22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

"You seem different," Shelby said, two weeks after Rosalie's return from Vermont. In her absence, Shelby thrived in her heightened role, improving at least three different systems that Rosalie had been meaning to get to for years. The center had never worked better, humming right along like a well oiled, near-perfected machine.

"How so?" Rosalie asked. Had her time away been peaceful? Not exactly. But she couldn't quite say it hadn't been reviving all the same. A split-second image of Kinsey, naked above her, flashed into her mind. Reviving was certainly one way of putting it.

"Like that. " Shelby waved her hand at Rosalie's face. "You've got something going on in there. All daydreamy, happy, and sad all in one. Are you in love?"

" What?" Rosalie panicked. "Absolutely not."

Shelby looked at her face, amusement sparking in her eyes. She cocked her head. "But there is someone."

"Actually," Rosalie corrected her, "there's not."

And that unfortunately, was quite true. Kinsey would have left without so much as a goodbye that last cold morning in Vermont. If Rosalie hadn't happened to walk down those stairs at precisely that moment Kinsey would have disappeared forever before Rosalie had even a chance to… stutter and kiss her goodbye. She sighed. She'd not known what exactly to do with that once last chance she'd been granted and now here they all were.

Shelby raised skeptical eyebrows. "Uh huh."

Without Kinsey, Rosalie's last week in Vermont had dragged. Savannah tried to be gentle with her, but Rosalie could feel her friend's exasperation below the surface.

Lane was doing even worse than Rosalie. Ever the professional they went through the motions every day, playing with Tucker, snuggling Emmeline and taking the kids long walks to give Savannah her time. Away from the children though, Lane was a shell of themselves, hiding away in their own suite and avoiding everyone as much as possible.

Around Lane, Rosalie walked a fine line. The part of her that had once taken professional responsibility for Lane wanted terribly to boss them into a chair and prod them to unburden their aching fear and worries on her like they had begrudgingly as a teen. She wanted to fix them, to find a way to get the light back into their eyes.

But Lane wasn't her client anymore and outside of simple professional supervision once or twice a year, counseling Lane was no longer her role. There was a boundary now that Lane was her best friend's much loved employee, de facto family member, and Rosalie's star volunteer. She loved Lane, but she knew that getting to be in their life at all meant sticking to those boundaries.

The tiniest flicker inside Rosalie also thought about handing over even those occasional counseling duties to Shelby just in case, in future she and Kinsey… Rosalie shook herself. There was no just in case. There'd never be one of those awkward double dates between Rosalie, Kinsey, Cassidy, and Lane that she'd freaked out over in her imagination. Cassidy had fled and Kinsey with her.

So instead, Rosalie hugged Lane the first day they came downstairs, which they tolerated. Barely. Lane was so clearly withdrawing back into themselves, into that place where they didn't think they deserved anyone's care or love, and it broke Rosalie's heart. She sought out Brynn.

"I can't tell you anything," Rosalie said, wringing her hands and thinking about all Lane had suffered. "But just… please make sure Lane knows how loved and wanted they are? Whether they're with Cassidy or not? And keep checking in with them, like a lot?"

Brynn gave her arm a warm squeeze. "I'm on it," she said. "Don't worry, mama bear."

Rosalie smiled. She never regretted not having babies of her own; instead she'd had dozens of teenagers. They were her favorites anyway.

Back in Nashville Rosalie couldn't help checking in. Brynn kept her updated. Savannah was practically suffocating Lane with home-baked cookies, Brynn wouldn't let them spend all their downtime alone in their suite, dragging them out to play video games and very, very occasionally getting them to talk. Cassidy was fine, Savannah said, off with Kinsey on an extended national tour with Coral's band.

So, there was that temptation gone. Rosalie had considered, once or twice, how in the world she would ever be able to get in touch with Kinsey, if she'd ever figured out what to say to her. Could she cautiously finagle information out of Cassidy that would allow her to casually bump into her, perhaps where she worked, or at one of their shows?

Even that option was gone. Kinsey was off traveling around the entire country, and she'd been more than clear that Rosalie's confused combination of clingy and noncommittal was wearing out its welcome. She'd been granted one more chance with Kinsey and she'd tripped over her own feet.

The weeks began to drag by and Rosalie threw herself into work, the way she always did. When she couldn't hide at work any longer she returned home, Lemonade greeting her noisily and Rosalie put on a record to block out the remaining silence. Still, even as she finally slipped into her cold bed, no amount of music or reading or cooking or thinking seemed like it could quite fill the nothingness that found her there.

Savannah called every night. Rosalie knew she was being monitored and carefully loved exactly the same way Lane was, but she secretly didn't mind it.

One night, she propped her phone up on the counter to see Savannah's face as she cooked dinner, her best friend's voice the only thing that seemed to fill up the emptiness.

"Are you ever going to talk to someone?" Savannah asked out of the blue as Rosalie poured a glass of wine for one.

"I'm sorry?" Rosalie took a sip and turned away to put the bottle back in the fridge. Savannah was silent until her face reappeared in the screen.

"About all of it," she continued. "Rachel. Your parents. Your fucking mother. Your relationship issues."

"I don't have ‘relationship issues,'" Rosalie air quoted. "This is just what I want for my life. Peace and quiet with the occasional hot sex."

Savannah cocked her head.

"And Kinsey didn't make you want more?"

Rosalie's hand tightened on the stem of her wine glass. "Oh stop."

"She did though."

"Fine!" Rosalie huffed. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. But we both know what ‘more' ends up being. Too much, too crowded, too close. It would just be the same as every other time. Why even go there?"

"Sometimes," Savannah said quietly, "I think it's my fault."

Rosalie stilled. "What?"

"I mean think about it. You'd just lost your sister. Then we got together for one night. Your first time. My first time. And then I left you too."

"Savannah," Rosalie said, waiting until her best friend met her gaze through the screens. Her best friend looked immensely sad. "That was more than twenty years ago."

"I know," Savannah said. "And since then, you've run away from everyone else you've ever had sex with. Before they can leave you first."

"I…" Rosalie found herself lost for words, coherent thoughts coming slow. "That's not true. Right after you I had my first ever girlfriend, before high school had even finished. There was no running."

"Yeah, well I blame her too. She cheated on you."

"Ugh," Rosalie said. "I love you, but you don't get to take credit for my lifelong dysfunction."

"So you admit it," Savannah pounced.

Rosalie sighed.

"It was a joke, " she said. "God, you're very sweet but you weren't that mind-blowing in bed as a seventeen-year-old."

"Yes I was." Savannah raised her eyebrows.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Shut up and let me drink my wine," she found herself smiling.

Eventually though, Savannah got sucked back into her busy life. She had a wife, after all and two small children to care for. That was without considering her heartbroken nanny, the little sister out wandering the world, a multi-million dollar business empire to run and Brynn's tour planning now starting to reach its zenith. Rosalie just had work, and Lemonade, so she tried not to mind it too much when her phone went silent. It's not like she was lonely.

She had other friends. She pushed herself out the door to catch up with Travis for a beer and Georgia for a coffee. She did not start pottery or learning French, but she did keep rock-climbing, enjoying the way her arms started to get toned and strong. Mid-life crisis be damned.

Hey

Rosalie frowned at her phone, turning off her television. She sat in semi-darkness, the quiet seeping in. An odd feeling welled up inside her as contemplated the unknown number interrupting her silent night.

Who is this?

Her phone buzzed again. A photo. Squinting, expecting an unsolicited dick pic from a stranger, she tried to look at it and not look at the same time. Then she grabbed her phone up close and stared at it properly.

A lock of dark shining hair spilled over a golden brown shoulder, the very edge of a woman's face just out of frame. She was, teasingly, barely in the shot, but Rosalie would know her anywhere.

She gasped and found herself on the edge of irrational tears all of a sudden. She was utterly lost for words but pressed the photo until the heart button came up to love it. Wiping her eyes, she stared at the screen.

She watched, with her real, actual heart in her throat as three little dots appeared.

Where's my pic? Maybe I got a digit wrong, I could be talking to anyone.

Rosalie grabbed her phone and took a photo at the exact same angle Kinsey had. There was a glimpse of auburn hair, but it was mostly a photo of a fuzzy pink robe. She couldn't help her grin as she sent it.

Rosalie, oh my god, I didn't ask for nudes

Rosalie laughed out loud and immediately sent a photo of what would have been her breasts, if not for the extreme coverage of pink fleecy robe.

Is it wrong that I still have a pavlovian response to that robe?

How did you get my number?

Your best friend gave it to me the morning I left

Rosalie gasped. That conniving, interfering, infuriating… perfect human.

Don't murder her

It did take me six weeks to decide to use it after all

Where are you?

Seattle. It's raining. No serial killers yet though

Rosalie had had enough. She picked up her phone and called her. Kinsey picked up on the first ring.

"Oh," Kinsey said by way of greeting, "this might be the first time I've actually been aware of our age gap. You can't just go around calling people, Rosalie."

Rosalie laughed. "I wanted to hear your voice," she admitted.

Kinsey went quiet.

"And how is it?" she asked. "As good as you remember?"

"Better."

They were silent for a moment. Rosalie felt seventeen years old again, unable to hide her giddiness.

"I don't know what to say now," Kinsey said. "I was just going to send you random witty texts from the road and the occasional photo of my tits."

"Please don't let me stop you."

"I mean, you kind of ruined it by calling me, so I can't promise anything."

"I'll hang up right now," Rosalie promised.

Kinsey laughed. "No," she said softly. "Don't."

They listened to each other breathe.

"How's the road?" Rosalie asked, tipping her head back and staring up at the ceiling, trying to remember how to talk to a cute girl you liked.

"Hectic," said Kinsey. "Amazing. I love it. Every night is somewhere different. And I get to watch one of my idols… I swear I get better just by using the same kit as her, like she's magic. Wait," she said, "I guess you must know Coral too."

Rosalie smiled. "Well, yeah," she said. "We lived together for two years while I was finishing college." She paused. "Anything she tells you about me is a lie."

Kinsey laughed again and Rosalie's chest went warm at the sound.

"Mm," Kinsey said. "Now I'm dying to ask her what you were like back then. What you got up to. What kind of girls you fucked."

Rosalie's face heated, her voice dropping at Kinsey's investment in that question. "No one as pretty as you."

She could almost hear Kinsey smiling.

"I literally did not give you permission to flirt with me right now," she said.

"Okay," said Rosalie. "Just pictures of tits then."

"That's right," she said. "Oh, my roommate's home. Goodnight."

The phone went silent. Rosalie fell back on the couch and smiled and smiled and smiled.

"You alright there, boss?"

Rosalie startled at Shelby's voice, nearly dropping her phone. She sat in the center's boardroom, only half listening to the contractors outlining their proposal for the back building renovations. She really should be listening, but her phone buzzed, a photo flashing across the screen. Her cheeks burned and she quickly flipped the phone upside down.

"Yes," Rosalie said, coughing under Shelby's narrowed eyed gaze. "Just a tickle."

She grabbed a bottle of water off the table and took a long swallow while trying desperately to remember what in the world they were talking about. Once the contractors were gone, Shelby swiveled on her chair, smirking at her.

"You need to get that?" She nodded down at Rosalie's phone, even though it wasn't ringing. Rosalie gave her a hard look.

"No, it's fine."

She managed a whole two minutes longer before she escaped locking herself in the bathroom. Kinsey had sent her a picture from a hotel bed bathed in the morning light, her golden torso bare atop rumpled, slept-in sheets, a sheer black bralette below her beautiful collarbones. Rosalie zoomed in and bit her lip hard.

Jesus Kinsey, I was in a meeting

Oh good! I was aiming for the middle of your work day.

Please tell me you went red

You know I did. You're a bad person

Not as bad as you since you're going send me one back while you're supposed to be working, Ms. Centre Director

Rosalie hesitated. She was absolutely not… not going to do this. She quickly unbuttoned her work shirt all the way down below her bra to display some serious cleavage and a hint of lace. She snapped a photo, capturing all the way up to her lower lip, parted in concentration. Eyes squeezed shut, Rosalie sent it before she could second guess herself.

She'd barely put her shirt back together before her phone buzzed.

I swear to god you have the hottest tits in North America.

Rosalie smiled.

Tell that to all your groupies

It took a solid minute to remember that she was about to turn thirty-eight and had an entire youth center to run so she could not spend her whole day locked in a bathroom, looking at a photo of Kinsey in bed.

That night as Rosalie stepped out of the shower, her phone buzzed. Without bothering with a towel, Rosalie lunged for her phone. Another photo. It was taken from behind the drum kit at the rear of the stage, Cassidy at the mic and the house lights illuminating thousands of faces watching beyond.

What groupies?

Rosalie's fingers hovered above the keyboard, unsure what to say though several things came to mind. I'd fight them all just to kiss you again. I think I'm already your groupie. When are you coming home? She didn't send any of them.

Just before she fell asleep her phone buzzed with a call. Her lips moved into a smirk as she picked up.

"Oh," she said, "finished with all those groupies already? I'd have expected better than that from you."

"Did I wake you?" Kinsey asked. Rosalie could hear the sounds of distant traffic beneath her voice.

"No."

"But you're in bed, aren't you?"

"How can you tell?"

"You sound like you're in bed."

"I am," she admitted. "I am most definitely not out in some hot music venue, playing to crowds, getting hit on by hordes of easily impressed women."

She could hear Kinsey's smile as she spoke.

"Literally all I'm hearing is that you're in bed."

"Mmhmm."

"In fact, I'm pretty sure what I'm hearing is that you're in bed, alone and naked."

"I…" Rosalie stopped herself. She was, in fact, wearing full length winter pajamas. Kinsey laughed quietly.

"Shut up and tell me you're naked in bed right now so I can get through this long cold night on a tour bus without a single groupie to comfort me."

"I'm naked," Rosalie said softly. "And warm, and soft, and all alone."

"And," Kinsey added, her voice low, "wet for me."

Rosalie swallowed.

"And," she whispered, "so wet for you."

"Goodnight, Rosalie," Kinsey said, her voice soft, and the phone went dead.

It was a long time until Rosalie could sleep.