Heat Wave: A Summer Loving Anthology Read online

  “I have to say, I was surprised to hear from you,” I start the conversation. “How did you come across our music?”

  “My daughter personally brought your CD to me a few weeks ago,” he replies.

  I can literally feel the color drain from my face. That must have been over the days when she missed practice. “I didn’t know she personally delivered it.”

  He nods, and his expression says he figured as much. “The thing is, Jagger, I do like your style. Your music is unique, as Mali said. There are some technical issues I think we can work out, but overall I’m interested in producing your music. I’ll have to hear the individual musicians myself before making a commitment.”

  “We’ll be glad to play for you while you’re in town. We can either do it in the club where we have a standing gig or in a professional studio,” I offer.

  “One thing I know about my daughter is she wouldn’t have brought it to me herself if she didn’t care about you,” Milo says.

  Now we’re getting to the real point of this meeting.

  “The truth is, Jagger, I’ve been around guys like you for more than thirty years. Every one of you guys think you’re different, that you broke the mold, when the truth is you’re all the same. Mali’s beautiful, smart, talented, and she’s going places. But with the Greyson last name, she’s also a high-profile target for someone who wants to use her to get to me. You may not have exploited her last name, but I think you have taken advantage of it.

  “Here’s what I’m willing to do. If you walk away and leave her alone for good, I’ll listen to your band. Your singing has already sold me. If you agree to my terms, you’re in. I’m not convinced one of your musicians is ready to be in the limelight, though. We may have to replace him with someone more experienced.”

  My head is spinning. He’s willing to sign me if I stay away from his daughter forever, but I also have to give up one of my band members. This is too much to comprehend all at once.

  “What do you say, son?” he asks.

  He hasn’t looked away from me since I arrived. He’s watched my every movement, assessed my every response, and sized me up in a matter of minutes. I think he already knows what my answer is.

  “Had you asked me to stay away from a specific girl a few weeks ago in exchange for a deal with you, I would’ve jumped at the offer without a second thought,” I start. “But, even then, I wouldn’t have just turned my back on one of my best friends.

  “Today, after spending time with Mali and really getting to know her, I’d never promise you or anyone else that I wouldn’t contact her again. I’d love for you to come listen to us as musicians, tell us where improvements can be made, but I won’t agree to kick one of my friends out of the band. If that type of decision were to ever be made, the whole band, not just me, would make it.

  “But since Mali is part of your package deal, I assume the whole deal is off the table and there’s nothing else we need to talk about.”

  I push my chair back from the table and stand. “Before I leave, you should know that I plan to do everything in my power to win her back. They say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. I say sometimes what you had was nothing you were looking for, but everything you need, only you don’t realize it until it’s gone. That’s what Mali is to me.”

  Without another word, I turn and walk away from him and head for the stairs.

  “Hold up, son,” he calls.

  I keep walking. I’m not in the mood for games.

  “I said hold up, Jagger,” he says more forcefully.

  Anger boils inside me as I turn and look at him. “What?”

  “You’ll find her here.” He hands me a card with a handwritten address on it. “She’ll be at dive practice all day tomorrow at PureEnergy Aquatics, but she’s staying at this hotel right now.”

  He gives me her room number and wishes me luck. “Oh, and bring the boys to Greyson Recording Studios tomorrow afternoon at two. We’ll talk about your contract terms. I would invite you to stay and have dinner with me, but I have a feeling you have somewhere else you’d rather be right now.”

  “Yes, I definitely do. Thank you, sir.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MALI

  ALL I REALLY WANT TO do is sleep, but I only see Jagger when I lie down, so I haven’t really slept the past two nights. Practice started late today because the crew cleaned the pool first thing this morning. My coach doesn’t let stuff like that cut practice short, so every member of the dive team is here late tonight. I’ve been at this for so many hours today I can barely feel my muscles now. Yet, I’m still climbing the three stories to the high platform to jump off of it and perform aerial acrobatics on my way down to the fifteen feet of water below.

  “Mali,” Coach Platt calls to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. “Why do you ask?”

  “I think you’ve had enough for today. Why don’t you come back down the stairs instead?” he replies.

  “I’m fine, Coach,” I insist.

  He crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a dubious look. When he doesn’t persist, I take that as my cue to continue. Honestly, I would have anyway because if it appears I can’t handle the grueling schedule, he’ll cut me from the team. As I approach the edge of the platform, I picture the twists, turns, and positions my body has to be in to execute it flawlessly. Then I jump, and my muscles remember the moves with precision.

  As I exit the pool, I throw my I told you so look over my shoulder at Coach Platt. He replies with his usual sarcasm, “That’ll do.”

  Laughing, I walk to the hot tub and sink into the hot water. It helps to keep my muscles loose and limber to perform the dives after being in the cooler pool water. Stretching my arms, shoulders, and back, I loosen up my stiff muscles to prepare for the next dive. Every step is harder to take than the last, but I finally reach the platform. I walk to the edge, get into a handstand position, and mentally prepare for my acrobatics.

  The flips, twists, and turns come so naturally that I don’t think much about them anymore. But as I bring my arms straight above my head, I instinctively know something is off. Subconsciously I knew pushing myself wasn’t such a good idea. I’m not firing on all cylinders and diving is too dangerous to not be at my absolute best. As I enter the water at close to forty miles per hour, one arm is tipped too far backward and it feels like it just slammed into a concrete wall when I hit the water.

  The loud pop echoes underwater simultaneous with the intensely sharp pain of my shoulder forcefully being shoved backward in an unnatural position. From the excruciating pain, my immediate guess is it’s now dislocated since I’ve seen it happen to other divers before. My feet touch the bottom of the deep pool but it feels like I’m in suspended animation. My lungs burn as they furiously urge me to exhale the breath I’m holding and inhale fresh oxygen. But I don’t. I should be kicking my feet to propel my body toward the surface. Instead, I’m watching my dreams of winning an Olympic medal dissolve in the water, within sight but just out of my reach. Those dreams have been in the forefront of my mind for so many years, but now I helplessly watch them float away into oblivion.

  Strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me toward the surface of the water. My lungs sting as we rise but my eyes are fixed on the bottom of the pool, where I’ve left all my years of practice and sacrifice. When we break the surface, my automatic functions take over where my conscious mind has failed me and compel me to resume inhaling and exhaling normally. The pain in my shoulder hits me full force and I grit my teeth to keep from screaming loudly.

  More arms come from different directions to pull me out of the pool and set me on the concrete that surrounds it. Holding my arm close to my body, I lower my chin to my chest and let the tears fall. Tears from physical pain, yes, but the mental pain of this truth hurts just as much.

  “Mali,” a commanding voice yells at me. “Answer me!”

  When I raise my eyes, I question if I’m hallucinati
ng as I gaze into the chocolate brown eyes of Jagger. He’s fully clothed, soaking wet, and still stands on the pool ladder as he leans over toward me.

  In my current state, none of this makes sense to me. Why is Jagger in the pool?

  “Baby, talk to me,” he says concerned. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “She had her arm too far back when she hit the water,” Coach Platt explains. “That type of impact can dislocate the shoulder.”

  “It doesn’t look out of place,” Jagger replies.

  “It may not have completely dislocated. It could’ve popped out and then slid back in place,” Coach Platt replies. “Let’s get her dried off and take her to have it looked at.”

  Jagger steps out of the pool, stoops down behind me, and wraps his arms around my waist. “I’ll help you up, baby,” he says lovingly. The timbre of his voice assures me. Even soaking wet, his embrace warms me. His presence calms my frazzled nerves.

  “You’re really here?” I ask with a trembling whisper.

  “I’m here,” he whispers back, nuzzling my neck. “I’m not leaving you.”

  He pulls me to stand and my legs feel like jelly, but I gingerly walk toward the door anyway. Putting one foot in front of the other without jarring the rest of my body is much harder than I ever imagined. The impact each time my foot strikes the ground shoots through my torso and straight to my injured shoulder.

  The assistants shove towels at us as we walk by and Jagger carefully wraps one around my shoulders. He uses his to dry his hair off, haphazardly rubbing it across his head and instantly styling his hair perfectly. When we reach his truck, he helps me get settled in before he grabs a bag from the backseat. Standing in the parking lot with the driver side door open, he sheds his wet clothes, throws them in the back, and pulls on a dry T-shirt and shorts.

  “I’ll drive as carefully as I can, but I can’t avoid every bump in the road. I’m apologizing ahead of time because it’s going to kill me every time I cause you more pain,” he says sincerely.

  “I’ll be okay, Jagger,” I lie. We both know this ride will hurt like hell.

  JAGGER

  MALI HAS BEEN HOME from the hospital for a week now. That night still replays in my nightmares and wakes me up at night…

  After I met with her father at the restaurant, I went straight to the hotel to see her and make her talk to me. After checking twice for her car, I decided to drive over to PureEnergy Aquatics to see if she was still practicing by some off chance. It was already much later than she normally practiced, but I quickly found her car in the parking lot. As I neared the door, I saw the key card scanner that prevented unauthorized people from getting inside. I caught a lucky break when a couple of girls walked out, saw me jogging toward the door, and politely held the door for me to enter. They walked away giggling after I gave them my best smile and thanked them.

  Once inside, it was easy to find the Olympic size pool with the multiple tiered platforms. I’ve watched the competitions on TV before, where the camera zooms in on the diver before following them down to the water below. Of course, the camera pans out and shows the whole scene occasionally, but my focus has always been on the person diving. Now that I’m standing in this enormous facility, I’m in complete shock and awe at how high the dive platform is. My girl has been repeatedly jumping off this thing?

  That’s when I saw her climbing the stairs toward the top platform. After moving as close as I could get without calling attention to myself, I took a seat and watched her every move. She looked so tired–I could see that even from as far away as I sat. But her determination and grit were still evident. As she approached the edge, I held my breath and waited for her to willingly jump off. Her coach tried to get her to take a break, so he obviously didn’t think she should go through with this one. But she insisted, and he relented. My hands curled into tight fists as I anxiously waited.

  Then she jumped and it was absolutely beautiful. Stunning. Amazing. Perfect ten. Or whatever score they give for diving, I don’t even know. I thought she’d be done after that one, especially after her coach’s suggestion, but she walked back to the stairs again after a couple of minutes. I nearly jumped up and yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?” when she walked to the very edge of the platform and did a perfect handstand. As she teetered on the edge of a thirty-foot high concrete platform, I sat there and helplessly watched her.

  She propelled herself off the edge, turned, flipped, and maneuvered her body with precision. My bottom jaw hung open and my eyes bulged from their sockets. It was the most amazing sight I’d ever witnessed in person. Pride swelled in my chest for her as I said aloud, “There’s no way she won’t make the Olympic team. Look at her.”

  Immediately before she touched the water, her coach was urgently rushing toward the side of the pool. I had no idea what was wrong, but he obviously sensed something very bad was about to happen. He was the coach, he knew best, so I jumped up from my seat and rushed to get closer.

  Once her fingers touched the water, it was like she was suddenly swallowed by the depths and my heart sank. Her coach yelled, “Mali! Mali!” just as I reached his side. I think my heart stopped when I looked in the deep pool and saw her at the bottom, not moving. The coach began to kick his shoes off, but I couldn’t wait that long. Fully clothed, I plunged into the water and pulled her to the surface.

  The drive to the hospital was rough on Mali, as I knew it would be. Every little bump and pothole in the road magnified her pain twenty times over.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I said every time she winced in pain.

  “It’s not your fault, Jagger,” she replied every time.

  When the nurse called her name to take her back to an examination room, I got up to go with her. I said I wasn’t leaving her and I meant it. The nurse gave me a doubtful look as she confirmed with Mali. “Is he family?”

  “Yes, I am,” I replied.

  “Yes,” Mali confirmed.

  She still didn’t look convinced but she didn’t push it. When she left, I helped Mali change into a dry hospital gown, lay on the bed, and she carefully moved until she had positioned herself in a way that didn’t hurt more.

  “Do you want me to call your dad?” I asked.

  Disbelief flashed across her features before complete sadness overtook her eyes. “You’re worried about my dad now? What can he do from California?” she asked, anger simmering just under her pain.

  “What? No, that’s not what I meant. He’s here in Miami. I just met with him today,” I explained. “You didn’t know?”

  Surprise and confusion replaced the sadness. “No, I haven’t talked to him. But then, I haven’t checked my phone since I got to practice earlier this morning.”

  “So, do you want me to call him? Tell him you’re here?”

  “No. It’s not life or death, so I’d rather wait until we know more,” she decided.

  “Mali-,” I began, just as the door opened and someone interrupted me.

  “Ms. Greyson, it’s time for your x-ray,” the lady announced. When she looked at me, she continued. “I’m Barbara and I’m an x-ray tech. I’m taking her to radiology and I’ll bring her back to this room. Just wait here for her.”

  I nodded and stood as Barbara wheeled Mali’s gurney out of the room and down the hall. While she was in radiology, I paced back in forth in the emergency room. My wet shoes squished with every step. The noise drew curious looks from others and reminded me of how lifeless she looked on the bottom of that pool. Something my dad said to me instantly came to mind and everything made sense.

  “Jagger?” her weak voice called from behind me.

  When I turned, my beautiful girl was being wheeled back into her room. “I’m here, Mali. I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured her again. I walked in behind her and watched as the nurse gave her something for her pain. I sat down beside her bed, stuck my arm through the bars on the side rail, and held her good hand.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as she squeezed my
hand.

  “For what?”

  “Staying,” she said. As she closed her eyes and allowed the pain medicine to take over, a single tear ran down her temple and disappeared into her hairline.

  “You don’t seem to get it,” I whisper as she drifts to sleep. “I’m never leaving you.”

  It’s been one week since that night and I’m driving her to her follow up doctor’s appointment. She’s still protesting.

  “Jagger, seriously, I can drive myself.”

  “I know you can. But so can I.”

  “My shoulder wasn’t even out of place. Just an extremely painful and scary strain. It’s so much better now that I don’t even need the sling anymore,” she says as she moves her arm around. “Going to physical therapy has really helped me strengthen it.”

  “You were too tired, Mali. Your body was beyond fatigued and you needed this week to rest. So lean back, relax, and rest on the way to the doctor’s office,” I demand.

  “Fine,” she huffs. “You missed your appointment with my dad, you know.”

  “It’s okay. He really wanted to hear the guys play anyway. He said he was sold on my voice either way,” I reply. “Besides, someone had to move your stuff out of that hotel room and back to your condo.”

  She nods but doesn’t say anything else. The reminder of why she was in that hotel room still hangs in the air between us. The first few days after her injury, she was still on pain medicine. I need her to be completely lucid when I tell her what I have to say. The past couple of days when I tried to broach the subject, she completely shut me down. So I’m waiting for the opportune moment.

  “We’re here,” I announce. “Let me get your door.”

  “I can do it,” she protests. Again. I rush around to help her anyway. At least my attempts earn a smile from her.

  After getting an all clear from her doctor, she calls her coach and gives him the good news. He orders her to take it easy through the weekend and then show up to resume practice next Monday. She tries to argue with him because the final meet to determine who goes to the Olympic preliminaries is in less than two weeks.