Dirty Together (Page 44)

but I was only lost until I found you.

When we finish recording, I remove my headphones and make my way out of the booth. Creighton hasn’t moved from where he’s leaning against the wall. As I walk closer, I note the glassy sheen in his eyes.

When he speaks, his words are low so only I can hear them.

“I was the one who was lost. I just didn’t know it until I found you.” He reaches for my hand and pulls me close. “I love you so goddamn much, Holly. I never want to go back to being that man.”

I reach up with my free hand and wrap it around his neck. It’s amazing to see how much my husband has changed since Christmas Eve. Yes, he’ll always be demanding, dominant, and deliciously dirty, but the intensity of the feelings underpinning all of those things makes all the difference in the world.

“I’ll never let you go back to being that man, because I’m never giving you up, Creighton Karas. I love you. You’re mine. Always.”

I lean up to press my lips to his, and he threads his fingers into my hair, deepening the kiss. When I finally pull back, I meet his gaze as it burns into mine.

“Mine. Always,” he says. “Now, let’s go find our new home.”

Home. When he says the word, I realize that mine is wherever Creighton is. It could be Nashville, New York, or New Delhi, but as long as he’s there, I’m home.

Nine months later

Watching Holly climb to the stage in her glittering gold dress to accept the New Artist of the Year award from my seat in the arena is surreal. I’ve made a habit of winning in my life. Winning the game. Winning the bet. Winning the deal. Winning the woman. But nothing compares to watching her win this award.

Nothing.

I’ve found contentment in my life, despite the whirlwind it now resembles as I try to keep up with both my schedule and Holly’s. Although honestly, I’ve backed off a lot from mine and handed off as much as possible to Cannon. He’s kicking ass and taking names, and has groomed a sidekick of his own.

These days, Holly and I are spending more and more time in Nashville, and less in Manhattan. Our place in Tennessee is feeling more like home than the penthouse in the city, mostly because Holly loves it so much. She has also stretched her wings in the business world as well. She’s not CEO of Homegrown Records, but she’s been involved in a lot of the business decisions. Her practical nature and straight-up cheapskate attitude is exactly what that place needs to get back in the black.

I spin the titanium ring on my left hand, following Holly’s every movement as she accepts the polished crystal award and congratulatory hugs from the presenters.

She gave me the ring a few days after I first heard the lyrics to “Lost on Fifth Avenue,” the song that rocked the charts—and netted her the award she’s about to accept. On the inside of the band, the words Lost until I found you were engraved. She said it wasn’t about telling the world I was taken, but about carrying a piece of her with me everywhere I went. Someone will have to pry that ring off my cold, dead body, because I’ll never take it off otherwise.

Holly steps up to the microphone with a brilliant smile, her left hand hovering over the baby bump the tabloids have been talking about nonstop. This morning, we learned that she’s carrying our daughter. There was no argument over her name either. Rosemary Elizabeth Karas, for Holly’s grandmother and my mother.

Holly’s mother hasn’t been seen or heard from since the day she showed up at the gate of our house in Nashville to beg for money after she spent every dime from the Yammer payout. Her pleas were met with Holly’s “No fucking way on God’s green Earth will you get another cent from us,” and a threat to call the cops.

Holly waits for the crowd to quiet before she begins her acceptance speech. “Hey, y’all. Thank you so much for this. I can’t even tell you how it feels for a girl from Gold Haven, Kentucky, who used to watch this show on the tiny TV in a singlewide trailer, to be standing on this stage accepting it. Surreal doesn’t even begin to cover it. I want to thank my husband, Creighton Karas, a man insane enough to place a missed connection ad looking for a one-night stand.”

The entire audience bursts into laughter at Holly’s blunt words.

“Because his insanity is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to me. I would’ve never written the songs on the album without it, and the single that got me your votes would’ve never come to be if I hadn’t met him. I love you, Crey. This is for you. It’s all for you.”

She holds the award over her head for a moment before lowering it and continuing. “I’d also like to thank my agent, my manager, and my very own label, Homegrown Records. This past year has been absolutely amazing. Thank you all.”

She steps toward backstage, and I rise to slip down the aisle and around back of the arena to meet her. Holly doesn’t know it, but following the after party, the jet is waiting on the tarmac to take us on our actual honeymoon. It may have been delayed a while due to our busy schedules, but three weeks in Bora Bora without Internet is exactly what we need. I’ve got new journals for her and her guitar already packed. Along with a few bikinis.

She’s posing for pictures when I get backstage, the award gripped in her hand.

Holly turns her head mid-pose while the dozen or so cameras continue flashing. She doesn’t even care that she’s screwing up all of their shots, because she’s caught sight of me.

“Excuse me. Can you give me a minute? Oh, and hold this.” She shoves the award into the hands of some random photographer. He drops his camera, which is luckily caught by the strap around his neck, and clutches the award to his chest.