett and hugs each of them in turn.

She turns toward me and pauses.

“I’ll walk you out.” Standing near the entryway, I wait for her. She walks nervously my way. When she reaches me I automatically press my hand to the small of her back to guide her to the front door. When I realize where my hand is, I pull away, but I swear I see her shiver.

She reaches for the doorknob and my hand covers hers. I leave it there as I ask, “Logan—he joined the service?”

“Yes, he’s a marine. He joined up right after high school, actually.”

“Hmm . . . I thought he was going to Washington State?”

She looks up at me. “He was, but his parents divorced and money was an issue, so he decided to enlist. He’s a sergeant now and stationed at Fort Bragg. He has a wife and three kids. He’s really happy.”

“That’s great. Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.”

She smiles that forced smile at me that I hate and I step just a little closer. My body burns with a need to see the real one, and I allow the fire to consume me. In a moment of weakness, I pull her snug to me. Her breath heats my skin and with my lips just barely brushing hers, I ask, “Ivy, are you sure about this?”

Silence hangs between us until she boldly steps back. Her voice is low and raspy, but her eyes are clear, focused, and still on mine. Her intentions are not the least bit questionable as she answers, “Yes. I’m sure. The past is the past, Xander. Let’s leave it there. We can move forward and do this.”

I stare at her, trying to read her for a different sign, but it’s not there, so I decide to do as she asks—leave the past behind. When her eyes break away from mine, she again reaches for the doorknob.

“Let me,” I say, motioning toward the door with my hand as she moves hers away. I pull the door open and she walks out.

“Good night, Xander,” she calls and looks back at me. “Thank you.”

“Good night, Ivy,” I respond and with a strong sigh I close the door—frustrated, confused, and maybe just a little optimistic.

My face is flecked with two-day-old stubble and my thick brown hair is a mess. I slept like shit. I have a lot on my mind and I had a hard time getting started this morning . . . Maybe I was just procrastinating while trying to figure everything out. There’s a battle going on in my head— Why is she really doing this? I understand she has limitations due to her contract but is there more to it? Did she feel what I felt the minute I saw her again—that what we had so long ago was still there? She could have joined up with any band, so why this one? Did she do it for me? Because I’m not sure I buy the win/win explanation.

Blinking the sunshine out of my eyes, I’m still trying to sort my thoughts as I walk through the doors of Tyler Records. We’ve come and gone in and out of the glass-and-steel building for years. Actually, ever since my mother started seeing Jack, he’s let us use the studio whenever we needed. My stepfather has been a huge asset to us, with his keen knowledge of the business and his unwavering willingness to help.

The band is so deep into rehearsing a song from our first album, they don’t even notice me as I quietly slip into the live room. I stand off to the side and check out the scene—Nix has a Fender strapped around him, Ivy is at the microphone singing “I’ll Find You” with unbelievable depth, Garrett’s at the drums, but the cymbals sound a little washy next to the electric keyboard. And at the board stands a tall guy with a spray of freckles across his nose and dirty-blond hair that I can only assume to be Leif Morgan. He’s wearing a pink button-down, and his wavy hair looks somewhat controlled by a slew of hair products, no doubt. I had pictured someone completely different—older, more fatherly, not a guy that looked like he modeled for Abercrombie and Fitch. Why, I’m not sure, but I think it was because of the fondness I saw in Ivy’s eyes when she said his name.

I listen for a moment and I’m immediately impressed—his playing is spot-on. We just need to work on getting everyone in the same scale. All in all, not bad for the first time they’ve all come together. Shadows from behind the glass pique my curiosity. No one was supposed to be here today. I stride toward the front of the studio, and the sound engineer waves me into the control room. The heavily equipped space is state-of-the-art, including the latest digital audio workstations. I glance at Phil. “What’s up?”

He presses the speaker button. “Hang on, guys. Give me a minute,” he tells the band.