No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (37 page)

I pause the hand that pours water on me and bring his fingers to my lips. I kiss his palm and nip the pad of his callused thumb. “Yesterday was just a really great day that turned bad. But, it’s an anomaly, right? Like that terrible of a day will probably not happen again—maybe ever.”

“But other bad things will,” he says solemnly. I can’t see his face, but I don’t need to. I feel the tension in his stiff joints.

“Life,” I say. We’re both quiet for a bit. He adds warm water to the tub by hitting the knob with his toes, and I wish for bubbles, but I wouldn’t dare say it out loud. He’d probably beat himself up for not thinking of them.

“Let’s get you washed,” he says. Shutting off the water, he grabs a sponge and pours lavender body soap on it. My back is scrubbed first and then my arms. He moves to my breasts and manages to clean them without groping. “I think I need to get out of the tub to bathe the rest of you.”

“Then let’s just stay here a few more minutes.” I turn a bit so I’m better positioned on his chest. I finally vocalize what I’ve been thinking. “Are you worried what my face will look like?”

“No. Why?” he says, as if I’m crazy. Once again, I can picture Jude with the same indignation in her voice.

“I haven’t looked in the mirror, but from what I can feel I think the cut’s pretty long.” Underlining meaning: Will you still want me if I have a large red scar on my face?

“Are you worried about it?” he counters.

Am I worried about it? Sure. I’m a girl. I want to be pretty. Who doesn’t?

But I also know my looks don’t define me. I think about Bella. If this had happened to me before my best friend was branded, I probably would’ve been a lot more upset. Now, I understand scars just enhance character.

“I’m concerned in that I’d prefer not to have a red mark on my face.”

“But that’s not what you asked. You asked me if I was worried about your appearance. And my question is back to you. Do you think I care?” He shifts behind me so I’m just a tad bit more nestled against him.

“No,” I reply. “I think my looks are a bonus for you, but they’re not why you’re crazy about me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, kissing my bandage. “Now scoot so I can get out.”

I slide forward as the water sloshes around me. When he stands up and steps over the edge, the water level goes down by inches. Without me asking, he turns the knob, adding more hot.

Watching him towel off could be classified as poetry in motion. He doesn’t just rest his foot on the edge of the tub and drag a fluffy white towel over it. No. His movements are graceful, almost as if he’s performing a contemporary dance to the sound of running water. It’s like he can hear music in ordinary sounds which the rest of the mortal world is deaf to.

When he’s finished, he hangs the towel on a hook and kneels on the white bath mat. Shutting off the water, I lean back, putty in his hands as he takes each leg, carefully washing it.

When he’s finished, he asks, “You want to get your, uh . . .”

With an attempted smile, I finish for him, “Pussy?”

“Oh God,” he groans. “Stop it. You know I can’t handle you saying dirty words.”

“Pussy . . . dick . . .”

“Got it, MK.” He smirks. “You’re trying to tempt me, and I’m not falling for it. You can call me Doctor Johnny.”

He helps me stand, and I let him try his hardest to be a gentleman as he washes my girly bits. It’s really quite funny. Glancing at his penis, I watch for any signs he’s turned on. Apparently, he really is in nurse mode because there isn’t even a twitch.

As he drains the water and begins toweling me off, he gives me the plan for washing my hair. “Okay. I talked to Grace. She said we should bring a chair in here. You should lean back over the tub and I should use cups of water to rinse your hair. What do you think?”

I shiver. “I’m cold. Can I have your robe?”

He looks so helpless as he races to grab it off the door. “Sorry,” he apologizes, as if he’s mad at himself for not thinking of everything. He holds the robe open as if it’s a jacket, and I slip into it as he ties the belt securely around my waist.

“Grace’s plan is a good one. I don’t think I need a chair. I bet I can just sit on the bathmat and lean my head back over the edge.”

We try this. He helps lower me to the floor and places a rolled towel under my neck. Leaning back is pretty miserable, but once he slides a couple more towels under my head, I think I’ll make it.

From somewhere, he produces a giant daiquiri cup shaped like a bone, similar to the ones they sell on Bourbon Street. The water starts running.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Born ready,” I quip, using his line, and he smiles.

He begins the slow, tedious task of washing my hair. Aaron is so gentle that I can imagine him giving Jude the same care. He works the shampoo close to my forehead without getting any near my wound. Then, with the same amount of precision, he rinses the shampoo and gunk out.

“There.” He smiles, obviously pleased with himself. “Good as new.”

After drying my hair, he helps me stand. He doesn’t offer conditioner and I don’t dare ask. When I’m better, I’ll apologize to my locks by treating them to a coconut oil mask.

“Now can I look in the mirror?” I ask.

We walk together to the dual vanity sinks. “The bruises will fade,” he reminds me. “And the doctor said you may need another surgery to fix the cut.” He grabs my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

My first glance at my appearance is shocking. Ugly purple and blue bruises shade the left side of my face. My cheek is swollen, my eye is black, and even my lips look puffy. I keep calm. My reaction will dictate how he treats me. I want to appear poised and collected. This is temporary. The bruises will fade and hopefully the cut can be hidden with makeup. “Can I remove the bandage?”

“Not a good idea, MK. Just leave it alone.”

Ignoring him, I lift the tape. The slit goes from just past the apple of my cheek and extends along my eye socket to where my brow stops. It’s large. It’s red, angry, and so discolored. I put the bandage back on, securing the tape.

He reassures me by kissing my wet hair and saying the words out loud that I just voiced in my head. “The plastic surgeon said that you might need another surgery, but eventually makeup will cover it.”

I don’t reply. I stand there as he uses his brush to work the tangles out of my matted hair. Eventually, my hair is long, straight, and knot-free. “Want me to blow it dry?”

I love him for asking, but I’m so tired. I just want to sleep. “It’s okay. I need to lie down.”

Once again, without my permission, I’m carried back to his bed. Dreamless sleep finds me, which I’m so thankful for. There are no nightmares of a giant red gash and no voices fighting around me.

Johnny Knite
@RealJohnnyKnite

My girlfriend, MK Landry (
NoPinkCaddy
), suffered an accident while alone in her home. She’s recovering. I appreciate your well wishes.

Johnny Knite
@RealJohnnyKnite

NoPinkCaddy
is excited to share her story, but doctor’s orders are to stay off electronics. Give her a few more days.

The rest of the day, I spend in bed. I thought it would be difficult to lie still in a quiet room, but my head throbs badly enough that the darkness and solitude are welcomed. The only visitor I have is Aaron, and he checks on me frequently. At dinnertime, we eat takeout Chinese in his bedroom, and I fall back asleep.

Now, it’s morning and I’m rested. My head doesn’t hurt as badly as it did, although my cut burns, and I’m ready for my life to be back to normal. “Please go to my house and get my laptop,” I beg.

Aaron stands next to the bed, staring down at me with his arms crossed. “Nope. Nada. Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.”

“I feel so much better. I promise to limit my time on it, but please don’t make me stay another day in bed.” Lightbulb moment. “I’ll stay in bed. I’ll work for a little while. I’ll even time myself, and then the laptop will move to the side and I’ll rest.”

“What part of
no
don’t you understand, MK? You’ve a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. If he clears you then the laptop is yours.” He has such a smug look on his face that I have visions of punching him.

“Pen and paper. Can I at least handwrite a post and then type it tomorrow?”

“Pen? Paper? What’s that? We don’t have those archaic tools around these parts.” Mister Emerson says the words, but I know he carries around a notebook and pencil. Jerk.

“Ugh,” I sigh in frustration. “Then I get visitors, and I at least get to leave this prison.” I scoot up in bed so I’m leaning against the brick wall.

He does this huge, exaggerated eye roll. “I don’t fucking want to share you. But fine. And if it’s too much, I swear to God, I’ll kick them out.”

“Yay,” I cheer. This feels very much like I was just granted permission from my dad to take the car out for the first time. “Can I have my phone?”

His eyes turn to slits. “No. No electronics.”

I slap my hand on the bed. “Then how do I get visitors?”

“Grace and Sam can hang out with you. Most of Sam’s part is finished.”

I feel claustrophobic. Scooting out of the bed avoiding the dictator, I carefully remove Aaron’s borrowed T-shirt and grab my overnight bag.

“Showing me your awesome tits?” He smirks.

I ignore him.

“Take another day to rest. In case you’ve forgotten, your brain is bruised.” Tenderly, he runs his hand along the right side of my face. Then he tips my chin so I look into his eyes. “MK, I saw you unconscious, not moving in a hospital bed. Fucking nightmare. You’ve only been released from the hospital for thirty-six hours. Please, take it easy for me. The band and I need to finish in the studio today, and I can’t do that if I’m worrying about you.”

I walk into Aaron’s closet and grab a fresh T-shirt. His guilt trip is successful. I’ll be good.

He smiles. “That’s my girl. Grace will be around all day if you need her.”

“Fantastic,” I reply sarcastically.

We eat a late lunch together, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, before he heads to the studio.

I can’t stand the four walls of his room any longer, so I grab a blanket and settle into his comfortable couch. No TV. No electronics. No books. No music. Resting my brain is for the birds.

I sit there for like five hours—probably ten minutes—before I begin feeling itchy. The dull ache in my skull tells me that I do need to rest, but it wouldn’t hurt to just sneak my phone out.

I begin by looking in the obvious places—on top of counters, in drawers. Nothing. Just when I’m about to start opening the always closed doors, Grace walks in through the back door.

“Hello MK. How are you feeling today?” she asks. She’s so formal. I wonder if this is just how she is, or if I’m getting the special treatment.

“I’m better. Thanks.” Another lightbulb moment—I’m full of them today. “Hey. You don’t happen to know where my phone is, do you?”

“I think it’s in the office.” She turns and walks down the hall that leads to Aaron’s bedroom. The last door on the left must be his office, because she opens it and walks in. I follow behind, anxious to see what the room looks like.

It’s rather boring—looks like it’s styled with your standard executive office furniture from Office Depot. It’s also too big for the room, and is completely off scale. There’s a laptop in the middle of the desk, and a few pens are scattered around it. The walls are a shade of taupe. My guess is this room is never used.

Grace opens a drawer and asks, “Is this it?” She holds up my phone case. It’s pink and in black writing is a quote by Coco Chanel.
A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.

“That’s it.” I grab for it, just assuming it isn’t charged since that’s how luck seems to be going. There’s a charger in the kitchen in case I need it.

I follow her out of the room, shutting the door behind us. We both walk into the living room.

“Do you mind if we talk?” she asks as she sits down on the couch.

I’m wary, but happy she’s at least trying. Maybe this is an opportunity to induct her into the MK Landry Fan Club. I curl on the other end of the couch.

She begins with a flip of her shoulder-length blond hair. “I may have come off as a bit cross, and I want to apologize for that. I’m not sure what Johnny has said about our relationship, but it’s more than family.” She pauses and shifts her weight as if she’s trying to get closer to me. “Let me explain. I’ve managed his career since he was twenty and I was eighteen. So you see, we have a family business. He’s the front man. I make his ideas come to life behind the scenes. If you asked him what the budget is for this album, he couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t know how many zeros are in his bank account. He lives passionately, goes with his gut. I generate spreadsheets and make sure his taxes are paid.

“The last couple of years have been rough. He’s an addict. Addicted to the normal crutches—booze and drugs. But he’s also addicted to life. He likes the highs of performing on-stage and the thrill of thousands screaming his name. He’s a hedonist and doesn’t know how to be any other way.”

“Can I interject?” I say, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it against my chest as if it will shield me from the hard realities she’s sharing. But I have to defend him. “I think you’re wrong. I think he’s worked so hard these last twenty years and because of that, he embraces life.” Thoughts of him telling me about his dad enter my mind. I don’t know him well, but I could imagine him pushing himself to prove to his father’s other family that he’s great, in spite of their shunning.

She smiles and has the same twinkle in her eye Aaron gets when he knows he’s right. “You’ll see, my darling. I’m warning you right now, you’re his play-thing, his new addiction. He’ll tire of you when life gets rough—when the honeymoon is over. When you’re no longer the new hotness. A new one will come along, and you’ll be like the rest of us—lost in his shadow.” She sounds wistful.

“Grace, I appreciate you looking out for me,” I reply sweetly. “But my paycheck and livelihood are not tied to Aaron. If, like you say, he tires of me, I have a great group of friends and family who love me. I will never, ever be lost in someone’s shadow.” That’s what I say, but I’ve already seen evidence her words are true. My mind travels back to walking into this same room when it was filled with his band. I was the nobody, and he was their sun.