She finished the call and looked at me apologetically.
“You've got to go.”
“Sorry, duty calls.”
“That's okay,” I said bitterly. “Your son needs you.”
Aimee blinked, her expression surprised. “Dylan's not my son,” she said firmly. “He's my nephew.”
What? Yeah, of course. Jen was her sister… “I thought … he's Jennifer's kid?”
“Yes. Wow, you really thought he was mine?”
She seemed stunned by the idea.
“Yeah, you looked really close.”
She smiled. “Dylan's great. I miss him so much when I go home.”
I nodded slowly. That's right-she doesn't live around here. “How long is it before you leave?”
“It's kind of open at the moment. I had some things planned, but they fell through. I want to spend time with Jennifer and Dylan, and I was going to see my mom…”
She frowned, and I wondered what she'd say to her folks now she knew the truth.
“Are you still going to see her?”
“Hell, yes!” she snorted. “She's got some explaining to do!”
“And your father?”
She shook her head. “I haven't spoken to him for two years, and I haven't seen him in four. He and Mom split up when he had an affair. He's not really a part of my life.”
“Good,” I said coldly, “because otherwise I'd be tempted to beat the shit out of him.”
Aimee frowned again then glanced at her watch. “I'm sorry, I've really got to go.”
I stood up, making a sudden decision. “I'll walk you.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “Thanks. I'd probably get lost, so that'll be great.”
I opened the RV's door and jumped out, turning to give her my hand to help her down.
“Thank you,” she muttered.
But I felt too much holding her hand, so I dropped it quickly and shoved my hands in my pockets. This was a bad, bad idea: she was the only woman I'd ever met who had the power to rip out my heart. Seeing her again, all I wanted to do was wrap my arms around her, hold her, kiss her, fuck her till she screamed my name.
“So, Sorcha's your manager now?” she asked, her voice sounding skeptical.
I nodded, not really wanting to have this conversation.
“And your girlfriend?” she asked, pushing a little harder.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
Aimee looked relieved, and I couldn't help liking that. A lot.
“Oh. It's just that you said you were involved, so I thought…”
Nope, she wasn't going to let it drop. That was definitely the Aimee I remembered. I glanced at her, and I saw the moment she realized exactly what Sorcha had been to me. I saw disappointment, and something else that was gone too quickly for me to recognize.
“She's a manager-with-benefits?”
I gave a small smile, but didn't agree or disagree.
“How come you call yourself Hawkins now?” she asked, changing the subject.
Why the fuck did she have to ask that question?
“That's a long story,” I said curtly.
She pressed her lips together in a way that told me she was done talking. I wanted to smile. Her face was an open book-she really couldn't act for shit. Everything she felt was obvious, especially if you knew her as well as I did.
“So … Boston: how did you end up on the east coast?”
She glanced at me quickly before she answered.
“It's a long way from Minnesota.”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Do you like it?”
“I do! I love being so near Boston and all the history there. I've made a couple of trips to New York, too. Have you ever visited there? New Hampshire, I mean.”
“Yeah, a few times,” I said. “Not recently, but when I was a kid we had some bookings: Philly, Scranton, Albany … D.C. … some other places-I don't really remember.”
“You've traveled so much,” she said wistfully. “I always meant to, but really I've just shuttled between Minnesota and Boston.”
By now we'd reached the cotton candy stall at the end of the midway, and I could see a woman holding Dylan's hand. Time was running out. Again.
“It's been really good to see you again, Kes,” she said, her voice wistful. “I'm happy things have worked out for you. I always knew you'd be a star.”
I smiled at her words, but all I could think was, she's leaving again.
“And you've done well,” I replied. “You're a teacher-what you always wanted.”
“Yep, guess it worked out for both of us,” she said, her lips smiling, but her eyes sad.
I nodded and looked away, making a decision that I was probably going to regret.
“Maybe we could … talk … or something, before you head back east?” I offered, my voice almost reluctant.
Her face brightened immediately.
“Really? That would be great!”
Her voice was so enthusiastic, I couldn't help smiling at her and raising one eyebrow.
“Fine!” she said grumpily, elbowing me in the ribs gently. “If you hadn't asked, I would've come back to the fair to stalk you.”
I laughed out loud, amused that Aimee was still the same-she had absolutely no game. I kind of loved that about her.
Whoa! Where the fuck did that thought come from?
“Give me your cell phone,” I said, still smiling. “I'll program my number.”
She handed it over and watched while I added my details, then I called my own phone.
“Now I have your number, too.”
She smiled happily, and I winked at her.
As we walked up to the cotton candy stall, the woman was staring at me. I recognized the look, totally eye-fucking me. I guessed this was Aimee's sister and I immediately tensed up. Aimee's family had never liked me.
Then the kid gave a happy shout.
“Aunty Aimee! We've been waiting forever!”
Aimee laughed at his annoyed expression.
“I was catching up with an old friend,” she said happily.
Friend? Yeah right.
The kid squinted his eyes then gasped. “Motorcycle Man!”
I couldn't help smiling. I loved the way kids let themselves go during my show, enjoying themselves without worrying about what anyone thought. I smiled at him, then dropped down to one knee so we were the same height.
“Your Aunt Aimee has been telling me all about you,” I exaggerated. “You sound like a cool kid.”
The kid squirmed with shyness and half hid behind his mom's legs.
“I like your motorcycle,” he mumbled. “When I grow up I'm gonna have one just like it.”
“Is that right?” I laughed, standing up again.
“Not unless he wants to give his mom a thousand gray hairs,” the woman said. But to my surprise, she smiled at me. “Good to see you again, Kes. It's been too long.”
“Um, thanks,” I muttered, confused that she was being friendly.
The kid peeped out to look at me.
“You could bring your motorcycle to my house and I could show all my friends,” he said, a pleading look on his face.
“Dylan,” Jennifer said gently. “I'm sure Mr. Hawkins is far too busy…”
But I wasn't going to miss an opportunity like that. I wanted to see Aimee again.
I interrupted her. “I've got shows Thursday through Sunday, but I could come by after that.”
I risked a glance at Aimee. She looked surprised, but happy, and that was all I cared about.
“Well,” Jennifer said, after looking at Aimee, “that would be lovely. Maybe we could set something up for next week…”
“I'm free Monday,” I said, not wanting to wait.
“Great!” Then she turned to her sister while she carried on speaking to me. “I take it Aimee has your number so she can text you the directions?”
I grinned at both of them, enjoying the flush of heat in Aimee's cheeks. It got me thinkin
g all sorts of ways I could make her hot.
I dragged my mind out of the gutter to reply.
“Yeah, I just gave it to her.”
“That's all settled,” Jennifer said. “Now I need to get this monster home before he grows horns and a forked tail.”
“Mom!” the kid groaned, and I couldn't help smiling when he checked his head and butt, just in case.
Aimee looked like she didn't know what to do or say next, so I bent down and kissed her on the cheek, resisting doing anything else. Then I said goodbye to her sister and shook the kid's hand.
“Take good care of these ladies,” I said, and the kid nodded seriously.
I glanced once more at Aimee and walked away.
It took every ounce of strength not to look back at her.
What the hell had just happened?
In the space of half-an-hour my life had gotten turned inside out. I couldn't believe that Aimee Andersen was back in my life. I knew it couldn't be for long. She'd be heading back to New Hampshire, and I'd be heading south for Texas and the next shows, another town.
I wasn't used to feeling so many emotions. Those had fucked with my head so much when I was a kid. That's why it had always been easy having Sorcha around, because I didn't feel anything for her.
That had changed, too. I hated the bitch. The moment I saw the guilty look on her face, I knew that Aimee was telling the truth and that Sorcha had lied to me for years. I hated being the sucker to her game. Well, that ended now.
Of course, she didn't give up that easily.
I was heading back to the RV when I saw Zef.
“Sorcha's waiting for you.”
“Bitch,” I growled under my breath.
“Whatever she did, we still need a manager,” Zef said calmly.
“Fuck that! She's out … done! I'll find a new manager.”
Zef shrugged and walked away. He knew better than to argue with me when I was this angry.
I strode across to the RV, but Sorcha wasn't waiting in the living area. With a mounting sense of loss for what might have been with Aimee, and fury at Sorcha's lies, I ripped open my bedroom door.
She was lying in my bed, and I could tell that she was naked.
Her eyes flared with excitement when she saw me, and she licked her lips.
I folded my arms across my chest and stared down at her.
I'd always thought Sorcha was hot, and I'd ignored the fake tits and fake hair. I didn't care enough that she did that shit to herself. But now, seeing her for what she was, I just wanted her gone.
“Get out.”
“Aw, babe, you don't need her; I can give you everything you want.”
She kneeled up and let the sheet fall away from her, then she massaged her tits together.
“You look angry, babe,” she said, her voice low and attempting to be seductive. “Take it out on me. You know I like it-and you love it. Come on. Get mad.”
She was almost panting by now and my dick decided it wanted some of the action. Dumb fucker never did think about anything other than sex.
Sorcha smiled and started fingering herself. I grabbed her arm and pulled her off my bed.
“Get out!” I growled. “Take your shit and get out!”
“What are you talking about?” she said angrily. “I don't care if you fucked her. I'm here now. I'm your fucking manager, Kestrel!”
I ignored her, grabbing her clothes and walking to the RV's door and tossing them outside. Then I wrapped my hand around her bicep and hauled her out of my room.
She dragged herself free and tried to scratch my face.
I slapped her hand away, about two seconds from doing something we'd both regret.
She was screeching and screaming, yelling every foul-mouthed curse the carnival had ever taught her. Then she picked up the nearest thing to her, which happened to be my laptop, and threw it at my head.
I caught it easily.
“We are done here, Sorcha. You're a fucking liar and a lousy lay. Get out and don't come back. Ever.”
I didn't care that she was still naked; I threw her out of my home and slammed the door.
I sat down on the sofa, trying to calm the fuck down. If Sorcha tried to come back now, she'd be making a huge fucking mistake. But it was oddly silent outside.
After a few minutes I felt calm enough to look out the window. Sorcha had gone. I breathed a sigh of relief and let my thoughts drift back to Aimee.
That was a fucking head spin: Aimee Andersen, after all these years. Not married, not seeing anyone-and she still looked at me like I made the sunshine.
It was a mistake, I knew it was a mistake, but I couldn't stop myself either. Even now, years later, there was still something between us. I wasn't sure what it was, but I sure as fuck wanted to find out…
Thank you for reading Kestrel and Aimee’s story. Together they found magic in the world around them.
But maybe you’re thinking that Kes’s injury and recovery is far-fetched, and I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that, because it does seem miraculous.
I’d like to think that miracles do happen, because what happened to Kestrel is based on my friend Wanda Summers, who suffered the exact same injury that Kes had after a paragliding accident. In fact the X-ray that you see in this story is hers.
Like Kes, she was told that she needed titanium rods inserted in her back and that her mobility would be severely limited as a result. But Wanda is an athlete—one of a small group of people who run ultra marathons. Her idea of fun is to run 50 miles across a desert in temperatures of 120°F to raise money for charity.
Unlike Kes, she was not offered an alternative to surgery; it was her own decision to lie immobile in bed for three months while her body recovered. And it was her decision to be cared for at home.
I visited her many times during her recovery, both in hospital and at her home. She was always cheerful, always positive, always determined that she’d walk again.
When her children asked her directly, “Mum, will you walk again?” Her answer was immediate.
“Of course I will.”
And she did. She’s probably out there right now, running 20 miles before she goes to work.
Her injury is not without cost, and she’s often in pain, except for when she runs.
Which is why I have high hopes that Kestrel will one day achieve his dream of a second World Record. His story is dedicated to Wanda.
www.wandasummers.co.uk
If this is the first time you’ve come across Kestrel and Aimee’s story, you can find out how they met in The Traveling Man. You might like to join our discussion group on Facebook. But if you haven’t read both books, it does contain spoilers!
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To Kirsten Olsen, editor, de-Britisher, friend, for loving the art of books as much as I do.
To Trina Micotta for her marketing knowledge and expertise, as well as her unfailing study of the hottest models.
To Hang Le for her stunning cover work and never-ending creativity.
To Michael Anthony Downs, our lovely cover photographer.
To Sheena Lumsden, for all her work behind the scenes.
To Lisa Sylva and Tera Chastain, for all their help and support.
To Love Between the Sheets for organizing my Blog Tour.
Several gals have been kind enough to let me take their names in vain for this story: Lisa Sylva, Tera Chastain, Beverly Cindy, Lulu Astor, Mirelle Christopher, Canova, Clare Norton, Dorota—thank you all!
I’d also like to thank Audrey Thunder and Dina Eidinger, early readers and water-testers.
Bella Bookaholic, Lelyana Taufik, Nikki Costello and Gina Bookley for research photos, pimping and never-failing support.
A. Meredith Walters, Kirsty Moseley, LH Cosway, Ker Dukey, Roger Hurn, Monica Robinson, Devon Hartford, Gil
lian Griffin, Sawyer Bennett, Penny Reid, Karina Halle, Tina Gephart, Alana Albertson, Joanna Wylde and Kylie Scott—the wonderful, friends who share the writer’s lonely path.
The Stalking Angels: Sheena, Aud, Dina, Bella, Shirley Wilkinson, Cori Pitts, Dorota Wróbel, Lily Maverick Wallis, Barbara Murray, Emma Darch-Harris, Kandace Milostan, Kelsey Burns, Lelyana Taufik, MJ Fryer, Hang (MJ), Gwen Jacobs, Kirsten Papi, Trina, Sarah Bookhooked, Sasha Cameron, Rosarita Reader, Jacqueline Showdog, Remy Grey, Ashley Snaith, Kandace Lovesbooks, Jo Webb, Carly Grey, Jen Berg, Carol Sales, Meagan Burgad, Andrea Lopez, Paola Cortes, Kelly O’Connor, Gabri Canova, Whairigail Adam, Julie Redpath, Jade Donaldson, Sharon Mills, Rhonda Koppenhaver, Emma Wynne-Williams, Ellen Totten, Nicola Barton, Lovey Anna Leavell, Stacia Lynette, L. e. Chamberlain, Lisa G. Murray Ziegler, Drizinha Dri, Aime Metzner G, Tera Chastain, Andrea Jackson, Brunihna Mazzali Belissimo, Sarah Lintott, Natalie Townson, Elle Christopher, Nancy Saunders Meyhoeffer, Mary Dunne, Fuñny Souisa, Erin Spencer, Caroline Yamashita, Luiza Oioli, Mary Dunne and Crystal Ordex-Hernandez.
For their support and encouragement, I’d also like to thank . . .
The Book Bloggers
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The Fanfic readers who were there from the start.
Jane Harvey-Berrick, The Traveling Woman
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