Sing to Me Read online

  “She hasn’t slept in this room since Neal left,” Sherry whispered. “I think it reminds her of all that crazy sex they had in the sacred shrine.”

  Making a face, Carmen shoved a palm against Sherry’s forehead and pointed to Liv before she left the room.

  ****

  Neal sat inside his Chicago loft over an abandoned garage and gazed at his distant thoughts. The large room with no walls or partitions dividing its eight-thousand square feet had a slick coat of urethane polish on the cement floor, three gray brick outer walls with thin windows, and a window wall that looked out over Lake Michigan. The only thing barely blocking the wonderful view was a king size bed that sat low on a wood frame. That window wall in early September filled the room with a dark, amber glow around sunset, filtering Neal in a golden silhouette.

  Near the front entrance, a small L-shape kitchen, and at the far end of the same wall, a glass-enclosed bathroom with auto-frosting that occurred with the flip of a switch. Across from the bathroom, at the other end of the room was where Neal had set up a smaller recording studio with more guitars, amps, speakers, and an extremely expensive but out-dated sound system.

  The leather chair he lounged in usually rested alongside the bed, but as he started to push the thing toward the studio, he stopped when another thought of Liv entered his head. Neal left the chair in the middle of the room and poured himself a whisky, returning to sit and think some more.

  Uppermost on his mind was the baby issue. It was worse than he imagined, and even though Liv hadn’t said anything, it didn’t take much to put two and two together. She had been pregnant after the unfortunate incident eight years ago and lost the baby some time after.

  The impulsive decision to follow her to the airport and try making up with her had failed, and then seeing her within arm’s reach of the man who helped to hurt her was too much for Neal to have to witness. He waited, though; hoping nothing bad occurred again, and it had stunned him when Phil had dropped to his knees, but not for long. It was a trick. A ploy to regain Liv’s trust so that he could slink back into her life and . . .

  Neal downed the drink and leaned over the arm of the chair, grabbing the whisky bottle and pouring himself another. Not wanting to over-dramatize any of the things that could have happened to Liv, Neal shifted his thoughts to another problem: the baby.

  The possibility of his having gotten Liv pregnant filled him with the same mix of excitement and dread as it had done on the night that creation may have actually taken place. After the life he led back in England, the last thing Neal ever wanted was to become an irresponsible jerk like his own father. How was it possible for him to have let something as troubling as his own past fade away so completely during one night of incredible, memorable, and insatiable sex?

  The legendary guitarist otherwise known as his father didn’t even find out about Neal’s existence until he was twelve. By then he and his mother had suffered through enough poverty, abusive boyfriends, homeless shelters, and sexual harassment issues that forced his mother to have to leave one job after another until it seemed there was no hope left.

  But then the sperm donor suddenly appeared and had the audacity to shout at Neal’s mother, accusing her of being everything from useless to thoughtless and inept. Neal had supposed he should be grateful to the guy for thinking of him and his plight, but it didn’t turn out that way. In fact, it had the opposite effect on him and he ended up hating the man more than he had before knowing who he was.

  How dare he say anything mean and thoughtless to his sainted mother after everything she’d suffered through because of him? Not because of her own weakness but because of his selfish desire. The guy had three stepchildren with the woman he was living with at the time, and there were five others like Neal, too. The guitar legend had never bothered to marry any of the women he had lain with throughout his illustrious career, but he had managed to take care of them. Neal was the only illegitimate child his father hadn’t known about, and for a reason that still eluded him; Neal had become an exception to that distanced form of responsibility.

  His father expected Neal to leave his mother and live in a veritable palace by comparison. Servants, private tutors, hip clothing, music lessons, and daily meals with siblings.

  Being an only child meant Neal sometimes longed for a mundane family with two parents and some brothers and sisters. It was all a far cry from the humble beginnings he had secretly loathed until then, but when the chance for change finally arrived, Neal rejected it outright. He refused the offer to live with the old man, and he threatened to run away if his mother continued to insist that he would be happier living with his father instead of her. He did it out of spite as much as it was to honor the woman who had raised him instead of handing him over to social services when things got so bad it seemed she might do just that.

  Neal had reached an age when things like girls, magazines, movies, and all things sex-related were becoming commonplace among his friends. He understood the implications of a one-night stand, and that he was the direct result of just such an occurrence. There was never enough time to dwell on those types of issues, though. It was never so much about him and what he wanted; what he went through, or even why it had to be that way. For him, it was about his mother; what she deserved, how she felt about their lot in life, and what Neal could do to make her life just a little easier.

  “Liv,” Neal breathed. “What have I done?” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, groaning in agony. “I still can’t tell how you really feel about me . . . us.” His eyes opened and he stared at the open ceiling with it’s intricate pipe work and the strategically placed light fixtures he had installed after buying the place four years ago. “I swore I’d never hurt you, and that’s just what I’ve done.”

  Setting a hand behind his head, Neal sipped more of the whisky. “I thought I had a right to be angry when you accused me of being a liar, too.” A weak laugh escaped him, and he smiled while swiping a few fingers against his right thigh. He took another drink and let out a low, dull groan of discomfort. “What was I thinking?” he whispered. “I’m not fit to be your slave, much less an equal. I sure as hell ain’t cut out to be a father. Shit,” he almost laughed. “Not even your man.”

  Agony rained down on him and he fell back again, eyes shut tight as he set a hand against his forehead in a failed effort to ease the pain. “I dared to let myself think it would be an honor to let you carry my child. You’re too good for me and I’m too vain.”

  With a loud roar, Neal shot from the chair, clutching the empty glass in one hand and the whiskey bottle’s neck in the other. Frowning, he started toward the recording studio, thinking that to work might help get his mind off of all things unpleasant.

  The whisky bottle and glass both made a loud noise after being slammed against the marble surface of a low workspace across from the recording equipment. Neal started flipping switches when he stopped and reached for one of the guitars. Sitting in a wheeled, leather chair, he began to pluck the strings and hum. It wasn’t long before he started to play and sing Sweet Marie by Thin Lizzy, replacing Marie with Livie so that the lyrics still rhymed.

  “You do mean a lot to me,” he groaned after the song ended and he still couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Liv. The feelings he had for her tended to grow with each passing minute whether or not he was with her. His closest friends knew how he felt, and more times than he cared to mention, they had all told him that first love rarely ever worked out: that even fewer people ever got the chance to make a go of it with that special someone.

  The odds and his luck seemed to be stacked against him, but after eight years, it hardly mattered to Neal about such things. He always knew there would be a some day with Liv, and now that it actually arrived, he wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stand in his way.

  “I’m unworthy,” he grumbled while aimlessly picking the guitar strings with his thumb and index finger. “I have nothing to offer except the love I have in
my heart and a definite desire to make you happier than you’ve ever been before.” His eyes became more narrow, and his lips remained slightly parted as he gazed at the wall in front of him. “Being less than your slave is the best I can offer, my Sweet Livie. It’ll be your job to keep pushing me away, trying to make me see how futile my efforts are, and that you have no interest in being with a guy like me.”

  Neal sat forward to put the guitar back where it belonged, and after pouring a third glass of whisky, he smirked. “I should have committed suicide back then, when I thought my life had come crashing down around me as a stupid child with no clue. Not now, when someone as precious to me as life itself is involved.”

  He leaned back to down the third glass in one gulp, and when it looked like he was prepared to throw it like a football in the direction of the glass outer wall in front of his bed, he froze. A moment later, he lowered both arms and frowned at the floor.

  “She should know by now that the operation was a success,” he said, scratching the side of his head. “Which means she’s likely to start packing for that trip to Hungary.”

  Neal set the empty glass back on the marble workspace and leaned against it with both palms. “I hope she knows what she’s doing. This could turn out as bad as everything else she’s been through, and I should be there in case she falls.”

  Patting both sides of his butt, Neal found his phone and pressed a few buttons, blinking a few times as well. If he had bothered to eat anything that day, the alcohol might not have had as easy an effect on him. He was pretty good at holding his liquor intake, but not tonight.

  “Jennings, my good man! How the hell are you?” Neal grinned; swiping the glass and leaning back to tap the last few drops into his mouth. “Fuel up the jet, lad! I’m heading for Europe just as soon as I know when and with who . . . whom . . . she.”

  He grinned, making a laughing noise while wobbling in place. “Drunk? Hell, no! When’s the last time you saw me drunk? I’m happy, Jennings. Life is great and everything ends up working out for the best anyway. Right? Oh, and Jennings?” Neal set a finger against his lips. “Don’t tell the old man this, but I’m coming to kick his fool ass. I’m kicking his ass for being an ass.”

  He made the laugh noise again and tried to drink more of the whisky when he realized the glass was empty. A strange frown crept into his eyes, and he set a palm atop the workspace to steady himself as he poured another drink. He had set the phone down, too, shouting at Jennings instead of turning on the speaker.

  “Speak up, man!” And while poor Jennings screamed into the phone, Neal remembered and used a thumb to turn on the speaker. Jennings voice filled the loft, making Neal grin. “Quit shouting,” he snarled. “What were we talking about?”

  “Sir,” Jennings said in an exasperated tone. “It’s four o’clock in the morning here, I’m with the girl I’ve been after for nearly seven months now, and you’re drunk. I’ll bid you good night and call you back at a more reasonable hour.”

  Neal saluted the phone and turned aside to down a fourth glass. “Don’t tell the old man about my plan to kick his ass.” Neal swiped the side of his hand along his lips, waiting for Jennings to say something. He picked up the phone and shook it before setting it to his ear. “Jennings?”

  Grumbling, Neal tossed the phone aside and turned to go to the bathroom when he bumped into the chair. It rolled across the slick floor, and when Neal approached it, he kicked it, sending it sailing and twirling across the room. It hit the brick wall between the bathroom enclosure and the kitchen.

  “Stay the hell out of my way when I’m in a bad mood, fool,” he warned the inanimate object, unbuttoning his fly before he reached the bathroom.

  Minutes later, Neal started back to the studio when a distant thunderclap made him pause. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced out the window wall and saw that darkness had set in. Shaking it off, he took another step when the chair sailed past him, spinning as it went until it hit the low, marble-top counter. Stopping again, Neal stared at the chair before scratching the side of his head.

  “I’m not that drunk,” he grumbled.

  “Drunk and a fool.”

  Frozen with surprise, Neal slowly turned toward the bed and saw a tall, broad-shoulder silhouette inside the apartment. Blinking a few times, he squinted before asking, “Who –?”

  “You know damn well who.” Xalan took a step forward, appearing to Neal in all his near seven-foot splendor.

  “Again?” Neal whined. “Get lost, space –. Wait,” he laughed low and waved a hand. “I can’t make fun of a legend.” He grinned at the giant, unaffected by the fact that Xalan now stood close enough to become dangerous. “I remember the last time I saw you in Vegas. Everyone expected that fight to last at least five rounds, your opponent was nearly as big and strong as you. But, you fooled us all!”

  Xalan wrapped a large hand around Neal’s neck, and now Neal became wary.

  “A gorgeous bird with luscious tits told me you made the little one cry.”

  Neal shook his head, relieved that the grip on his neck wasn’t as tight as it could have been considering the look in Xalan's strange, glowing eyes. “Misunderstanding,” he said in a gruff voice. “I intend to make it up to her, believe me.”

  In an instant, Neal was swept from the apartment and hovering high above Lake Michigan. Neither he nor Xalan were in danger of falling, but Neal wavered, teetered, and unnecessarily fought to keep his balance. Once he realized he was safe, he stood still and smiled, glancing about him in fascination. It was dark, but city lights and a crescent moon added bits of sparkle to the black water far below. To Neal, it was like being in a Cessna without the plane.

  “Sweet,” he breathed when Xalan punched him. Neal stumbled back a few steps, and after setting a hand against his throbbing jaw, he quirked a curious brow. There was nothing beneath his feet, and he couldn’t feel anything there, so he started to jump.

  “Knock it off and fight like a man!”

  “I’ve never floated in mid air before!” Neal cried. “Give me a minute.” Smiling and laughing under his breath, Neal gazed down at the water while trying to make himself sink to the surface.

  Frustrated, Xalan started toward his opponent with the intention of knocking him out when Neal backed away, laughing, and extending both hands near his face.

  “I said I’d make it up to Liv!” Neal shouted. “And, I’m no coward, but . . . you’re invincible, sir. This is hardly what I’d call a fair fight.”

  Xalan stopped and glanced aside. A smile crept up on him as his fists relaxed, and then he set a few fingers under his chin. “Sir?”

  Neal could feel blush heating his cheeks, forcing his jaw to tighten with mild regret at having behaved the way he’d just done. It was too late to take a swing at the champ now, too. Even if it would have likely killed him, or at least done permanent damage, Neal knew he should have stood his ground and fought.

  “I like the sound of that,” Xalan said and laughed. “I liked you, too. Well, I thought I did. The sir bit is cool, but I was wrong to think you were a decent enough guy for the little one.”

  Neal furrowed both brows, not liking that Xalan felt he had the authority to dictate anything about his or Liv’s life. Xalan snapped a finger while smiling devilishly, and suddenly Neal saw seven men gathered behind the giant. Xalan wasn’t the only giant anymore, though. The seven men . . . warriors . . . were as tall, as built, and as menacing as Xalan.

  “Now you’re just being mean,” Neal growled. “Look, I told you it was a misunderstanding. Liv was upset the minute she arrived in Los Angeles, so naturally anything would be compounded in her mind. And, not to sound like a total wimp, but I just recovered from minor surgery, so –.”

  “That was a week ago,” Xalan snarled, rubbing a fist in a hand. He then shot a thumb over a shoulder. “Any one of these men is welcome to fight for the little one. I chose them specially for her, by the way. You win against them all, and I’ll let you have her.”

 
“You can’t –.” Neal ducked when one of the seven challengers came at him with a hammer fist directed at his nose. Using both hands, he pushed against the bigger man’s back, sending him stumbling across . . . air.

  Smiling, he turned to offer Xalan a triumphant look when he was forced to duck again to avoid being hit by another meaty fist. That time, Neal grabbed the larger man’s thick arm and tossed him overhead so that he landed on his back the way he might the cement floor back inside his apartment.

  The alcohol had magically worn off, and Neal was able to realize that it was a bit like being inside the rocket simulator at a space camp he visited while still with the band. He felt weightless now and capable of fighting giants. He felt as invincible as he knew Xalan to be on land.

  “Ha!” Neal shouted, ducking low so that the third opponent sailed over him and on top of the second man. “I told you I’m no coward! Bring it!”

  Neal’s eyes lit up the way Xalan's normally do, and a wide grin made him appear more attractive to the man who brought him up into the sky.

  “She deserves better than you,” Xalan grumbled.

  That worked to make Neal angry and his breathing quickened to feel more adrenaline pumping in his veins. Two more of the opponents went down in easy order. Dusting his hands and gritting his teeth, Neal eyed the last two men and stepped forward, gently setting Xalan aside.

  “Is it true alien’s are capable of reading minds?” he asked while sizing up his last two opponents. “Because, I get the feeling you know I’m a jealous man by nature. Not that I’m proud of it, but . . . she’s mine. You don’t have to like me, but I’ll make this thing work, and I still intend to make her happy.”

  “Earthlings are good at saying one thing and doing another,” Xalan remarked, waving the last two men to Neal. “Kick his ass.”

  With both giants on him, Neal had a difficult time, but he managed to remain unharmed for the most part. They wrestled for about five minutes when he jumped and kicked one giant in the nose. After that man went down, Neal wrapped both hands around the thick neck of the seventh giant, flipping him over his shoulder. When the giant fell between Neal and Xalan, another low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.