The blonde sank into the bubbly, warm water and let her head rest against the luxurious spa bath pillow. Her lips parted, and she let out a content sigh, breathing in the calming, stress relieving scents of eucalyptus and spearmint. The lavender candles scattered about the bathroom eased her tensions and cleared her mind more. Stevie opened her eyes at the sound of his resumed pacing outside the door. She shook her head and wished Libba was still at home. Her precious daughter had gone back to Oakland days ago. Spring semester classes were beginning soon. She jumped, sloshing water, as Lindsey's body thumped against the locked door. Stevie was unable to find peace, listening to his head repeatedly thud against the wood. She blew out air, knowing it would be simpler if Elisabeth was at home. She had been a buffer between her parents after the new year. To a certain degree, Stevie felt guilty for using her child as an instrument of avoidance. She knew she and Lindsey had agreed to have healthy, constructive discussions if either one had an issue in the renewed relationship, but she was fatigued from the talks. He wasn't listening to her. He wasn't truly hearing her reasoning or maybe he was hoping to change her mind. Either way, she was drained and annoyed.
"Stephanie, c'mon," Lindsey implored from his sulking spot in front of the bathroom door. He glanced at his wristwatch. She'd been in the bath for nearly an hour, evading him. "You cannot stay in there all night," he said, sticking his ear to the door to hear any response from her. Her stubborn silence incensed him. "Goddammit, Steph," he muttered, slamming his open palm against the wood. Lindsey hoisted himself off the floor and left the house, seeking refuge in the guesthouse.
Inside the guesthouse, he rummaged through bureau drawers until he found his stash. He took a joint out of the bag, tossing it back into the drawer. Lindsey had relocated his supply as soon as Stevie made the arduous decision to get clean. It was safe and out of the way; she never came into the guesthouse. He collapsed onto the sofa, lazily puffing. He propped his feet onto the ottoman and tilted his head back, blowing smoke rings. He didn't need a bubble bath. The burning joint he rolled in between his thumb and index finger was his relaxation remedy. He gazed at the carved beams of the ceiling, examining every element of the lumber and hoping the high would give him fresh insight. The man couldn't wrap his mind around why she continually shot his suggestion down for an entire week. After all, he thought the idea would be best for them as a couple and as a family. But not to her. He felt the herb working its magic, serene contentment draping his face. Lindsey lost track of time after the second joint. He trashed the evidence and tucked away the plastic bag, heading back to the main house as raindrops fell on him.
As soon as he stepped inside, music floated to his ears. A smile broke across his lips, remembering how she and him would lounge around after her shifts at the diner listening to that album over and over. He listened to her harmonize with Don and Phil Everly. Lindsey leaned against the doorway of the bedroom, observing her perched on the bed in her silky robe. His intense gaze followed her slender hands smooth lotion over her shapely legs. She straightened, opening the robe and letting it fall to her shoulders. He watched her massage the cream into the ivory skin of her ample breasts. He shifted in his stance as his jeans grew tight.
Please baby, have a heart 'cause can't you see you're torturing me, torturing me...
He groaned softly and walked to her, hearing her gasp in surprise at his presence in front of her. He dipped his body, crashing lips against hers heatedly and pushing her back onto the bed. His hands roamed over her skin, burning into her. He kissed down her neck.
"Lindsey," she murmured, biting her lip. Stevie instinctively arched her back as his mouth sucked on the sensitive part of her neck. She didn't want him to stop, but it would break one of their rules – no using sex as a band-aid. "No, Lindsey."
He lifted his head from her neck and met her eyes. "No?" he inquired, kissing the reddening mark of his actions. His calloused hand went over her breast, caressing and kneading softly.
Stevie stifled a moan and shifted underneath his body. "No, baby," she said breathlessly, lifting her hands and combing her fingers through his disheveled curls. "Remember what we promised to each other. We have to stop."
"I don't care. I want you," Lindsey answered, pressing his erection into her thigh.
"I want you too, but this is a band-aid," she countered and scooted out from under him, putting a safe amount of distance between them. Stevie slipped into her robe and cinched the sash around her waist, listening to the rain hit the window panes harder.
Lindsey swore under his breath and adjusted himself. He sighed in frustration and looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said. He didn't sound sincere; the apology was mechanical to her ears.
Her jaw went slack, and her mouth fell ajar. She shook her head at him in disbelief. She knew he was stoned. She smelled his preferred blend lingering and hanging onto his clothing as soon as he stood within a foot of her. She realized he would say anything to get laid. "You don't even know what you're sorry for, Lindsey!" she shouted.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know what to be sorry for when you won't fucking talk to me?"
"I have talked to you. Clean the wax out of your ears. You," she said, pointing at him, "have not heard a word I've said."
He glared and stuck his fingers into his ears, obnoxiously twisting to clean the gunk out of his ears like she instructed. He removed his fingers and threw his hands up. "Ta-da."
She crossed her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her beautiful eyes at his foolhardy, juvenile antics. "Are you done?" she asked, tone reaching that furious pitch reserved for him and only him. He gave no answer and rose from the bed, pacing around the room.
"Why won't you consider it?"
"No, Lindsey!"
Her obstinacy stoked his temper. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Why not?" he yelled at her, stopping and placing his hands on his hips.
"We are not building a house! It's a stupid idea," she told him and turned to face him. She was sick of repeating herself, but tonight he seemed to be listening even if it was in his way.
"It's not a stupid idea, Stevie. This isn't our house. It's yours."
"You moved in! You have lived here for months, Lindsey. Why is it suddenly a problem?" She didn't understand where the issue had come from or what triggered his insistence about a new house. Had it entered his mind because of the rule about Libba and Andrew? How long had it been festering within his waking thoughts?
Lindsey faltered, averting her strong gaze. He was unable to give her a solid, logical reason why it was a problem for him. He ran his hand through his mass of curls and chewed his bottom lip until the delicate skin broke. "It would be for us...for the twins."
"The twins are what I'm thinking about, Lindsey. Building a house takes time! We don't have that kind of time. I'm a couple of weeks away from the halfway point of this pregnancy. More because twins come sooner rather than later. I don't need the stress," she explained, sliding off the bed and walking to him. Her heart hurt at how he wouldn't look at her. She braced her hands on his shoulders. "Can't you understand that?" she asked, calming her tone.
He noted the change in her voice and raised his head, locking eyes with her and studying her expression. Maybe he'd broken her will. "What if we buy a house?"
She shook her head and took her hands off his shoulders. "No. Lindsey, this is home," she confessed truthfully. It was home. She loved every inch of the Spanish styled house and the grounds – every rose and honeysuckle, each bougainvillea and jasmine, the giant tree decked in lights, and all the memories created and cherished within the rooms. It was Libba's favorite. The estate could be her and Lindsey's home if he would let it. Stevie stepped back as Lindsey's eyes darkened to that dangerous shade of blue gray. She sucked in a breath and steeled herself. "Lindsey, this house can be ours."
"It's not, Stevie. It's the house I moved into. For Christ's sake, Sharon still lives here!"
"Do you want me to ask her to move out? You want me to put her on the street?"
"She's a grown woman! She doesn't need to live in a room down the hall from us."
"I am not kicking her out! She's here for me."
"I'm here for you, Stevie. Me," he said sharply and hit his chest with his fist to reinforce his point.
"When you're not in the studio, you're here, Lindsey. You aren't here all the time!"
"I've had album deadlines! I haven't been in the studio since before Christmas! I'm with you now."
"Now," Stevie reiterated. Her head throbbed. She touched her forehead and sank down onto the storage ottoman. Her fingertips massaged her temples.
Lindsey shook his head, narrowing his blue eyes on her form. She wouldn't build a house with him. She wouldn't tell Sharon she needed to go. She only wanted to shack up with him. "I'm not good enough. Is that it?"
She jerked her head up, staring at him like he had started speaking in tongues. "What? Lindsey, what are you talking about?" He was more than good enough for her, but presently he had transported himself to the 1970s, showing the unyielding and brooding man child asshole side of himself.
"I'm not good enough," he repeated the words.
Stevie heard the tune reverberating from his throat. It took her mere seconds to recognize the melody. Stevie stood to her feet and marched to him, forcefully shoving his chest. "You bastard! You can't let that go! It's been fourteen years, Lindsey!" She trembled with anger as he continued to hum Sara.
"What is it, Steph? Huh?" Lindsey mocked as she kept propelling him towards the wall. "You can't let it go," he spat, back hitting the wall. "You have a man that wants to build a house with you and have his babies unlike Henley," he ridiculed viciously. "I'm right here, and I'm not good enough for you."
She slapped him. Her palm felt like it was on fire from the blow. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned on her bare feet, stomping into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her.
"Run away! The truth hurts!" He ambled to the door and leaned in, placing his palms on either side of it. He bowed his head, pressing his forehead into the wood. "But not as much as it hurts me to know that, Steph," he whispered loud enough for her to hear.
Stevie slithered down the wall, holding in her sobs. She wouldn't give him the pleasure of hearing her cries. He wanted to hurt her, and he had succeeded. She should have known the night would take a turn for the worse when his eyes darkened. She shut her eyes and wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks, regret washing over her. It would do no good to continue to fight with him. The inane, old jealousy had settled into his mind along with all of his doubts and insecurities. Stevie realized their past would always haunt them. She listened to the hurried opening and closing of drawers, knowing he was haphazardly throwing his belongings into a suitcase. She flinched at the slam of the door and the framed photos crashing onto the floor. As the thunderstorm raged in the dark sky, she let her tears flow freely.