Is a Dream Just a Dream?

A way Out?

***A/N mild sexual content ahead***

Florence ends up handing me my phone when she comes in the morning. She even plugs it into the charger for me, as I anticipated Kristen's read and deleted all of my messages and probably all of my voice mails. I see in my call Log that Stevie has called me at least once a day for the last two weeks. I can only imagine how may messages she's sent. She poured her heart out to me in that note and she wanted an answer, I wanted to give her one. I can now.

I pull up Will's app and it immediately starts to update, before I can type out a message however I get one from Will. (I'm at Aunt Steph's I'm okay. W). Good to know he's only screening his mother's phone calls. I quickly type out a response (Was worried about you. So was mom, just come home when you ready). He doesn't reply back but I'm glad he's okay. I send Stevie a text as soon as I send Will's (Steph, thank you for taking care of Will.)

Hitting send I wait for Stan to get here with my package I don't have to wait long for a response (Not a problem he showed up on my doorstep looking worse for wear, begged me not to call you two) he must have been really upset to run to Stevie's house. It's at least twenty minutes in the car, so about an hour on foot. I've always suspected that Stevie's house would be a safe haven for my kids.

She's loved my kids since the moment she met them, and even though Will in some ways split us up she's never blamed him. Or held him responsible. Quite the contrary, she spoils him doting on him the same way she does to her nieces and god children. She's the same with Bryce and Derrick. (Steph, I wanted to tell you three weeks ago when you asked me. I do feel the same and I'm leaving K for good. She knows, that's why Will's upset).

There's a long pause and I get nervous, self-conscious. Did I misunderstand her question? Maybe she just wanted to be friends. No, she worded that note very specifically she was talking about us. Romantically. (Steph? Sweetheart?). My palms are sweaty, my heart beats rapidly in my chest, I will the phone to ping, ring, vibrate, explode something! The notification sound pings and I breathe out scared of her answer (I was worried you didn't want the same thing. Stan has something for you, I want to talk about this in person Linds. Hopefully soon) .

Stan should be here within the hour Big Mike comes later today. Florence finishes her duties for the morning and heads out to her other clients for the afternoon. She'll be back later tonight. Bryce and Derrick are at school already. Who the hell knows where Kristen is. I don't care at this point. I can't believe she sold my Bella Donna album, the fact that I've hung it in my studio was a major milestone for me personally. It signified me letting go of a lot of bad feelings I had toward Stevie and her solo career. It was a self-examination, it forced me to look at how truly narcissistic I was how jealous and petty my behavior was. She worked hard on that album and she was awarded accolades and praise for it. Rightfully so.

I rejected it the first time...not the second

***

June 1996

"How many shawls do you own?" wiping sweat off my brow I collapse on Stevie's massive four poster bed as she sorts through her outfits. She's trying to figure out which ones to leave at my place and which ones to leave here. We've decided to keep her house as a retreat and I've already unpacked my things and left them in their accompanied drawers and my side of the closet. We haven't shared living space in twenty two years but I remember how picky she was about where I should put my stuff and how much room in the closet my junk takes up. She has a system.

She pokes her head out of her closet holding up one of her "Gold Dust Woman" capes "I don't know a few dozen maybe" a few hundred seems like. Her puppy Sula sits in my lap licking my hand, my condo allows pets thankfully and Sula is mostly house trained so my carpets are safe. She brings out an arm load of dresses sorting through them. "Can you grab my box of albums?" I gently plop Sula on the bed and pick up her album box "Joni Mitchell, Rolling Stones, The Doors, Joan Baez, Lindsey Buckingham..." she smirks and I paw through all of our Fleetwood Mac albums "Rumors, Tango in the Night. Bella Donna..." that one looks familiar and she looks up as I read the cover. "To Lindsey, for believing in me. Still California Dreaming".