Author's note
- Hi everyone! This is my first time posting on this site, and I'm so excited to share my stories with you all. I plan on updating consistently, so you can look forward to more to come! I really love hearing what you think, so please don't hesitate to leave a comment with your feedback, good or bad!
Sasha smoothed down the stubborn wrinkle in her casual striped dress, a bittersweet pang hitting her chest. It still felt surreal. Tossing the dress back in the closet, she traded it for a simple black tank top, one that hadn't seen the light of day since...well, since before Liam. It felt strangely rebellious against her skin.
The suitcase lay open, filled with neatly folded clothes, a toiletry bag, and a worn-out teddy bear that Liam had insisted she take. A few photographs were tucked into the sides, and there, tucked between a pair of jeans and a sweater, was a book she hadn't touched in years.
This is insane.
The thought echoed through her mind, a familiar drumbeat accompanying her ever-present apprehension.
Two weeks.
Two weeks away from Liam's soccer practices, Lily's school plays, and Richard's...well,
Richard
.
"Sash, you ready?" Her husband's voice boomed from below.
"Coming!" she called back, her voice a touch higher than usual.
Snapping the suitcase shut, Sasha swallowed against the lump in her throat. It's just a gig.
Like a business trip.
Footsteps echoed on the landing as she hurried to Liam's room, the familiar scent of dirty socks and boy-sweat hitting her with a pang. He was sprawled across his bed, covers kicked off, looking younger than his fourteen years. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, his skin warm beneath her lips.
Lily's room was next, a symphony in pink and glitter. She was curled up under the duvet, a picture of angelic slumber. Except Sasha knew if she woke her now, those big blue eyes would well up in an instant.
One last glance around at the house, quiet and bathed in the pre-dawn gloom, and then she was out the door. She wheeled the suitcase out of the bedroom and with some effort dragged it down the stairs.
"I've got it," Richard said, already halfway up the stairs, and taking the suitcase from her hand.
She followed him back, watching as he hefted the suitcase into the trunk of the car and shut it with a decisive thud. Sasha turned to look at their house one last time. The nervousness that had been a low hum in her stomach was getting louder now.
Taking a deep breath, she slipped into the passenger seat and looked at Richard. "You sure you got this, right?"
"It's going to be fine, Babe. Relax, okay?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I'm a little nervous about leaving the kids behind."
"Sasha, we talked about this. It's fine. I've got it all under control."
"But the kids..."
"Could probably use a break from your bossing, honestly." He winked.
"Is that so?"
"Just kidding, babe. Relax a bit, will you? Think of it as a vacation. You deserve it."
"I'm not sure, honey. I've never been away from them...from us...this long."
"You don't trust me to take care of them?"
"Not completely," she stated, "remember when you tried to make homemade slime and ended up calling the plumber because the sink..."
"Okay, okay....That was one time! And besides, you know I always learn from my mistakes."
"What about the time you let Liam try out that skateboarding trick in the living room? Remember how that ended?"
He winced. "Okay, fine, there have been a couple of learning experiences. But trust me, this time I've got it all figured out." He tapped the center console, where a neatly folded sheet of paper rested. "I even made a list. Every day, bam! New adventure, so they won't have time to miss you."
Sasha's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, really? And what's on this amazing list?"
"Well, for starters, movie night every Friday. Then on Saturdays, something big—the mall, the zoo, laser tag...you name it. I'm talking full-on Fun Dad mode." He grinned. "And every other day? I have different activities planned to keep those little monsters occupied."
She couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "You've really thought this through, huh?"
"Had to, didn't I? Besides," he added, "your mom will be over to help out too, right?"
"She will be."
"Then you've got nothing to worry about, okay?" He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Just relax and have some fun."
"You're amazing, you know that?" She tilted her head, placing a quick kiss on his cheek. He smelled familiar: laundry detergent, the faint trace of his cologne.
"I just want you to have a great time," he said, his gaze unwavering. "Don't worry about a thing. We've got this."
"I really appreciate it. But just one thing, Richard," Sasha added. "Don't forget to tidy up the house too, okay? You know how much I like things...in their place."
Her husband laughed. "I've got that covered, too. Don't I always?"
Sasha shook her head, half-amused, half-exasperated. Even after all these years, Richard could still surprise her. "Yes, I guess you do."
* * *
"Okay, babe, this is your stop," Richard said, pulling their rolling suitcase to a stop.
Sasha clung to the handle for a beat too long, as if it could ground her against the tide of emotion welling up.
"Here, let me," he hefted her suitcase onto the conveyor belt at check-in. "Hey," he tilted her chin up with his finger. "You'll be back in a flash. First-class lounges, backstage passes—think of all the stories you'll have."
"Yeah," she managed, forcing a smile. "Rock and roll mom stories. Just don't let Liam try to steal my guitar when I get back."
He chuckled, throwing his arms around her. "Take care of yourself, okay?" He kissed the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. His lips brushed against her hair, the scent of his familiar cologne filling her senses, making her want to burrow closer and forget all about departures and goodbyes.
"And try not to miss us
too
much, yeah?" He added, his voice taking on a playful lilt.
Pulling back, Sasha smoothed the front of his rumpled shirt, trying to memorize the feeling of his warmth, the subtle contours of his body pressed against hers. It was silly, she knew, this sudden surge of longing for a man she'd shared a toothbrush with for over a decade.
"You too," she managed, her voice thicker than she intended. The familiar litany of worries spilled out. "And please, try not to live on pizza this time. Don't burn down the kitchen trying out a new recipe, and for heaven's sake, make sure Lily actually eats her vegetables—"
Richard threw back his head and laughed. "Don't worry, Mrs. Health Nut. I'll even try to squeeze in some veggies myself."
He leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch feather-light, yet charged with unspoken emotion.
Then, a tinny voice crackled over the loudspeaker, a robotic reminder of departures and destinations.
"I love you, okay? Have fun."
"I love you, too." Leaning in, Sasha kissed him, pouring all her love, her anxiety, her longing into that one, brief touch.
His lips were warm and familiar, beneath hers, grounding her to the present moment.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sasha finally turned toward the security line. With each step - through the metal detector, past the throngs of hurried travelers - the nervous fluttering in her stomach gave way to a thrum of anticipation.
At the gate, just before she handed over her boarding pass, she snuck one last look back. Richard stood by the window, a silhouette bathed in the early morning light. He raised a hand in farewell, a small smile playing on his lips.
Returning the gesture, her hand trembling slightly, Sasha stepped through the terminal door.
The plane shuddered slightly as it taxied to the runway, each jolt sending a fresh wave of jitters up Sasha's spine.
What am I doing?
She clutched the armrests, her carefully constructed composure threatening to crumble like a stale cookie.
She forced herself to release the death grip on the armrests and let her gaze drift toward the window.
It had all happened so fast.
The open mic night at O'Malley's Pub had been Maya's idea, a "get-your-groove-back" scheme Sasha had initially dismissed as utter madness.
Yet, there she was, heart hammering against her ribs, the stage lights blinding as she launched into Etta James' "At Last." The notes poured from her, raw and full of a yearning she hadn't realized she'd suppressed for so long. The world had shrunk, until it was just her, the microphone, and the raw, pulsating energy of the music.
Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that night, that song, could change everything.
And then the video shot on some teenager's phone, went mini-viral.
Then came the phone call, the business cards, the hushed whispers of "music producer" and "once-in-a-lifetime opportunity." And finally, the news that almost made her faint.
Tyon
.
The twenty-three-year-old singing sensation with a voice like velvet and a stage presence that could ignite a stadium. When the producer had uttered his name, the blood had rushed in her ears, drowning out the rest of the conversation.
Tyon!
She
was going to be part of
his
opening act?
The thought of singing at those venues, even if it was just to warm up the crowd, sent a thrill through her, laced with a healthy dose of terror. Initially, she'd been adamant.
"Absolutely not. This is crazy," she'd argued, her sensible, pragmatic side screaming louder than any chorus.
Yet, there she was, strapped into a first-class seat, her life neatly packed into a matching set of Samsonite luggage, hurtling toward the unknown.
It was Richard, ever the pragmatic one, who'd talked her down from the ledge of her anxiety. "Think of it as a vacation," he'd urged, "a chance to get away from the madness here, blow off some steam."
It helped that the offer included a very generous paycheck - something about "paying for that kitchen remodel," he'd added with a wink.
Sasha squeezed her eyes shut as if she could physically will away the doubt creeping in at the edges of her excitement.
"Can I offer you something to drink, ma'am? We'll be taking off shortly."
The gentle voice startled her. The flight attendant's smile was professionally pleasant, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within Sasha.
"Oh, yes," she mumbled, fumbling with her seat belt. "Coffee, please. Black."
Coffee, strong coffee
