Rockers After Dark: 6 Book Bundle of Sexy Musicians
Author: Deanna Chase
Date: 2014-09-29 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Anthologies; Romance; Contemporary; Contemporary Romance; Music; Novella
Description: Six Rockers, Six books. Defining Destiny by Deanna Chase Singer-songwriter Lucy Moore has already met her soul mate. But when he betrays her she returns home with some decisions to make. Can she stay away from the one person who she’s destined to be with or will Seth, the tortured artist claim her heart? After a horrific accident, Seth Keenan’s own destiny is shattered. Now he’s abandoned his career in favor of his tattoo gun and has vowed to never to get close to anyone again...until he meets Lucy. In a world where everyone has one true soul mate, can these two find love in the arms of each o
Publisher: Bayou Moon Press, LLC

About the Books

A Look at Defining Destiny

When destiny fails…

Singer-songwriter Lucy Moore thought her life was perfect. At just twenty-one, she’s already met her soul mate and together they’ve landed a recording contract. But when her father dies and the love of her life betrays her in more ways than one, she returns home to pick up the pieces. On the shores of Mendocino, California, Lucy has some decisions to make. Should she start a solo career? Or should she leave it all behind for some semblance of normalcy in the quiet town she grew up in? And what about Seth, the tortured artist who always seems to be there when she needs him?

Seth Keenan has demons of his own. Eighteen months ago, he was involved in a horrific accident that he never talks about. His career as an accomplished oil-paint artist has been abandoned, replaced by the buzz of his tattoo gun. And women—well, he never sticks around for longer than a few hours of pleasure…until he meets Lucy. After one evening of listening to her seductive voice, he’s pulled under. But what about the vow he made to never get close to anyone again?

In a world where everyone has one true soul mate, can these two find love in the arms of each other?

A Look at Still Life with Strings

The story you are about to read is set in my home city of Dublin. It may not seem this way to strangers, but it is in fact a very small place. Lives can be interconnected in little ways that may seem unbelievable, but are actually very possible given how tiny the city, and indeed the country, really is. My heroine, Jade, works in a concert hall that is loosely based on but not a one hundred percent accurate portrayal of the National Concert Hall on Earlsfort Terrace. Similarly, my hero Shane is the concertmaster of an orchestra that is loosely based on but not a one hundred percent accurate portrayal of the RTÉ National Concert Orchestra. Just a short walk from the concert hall is Grafton Street, where Jade busks as a street performer, and just around the corner from Grafton Street is St. Steven’s Green, where Jade’s mother used to sell her paintings. If all this information seems random, I promise it will make better sense once you’ve read the story. However, if like Jade you are a dreamer at heart, you can simply choose to put it all down to destiny.

I sincerely hope you enjoy Still Life with Strings.

A Look at This Time

A phone call that changed our lives...

I’ve lived my life in a daze, trying to save someone hell bent on destruction. But when my phone rings and I’m told that Angel, my on again off again boyfriend has OD’d for the second time in two years, I’m so numb. So tired. So when Tor Boler, the sexy Norwegian and drummer of Fok asks me to stay with him, I stay. We were friends and I needed to be held. To be loved. It was just supposed to be one night of reckless passion. One night where I could forget how screwed up my life had become.

...a night of passion with far reaching consequences

I’ve wanted Jamie Sullivan since the day she walked through my tattoo shop eight years ago. There’s a soulfulness to her blue eyes that reminds me of the arctic fjords of home. She calls to me. There’s only one problem standing in our way- Angel Romero. I want her, and she wants me too, she just doesn’t realize it yet.

This time... we’ll get it right.

A Look at Forever Ours

Music is an important part of this series. Some chapters in this eBook begin with a musical note. The musical note links to a YouTube video of a song that pertains to or is mentioned in that chapter. Most of these links are mobile-friendly and work on internet-ready devices such as smart phones, tablets, and computers. These links will not work on all e-readers. If you are reading Forever Ours on an incompatible e-reader, feel free to open the playlist on a compatible device and listen as you read.

A Look at A Seductive Melody

She has the scoop of a lifetime, but only if she betrays his trust…

Ethan Kelly lost his best friend and bandmate to an overdose, but staying clean is proving harder than he thought it would be. His only safety net during his first weeks of sobriety is fellow recovering addict, Becca. As she guides him through the darkness, he begins to trust her not only with his secrets, but also his heart.

After years of trying to be the daughter her socialite parents wanted her to be (and failing miserably), Rebecca Shore finally has her life on track. Sure, she’s just an assistant at Moderne magazine when she’d rather be pursuing more serious journalism, but it’s a foot in the door. She’s just waiting for the scoop of a lifetime that will take her to the next level. But when she’s asked to help the reclusive and enigmatic rock star, her heart is torn between the career she’s always wanted and the man who bares his soul to her.

A Look at STEP

Sinister Mayhem lead singer Step Vasiliev likes his women wild, his sex rough and his partying hard—but his reckless lifestyle has finally caught up with him. His thirtieth birthday ends with a humiliating face-plant onto the floor of his luxury hotel suite.

But hardworking hotel maid Jemima Coates comes to his rescue. Her kindness enthralls him, but it’s her sweet, innocent beauty that ensnares him. One stolen kiss—and Step knows he’ll do anything to protect her.

So when her younger brother is kidnapped by her stepfather’s enemies, Step will do whatever it takes to get him back, even if that means knocking on the door of Russian mob boss Nikolai and calling in favors from his infamous enforcer cousin Ten.

Because Step has finally tasted happiness, and he’ll fight like hell to keep Jem in his life…

Rockers After Dark

Defining Destiny

Book One of the Destiny Novels

Deanna Chase

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Still Life with Strings

L. H. Cosway

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

This Time

Book Three in the Moments Series

Marie Hall

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Forever Ours

A Shattered Hearts Prequel

Cassia Leo

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

A Seductive Melody

Book Five in The Kelly Brothers Series

Crista McHugh

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

STEP

S&M Boook 1

Roxie Rivera

Beginning

Mid-Point

About the Author

Copyright

Copyright © 2014 Bayou Moon Publishing

Copyright © 2014 Deanna Chase
Copyright © 2014 Lorraine McInerney
Copyright © 2014 Marie Hall
Copyright © 2014 Cassia Leo
Copyright © 2014 Crista McHugh
Copyright © 2014 Roxie Rivera

Cover Design: RBA Designs
Interior Layout: The Printed Page
ISBN: 978-1-940299-22-8 eBook Version

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Contents

About the Books

Rockers After Dark

Contents

Defining Destiny

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

Still Life with Strings

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

This Time

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

Forever Ours

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

A Seductive Melody

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

Step

Beginning

Midpoint

About the Author

Defining Destiny

Book One of the Destiny Novels

Deanna Chase

Dedication

For Trisha, Sarah, and Megan.
He’s not gone, only waiting.

Acknowledgments

A huge thank you to Susan Sheehan, Lisa Liddy, Chauntelle Baughman, and Anne Victory. You four keep me out of trouble. And a special thanks to my MAD girls for making this year special. You know who you are.

Chapter One

Dear Reader,

The Destiny series is set in an alternate reality that is just like ours with the exception that everyone really does only have one true soul mate. And that connection has a magical element that affects not only the couple, but the people around them. This is Lucy and Seth’s story.

Lucy

Exhilaration. It’s the only word to describe the post-concert high. At least for me. The cheering audience is in another state altogether. Peaceful. Joyous. Enlightened. It still amazes me that this is our gift to the world.

“Amazing show!” Les calls over the roaring crowd and gestures to Cadan and me. “I swear, that connection you two have gets stronger every day.”

Cadan gives me a self-satisfied smile. “See, Lucy? I told you they’d love the new songs.”

Irritation sours my good mood and I snap, “They would’ve been just as happy with the old ones.”

His smile turns patient as he puts an arm around me. “Oh, come on, babe. They’re great songs. We had to debut them at some point.”

I slip from his grip. “No. We didn’t. Besides, they’re mine. It was my call, not yours.” We have a bunch of songs we’ve written together that are fan favorites, but in the last twenty minutes of our set, Cadan had started singing the new ones I’d written. He’d managed to get the band to practice the music without me even knowing.

“It was a surprise. For you.”

When I don’t respond, he frowns. “What’s wrong, Luce?”

Jesus. He never listens. “I wasn’t ready yet, Cadan. I told you that.” Those songs are important to me. They’re the ones I wrote a few months ago after my father died, and while I’m proud of them, they’re deeply personal. They’re for me. I’m not even sure I want to release them.

“Oh, babe,” he says softly and pulls me to him. “I didn’t realize this would be so hard for you. But look at what happened out there. Everyone was deeply moved. Think about what you gave them.”

It’s the only thing that got me through the three songs he’d sprung on me. Twenty seconds into “You’re Always Here,” the crowd hushed as the bittersweet lyrics and melody wound their way into their hearts. The connection with the audience had touched me to my core. But that was beside the point. I was tired of Cadan steamrolling me. “I admit—”

“Encore,” Les yells over the noise and pushes us back onto the stage.

Cadan’s amber-flecked eyes flash with triumph, then he leans in close to my ear. “I knew you’d come around.”

It’s too loud for me to correct him. I’d been about to say I was pleased with the reception, but I hadn’t been ready and I was still pissed as hell he’d forced the situation. Not to mention how utterly violated I feel by the way he’d exploited something so personal to me.

We take our positions center stage. The deafening volume of the crowd ratchets up a few decibels. I beam at them. This is what makes being on the road three out of every four weeks bearable. The soul-mate connection Cadan and I share is meant for them. Not me. And not Cadan. Though I’m pretty sure he thinks it’s all about him. He’s twenty-four and full of rock-star ego. Reining him in is impossible most days. It’s only during the rare, quiet moments we get together that he’s anything like the guy I fell in love with two years ago, before our records hit any charts and before our lives were turned upside down by success and fame.

Cadan gives the cue, and I mentally prepare for “After the Fall,” our most popular song. It’s how we close every show. But instead of the strum of the guitar, the keyboard player starts a slow, haunting melody. My heart stops, and I gape at Cadan.

He pretends to not notice my reaction, but his knuckles are turning white from his death grip on the mic. He’s worried. And he should be. Because I’m frozen. The words are clogged in my throat.

Tears are already burning my eyes as emotion chokes me. Cadan cuts his gaze to me, waiting for me to sing the first lines of the song. I shake my head violently. How could he do this to me? I can’t do this. I’ll never make it through the lyrics. My heart will burst wide open on the stage.

But then I glance at the rapt audience. Their faces are turned up expectantly, already drawn into the sad music filling the club.

And when Cadan takes over, singing the part that I can’t, he hits every note perfectly with his clear tone. Haunted by memories and the melody, I want to bolt. To be home, hiding under the covers the way I had for almost three weeks straight after Dad passed. But I won’t leave the stage with the audience expecting more from me… and Cadan knows that. The bastard.

He holds out his hand to me, and I have no choice but to take it. The media frenzy if I dismiss him during a concert would be a shit-storm resulting in official statements to the press where no one wins.

The moment our fingers touch, something inside me calms. Cadan is my soul mate. And I don’t just mean he’s someone I have a deep connection with. He’s my destiny in a magical sense. The one supposed to understand me better than anyone. And together, we make music that is beloved by millions of people around the world. Everybody has one true soul mate. I’ve been told we’re lucky. We found each other three years ago.

The first notes of the chorus start, and with Cadan’s emotional support, the words come out as a whisper. It’s enough for the magic to take over, and the effect is instant. A collective sigh reverberates through the crowd, followed by a few gasps. Tears are streaming from one of the fans in the front row, and I have no doubt she’s not the only one. It’s a stronger reaction than usual, but it’s because of me. My emotions for this song in particular are too raw. I’m giving too much. How can I not?

I’m counting the days until I see you again.

Until then, keep an eye on me.

There are no good-byes. Not today.

For now I’ll say

Until we meet in heaven, until I see you again.

My voice catches on the last line, and Cadan gives the signal to wrap up the song. It’s too much for me. I’m not ready for this. Not this song. He knows and pushed it anyway. Why?

The crowd is on their feet, though instead of the roar, they are silent, waving their arms back and forth to the painfully gorgeous melody our keyboardist is still pounding out.

Cadan takes the lead and pulls me into a bow for the audience. It’s the signal the show has ended. I’m barely conscious of what’s going on as Cadan gently tugs me backstage. His arms come around me, and he pulls me close, cradling my head with one of his hands. “Shh,” he says through my sobs. “I’m sorry, babe. I messed up. Don’t cry.”

I sob harder, memories of Dad flashing through my mind like a slideshow. Christmas morning as Dad dishes up pecan pie for breakfast. Dad laughing as we race personal water crafts across Lake Shasta. The way his eyes crinkle when he makes up stories of his childhood. And a million other memories of him coming to every singing recital and competition within a two-hundred-mile radius. Then the days when he lay in the hospital while I waited for him to recover.

Only he hadn’t. And I’d been left alone.

I still have family. My mom isn’t too far away. Then there’s Cadan and my best friend, Jax. But none of those relationships come close to the one I shared with Dad. He was my rock. The one I long to talk to when I have news, good or bad. He was my anchor.

Now all that is left is his house on the side of the cliff.

Cadan walks me backward until we get to the couch. Then he sits and tugs me into his lap, whispering how much he loves me and how sorry he is.

He’s always sorry. But that never stops him from hurting me.

A knock sounds on the door. Cadan ignores it, all his intensity focused on me as he rubs my back and kneads the base of my neck. This is what he’s good at. Keeping me from losing it in front of millions of fans. Lord knows there’s been plenty of opportunity lately. I’m not exactly handling things well.

“You need some rest. I think a break is in order.” His arms are so comforting wrapped around me, and the light scent of his cologne is so familiar that I almost forget it’s his fault I’m barely holding it together. That song. He had no right.

Reluctantly, I extract myself from his embrace and nod my agreement. I need my bed. Need to crawl under the covers and block out the world. “You’re right. I do.”

He pulls his phone from his back pocket and taps out a message. A second later it buzzes with an incoming text. “Phil will meet you around back and take you to the hotel.” He kisses me on the forehead and guides me toward the back exit.

I pause at the door, suspicion nagging at the back of my mind. “You’re not coming with me?”

He flashes me his practiced, apologetic smile. Anger pushes aside some of the anguish crushing me.

“Never mind,” I say before he can give me one of his fucked-up excuses. You’d think he could abandon the band and label execs for one night to make sure I get back okay. Especially considering this latest breakdown is his fault. Not that I even want him around. But this is an emerging pattern. Put Lucy in the car with Phil while he stays out all night doing God knows what. I’m so sick of his shit. I don’t even want to look at him. “I want to be alone anyway. Just… give me space.”

He jerks back at my clipped tone and grimaces as if finally realizing just how pissed I am. “Do you want me to stay with one of the guys tonight?” he says carefully.

“Fine.” I stalk off before he can say anything else, the crack in my heart forming a small crater.

***

I wake to the shrill of the hotel phone. My gritty eyes won’t focus in the bright morning light, and I fumble around until my hand closes over the cool plastic of the receiver. “Hello?” My voice is gravelly and full of sleep.

“Ms. Moore?”

“Yeah?”

“I have Cassie Patricks on the line for you.”

I fall back on my pillow. Why in the world is our label rep calling me at seven in the morning? “Okay.”

“Lucy, good morning,” she says, her voice full of excitement.

“Good morning.”

“My apologies for calling so early. But I’ve got great news. We’re fast-tracking the new song. We need you and Cadan in the studio this afternoon to start recording. Two p.m. Don’t be late.”

I sit straight up and clutch the phone with a death grip. “Which new song?”

“‘Meet You in Heaven.’ A bootleg video has gone viral over the Internet.”

Oh my God. No. Not that one. My stomach clenches with a wave of nausea. I take a deep breath, trying not to vomit right in the bed. “But that song isn’t ready. I’m not sure I even want to record it.”

“You’re just getting cold feet. I told Cadan it’s perfect just the way it is when he was here to sign the publishing contract on Friday. Now take a deep breath. It’s going to be huge. Especially if we capitalize on this PR ASAP. See you this afternoon.”

The line goes dead, and I stare with horror at the phone. Publishing contract? I didn’t sign over any of my new songs. What did Cadan do?

My feet hit the floor before my brain processes what I’m doing. Wearing only pajama pants and a tank top, I tear out of the room and head down the hall. When I reach Phil’s room, I bang both fists on his door. “Cadan,” I yell. “Open up.”

There’s no answer.

I bang again, this time continuously, making it impossible for anyone in this wing to sleep. The door to the right opens, and a woman snaps at me to keep it down. I don’t even acknowledge her. Right now, all I need is to talk to Cadan. If he isn’t inside, Phil will know where he is.

The door finally opens and a tall, slender blonde with bleary, mascara-smudged eyes stares at me. “Where’s the fire?”

“Is Cadan in there?” I don’t wait for her to answer. I just push past her and stalk into the suite. “Cadan?”

The bedroom door opens and Cadan stumbles into the sitting room, his sandy-blond hair still mussed from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

He’s still buttoning his jeans, and the first thing I notice is a hickey on his chest. “What the fuck is that?”

“What?” He glances over his shoulder at the closed door.

“This.” I stalk up to him and poke the hickey with my finger. Then I turn to the blonde. “Is this your parting gift? A way to make sure I know he’s unfaithful?” My tone is cool and controlled as if the scene isn’t making bile rise in my throat.

“Me?” she ekes out. “No, that was Natasha.”

Without speaking, I push past Cadan and open the bedroom door. Inside, a honey blonde with perfect, smooth skin is sprawled naked over the bed. A condom wrapper is lying on the floor.

“Oops,” the skank who answered the door says and disappears into the bathroom.

My entire body goes numb. I’d suspected Cadan wasn’t always faithful, but I’d never been sure. Now the truth is battering me over the head. Stunned into silence, I turn and leave the room, closing the door behind me.

“Luce,” Cadan says.

“Don’t Luce me, you fucking two-timing piece of shit.” I keep heading toward the door but stop when I remember why I came in the first place. I spin. “Why does Cassie think we have a publishing deal for the new songs?”

“Babe.” He walks slowly toward me with his hand stretched out. “I made a mistake. We were drinking. Just a few beers. I think mine was spiked. Acid. Or Ecstasy. I don’t remember anything.”

My fists clench, and I have to fight to not punch him in the nose. “Gee, you don’t look like you’ve been drugged. Not like the band does after a rough night. Try again.”

“I swear, I didn’t—”

“Fucking shut up!” I yell. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Do you think I’m stupid? I know you knew what you were doing. I can see you calculating the best way to get out of this. You’re not even sorry. Not at all. The only thing you’re sorry about is that you have to deal with me now. Well, guess what? I’m about to make it real easy on you.” I lash out and push him away from me with both hands. “I’m done. This soul-mate thing? It’s over. Go ahead and fuck whoever you want. Sing whatever you want, just as long as it’s not one of my songs, because no matter what you told Cassie, those songs aren’t for sale.”

Fear flickers in his copper eyes. “Lucy, now wait.”

“I’m not waiting for a goddamned thing. You’ve hurt me for the last time, Cadan. I can’t live like this.”

I’ve got my hand on the door handle when Cadan says, “The contracts are already signed. The songs will be recorded no matter what you do. Are you prepared for someone else to sing them?”

My heart races and my vision clouds with darkness. Dizzy, I turn slowly and look him in the eye. “What do you mean the contracts are signed?”

His shoulders hunch forward. “I signed for you. I thought you just needed a push to get you through this grief about your dad. You love spending time in the studio, and with these songs, I knew the label would make us a priority for the next record.”

“You signed? For me?” The urge to kill him is so strong, I take a step back toward the door.

He shrugs. “I have before. The signature matches.”

Son of a… shitballs! He had signed for me. There was a time when I was taking care of Dad when I’d been too overwhelmed to deal with business and had left Cadan in charge. He mastered my signature just to make it easy on me. He’s got it down to perfection. Shaking, I take three steps forward and say in a careful tone, “You will tell Cassie what you did and you’ll tell her I’m no longer part of the deal. Forget the rest of the tour. I’m not doing it! If she wants to sue me for breach of contract, so be it, but I’m out and I’m taking my songs with me.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Cadan says, his face white.

I’d just put a major wrench in his plans. He’s a great performer, but the reason most of our fans come to see us is for the magic our combined harmony produces. Without me, he’s just another lead singer of a garage band.

“Cassie isn’t going to let you walk. And if she sues you, it will be for a hell of a lot more than what they’ve paid us so far. You can’t go. Not now. Do this one last album, then you can cut ties with me. But give me a chance to apologize. To make it up to you. I promise no more booze and no more opportunity for”—he waves a hand toward the bedroom—“this sort of thing. If I don’t go out with the band, the temptation is removed.”

I can’t believe he’s standing here negotiating with me. It’s as if he has no clue how much he’s hurt me. I pull the door open, cast him an uncaring glance, and step into the hall. Then I turn back to level him with a steely glare. “No. Not now. Not ever again. Stay the hell away from me, Cadan. My lawyer will be in touch about the songs.”

“Lucy!” He follows me out into the hall. “Wait.”

I stop in front of the room that’s supposed to belong to the pair of us. “Go back to your guests. I’m sure within ten minutes this fight will be the furthest thing from your mind.”

As soon as I get into our suite, I flip the security lock and then sink to the floor, my entire body shaking with adrenaline.

“Lucy,” Cadan calls through the door.

It makes me physically ill to know he’s standing out in the hall barely dressed. I have to get away. As far away as possible.

I do two things. First, I call my lawyer about the songs and breaking my contract. He’s dubious, but says he’ll do his best. Then I call Jax, my best friend.

“Lucy! I miss you,” she says by way of greeting. “I saw that video. Your song is amazing. I can’t wait to listen to a live version.”

I grumble. “We’re not recording it.” My voice wobbles, and being Jax, she notices it right away.

“What happened?”

I suck in a breath. It gets caught in my throat, and I swallow hard. “Cadan sold it without my permission. Then I walked in on him with two girls this morning.”

“Jesus,” she says quietly. Then she screams into the phone, “That asshole! I’m going to kill him.”

“Get in line.”

“I will.” She’s seething enough for both of us. Then she takes a deep breath. “What can I do?”

“Pick me up at the airport?” I move to the closet and yank my suitcase out. “I’m coming home. Today.”

Chapter Two

Lucy

The four-inch heels on my thigh-high boots wobble with each step through the gravel parking lot. Dammit. I’m going to sprain an ankle before we even get inside. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Then I wouldn’t have to go through with Jax’s birthday present. I’m probably the only twenty-one-year-old in the state of California who would rather sacrifice a limb than spend the evening drinking with the beloved local band.

Jax runs ahead and stops in the club’s doorway. “Hurry up, Lucy. It’s freezing out here.”

I make a face and wrap my wool coat tighter, blocking out the sea-scented wind blowing off the ocean. “I’m coming. Keep your skirt on.”

She tugs at her micromini and laughs. “For the next few hours at least.”

I manage to make my way to the door without falling on my ass. “Don’t be slutty just because it’s your twenty-first birthday.”

She tucks her arm through mine and presses close to me. “Since when did I ever need an excuse to be slutty?”

“Right. I forgot. Jax the man-eater. They’ll never know what hit them.” My tone is dry with sarcasm. Jax is hardly a virgin, but she’s only been with one guy—her high school boyfriend. And she hadn’t given it up until after graduation. They broke up nine months ago after Brad met his soul mate. That’s the way it works. One minute you’re happy, in love, and then bam. Your boyfriend meets his mate and everything changes.

“Exactly.” Jax tugs me into the club. “Tonight’s the night. Mission Boy Toy commences.”

I give her an indulgent smile and slip off my jacket. The coat-check girl scans the length of my body and makes a tsking noise as if I’m wearing Julia Robert’s hooker outfit from Pretty Woman. Give me a break. My dress isn’t that bad.

“Damn, girl.” Jax whistles appreciatively, her silky blond hair slipping over her shoulder. “Tonight’s supposed to be about me finding a man, not having them fall to their knees after taking one look at you.”

She’s teasing, and I know she doesn’t care what I wear, just as long as I’m here. She’s been begging me to go out with her for over three months now. I finally caved, but only because tonight is her birthday celebration. I couldn’t let this milestone go by without me. Besides, I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.

“You’re lookin’ pretty hot yourself,” I tell Jax. She’s wearing a black miniskirt paired with a whore-red halter top that’s open in the back and red fuck-me pumps. Her exercise of choice is swimming, so her traps and delts are cut, but not too bulky. She looks sexy as hell, and with her outgoing personality, I’m betting she’ll have more than half a dozen guys begging to take her home by the end of the night. Not that she’ll go. She talks a good game, but when it comes down to it, she always keeps them at arm’s length.

I smooth my hand over the silver-sequined minidress and point myself toward the bar. I won’t last another two minutes without some liquid courage. “I need a shot of Patrón.”

“Now you’re talking!” Jax bounces up to the bar, her boobs practically spilling out of her low-cut top, and leans over, waving at the bartender. At least someone’s excited.

I should be excited. I should be euphoric. Six months ago, I would’ve been so amped up I wouldn’t have been able to sit still. But tonight all I feel is dread. I force myself to glance up at the empty stage. My second home. The only other place I ever feel truly myself. Tonight the lonely microphone taunts me. Cadan won’t be beside me. I’ll be singing with a band I’ve only practiced with once and everything will be different. Including my voice.

“Bottoms up,” Jax says and hands me the shot glass.

We each go through the ritual of licking salt off the fleshy part of our palms and then down the amber liquid.

I grimace and bite into a lime, washing away the sting of alcohol. “One more.”

She lifts an eyebrow in question. “You sure?”

“If you want me up on that stage in ten minutes, then I’m going to need another.”

“Okaaaay. Give me a minute.” Jax waves at a tall, vaguely familiar blonde across the room and says, “I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the growing crowd while I wait for the tequila to start working its magic.

The coat-check girl eyes me again as she walks by, and she huffs something close to disapproval. Someone has a serious case of bitchitis. I snap my head to the side. “What’s your—”

Oh, holy hell.

The words fly out of my head, and I gape at the tall, dark-haired specimen lounging two stools down. He leans against the bar, a beer bottle dangling from two fingertips as his eyes travel to the hem of my dress. At home, the fact that it only fell about five inches past my butt hadn’t bothered me. Now I feel naked.

Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I don’t look away. I can’t. His brilliant green eyes are undressing me right here in the bar. And God help me if I’m not doing the same to him. Both of his arms are covered in brightly colored tattoos. A dragon is snaking its way under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. My fingers ache to reach out and trace the vibrant green scales.

He clears his throat.

I snap my gaze back to his.

“You’re new,” he says.

“Um. Sort of.” I mentally shake myself to keep from jumping him right there. Whoa, Lucy. What the hell? I don’t even know this guy’s name, and here I am, dreaming of ripping his shirt off. “I’ve been away for a while, but I grew up here.”

“In Mendo?” he asks, using the local’s slang for Mendocino. “How come we’ve never met?”

I shrug. “I haven’t been home often in the last three years.” Also, prior to that I’d lived with my mom and her husband for a while. But I’m not going to bring that up. “You didn’t grow up here. I’d remember.” No female with a pulse could forget eyes like those.

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. The one that says he knows exactly what his proximity is doing to my hormones. “No. We moved here right before my senior year in high school.”

“Ouch. That’s rough.” I’d been a sophomore when I’d been carted off to Mom’s house. My life had been a walking nightmare right up until the day I’d left to tour with Cadan.

His smile fades, and he glances at the floor as shadows darken his eyes. “It wasn’t so bad.”

The change makes me want to place a hand on his arm, ask him what memories are haunting him. Find out what secrets are buried beneath his gorgeous shell. But I don’t even know his name, and Lord knows I’m not willing to spill my guts to some stranger, no matter how sexy he is.

“Hey, hooker.” Jax slides up beside me, handing me a second shot of Patrón. “I see you found an interesting way to keep yourself occupied while I was gone.” She smiles and waves. “Hi, Seth. You’re looking especially hot tonight.”

My mouth forms a shocked O. Seth? Seth Keenan? This is the guy Jax keeps talking about? The guy she’d befriended her senior year in high school? The one whose soul mate was killed in a car accident a year and a half ago? The one I’d told her she should date to get over Brad? That Seth?

His gaze travels to her ample cleavage, and he gives her an appreciative nod. “You’re not so hard on the eyes either, Jax.”

She laughs. “Stop checking out my boobage. You have zero chance with me. Not the way you operate.”

I narrow my eyes at the exchange, hating the way my gut clenches with jealousy. But not from his overtly sexual glances. No, it’s the easy banter and playful exchange they have going on. When’s the last time I was like that with anyone from the opposite sex? Months.

Leaning into me, she whispers, “Total manwhore. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with the same girl twice.”

He grins and shrugs unapologetically. “My loss.”

“You know it!” She holds up her shot glass. “Let’s make a toast.”

I follow suit, trying to avoid Seth’s gaze. The last thing I need is to be interested in a self-aware manwhore. “To Jax and the best twenty-first birthday celebration to ever roll through Mendo.”

“To Jax,” Seth says. “May some lucky jerk finally get to take you home.”

She giggles and presses her glass to mine and Seth’s. “To the best friends a girl ever had.”

The tequila burns going down and my eyes water. I’m not a big drinker. In fact, I hardly ever drink. But tonight’s different. I can’t do what Jax wants without a little help. I want to do it. It’s just hard to face the memories.

I slam the shot glass down on the bar and stumble forward. “I’ll be right back.”

“Whoa,” Seth says, grabbing my arm to steady me. “Maybe you should sit down for a minute.” His words are said with kindness, but his green eyes turn stormy with a mix of worry and judgment.

“I’m fine.” I tug out of his grip, irritated at his reaction. How dare he judge me? We’re in a bar for gawd’s sake. “I’ve only had two drinks. It’s these boots. I’m not used to standing on stilts.”

“Uh-huh.” He wraps his arm around my waist, steadying me.

Heat sears its way through my skin. His rock-hard body sends electric shocks deep into my center, making me shift uncomfortably. All I want to do is clasp my hands around his neck and press into him as we sway to the Maroon 5 song blaring over the club’s loudspeakers.

“Aren’t you supposed to sing in a few minutes?” he asks.

His question snaps me out of my drunken lust haze. “Um, yeah.”

He clutches me tighter and chuckles. “This should be entertaining.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just looking forward to the show, no matter how it turns out.”

I glare and step away from him, steadier now. “No matter how it turns out? Seriously? Don’t be a jerk. It’s not easy to get up in front of a room full of drunken assholes and sing your heart out.”

His eyes widen in surprise and he opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t give him a chance. “Forget it, dude. I don’t need this. I’ve got a show to put on.” I stalk off, praying my ankles hold. Crap. I should’ve worn the platforms. At least then I’d have something to balance on.

“Lucy!” Jax calls. “Wait.”

Her eyes are twinkling with laughter, and I force myself not to scowl. “What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. Except you totally put Seth in his place.” Her tone is light, but I can tell she’s feeling out my mood and wants to say more.

“What?”

Her smile falters, but she pastes it back on and leans in to whisper, “Don’t you think you might’ve been a little defensive back there?”

I push through the door leading to the dressing room. “Maybe, but I’m tired of that shit. You know how I feel about people who bag on performers.” Why is it that people who don’t sing or act think it’s okay to trash those who do? It’s like a damned sport for some people to see who can be the meanest.

She stops in front of the door marked Band and crosses her arms over her chest. “Yes, I do. But I think he was making fun of your inability to hold your alcohol, not the fact that you’re finally going to sing. Jeez, Luce, he’s only been listening to me brag about you for two years now. I think he expects tears of joy to rain down from heaven when you put those pipes to work.”

“Jax!”

“Well, it was almost true when…” She bites her lip. “Sorry. It’s just that when you were with Cadan, you two made people weep. How could I not talk about it?”

“I’m never singing with Cadan again.” The words make me cringe. There was a time when I thought I’d always be singing with him. When our voices melded, it was almost as if the universe stopped. A light would fill my soul and a deep-seated peace settled over everyone within earshot. People said it was a miracle. And it was for those who’d endured life’s hardest challenges. To be able to take away a moment of suffering had been a gift. One I cherished. Cadan had taken that from me, too.

“I know,” Jax says, patting my arm.

She’s sympathetic and tries to be understanding, but she doesn’t know what I’m going through. She hasn’t met her soul mate yet. And until she does, she’ll never understand the devastation of losing that connection. I lean against the wall, staring at a guitar case. Someone had covered every square inch with a violent ocean scene, the waves crashing over the sides of the case.

I’m lost in the beautiful destruction and it hits me. That’s exactly what I’d had with Cadan. Beautiful destruction. Everyone else saw the beauty of our harmony, while I was stuck with the shit he created with his selfishness.

I’m done letting him treat me as if I’m nothing but a meal ticket on his way to fame and fortune just because I happen to be unlucky enough to be his soul mate. No. I’d watched my mom be that person for the last eight years. I’ll be damned if I make the same mistake she did.

The door to the dressing room swings open and three guys dressed in all black, with various facial piercings and tattoos, file into the room.

Jax pastes a huge smile on her face. “Ahh, you’re here!”

The tallest one, Mike, leans down and picks up the guitar case I’d been eyeing and nods in her direction. “We’ve been here. Just waiting on your girl.” He glances at me and gives an appreciative nod.

“Oh, well, she’s here now and I can’t wait.” Jax rushes to my side and leans in to whisper, “I’m sorry about that Cadan stuff.”

I grit my teeth, wishing she’d drop it already.

“Really I am. Honestly, it’s been so long since you’ve performed without him, I can barely remember what it’s like to hear just you.”

Perfect. It’s what I’m afraid of most—having my performance compared to what I sound like when I’m with Cadan.

Jax pulls the door open. “Break a leg.” Then she eyes my boots. “I didn’t mean that literally.”

I shake my head, feeling my lips twitch into a small smile. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Not a chance of that,” Teo, the lead guitarist, says. “Fuck, we’ll be lucky if they let us off the stage at all after they hear your pipes.”

I blush. These guys hadn’t known me during the period I like to refer to as my “Cadan days.” They’d heard of me, of course, but had promised Jax they wouldn’t bring him up or the fact I’d left him. And they hadn’t. Thank God. Our practice session had been the most fun I’d had onstage in years. But there hadn’t been anyone staring at me expectantly from the audience. There would be tonight if anyone recognized me.

It happens everywhere I go these days. Lucy Moore, the famous singing soul soother. It seems everyone wants a piece of me, and all I want to do is sing.

Chapter Three

Seth

Across the bar, Lucy and Jax reappear from backstage. Lucy sweeps her dark bangs to the side as she frowns at Jax, but her plump lips make it look more like a pout. Despite the tongue-lashing I just received, or maybe because of it, I can’t help but be intrigued. What I wouldn’t give to tame her for one night. Not that Jax would approve. Oh, no. Lucy was off-limits, or so she’d said about ten times already.

Lucy disappears into the back again and Jax returns, giving me an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Lucy’s a little touchy lately.”

I shrug. “Whatever. I’m here for you, not your high-maintenance friend.” My gaze slips to the V of her smokin’ red top, and even though I’m not interested, I linger there, trying to erase the image of Lucy’s short skirt riding up her bare thighs as she walked away. And the way her full red lips seduced the rim of that shot glass. Dammit if I couldn’t already taste her lips on me. I harden, feeling myself strain against my zipper.

“Stop, you pig.” She slaps me playfully on the arm. “And don’t call Lucy high maintenance. She really isn’t. Tonight is a big deal for her, that’s all. She hasn’t performed for an audience in over three months, and she’s only doing it now because I begged her.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Begged?”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Is that all you ever think about?”

That’s not what I meant. I work with Mike, one of the guitarists in the band, and overheard him talking about Lucy’s amazing voice. Why did Jax have to beg her best friend to sing for her on her birthday? But I play along, letting her think whatever she wants. “What do you expect from a manwhore?”

“True. Anyway, you’re going to either die or want to take her to bed after you hear her sing.”

“Half the guys in this bar already want to fuck her,” I say. “It’s those damned boots.”

She eyes me slyly, seeing right through me. “Ah. You included, I see.”

I say nothing and watch as Jax takes a sip of her margarita. Her lips attack the straw with a vengeance, eliciting a purely physical response south of my belt buckle. “Jesus, Jax. Stop that before you hurt someone.”

“I’m trying to get noticed.”

“Trust me. The other half of the bar is already undressing you.” Hell, if she were a stranger, I’d be right there with them, angling to get her alone for an hour or two to find out what those lips could really do. Then Lucy’s face clouds my vision, and all I can think about is wrapping her booted legs around my waist as I slip into her, hard and fast.

“Stop looking at me like that.” Jax makes a face. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re wondering what exactly is underneath this sexified outfit.”

I laugh. “Not even close, Russo. Your clothes hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

“That’s because you probably were imagining me without any.”

“Naked is always better.” I nudge her shoulder to make sure she knows I’m joking. I own my player reputation, deserve it many times over. But I’d never go there with Jax. She’s the relationship type. And I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. The last thing I want to do is hurt her by treating her as a one-night stand.

I wave down the bartender, holding up my beer. “Another.” I point to Jax’s drink. “And a refill for her too. Put it on my tab.”

Jax eyes me and then the beer.

Irritation starts to build before she even says anything.

“Who’s—”

“Derek’s the DD tonight.” I shift to stare her in the eye. “Don’t start. Not tonight.”

She holds her hands up in surrender. “Just asking.”

“And what about you? How are you getting home after your shots and margaritas?”

“Marty’s coming after work. It’s his present to me.”

“His present?” I grimace with irritation. “To drive you home? What a dick.”

“No, you idiot. To take care of me and Lucy. You know, make sure we don’t end up with total losers or drugged, and then he’s going to take us out for breakfast before we go home and suffer the worst hangovers of our lives. It’s what big brothers are for.”

“If you say so.”

“If you had a little sister, you’d understand.” She smiles patiently and takes another sip of her margarita.

I make a noncommittal sound. I still think he’s a dick. But that might have something to do with his comment the day of E’s funeral. Don’t blame yourself, man. It was her choice to come pick your sorry ass up. A familiar rush of anger and helplessness fills me, and I slam the door on the memory. Not here. I won’t think about that now.

Cold air whips across the bar as the front door opens and a line of people file in. The show is about to start, and apparently everyone between the age of eighteen and thirty within a fifty-mile radius has come out of the woodwork.

“Dude.” Derek leans over the bar and grabs a bottle of water from a bucket of ice. “Of all the nights to ask me to be the designated driver, you had to choose this one?” He twists the top and takes a long slug. He’s just come from work and is still wearing his blue firefighter T-shirt. He’ll have five girls begging him to take them home within forty-five minutes. Or less, if he starts buying them drinks. “How am I going to get through this without something to take the edge off?”

“Get through what?” I purposely ignore the way he’s looking at Jax. He’s had a slight obsession with her for as long as I can remember, yet he’s never made a move. And as far as I know, he never plans to.

He lifts his water bottle to the crowd. “A night of barely dressed hot chicks. Are you fucking blind?”

I might as well be, because right now, I don’t see anything except the girl strutting out onstage in her sex-bot boots, swaying her hips and seducing the crowd with her eyes before she even opens her mouth.

Jesus. She’s going to kill me. I’m going to combust right here in the bar just staring at her pouty lips. She picks up the microphone and smiles tentatively at Mike, waiting for his cue.

“Omigod!” Jax squeals and grabs my arm. “She’s actually going to go through with it.”

I glance down at her and smile at her huge grin. Jax hasn’t looked this happy in months. Not since before the big breakup. “You were worried she wouldn’t?”

She lets out an ironic huff of exasperation. “Are you kidding? I wasn’t even sure I’d get her to the bar, let alone near the stage.” Her pretty blue eyes meet mine and her smile fades. “Whatever happens, promise me you’ll be nice to her.”

“What the hell, Jax?” I pull away slightly and frown at her, offended she has such a low opinion of me. “What do you think I’m going to do? Mock her and throw beer bottles?”

She clutches my arm and pulls me back. “No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. It’s just that this is a huge deal for her and I want it to go smoothly. She belongs up there. She’s not herself when she’s not singing.”

Onstage, the band starts to play, and the girl who’d wobbled her way backstage has transformed into a dazzling, confident crowd-pleaser. She’s standing with her feet shoulder-width apart, her head held high, a seductive smile on her face as she scans the room. Her eyes land on me and she grips the mic with both hands. Then she starts singing. I instantly recognize the song as a popular Mandy Taylor number my sister is always playing. But instead of Mandy’s pop sound, Lucy’s voice is huskier, and she sings it slower. Seductively. She’s fucking mesmerizing.

“Holy shit, dude.” Derek leans forward, eyeing Lucy as if he’s mentally calculating how fast he can rip her clothes off. “Who the hell is that?”

“Don’t even think about it, asshole,” I growl. Where did that come from?

“Awww.” Jax laughs. “You’re such a softy. Look at you, all protective of my friend.” She slips her arm around me and gives me a sideways hug.

“Yeah, softy,” Derek mimics and gives me that guy look that says he knows exactly what’s going on with me and it has nothing to do with being protective.

I glare at him, making sure he knows it doesn’t matter my motives. She’s off-limits to the likes of him.

“God,” Jax whispers. “Look at her.”

My gaze automatically shifts to the fiery pixie onstage.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but whoa. She’s even better than I remember.”

The entire club is riveted, watching her strut around the stage. Then the band pauses and Lucy freezes, the mic held close to her lips. Her eyes scan the crowd, and my breath gets caught in my throat when her gaze lands on me. Something foreign in my gut flips over as her lips turn up into a secret smile I swear is meant just for me.

Jesus, this girl knows what the hell she’s doing. She’s holding me in the palm of her hand, leaving me salivating for more. And though I’m sure I’m not the only one, I can’t tear my eyes away from her to confirm the effect she has on the room.

Her gaze never shifts and she starts singing in the sexiest voice possible, “When it’s just you and me in the dead of the night, I get reckless… reckless… reckless.”

I hear and see nothing except this girl in this very moment. Her brilliant blue eyes are sparkling with mischief and desire. It takes all my willpower not to stride up to the stage and whisk her away to the back where we can—

“Here.” Derek shoves an ice-cold beer bottle into my hand. “You look like you need it.”

I take the bottle but don’t drink. Lucy is still imploring me with those eyes, seducing me into a puddle of lust and something more I can’t quite explain. Something deeper that seems to come dangerously close to touching my soul. “Shit,” I mutter and lift the bottle to my lips, downing half the beer in one pull.

Derek laughs. “It’s about damn time, man.”

I turn around, deliberately tearing my gaze from the stage. “About time for what?”

Jax is dancing in place, her margarita empty. I signal to the bartender to get her another.

“That you took an interest in someone of the female persuasion.” He’s leaning against the bar, his gaze still locked on the stage.

My body stiffens involuntarily, and I force myself to relax. “There has never been a time when I haven’t been interested in a hot chick.”

He snorts. “Point taken. But I haven’t seen you look at one like that since…” Grimacing, he doesn’t finish the thought.

Anger flares to life and shoots through my veins just as it always does when someone brings up E. I don’t want to talk about her, and I especially don’t want to talk about her after I’ve been thinking of all the dirty things I want to do with Jax’s friend.

Jax’s margarita materializes at the same time the band switches to a slower Lady Antebellum song. I hand her the drink, and she smiles up at me, her eyes already glassy from her buzz.

“Thanks!” She takes a long sip and frowns as she watches me.

“Stop.” I run a finger over the bridge of her nose, smoothing her worry lines. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” she says quietly and slips her hand into mine. “But right now I need a dance partner and you’re it.”

“What?” I’m already pulling my hand from hers when she tightens her grip and yanks.

“It’s my birthday. You can’t turn down a dance from the birthday girl, that’s just bad karma you don’t need.” Her teasing tone is back, but I see right through her.

She’s worried about me.

Shit. I don’t dance. Not anymore. But Jax wraps her arms around my shoulders and starts to sway back and forth. I can’t just leave her on the dance floor.

“Come on. One dance isn’t going to kill you.” She scowls at me.

With no way to escape without being a first-class douche, I circle my arms around her waist and pull her close.

“There. This isn’t so bad, is it?”

I glance down into her blue, tequila-hazed eyes and force a smile. Yes. It is that bad. The phantom aroma of citrus mixed with oil paints assaults me. E’s image swims in my mind, a paintbrush in her hand as she turns the sound up on her old-fashioned radio. Then she dances toward me, that perpetual lust-inducing spark glinting in her espresso-colored eyes. My fists clench and I want nothing more than to stalk back over to the bar and down shot after shot of throat-burning whiskey until the memories exploding around me are buried in the fog of mind-numbing alcohol. “No.”

She grins and presses her face to my chest.

Across the room, Derek raises a glass in my direction, saluting my misfortune. I glare back. Dick. I concentrate on the rasp in Lucy’s voice and let Jax lead in the body-hugging dance for the rest of the song.

As the last notes fade away, I kiss the top of her head. “Happy birthday, my friend.” Then I step out of her embrace and head directly to the bar, where Derek already has two shots of the sweet amber liquid waiting for me. Maybe he isn’t such a dick after all.

“Thanks,” I say and down the first shot, wincing from the bitter aftertaste.

“Cheers.” Derek raises his water in my direction, and I mimic the movement with the second shot.

This one goes down smoother, and although the buzz hasn’t started yet, I feel the tension easing from my shoulders. I spend the next forty minutes leaning against the bar, focused on Lucy and those fucking boots.

E never wore boots.

“Seth!” A petite blonde who looks vaguely familiar bounces over, waving vigorously. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight.” Her eyelids flutter as she smiles up at me coyly. “I would’ve worn that sexy red miniskirt you seem to like so much.”

Aw, shit. Carrie. Or was it Carly?

“Where’ve you been?” Her lower lip juts out in a pout as she turns into me, pressing her modest breasts into my ribs.

I actively work to keep myself from recoiling. She’s not unattractive. Not physically anyway. But the two dozen phone calls after the unfortunate one-night stand we’d had a few months ago was enough to make any man go into hibernation. “Hi.”

She laughs. “Is that all you have to say after everything we shared?”

“Uh…”

Lucy seems to materialize out of nowhere and places her hand on my arm. I hadn’t even noticed the band announce they were taking a break. But Mike is already a few feet away, talking to the bartender.

“Hey. Who’s your friend?” Lucy asks, lifting her dark hair off her neck to cool down after her performance.

I glance from her to Carrie… Carly.

The blonde stares at Lucy’s hand, which is still on my arm, and scowls. “I’m a close friend of Seth’s.”

Jesus. Close friend. More like stalker. I stiffen and shift closer to Lucy. Carly’s arm slips away, and before I know what’s happening, Lucy replaces her on my other side. I’m all too happy to drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her to my side. And damn if she doesn’t fit against me perfectly.

“Friend? My goodness, I don’t think my Seth has ever mentioned you.” Lucy’s tone is upbeat, nothing like the Lucy I met an hour ago. “Old friend?”

My Seth? Sweet Lord, she’s posing as my girlfriend. Now I really want to take her home and do all kinds of indecent things to her.

“We go way back,” Carly says in a flat voice. Her face is scrunched up, her nose twitching in agitation. She has the look of one of those nervous dogs that gets antsy around strangers. “But he’s never mentioned you.”

Lucy laughs as if she thinks Carly’s charming. “Well, you know Seth. He’s got the strong, silent type thing going on.”

Carly says nothing as she narrows her eyes at me, clearly trying to cut me down with that female death glare.

Lucy holds out her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name. I’m Lucy.”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, snapping out of my trance. “Lucy, this is Carly. We met—”

“It’s Cami, you ass.” My one-night stand is now seething and leaning forward on the balls of her feet with her hands fisted. I slept with this? I make a mental note to never drink again. Or at least limit my intake to something a few levels below plastered.

I take a step back, pulling Lucy with me. Cami might scratch my eyes out if she sees an opening. “Right. I meant Cami.” I smile at Lucy, trying to downplay the fact that I’m a complete idiot. No one’s buying it, though. Lucy tries to hide a snicker by twisting into me. She’s soft and smells of lime. My gaze travels to her lips, and we both freeze, caught in the moment.

Cami clears her throat, breaking our connection. She practically sneers at us and then turns and stomps across the bar, taking short, ridiculously slow steps on her impossibly high heels.

Laughing, Lucy pulls away, leaving an aching void beside me. I want to reach out and pull her back but clamp down on the impulse. “Jeez, Seth. You should’ve seen the look you had on your face.”

I pick up my beer and take a long drink. “Was I that obvious?”

“Only if you were wishing to disappear or contemplating the fastest getaway route.”

“Yep. Obvious.” I smile down at her, enjoying our exchange more than I care to admit. For the last year and a half, with the exception of my friendship with Jax, I’ve kept my female relationships on a purely physical level. Life is easier that way. “Thanks for the help.”

“You owe me.” She winks and lets Mike drag her back toward the stage.

I’m still staring at her ass when Jax reappears.

“Stop that.” She’s clutching the bar and her eyes are bloodshot.

“Stop what?” I ask.

“Devouring Lucy with your eyes.” She slurs the words and adds, “She’s off-limits.”

“Why? Her mate?” There’s an ache of disappointment in my chest that takes me completely off guard. Physical. That’s all it is. Lucy’s hot. And cool. And talented. And completely alluring. I could watch her perform for hours and be perfectly content.

Jax shakes her head and seems to sober a little. “She’s done with him. But she’s my best friend and you’re my other best friend. I can’t have her hating you when you don’t call the next day.”

I nod reluctantly and take another drink. She’s right. I won’t call, and we both know this as fact.

“Good.” Jax climbs up on the stool and pats the one next to her. “Sit. I’m going to save you from Cami. She’s over in the corner plotting fifty ways to remove your man bits.”

I choke, spraying my beer on the people standing in front of me. “What?”

The beer-covered couple turns and gives me a disgusted look.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“You heard me,” Jax says. “I’m sure it’s all talk, but I’ll be your buffer just in case she goes into stalker mode again.”

The music starts, so I give her a half-hug and say into her ear, “You’re the best.”

“I know.”

Lucy starts singing a Colbie Caillat song. The entire bar goes quiet, captivated by her singer-songwriter persona. Is there anything this girl can’t sing? Her voice is winding through me when Jax gasps and clutches my arm, her fingernails cutting into my skin. “Omigod!”

“What?” I follow her gaze to find her staring at a guy roughly our age standing just inside the front door. He’s staring at Lucy, a stormy expression on his face.

“Who the hell is that?” I growl from pure protectiveness. I can’t stand the way he’s eyeing her, as if he’s ready to drag her off the stage and stuff her in the trunk of his car.

Jax sucks in a breath. “Her ex, Cadan.”

Chapter Four

Lucy

As I’m strutting across the stage, microphone clutched in my hand, the allure of the stage grabs hold of me, filling my soul with joy. I imagine myself lit up, my eyes sparkling with happiness. It’s a state of being I haven’t experienced while singing for at least the past two years. Not since before Cadan and I started performing together, anyway. What we’d had was intense. Emotional. Draining in the best possible way. But that had been for the audience, not for me. Then Cadan had turned into a world-class bastard, tainting everything that was good about singing.

This feeling I have right now? It’s heady and intoxicating. Maybe even selfish. And I take it all in, loving every moment of it. The music winds through me, and as I scan the crowd, I settle my gaze on Seth. He’s tracking me with those smoldering eyes. It only takes one look to know what he’s thinking. I feed off his hunger, giving it right back to him through my throaty rendition of “Body and Soul” by Tori Amos.

I can see he’s talking to Jax, but his gaze never wavers from mine. My worldview narrows, and though the bar is full of people, I’m singing to just him. I’m taken to another dimension, completely lost in the music. Lost in Seth—the sexy stranger I’m uncharacteristically drawn to.

My body vibrates with excitement and my heart hammers against my ribs. I’m painfully aware I’m moments from being pulled completely under his spell, lost once again to the attraction of a man.

No. Not this time. I tear my gaze away and focus on the crowd closest to the stage. The joy comes flooding back with the pulse of the music and I give them everything I have.

But as the last notes of the song fade away, my attention is pulled back to Seth. Jax is clutching his arm, smiling in my direction. Good, she’s enjoying herself. This is supposed to be for her after all.

I’m halfway through an acoustic number when Jax tears away from Seth, heading directly for the door. She pushes through the crowd, and I lose sight of her for a moment. What is she doing? I glance back at Seth. He’s scowling, staring after her. Then the crowd parts, and I finally see what everyone else does.

Cadan.

My entire body goes numb and the mic slips from my hand. I barely notice the loud screech when it tumbles to the stage.

“Lucy?” Mike touches my elbow. “You okay?”

I give him a tiny shake of my head, my eyes wide in shock. What the hell is Cadan doing here? He’s supposed to be on tour in Colorado. And how did he know where to find me? Jax wouldn’t have said anything to him. And I hadn’t told anyone else he knows I’m singing tonight. No one except my mother.

Shit. Dammit. Son of… Why can’t she leave well enough alone?

“No,” I say to Mike. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. Now.” Without waiting for a response, I stalk across the stage and into the back, rubbing my suddenly goose-pimpled arms.

“Lucy!” Mike follows me. “What’s wrong?”

I spin and nearly fall over. Jesus. I’m perfectly fine strutting around stage in these suicide boots, but once I’m just regular Lucy, all my coordination flies out the window. “It’s Cadan. My ex. I can’t see him. Not tonight. I have to go.”

“Cadan Kinx?” His eyes go wide with wonder the way every other wannabe rocker’s do when they finally meet the famous Cadan.

“Shit,” I say again. “Yes. Go out there and stall him. You can even say I sent you. That will get him talking.” Anything to give me a few minutes to escape.

He glances at the door and then back to me, clearly unsure of what to do.

“Go!” I push him toward the door leading back into the bar.

“What’s going on?” Teo asks as he bounds into the dressing room, still holding his guitar. Justin, our drummer, follows him, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets.

“You’re going out there to stall Cadan,” I say, pushing Teo after Mike. “Tell him I’ll be out in a few minutes.

“Will you?” Justin asks, eyeing me with a quiet intelligence.

“Hell, no.” The tears start to burn my eyes. Why did he have to show up and ruin everything? I’d been happy. Normal even, for the first time since I left him at that hotel three months ago. I steel myself. I will not cry over Cadan. Not tonight. I’m done with that. Done letting him prey on my emotions. Mate or not, I cut him out of my life and no way am I letting him back in.

Teo runs a hand over the spikes of his stiff, gelled hair and nods. “You got it.” He’s already striding out the door when Mike and Justin turn and follow him.

I don’t hesitate. I don’t even go into the bar to get my coat. I’d rather freeze in the December air than have to talk to Cadan. One of two things will happen. Either we’ll have a huge fight that will end in me screaming at him again, or he’ll give me a sob story and try to convince me to do one more show. Neither is on my agenda. I wrap my arms around my torso and use my hip to push open the back door.

The chilly wind assaults me and my teeth instantly start chattering. Oh my God. In my haste, I forgot my keys. Jax has them. Not that I should be driving anyway. I’ve had way too many tequila shots and margaritas.

Marty. Is he even here yet? I glance at the thin wristwatch on my right arm. Crap. No, he isn’t due for another hour. I press against the side of the building and glance up and down the street. The small town is pretty much boarded up for the night. Only the bar is open. I start walking. Jax’s house is in town, but it’s a good three miles up the main highway. Not exactly a prime walking path.

I glance across the street at the dark Pacific Ocean, nostalgic for the time before I’d ever met Cadan. Then I tuck my head down and run toward the nearest cross street, praying I don’t break an ankle.

“Lucy!” a deep voice calls over the noise of the ocean churning against the rocks.

I stop mid-run and turn to stare at Seth. “What are you doing out here?” I stammer, my lips already frozen.

He runs to catch up with me and holds out my coat.

“Oh!” I grasp it and hug it to my body and then quickly slide my arms into the heavenly wool. “Did Jax send you?”

He nods and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I take two steps for every one of his, trying to keep up.

“There’s a place a few blocks from here where we can get out of the cold until Marty comes for you.” He turns and pulls me down a side street and out of the wind.

“Thank you,” I say with a relieved sigh.

He quirks an eyebrow and his lips turn up in a sexy half smile. “I owe you one, remember?”

The sound of his quiet, self-assured tone makes my insides go all tingly. I have a thing for confident men with rough voices. Cadan, while oozing more confidence than is warranted, has a smooth, clear-as-a-bell voice that’s perfect for hitting all the right notes but lacks something in the gritty-and-sexy department.

“Right,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting to collect so soon.”

We make a left on the next street and head down closer to the shoreline. Finally we stop at a white, plank-sided house. I glance up and gasp. On what I assume is the third floor is a glass studio with a bird’s-eye view of the ocean. “You live here?”

“It’s my sister’s place. She’s out of town.” He doesn’t say any more, just unlocks the door and shuffles me inside. Warmth envelops me, and I stand there in the cheery yellow kitchen, waiting for my nose to defrost.

Seth shrugs out of his coat and reaches for mine, but I wrap it closer around my body. “Not yet,” I say. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“I’ll turn the heat up.” He disappears into the next room, leaving me standing next to a fully stocked bar area. The granite counter and dark wood cabinet don’t match the white cupboards and seem out of place in the country-style kitchen. Total bachelor move. But didn’t he say this is his sister’s place?

“Hey!” I call. “Does she have any coffee?”

“The beans are in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Now that I’m slowly regaining feeling in my limbs, I move toward the refrigerator and note my buzz has all but worn off. Between my performance, the panic of seeing Cadan, and my foray into the arctic December winds of Mendocino, my metabolism has done a stellar job of working its way through all that tequila. Fortunately, when I open the door and find the Colombian roast beans, a bottle of Kahlúa stares back at me. “The hell with it.”

I grab the bottle then make short work of grinding the beans and starting the coffee. While I wait for Seth to return, I fill my mug with the Colombian blend and top it off with the Kahlúa. Then I sit at a round breakfast-nook table, sipping away as I stare at the full moon shining over the Pacific. Finally I’m warm enough that I shrug out of my jacket.

Seth comes in holding a pair of thick wool socks. He eyes the rum liqueur on the table and chuckles.

“I’ll replace it,” I say, biting my lip. “I just needed something to take the edge off.”

His amused smile fades, replaced by that smoldering look he’s been giving me the entire night. My cheeks burn and I know I’m turning multiple shades of red.

“Understandable,” he says.

I scramble up from my chair and hurry over to the coffeepot. Without asking, I grab another cup for him and fill it with the Colombian roast. I refill mine halfway, leaving room for more alcohol. I’m not going to get through this night sober. At least, not easily. I hold his mug up to him. “Do you take anything in it?”

He gestures to the bottle on the table. “That’s fine.”

I smile as I join him, and he doctors his drink before eyeing mine. “Half and half?” he asks.

“Yes.” I don’t even blink. “It’s been a rough night.”

“No doubt.”

I sit with my hands wrapped around the cup and try to look at anything except him. Not that it matters. His image is burned into my brain after spending the last hour or so staring at him from the stage. He’s tall. Six feet, maybe. Broad shoulders. Narrow waist. Angular jaw. Slightly wavy, multi-streaked, bronze-colored hair. Those vibrant tattoos climbing up both arms. And eyes so vibrant green they almost glow. Yeah. No need to look at him. I do anyway.

“You’re thinking about something,” he says. He’s contemplative, trying to figure me out, but he doesn’t ask me to share.

I eye the gray socks now lying next to his cup. They’re about twice as big as mine would be. “Are you going to put those on?”

He laughs. “They’re for you.”

“Really? Do they belong to your sister’s boyfriend or something?” No girl I know wears socks that big. My toes curl in longing, but I can’t wear the socks of some dude I don’t even know. Drinking his sister’s booze is one thing. Stealing her boyfriend’s clothes is entirely another.

Seth shakes his head. “They’re mine. I’ve been known to keep a few things here just in case.”

“Ahh.” So they are smelly man socks. Except they look really warm and cozy. And my feet are starting to ache.

“They’re new.”

“Really?”

“No. But I thought that would make them sound more appealing.” He gets up, grabs the coffeepot, and refills our mugs. “They are clean, though.”

My lips twitch and I reach for the socks but don’t move to put them on. I’m too busy watching Seth’s back muscles ripple through his black T-shirt as he returns the coffeepot to the counter.

“This is a great place,” I say. “I’d kill to see the view from the top floor.”

Seth stiffens. He turns slowly, his face set in a stormy expression.

I jerk, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. “Sorry. I just love cool spaces. I didn’t mean to imply you should traipse me around your sister’s house. Forget I said anything.”

He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath. “No. I’m sorry. It’s… that space is private. No one goes up there.”

“Yeah, sure. No need to explain.” I glance at the clock. “When is Marty coming again?”

He moves to the bar and pulls out a full bottle of Crown Royal. “We have about forty minutes. Want something a little stronger?”

I shouldn’t, but I nod anyway. Anything to numb the barrage of emotions I’m keeping buried so deep it physically hurts to breathe. I don’t want to see Cadan. Or talk to him. But I can’t deny the connection we have. It will never go away. He has a piece of me, even though I desperately wish he didn’t. Then there’s this strong attraction I have for Seth. I’ve just barely met him, and yet I don’t want to leave this place. Don’t want to leave without finding out what’s under that T-shirt.

Oh my God. What am I thinking? I nod to the Crown Royal. “Got anything to mix with that?”

Seth scans the contents of the fridge. “Whiskey Sour?”

“Works for me.” I slip out of my chair, meaning to move to Seth’s side, but the pocket of my coat starts to buzz, making me jump. I fumble for the phone, drop it, and scramble to scoop it up. It’s Jax. “Hello?” I say, breathless.

“Where are you?” she demands. Beyoncé is singing in the background.

“Seth’s. Didn’t you send him after me?”

She’s quiet, and I listen to Beyoncé singing about putting a ring on it.

“Jax? Did I lose you?”

She clears her throat. “How did you get there? Derek is his DD and he’s still here.” Her tone is serious. Accusing.

“Oh sorry. We’re at his sister’s house. We walked.”

More silence. This time I wait her out.

“Lucy?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you mean the white house a few blocks away? The one with the incredible views of the ocean?”

I glance at Seth, who’s casting me a quizzical look. “How many sisters do you have?”

“Two. Why?”

“No reason.” I turn my attention back to Jax. “Sounds right.” I want to mention the third floor, but don’t because of Seth’s earlier reaction. “We’re hanging out in the kitchen, waiting for Marty.”

“He’s not coming.” She’s super pissed. I can tell by the way she’s clipping her words.

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Her brother is such an ass sometimes. “How does he expect us to get home?”

“That’s what I asked. But no. He’s going out with some skank from his job instead.”

“Asshole.”

“Marty?” Seth asks.

“Who else?” I roll my eyes. The guy’s reputation precedes him.

“And there’s no one coming to give you a ride home?” Seth asks me.

“Right.”

He holds his hand out for the phone. When I don’t respond right away, he waves his fingers in a give-it-here motion. “Lucy… please.”

I reluctantly hand over my phone.

“Put Derek on,” Seth says as he walks into the other room.

“Hey!” I stride after him and grimace. My limbs are stiff from bouncing around onstage in my boots.

“Is he gone?” I hear Seth ask. “Just hang out until he leaves. Then you two can come by to pick up Lucy.” Another pause. “No. I’m fine here. … Yes, I’m sure.”

He turns around and doesn’t seem surprised to see me eavesdropping. He hands the phone back to me.

“Jax?”

“I’m here.”

“I’m sorry about your birthday.” My voice quavers and I wonder if I’m more drunk than I think I am.

“Are you kidding? It’s the best birthday. I got to see you back up on that stage. And you rocked it, girl. But we’ll talk about that later.”

“Okay.” I tug at the hem of my skirt nervously. When I’m onstage, something happens to me. A confidence I don’t normally possess overtakes me. But the minute I step off, I transform into Lucy, the bundle of nerves.

“I’ll see you soon. Right after Cadan leaves, we’ll come get you.”

A pit forms in my stomach. “He’s still there?”

“Yeah. Soaking up all the attention. Plus, I think he’s hoping you’ll come back.”

I snort. “I think you were right with the first guess.”

She laughs. “Probably. See you soon.”

The line goes dead and I’m saved from listening to the Madonna song that replaced Beyoncé. She’s probably right. Cadan does expect me to come back. I always have before. It’s that soul-mate connection. The pull of the two souls born for each other. But he’s battered my heart one too many times. He can stay there all damn night for all I care.

Something cold is pressed into my hand. I grab the whiskey sour and down half of it before I meet Seth’s eyes. There’s something painful and moving in his expression.

He raises his glass to mine. “To right now.”

The heavy weight on my heart doesn’t lessen, but it shifts enough that I smile and clink my glass against his. “To right now.”

We both sip, eyes still locked, then drain our glasses together. I slowly lower my glass to the table, mesmerized by his intense understanding. He knows what it’s like to live without a mate. And right now, I need someone who gets that.

Before my brain tells me otherwise, I step forward and grab him by that deliciously tight T-shirt. His gaze shifts to my lips as he waits for me to finish what I started.

My breathing turns shallow with undeniable lust.

“Lucy.” His tone is low, almost a growl.

In answer, I wrap one hand around his neck, reach up, and press my lips to his.

Chapter Five

Lucy

Oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m kissing Seth. The guy who is not Cadan. Seth’s arms come around me and he pulls me close, molding me against his body. He’s warm and solid, and all I want to do is wrap myself around him. Tingling with pleasure, I let out a contented sigh.

Seth sucks in a breath and moans as I slip my tongue against his. He ducks down a bit, buries his fingers in my short hair, and deepens the kiss as our tongues tangle in frenzy. He tastes faintly of coffee and cream. I can’t get enough. And neither can he. His hands shift to my waist, and he lifts me up, spinning me until my back is against the closed kitchen door. My legs instinctively curl around his hips.

He pulls back just a bit and smiles against my lips.

“What?” I ask through the fuzzy haze of alcohol, running my hands over the slope of his shoulders.

“I’ve been imagining this since you first walked away from me at the bar.”

“This?” I wrap a hand around his neck and press my lips to his once more, kissing him as if our joining is as important to my survival as breathing. He matches the kiss with a fervor of his own, nipping and biting at my lower lip.

This scene had been flashing in my mind while I’d been singing to him, but I hadn’t thought I’d actually go through with it. I’m not the type of girl to randomly make out with a perfect stranger. But I can’t help myself. Hunger and longing consume me from the inside out. Rational thought flees and all I want is to touch and to be touched in every possible way. I lose myself in the physical act of our connection. My mind shuts down and all I do is feel. Feel his hand slipping lower on my hip. Feel his hot lips trail kisses down my neck, his teeth scraping over my pulse, and the heat pooling between my thighs.

Seth is holding me up with one arm while running his fingers over my bare leg. I close my eyes and press closer, my limbs quivering with anticipation.

“Jesus, Lucy,” Seth says in a rough voice as his hand cups my ass. “You’re killing me here.”

I pull back and gaze into his hooded eyes, so full of desire I wonder how he’s holding himself back. “Killing you?”

He nods and steps back, slowly extracting me from his body. My feet land lightly on the tiled floor. A chill washes over me, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep his heat from fading away.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

He glances to the wall and nods at the clock. “Derek will be here before we know it. We probably don’t want to be… uh… in a compromising position when he gets here.”

Heat burns my cheeks and I bite down on my lower lip. He’s still staring at me, his gaze traveling from my mouth to the hem of my skirt. Good God, I’ve never been so hot in my entire life. The way the muscles in his forearms flex with tension as his hands ball into tight fists and the fact that he appears to be straining to keep from touching me gives me all the courage I need.

I smile and pull out my phone. I tap in a message and then raise an eyebrow at him. “If I hit Send, I’ll have to stay over. What do you say?” I can’t believe I’m actually standing here, propositioning Seth for a sleepover.

He frowns and takes another step away from me. The heavy weight of rejection settles over my chest. Shit! Had I totally misread the situation? Maybe he’s not that into me. More likely, he’s used to a few hours of pleasure and then a quick send-off. No muss, no fuss. Ugh. What had I been thinking? Of course he doesn’t want a random person inviting herself to stay over. Idiot.

I set my phone on the counter, disappointment eating away at the delicious ache he’d ignited in me. “I see,” I say. “Okay then.” Sidestepping, I move to grab my empty coffee cup and the whiskey. The Kahlúa isn’t going to cut it if I’m going to make it through the rest of the night.

The clatter of my boots against the tile fills the silence as I move, trying to get as far away from Seth as possible. I’m halfway to the coffeepot when Seth’s hand wraps around my wrist. I spin, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but he’s got my phone in the other hand, holding it up. My message to Jax is highlighted in green, marking it as sent.

“What…?” I don’t even know what I’m asking him. Why did he send the message? Does this mean he’s expecting me to sleep with him? Because after that awkward exchange, I’m no longer interested in falling into bed with him. The moment has passed.

My phone buzzes with a response from Jax. L, whaat teh hell? R U being stoopid?

I laugh at her drunk typing. Clearly her autocorrect is turned off. Before I can type in a message, another comes through.

Jusst ass weel. Tooo drunk to remmemeber anthying. C U timmorow.

I stare at the phone. She’s way too far gone to be coherent if I call. Now I don’t know what to do. If she manages to tell Derek I’m staying, he won’t be coming for me. She probably will. She’s chatty when she’s drunk. Chances are slim to none that I’ll have a ride to anywhere before morning.

“So that’s settled?” Seth, still holding my wrist, gently pulls me toward him until our lips are inches apart.

I lick mine and immediately regret it when he grips my hips possessively and yanks me the rest of the way to him.

“Whoa.” I put a hand against his chest and gently push him away.

His brow creases as he frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say automatically. Liar. Everything’s wrong. Ten minutes ago, I was ready to give myself to this guy. And yet the expression on his face when I suggested sleeping over was one of pure panic. He didn’t want me to stay. That was obvious, but clearly his desire for easy sex had won out. Now I have to deal with the mess I just made.

He laughs and stuffs his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “If you say so.”

“I say so.” My voice is low, unsure.

Seth studies me. After a moment, he holds out his hand. “I’d like to show you something.”

I stare at his outstretched hand, then look up, finding desire still lurking in his eyes, but it’s shadowed by something calmer, something closer to curiosity. “Can I take my coffee with me?”

His lips twitch with humor. “It’s almost a requirement.”

“Good.” I sweep back to the coffeepot, refill both our mugs, and before I can ask, Seth has the Kahlúa in one hand and the whiskey in the other.

He shifts his gaze between the two. “Got a preference?”

My gaze lingers on the hand holding the Kahlúa, the hand that had been sneaking its way under my skirt, then moves to the whiskey. I could definitely use a shot, but if I’m going to be shut up in this house with Seth and all the sexual tension still sparking between us, I need to keep the hard stuff to a minimum. “Kahlúa, please.”

The whiskey slips to the counter with a soft thump. “Ready?”

“For what?”

He grins. “You’ll see.” His free hand lands lightly on the small of my back as he guides me through the kitchen and toward the adjoining room. We walk through the door into a poppy-colored room, rich in red accents. It’s a color explosion and totally unexpected. Bright yellow pillows line the red couch. Silk fuchsia scarves hang from rods over the picture window in a messy, casual style, and everything about the room screams vibrant and full of life. I could happily stay here for the rest of the night. But Seth continues, and we enter another door into a room lined with natural wood. A large, widescreen TV fills one wall. Directly across from it sits a black leather couch. If it weren’t for the kitchen and the living room, I’d swear the house was inhabited by a bachelor. Because this is a man cave if I’ve ever seen one.

“Have a seat,” Seth says and sets the Kahlúa on the table.

I tuck my feet under me, curling into the corner while Seth opens one of the doors on a large cherrywood entertainment cabinet. Blu-ray movies stacked tightly together fill all three rows. He turns and eyes the cabinet. “What are you in the mood for?”

You. But I don’t say that. Not two minutes ago, I decided nothing would happen between us. I push it aside. If I can just get through the next eight or so hours until Jax is sober enough to rescue me, I’ll be fine. The alcohol will have left my system, along with all the inappropriate thoughts I’m having right now. Like what it would feel like to have his weight pressing down on me as my hands explore the planes of his back muscles flexing under my fingertips.

“Lucy?” Seth asks. His eyes crinkle with worry. Or is that suspicion?

“Sorry. Um, anything really. Except slasher flicks. I’m not really in the right frame of mind for cheesy B-movie gore.”

His lips turn up in a half smile. “Do you normally watch slasher films?”

I shrug. “Sometimes. They’re funny when I’m in the mood.”

“Good to know.” He scans the movies for a few seconds. Then he pulls one from each shelf. “Pick one.”

I’m not all that caught up on current movies. While on tour with Cadan, we’d spent most of our spare time writing lyrics and rewatching long-running TV series. Stuff that didn’t take too much brainpower or require a lot of attention, so I don’t recognize any of the choices he offers. One of them stars my favorite actor, Wes Chadwick, so I just point to that one. “Once Again.”

Seth puts the other two down, glances at the back of the movie case, and frowns. “Really?”

I laugh. “Dude, you’re the one who gave me the choice. Suck it up and put the movie on.” At this point, I’d rather do anything other than stare at him. My body is growing warm again and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

He glances down at me. “Have you seen this before?”

“No. I’m painfully out of date on current movies, but I like Wes Chadwick. He was absolute perfection in the remake of Casablanca. So I figure even if I don’t like the movie, at least the acting will be good.”

He stares blankly at me for a moment and then shakes his head as if to pull himself out of a trance. “Fair enough. Once Again it is.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Have you?”

“No. I pulled it out because it didn’t look familiar. Now I know why.”

“Romantic comedy?” There’s laughter in my voice.

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like I’m doomed by my own stupidity.”

“I’m sure you’ll live through it. If not, there’s always more alcohol.” What is it with men and romantic comedies? Do they think watching two fictional people work out their issues for an hour and a half means some sort of commitment?

The movie starts and Seth sits a few feet from me on the couch, his mug in one hand and the Kahlúa in the other.

“Do you think you might need the whiskey?” I say, teasing him.

“Probably. But I’ll stick with this for now.”

A soulful, gut-wrenching melody fills the room with the opening credits. The scene flashes to a graveside service. Yikes. I thought he’d said this was a romantic comedy.

My phone vibrates on the side table where I’d dropped it. This should be good. Drunk Jax. She doesn’t drink often, but when she does, the entertainment is priceless. I know because since I’ve been away, every time she gets even a little tipsy she blows up my phone.

I’m about to hit Accept when I notice the caller. Cadan.

Chapter Six

Seth

Lucy stiffens as she stares at her phone. She seems paralyzed and worry lines crease her brow. It can’t be anything other than bad news with that look on her face.

I can’t help myself. I reach for the phone, intending to intercept whatever it is that’s waiting for her on the other end, but she grabs it at the last second and punches the Decline button, abruptly making the vibration stop.

“Sorry,” she says. “It was Cadan. I changed my number a month ago. He probably managed to steal Jax’s phone long enough to get it. No one else has it. Not even my mother.”

“Why not?” I can’t imagine a scenario in which I wouldn’t hand over my number to my own mother. Even in the horrific days after the accident, when I’d pushed everyone else away, I’d always taken Mom’s calls, if for no other reason than to keep her from worrying so much. She’d been hurting too, everyone had been, but I couldn’t stand to be the one to cause her more pain. The familiar ache throbs just below my breastbone and it takes me a moment to push past it. The therapist had said this would get easier. He’d lied.

Lucy lowers her gaze to the phone in her hand. “She’d just give it to Cadan the first time he called her.”

“Really?” I say incredulously. “Even if you ask her not to?”

“Yeah.” Her brilliant blue eyes are ablaze with anger when she looks up. “Mom is a firm believer in sticking with your fated one no matter what happens. Never mind if he’s a cheater and a thief. We’re soul mates. Therefore I should forgive anything, ’cause we’re meant to be.”

“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair and glance at the television, not sure what to say to that. Immense relief washes over me as I realize the funeral scene has ended. The movie has progressed to a year later, and the main character has stopped grieving. She’s out with her girlfriends for a Sunday brunch, drinking mimosas while her friends try to talk her into signing up for an Internet-dating site.

“Exactly,” Lucy says. She places her phone on the table and it immediately starts vibrating again. This time she doesn’t hesitate. With one quick glance, she declines the call and closes her eyes.

“Will he keep trying?” Because if he does, I’m going to have to go back to that bar and beat the shit out of her ex. Maybe break his dialing finger. That would be satisfying. Not only would he maybe get the message, but he’d also be unable to play that slick guitar of his for a few months.

“Probably.” She gets up and heads for the kitchen. “Does your sister have any food? I’m feeling a little nauseated.”

I’m surprised it’s taken this long, considering she’s had a variety of different kinds of booze. But she doesn’t really even appear to be tipsy anymore. Maybe it’s just her ex that’s upsetting her. That and the mom talk. I jump up. “I’m sure we can find something.”

Her phone buzzes again, but she doesn’t even look back. I glare at it and contemplate throwing it against the wall. But then Lucy would likely take out all that barely suppressed anger on me. And right now, I want to be the one who comforts her. Panic trickles into my brain. Careful, Seth. That sounds a lot like giving a shit.

“Coming?” Lucy asks from the other room.

“Yeah,” I choke out and follow her. Once in the kitchen, I pull open the fridge and scan the contents. “We’ve got leftover pizza, Chinese, an enchilada, or I can make pasta.” I open the cupboard and gesture to a row of ramen noodles.

“Pasta?” She shakes her head, her eyes full of mock pity. “Top Ramen is not pasta. That stuff has its place, especially when we’re talking hangovers, but don’t try to dress it up. It is what it is.”

Pleasure winds into that ache that never goes away. I freeze, staring at her with wonder, but thank God she’s too busy pulling plates out of one of the glass-front cabinets to notice. Not one person in the past two years has been able to even come close to affecting me this deeply. I’m both awed by her and undeniably resentful. That place was reserved for E. Not this wounded singer who would likely get back together with her ex given enough time. Most people, once they meet their soul mates, never find happiness with another. She’ll be no different. Someday that ass, Kinx, will come to his senses and she’ll forgive him.

“How long has your sister been away?” Lucy asks as she spies the chicken fried rice. “Or do her eating habits mirror those of a man who wouldn’t know a vegetable if it bit him in the ass?”

“My sister?” I ask before I can process what she’s said. Oh, right. “About a week or so. But I’ve been here off and on.” I grab the rice from her and point to a green onion. “There’s a vegetable.”

She leans over and eyes the onion. “How old is it?”

“A few days, I think.”

“You think? Are you willing to risk the certain vomit if it’s gone bad?”

“What are you talking about?” I make a show of sniffing the rice as I hold in laughter. I’d seen my parents have a version of this same conversation a dozen times before. “It’s fine.”

She purses her lips, then pulls out the other two containers of Chinese food. “All right, but if I lose it, you’re holding my hair back.”

Her dark glossy hair shimmers in the kitchen light, and I have to remind myself I don’t have the right to run my hands through it. No matter how much I want to right now.

“Deal?” she asks, turning around.

“Deal.” I lose the battle and brush a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. Her body jerks with a tiny shiver that elicits a response from deep inside me. The desire to lift her into my arms and carry her upstairs hits me hard in the gut.

Our eyes lock. I forget everything but the vulnerability shining back at me. Shit. What am I doing? This is not me. Not anymore. I don’t do relationships. And this? The undeniable protectiveness I seem to feel for this girl feels entirely too much like something more than a one-night stand. I drop my hand and take a step back. “Go on back to the den. I’ll heat this up and bring it in.”

She narrows her eyes at me and gives me a look that makes me think she sees right through me.

I shift under the uncomfortable scrutiny of her gaze.

Then she blinks and turns back to the fridge. She grabs a Diet Coke, the one Lillian, my sister, left among the regular ones. “See you in a few,” she says, heading back out of the kitchen.

Her hips sway and my eyes stay glued to her rising hemline. Christ. She’s intentionally trying to kill me. Damn that skirt.

Five minutes later with two steaming plates of Chinese food, I rejoin her in the den. She’s curled up on her end of the couch, fidgeting with her phone. It’s buzzing, but she makes no move to answer it.

I set the plates of food on the table and gently pull the phone from her fingers. “Are you expecting an important call?”

She shakes her head, sadness haunting her expression. Anger vibrates through me. Cadan Kinx. He’s the bastard who’s responsible for the look in her striking eyes. It takes every last bit of strength to not stalk over to the bar and pound my fist into his pansy-ass face. Fucking dick.

I power her phone down. “If you’re not going to answer, it’s probably better to just turn it off. No need to torture yourself.”

“But what about Jax? What if she needs us?” Her voice is small, as if she isn’t sure of anything in this moment.

I pull my phone from my back pocket and tap out a text to Jax, letting her know if she needs Lucy to call me. “Is this okay?”

Lucy takes the phone from my outstretched hand. “She’s going to think something’s going on.”

Neither of us says anything. There is something definitely going on, but would either of us act on it? “She’s a big girl,” I say. “Besides, she’s either too drunk to care or she’s already home asleep.”

“True.” Lucy leans back into the couch and closes her eyes. “I can’t believe how tired I am all of a sudden.”

I hit Send and sink into the couch, closer to her this time.

Her eyes fly open, clearly surprised I’ve invaded some of her personal space. If she isn’t careful, I’m going to invade a whole lot more of it. Given half the chance, I’ll do my best to get her mind off that douche mate of hers. At least for a few hours, anyway.

“Eat.” I hand her a plate and take the other for myself.

She smiles, and though she isn’t exactly the sassy, confident singer she’d been earlier in the night, the tension has drained from her face. Her muscles relax as if she’s settling in for the night. She looks comfortable.

I try to ignore how content the scene makes me. It’s temporary. She’s only relaxing because she has a safe haven for the night. Tomorrow she’ll be gone, and so will all the alcohol-induced feelings. Except I’m painfully aware I’m not all that drunk. And neither is she.

She picks up the remote and restarts the movie. She must have stopped and reset it because it starts up roughly where it was when we first left the room. We eat in silence as we watch the protagonist go on date after date, chronicling all her disasters on a blog. She has quite the following before Wes Chadwick calls her to do an interview for a national news outlet about dating after you’ve lost your soul mate.

I cringe and glance at Lucy, desperate to turn this shit off. Everyone knows it’s next to impossible to find a love match after you’ve met your mate. This movie only serves to torture us into thinking there’s a second chance at love. Right. No one can compare to E and everything she was, everything that we were. I take Lucy’s discarded plate and my own. “I’ll be right back.”

She picks up the remote and glances at me, her eyes too bright. This movie is the worst pick ever. But she chose it. “Do you want me to pause it?”

“No,” I say more sharply than I mean to. “It’s fine.” Once back in the kitchen, I take my time rinsing the plates and wiping down the counter, which isn’t even dirty. After twenty minutes go by, I have no choice but to return to the movie from hell. I search the fridge for another Diet Coke for Lucy and finally find one in the very back. How long had that been there? Months probably. That case of regular Coke was left over from the surprise birthday party Lillian had tried to throw eight weeks ago. That had ended in a shouting match between us and we haven’t spoken much since.

Damn her. Why hadn’t she just listened to me when I’d said no celebration? I’d ended up in a cheap bar in Leggett and had woken up next to that girl Cami, who’d already mentally moved to Mendocino. At some point she’d managed to extract my number from my cell phone while I’d been asleep. In the end, I’d had to change my number just to get rid of her. In my mind, the fiasco was all Lillian’s fault. I never would have left town if she’d just left everything well enough alone.

The house is really quiet as I move back to the den. There are no voices or background music filtering through the house. Has she paused the movie again? I tense. I cannot watch that crap any longer. I stride into the den, determined to stop the movie, but it’s already off.

Lucy stands and holds out a hand to me.

I place the Diet Coke on the table. “That’s for you.”

“Thanks,” she whispers and moves closer. Her fingers brush my arm and slide down to twine with my fingers. I want to pull away, but at the same time, I can’t force myself to do it. Her touch is too soft, too comforting, too everything.

“What happened to the movie?” Why did I ask that? I don’t give a shit about that movie. In fact, I’m going to smash the Blu-ray into little bits as soon as humanly possible.

She places her free hand on my cheek and trails her fingers across my jawline. “I don’t think either of us was enjoying it.”

I don’t respond. I’m too busy trying to breathe. Her touch is light, tantalizing, and I want her more than I’ve wanted anything… anyone… in the past eighteen months. The emotional turmoil spilling through me, the guilt, the want, the need, it’s all more than I can handle. I know I need to step away from this girl. Leave. Walk out of her life.

But then she rises up on her tiptoes. “Seth,” she says and presses her lips to mine.

Chapter Seven

Lucy

That damn movie. Why had I picked it again? Oh yeah. Wes Chadwick. However, not even Wes’s startling eyes and gorgeous body are compelling enough to keep me watching. People lose their soul mates all the time. Whoever wrote this movie clearly had been trying to explore some wish fulfillment. It doesn’t happen twice. Everyone knows that. The best you can hope for is some sort of contentment with a person you like well enough to hang out with on a regular basis.

But that all-encompassing love? You only get it once. Pretending it exists outside of the one is asking for disappointment.

I grab the remote and push buttons until the screen goes blank. There’s no way I’m going to continue to subject Seth to such an awful movie. The despair written all over his face as he left with the plates is too much to bear. My heart breaks for him. Jax told me he’d lost his girlfriend in a horrific accident. He hadn’t walked away like I did. Even though it was my choice, I’m still suffering. I don’t know what’s worse: feeling like half a person or losing myself completely in Cadan’s bullshit.

The longer Seth’s gone, the more I start to resent the movie for putting that look in his eyes. I’m oddly protective of this guy, and I don’t know why. Maybe because he’s been so kind to me. Maybe because he’s Jax’s friend. Or maybe it’s because of the way he made me melt when he had his hands all over me.

When Seth finally returns, his jaw is set with barely contained tension. I stand and hold out a hand to him as he sets down a Diet Coke, then I move closer and lace my fingers with his.

He notices the television and turns curious eyes on me. “What happened to the movie?”

Seeing him standing there, filling the space so completely, yet appearing vulnerable and unsure of what to do next, propels me into action. I run my fingertips over his jaw and give a vague response about neither of us enjoying the flick.

At my touch, the uncertainty in his eyes vanishes, replaced by molten desire.

I rise up on my tiptoes. “Seth…”

Our lips meet and it’s all heat and fire and raw passion. His hands slip into my hair and tighten, holding me to him in that incredibly sexy, gentle but possessive way.

God, I want him. More than I would’ve thought possible. He tastes salty and sweet, and I can’t get enough. His faint, spicy, masculine scent wraps around me, entrancing me, inviting me closer. I press my chest against his and almost gasp at the rough caress of fabric against my hardened nipples. The halter-style dress wasn’t exactly made for bra wearing, so I’d skipped it altogether.

“Lucy,” Seth whispers between kisses, his voice rough, full of all the desire I crave.

“Hmm.” I moan back as he nips at my neck.

One arm wraps around my waist and he tugs me closer, pressing his groin into me. He’s already rock hard. The knowledge sends heat between my thighs. My fingers itch to free him from his jeans, to demand he take me right here and now. Instead, I curl my fists into his shirt and hold on as his mouth works its way from my neck to my exposed collarbone.

“You taste like vanilla frosting,” he murmurs against me and tilts my head farther to the side for better access. “It’s making me crazy.”

“Thank God,” I say, breathless.

He lifts his head, his eyes pinning me with their intensity, before he bends and presses his lips to the swell of my breast. The shock of his hot tongue against my exposed cleavage sends me whirling. I shift my hips against his, trying desperately to get closer. I want to feel every inch of him as he works his tongue lower.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs and lifts his head. Holding my gaze, he glides his hands up over my arms to my shoulders and stops at the base of my neck, gently holding the tie of my halter. He watches me, silently asking for my permission.

I answer by slipping my hands under his black T-shirt. When my fingers touch the hard expanse of his warm chest, he sucks in a breath and slowly tugs. The tie comes undone easily. My halter slips down to my waist, exposing me to him. His eyes stay locked on mine for a truly tantalizing moment of self-torture. I bite my bottom lip and shift my gaze to my chest.

Look at me. Touch me, I mentally beg. If he doesn’t, I’m going to combust where I stand.

As if he’s heard my silent pleas, he gently cups my breasts, running his thumbs over my overly sensitive nipples. My breasts are instantly heavy with lust and craving. I tug his shirt over his head and slide my hands down, trailing them along the indent of his V-line between his waist and hips.

He shivers slightly. Oh, how I want to make him do that over and over again. Tattoos cover both arms and his right shoulder. I want to stop and study each one, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He gently pinches my right nipple, and now I’m the one shivering. He kneads the tip until I gasp and then dips his head down, catching the left one between his teeth.

“Oh God.” I moan, digging my fingers into his hips. Sparks of pleasure and pain ripple through me as he nibbles and scrapes his teeth over my taut peaks.

Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers are fumbling with the fly of his jeans.

One of his hands covers mine, stopping me. He lifts his mouth from my throbbing breast. “Not yet, babe. Soon, but not yet.”

I twist my hand free from his and flatten it against his jeans, running my fingers over the length of his hardness. “I want to feel you. All of you.”

His eyes narrow with barely controlled desire. It’s the exact reaction I was hoping for.

“Lucy,” he forces out through ragged breaths. “If you keep doing that, touching me that way, this is going to be over before we even start.”

Before we start? What have we been doing for the last ten minutes?

“Let me worship this sexy body of yours for a while first.” He moves my hand back to his hip as he turns us and presses me up against the wall once more. He gives me that devilish smile, then clamps his mouth back over my breast, and I let out a startled gasp of pure pleasure.

“Okay.” My voice is almost a whisper as he sucks hard on my nipple and teases the other with his clever fingers.

I give myself over to him and wind my fingers through his thick, bronze hair, holding him to me, afraid that when he stops, I’ll never be the same again. The things he’s doing to me, the way my body burns for his touch, it’s all new. I’d been with Cadan so many times, but it had been different. More of an emotional release after a concert that left us both wound tight. Good, sure. But not hot, needful, or full of this crazy desire to lose myself in someone.

And right now, I’m lost. Utterly and completely.

Nothing matters but the passion crashing over us. Seth is breathing hard when he finally releases my breast. So am I. His hot tongue marks a path back to my lips.

“I want you just like this.” He places his hands on my ass once more and lifts me so my legs are wrapped around him, the same way we’d been in the kitchen. When he’d told me he’d been dreaming of me wrapped around him since I first walked away from him at the bar.

Excitement makes my blood pump faster. I want him to take me just like this. Against the wall in an uncontrollable frenzy. I flatten myself to him, pressing my bare breasts into his chest, and rake my nails lightly along his back. “I’m ready,” I say, pulling back slightly to hold his gaze. “Right here, right now.”

His emerald eyes glow with green fire. He redoubles his efforts, kissing me thoroughly, and reaches for the zipper of my skirt. In one short motion it’s free, and Seth is lifting me off him. My knees wobble slightly as he sets me carefully on my feet. My halter dress falls to the floor, leaving me in my black lace panties and thigh-high boots. I’m almost shaking I want him so badly.

But he’s still got his jeans on. I reach for him again, but he sidesteps me and then kneels before me, his eyes level with my sex. “I want to see what’s under these,” he says, sliding his fingers into the waistband of my lace. Raising his gaze to mine, he slowly works them over my hips and down my thighs until they pool at my feet with the discarded dress. Carefully he lifts each foot, freeing me from my garments.

“Hey,” I say softly, surprised I’m not more self-conscious. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He responds by running his hands the length of my boots to my bare thighs. The heat and need intensifies to a pulsing throb as he nears my center. I shift, spreading my feet farther apart to give him access, but his hands don’t go any higher. Instead, he feathers kisses down my thigh, stopping at the top of my boot. With steady fingers, a sharp contrast to my own trembling ones, he lowers the zipper of my boot and continues his exploration of kisses down my inner leg and then back up again. He watches my eyes as he rezips the boot.

I raise one eyebrow in question.

“You’re keeping these on,” he says huskily and repeats the process on the other side.

My right hand is buried in his hair, the other pressed against the smooth wall. I stare out the picture window at the Pacific pounding relentlessly against the cliffs and let out a loud moan of ecstasy as his tongue finally enters me, pleasuring my sex at my most sensitive spot. His hands inch closer, spread wide over my thighs, his rough calluses teasing my tender flesh.

He laps and nips just as he had when he’d kissed my mouth, but this time I’m a live bolt of electricity, sparking all over, pushed to the edge by the bundle of nerves he’s commanding. The pressure builds, driving me higher into an unfamiliar realm of sweet torture. My body begs for more, pressing into his mouth, taking everything he has to give.

He pulls back and a whimper escapes my lips as I tremble against the wall, waiting for him to finish what he started. “Seth,” I breathe.

“Shatter for me,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on me again, his tongue working its magic. I’m wound as tight as I can possibly be, just on the edge, when his fingers plunge into me. I cry out as a long shudder starts from my center and moves through me in waves, crashing hard and thunderous.

When I come back to myself, spent and languid with my release, Seth has his arms wrapped around my middle, his head tucked against my belly, holding on. Only his embrace keeps me standing on my shaky legs. I rest my hands lightly on his shoulders and close my eyes.

“That was…” I can’t even come up with a word to describe the magnitude of what he’d made me feel.

“Mind-blowing,” he supplies and gets to his feet.

“That will work.” I smile at him weakly.

He brushes a damp lock of hair from my eyes and bends to kiss me. The salty taste of his mouth brings the sensations of my orgasm flooding back, and the familiar throb starts up again.

The hungry nature of his kiss enraptures me, fueling a fresh spark of desire. He places both hands on the wall on either side of my head and goes to work once again on my neck, keeping his body slightly away from mine so only his lips are touching me.

But my hands are eager. He’s learned every inch of my body. It’s my turn. I start by tracing my lips over his shoulder and run one finger down the crevice between his pecs. He stills mid-nibble, and I’m gratified to hear the slight catch of his breath. His muscles clench as he tries to hold himself back. He’s beyond need, almost beyond control. I’m certain of it. With one touch, one word, I could have him inside me. Where I know he wants to be.

The knowledge that I hold this power gives me courage, and instead of opening to him, I grab his hips and twist, turning us both so he’s now the one leaning against the wall.

His eyes glitter with anticipation. I take a small step back and watch his gaze track my hands as they move to the top of his jeans once more. He keeps his arms loose at his sides and doesn’t stop me. Slowly, I undo the button and slip the zipper down, revealing black boxer briefs. His gaze doesn’t waver from my touch as his muscles tighten with smoldering intensity. With his shirt long discarded and his jeans open, I can’t help but run my hands over his chest, exploring the ridges of his toned muscles. He must work out, but not obsessively so. Just enough to keep himself in decent shape. I love it. He’s so different from what I’ve known in the past. So alive. So incredibly male.

“Lucy?” he says.

I glance up, my hands poised to strip him of the rest of his clothes. “Yes?”

“In about three seconds, I’m going to be inside you.”

I bite down hard on my lip, making him groan.

“Jesus. Stop that,” he says.

I place one hand in the middle of his chest and push him back against the wall. “You’ll give me at least three minutes. There are few things I’d like to see first.” Two seconds later, I have him stripped of his jeans and briefs. He’s so hard his erection is slightly curved. I take care to not touch him there, knowing that would be his undoing. But I do kneel before him, just as he had done with me, and run my hands over his muscular thighs. He’s solid and hot, all male.

I can’t help myself. I have to taste him. Have to feel him on the edge just as I had been. Wrapping my hand around the base of him, I lean in, running my tongue along his length. He shudders and his hand curls in my hair, tightening his hold, though not enough to hurt me. I smile and open my mouth, slipping my lips over him, taking him as deep as I can, pleased I don’t gag when his tip hits the back of my throat.

“Oh fuck,” Seth moans. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now.”

I have a clue, but I don’t answer. Instead, I start a slow rhythm, backing off until my lips are wrapped around his tip and then taking him deep, over and over and over again, until his body is rigid from holding himself back.

“Lucy,” he gasps. “I want you. I want you pressed up against this wall with me buried inside you when I come.”

His blunt words stir the smoldering fire between my legs again, and with one last lingering kiss, I release him. Before I can process what he’s doing, he grabs his wallet from his discarded jeans and hands me a foil wrapper.

With trembling fingers, I roll the condom onto him and then brace myself for what he’s been promising me all night.

Chapter Eight

Seth

Lucy’s hands are on me, and I’m not sure I’m going to last long enough for her to get the condom rolled on. I should’ve taken care of it myself. But I couldn’t resist the allure of her touch. Jesus, what her mouth could do. With any of the other girls I’d been with in the recent past, I would’ve just come, let her finish me off, and called it a night. But with Lucy, hell. With her, I want more. I want to own her in a way only a man that’s been inside her can. If only for one night.

Her hands release me, and we stand together, frozen in the moment, savoring. At least I am. I doubt she’ll give herself to me like this again. Not with her mate circling. But for tonight, she’s mine. I pull her close and lean down, kissing her already-familiar mouth. When her tongue meets mine with that incredible intensity, I lift her up and brace her against the wall. Her booted legs wrap around me just as I’d imagined they would. And then I press into her heat, her tight flesh enveloping me. It’s all I can do to hold myself back, to let her adjust to my intrusion when all I want to do is bury myself deeply inside her. To claim every inch of her.

She lets out a cry, and I still instantly, afraid I’m hurting her. But she begins to move against me, taking me deeper, moaning with each stroke. I’m overtaken with lust and passion, and finally, after hours of fantasizing about this moment, I take her as I will, thrusting into her, hard and fast, raising her need with each meeting of our flesh.

Her cries grow louder, and I’m all but out of my mind, consumed with something more than raw need. Something more than a night of physical pleasure. I don’t know what it is, but I want it. I want her. The realization makes me slow our frantic pace. As I carefully pull out of her, she whimpers and clutches my shoulders in protest.

At the last moment, I slam into her again, filling her completely. We repeat the rhythm together, torturing ourselves, until, on the fourth thrust, she gasps and her muscles tighten around me. The spasms rip through her, and the rapture on her face as she throws her head back nearly makes me come undone. But I hold off, letting her recover for just a moment. Then I move again, making her all but whimper with each frenzied stroke until every muscle goes taut and I’m groaning into her ear as I shudder against her.

We’re both breathing hard, sweat glistening on our bodies. She reaches up and places her palm flat on my cheek. Her blue eyes are heavy with satiation. “Seth?”

“Hmm,” I murmur and clasp her thumb between my teeth.

“That was incredible.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I say anything, she’s going to see right through me. This is a hell of a lot more than a night of hot sex.

“Can you let me down now?”

“Sure,” I say, and reluctantly help her to her feet. After disposing of the condom, I return to where she’s sitting on the floor. She looks so small and fragile, almost naked except for those boots. I put a hand out, offering to help her up.

She takes it, and when she wobbles on her feet, I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom. The downstairs bathroom is a small one, but it has a shower just big enough for the both of us. I set her down on the vanity, and without speaking, I unzip her boots for the second time, only now I slip them off her feet. Her eyes are big and round as she watches me.

I smile up at her. “Don’t want to ruin these.”

She chuckles. “No. We don’t.”

Reaching over, I turn the taps on. Once the bathroom starts to fill with steam, I tug Lucy into the shower, and there, I explore her body again until we both cry out in ecstasy, only this time when we’re finished, she smells of citrus-scented body gel.

***

Hoooonk, hoooonk, honk penetrates my consciousness, and I bolt out of bed. “Holy fuck.” I grab my head with both hands, trying to block out the incessant noise. “Keep your pants on.”

I glance down, noting my buck-naked state, and grab a discarded towel lying rumpled on the floor. That’s when I notice the bed is empty.

Lucy.

Shit. Where is she? The honking finally stops, and I slide to the window just in time to see legs clad in thigh-high boots walking swiftly to the car. Jesus. She’s running away just as she had last night when she wanted to get as far away from Kinx as possible. Had the night been that bad?

Dude. Get a hold of yourself. This is the perfect scenario. No awkward morning-after bullshit.

Lucy pauses and glances up at the window. Spotting me, her eyes go wide, then she bites her bottom lip. Desire stirs in my gut, but I do my best to keep my face blank. She’s running out on me. No girl has ever tried to leave before I woke up before. Not that I ever bring them home. That’s too personal. I wouldn’t have last night if we’d had any other option. She frowns, and I don’t know why, but I want to chase after her and—

Seriously, dude. Stop it.

Her hand comes up and she gives me a tiny wave. A second later, she’s tucked in the car. I stare at the black SUV, focusing on the red taillights as they disappear into the morning fog.

Marty. Bastard. For some reason I hate him more than usual this morning. I slam my fist into the wall, splitting my knuckle in the process. Fuck. That guy is the biggest douche on the planet, and the fact Lucy left with him has me aching to punch the wall again.

Instead, I turn and head for the shower. Not the one Lucy and I shared last night, but the master bath in the room at the end of the hall. I never go in there. Do my best to avoid it at all costs. Even though I’d painted the room white, blocking out the bold sun yellow and tangerine that had once graced the walls, E was still everywhere. The wrought-iron bed she’d picked out, the unmatched nightstands she’d hand painted with wildflowers, the goddamned red velvet pillow I hadn’t been able to toss.

I ignore it all, shutting down the part of me that is hers—that will always be hers—and slip into the bathroom. It’s easier in here. Whiteness gleams from every surface. It had been our compromise. Whatever colors she’d wanted in the bedroom were fine as long as I had a reprieve of white in the bathroom. Before it had felt clean, sleek. Now it’s impersonal. It doesn’t stop the memories from trying to slip back in, however.

E using those 1950s hot curlers she’d found at a garage sale. Her Corvette-red lipstick. The two drawers of cosmetics I’d never once seen her use but she insisted on keeping anyway. The sleepy-eyed look she’d give me after we’d been up all night working.

Pain lances through me. It’s her contented expression after the all-nighters we’d spent in the studio that I miss the most. The door slams shut on the memory, and I try to think of Lucy, but my pulse quickens and sweat prickles the back of my neck.

The terrible memories of that night come flooding back, and my mind turns hazy as gut-wrenching bursts of metal grinding against metal echoes in my mind. A scream is cut off at impact, and then there’s darkness, punctuated by flashes of light. And all I can focus on is the blood. It’s everywhere. I can’t stop it.

I let out a scream of desperate rage, throw on some clothes, and bolt for the door. Once outside, I take deep breaths of the salted air. In. Out. In. Out. With no memory of heading toward the ocean, I’m at the cliff, crouched down, my elbows resting on my knees. My eyes are open, but I don’t see the water crashing over the rocks or the hazy line of the horizon. I see E, her infectious smile, her impossibly curly golden hair, and paint. Lots of paint.

Slowly, I stand, my legs stiff from the cold wind. Then I turn and walk the two miles to my parents’ house.

***

I’m standing on the front stoop, bracing myself for the inevitable questions, when the door pops open.

“Seth!” Mom says too brightly and pulls me inside.

“Mom.” Suspicion rings in my tone, but she just smiles up at me, entirely too happy. After staying out all night without calling, I expect at least an hour-long lecture on common courtesy. I’m a grown man with my own house, but ever since I lost E, I’ve been crashing at my parents’ to escape the memories. Since the accident, Mom worries a lot more than she used to. The phone call was her only request. And I’d forgotten. Again.

“Come in here. We’ve been waiting.”

We?

I’d already seen Dad disappear into one of the greenhouses out back. My parents are organic farmers. Two of the best. Together they can grow just about anything. And they do, even when no one else can due to weather conditions. It’s their talent. Growing plants.

There’s a cinnamon-scented candle burning, and there’s a fire in the fireplace.

Shit. These are not the signs of a woman intent on working in her greenhouses all day. No. She has company.

“Honey.” Mom tugs me into the kitchen and waves at a middle-aged woman dressed in a bright red dress with lipstick to match. “You remember Francie, don’t you?”

I don’t, but I nod anyway because I know she expects me to.

“Your father’s Navy buddy Don. She’s his wife. They visited about three years ago.”

A vague recollection of a family dinner comes to mind. “Sure. Hello, Francie. Nice to see you again.” I hold out my hand.

She takes it, pumping with surprising strength. The woman isn’t an inch over five feet two and can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.

“Oh, my dear. You just get more handsome every year. I bet the girls are lined up a mile long trying to fill your dance card.” She gives me an exaggerated wink.

“Uh, maybe not a mile long.” Extracting my hand from hers, I give her a tight smile. “Welcome back to Mendocino.” I turn to Mom. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Before I can make my escape, she slips her arm through mine, holding me in place. “Francie is actually here to see you.”

I stand still and really take a look at the older woman. She’s been smiling since I got here, but for the first time, I notice the edge of pain buried behind her facade. I know, because it’s the same one I’ve been wearing for the past eighteen months. Empathy courses through me, and I take her hand once more, leading her to my mother’s green-and-white pinstriped couch. “What is it I can do for you, Miss Francie?” I ask gently.

Her big green eyes mist with unshed tears and her hand starts to shake. Unease takes up residence in my chest. I know from experience what’s coming, and I shoot Mom a sharp look of admonishment.

“I’m terribly sorry to ask,” Francie says, her voice barely audible. She clears her throat, and when she speaks, she’s stronger. More sure. “Grace says you’re taking a break from your portraits in order to pursue other art interests, but I don’t have anyone else I can ask.”

“I have friends I can recommend—”

“No,” she says firmly. “Thank you, but please just hear me out.”

Mom frowns at me. Short of getting up and stalking out, there isn’t much else I can do. I nod.

She nods back. “You may know that my Don is starting cancer treatments soon.”

I nod again. Seems Dad mentioned something about it.

“Well, I’d really like to get a portrait done of us now, before the treatments progress. Before his body starts changing. I need someone who can see the real us. To really bring us to life.” Her voice cracks on the word life. “It might be the last… Well, it’s just that now is the time.”

A lump of emotion clogs my throat. After the memories that haunted me this morning, this request is too much. I work my throat and force out, “Miss Francie, I wish I could help, but—”

“Oh, dear.” She squeezes my hand. “I can see this is hard for you. After Elsa—”

I wince at the use of E’s actual name. I don’t use it anymore, and everyone around me knows not to.

“I’m sorry,” the older woman says. She looks so dejected I don’t even know what to say.

Mom scoots forward in the chair she’s perched on. “Seth, honey, can you at least think about it?”

I avert my gaze. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“But you have to start painting again at some point.”

I jump to my feet, anger boiling up from deep inside me. “Mother,” I say in a careful voice. “We’ve been over this. E is dead. My paintings will never be the same. Without her, the thing that makes them special and unique is gone. Buried with her. You can’t know what it’s like. Dad is still here, but just try for a moment to think about how you’d feel about growing your plants if he wasn’t around to share it with you.” My fists are clenched and by the time I’m done, my head aches. If she doesn’t stop pushing, I’m going to have to move. Where, I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to give up my house, and at the same time, I can’t bring myself to live there. Hence the reason I mostly live at my parents’ place instead of my own.

“Honey,” Mom says.

“No, Mom,” I snap and turn to Miss Francie. Softening my tone, I say, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. If you need a recommendation, I have a friend who can probably help you out.”

Francie stares at me, her eyes wide and her mouth open in shock.

I can’t stay here. Not with this guilt eating away at me. Without another word, I stalk through the house and back out to the street. I’m four hours early, but with nowhere else to go, I head to the edge of town to the only place I ever find refuge. The tattoo shop.

Chapter Nine

Lucy

I have the key in the lock when I hear the phone ringing inside. Rolling my eyes, I slip into Dad’s house… Well, my house now. It’s been six months since I lost him and it still feels like it isn’t real. He’s everywhere here, from the built-in bookshelves lining the living room, to the collection of underwater photography hanging on the wall.

Dad’s old answering machine—the one he’d refused to change out for a service—clicks on. His warm voice fills the room. “You’ve reached the Moores. Lucy and Mack can’t come to the phone. Leave us a message.”

Tears burn the backs of my eyes and the hollow feeling in my chest intensifies. It’s always the same, yet I can’t bring myself to change the greeting. I can’t erase Dad’s voice. It’s the same message we’ve had ever since Mom moved out eight years ago. Dad hadn’t even changed it when he’d taken a temporary job out of the country and I’d been forced to move in with Mom and her husband during my last few years of high school.

“Lucy!” Mom shrills into the phone. “Where are you? Are you there? Pick up.”

I stare at the blinking light on the machine. How many times has she called since last night?

“Lucile, this is not a game.” Her tone is lower, more controlled. Her pissed voice. “Cadan came all the way from Denver to see you last night, and you ran out on him. How long are you going to keep this up? He’s not going to wait for you forever, you know. You’re messing up your life.”

My heart starts to hammer and something breaks inside me. I’m used to her rants. Mom is forever telling me how to live my life. Mostly I’ve learned to block her out, but this morning, with my emotions all over the place, I can’t take it. I can’t take her. Blood rushes to my head and I feel like it’s going to explode. Before I can stop myself, the phone’s in my hand and the words fly. “He won’t wait forever? He didn’t wait at all, Mother. Jesus fucking Christ. I caught him having sex with two other girls. I wasn’t even out of the picture before he started sticking his dick in other people.”

“Lucile,” Mom scolds. “Don’t you dare talk to your mother that way.”

I snort into the phone. There it is. The mom card. She pulls that one out on a regular basis in an effort to guilt me into her way of thinking. When is the last time she ever gave a shit about what I want? “Really? That’s all you have to say? Have you even once considered what it must be like for me? To have my soul mate cheat on me? And having to choose between my sanity and my career?”

“Now, honey. I know he made a mistake. But he’s sorry. It’s hard finding your partner when you’re just nineteen. You both have some growing to do. If you do it together, it will mean more later.”

“A mistake? That’s what you’re calling it?” She has lost her mind. I can’t believe I’m hearing this from her. And yet, at the same time, it shouldn’t surprise me. She has always defended her life choices with the idea that no one should live without their soul mate. “Has Randy made a mistake? Did you forgive him?”

Mom doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I wonder if I’ve hit a nerve.

“I’ll call you later after you’ve had a chance to think about the things you’ve said to me. And if you have any sense, you’ll call Cadan. You’re not only throwing away the one person who’ll love you forever, but there’s also a lot of money on the line. You’re going to mess up your life if you walk away from him and your record deal.”

I clutch the phone until it creaks under my grip. “The one person who’ll love me forever? Where does that leave you, Mom?” Before she has a chance to answer, I gently place the phone back on the receiver. Totally numb, I climb the stairs and head for the shower.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I step under the stream of water. As the spray sluices over me, flashbacks of the night before start to fill my mind. Jeez! What had I done? Had hot sex with an incredibly sexy, gorgeous guy I didn’t even know. That’s what I’d done. And it had been glorious and exactly what I’d needed to get Cadan out of my mind. Then I’d run out without so much as a good-bye. I figured he’d prefer it that way. But that was before I realized he was watching me from the second-story window.

I’d woken up with the sunrise, an annoying habit I’d developed ever since I’d gotten back home. It’s because I like to sleep with the window cracked so I can hear the ocean. If I keep the blinds down, the wind makes them slam against the casings, keeping me awake. Since the house is on the side of a hill facing the ocean, there isn’t a pressing need for privacy, but the sun does make it difficult to sleep in.

Once I find my phone and turn it on, I see eight texts from Jax and a dozen from Cadan. The last two were a confirmation from them both that Cadan left town. He’s pissed. But who cares? I don’t want to see him, and I’m not the cheater.

Though spending the night with Seth does make me feel slightly guilty. I hadn’t really believed I’d ever be with anyone else. Not even after I’d caught Cadan with the two skanks who’d already worked their way through the rest of the band members.

Angry all over again, I turn the water to scalding. Just thinking about Cadan with them makes my stomach turn. Thirty minutes later, my skin red and tender, I pad into my room and pull on yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and slippers. It’s my intention to stay in all day by the fire.

Back downstairs, I rustle around in the kitchen, putting together an omelet. Eggs, tomatoes, goat cheese, and avocado. Perfect. I’m about to crack one of the eggs when the house phone starts ringing again. I let out a long-suffering sigh. Only two people call me on that phone these days, and I want nothing to do with either of them right now.

When the machine beeps, Mom says, “You should probably think about changing the message on the machine, Luce. It’s not healthy.”

My fist clenches around the egg and… crack. The gooey mess drips down my hand.

“But that’s not why I called,” Mom continues. “Pick up the phone.”

I glare at it.

“Lucy, you’re being a child. I said pick up the phone.”

Not even if Ed McMahon himself were on the other end.

“Fine. Don’t talk to me.” She’s angry now, but when she speaks again, her voice cracks. “What if something happens to me, too? You’re going to be all alone. Then what will you do?” The machine beeps, indicating she’s hung up.

“Goddammit!” I cry, slamming my hand down on the counter. I accidently hit the bowl and it crashes to the floor, shattering ceramic shards over the tile. The destruction is oddly satisfying. Mom is the queen of guilt and has a way of making everything about her. This latest round about Dad’s message is because the sound of his voice makes her uncomfortable. She tells me how weird it is every time she gets a chance. I think it’s because she still has guilt for leaving him. Not because he’s gone.

I creep through the kitchen to the hall closet and pull out a broom. But all I want to do is keep smashing things. I suck in a deep breath. Letting her get to me isn’t helping. The walls go up around my emotions as I methodically clean the kitchen floor. When I’m done, I take a seat at the kitchen bar. The layout is such that I’m facing a wall of windows, and the view is stunning. Dad’s house is at the top of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Fixated on the rhythmic pounding of waves, I press the Play button on the answering machine.

“Lucy,” Mom says.

I hit the Delete button, cutting her off. The machine beeps.

“Lucile—”

Delete.

The next four messages are Mom. As with the first two, I delete before I hear what she has to say. Mom has a habit of calling over and over until I pick up. Considering I was gone for sixteen hours, it’s amazing there are only six.

The seventh, however, is Cadan. I haven’t spoken to him since the day I walked out on him three months and eighteen days ago. He’s certainly tried to get in touch with me, but I changed my number after dodging his calls for two weeks straight.

“Hey, Luce,” his tone is quiet, gentle. “It feels like forever since I’ve heard your voice.”

My finger is hovering over the Delete button, but I can’t do it. After all these months, I suddenly have to know what he has to say. How could he possibly justify what he did?

“Damn.” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Tears fill my eyes. It’s the first time I’ve cried over him since I found out about his cheating. I wipe angrily at my eyes and sniff.

“I fucked up. I know that. You have no idea how much I regret my bad choices. Nothing is the same without you.”

Of course it isn’t. When we sing together, our voices have an effect on people. We touch them deeply, make them feel things in ways they never have before. It’s like magic. Apart, we’re just two people who can carry a note or two. Our fans have to be disappointed. And even though my heart wants to believe what he says, my head says it’s more likely he’s only calling because it’s affecting both of our careers.

“I know you’re not going to like it, but I talked to your mom. Please, Luce, don’t be upset about that. I had to get your new number. I have to talk to you.”

There’s a pause and then he adds, “I’m in California. I took a break from the tour. I can’t keep singing without you.” There’s a click and one final beep.

The tears are flowing freely now, but I do nothing to stop them. The anger I’d been surviving on is gone. Only sadness remains. Pain for what was and won’t be again. Cadan had been my best friend, my lover, my partner. Now he’s just a cheater and a thief. It’s not something I’m going to get over. I’ll never trust him again. He trampled all over everything that was important to me.

My cell phone, sitting on the bar, buzzes. I’m almost afraid to look. A message from Cadan will be too much. Another message comes through and I can’t help but look.

Jax.

I snatch the phone, desperate to focus on something else.

The string of messages starts with dude.

I’m dying.

Help.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

I chuckle and thank God I stopped drinking before I got drunk enough to suffer her fate. My cheeks heat as I recall what I did instead. I’m both embarrassed and impressed with myself. Jax has been saying I need to get out more. Though I doubt she meant get naked with the first hot guy who showed interest. Crap. She’s going to kill me when she finds out. She’s told me three times not to get involved with Seth. She’s worried about being caught in the middle. But she has nothing to worry about. I already know he’s a one-nighter. And I’d made it easy on him.

Bring chai and sweet-potato fries.

Jax’s preferred hangover remedy. I text back, Be there in forty-five minutes.

Thirty.

Oh boy. She’s in bad shape. I run up the stairs, stuff my feet in my running shoes, and fly out the door.

Chapter Ten

Seth

I can’t stop thinking about Miss Francie. The character and the history in her face calls to me, makes my fingers itch to sketch her. And what must Don look like these days? No doubt he’s equally as fascinating. I bend over the piece of flash I’m working on and shade in the eyes of a silver wolf.

“Yo, Keenan, what happened after you and Lucy left last night?” Mike calls from the station two booths over. His tattoo gun buzzes under his administration.

I glance up, catching the eye of Sadie Sanders, the girl he’s working on. She’s a regular. Her arm is half-covered in sunflowers. Mike’s been building a garden sleeve on her right arm one bloom at a time.

Her lips turn up in a slow, seductive smile. “Hey, Seth. How about that drink tonight?”

Biting back a grimace, I shake my head, trying for apologetic. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ve already got plans.”

The light in her eyes dims a little. She’s asked me out four times now. I’ve declined each invitation. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah, sure,” I lie. Was it so hard for her to take a hint? I don’t date locals. Especially ones who were friends with E.

“Well?” Mike presses. “I saw the light on at your house.”

He says the last part as a statement, but it’s really a question. The house I’d claimed to be my sister’s is mine. She stays there when she’s in town, but that’s rare these days. Most of her time is spent in San Francisco now that she’s met her soul mate. She comes home to work on the books for the family business a couple of times a month, but that’s it.

“I didn’t think she’d appreciate being subjected to Grace and Leo. Besides, Marty was supposed to pick her up.”

Mike raises one eyebrow at the mention of my parents. He knows I usually stay in the garage apartment. They never would’ve known. “Did he?”

“Yeah.” I glance away and mumble, “Eventually.” I don’t need the whole world to know she spent the night. And she doesn’t either.

“Oh, did you hear her sing last night?” Sadie gushes. “And then Cadan was there. Omigod, he’s hot. I’m so disappointed they didn’t sing together. I wonder what happened between them.”

Everyone—Mike, Sadie, and John, another artist—turns to stare at me as if I’m supposed to supply the answer. I raise my hands and shrug. “Don’t look at me. How am I supposed to know?”

Mike gives me a flat stare. “Maybe because I heard through the grapevine that Marty didn’t pick her up until this morning.”

“Nice.” John gives me a nod of approval. “How was she? If her performance was any indication, I’m fucking jealous, dude. What she could do with that mic…”

“Jesus. Shut the fuck up already.” I get up. “I’m going next door. I’ll be back after you two find someone else to harass.”

They both crack up as they high-five each other. Sadie frowns in my direction, clearly unhappy to be witness to this conversation. I pull on my old, weathered leather jacket and get the hell out of there before they start needling me for details.

Two doors down is a local coffee shop. It’s Saturday, so the place is bustling with locals and a few brave tourists up from the Bay Area doing some Christmas shopping in our small artists’ town.

I get in line behind an older lesbian couple having a heated debate about what to get Patsy. The taller one insists on a weekend getaway for two at a spa in Calistoga. But her partner shakes her head. “No. I’m telling you, the last time Joan soaked in a mud bath, she came away with a nasty infection on her inner thigh. It took weeks for that thing to heal. She was a total bitch the entire time. Turns out Patsy wouldn’t sleep with her until it healed. For the love of God, I have to share an office with Joan. For my sanity, do not send her back to a spa.”

“Dammit. Now what?” the taller one asks. “I’m totally out of ideas for her.”

“Excuse me.”

I freeze and then blood rushes through my veins as my pulse quickens. Lucy. She’s two people ahead of them in line, but lets the person behind her order first.

“Have you considered the Times Two music retreat in Calistoga instead? One of the private wineries is hosting the event once a month, and I heard they’re booking some really great bands. They have packages from a basic stay to a four-star experience.”

The women in front of me start asking questions and scribbling down the information. I’m transfixed, watching her as she smiles easily at them, enjoying the conversation. She looks nothing like the sex kitten she’d been the night before. Now she’s wearing black pants and an oversized sweater that hides her curves. Her hair is pulled back with a thin headband, and her face is fresh, rosy from the winter chill. She’s fucking beautiful. And I can’t stop staring.

It’s her turn to order, and she still hasn’t noticed me. She’s sweet and considerate to the barista behind the counter, even when he forgets to give her back her change.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says when he rectifies his mistake. Stuffing two dollar bills in the tip jar, she smiles. “I’ve been there. Thanks for the help.”

The clerk gives her a look of gratitude, then his gaze turns to one of admiration as he watches her walk to the other end of the counter to wait for her order. An unexpected jolt of irritation hits me. I narrow my eyes, taking in his lip ring and the amateur tattoos covering his left hand. He’s got the same build as her rocker soul mate. I have no trouble seeing him onstage with her, pretending he has some sort of talent with an electric guitar.

“She’s adorable, isn’t she?” one of the ladies in front of me says to the guy.

“Gorgeous is more like it. What can I get for you lovely ladies this fine December afternoon?” He winks, charming them with his over-the-top delivery.

I roll my eyes and fix my attention on Lucy once again.

She’s staring right at me, her face now turning from a rosy blush to scarlet. I can’t help the cocky grin I know is spreading over my face. I like that I do this to her.

“Hey, long time, no see,” I call.

She averts her eyes for a moment and then raises her hand in greeting.

Oh, hell yeah. I’m going to enjoy this.

I order a plain black coffee in lieu of my regular double-shot latte just so I’m not stuck waiting for it. With cup in hand, I make my way to the bar filled with creamer carafes and proceed to doctor my drink. I strategically take my time and hurriedly put the lid back on when a different barista passes her a cup carrier with four drinks.

“Need a hand?” I ask when she fills the space beside me.

She glances up, surprise in her pretty blue eyes. “Sure. Half-and-half in these two.” Waving at the two cups closest to me, she grabs a couple of packets of raw sugar with her other hand.

Neither of us says anything as we stir the drinks. When the lids are replaced, I fall into step beside her and hold the door open.

“Thanks,” she says almost shyly.

“No problem.” We stand outside the shop and stare at each other as the wind picks up.

After a moment, she visibly shivers. Of course she does; she’s only wearing a sweater. No coat. “I better go. Jax is waiting.”

“Hangover?” I ask.

“The worst.”

“Right. Sweet-potato fries?” I’ve taken care of Jax at least a half dozen times since the big breakup. It’s always the same. Chai and sweet-potato fries.

“I’m headed to get them now,” she says.

I shake my head. “Baxter’s is closed this weekend. There was some sort of emergency with Jilly’s dad. The whole family went.”

“Oh no.” She bites her lip and noticeably steels herself.

I can’t help but wonder what that’s all about. Was she good friends with the Baxters? Seems unlikely, otherwise she would’ve already known. Everyone else did. Including Jax, who probably forgot in her misery.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a backup plan.”

Her teeth are chattering now. I can’t stand to see her so cold, so I drape an arm around her shoulder and pull her in close, sharing whatever warmth I can. She’s stiff and hesitant at first, but then relents and leans in, her body fitting perfectly against mine. I rub her arm and guide her toward my truck.

She glances over her shoulder. “I’m parked over there.”

“I’ll drive. Is there anything you need from your car?”

Her steps slow as she worries her bottom lip, but then she shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

“Okay then.” A ball of tension in my gut dissipates. Jesus. What is it with this girl? The way she makes me feel by doing absolutely nothing is almost terrifying. Terrifying and miraculous at the same time. Holding the door open for her, I wait for her to climb in before making my way to the driver’s side. By the time I’m buckled in, she’s already got the fleece throw I keep in the truck tucked over her legs.

“I hope to God this blanket isn’t left over from your last one-night stand. But even if it is, I can’t make myself part with it. I’m frozen.”

My mouth falls open at her casual use of last one-night stand. Damn, is that how she sees me? I guess it would be. I laugh to cover the stab of regret. “Don’t worry. It’s been cleaned since then.” Shit! Why did I say that?

She plucks at the fabric gingerly and then closes her eyes. “Thank goodness for small favors.”

“I’m joking,” I say. “The blanket is new. The heater broke a few weeks ago. The blanket was for Jax before I got it fixed.”

“Oh.” Her eyes pop open. Is that relief I see on her face? Relief for what? That she’s not wrapped up in a skanky blanket, or that I hadn’t confessed to participating in nefarious sexual behavior? “That was nice of you.”

“It’s just a blanket.”

She turns to look at me, her eyes searing me with that intense gaze.

“What?”

“It’s not. Just a blanket I mean.”

The light ahead turns red and I slow to a stop. Lucy smiles at me now, a secret smile, as if she knows something no one else does.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

She shrugs. “You take care of her. Jax. Blankets. Sweet-potato fries. Not letting her dwell on Brad.” Her smile fades and her expression turns serious. “I’m glad you’re there for her when I’m not.”

I frown. “She’s a friend. It’s what friends do.”

“It’s what rare friends do.” Grimacing, she turns and stares out the window.

The light turns green, and I step on the gas. The sadness streaming off her makes me want to stop the car and pull her into my arms, but I don’t. Something tells me that’s the last thing she wants right now. She’s blaming herself for not being available for Jax. A few minutes later, I pull to a stop in front of my parents’ house. With a twist of the keys, the engine goes silent. We both sit in the cab, not moving, not speaking.

When the silence becomes deafening, she turns to me. “Jax is waiting.”

I meet her questioning eyes. “We’ll be there soon. Want to talk about it?”

“About Jax?”

“No. About whatever it is that makes you think you’re a bad friend.”

Chapter Eleven

Lucy

Seth isn’t just looking at me, he’s seeing through me. Through everything on the surface. Past the stage-performer persona. And he’s witnessing that part of myself I keep buried. The knowledge of that makes me want to get as far away from him as possible. It also makes me want to cry and bury myself in his arms.

Since my dad died, I haven’t had anyone in my life who could really understand this part of me. The little girl who knows she isn’t good enough. Not good enough for Mom to stay. Not smart enough to recognize the changes in Dad when he first got sick and didn’t tell me. Not strong enough to leave my boyfriend the first time he betrayed me. And too self-involved to be there for my best friend when she lost the one person she loved most.

Intellectually, I know none of this is really my fault. But inside, down deep, I can’t stop the darkness from taking over. The knowledge that I’ve failed is always there.

“No.” I cringe, realizing I’d just validated his statement as fact. “I mean, I don’t think that. I’m just glad Jax has someone she can count on.”

His hands clutch the steering wheel. I can tell he wants to say something more, but he’s fighting with himself about it.

“Everything’s fine.” I pop the door open, wishing I’d remembered to get my coat from my car. “What are we doing here?”

“Sweet potatoes,” he says and exits the cab. He comes around the truck to stand next to me. “I’ll make the fries at Jax’s house.”

The tension caused by his unexpected question eases and a small smile creeps its way back onto my face. “You’re too much.”

“Come on. Dad’s likely in the greenhouse.” He holds his hand out to me.

I hesitate. We hardly know each other, and in the light of day, hand-holding seems almost more intimate than the acts we engaged in the night before. The gesture is sweet, and I feel stupid for my reaction. But I’m not looking for a boyfriend. And I’m surprised he hasn’t run already. Jax said he’s definitely a love-‘em and leave-‘em kind of guy. It would’ve been so much easier if I’d chosen my big one-night stand to be someone from out of town.

He raises an eyebrow and nods to his hand as if he’s issuing a challenge.

Suck it up, Moore. He doesn’t bite. Well, maybe he does a little, but in the best possible way. I glance away, praying he can’t read the thoughts on my face.

Our hands clasp, and he tugs me out of the truck and up the front walk. I feel small and feminine beside him. He’s not much taller than Cadan, so I’m not sure what the difference is. Perhaps it’s the sense that I’m being cared for.

The way he’s caring for Jax. Right.

This is about last night. He’s just being a friend. A really good one. The kind of friend who comes with history and shared heartache. Jax had told me about the accident, about how he lost his mate. His tragedy is gut-wrenching, losing his girlfriend like that, but loss is loss and Dad hasn’t been gone all that long. I’m sure Jax told him all about that too.

Dad was my hero. He was the person I leaned on, the one who was the anchor in my life. Without him, there’s a void and an ache inside me that doesn’t seem to go away. Ever. I can’t imagine what that’s like for Seth, but it makes me want to put a smile on his face even for just a brief moment. Maybe he feels the same.

“If we hurry, we might get out of here before Grace finds us,” he says.

“Grace?”

“My mother. Leo will be cool, but Grace? She’ll fall all over herself when she finds out I brought a girl home.”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I take it that’s a rare occurrence?”

“More like a nonoccurrence. I don’t date.” He says it with finality. Clearly it’s not open for discussion.

“Ever?” I press.

“Not anymore.” He stops suddenly and looks down at me. “You didn’t think we were… I mean, you left this morning without even—”

I hold my hand up. “Whoa, cowboy. I’m not expecting anything. As far as I’m concerned, we’re just friends. I’m not the kind of girl who uses sex to find a boyfriend. Not that I want one. I know you’re well aware of my current situation. It’s enough to deal with the mundane details of life without adding any complications to the mix.”

The panic drains from his face, but he’s looking at me with an odd expression. I can’t quite place it. Uncertainty? Concern? Regret?

“Don’t worry about it. We’re good,” I say. “Now, where are these magical, hangover-curing sweet potatoes?”

“I don’t know about hangover-curing, but magical is true enough. My parents’ gift is in farming.”

I feel my eyes go wide. The result of two mates’ hard work is always something special. “Oh, really. Do I get a tour?”

He laughs. “Just a quick one. Remember what I said about Grace. Not to mention Jax is waiting.”

I salute him and quicken my pace. “Yes, sir. Show me the goods.”

That mischievous sparkle is back in his eyes. “I think you saw quite a bit last night.”

“Shut up.” I giggle and then clamp my hand over my mouth.

He laughs. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

He stops and eyes me up and down, his laughter gone, replaced by that hauntingly seductive smile. “I think I can imagine.”

Something flutters in my stomach and an echo of our shared desire overtakes me. I lick my lips, suddenly desperate for a kiss.

His eyes shift to my mouth, and I know he’s seconds from fulfilling the promise our bodies are making to each other.

I step back and pull my hand from his. “Friends?”

He lets out a slow breath and nods. “Friends.”

Our eyes meet and hold. We’re lying to each other, to ourselves. But neither of us is willing to admit it.

He waves his hand. “The greenhouse is waiting.”

I pull the sleeves of my sweater over my hands and huddle into myself.

“Don’t worry. It’s warm in there,” he says, noticing how cold I am. Though this time he doesn’t try to wrap his arm around me.

We bypass the barn-style storefront and head for the back of the property. Three large white greenhouses gleam in the sun that’s trying to peek through the clouds. The place smells of salt and earth, that damp soil scent of a dense forest.

“It’s wonderful here,” I say.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he quips, smiling proudly. “Their skills are impressive.”

I believe him, but when we step into the first building, I stand still, awed by the rows and rows of lush greenery and the vibrant vegetables clinging to their vines. “Holy crap.”

“Wait until you try some.” He leads me up and down the rows until my phone starts to buzz.

“Oops. Jax.” I hold the text up to him. “She’s lost her patience.”

He grabs the phone and texts something back to her. It buzzes twice more. One more message and then he hands it back to me. “Tour’s over. The princess is dying.”

I laugh and check the phone. “Seth!” He’d sent her lewd messages without telling her they were from him. Now my phone is going off like crazy with WTF messages from her wanting to know what’s going on with me. I tap out a quick explanation and give him a dirty look.

Laughing, he grabs my hand again and tows me to the front, where he fills a brown paper bag with sweet potatoes, red and yellow peppers, strawberries, blueberries, and a bunch of other produce that is otherwise impossible to find at this time of year.

I miss out on meeting either of his parents as we run back to the truck and speed off down Highway 1 toward Jax’s house.

Along the way, Seth hands one of the bags to me. “Try these.”

Inside is a basket of blueberries. It’s December, and blueberries are a summer fruit. I’m skeptical.

“Trust me,” he says in a low, seductive tone.

There’s that challenge again, and so help me, I can’t resist when he does that. Not that eating a blueberry is a big deal. It’s the current sparking between us that has me squirming in my seat. Just friends. Uh-huh. He’s glancing between me and the road, so I take my time inspecting the fruit, then I flick my tongue out, delicately taking in the blueberry.

The truck swerves just a little.

“Whoa,” I say, the blueberry tucked against my cheek. “Everything okay?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah, fine. Just a piece of debris in the road.”

“Right.” I chuckle. I was watching him watch me when the truck started to drift, but I let it go and bite down on the blueberry. Sweet, tangy juice fills my mouth, and I moan with pleasure. “Omigod.”

Seth flashes me a self-satisfied smile.

I grab a few more and close my eyes as the juices explode in my mouth. When I open them, we’ve stopped in front of Jax’s house and Seth’s eyes are hooded as he watches me.

I can almost see the fantasy running through his head. “Stop that.”

“What?” His voice is husky, the same way it had been the night before.

I smirk. “Undressing me in your mind.”

My words only serve to put more heat in his eyes.

He’s wearing down that friend label awfully fast. I lean in and press my hand to his chest. His heart thrums steadily beneath my palm.

“If you keep this up, we’re never going to make it inside.”

His hand covers mine, and the gentleness of it takes my breath away. His gaze shifts from my mouth to my eyes. “There’s no denying the attraction here.”

I nod, not knowing what else to do with that. It’s the truth.

“And I’m not going to lie to myself about wanting you.”

My breath gets caught in my throat as my pulse quickens.

“Hell, I woke up this morning wanting you, but you’d already gone. The thing is, Lucy, I already told you I’m not the relationship type. If we pursue this, we need to come to an understanding.”

I pull away, not exactly sure how I feel about this situation. “Friends with benefits. Is that what you’re after?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I just met you last night. Less than twenty-four hours ago. All I know is there’s a huge attraction here. We can explore it or not. It’s your choice.”

“Well… that’s quite the proposition,” I say with a fair amount of sarcasm. “So much for seduction.”

He gives me that sexy half smile again. “If it’s seduction you want, I’ve got plenty in reserve.”

My insides melt. Yes. If I’m being honest, it is seduction I want. But I’m not ready to say so. Instead, I grab the coffee cups resting at my feet, open the door, and glance back. “I already told you I’m not looking for a relationship. But if you want a friendship that goes beyond platonic, you’ll have to work for it.”

The truck door slams behind me as I trot up the walk to Jax’s house.

Chapter Twelve

Seth

I stare at Lucy’s round ass as she climbs the stairs to Jax’s apartment. Did that just happen? Since when had I moved from just friends to wanting Lucy in my bed as often as possible? Right about the time I saw her in line at the café, most likely. Or maybe when she put her hand on my heart and I thought it was going to pound right out of my chest. Hell, she’d had a hold on me twenty minutes after we met, fueled by her sexy rock-star persona. Not to mention I can’t seem to shake the imprint of her body against mine.

Damn.

I’m not getting out of this in one piece. I should start the truck and head back to the tattoo shop, where she probably won’t show up. But Jax is waiting for her fries, and I’d told Lucy I’d take care of it.

With the two bags of produce in my hands, I lock up the truck and head into Jax’s house. She lives on the second floor of a duplex her parents own. They live on the bottom floor. I climb the stairs and knock once before letting myself in.

Jax is on the couch with a washcloth draped over her head.

I drop the bags on the bar separating her kitchen from her living room and then go sit on the coffee table next to the couch. “Hey.”

She opens one bloodshot eye. “You.”

I grin. “Will you live?”

“No,” she croaks. “And neither will you if I don’t get my fries.”

The microwave beeps and Jax cringes.

“Sorry,” Lucy says quietly and brings a steaming cup of what has to be chai to Jax. “Here.”

Jax takes the cup in hand but doesn’t drink. “Keenan?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop staring at Lucy.”

Lucy chuckles and heads over to the produce bags.

“Can you blame me?” I whisper.

She puts a hand on my knee and really looks at me. One glance and I know she’s suspicious.

I give her my cockiest grin and stand. “Fry time.”

“Finally.” She pushes herself up and takes a tiny sip of her drink, then immediately starts to gag.

“Whoa.” I jump out of the way.

The gagging stops and she collapses back onto the couch. “There’s nothing left to purge. I think you’re safe.”

“Uh, Jax?”

“What?” Her arm is now slung over her head.

“You sure you want something to eat?”

She sighs. “I have to try.”

“Okay.”

I join Lucy in Jax’s tiny kitchen and begin to peel and chop the sweet potatoes. Lucy busies herself cutting strawberries.

“You’re not planning on baked fries, are you?” Lucy wrinkles her nose.

“Good God, woman. Don’t insult me.” This isn’t the first time I’d made Jax her fries after a night of indulgence. I reach under the counter and produce a small electric deep fryer.

“Ah.” She takes a sip of her drink.

I glance at the two other drinks still in the carrier. “Who are those for?”

“Jax and me. Want one?”

“Are they all chai?”

“No.”

She pops a blueberry in her mouth, and a look of pure ecstasy transforms her face. Fuck me. I’m bringing her blueberries every damned day for the rest of my life.

“They’re lattes. You’re welcome to one if you like.”

“Thanks.” The coffee I’d gotten had long been discarded, and after staying up half the night, a caffeine boost is exactly what I need.

While I work on the fries, Lucy takes the fruit bowl she’s prepared and sits on the couch at Jax’s feet. The two whisper quietly. I don’t really pay attention until I hear Lucy mention Cadan. The name sends a bolt of anger through me. I don’t know what he did to her, but whatever it was, he’s hurt her. Badly. He must have. Walking away from your soul mate is nearly impossible.

They’ll end up back together eventually. Most do.

The scent of sweet potatoes and oil fills the apartment. I glance at Jax to find she’s already looking better. Her eyes lock with mine, then she looks at Lucy. Oh son of a… is Lucy telling her about us? I’ll never hear the end of it. Not after I’d promised to stay away from her. It’s safe to say I broke the promise with spectacular results.

“Hey, are my fries done yet?” Jax demands.

I turn my attention to the fryer. “Shit!” A few at the top are starting to turn black.

“Need some help?” Lucy jumps up and runs to my side as I’m fishing the fries out with a strainer spatula.

“I’ve got it.” I place the first batch on the paper-towel-lined plate. More than half of them are burned.

“What were you doing over here?” she asks, laughing.

I turn to her and rake my gaze over her body. “Just thinking about that conversation we had outside.”

“Oh.” She fidgets with the hem of her sleeve and blushes again.

I can’t wait to see her entire body do that the next time I get her naked.

Lucy eyes the fries again and then picks up one of the peeled potatoes and begins to slice.

“Well,” Jax says from the couch. She’s sitting up now with her legs tucked cross-legged. “Isn’t this interesting?”

Cringing on the inside, I turn to face her wrath. She knows. I can tell by her tone.

“You couldn’t just keep it in your pants for one night? God, Seth. Lucy isn’t one of your bar skanks. You can’t treat her like that.” Her anger seems to have fortified her. The green tinge to her complexion has vanished, replaced by red splotches high on her cheekbones.

“Treat her like what?” Anger threatens to spring from deep inside me. I clutch the plate with the fries and stalk over to her, holding it out. “More is on the way.”

She takes the plate but doesn’t acknowledge it in any way. “You know what, Seth. Like someone who means nothing but an empty night of pleasure. Like all the rest of them you’ve burned through since Elsa—” She clasps a hand over her mouth, abruptly stopping her outburst.

“Jax,” Lucy says quietly, clearly trying to defuse the situation.

But I’ve got Jax pinned with my stare. She doesn’t seem to be able to look away.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I take a deep breath, fighting for control. I’m seconds from losing my shit. She can yell at me all she wants, but bringing up E? I’m ready to stalk out right now. I would, too, if it weren’t for Lucy. “Okay,” I force out.

“You don’t know Lucy. She’s too sweet for you. Jesus, Seth. Why her?”

“Too sweet?” Lucy laughs and guides Jax back down to the couch. “Have you not been paying attention to my life these last few years? I’ve been dating a rock star and have been on tour. Nothing about my current life has been sweet.”

Pain starts throbbing behind my left eye. “Jax, let it go.” I really don’t need this shit right now.

“Oh, Lucy, please,” Jax says, ignoring me. “You make it sound like you were living that movie Almost Famous or something. We both know you spent most of your time writing songs when you weren’t onstage. Not exactly the stuff gossip rags are built on.”

Jax’s dismissal of her life rankles, but I’m too busy focusing on Lucy to say anything.

Her entire demeanor shifts and a cold expression hardens her face. “Stop it,” she says in a quiet, steely tone. “I’m done with people treating me as if I either don’t have a brain or am too naïve to understand the implications of my actions. Well guess what, Jax? I came on to Seth. Not the other way around. So if you want to yell at someone, start with me.” Her fists are balled on her hips. “I’m not the sixteen-year-old girl both you and my mom seem to think I am. It’s been over four years. I’ve seen a lot, done a lot, and have changed a lot. It’s time to start seeing me for who I am now. Not then.”

Jax’s mouth drops open in a shocked O, and I get the impression outbursts are rare for Lucy. Jax finally spits out, “You think I treat you like your mom does?”

Lucy shrugs, but the movement is forced. “Sometimes. You both have a way of invalidating my truths. Though admittedly, she’s way worse than you are.”

Tears fill Jax’s eyes and she sinks back down to the couch, clearly shaken by Lucy’s words.

“I’m going to go,” Lucy says. “You need to get back on your feet, and I think I need some space.” She turns to me. “Seth, can you give me a lift back to town?”

“Sure. Give me a sec.” I return to the kitchen to clean up my mess. When I’m finished, I hold out a hand once again.

Lucy takes it and pointedly turns to Jax. “See? My choice.”

“Okay, Lucy. Fine. You’re a dirty whore and you want me to stay out of it. I get it. Just remember, I told you he’d break your heart. They all do sooner or later.” She rolls over and faces the back of the couch.

“Ouch,” I say to Jax. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

Lucy shakes her head and whispers in my ear. “This is about Brad. Not me and you. Try not to start anything until she’s ready to talk.”

She’s right. Jax is generous, kind, supportive and an all-around perfect friend… except when she’s hurting. Then she’s mean, selfish, and petty.

I grab my keys. “Feel better, Jax. I’ll come by tomorrow to make sure you made it through.”

She doesn’t turn over, not even when we pause at the door.

“You’re welcome,” Lucy says, clearly frustrated with her friend. “It’s not every day someone brings you chai, coffee, and potatoes for fresh fries. Enjoy them.”

Jax manages a small grunt of gratitude as we escape out the front door.

Once we’re back at the truck, Lucy slumps against the side, holding her head in her hands. “Could that have gone any worse?”

I step in front of her, my feet straddling hers, and wrap my arms around her. I tell myself it’s to comfort her, to keep her warm, but I know the real reason. Five more minutes of not touching her and I might lose my mind.

She presses her head against my shoulder and lets out a sigh. “That makes me zero for three.”

“Huh?”

“On the list of most important people in my life, I’m currently not speaking to the top three.” Her grip tightens on my shoulders.

“Cadan, Jax, and…?” I ask, even though it’s not really any of my business.

“My mom. She’s on Cadan’s side.”

“I see.” I don’t really. Mom loved E, but I’m her son. And no one could come between us. “Well, I don’t think the Jax thing is permanent. After she recovers, you’ll talk and everything will be fine.”

She sniffs and pulls back, wiping away a tear. “You’re right. It’s just a lot, you know?”

I pull her in for another hug, hating that anyone has caused her pain. My protective streak takes over, and the desire to take her home, to keep her safe, almost overwhelms me. I release her, fighting my instincts every step of the way. “I do know. Let’s get you home, okay?”

Chapter Thirteen

Lucy

Why was Jax so mad that Seth and I hooked up? They’re just friends, aren’t they? A horrible thought comes to me.

“You and Jax,” I ask Seth tentatively, “you’ve never hooked up, have you? I mean, like we did last night.”

He jerks and glances at me, his face full of incredulity. Abruptly he pulls the truck into a small gas station and stops. “Seriously?”

I want to curl into a ball and hide under his spare blanket. Instead, I meet his outrage head-on. “You saw the way she acted back there. How am I supposed to know she’s not one of your one-night stands? You already told me you don’t do relationships. I’m just trying to get a grip on what’s going on.”

His jaw works as he tries to form words. Then he clamps his mouth shut and puts the truck in drive without saying anything.

“So that’s it then?” I can’t let this go. Jax is far too angry and he’s too defensive.

“That’s what?” He keeps his gaze steady on the highway in front of us.

“You and Jax have history.” I say it with finality as if it’s fact. “You should have told me.”

He speeds up as he goes around a corner, not quite driving recklessly, but close. I clutch the door, my body stiff with tension. Cadan drives like he’s invincible and it’s always scared me. But the way Seth is driving, it’s more like he can’t wait to get to town to just get rid of me. And that makes me more angry than scared. I turn and stare out the window for the rest of the ride.

When we finally stop in front of the coffee shop, Seth turns the truck off and turns to me. “Lucy,” he says with a sigh. “Jax is just a friend. We’ve never been together. You can believe me or not, it’s your choice. Frankly, I’m insulted you assumed the worst about both of us. But since we don’t know each other very well, I can understand why you might be suspicious. Jax is acting very strangely. And it’s true I have a reputation, but I’m honest and if you ask me something, I’ll tell you the truth.”

“I… well… okay. I didn’t—”

He holds up a hand to cut me off. “There’s one last thing. We talked about exploring this attraction as friends, right?”

I nod.

“Well, to me, my friends are everything. So if we’re going to be friends, I want a promise you’re not going to push me away when things get hard.” He’s gazing at me so intently I fight not to squirm in my seat.

“What makes you think I’ll push you away?” The implication irritates me. I’m loyal almost to the point of being destructive. It’s why it took me so long to leave Cadan and why Mom and I are reaching critical mass. I spent far too many years trying to please her, knowing that what she wants for me and what I want for myself are never going to be the same.

His eyes go soft and he places his hand lightly on my knee. “From the outside looking in, it seems an awful lot like you’re running from everyone.”

Anger boils up from somewhere deep inside, and despite the chill in the air, my entire body goes hot. “I’m not a runner.” My tone is low and measured. “You don’t know my circumstances. After one day and one night together, this is what you come up with? Until you know the details, maybe you should keep your psychobabble bullshit to yourself.”

He leans back against the door, clearly stunned by my outburst. Then he starts to chuckle. “Fair enough, Lucy Moore. Fair enough.” He holds his hand out to me.

I take in his easy, relaxed manner and can’t decide what to think. Clearly he’s a loon, but then so is everyone else I know. I clasp his hand in mine.

“Here’s to getting to know each other.” He shakes my hand slightly, but mostly he’s just holding it.

The anger fades, and as I look at his handsome face and the vibrant tattoos, I realize I do want to know him. The real him. Not the person who runs from commitment. “To getting to know each other.”

He gives my hand a final squeeze before pulling away. “Have a nice evening, Luce.”

“Wait just a minute,” I say. “Give me your phone.”

Seth reaches into his pocket and hands it to me without question.

I punch in my cell number and hit Send so it will show up on my phone and then program my information into his. “There.” I hand it back to him. “Now we’ll have a better shot at that getting to know each other thing.”

Studying his phone, he quirks an eyebrow. “You gave me your number.”

“Yeah.” I frown. “So?”

“You told me before that only Jax had it. I thought I was going to have to work a lot harder than that.” He winks and pockets his phone.

I roll my eyes and push the door open. “Just don’t abuse it.”

“Later,” he says.

“Later.” I slam his door shut, wondering what exactly later means. Later tonight? Later in the week? Or just a random later, as in, see you when I see you? Probably the random one. I sigh, realizing I want it to be later tonight. But I’d sooner volunteer to stay at Mom’s house for a week, enduring her incessant Cadan talk, than tell Seth that.

I hurry back into the coffee shop to get out of the wind and order myself a replacement latte for the one I’d left at Jax’s house. With a coffee cake and latte in hand, I hurry off to my car, ready to get home and curl up in front of the fireplace.

Buckled in, my latte in the cup holder, I rub my frozen hands together and rush to start the car. Nothing. I turn the key again. The car is completely dead.

“Shit!” I grab my latte, my phone, and the jacket I’d left on the passenger’s seat, then head back into the coffee house to call Triple A.

An hour later, a man with his belly pushing his pants down shows up in a tow truck. He determines it’s not the battery and speculates it’s an electrical problem. “Need a ride somewhere?” he asks.

His truck is full of so much debris, I wonder how he even sits in it. I shake my head. “No, thanks. I’ve got it covered.”

He nods and carts my car off to the nearest repair shop in Fort Bragg.

I stand on the street, staring at my phone. I could call Jax. Even though we had a fight, she’d come get me. But she has a nasty hangover, and I’m not certain she can drive without vomiting.

There’s Marty, Jax’s brother, but he’s likely at work. Everyone else I know is either at work or has moved away. There are the guys from the band. I have Mike’s number. Or I could call Seth.

My finger hovers over Mike’s name. I hit Seth’s instead.

He answers on the second ring. “Miss me already?”

“Why yes,” I say. “I’m soaking in my hot tub and thought, who can I call who would make this experience that much more enjoyable?”

There’s a moment of silence, then he clears his throat. “Is this an invitation?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Great,” I say smiling. “Pick me up at the coffee shop on your way.”

“Uh, what?”

“Oh, I meant I was wishing I was sitting in the hot tub. Really, I’m at the coffee house trying to figure out how to get home. My car died. But since you’re clearly not busy, maybe you wouldn’t mind giving me a ride?”

He laughs. “You could’ve just asked without all the buildup, though I am enjoying the visual of you naked in that hot tub.”

“Who said I was naked?”

“Oh. I guess I filled that part in myself.”

I shake my head. “So, do you have a few minutes to run me home?”

“Yeah, but I warn you, I don’t have my swim trunks, so if you want to use that hot tub, I’m going to have to go commando.”

“Oops. I guess this is a bad time to tell you I lied about the hot tub.”

“It doesn’t exist?” There’s mock horror in his tone.

“Nope.”

“Fuck.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I like the sound of that.” Someone calls his name in the background. “Hold on, Luce.”

I go back inside and order him a latte while I wait. If he’s coming to get me, it’s the least I can do.

“You there?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ve got a walk-in. Head over to the tattoo shop and when I’m done, I’ll get you home.”

“Sounds good. And, Seth?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

With coffee in hand, I head up the street to wait for him. The Tattoo Shoppe is in a nondescript building with only the neon sign to distinguish it from the real estate building next door. Inside, the place is spotless and artwork covers three walls. The front is a wall of windows.

“Can I help you?” a pink-haired woman with three eyebrow rings asks.

“Hi, I’m here for Seth.”

She glances over her shoulder. “He’s with a client. You’re welcome to wait over there.” She waves toward the four hard plastic chairs near the front door.

“Tish!” Mike stands up and glances at me. “That’s Lucy. Send her back.”

She gives me a dirty look. “She’s fine where she is.”

“Tisha, goddammit. Stop being a bitch.” Mike walks over to me. “Hey, don’t mind her. She hates everyone, especially those who have a thing with Seth.” He winks and nods toward the workstations behind the reception desk. “Come on back.”

“A thing with Seth?” I ask.

Mike laughs. “We heard his end of your phone call.”

“Shit.”

“Eh, he’s a good guy, even if he tries to tell you otherwise.” He waves me toward a padded drafting chair. “Take a seat.”

Seth waves from his station across the room. He’s busy working on a woman who appears to be my mother’s age. She’s getting an ankle bracelet tattoo.

“Hey, Lucy,” Mike says as he pulls up a chair next to me. “Nice set last night.”

Pleasure winds through me. “Thanks. It was fun.”

“Yeah, until Kinx showed up.” He snarls. “What an ass.”

I automatically start to apologize for whatever he did, but stop myself just in time and scowl. “What did he do this time?”

Mike gives me a look of respect. “Can’t say I blame you for ditching him. After he realized you’d left, he kept demanding we tell him where you went. He got super pissed when we told him we had no idea. He was a real dick, and then he and his entourage took the stage and spent the rest of the night playing his new songs for the crowd. The worst part is they loved them.”

My heart starts to pound and I’m convinced I’m going to have a heart attack. “New songs?”

“He said they were for his new album. He dedicated one to you.”

An ache forms in my stomach. I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “Which one?”

Mike scratches his chin as he tries to remember. “Hmm, not sure what it was called. But it was a ballad. Slow and soulful. Damn, Lucy, it was good, but it would be fucking awesome if you sang it.”

The tears sting the back of my eyes and I blink hard. “‘Alone in the Dark’?”

“Yeah, you know it? I mean, I can’t stand that guy, but that song…” He shakes his head. “The lyrics, man, they’re something else.”

“Yeah, I know it.” Pain bursts in the middle of my chest. My heart is breaking, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Lucy? You okay?” Mike asks.

I shake my head. “Sorry.” My cheeks are wet with tears now, and I angrily wipe them with the back of my hand. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. Damn, I’m an idiot. Hearing about your ex has to be hard. Especially…” He’s uncomfortable. No one ever wants to talk about soul mates when things go bad.

Seth stares at me from across the room, his tattoo gun clutched in his hand. I force a smile to let him know I’m okay. After taking a moment to just breathe, I turn to Mike.

“Dude. I’m sorry,” he says.

“No, don’t be. It’s not Cadan I’m upset about.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Well, it is, but not for the reason you think. I’ve come to terms with our break. It’s what I need and I’m better for it. This—” I wave to my face, knowing I must be splotchy with the effort to stop crying. “This is because that song, ‘Alone in the Dark,’ it’s mine. I wrote that about my dad right after he passed.” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat. “It’s about Dad, and Cadan stole it from me.”

Mike stands up, knocking his chair over in the process. “Are you fucking kidding me? What do you mean he stole it?”

I clutch my hands in my lap. “He told the record company he wrote it, and I don’t have any way to prove he’s lying. It’s further complicated by the fact we’re both under contract, and I bailed. The record company isn’t interested in what I have to say. If I fight, they’ll sue me for breach of contract.”

By now Seth is done with the tattoo he was working on and is standing beside me, a murderous expression on his face. “He stole the song you wrote for your dad? Did I hear that right?”

I nod and stand because with both of them hovering over me, it makes me too vulnerable. “Yes. Now you know why I left.” I can’t stand the way they’re both looking at me. It’s worse than when people find out about the cheating. The pity, the horror that the person who was my soul mate had taken something so personal, was too much for them to process. “He’s a selfish bastard who only thinks about what’s best for him. It’s over.”

Mike eyes me with skepticism, but Seth’s expression clears and he says, “Good. Then there’s nothing stopping me from taking you out tonight. Ready?”

“A date?” I give him my you’ve-lost-your-mind look. “I just want to go home, take a long hot bath, and curl up by the fire.”

“Sounds like the perfect date to me,” Mike says with a wicked smile.

“What?” Then heat floods my face as I realize what I said. “Oh, shut up.”

Seth laughs. “Sounds kind of girly to me. I was thinking more like shots and a hot tub, but your way will work.”

I roll my eyes, my mood lifted by their easy banter. “Are you available to take me home now?”

Seth glances to Tish, who is sending me death glares. “When’s my next appointment?”

She casts a bored glance at the appointment book, and without looking back at him, she says, “An hour.”

“Thank you, Tish,” he says dryly and then puts an arm around me. “Let’s go.”

I pick up the latte and hand it to him. “This is your thank-you present.”

He takes it and smiles down at me. “That’s very sweet, but I can think of a variety of other ways I’d prefer—”

“Stop,” I say and turn to Mike. “We do not have something going. Don’t pay attention to anything he says.”

“Sure.” Mike raises his eyebrows at Seth, clearly not believing me. “I saw nothing, heard nothing.”

Seth just grins.

I shake my head and take off for the door, Seth a half step behind me.

Once back in his truck, he turns and says, “Where to?”

“Head south on 1. It’s about ten miles.”

He still hasn’t started the truck. “Ten miles on 1?” His tone is hesitant, sort of cautious.

“Is that okay? I can pay for the gas.” Highway 1 to the south is pretty windy. The speed limit fluctuates from fifteen miles per hour on up to fifty-five. Ten miles can take up to a half hour depending on traffic.

He starts the truck but doesn’t put it in gear.

“Seth?”

“Hmm?” He turns and catches me staring at him. “Oh. No, I don’t want any money. It’s fine. Sorry, I just remembered something I was supposed to take care of.”

“I can find someone else. Jax or maybe Marty.”

“No,” he says with finality and puts the truck in gear. “Jax needs to recover and Marty… forget about him. You don’t need to deal with his shit today.”

“Okay,” I say cautiously. Marty isn’t exactly my favorite person, but that’s only because I’ve known him since I was five and after all these years, I still haven’t heard him say one decent word to Jax. “Bad blood between you and Marty?”

He starts backing out of the space. “Something like that.” His mood has done a complete one-eighty. He’s gone from the sexy, innuendo-slinging flirt to the closed-off, noncommunicative male in sixty seconds flat.

He’s silent for most of the ride toward my house, not even acknowledging me when I point out we’re about a mile away. Was it something I said? The length of the drive? Had I asked too much?

“Seth, is something bothering you?” I finally ask.

At my question, he seems to make a concerted effort to relax his shoulders. The tension in his face melts away as he turns to me. “No. Nothing to worry about.”

I want to ask what’s going on, but we just met last night and I don’t want to pry. It’s odd, though. I feel as though I’ve known him forever. Maybe it’s the combination of sharing his bed and him now knowing about Cadan. Or maybe just because he’s been so nice to me, and I’m not exactly used to that. “It’s the gray house on the right,” I say.

He nods and pulls over in front of the closed wooden gate, letting the truck idle.

“Thank you so much. I owe you one,” I say as I climb out.

He shakes his head, subdued. All traces of the easygoing guy I’d spent the day with are gone. “No, you don’t. I’m just happy you’re home safe. Have a good night, Lucy.”

“You too.”

He nods and pulls out onto the empty highway, doing a U-turn to head back into town.

I watch him go, still puzzled as to what happened. Had his one-night stand walls finally slid into place? Sadness washes over me. He’s the first person, besides Jax, that I’d truly felt comfortable with in a very long time. Maybe I can still convince him we can be good friends.

When his red truck finally disappears into the distance, I open the unlocked gate and slip inside. From the front of the house, there’s a peek of the ocean, and I just stand there for a few moments, staring out into the vast greatness of the churning water and wishing Seth had stayed. I know he had to go back to work, but I don’t want to be alone tonight.

A shiver creeps up on me and out of the blue I get the feeling I’m not alone. I freeze and glance around. Then panic takes over and I start to shake.

Right there on my front step is Cadan.

Chapter Fourteen

Lucy

Cadan’s leaning against the lamppost, clearly waiting for me to notice him.

No! Dammit.

I steel myself. “I thought you left. Don’t you have a show to put on?” My words come out clipped, full of anger.

He studies me, his sandy hair blowing in the breeze, and he looks so fucking perfect, like one of those metrosexual fashion models. Then he steps off the stoop and moves toward me.

I take a step back.

“Whoa,” he says softly. “Don’t run. Not now.”

My hands ball into fists. “I’m not running. I’m just trying to stay away from you.”

Hurt crosses over his face as he frowns at me. “Luce. Don’t do this. Babe, we need to talk.”

“We don’t.” I pull the house keys out of my pocket and make a move to slip past him, but he cuts me off, blocking my way.

“You can’t keep shutting me out.”

Rage bursts forward in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I throw my hands out, knocking him backward. “I can do whatever the hell I want to. You forfeited the right to have any say in how I behave the day you stole Dad’s song!”

He stumbles back, almost losing his balance, but recovers easily enough. His eyes widen with sudden understanding. “Is that what all this is about? The song?”

I let out a frustrated growl. “You self-centered bastard. You know what that song means to me, and you sold it to the record company without even asking me. You recorded it. It’s on the fucking radio now. It was mine. And you took it.” Tears spring to my eyes, but for once it’s because I’m so incredibly angry. Not heartbroken.

His mouth drops open. Then he closes it. I can tell he’s working to come up with something to appease me, but it’s not going to work.

“Go back to whatever hotel you’re calling home these days, Cadan. I don’t want you here.” This time I manage to push past him. I almost have the door open when his arms snake around me from behind. I still and it takes all my effort to not jam my elbow into his stomach. “Step back.”

“Lucy,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m so sorry, baby. I only took that song to the label because it’s so good. I wanted you to sing it on the track, but then I messed up and you left. I own that. I know this is my fault. Let me make it up to you.”

The words sound just like every other apology he’s ever given me. I can’t believe I’ve fallen for his bullshit a hundred times before. Not this time. He’s gone too far. “You took the song because the label was pressuring you for new material, and you didn’t have any of your own. How else do you explain your name on the credits?” I twist out of his arms, glaring at him.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “They just assumed. I never said it was written by me.”

“Everything is always someone else’s fault,” I yell at the top of my lungs. “I’m not going to forgive you for this. Not now. Not ever. Leave, Cadan. I don’t want you here.”

He actually takes a step back, shocked at my outburst. I’m not a yeller. I also don’t make a lot of waves, which may be part of the reason we’ve reached this point. Standing up for myself hasn’t exactly been my strong point.

“Lucy,” he says softly. “Listen. I know you’re upset. I get it. I didn’t before, but I hear you loud and clear. Let me make it up to you.”

I let out a huff of frustration. “You can’t. Just go,” I say, calmer now. “Please. I need this time to myself.”

Cadan’s eyes narrow. “To yourself? Really? Is that why you left with that guy last night? And why you didn’t come home? I know you weren’t with Jax.”

He can’t know for sure, but I was gone for hours while Jax was still at the bar, drunk as hell. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What happened?”

“That’s none of your business.”

The expression on his face morphs from mild curiosity to outrage. “You slept with him? That’s it, isn’t it? You fucked this guy. What the hell is this? Your twisted way of getting back at me?”

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Has he lost his mind? I left him three months ago. And he’d cheated on me. Was he so self-absorbed that he thought I’d be sitting around pining for him? “You’ve got to be kidding me. Jesus, Cadan. When are you going to realize I don’t belong to you?”

“You’re my soul mate,” he says through clenched teeth.

“You’re a dick. Leave or I’ll call the cops.” I won’t. At least I don’t think I will. A police scandal is the last thing either of us needs.

“I know you better than that,” he says, his voice calmer. “Let’s go inside so you can warm up. You’re freezing.”

I’m so mad I haven’t even noticed the cold seeping through my clothes. The wind is picking up and I can hear the crash of the waves on the rocks intensifying. A storm is coming, and I feel as if it’s brewing from deep inside me.

Cadan holds out his hand for the house key. I stare at it, knowing no matter what I do, he’s not going to leave until he gets what he wants. Only I’m not exactly sure what it is he wants from me. For me to return to the band? To write him more songs? To be the soul mate I’m supposed to be? I can’t do any of those things and remain myself. If I give in, I’ll be lost, living in a world that caters to him and what he wants.

“Lucy?”

I raise my gaze to his worried one. I can’t stand the hidden manipulation I see there. As if in a trance, I raise my hand and drop the house key into his.

He smiles and then turns to unlock the door.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

Turning, he raises an eyebrow. “Where are you going?”

I nod toward the garbage bins. “I need to roll those out before the rain starts.”

“Okay. I’ll see you inside.” He disappears into my house as the first drops of rain fall on my head.

“Asshole,” I say and spin on my heel. I bypass the garbage cans and his Mercedes rental and head straight for the highway. If he’s staying, I’m going. I don’t care if I have to walk the entire ten miles to town. Anything is better than enduring what’s waiting for me inside.

Once I’m outside the gate, I break into a jog, careful to keep to the shoulder. It won’t take long for Cadan to start to wonder where I am. And considering he has access to a car and I don’t, the likelihood that he’ll find me is high. If I can make it to the small convenience store a mile down the road, I might have a chance. Bessie, the store owner, was a good friend of my dad’s. She’ll let me hang out in the back if necessary.

The rain starts coming down at a steady rate, and it doesn’t take long for my clothes to get soaked through. I’m cold, angry, and pissed that I’d let Cadan get to me. The frustration only makes me run faster. And to add insult to injury, as I round a corner, a line of cars shoots past, spraying a wall of water at me.

My only salvation is that none of them was Cadan. Or if one was, the rain is so heavy he didn’t notice me.

My teeth are chattering by the time I get to Bessie’s, but instead of walking in, I bang on the door and poke my head in. “Bessie?”

“In the back,” she calls.

“Do you have a towel?” I don’t want to track in the mud clinging to my tennis shoes or drip a river of water on her hardwood floors. “I ran here and I’m soaked.”

“What? Are you nuts?” She stalks out of the back room, her hands on her hips. “You could’ve been killed out there.”

I grimace, knowing she’s right. “I have an unexpected visitor. And unfortunately he won’t leave, so I had to.”

She tucks her gray curls behind one ear and smoothes her red apron over her round belly. “That good-for-nothing two-timer is here?”

She knows my life well. I nod. “And my car died. It was either be stuck in the house with him or come here. Is this okay?”

The anger melts from her face and she holds out a hand. “You know you’re always welcome. Come on in the back and dry off.”

I leave a soggy trail behind me as I follow her.

She pulls out a chair at what appears to be a break table and waves for me to sit. Then she bustles to a supply closet to grab a towel. “Is Jax coming for you?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t called her yet.”

“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled for some girl time. If not, you’ll stay here.”

Bessie’s offer is sweet. But with her daughter and son-in-law and their four kids, her house is already bursting at the gills. I need to find somewhere else to go.

With a tap of my finger, I call Jax. The phone rings once before it goes to voice mail. Damn. She declined my call. Her voice comes on the line, requesting I leave a message. “Jax. I’m stranded and desperately need a ride. Call me.”

I end the call and try again, just in case. Two rings this time and then it goes to voice mail again. I frown at the phone, frustrated. Is she that mad at me? Seth’s at work; I can’t bother him again. Mike is there too. Shoot.

“Bessie,” I call and head for the front of the store, but just as I slip through the door, the bell rings, indicating a customer.

“Excuse me,” says an all-too-familiar voice.

I duck back into the storage room, my heart pounding practically out of my chest. Cadan is already looking for me.

“How can I help you?” I hear Bessie say.

“I’m looking for someone. You might know her, she lives down the way. Lucy Moore?”

“I know Lucy,” she says. “Haven’t seen her today though. On a day like this, I’d expect her to be tucked up in her house.”

“Yeah.” Cadan sounds confused. “She should.” There’s a pregnant pause. Then he says, “Well, if you see her, please let her know I’m worried.”

Bessie doesn’t say anything. A moment later, the bell chimes on the door again.

“Need a ride somewhere?” a voice says from behind me.

“Holy hell,” I say, clutching my chest. “Holt, you scared me.”

He smiles. “Gran said to take you to town.” Holt can’t be a day over seventeen. He’s tall and lanky with recently straightened teeth.

“You’re all grown up,” I say.

“Getting there.” He jerks his head toward the back door. “Come on. I’ve got to meet my girl. I’ll drop you on the way.”

“Thanks.” I smile up at him and then rush into the store to thank Bessie.

“You can’t keep running forever,” she says.

I bite my lip. “He’s not taking no for an answer.”

“That’s tough. But you’ll need to find a way to make him understand sooner or later.”

“I wish I knew how.”

Chapter Fifteen

Seth

I’m pissed at myself. As soon as I’d found out Lucy lives south on 1, my entire mood had shifted. It’s always rough passing by 128, the highway we’d been on the night of the accident. I should have told Lucy. Instead, I’d abandoned the pleasant flirtation we’d had going and turned into a moody dick. So much for that possible date later.

The clock ticks loudly in the silent shop. Mike’s in the back grabbing more supplies for his station, and Tish is sitting at the desk, staring at me. It’s uncomfortable to say the least. It’s my own damn fault, though. Never mess around with anyone you work with, even if you were both so drunk you barely remember what happened. I have the feeling she remembers a lot more than I do. It was just once, months ago, but she still hasn’t let it go.

“What time was my appointment supposed to be here?” I ask.

“Twenty minutes ago.” She smacks her gum and pops a bubble.

“Okay.” I turn to my sketchbook, meaning to finish a drawing of a phoenix I’d started a few days ago, but I can’t concentrate. All I see is Lucy’s face. My fingers twitch to sketch her. Charcoal. I rummage around in my drawer and come up empty. “Shit,” I mumble and stand up abruptly. “Tish?”

“What?” She gives me a hostile look that I patently ignore.

“Text me if my appointment shows up. I need to run home for a moment.”

“Whatever.” Grabbing a magazine, she spins in her stool to face the entrance.

The rain is coming down in sheets now and it seems crazy to go out in the weather just to get my charcoal pencils, but there’s a driving force inside me. That creative fire that comes so rarely these days. I have to draw. And I can’t wait.

By the time I get to my truck, I’m drenched. The windshield wipers work overtime as I creep through the city streets, but I move forward with single-minded determination. My house is close, but the storm makes the visibility almost zero. No wonder my appointment hadn’t shown up. I’m so focused that by the time I get home, I don’t even notice I’m flying up the stairs until I reach the sunroom door.

Then I freeze. Water drips down the side of my face and splatters on the hardwood floor. I don’t come up here anymore. I’d forced myself to enter twice. Neither time had ended well.

My pencils are on the other side of the door. That driving force is getting stronger. I don’t think I can turn around now even if I want to. I grab the handle and twist, waiting for the panic to set in. It always does.

But this time, with the sheets of rain obscuring the view and my mind on the charcoal, it doesn’t come. Not even when I walk to the center of the room and eye the oil paintings lined up against the wall.

They’re all there. The last dozen or so E and I worked on. Flashbacks of her standing in this room, a paintbrush in her hands, her long blond hair piled into a loose knot on her head as she laughs at her own jokes, filter through my mind. That joy I’d always felt with her around slams into me. I let the emotion fill me up, reveling in the long-forgotten state of being. This used to be my life, so full of hope and wonder. Now the room is dank and dusty, holding everything I loved about her locked away.

All too soon, the soul-crushing ache I’d lived with the last eighteen months takes over, knowing the person who made me whole was gone. Those long days of creating together, bringing something meaningful to not only ourselves but the world around us, had vanished that awful night.

Why?

The question haunts me now just as it had then. There is no answer. There’s only silence.

I blink, and the visions of her are wiped away, leaving me in the dark room as the wind blows, rattling the glass. Why am I here?

The charcoal. Lucy. It should feel wrong to be in this space while my mind is on another lover, but it doesn’t. Instead, the urge to sketch grows. If only those portraits weren’t staring at me. The ones still waiting for a few minor finishes. The ones they’d never get now.

I move mechanically to a shelf full of supplies and pull out a drape. I should have covered them long ago, if for nothing else other than to preserve the art against the sun. Once I have the drape in place, the memories of E dim, and Lucy’s image fills my mind again.

The image of her standing on the stage, feet shoulder-width apart as she sings seductively into the mic, fights with the one of her eyeing me shyly in the truck when she thinks I’m not paying attention.

My easel lies abandoned on the floor, knocked over in a drunken rage the last time I’d ventured up here. Now I bend and pick it up, positioning it in the corner so all I have to look at while working is the rain splattering on the glass. I rip a handful of damaged sheets off the sketchpad, wadding them up as I go. Once I have a fresh, unmarred surface, my hand closes around the charcoal and I begin to sketch.

The world fades away, and all I hear is the splatter of raindrops mixed with the faint sound of the pencil against the paper. It’s soothing as my creative self takes over, seeing only Lucy and the angles of her body, the striking intelligence shining through those eyes and the hidden vulnerability. It’s that above everything else that draws me to her. The sheen of strength masking all the emotions underneath.

Time ticks away as I fill half a dozen sheets with various poses, all ones my mind has been locking away for just this moment, I realize. She’s become my muse, the one I can’t walk away from. What’s happening to me right now isn’t the same as what E and I had. Together, we’d brought magic to a piece; it came alive under our ministrations, revealing something to the subject. No, this is revealing what’s inside me through a subject. In a way, it’s almost more personal. It’s raw and though it’s her image, it’s all about what’s going on inside me.

A dam breaks, and my walls come crashing down. I’m all in, adding stroke after stroke, shading and erasing, pouring myself into this piece in a way I can’t with my tattoos. It’s freeing and also terrifying because I don’t know if I can go back.

But for now, I just draw.

***

Hours later, with over a dozen sketches hung around the room, my hand begins to cramp. I know if I don’t stop, I won’t be able to work tomorrow, so even though I’d rather stay up all night in the sunroom, I put my charcoals away and step back.

Pleasure seeps into all those broken crevices inside me. I created something. Something just for me. It’s not for anyone. It’s an expression of what I feel in this moment. My heart thumps a little faster. I’m alive for the first time since I lost E.

And it’s thanks to Lucy.

The overwhelming urge to see her takes over. Should I call? Head over to her house? The rain is still battering our town. I shouldn’t go anywhere, but I’m afraid if I call I’ll only hang up utterly frustrated. After spending the afternoon and the evening with her image in my head, I want her. Want to experience her gentle yet demanding touch, see her smile, hear her soft laugh as her breath tickles my neck.

Hell. I’m hard just thinking about her. I pull my phone out and send her a text.

Would you mind company?

My phone buzzes a few moments later, but it’s not Lucy. It’s Tish.

Your appointment is finally here… five hours late. Want to take it? Or should I send him home?

I glance at the clock. It’s eight p.m. The shop closes at nine. My first thought is to tell her to send him packing. But then my rational mind takes over. It’s December, not exactly a high-traffic season, and a job is a job. I could use the cash.

I’ll be there in less than ten.

Fine.

I take a moment to wash the charcoal remains from my hands, then grab a raincoat and head on back to the shop. The street is empty with only the lights of the tattoo parlor and the coffee shop glowing in the night. After stopping in for a latte, I jog up the street and slip into the shop, ready to work.

“Hey, Tish,” I say. “Did Mike already leave?”

“Ten minutes ago when he found out you were coming back.”

I nod and glance around. “Where’s my appointment?”

“Bathroom.” She grins. “Wait until you see who it is.”

“Who?” I ask as I settle in at my station.

She shakes her head. “You’ll see.”

I roll my eyes and check my phone. Lucy still hasn’t answered. I glance at the storm brewing outside and start to worry. No, she’s at home where I left her. She’s probably just not near her phone. If I still haven’t heard from her by the time I’m done, I’ll give her a call to be sure she’s okay. Right. That’s why I’ll call. Not because I’m aching to see her. No, not at all.

“Hey, man.”

I lift my head and have to fight back a scowl. Shit. Cadan Kinx. What the fuck is he doing here? I keep my expression neutral and nod to the chair. What I really want to do is throw his ass out, but he hasn’t done anything to me and we have bills to pay. “Hey.”

“Sorry I’m late. I had some business to take care of.” He gives me that million-dollar smile he no doubt uses on all his groupies. The ones he’s busy banging instead of hanging out with his girl. Ex-girl that is. What a fucking loser.

“It’s fine. Did you have something in mind?” I ask.

He nods and pulls out a piece of paper with a crude sketch of a dragon. “I know it’s rough, but judging by the piece on your arm, I’m guessing you can turn this into something badass.”

I narrow my eyes at the dragon spiraling around my arm. “I didn’t ink that.”

“Sure, sure. That makes sense. But you can do something with it, right?”

“Yeah, but I’ll need a little time to work it up. We might be able to get the outline drawn, but we don’t have enough time to finish tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What if I pay you double?”

“Sorry,” I say without even considering it. “I’ve got somewhere I have to be.” I don’t, but I plan on being at Lucy’s. Or at the very least, making sure she’s all right with this douche hanging around.

He raises his hands in mock defeat. “Okay. I’ll be in town a few days anyway. We can finish tomorrow, right?”

I give a noncommittal shrug. The idea of working on this guy makes my skin crawl. It shouldn’t. He’s done nothing to me. It’s because of what he’s done to Lucy. After today’s work session, I’m feeling more territorial than I had after we’d spent the night together. I can’t explain it, but it’s as if I’m connected to her in some way. Not like with E, not in the magical sense. No, this is something else on a pure primal level.

I get up and walk to Mike’s station, pretending to look for supplies. I need to get away from Kinx before I say something I’ll regret. Their relationship isn’t any of my business, no matter how much I’m starting to realize I want it to be. Twenty-four hours ago, my life had been uncomplicated and void of all emotion.

Now Lucy has changed everything.

I turn back to Kinx. “Where is this going to go?”

“Right here.” He thumps his chest over his heart.

Great. Now I have to stare at his ugly ass half-naked. “Take off your shirt,” I order.

After discussing size and placement, I grab a fine-point Sharpie and go to work, turning his crap drawing into something that doesn’t suck ass. Ten minutes later, I’m ready to get started.

“Hold on a sec,” he says. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

I sit back in my chair, my fist clenched around the tattoo gun. I grab my own phone. Nothing. Not even a text from Jax. I send her one asking if she’s surviving.

The phone buzzes back almost immediately. I’m alive, but feel like a total bitch. Have you spoken to Lucy?

I type back. No. Why?

She called a few times but I didn’t answer. Now I can’t get a hold of her.

I frown and type back. Kinx is still in town.

WHAT???

He’s at my shop now. I dropped Lucy at home hours ago. She should be there.

I’ll keep trying.

I want to ask her to let me know Lucy is okay, but I don’t. She’ll only ask questions I don’t know how to answer.

The phone buzzes again. Call me as soon as he leaves.

Will do.

Kinx strolls back over with a frown on his face. I’d heard him talking, but hadn’t been able to make out the words. Had he been speaking to Lucy? If so, it hadn’t gone well.

“Let’s get this started,” he says, all of his charm gone. “I have to meet someone after.”

I lay the transfer of the dragon over his chest and then peel it away. He studies it in a handheld mirror. “Make it vibrant, all right?”

“Sure.” I grind my teeth and go to work.

From the way Kinx sits back in his chair, relaxed, you’d think he’s an old pro at this, but I don’t see evidence of a tattoo anywhere else. At least not on his upper body. Usually I love working on a new, blank canvas, but I can’t stand touching Kinx. I’m jumpy, and after a while, the gun almost slips from my hand.

“Dude,” Kinx says with a scowl. “What’s up?”

“Sorry, man. Long day.”

He glances at it. “Oh, yeah. Before you’re done, I want initials on the tips of the wings.”

I freeze. “What?”

His lips turn up into a slow shit-eating grin. “L and C.”

Fuck! Their initials. He means this to be a soul mate mark. One to tell the world he’s taken. And he wants me to do it. I put the gun down. “That’s something you should have told me before we started.”

“I’m telling you now.”

Cocky bastard. There is no fucking way I’m finishing this. “Sorry, too late.”

He stands and walks over to a large mirror on the wall. “No it isn’t. There’s plenty of space.” He strides back and sits down. “Put them on.”

Anger shoots through my veins. I’d managed to keep it at bay while I was focusing, but the impulse to kick the shit out of him is back. I’d gotten a fair amount done. The entire outline of the dragon plus his face and wings are done in detail. It still needs to be colored in, though. There is room for the letters. But I’ll be damned if I do it.

“It’s late,” I say and stand. “You’ll need to get it finished another time.”

“Dude. I’m not leaving until you ink the initials.”

I finish cleaning up my station. “You’re going to be here a while then.”

“What the fuck, man? I’m not paying for this until it’s done.”

“Fine.” He owes me a few hundred at this point, but fuck the money. I wouldn’t take it from him if I were starving.

He glares at me while I wrap his skin with ointment and a bandage. “What time are you available to finish this tomorrow?”

“I’m not.”

“But I’m leaving town. You have to fit me in.”

“No. I don’t.” Entitled little bitch. “You didn’t make an appointment. Find someone else.”

His jaw tightens, and for a second, I’m positive he’s going to take a swing. But then he stalks to the door, and just before he walks out, he says, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Chapter Sixteen

Seth

“What?” I snap, more pissed than ever. The sick son of a bitch set this up. He’d come to me on purpose.

His eyes narrow. “I know she spent the night with you. This is a small town. Word gets out. This”—he points to his chest—“is to let you both know who she belongs to.”

My entire body tenses. “Lucy doesn’t belong to anyone, least of all not some chickenshit singer who can’t even write his own songs.”

He closes the distance between us. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” Kinx says, his eyes aflame with crazy-like rage. He leans forward, his jaw jutting out.

“You heard me.” I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s pretty fucked up to steal a song she wrote about her dead father. That’s shitty low.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” He’s vibrating with the urge to beat the shit out of me, but for some reason he holds back.

Too bad. I’m dying to rough up that pretty boy face of his. “Maybe you should leave.”

“Fuck you.” His eyes flash with pure hatred. “Lucy will never leave me. I know all about you and your mate. It didn’t take more than ten minutes on the Internet to put the pieces together. I bet you wish you’d never taken a drink that night. What will Lucy say when she finds out?”

On reflex, I reach out and grab him by the shirt, dragging him to me. “Don’t ever talk to me about E.”

“You must hate yourself.” He nods sympathetically, not fighting my hold at all. “I would, too.”

I yank him closer, his face so close to mine I can see his pupils dilate. My entire being longs to crush him.

“Do it,” he taunts. “Take a swing.”

His words bring me back to myself. He’s not worth it. I push him backward. “Get out.”

He gives me a self-satisfied smile, straightens his shirt, and strolls out into the darkness. I close the door, lock it, and slump down into one of the hard plastic chairs. “Fuck.”

“Holy shit,” Tish says softly.

I jerk my head up, having completely forgotten she was there.

“That was Cadan Kinx.” Her eyes are wide with a mix of shock and excitement.

I let out a heavy sigh. “I know.”

“And you had a thing with his soul mate.” She raises her hand to her mouth, giddy with the gossip.

“Tish,” I say as I stand, “do me a favor and keep this all to yourself, all right? Lucy’s had a rough few months with losing her dad and all. This drama is the last thing she needs.”

Disappointment crosses her face, and not for the first time, I wonder how I ever ended up sleeping with such a shallow person. My stomach turns at the thought. “Yeah, okay,” she says. “I can do that.”

“Good. It’s late. You can go on home.”

She grabs her purse, and for the first time since the night we’d spent together, she doesn’t try to manipulate me into a late-night invitation back to my place. At least that’s one good thing to come out of all of this.

I lock the door behind her and immediately call Jax.

She picks up on the first ring. “Tell me everything.”

“You first,” I say. “Have you heard from her?”

“No. I can’t get her to pick up.”

“Fuck.”

“Seth, what’s happening?” Worry seeps through her tone.

“Kinx was here to get a tattoo. I was pretty far into it when he decided to tell me he wanted their initials. I…” Do I really want to tell her this part? No. “It’s a dragon.” I take a deep breath. “He told me to stay away from Lucy. He knows we spent the night together.”

“Omigod! Seth, Jesus. I told you not to mess with her.”

“Not now, Jax. This is serious. He’s acting like a psycho, and I’m worried about Lucy.”

“He won’t hurt her.”

“Maybe not physically, but he’s already done a number on her emotionally.”

Jax is silent for a moment. Then she says, “Come get me. We need to find her.”

“I’m on my way.”

Seven minutes later, I’m idling in front of Jax’s apartment. She must have been watching for me because she runs out the door before I can even get out of my truck.

“Go to the club first,” Jax says.

I glance at her. “Are you sure? Her car broke down. Don’t you think we should try her house?”

“She’s not there.” Jax presses a button on her phone. Lucy’s voice fills the cab. “Jax. I’m stranded and desperately need a ride. Call me.” Jax hits another button. “Never mind. Holt is giving me a ride to town. Call me back.”

“Did she? Call you back, I mean?” I ask.

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I turned my phone off, so if she did, she didn’t leave a message.”

“Jax,” I say, exasperated. “Why are you so mad at her?”

“I’m not!”

“You were.” I turn onto the highway and speed up.

She closes her eyes. “I was just feeling sorry for myself. I drank too much and didn’t get to have my one-night stand.”

I smile at her. “That’s a good thing.”

“No it isn’t. I’m going to die an old spinster.”

I hate that she’s so down on herself. “Not possible. You can have any guy you want.”

She huffs. “Easy for you to say. I just wanted one night, preferably with someone I trust.” She lowers her voice, and I can barely hear her last words. “Lucy got the one I wanted.”

My breath catches in my throat. The silence hangs in the air. I glance over at her, but she’s staring out the passenger’s window. “Jax?”

“What?”

“Did you just say what I think you said?”

She doesn’t answer. And I don’t push her. She’d said she’d wanted me to be her one-night stand. And that’s why she was so pissed earlier. Unease grabs hold of my gut and doesn’t let go. Jax is my friend. Just about the only one I confide anything of importance to. Sleeping with her is out of the question.

I pull to a stop in front of the bar and put the truck in park. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“No we don’t,” she says and grabs the handle, her face pinched in anger. “I just thought you should know what was bugging me. It’s over. That ship has sailed. I won’t make that mistake again.”

I place a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Why are you mad?” I ask softly, genuinely confused. “I thought we’re friends. You know I don’t want to do anything to mess that up.”

She turns, unshed tears shining in her eyes. “I just don’t get it. You sleep with everyone and anything. Even that bitch who works at your shop. But not me? Why not me? All I wanted was a little fun. I’m not looking to have a relationship or anything, but I sure as hell don’t want to get it on with a random stranger. I need someone I trust. And you’re it. Don’t you get that?”

I sit back in my seat, feeling as if I’d been gut-punched. “But we’re friends.”

“I know. That’s the whole point,” she says with conviction.

“I don’t… shit.” I run my hand through my hair. “Okay, let me try to explain this.”

She folds her arms over her chest and waits.

Good God. This is exactly why I avoid romantic relationships. Had I completely misread what’s going on here? “I’ve never considered pursuing a sexual relationship with you because I value your friendship. Those other girls, that’s purely physical. Just a moment in time to forget… everything. Then it’s over. But you, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to fuck that up.”

She doesn’t say anything, just sits there studying me.

“But I guess I might have anyway? Because of Lucy?” I glance at the bar’s front door, hoping she’s in there. Even now, sitting here with Jax, my mind is on the petite brunette, worrying about her.

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know.” She lets out a breath. “I didn’t expect a relationship with you, except friendship. I just don’t understand how you can treat people that way. Using them and then moving on. And what about Lucy? It sure as hell looks like you care about her from this end.”

Frustration replaces the unease eating away at my stomach. “Look, I don’t even know what I feel for Lucy. I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation. And that’s bullshit anyway. I’m honest with everyone I’ve been with. It’s their choice what they want to do. Hell, you just said you wanted the same thing. Double standard, much?”

She unfolds her arms and puts her hands in her lap. Staring at them, she says, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Shit, Jax, this is what I don’t want to happen.” I suck in a breath, prepared to be completely honest. “I like you. A lot. And you’re gorgeous. But since E, I haven’t wanted a girlfriend. Haven’t even been able to comprehend a relationship. Not like that, hence the one-night stands. And you deserve better than that.” I reach over and brush a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You are not a one-night-stand sort of girl, no matter how much you think you want to be.”

“You’re probably right,” she says on a sigh. “But does that mean you used my best friend? Because she’s not a one-night-stand kind of girl either.”

“I don’t know. Hell, we just met, and normally for me, last night would’ve been the end of it, but today something happened. I spent the day in my artist’s loft.” I shift forward and lock my gaze on hers. “Working.”

Her eyes get big. “You painted today?”

“Sketched. With charcoal.” I glance away, far more uncomfortable talking about my art than why I didn’t try to seduce my best friend.

“What did you sketch?”

For whatever reason, I think it’s important that she knows, so I say, “Lucy.”

“I see.” She bites her bottom lip.

“I don’t think you do.”

“You like her.” Jax’s voice wobbles. “Everyone does.”

That’s when realization hits me smack in the side of the head. Jax doesn’t have a thing for me. She’s jealous of Lucy. “Hey,” I say softly and hold out my hand. “Come here.”

She stares at it, then tentatively places her hand in mine. I tug her over and wrap my arm around her, giving her a half-hug. “You know you’re beautiful, right?”

Laughing, she thumps me on the arm. “Don’t start hitting on me now, Keenan. It’s gross.”

“Not on your life. I just wanted you to know that if you want a night of wild abandon, I know a few guys who’d be more than willing. Nice ones who will take care of you.”

“The moment’s passed,” she says stiffly.

“I figured as much. But I wanted you to know they exist. And about Lucy?”

“Yeah?” She tilts her head to really look at me.

“She’s pretty messed up right now. Me and her, we’re not that different, and that might be part of why I’m drawn to her. But she’ll never replace you. Got it?”

She forces a smile. “Yeah.” Then she blushes. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“I think it was about half a pint of tequila.”

“Oh God,” she groans. “Don’t say that word ever again.”

“As long as you don’t try to get in my pants again.” I grin and wink at her.

She looks me up and down, then gives me a pouty smile. “No deal. You can’t ask a hot-blooded girl to agree to such hardcore demands.” She laughs and her eyes sparkle with mischief the way they usually do when we’re joking around.

I chuckle. “Okay, perv. Keep your fantasy, but don’t be surprised when the tequila shots show up in the near future.”

“Oh, damn you.” This time when her hand reaches for the door handle, she jerks and opens the door. “Let’s go look for your muse. She’s got to be here somewhere. There aren’t many other places in town she could be.”

Chapter Seventeen

Lucy

Sitting in a booth, I swirl my straw around the cherry bobbing in my ginger ale. Even though I’m not hungover from the night before, alcohol is the last thing I want right now. Actually, I’m dying for a hot chocolate and a hot bath, but I’m not getting either anytime soon.

“So what do you think?” Mike asks. He’d called while Holt was giving me a ride to town to ask if I’d be available to discuss singing in the band on a permanent basis. Without anywhere else to go, I’d suggested meeting at the bar to discuss it. And luckily when he found out I was carless, he’d agreed to give me a ride home later. We’d been in the bar ever since.

I glance at the notebook in front of me. It’s a song list he wants the band to consider. One of them happens to be one of mine. It’s about meeting your soul mate and sticking with them no matter what. Everyone thinks it’s about Cadan and how love conquers all. It isn’t. I wrote it after my Mom found her mate and left Dad. “Sure, I can sing these.”

“Even that last one?” He studies me with a concerned expression.

He’s asking about “One Last Step.” My song. I shrug. “Sure. I like that song.” And I do. It helps me work through the conflicting emotions that have plagued me since the divorce.

It starts running through my mind, and before I realize it, I’m humming the melody. It’s familiar and brings me a sense of comfort.

Mike starts a slow background beat with his hands against the table and hums along with me. I smile. It’s been months since I’ve sung anything of mine, and the melody winds through me, taking hold the way it does when I’m singing something I’ve created. I can’t help myself. The words come spilling out.

You take the road less traveled

You say you know your way

But we both know there’s more to living

Than the path you chose yesterday

As I’m singing the last verse, peace settles in my bones and my soul fills with a pure, euphoric state. My tone smoothes out, harmonizing with a voice I know better than my own. I turn in my seat and meet Cadan’s eyes. He’s crouching near me, singing the verse softly, emotion radiating from him. The love is overwhelming, and it’s spreading to everyone in the room. They’ve gone silent as they wait for us to finish the song, to give them what they crave. A few minutes of joy, of love, of contentment. I let everything go and lose myself to the words and him.

Take my hand now, baby

Don’t be afraid to meet me halfway

Take that one last step, baby

And meet me halfway

Everything Cadan and I experience when we sing together is amplified to the audience, even when we don’t intend it to be. Most say it’s a mind-blowing experience that’s like a natural drug. It’s what makes our concerts sell out in less than three minutes when they go on sale. Or when they used to go on sale, before I left.

I abruptly clamp my mouth shut and ignore the pleas from the bar patrons.

“Luce,” Cadan says, his eyes pleading. “Can we talk?”

I shake my head. “Now’s not the time.”

“Please, love. There are things I need to say.”

“Don’t call me that.” I try to snap at him, but it comes off as weak, like I don’t mean it. Sadness immediately replaces all the music-filled places in my heart.

He holds his hand out to me, his expression understanding. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Just a few minutes and I’ll let you be. I promise.”

I meet his eyes and see the person I met three years ago. The one I knew before the record deals. Before he was the rock god everyone catered to. None of our bandmates or roadies are here. No managers, no handlers, no one. It’s just me and him. He does nothing to hide the vulnerability written all over his face, and it nearly breaks me. As much as I hate him, I still love him. I will always love him. And no matter how far I go, no matter how much distance is between us, it will never go away. It’s at the core of me.

Reaching out, I close my eyes as I slip my hand in his. His fingers are warm and clasp protectively around mine—gentle, yet firm. My traitorous body longs to be near him, to be touched by him, but my heart is breaking with the bittersweet reality of what lies between us.

He tucks my hand between both of his, holding on as if I’m someone to be cherished and protected. The way he hasn’t held me in months.

“Lucy?” Mike says. His hands are fisted and he’s casting murderous glances in Cadan’s direction.

“What is it?” I ask him.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Talk to him, I mean?” His tone implies he thinks I should run in the other direction. He’s right. I should. It’s what I’ve been doing. But it’s also clear Cadan isn’t going to go away until he’s had his say.

I nod, fighting back tears. This is something I have to do.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” I choke out, overwhelmed by his concern, and then force myself to step closer to Cadan.

Cadan wraps a protective arm around my shoulders and regards Mike with disdain, but he doesn’t say anything as he tugs me off to another table, one in a quieter corner where we can talk. He pulls out a chair for me and scoots his close so our shoulders are almost touching.

After being away from him for so long, my instinct is to lean in. I stop myself and move my chair to the left, pointedly putting some distance between us. He opens his mouth to talk, but I hold up a hand, stopping him. “Whatever you do, do not start singing or I’m out of here. Got it?”

He gives me an incredulous look as if I’ve offended him, but then he starts laughing. “Fair enough.”

The singing is my downfall. How could it not be? That’s when I go all mushy inside. His voice is a drug to me, and when I join in, we pull everyone under with us. It’s both the most amazing and the most terrible thing that can happen to a person. When trust is broken, as mine has been over and over and over again, it’s torture to be so connected and yet not be able to give oneself over to the emotion.

If I go there one more time, I’ll be broken. I turn swiftly so we’re facing each other and then stare him hard in the eye. “Tell me why you did it? The real reason this time.”

“The song, you mean?”

The fact that he has to ask makes me want to weep. I nod and finish with a sad shake of my head. “I already know why you slept with the skanks. Ego and opportunity.”

“Luce.” He huffs out a deep breath. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Neither do I. Don’t you think that’s part of the reason I’ve been avoiding you?”

“I thought you were pissed.”

This time I let out a humorless laugh. “I am. Honestly, Cadan, I don’t know what else there is to say.”

The silence stretches between us. I can’t take this. His proximity wears on my resolve. I want to touch him and share an inside joke. Write songs. Sing. Dance. Do all the things that were us before he turned into a first-class bastard. I’m just about to get up and bolt when his hand slips over mine.

Reflexively, I wind my fingers through his, wanting that connection. He’s who I’m supposed to be with. The one who’s supposed to make me whole.

“I never apologized,” he says, regret clear in his voice. “Not really.”

“No, you didn’t.” I stare at our joined hands. Nothing about this is right. I know it in my heart. Gently I pull away. “The thing is, Cadan, you’re not good for me. I crave these little moments. The ones that feel so right. But they’re always fleeting, and my heart is left trampled and bruised. Only the bruises never seem to fade. Not even when you’re this person, the one who is sweet and considerate. When you’re as you are now.”

“I haven’t been with anyone since you left.” He says the words as if he hadn’t even heard what I said.

I raise one extremely skeptical eyebrow. Jeez. The urge to punch him makes my fingers curl. “What am I supposed to say to that? Congratulations?”

“No.” He runs a frustrated hand through his dark blond hair. It’s a little longer than it had been when I left, and honestly, it looks good. “I needed a reality check, some time to get my head on straight. You leaving made that happen. I know I fucked up. Multiple times. God, how I fucked up. The life does something to people. Makes them feel like they’re greater than they are.”

“You mean makes you feel like you’re greater than you are. I was there, too, remember? I have fans. Guys hitting on me who’d be more than happy if I pulled them backstage. Yet you didn’t see me fucking random people right under your nose for months on end.”

“No? What about that guy you left with last night? Seth?” He spits his name out with utter disgust. “Jax’s friend, right?”

What? How does he know Seth’s name? Had Jax said something in her drunken stupor? I stand and glare down at him. What I did with Seth is none of his damned business. “This conversation is over.”

He jumps up and blocks my way. “Wait. Jesus. I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You’re right. I was a total self-indulgent asshole.”

“Was?” I say, totally put off by his accusation. After I’d caught him red-handed, the truth had come out. He’d been sleeping around on me for months.

“Hey, I bailed on the tour. I’m here. Trying.”

I refrain from rolling my eyes. Though I understand that for him, there is no bigger gesture. He lives for the tour, for the audience.

“I’m not the same without you, Luce. Everything means less. You gotta give me a second chance.”

He seems so sincere, so lost, that I sit back down. But I don’t know what to say. I can’t give him what he needs. Not without losing myself.

Relief washes over his features as he settles in next to me again. “What can I do to make it up to you? To earn your trust again?”

“You can start by telling the label that song is mine.” The anger and disappointment I’d been carrying around all these months floods my senses. He’d hurt me more than he knew by cheating, but when he stole my song and recorded it without me, he’d taken a piece of my heart that belonged to my dad. I couldn’t forgive what he’d done. Not unless he made it right. “I want it back. Then we’ll talk.”

“I’ve already told them,” he says softly.

My heart starts to pound, and I’m sure I haven’t heard him correctly. “You did?”

He nods.

“And?” What if they didn’t care? Was it lost to me forever?

“They want you to come in and record it.”

Shit. I was afraid of that. I stand again, ready to leave. “I can’t do that. I can’t sing with you. Not while things are like they are. And not that song. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

As I turn to go he says, “Luce, they want you to record a solo version of it.”

I freeze. When I’d left, the label had been less than happy. I’d offered to do a solo album, but they’d told my agent something about me not having the stage presence for a solo act. Now, since I ditched the tour, I’m in breach of contract. It doesn’t make for a pleasant negotiation process.

But if what he says is true, I have a chance to rectify that with a song that means the world to me. “Since when?”

“Since I told them you wrote it. They’re pretty pissed I took credit for it.”

“Why? Why did you tell them?” But I already know the real answer. He did it because the label is going to drop him anyway if I don’t come back. The Cadan I know would never sacrifice his career by owning up to anything.

“Because, Lucy…” He grabs my hand and presses it to his heart. “I love you. Like I said, nothing’s the same. I miss sharing the stage with you. I miss you. It turns out it means little without you by my side.”

He’s saying everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. Hope blossoms in my chest, but I’m not convinced. I probably never will be. “And what if I say no? What if I never come back? You risked your career for me.”

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they’re filled with pain. “It’s a chance I had to take. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t make this right.”

I can tell this is tearing him apart. He’s made big mistakes, and he seems sincere no matter what his initial motivations were. But I’ve left that lifestyle and found I’m happier staying out of the spotlight. Yes, I enjoyed performing the night before, but that was just to the local crowd. It was fun, void of any pressure from the labels and the bean counters. I’d been singing for me, not everyone else.

I nod, accepting his explanation, even if I am still skeptical. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes. Say you’ll come back with me and record your dad’s song. After that, we’ll figure it out.”

I hesitate, wanting to say yes. Wanting to ease his suffering. It’s our soul mate connection. I can’t help it. This is the reason I’ve refused to even talk to him. Being around him makes me weak. I shake my head. “I need time to think about it.”

The breath he’d been holding comes out in a whoosh as he stands and crushes me into a hug. “That’s better than no.”

“Yeah,” I agree, and hug him back, tears stinging my eyes. This will never work.

He tightens his hold on me until our bodies are pressed together. I let him, knowing full well it’ll only make saying no harder. He’s strong and familiar and everything I’d always wanted.

Until last night happened.

Chapter Eighteen

Seth

Jax pulls me through the rain into Raven’s Tavern. The first thing I notice is Mike sitting by himself at the bar. I gesture to him. “That’s strange. Mike never comes here unless he’s playing.” I scan the room for the rest of the band, but come up empty.

That is, until I notice Lucy wrapped in the arms of that douchebag Kinx. “Fuck me.”

“Is that an invitation?” Jax asks, laughing. “I thought we already covered that topic.”

I all but growl and turn her shoulders until Lucy is in her sight line.

“Aww, shit,” she whispers. “Why can’t he leave her alone?”

“Because he’s trying to get her back,” I say, resentment burning a hole in my gut. And by the looks of it, he’s off to a better than decent start. “Let’s go.”

“Go? Where?” Jax turns around, her eyes crinkled in confusion. “We’re not leaving her here with him.”

“Really? Looks like she’s doing fine to me. Besides, weren’t you the one not even answering her phone calls a few hours ago?” Suddenly, I’m pissed at Jax. If she’d been there for her friend, Lucy would’ve likely been tucked into Jax’s apartment instead of standing over there plastered to the devil incarnate.

“Hey.” Jax punches me in the arm. “Don’t get snippy with me just because you’ve fallen for her after one night of whatever you two got up to.”

I narrow my eyes. “I have not fallen for her.”

“Right. That’s why you spent the day in your artist’s loft instead of at the tattoo shop.” She gives me a saccharine-sweet smile and then heads off toward Lucy.

I immediately make my way to the bar and slump down next to Mike. “How long have you been here?”

“Since I left the shop.” He picks up a shot glass full of whiskey and downs it.

I raise a curious eyebrow. “How many of those have you had?”

“A few.”

“I better catch up then.” I wave the bartender down and order a shot of my own. “Were you playing or something?”

“Nope. Trying to convince that gorgeous brunette to become a permanent member of the band.”

The bartender slaps the shot glass in front of me. I lift it and study the liquid sloshing against the rim. “You asked Lucy to be a member?”

“Yep.”

I can’t help but glance back at her. Jax has an arm around her shoulders and is dragging her away from Kinx. Good. I’ll have to send her a giant thank-you bouquet in the morning. “What did she say?” I ask Mike, nervous energy making it hard to breathe. Why do I care so much? I barely know this girl.

It’s the art.

That’s what I tell myself. Something about her opened up a part of me that I thought had died the night I lost E. That’s all it is. And I don’t want to lose that.

“Nothing. Her ex showed up and lured her away before we could work anything out.”

The bartender asks if we need anything else. We both order another round of shots.

“So why are you drinking?” I’ve only seen Mike drunk once before. That was the night his girlfriend dumped him for his best friend. Make that ex best friend.

“Fuck, dude.” He shakes his head. “I was just sitting there with Lucy, and we were talking about the band playing one of her songs. So she starts singing it, right?”

“And?” I stare into the whiskey, contemplating if I really want to drink it.

“Next thing I know, Kinx is there. And he sings the last few bars of the song with her.”

“Okay.” Yep, I’m definitely going to need this shot.

I pick it up, but then Mike says, “You’ve never heard anything like it, man. Or more accurate, felt anything like it. Their voices, they do shit to a person. Make you feel shit you don’t want to feel.”

Slowly, I lower the drink to the bar. “What do you mean? I’ve heard it’s more like a shot of joy right in the arm.”

He lets out a huff of laughter. “That’s one way of putting it. I swear they were only singing together for a few seconds, but in that time more memories than I can count came flooding back. Memories I’ve worked hard to let go of. The ones that remind you of what it’s like to give a shit.”

His words filter through my haze and a cold dread slides down my spine. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” He raises his glass, salutes me, and downs the whiskey. The shot glass slams against the bar and he stands. “Do yourself a favor. Run if those two ever team up again.”

“Headed somewhere?” I ask, trying to ignore his last remark. The thought of Lucy going back to Kinx makes me physically ill. I grit my teeth. I’m way too invested in this girl.

“I have to get out of here.”

“Hey,” Jax says from behind us.

Mike grunts at her and heads toward the door.

“Where’s he going?” Lucy asks.

I shrug. “Home?”

“I’ll be right back,” she tells Jax and runs after him. Kinx watches her from his place across the room. He’s scowling, glancing back and forth between me and Mike. It takes a shit ton of effort not to head over to him and slam my fist into his nose.

“Stop,” Jax says and waves the bartender off when he tries to pour me another drink.

“Why? You can drive my truck.”

“Not the alcohol, you idiot. Though you clearly don’t need any more of that tonight. I meant stop glaring at Cadan.” She turns and rests her elbows on the bar. “He’s Lucy’s mate, and she’ll decide what’s best for herself without any input from you.”

I know she has a point. But the primal need to protect Lucy is overpowering my rational mind. “He’s a douche.”

“I know.”

“Does Lucy?”

“Yes.” Jax pats my arm the way a patient mother would pat her child. “Why do you think she left his ass in the first place?”

Lucy and Mike are standing near the door, their heads bowed as they talk. He’s a foot taller than her with jet-black hair. Even Mike would be better for her than Kinx. At least Mike respects women. He’s a serial monogamist. But his last girlfriend did a number on him when she left him for a chick.

It’s that soul-mate connection. No one can compete with that shit.

Lucy tugs Mike back over to where we stand at the bar. “Mike can’t drive. I’ve confiscated his keys.” She holds them up, letting them dangle in front of Jax. “Can you take him home?”

Jax grabs them. “Sure.” Turning, she gives me a sidelong glance. “You can’t drive either, can you?”

“Nope. But I’m walking distance.” One of the perks of living right in town. My gaze lands on Lucy, and my mind flashes back to the night before when I’d had her in the shower and the agonizing way she’d trailed kisses down—

“All right,” Jax says. “Come on, Luce. I’ll give you a ride, too.”

The three of them head for the door with Mike swaying between them. I guess he’d had more than a few. An invisible force sends me trailing after them. The last thing I want to do is go home to an empty house, but if I stay in the bar, I know I’m going to lose my shit on Kinx.

Jax reaches for the door, but before she can grab the handle, it bursts open on a gust of wind. “Holy shit,” she says and shoves it closed. “Is there a high-wind advisory in effect?”

The bouncer nods. “Probably why there aren’t very many people out tonight.”

“Crap,” she says and looks at Lucy. “Do you want to stay over? The ride to your house might be a little hairy.”

Before Lucy can answer, I step in front of all of them, my shoulders tense. “No. I have more space. Everyone can come back to my house. You can stay there.”

Jax gives me an odd look and then shrugs. “Okay.”

“Dude,” Mike says, rubbing his eyes. “All I want is my own bed.”

I scowl at him. “Forget it. Jax isn’t going to drive in this just because you’re being a pussy.”

Mike mumbles, “Whatever, man. As long as you have food. I’m starved.”

Lucy opens her mouth, closes it, and after a pointed look from Jax, she nods.

“Good.” I pull the door open, and the four of us huddle under the protection of the balcony. Sheets of water pour from the skies. Dammit. Just getting the block and a half to my house is going to be bad enough. “Jax? Will you be able to drive my truck? Visibility looks nonexistent.”

“Yeah,” she says in that soft voice I hate. It’s the one full of pity. The one that says she knows why I’m being so adamant about this.

“All right, then. Mike, where’d you park? Do we need to move your car?” There are meters, and if he’s parked on the street, he’ll get a ticket in the morning.

“It’s at the shop,” he slurs.

“Great,” Jax says and rolls her eyes. “He’s totally sloshed.”

“What? I’m not drivin’.” Mike squares his shoulders and takes off into the night.

“Oh, man.” Jax presses her lips together in annoyance. “Is he heading to your house?”

“I hope so,” I say and hand her my keys. “You and Lucy take my truck. We’ll meet you there.”

She wraps her arms around herself and shivers. “You sure?”

“Yeah. He’s a mess. I can’t let him wander around by himself.” Those last shots must’ve hit him hard.

“Okay, see you in a few.” She waves me off with a worried expression.

I turn my back and ignore her. It’s not the rain she’s concerned about. Not with us walking, though it’s fucking cold and I want to kill Mike. No, she’s concerned about my state of mind. I can’t say I blame her. Storms usually set me off. Tonight I’m a little calmer, but I’m not at all sure I want to analyze why.

Pulling the collar up on my jacket, I jog out into the punishing rain and am instantly drenched. “Fucking Mike,” I mutter as my teeth chatter. At least some of the buildings have second-story balconies for a short reprieve. But that doesn’t last long, and soon enough I’m back in the storm, blinded by the rain. He couldn’t have gone far. Car lights flash over the street as a vehicle moves slowly in my direction. I recognize the familiar hum of my truck and wave Jax on, but I doubt she can even see me. The truck is inching along the road, spraying water from the wheels.

My gut seizes, and all the shadows morph into another time, on another road where the rain batters the redwoods.

***

Elsa’s shoulders are tense and her knuckles have gone white from gripping the steering wheel.

“You look like my ninety-year-old grandmother,” I say, laughing.

She’s pressed forward, peering out the window, going all of twenty miles an hour. “Shut up, Seth,” she snaps. “It’s your fault we’re on this damn road.”

I just grin, thinking of all the ways I’m going to coax her out of her bad mood when we get home.

“Why did you have to go out tonight? God. I told you it was going to storm.” She slows as she heads into one of the hairpin turns of Highway 128.

I don’t say anything, hoping she’ll let it go. No such luck.

“This is like the third night this week. It’s bad enough that you go out, but you guys don’t even think to set a designated driver. And then I have to pick your ass up.”

“Babe.” I lean my head against the cool door, trying to stop a minor bout of nausea. I’d definitely had one beer too many. “I already told you, I had to go. It was Marty’s going-away party.”

“Seth!” she yells, her dark eyes flashing with anger. “There were strippers there. And you’re drunk. Again. You don’t even like Marty.”

“He’s Jax’s brother. I had to go.” But inside, I’m wondering why. She’s right. I don’t like him. He’s a dick. Jax hadn’t even been there. My other friends were, though. And since I work from home, I rarely see them. I’d gone for them, not Marty.

“Don’t lie.” Her tone is low and full of ice now. “This was my night to stay in with the girls. Not drive all the way down to Boonville to pick your ass up. And in this weather, too.”

“Calm down, will you?” The rain starts to pick up the closer we get to Highway 1. “You can rip my head off when we get home.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” Elsa speeds up, knowing the road is about to straighten out, and then glares at me. “I’m tired of this shit. I have a life too.”

“Oh come on. Give me a break will you? I don’t give you a hard time when you go out.”

“Ha! Really? Wasn’t it just last week you were having a fit because I went up to Fort Bragg for a spa day with the girls?”

Now I’m pissed. “Not this again. Can you drop it already?”

“No, I won’t drop it,” she says, mimicking my inflection, and then huffs. “It’s okay for you to get drunk with the guys, but it’s not okay for me to get a manicure with my girlfriends?”

“It’s not the manicure. It’s the facial, the massage, and the two hundred dollars’ worth of shit you buy when you do that.”

“It’s my goddamned money!” She gets really quiet, then says, “At least I’m not spending it on strippers.”

I close my eyes, exasperated, and clutch my pounding head. “How many times do I have to tell you, I didn’t spend money on the strippers? They weren’t my idea.”

“But you knew they would be there and you decided to go anyway.” All the accusation is gone, replaced by hurt.

Shit, now I feel like a total ass. She wasn’t mad I was out with the guys. She was mad because of the entertainment. “Babe, I—watch out!”

Elsa gasps and swerves to miss the pickup that’s coming head-on into our lane, but she’s too late. The truck clips her small Honda on the driver’s side and then everything is just a memory of her screams combined with metal crunching and then the horrific sensation of the car hydroplaning. We hit the guardrail, and metal scrapes against metal until it gives way and the car freefalls into the ravine.

I don’t remember anything after that except the blood. And guilt.

***

“Seth?” a husky female voice is calling my name.

I blink. My body is ice-cold. “It’s too late,” I say, still seeing E’s bloody body in my mind.

“Are you all right?” Small hands wrap around my arm.

I wipe the wetness, a mix of rain and salt, from my eyes. Lucy.

She tucks herself against my side and wraps her arm around me.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I say as I let her tug me along.

“Neither should you.”

Her teeth are chattering by the time we burst into the kitchen of my house. The place is quiet except for the creak of footsteps overhead. Someone’s upstairs. I stand there, still dazed by the flashback, seeing nothing.

Then Lucy steps in front of me and stares up at me with those brilliant blue eyes. She’s drenched, her hair flattened to her head, but she doesn’t seem to care at all. My world spins with the images of E, the blood, and the terror I never seem to be able to let go of. But when Lucy places a light hand on my cheek, everything fades and all I see is her. After a moment, she silently takes my hand again and leads me up the stairs.

Chapter Nineteen

Lucy

The gusts of wind drive against Seth’s truck, and even going ten miles an hour, the vehicle seems unstable at best. I have no idea how Jax can see anything out the windshield. The rain is coming down too hard for the windshield wipers to keep up. But it’s only a few blocks, and after narrowly missing a black sports car, she comes to a stop in front of Seth’s house.

We sit in the truck with the heater running, waiting for Seth and Mike to show up.

“Jax?” I ask.

“Hmm?” She peers out the windshield.

“Why did Seth lie about this being his sister’s house?”

She freezes and then turns, grimacing.

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to answer. When she doesn’t, I say, “Well? What’s that about? Is he afraid his one-nighters will turn into stalkers?” I’m curious. If that’s the case, why had he brought me here? Because I’m Jax’s friend?

“That could be part of it. He definitely doesn’t like attachments, but it’s not the main reason.” Her expression turns sad. “And really, that’s his story to tell. Not mine.”

“It has to do with the accident, doesn’t it?” Deep in my gut, I just know he lived here with his soul mate. The place has too many feminine touches to be a twenty-three-year-old’s bachelor pad.

“Something like that.”

We’re quiet as the rain batters the truck, each lost in our own thoughts. It’s hard enough being away from Cadan, but that’s my choice. I can’t imagine how I’d survive if I lost him completely. For better or worse, he has a part of my soul. For Seth to lose his soul mate so young—I can’t even imagine the devastation.

“Hey,” Jax says and rubs on the fogging window. “Is that Mike?”

Before I can answer, she’s out of the car, running across the street toward Mike, who appears to be trying to force his way into the wrong house. Where is Seth? He’d been right behind Mike.

I jump out of the truck and scan the area. Nothing. Within seconds, I’m soaked through. Damn. Jax and Mike stumble toward me with Mike’s arm draped over her shoulders. “Where’s Seth?”

Mike doesn’t even acknowledge I’ve spoken.

Jax hands me Seth’s keys. “Can you find the house key and unlock the door?”

I fumble with the key ring, trying to get my frozen fingers to work. After three tries, I finally find the correct one and hold the door open for them. I follow and stand dripping just inside the door as Jax pulls Mike to the breakfast table. He sits and grins at her stupidly. “Hey, Jax?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna help me out of these clothes?”

She laughs and heads out of the room. A few seconds later, she comes back with a stack of towels and throws one at his head. He catches it but makes no move to actually dry off. After tossing me one, she wraps hers around her dripping hair and then shakes her head at Mike. He’s eyeing the way her shirt is clinging to her body.

“Dude, stop,” she says and rolls her eyes.

As she walks by, he grabs her hand and yanks her toward him. “Thanks for saving me from the rain.”

She slides into his lap playfully and banters with him about getting out of their wet clothes.

“Hey,” I call. They both turn and glance at me as if they’d forgotten I was here. “Where’s Seth?”

Mike shrugs and hugs Jax closer to him. She frowns but makes no move to remove herself from his lap.

“It shouldn’t take this long for him to get here,” I say and open the door.

“Where are you going?” Jax asks as I head out.

The wind whistles with the roar of the storm and I call out, “To find Seth.” The door slams behind me and cuts off Jax’s response.

Jesus, it’s cold and utterly horrible out. Ice-cold rain drives into me sideways as I trudge down the street, searching for Seth. It’s too dark to see much of anything. Where is he? There’s no use calling out; he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the storm. I trace the steps toward the bar but don’t see him anywhere.

Shit!

What happened to him? My heart speeds up as I get closer and closer to the bar. Panicked now, I run across the street, splashing though a puddle that turns my feet to ice. He has to be here somewhere. Just has to be. Nothing is open, and the streets are deserted. But I press on. I can’t go back without him. I won’t. After circling the block twice, I finally spot him. He’s hunched over, leaning against a door as if he’s having trouble breathing.

“Seth!” I continue to call his name as I run to his side. Then he straightens and looks at me with haunted eyes, ones full of anguish.

My heart squeezes and feels like it’s breaking in two for whatever it is he’s seeing. “Seth,” I say again and wrap my hands around his forearm. “Are you all right?”

He mumbles something about it being too late. He’s completely lost in another time, and I wonder if he’s even seeing me at all. But he lets me guide him toward his house, and that’s good enough for now.

By the time we step inside, I’m shivering uncontrollably, frozen to the bone. Seth has gooseflesh covering his arms, but I’m pretty certain he doesn’t even realize it. He stands in his kitchen glancing around, but doesn’t seem to focus on anything.

The pain lining his face touches that raw part of me that’s been aching for Dad ever since he passed six months ago. Seth is clearly still grieving and it breaks my heart. Slowly, I step up to him and cup his cheek.

Recognition replaces the agony in his deep-green gaze. And all I want to do is take care of him. To do my best to keep that haunted look from his eyes.

I don’t know where Jax and Mike have gone, but it makes little difference. My only concern is Seth. I lace my hand in his again and gently lead him upstairs. The room we’d stayed in the night before has a light shining under the door, so I bypass it for the next room. As soon as we walk in, I know this is Seth’s room. Seth’s and his mate’s. I freeze and the breath leaves me as my lungs constrict. No wonder he never brings anyone here. The walls are white, but there’s color everywhere else. The poppy pillows, the floral nightstands, the bright yellow lamps. I’d bet my last dollar his mate decorated this room.

“This way,” Seth says and leads me to the master bathroom. Relief washes through me. White tile everywhere. No traces of the ghost that still haunts him.

Seth stops in the middle of the room and stares down at me. I can’t quite read his expression. He’s intense, but not with desire. Just emotion.

“You’re cold,” he says.

“So are you.” I am cold, but I’m far more worried about what’s going on with him than my own comfort.

“Shower.” He reaches over and turns the taps on, letting the water heat up. But he doesn’t move. He just keeps standing there watching me. The depth of sadness radiating off him caresses me, sinks into me, and makes me want to take care of him.

With my fingers trembling, I reach up and work my way through the buttons on his shirt. My fingers start to regain some of their feeling as I fumble through the task.

I want to strip my own clothes off and jump in the shower, letting the heat drive away the effects of the storm. But taking care of Seth is more important. I want to see that light in his eyes again. Hear the laughter in his voice. Somehow find a way to show him he can love again. Once the buttons are undone, I push his shirt over his shoulders and then tug the white tee over his head.

To my surprise, he places his hands on my hips and runs them up along my sides, taking my sweater with his motion. A second later, I’m topless, standing only in my bra and black pants.

There’s nothing romantic or erotic about either of us undressing the other, just a tender understanding of one human being needing another. We finish stripping each other and then Seth tugs me into the blissful, hot stream.

I stand in front of him, my back to his chest with his arms wrapped around me. We stay there until the cold is driven from our bodies, if not our hearts. We don’t speak. Not even when Seth gently washes my body with shower gel, and then I do the same for him.

Once clean, he stares at me, his eyes soft with tenderness and vulnerability. I stare back, lost in the moment until the water turns tepid. Releasing me, he turns the knobs to off. I hadn’t been self-conscious before, but I am now. I don’t know why, but the fact that we’d taken care of each other seemed almost more intimate than what we’d shared the night before. Almost. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I turn away from Seth, hoping he’ll disappear into the other room long enough for me to find a towel.

“Here,” he says and gently wraps a bath sheet around me.

I clutch the ends together and send him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

The sweet look on his face melts away all my apprehension, and the tension eases from my shoulders. “You’re welcome,” he says softly. “I’ll find you a robe.”

Then he’s gone, and all I can think about is the way he’d been watching me. Cadan has never looked at me that way, as if I were someone to be cherished. The closest he’s ever come is while we’re singing and have that magical connection. But I’m certain it has everything to do with the way the music makes him feel, not the way I make him feel.

While waiting for Seth, I towel-dry my hair and then wrap my body back up in the towel. The house is quiet, eerily quiet. Where are Jax and Mike? A knock sounds on the door.

“Yes?”

“I’ve got a robe and some socks for you,” Seth says from the bedroom.

I open the door and smile at him. He’s wearing straight-legged sweats and a black T-shirt. No socks. I stare at his feet. “Your toes are going to get cold.”

He doesn’t say anything, and when I look up, he’s gazing at me, his brows drawn together with indecision. Handing me the robe and socks, he says, “I can’t sleep with socks on.”

“Oh.” I clutch the robe to my chest. “I’ll only be a minute, then I’ll get out of your way.”

He frowns. “Out of my way?”

“So you can get some sleep.” I slip the robe on and turn away from him to pull the towel off. Once the robe is cinched, I hand him the towel. “I’ll go find the guest room or the couch. Thanks for letting us stay. It’s ugly out there.”

I’m almost to the door when his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me. My pulse skips a beat, and I take a moment to collect myself. What is it about this guy? His very presence turns my insides into all kinds of crazy.

“Stay,” he says.

“Uh…” Is he propositioning me? There’s no denying I’m attracted to him, but having a repeat of the night before seems like a bad idea. Especially after the way I’d found him earlier.

“To just sleep,” he says. “Nothing else. I promise.”

I glance at his king-sized bed and raise an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

He nods and tugs me to the bed. “I’d really like you to stay.”

“Okay.” Nervous anticipation zings through me. How would we spend the whole night together in the bed with me only wearing a robe and not end up sleeping together? It seems impossible, but I can’t stop myself from climbing in the bed.

Seth crawls in after me and rolls onto his side, tucking me close. His arm slips around my waist, and he rests his hand between the folds of the robe, on my bare stomach.

I sigh, instantly warm and comfortable in his bed. In his arms.

“Good night, Lucy,” he whispers in my ear.

“Night, Seth.”

Chapter Twenty

Seth

Out on the street with the rain pounding away at me, I’d been right back there with E that night. The pain and anguish ripped through my gut as if I were experiencing the accident all over again. This wasn’t the first time I’d had a flashback so intense, but it’s the first time in a very long time.

Then suddenly, Lucy had been there, a beacon in the sea of my anguish. And she’d brought me home, brought me back to myself by just being there. The way she’d let me hold her in the shower and then again in my bed had restored something vital in me. I’d barely even been a walking shell of a person since the accident. But now a small trace of acceptance starts to take up residence in my gut. I’ll never get over losing E. I know this down to my core. I only hope I can learn to live with it. And last night, in Lucy’s sure arms, something broke loose. For the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe. To just relax with someone else. I can’t let her go.

The predawn light filters through the blinds as light rain patters against the windows. Lucy’s soft body is still snuggled against mine. Her deep, rhythmic breathing, indicating she’s still sound asleep, is more comforting than I care to admit. I want her to stay. I don’t want to know what the day will bring. I’d rather stay right here with her warmth keeping the darkness away.

I lie next to her, taking in her silky dark locks splayed across my pillow, and force myself to not run my fingers through her hair. They twitch with the urge, but I don’t want to do anything to wake her.

The minutes tick by as I watch her and I pray the moment never ends. I’m content, a state of being that is so wholly foreign I almost panic. I don’t deserve this. But then Lucy shifts and rolls over to face me. Her eyes are hooded, heavy with sleep. Sultry. My gaze shifts to her lips, and my mind turns off. I want her.

She chuckles and sweeps her hair to the side, tucking the strands behind one ear. “Well, good morning.”

I smile. “The best.”

We stare at each other, not moving. My body goes taut with desire. And it has little to do with the fact the robe she fell asleep in is gaping open to reveal the creamy slope of her breasts. Though that doesn’t hurt. No. It’s the easy intimacy. And the way she puts me at peace by just being present.

“I’ll be right back.” She scoots to the edge of the mattress and swings her legs out of the bed. A shiver visibly shakes her. When she cinches the robe closed, the fabric stretches across her round ass and I consciously hold back a groan. Damn.

After a few minutes of the water running, I can’t help myself. I have to be near her. Padding into the bathroom, I grin, catching her brushing her teeth with a bit of toothpaste and her finger. “You know, that extra toothbrush is still in the other bathroom.”

She spits and rinses then turns to me. “I didn’t want to wake Mike and Jax since I plan on climbing right back into that bed.” Her gaze runs the length of my body, pausing briefly on my chest. Then she raises one eyebrow. “Are you joining me?”

This time my groan is audible, and her smile widens.

She reaches out and strokes one finger over my abs. “See you in a minute.”

I can’t keep my eyes off her as she saunters back into the bedroom, the silk robe showing every delicious curve. Sweet Jesus. Last night she’d been gentle, soft, and… solid. An anchor. My anchor. This morning, she’s sultry Lucy. The one I met at the club. The combination makes my chest ache with something between awe and fear.

Standing at the sink, I press my hands to the marble and hang my head, taking a minute just to breathe. I have to let whatever is happening inside me go. She has a soul mate, and no matter how much I want her, she’s going to go back to him eventually. He’ll get his shit together one of these days, and she won’t be able to help herself.

I should leave. Go down and make breakfast for everyone. Spending the morning loving her will only make it worse. I make up my mind to do just that, but when I reach for a towel after brushing my teeth, her discarded clothes catch my eye. The black lace bra I’d carefully stripped from her is lying on top of her sweater. The swell of her breasts is fresh in my mind and my fingers ache to touch her.

Screw breakfast. I can’t leave her alone in my bed. Who am I kidding?

“Hey,” she says, her eyes glinting with desire as I head back into the bedroom.

I smile seductively, mentally peeling back the blankets covering her bare body.

She laughs, a low, husky sound that makes me instantly hard. I could listen to her read a grocery list and die a happy man. “Jax calls that smile you’re wearing the panty-dropper.”

“What?” I half-choke, half-laugh, then clear my throat. “Is that a trait shared by others, or only specific to me?”

She smirks, then runs her pointed tongue over her bottom lip. “Hard to say. It’s the first time I’ve experienced such a phenomenon.”

Holy fuck. She’s hot. I mentally calm myself before I throw the covers back and take her right here and now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I run my fingers along her jawline, letting them trail softly down her neck.

She takes in a sharp breath as I feather my thumb over her pulse.

“I want to kiss you right here,” I say.

She swallows. “I’m not stopping you.”

The want on her face only makes me more determined to take my time. Watching her desire build is doing strange and wonderful things to both my mind and body. “In a moment,” I whisper and slide my hand down, dipping my fingers into her cleavage.

Her chest rises as she arches into my touch.

God, I want to take her breasts into my hands, clasp her taut peaks between my teeth, and tease her until she’s writhing beneath me.

But that slow tremble taking over her body is too alluring.

I take my time, exploring the satin feel of her skin as I slowly peel back the blankets.

“Seth?” she breathes.

“Hmm?” Cupping her hip with one hand, I slide down and press a kiss to her inner knee.

She responds by spreading her legs, giving me full access. “I want you.”

Satisfaction fills me to my core. I want this girl to want me. Want her to want only me. Shit. This is intense. I shouldn’t have these feelings. I don’t want them. But I can’t help myself. “You’ve got me,” I say and kiss my way up her inner thigh. I pause and gently blow against her sex.

“Oh,” she moans and her hips rise slightly.

I tilt my head up and smile in smug satisfaction. She wants me just as much as I want her. Her eyes flutter open, intense with need. She doesn’t say anything, just winds her fingers into my hair and applies the tiniest bit of pressure. Not a demand. A request. And I’m all too happy to oblige.

Her sweet scent assaults me as I taste her, licking, sucking, teasing, using her moans of approval to unravel her secrets.

“Seth,” she gasps and tightens her grip on my hair.

I redouble my efforts, determined to coax her to climax with just my tongue. She bucks beneath me and I grasp her hips, stilling her, forcing her to give me complete control.

Her cries grow louder, her entire body sparking like a live wire.

“Take me,” she forces out. “I want you inside me.”

Holy fuck. I want that, too. But I can’t bring myself to pull away until after she comes completely apart. I pulse my tongue against her faster.

Her cries turn into high-pitched gasps as her body goes taut and then stills beneath me. Deep personal satisfaction fills me, and while her limbs go limp, I gently kiss my way up and over her left hip. She stirs beneath me, and I continue my exploration until I have one of her nipples right where I want it, clasped lightly between my teeth. Wrapping her legs around me, she lets out another gasp and grinds into my ever-hardening erection.

“Now,” she demands, pushing at my sweats, lowering them as far as she can reach. I want to resist, drag this moment out for as long as possible, but when her small hand slips over my cock, I lose all sense of self-control and grab a condom from the nightstand.

“Now?” I ask to confirm. Or was I trying to buy a little time?

She grabs the condom from my hands, rips it open with practiced skill, and then rolls the latex on me.

“Now,” she orders and tilts her hips up, pressing herself against me.

I could so bury myself into her heat and take her fast and hard. It seems to be what she’s demanding. But I have other plans. I pull back slightly and position myself right at her opening, gently teasing.

Her nails bite into my shoulders and she lets out a strangled growl. “Seth, dammit, you’re driving me insane.”

I can’t help the smug smile that claims my lips. I’d gladly drive her insane for the rest of the day, if only I could hold out that long. But the way her tongue dances wickedly over my chest and the shocking darts of delicious pain from her nails raking over my back have me pressing into her, slowly, inch by inch, her heat driving me out of my fucking mind.

“Oh, God,” she says and gasps as I bury myself deep inside her and still, waiting for her to adjust to my intrusion. And then when she rocks her hips, I pull out just as slowly, torturing myself. My body shakes with the effort to hold myself back, and when I meet her brilliant blue eyes, full of so much lust, I let myself go and thrust hard and fast, watching as her eyes close from the intense pleasure.

The way she arches her body into mine, so completely lost in the moment, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Something breaks free inside me. An overwhelming urge to make her mine, to bind my soul to hers, takes over. To somehow, through our physical joining, make a connection that’s impossible to break.

Her eyes open, and our gazes lock as I once again thrust deep, making her gasp.

“More,” she says breathily. “Much more.”

Those words are all I need to hear. In one swift movement, I grasp her wrists and hold them over her head, pausing just long enough for her acceptance.

Though she doesn’t speak, the way her body quivers in anticipation and her legs tighten around my waist, I know she’s as into this as I am. I bend my head to hers and whisper, “Today, you belong to no one but me.”

I pull back and stare into her wide eyes. She nods once and then our bodies begin to move in unison, matching each other’s every thrust in raw, unabashed need. It’s not just sex anymore. She’s in my heart now. I’m sure of it. And right now, even though I know it will be my undoing, my heart is bursting with the joy of it.

“Lucy.” I groan and quicken my pace, slamming into her.

“Seth,” she answers on a shortened breath and lets out a cry of pleasure. Her body spasms as she tightens around me. “Now. Come with me.”

I thrust one more time, deep inside her as she shudders beneath me, and finally lose myself in her.

Chapter Twenty-one

Lucy

I lie spent in Seth’s arms, my limbs languid with the aftermath of incredible sex. But I know that no matter how much I want to tell myself what we did means nothing, my heart says otherwise.

Today you belong to no one but me.

His words keep running through my head. At the time, it had been sexy as hell. But now it’s terrifying. Had he actually meant anything by it? Or was he just caught up in the moment? Sex makes people say crazy things. Especially hot, mind-blowing sex.

And holy freakin’ cow, had it been mind-blowing. I never thought sex could be better with anyone than it was with Cadan. With him, sex had been almost magical, but it all revolved around a release of our connection. A way to purge some of the intense emotions that lingered after we’d put on a show. My attraction to him was only that intense if we’d been working together. But with Seth? Damn. All we needed was each other and boom. Instant sparks.

Why was that?

Seth presses his lips to my temple. “Are you ready for breakfast?” he asks as he runs his fingers lightly over my bare spine.

“Yeah.” My voice is so low with uncertainty that he shifts and rolls me to my side in order to look me in the eye.

“We don’t have to get up,” he says. “I’m happy to stay right here for the rest of the day.”

I want to deny him and leap out of the bed, but I can’t. I’m frozen with the knowledge that once I get up, everything will change. Cadan and the label aren’t going to leave me alone. And if I don’t go back, I’ll lose the right to record my own songs. They still think I signed that publishing contract. I can’t work with Cadan and be with Seth at the same time. And I’ll be damned if I set myself up to hurt Seth. He’s been through enough. “I think Jax and Mike might come looking for us sooner or later.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Probably.”

Reluctantly, I extract myself from his arms and shiver with the loss of his warmth. Wrapping myself in the robe, I glance back at him. He’s propped up on one elbow, studying me.

“What?”

Shaking his head, he gets up and walks around to where I’m sitting and holds his hand out. “Come on. The shower is waiting.”

I quirk one eyebrow and try not to stare at his naked torso or his well-defined abs. “Planning a repeat performance of this morning?”

He grins. “Well, I’m thinking I’ll change the moves up a little.”

I can’t help but laugh and take his hand. If I have to give him up, I might as well enjoy him while I can.

***

It’s late afternoon by the time Jax drops me off at my house. “See you tomorrow?” I ask.

“Sure. Call me when your car is ready.”

The shop said the starter had gone out and they’d had to overnight the correct replacement. “Thanks.”

I’m already out of her car when she says, “Luce?”

“Yeah?”

She glances down at her hands folded in her lap. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Cadan?” I say, caught off guard, and then bite my lip at the incredulity on her face. “Oh, you mean Seth.”

She rolls her eyes. “Dude. You just spent the last two nights banging my best friend and now I barely recognize him.”

“Your best friend?”

“Well…” She closes her eyes and grimaces a little. “He’s the one I spend most of my time with these days. Sorry. It’s hard when you’re not around.”

I wave a hand and try to ignore the slight ache in my heart. I wasn’t anyone’s person anymore. I’d been Dad’s. And I’d thought Jax’s. But Dad’s gone and Jax has moved on. That leaves Cadan, and I don’t want to be his person. At least I don’t think I can survive being his person. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”

She gives me a small smile. “So, about Seth.”

“What about him?” Now I’m just irritated and feeling utterly alone. “I thought you said he’s the player type. Right? Shouldn’t you be warning me to stay away from him or something?”

She sits back in her seat and lets out a long breath. “I tried that already. It didn’t work. And now I don’t know what’s going on, but Seth isn’t himself. Or at least not the Seth he’s been the last eighteen months. Around you, he’s almost his old self.”

“So? Maybe he’s like that when he’s with other girls too.” I shrug her concerns off. We’ve only known each other a few days. An intense couple of days, but still.

“Maybe,” she says. “But I don’t really think so. Just try to let him down easy when you go back to Cadan.”

I open my mouth to protest her remark about Cadan, but then close it. No one believes Cadan and I won’t end up together. It’s useless to argue. I nod. “It’s not like we even have a relationship, but I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks.”

I stand on my porch as she backs out of my driveway and disappears down Highway 1. Before I go inside, I wander around to the back deck. Rainwater is pooled on the chairs, and the skies are still overcast from last night’s storm. The gloom matches my mood. I lean forward on the deck railing, losing myself in the surf churning below. This spot, right here on Dad’s deck, is the one that usually calms me, brings me peace when everything else is unsettled.

But not today. There’s a war going on inside me. My connection to Cadan when we sing together. The way we seem to see into each other’s souls and know each other so well. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with anyone. I don’t know if I can give it up forever. Yet, I can’t be with him either. Not with the way he is now. Selfish, self-centered, and arrogant.

And then there’s Seth. I’ve just met him, and while I know whatever we might have together will never be as intense as the soul connection I have with Cadan, he makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before. Wanted, respected, maybe even cherished.

Or was that just the kind of lover he was? Maybe in a few weeks he’d turn into every other guy I knew and move on to someone new. Today you belong to no one but me.

Today. Yeah. That said it all.

When the chill from the ocean is too much to bear, I let myself in the back door and head straight for the fireplace. The wood is already stacked, and all I need to do is light the fire starter. Before long, heat fills the living room and the wood crackles under the flames.

In the kitchen, I start simmering a cup of milk for homemade hot chocolate. The familiar pang of loss hits me hard and tears sting my eyes. How many times did Dad and I stand in this spot making hot cocoa together on a cold winter night?

The shrill of the house phone snaps me out of my memory, and without thinking, I grab the receiver. “Hello?”

“Lucile Marie,” Mom says.

Shit! I bite back a sigh. “Hi, Mom.”

“Don’t hi me. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

My teeth grind together as I clench my jaw. “I was with Jax.” It’s sort of true.

Silence.

“Mom?”

“Cadan is here.”

This time I can’t stop the sigh. “And?”

“You’re ruining your life.”

The phone creaks as my hand tightens around the phone. “If that’s all you wanted to say, Mother, I’ve heard it before. I’ve got something on the stove. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Lucy? Wait.”

I debate pretending I didn’t hear her, but can’t bring myself to hang up. She’s still my mother, after all. “I’m here.”

“You’ll be here Friday, won’t you?”

Friday is Christmas Eve and her house is the last place I want to be. Her husband will spend the entire day talking about how screwed up the music industry is and tell me what a shame it is that music is my talent. Then he’ll move on to everyone else who has ever wronged him. The bitch fest will go on until he finally passes out from too much rum in his eggnog. And Mom will take every chance she can to get me to go back to Cadan. She’ll preface her argument with all the money I’ll be giving up and how stupid I am for throwing my life away. “Yes,” I say because she’s the only family I have. Being alone on Christmas for the first time since I lost Dad is unthinkable.

“Four o’clock.” There’s a beep and then the line goes dead.

“Bye,” I say, staring at the phone, and then I throw the cordless on the counter. Ugh!

I grab my phone and start texting Jax, but before I can hit Send, a message comes in.

Seth. Need someone to keep you warm?

A strangled laugh bubbles up from the depths of my throat. I type back. Why, Seth, are you trying to invite yourself over?

Only if the answer is yes.

I stare at the message, not sure what to do. After the call from Mom, I feel more alone than ever. Jax would let me rant to her over the phone, but she has to work at Mendocino Cuisine waiting tables.

My phone buzzes. Or maybe dinner?

Whoa! Is Seth Keenan asking a girl out on a date?

His answer is almost immediate. Damn right he is. You don’t want to crush a vulnerable man, do you?

No. I definitely don’t want to do that. Come over. Bring dinner. The second I hit Send, a weight lifts from my chest. The pressure from my mom and Cadan vanishes as I look forward to an easy night with the sexy guy I can’t seem to stay away from.

Be there in an hour.

The milk is steaming on the stove, but instead of tossing in the chocolate, I turn the stove off and head upstairs. I have a date.

Chapter Twenty-two

Seth

Did I really just ask a chick out on a date? That’s probably not what Jax had in mind when she’d grilled and then berated me for getting involved with her best friend. The one who was still tied to her soul mate. But dammit if I couldn’t get Lucy out of my head. And the fact that I always want to paint after seeing her has me texting against my better judgment.

After she’d left this morning, it was all I could do to get Mike out the door so I could spend the day in my studio. My fingers had ached with the need to paint. And after I’d put the finishing touches on one of the portraits, I sent that text without thinking it through.

I don’t chase girls. Not like this. Hit on them? Flirt my way into their beds? Hell yes. But dating was out. Not my style.

Whatever it is with Lucy is different. The sheer fact that just being around her stirs my passion for painting is enough to make me pursue her for as long as she’ll let me. I’ll deal with the fallout later. The only thing I know for sure is I can’t stay away.

I shower quickly, and with my hair still damp, I grab my keys and head over to the Seafood Café. My buddy Dean is the chef here. What he creates with his wife, Ashley, is almost better than sex. A solid second for sure. I bypass the busy entrance, shaking my head at the amount of patrons who came out on a Monday night in December for his famous lemon-grass halibut, and use the back door to walk right into the kitchen.

He grins and waves me over to where he’s sautéing some mussels. The mouthwatering scent of garlic and coconut permeates the air, and my stomach growls.

“Hey, man. What’s going on?” he asks.

I clap him on the back. “Any chance I can con you out of two takeout orders of whatever your special is tonight?”

He quirks a curious eyebrow. “Your sister in town?”

Lillian and Dean used to date before he met Ashley. While she adores his food, she’s not too excited about seeing her ex so happy when he’s the one who dumped her. I shake my head. “No. Not until later this week.”

He raises his other eyebrow. “Date?”

I give a noncommittal shrug.

“Oh, ho! Keenan has a date,” he says with a grin. “About damn time, man.”

“It’s no big deal.” I shift uncomfortably. What Lucy and I do or don’t do together is no one’s business but ours. Dean isn’t likely to talk, but I’m conscious of the fact she’s a public figure. And the last thing she needs is reporters sniffing around if anyone hears she’s seeing someone. Or even appears to be seeing someone.

“Right,” he says and bobs his head, indicating he doesn’t believe me for a second. He knows me better than almost anyone. A date is unprecedented.

“The meals?” I prompt.

He laughs. “Yeah, sure. It’s halibut tonight. Go have a drink at the bar. I’ll have Ash bring them out to you.”

“Thanks.” I head to the bar, but I don’t drink. I’m driving, and ever since that horrific night, I haven’t touched one ounce of booze and then slid behind the wheel. Not once.

In the twenty minutes it takes for the food to arrive, I fend off not one but two locals who clearly would like nothing more than to take me home with them. A week ago, I’d have already ditched dinner and had my tongue down the brunette’s throat. Tonight, I’m less than interested. Downright annoyed actually.

“Pardon me, ladies,” Ashley says, squeezing by them. “This man has a date waiting.”

One of them gives me a look of pure disappointment. The other shrugs and immediately moves on to start flirting with the bartender.

“Thanks, Ash.”

She smiles and puts the bag on the counter. “Anytime, Seth. Anytime. Now, go on and have your mysterious date before Dean’s curiosity gets the best of him and he demands all the gory details.”

I chuckle. “It’s driving him crazy, isn’t it?”

She nods and leans in for a half-hug. “Bordering on obsessive. Go. Have fun.”

I hug her back and kiss her on the top of her head. “You’re the best.”

“I know.” She gives me a gentle push toward the door.

“Wait.” I pull out my wallet. “I need to pay the bill.”

She shakes her head. “Not tonight you don’t. It’s on me.”

I’m holding my credit card out to her, but she pushes it back. And knowing there’s no way I’ll win the argument, I stuff the card and wallet back in my pocket. I’ll settle up later. One way or another.

The drive down Highway 1 seems to take forever. Just my luck, I get behind the one driver who is clearly a tourist on the Pacific Coast Highway. He slows to a crawl around every corner and slight bend. Though it’s probably for the best. I’m so anxious to see Lucy that if I’d been given open road, I more than likely would’ve ended up at the bottom of a cliff.

The lights shine bright from her gray seaside home. I pull to a stop in her gravel driveway and take a moment to collect myself. Suddenly I’m filled with nervous energy. What am I doing here? Setting myself up for disaster. That’s for certain.

With food in hand, I stride onto her porch, and before I can knock, the door swings open. Lucy’s face brightens with a smile as she leans against the open door, dressed in a flared skirt, leggings, and a form-fitting T-shirt. Her feet are bare except for the bright pink toenail polish that hadn’t been there this morning.

“Hi,” I say as I lean in and brush my lips over hers.

“Hey.” Her smile turns mischievous and then she grabs my shirt and yanks me inside.

“Whoa. Did you miss me already?” I laugh at her.

She shakes her head. “No. But one more minute on the porch and I was going to turn into a Popsicle.”

We’re standing in the foyer in front of the staircase. To the left is a short hallway into what appears to be the living room. To the right is a dining room table. I set the food down and pull Lucy into my arms, kissing her deeply and so thoroughly she’s breathless when I finally let go.

“Oh,” she says, her face flushed. “Hello to you, too.”

I grin and head through the dining room to her kitchen. “Wine?”

She grabs the bag of food and follows me. “White or red?”

“White.”

She opens the refrigerator door and hands me a full bottle of sauvignon blanc, followed by a corkscrew.

“Perfect,” I say.

While I open the wine, she turns to pull dishes from the white cabinets. As she reaches up to grab them, her T-shirt rides up, exposing the creamy flesh of her lower back. In an effort to control myself, I turn toward the window for something else to focus on. “Jesus, Lucy.”

“What?” She spins around, holding the plates to her chest.

“This view is fucking amazing.” The night is crystal clear, and the moon lights up the Pacific.

“Yeah,” she says. “This was my dad’s house. He was an oceanographer before he retired. Being close to the ocean gave him peace.”

The look on her face is so sad and tender I want to forget about dinner, pull her into my arms, and hold her until the pain fades.

But she grabs two wineglasses and holds them out to me. “You pour. I’ll set the table.”

Dinner it is. Moments later, the lemon-grass halibut is resting on a bed of rice and smells like heaven on earth.

Lucy sits across from me, a fork poised in her hand. “This is amazing.”

Not as amazing as she is.

Her eyes sparkle with joy as she raises her wineglass in my direction. “To new friends.”

I set my fork down and grab my glass but don’t raise it yet. “Is that what we are?”

Uncertainty flickers in her expression. “Aren’t we?”

Her pouty frown makes me want to forget the food and show her just how friendly I really want to be. But I’ve opened the door to the conversation no guy ever wants to have. Dumbass. Why did I ask that? “Of course we’re friends. But I don’t usually share my bed with friends, so this is new for me.”

She lets out a startled laugh. “You mean you’re not friends with any of the girls you’ve slept with? Ever?”

I shrug and give her a chagrined smile. “Only you.”

“Well…” She picks up her glass again and holds it out. “Then this really calls for a toast.”

Raising my glass, I nod. “To you, the singing pixie with a fiery voice.”

She pauses and then giggles.

Holy shit, I’ve never heard a sweeter sound. So far I’ve seen sassy Lucy, sexy-as-hell Lucy, rock-star Lucy, and supportive Lucy. But this Lucy? The one that’s relaxed and completely unguarded? This is the one I want the most.

“And to you, the man with the gorgeous ink.” She casts a glance at my arm, eyeing the vibrant green dragon.

It’s my design, but Mike inked it. I clink my glass to hers, and we watch each other as we both take a sip. After a few bites of fish, I put my fork down and lean in. “You were amazing on that stage, you know.”

Her cheeks redden, but she gives me a pleased smile. “Thank you.”

“Tell me you’re going to be a regular with the band. That you’ll be back on that stage next week.”

Her eyes cloud over and she hangs her head, staring at her food.

“Lucy?” I reach over and gently clasp her hand. “You were born for that stage.”

Her head snaps up and her fire is back. “That’s what everyone says. But what if I don’t want that life?”

I release her hand and sit back, studying her. “What life? One that puts that sexy smile on your face? One that clearly lights you up on the inside? I saw you on that stage. There wasn’t anything about it you don’t love. And I’m pretty sure if your ex hadn’t barged in, you would’ve stayed on that stage until the bar closed.”

Her lips quirk up in a small smile before her expression turns serious again. “The other night, that’s not real. That’s not what being in the music business is about. All they care about is charts and how many seats can be filled. The label, the producers, the managers, they manage to take everything that’s good out of it. I can’t even record my own damn songs.” She bites her lip as if she’s said more than she wanted to. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. People would kill for the opportunity I’m throwing away.”

The troubled expression on her face and the way she pushes her food around her plate makes me want to stuff my words back down my throat. Too late now. “That’s not ungrateful. Sounds like you’ve found out what you don’t want. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up music, does it?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No. But almost everything I love about it is tainted now. The audience wants to see me sing with Cadan. And since I’m still under contract with my label, I can’t record anything new unless my lawyer manages to get me out of my contract. Which isn’t looking likely. Everything is a mess right now.”

“And you left because of your ex?” Jax told me he was a cheating bastard, but I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.

“You could say that.” She grabs the wine bottle and refills her glass. After a sip, she peers at me. “What about you? How does a painter go from having work in galleries around the country to trading it in for a tattoo gun?”

I choke mid-sip and my eyes water as I cough.

She raises her eyebrows, waiting for me to answer.

Shit. I guess I deserve that. I’d pried into her life and what she plans to do with her gift. It’s only fair she should get to ask about mine. I clear my throat. “Elsa and I painted those pieces together.”

Her expression turns soft, sympathetic. “Elsa was your soul mate?”

“Yes.” It’s my turn to stare at the food. “After the accident… Well, I was pretty beat up.” It takes me a moment to find the courage needed for what I want to tell her. I rest my right arm on the table in front of me and run my hand over the dragon scales. “The accident was pretty horrible, and a piece of metal was lodged in my forearm right here.” I reach over and take her hand. Pressing her fingers to my arm, I guide them over the expertly camouflaged scar.

“Oh wow,” she says with a gasp. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before.”

We’ve only known each other for a couple of days, but we’d spent a lot of time exploring each other during that time. I shrug. “I do my best to avoid letting anyone touch the scar. It’s too painful.”

She pulls her hand back as if she’d been burned. “It’s still sensitive after all this time.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.” The look on her face says she knows exactly what I mean. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. But it was painful for a few months, so during that time I didn’t paint, even though it was all I could think about. I wanted to work, to block out the awful memories, but I couldn’t. Then when I healed, I found out blocking the memories were impossible. Every time I started a piece, I’d only see her. I had over two dozen pieces started when I finally gave up. The tattoo thing is just a way to stay creative and to make some money. It was never my passion.”

“But you’re good at it,” she says.

I smile at that. “How do you know?”

“I saw the back piece you did for Jax. It’s amazing.” She takes a bite of her halibut and another sip of wine.

Good. She’s eating again. And for once I was able to talk about Elsa without feeling as if I’d been sucker punched. I stare at her. What is it about this girl?

She catches my eye and raises one eyebrow. “What?”

I shake my head and let out a low chuckle. “You know, I have absolutely no idea.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Lucy

The night Seth brought dinner to my house marked a change in our relationship. We went from two strangers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other to two people who were rapidly becoming close friends. It was more than confusing because we were still wildly attracted to each other, but we both knew it couldn’t last. Not with the uncertainty of my future hanging over our heads.

Still, Seth and I spent the next three nights together. It’s surprisingly easy when we’re just hanging out and amazing when we’re in bed together. Not to mention he seems to be able to make me laugh when no one else can.

On Friday morning I wake to the sound of light rustling. Or is that scratching? I pop one eye open, and the first thing I notice is Seth is gone from my bed. I open my other eye and my gaze follows the sound.

Seth is sitting in my bedside chair, smiling at me. He has a pencil in his hand and is studying me while he sketches.

Joy fills my heart. The mere fact that he feels comfortable enough to work in front of me, heck, to draw me, is overwhelming. “Morning,” I say shyly.

“Morning.” He’s focused, his eyes darting back and forth from me to his sketchpad.

I lie there, waiting for him to finish, wishing we could stay in this moment forever. I like being his muse, love sharing his passion with him, if only by being his subject.

“What’s that look?” he asks, his brows pinched in concentration.

“Look?”

“The one you were just giving me. Your mood changed, but I’m not sure to what.”

“Oh.” I sit up, pulling the sheet with me to cover my chest. Then I stop. “Is this okay?”

He laughs. “Of course. I’ve got what I need.” He continues to work on the sketch, though, shading and smudging his lines. “Now, what were you thinking about?”

“You.” I wave at him and me. “This. The fact that you’re drawing here. It makes me feel… special, I guess. I get the feeling you don’t work much in front of other people unless it’s for tattoos.”

He pauses and then nods. “That’s true. Elsa…” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. When he opens them he gives me a sad smile. “Elsa is the one who got me started drawing, you know. I always associate it with her. Or always had, but lately, it’s different. It’s something I’m compelled to do, and while she’s always with me, it’s nothing like it was before.”

“It fulfills you,” I say.

“Yes. But it did then, too.”

“Sure. But it’s not the same, is it? I mean, when I sing with Cadan, there’s magic there. It feels so right. Like a calling or something.”

He purses his lips together and slowly nods. “Yeah. It was like that with E.”

“And now? I bet it’s more personal. Like it’s something you do just for you because it gives you joy, but not in a mystical sense. Cosmic forces have nothing to do with it. Right?”

Again, the slow nod.

“That’s how it is for me with the singing and songwriting. I pull something from deep inside that really only has meaning to me. It’s a true expression of myself—not shared with anyone.” I sit up straighter. “It’s great when someone else gets something out of it, like when an audience is really enjoying themselves, but it’s just different. It’s for me first. Not them. And I know that sounds selfish.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he says and puts down the sketchpad. “It’s the truth. And it’s pure.”

“I don’t know about that.” I laugh. “I don’t see myself as pure.”

His gaze dips to my barely covered chest and he grins.

“Hey, we’re talking here,” I say with a chuckle.

“Right.” His desire-filled gaze locks on mine. “You were saying?”

I swallow and force myself to not yank him back onto the bed. “Just that when we offer our art without that soul-mate connection, we consciously give something of ourselves without it being pulled from us. I’m not saying our soul-mate gifts aren’t pure or less worthy. Just different. Like when I sing with Cadan, the effect is what the audience needs or wants. But when I sing by myself, it’s an extension of what’s going on inside me. Weren’t the paintings you did with Elsa similar?”

He stands and rubs his stubbled jaw. “Yeah. Sometimes. Our commissions were, for sure. And paintings we were compelled to paint but didn’t know why. They always had more meaning to the final owner than they did to us. The stuff I do now… yeah. It’s an artistic expression that is only mine. I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”

“Does that make you feel sad? Like you’re letting anyone down?”

He sits on the bed next to me. “No. But it’s different for me. I don’t have a choice anymore, do I? Is that what you think?”

“Sometimes.” I let my head fall back against my headboard. “Is it okay for me to walk away, knowing how much joy people get from our songs? Or knowing how deeply touched people can be?”

“Yes,” Seth says with conviction. “It’s not fair for you to sacrifice your own well-being and sanity just so a bunch of strangers can experience the magic for a couple of hours during a concert. The weight of the world is not on your shoulders, Luce.”

“I know.” I close my eyes and see an entire hospital ward of sick children, their sweet expressions shining back at me. Those are the ones I ache for.

“Come on.” He wraps his hand around mine. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”

“Shower first,” I say.

His grin is back. “Even better.”

***

We’re emerging from the shower together when the house phone starts to ring.

Seth wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. His lips brush over the nape of my neck and he murmurs, “Let the machine get it. I think I’m going to keep you locked away in your bed all day.”

A tingle runs from the base of my neck down to my center. “Excellent idea.”

But then the old recorder beeps, and my lawyer’s voice floats up from downstairs. “Lucy, I’m sorry to call you on Christmas Eve, but the label is getting antsy. They’re demanding you return to the studio by January second. If you don’t, they’ll definitely move forward with the lawsuit.” His voice goes soft and truly apologetic. “I’m sorry it’s come to this. Give me a call and let me know what you decide.”

A chill runs through my body, and I start to tremble despite Seth’s arms wrapped around me. I’m going to have to give him up.

“Shit,” he says and lets me go. A second later he wraps my fuzzy robe around my shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Shaking my head, I push my arms into the robe and cinch it tight.

“Luce?”

I glance up at Seth. He’s already stepped into his jeans and his green eyes are filled with worry.

“What can I do?”

“I…” Oh my God. What am I going to do? I have no choice. If they sue me, I’ll lose Dad’s house. They won’t just sue me for the advance; they’ll sue for loss of income. My life will be in shambles. Angry tears spring to the surface, and I slam my hand against the bathroom door. “Those bastards!”

Seth doesn’t move. He doesn’t try to calm me or comfort me. He seems to know that’s the last thing I want right now.

I turn to him, frustration making me shake. “I have to go back.” I’d known this all along, but it’s finally starting to sink in. I’m truly trapped.

He takes a small step forward, a haunted but determined look on his face. Slowly he raises his arm and holds his hand out to me.

I take it, and though the solid weight of his hand in mine is welcome, it only makes me feel worse. Once I go back, there will be no more Seth. I’ll be sucked back into Cadan’s world no matter how hard I try to stay away from him.

“For how long?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Six months to two years. It depends on how long it takes to record the new album, and then there will be the tour. The more successful the record is, the longer it will be.” A pit forms in the depths of my stomach. I’m not quite sure whether it’s the dread of going back to a life I now know I don’t want or the fact I’ll be leaving this man who has become more than a lover. Somehow in the last week he’s become just about the only person who helps me feel normal.

He pulls me into his arms and tucks my head against his chest. “If they sue, what do you stand to lose? Is it worth hanging on to?”

A sob clogs my throat as I pull away. Waving a hand around the room, I gesture to the house.

Recognition dawns in his expression. We’re both silent, then he says, “Let’s get breakfast.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I know, Luce.” He gives me an ironic smile. “Humor me anyway.”

I nod. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Seth shifts forward and tips my face up so I have to meet his intense gaze. Then he leans down and kisses me, tenderly at first, but then our joining turns heated, desperate. It’s almost as if he’s saying good-bye already. I cling to him, wanting to get lost in everything he has to offer. But then reality slams into me, and I know I have to let go. In less than two weeks I’ll be back in LA with Cadan, working on the album, and Seth won’t be there to save me.

I pull myself from his embrace and cross my arms over my chest. “Go on down. I’ll be there in a minute.”

He gives me a long look. Then he pulls his T-shirt over his head and disappears down the stairs.

My hands are shaking. I close my eyes and sink down onto the bed, clasping them together. My life since leaving Cadan has been so normal. Lonely at times. And certainly there’d been a piece of me missing, that part of me that comes alive while singing. But that seemed to come back while singing with the band last week. It turns out I don’t need Cadan to find joy on the stage. It’s different, not as intense or emotional. But damn it’s fun.

I could live life finding meaning in less intense ways. If only Cadan hadn’t signed that damned publishing contract. If my songs and Dad’s house weren’t on the line, I’d walk and let them do their worst. But they are and I can’t let them go. Those two things are all I have.

With a deep breath, I finish getting dressed, stuff my feet into a pair of fur-lined boots, and make my way downstairs. “Hey. What’s cookin’?” I peek over Seth’s shoulder and grin. “Waffles?”

“And bacon.”

“Good gracious. I’m keeping you.”

He hands me a steaming cup of coffee and his lips quirk into a smile. “That’s the plan.”

I laugh at the absurdity of our conversation and add, “I can stick you in my suitcase.”

“Really? Smuggling? Wouldn’t it be easier if I bought my own plane ticket?”

I hold my cup up in a mock toast. “Touché.”

The waffle-iron light goes off, and Seth busies himself with removing a golden waffle and starting another one. He opens the oven and the entire kitchen fills with maple-bacon scent.

“Damn, Seth. I’m drooling over here,” I say from my seat at the kitchen bar.

“Again, that was the plan.” He sets a plate in front of me along with butter and real maple syrup. “I would, you know.”

I tear into a piece of bacon, and after swallowing, I ask, “Would what?”

“Go with you if you wanted.”

Startled, I suck in a piece of bacon and start to choke.

He pounds on my back, clearly holding back laughter.

My eyes water as I get myself under control. I clear my throat. “What?”

“If it would make it easier for you, I’d come visit you while you’re recording.”

Panic snakes its way into my core, settling like a stone in my gut. “You want to come with me?” I can’t deny I want him to do just that. Though he and Cadan within a thousand feet of each other sounds like a nightmare.

“Not the entire time.” He laughs. “Just when you need a break. Or a really great distraction.”

I laugh with him. “Is that all you guys think about?”

“Yes,” he says solemnly and then narrows his eyes with suspicion. “It seems you’ve been thinking about it a lot lately as well.”

My laugh turns to a giggle. “True. I’m not immune to your considerable charms.”

He chews on his own piece of bacon, nodding. After swallowing, he answers, “That’s fairly obvious.” His eyes sparkle, and I make a conscious effort to remember this fun, easy moment. He doesn’t really expect anything from me, just as I don’t expect anything from him. It’s fun to tease each other, though. Damn the future. We have right now.

As we’re finishing off the waffles, the phone rings again. I groan. “That ring is never a good sign.”

“Your mom?” Seth asks. Besides my lawyer this morning, she’d been the only one to call on the house phone since Seth had started hanging out with me the last few days.

I make a face and answer it.

“Lucy,” Mom says by way of greeting.

“Hi, Mom.” I make a conscious effort to keep the irritation out of my voice. I’ll be seeing her in six hours. What could she possibly want that couldn’t wait?

“Good, I caught you.” There’s a clinking sound as if she’s preparing herself an iced drink. “Make sure you leave early enough to beat the traffic. And when you get to town, I need you to stop at the store and pick up a prescription for your father. They close at two today, so don’t be late.”

I tense, white-hot anger rushing to my head. “Randy is not my father.”

“Luuuucy…” Mom drags out my name in exasperation. “Why do you always have to be difficult? Randy is part of this family. It’s time you started treating him that way.”

I say nothing, fearing my next words will start World War III. The silence stretches between us until finally Mom says, “It’s Christmas Eve. Try to be on your best behavior.”

The line goes dead. I set the cordless carefully back on the receiver and stand in the kitchen, my head bowed, trying to contain the rage consuming me.

Seth runs a light hand down my arm. When he gets to my fingers, he squeezes lightly and then moves to the sink and proceeds to do the dishes.

When the urge to scream fades, I move to Seth’s side and start drying the dishes he’s placed on a towel next to the sink.

“Tell me about him,” he says in a soothing tone.

I huff out a disgusted laugh. “He’s a controlling ass.”

Seth shuts the water off and turns to me. “No. I meant your dad. Not your mother’s husband.”

“Oh.” Thinking about Dad calms me and fills me with a sense of home. I move to the French doors and wave at the ocean. “Dad said life was like the vast ocean. Turbulent, beautiful, calming, devastating. And he said to truly live, one needed all those things.”

Seth, still standing in the kitchen, leans across the bar, balancing on his elbows. “I’d say you’re living life to his terms.”

This time my laugh is real. “Everything except the calming part.”

“I thought that’s what we’re doing together.”

I turn to scoff at his assessment, but then stop. Outside the bedroom, that’s exactly what we’re doing. At least he calms me. I’m not sure how I affect him, but he seems happy enough to just hang out with me. “Could be.”

“What else? Tell me what life was like living with him.” He gazes at me intently, so interested. It’s not something I’m used to, and I find I have to look away to get my bearings.

“Well…” I stall, letting my memories flood back. I feel my lips crack into a small smile. “Dad was a gentle giant. Tall and foreboding to those who didn’t know him, but a giant teddy bear to those who did. He was quick with a kind word, the first to offer support even if he didn’t agree with my choices, which for a while there was often. And he wasn’t afraid to tell me when he thought I had my head up my ass.”

Seth chuckles. “Sounds like someone I’d be friends with.”

I eye him, taking in his ink. “He would’ve hated your tattoos. Though he wouldn’t have held them against you.”

“That’s good to know.” Seth moves from behind the counter, takes my hand, and pulls me to the couch. We sit side by side, our knees touching. “What would he say about the choice you’re facing now?”

I lie back against the couch cushions and blow out a breath. “I don’t know, Seth. I really don’t. He’d hate what Cadan has done and likely would threaten to hunt him down and beat the crap out of him. He wouldn’t, but he’d really want to. What I do know is he’d support whatever decision I make.”

Seth leans back, mimicking the way I’m sprawled out. “Even if it meant losing this place?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “He always said home is where you hang your hat. If he had to give up this place to keep me from drowning in Cadan’s crap, I believe he would. The problem is, I won’t give it up. Not ever.”

“I understand.” His tone is so low I barely hear his words.

I know he’s talking about his place with Elsa even though he hardly ever stays there. I still can’t believe he said her name. Jax said he hasn’t referred to her by anything other than E since the accident. Did it mean anything? Or was E a term he only used with friends? Either way, I’m grateful he opened up to me about her. I squeeze his hand.

He leans over and kisses me gently. “Why don’t you skip your mom’s and come to my place for dinner?”

I shake my head and give him a sad smile. “Thanks, but no matter how much I don’t want to go, she’s still my mom. I’ll stay a few hours and then come home.”

“Really?” He raises his eyebrows. “It’s a two-hour drive to Santa Rosa. I thought you’d stay there.”

“Oh, God no.” My heart speeds up just thinking about it. Not after what happened when I lived there. “I only go over there on holidays for Mom’s sake, but that’s it. Randy and I, well, we don’t get along.”

He frowns, worry lines appearing around his eyes. “It’s supposed to storm again later. I’d feel better if you were traveling with someone.”

He’s so sweet to be worrying about me. Rain is the last thing I’m worried about at the moment. If Randy and I get into it again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold back. “Who’s going to come with me? Jax has to work, and even if she didn’t, she has her own family stuff.” I pause and eye him, then grin. “Unless you’re volunteering?”

“I…” He shifts uncomfortably.

Laughing, I stand up. “Kidding. I wouldn’t subject you to them on a regular night, much less Christmas Eve. It’s okay. I’ll survive.”

His worried expression doesn’t ease, but he nods anyway. Then he gets up and says, “Will you do something for me?”

He’s so serious that it unsettles me a bit. I nod. “Sure. Anything.”

“Call me if it gets bad.” Stepping close to me, he rests his hand on my cheek. “It’s time you had someone in your corner.”

His concern and the tenderness of the moment overwhelm me, rendering me speechless. When was the last time anyone cared how I was feeling? A lump clogs my throat, and instead of answering, I wrap my arms around him and press my face into his shoulder. Finally I whisper, “I will.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Seth

After I reluctantly leave Lucy’s house, I’m supposed to head to Jax’s to drop off her Christmas present, but I take a last-minute detour to the three-story farmhouse I can’t bring myself to live in. My sister’s car is parked just ahead of me, and for once I’m not irritated she’s here.

She moved in when I refused to live here after the accident. It was Elsa’s family house, and she left it to me in her will. Her mom had passed a few years before she did. If she’d had any family left, I would’ve given it back. But she didn’t, and Lillian said someone had to take care of it if I wouldn’t. The truth is I’m grateful she did. At the time, I’d hated her for it. I hadn’t wanted anyone in Elsa’s space.

“Hey, loser,” Lillian calls from the door. “Are you going to get your ass in here or do I need to drag you out of your truck by your ear?”

I glance at her and chuckle. She’d do it, too.

“Is that a smile I see?” She says it mockingly, but I know her better than that. There’s hope warring with suspicion in her eyes.

I climb out of the truck and meet her on the steps. “No. Must be a figment of your imagination.”

“Really?” She follows me in. “And are the dark strands of hair and second toothbrush in the bathroom a figment of my imagination as well?”

“No.” There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the carafe and I pour myself some, then hold the pot up, silently asking if she’d like a cup.

“Yes, please,” she says and sits at the kitchen table.

With two steaming cups of coffee, I join her. “Where’s Trace?”

“At his dad’s. Where’s your new girlfriend?”

Trace is her soul mate. They met four months ago, but none of us have met him yet. I’m starting to think she’s made him up. I raise an eyebrow. “You sure he’s a real live person? You haven’t resorted to a blow-up mate, have you?”

She reaches across the table and smacks my forehead. “Shut up, you perv. If you must know, he’s coming up tomorrow. You’ll meet him then. Now. About this girlfriend of yours…”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” I say stubbornly.

Lillian’s pale green eyes narrow. “Well, whatever you’re calling her, there’s someone. The signs are here and I’ve seen you smile twice in the last five minutes. Spill it.”

I stand and head toward the door that leads to the living room.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“You’ll see. Come on.” I wave a hand and disappear through the threshold. Halfway up the stairs, the pounding of her feet on the steps tells me she’s following. There’s a slight pause when I keep going up to the third floor. I resist the urge to glance back at her. If I do, I might not go through with this.

I stop at the top of the landing with my hand on the doorknob. I feel rather than hear Lillian come to a stop behind me.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I take a deep breath and open the studio. The pungent odor of oils assaults us. The room full of glass windows is freezing, and Lillian lets out a small gasp, rubbing her arms.

“Where’s that space heater you used to have up here?”

“It died.” I stride across the room and pull back the curtain designed to protect the paintings from UV light. “This is her,” I say almost to myself. “Lucy.”

Lillian carefully makes her way toward me and spends long, agonizing minutes studying the abstract painting I’d worked on the past few days. Then she shifts and stares intently at two more. When she looks up at me, she has tears in her eyes. “Who is she?”

My nerves are raw, and suddenly I regret bringing her up here. I shove my hands in my pockets and hunch my shoulders. “Does it matter?”

She takes two steps and stops right in front of me. Her lips are set in a determined line. “Of course it matters. She got you painting again.”

I walk over and turn around the last painting Elsa and I had worked on together. It’s a small cottage on the edge of a cliff with an intricate garden full of rhododendrons, camellias, and daffodils. The sky is darkened purple and gray as a storm rolls in. The sea rages below in the perfect juxtaposition of tranquility and impending disaster.

“You finished it,” Lillian says on a whisper.

I nod and can’t stop the tears from burning my eyes. Blinking them back, I steel myself. “She always said this is what she perceived life to be. Wonderful and devastating at the same time. That one can’t really experience life without both. I didn’t really know what she meant before.”

Lillian touches my arm. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Put it in a gallery, I suppose. Elsa worked on it, too. Its true owner is out there somewhere.” That’s how our paintings worked. If we painted something together, eventually it would make its way into the hands of whoever needed it most.

“Does this mean you’re going to show again?” Her eyes are wide with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “I think I have to.”

“Wow.” Lillian goes silent as she wanders around the room, taking in the other half-finished pieces. Pausing, she picks up one of an older couple. “Isn’t this Dad’s friend?”

I nod. After I’d started painting again, I couldn’t get Francie’s request out of my mind. It’s a Christmas surprise.

“That’s really sweet of you.”

I shrug.

She turns and gives me a hard stare. “And none of this is because of this new girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say again. “She’s… Hell, I don’t know. A friend for sure. She’s a singer. She and her mate, that’s their connection—”

“She has a mate?” Lillian cries. “Seth! You can’t get involved with someone who’s bound to break your heart. What are you thinking?”

Her words hit me deep in my chest and fear rolls through me. I know she’s right, but I won’t stay away. I can’t. “I already said she’s a friend. And you don’t have to tell me about the power of mates. I think I have enough experience to know she’ll go back to him eventually.”

She nods sadly. “They all do.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I lie. “You know I don’t do relationships.”

“Yes, you do.” She shakes her head. “Jax, me, the guys at your shop. Mom and Dad. You have relationships with all of us. And what you had with Elsa, not every soul-mate partnership has what you two had. If there’s anyone in this world who does relationships, it’s you. You’re just too scared to try again.”

Anger flares to life deep in my chest. “Don’t talk to me about scared. Jesus, Lillian. You don’t have a clue what it was like when she died. To be the one who held her as the life literally bled right out of her. All because I’d insisted she drive me home from that damn party. She asked me not to go. I was too stubborn, and she died because of it.” I narrow my eyes at my sister. “Don’t ever talk to me about being scared again. You have no idea what being scared is.”

“Oh, don’t I?” she yells back. “How about watching your baby brother almost drink himself to death? Or watch him cut out everything… or everyone… who was important to him. Including me.” She’s standing there shaking, her face red and fists clenched. “What I see now is a man who has found his way back to his gift. But believe me, it won’t mean anything unless you find someone to share it with.” She sweeps past me, heading for the door.

I grab her arm, stopping her. “Lillian,” I say and wait for her to look up at me. Tears glisten in her eyes, which are almost identical to mine. “I didn’t cut you out.”

“You did,” she insists.

“I didn’t mean to. You did what I didn’t have the courage to do.” I wave my hand around the room. “You took care of this place. You were close to her when I couldn’t be. When it hurt too much to think about it.” I tug her to me, wrapping my arms around her. “Thank you.”

Her hands clutch at my shoulders and she lets out a muffled sob. “It’s about time, you big doofus.”

I chuckle and tighten my grip. When I let her go, she wipes at her eyes and pushes me away. “That’s enough. Now, tell me about this girl.”

I glance once more at the abstracts. Lucy’s eyes are huge, her mouth distorted as she sings, and color is everywhere. It’s beautiful and disturbed at the same time. I love everything about it. “Downstairs,” I say and pick up the portrait of Don and Francie.

She nods, and a minute later we’re sitting in the kitchen with fresh cups of coffee.

“Spill it,” she says and stirs sugar into her cup.

“What do you want to know?” I hold my mug with both hands and gaze out the window at the horizon. Another storm is definitely rolling in. And all I can think about is Lucy driving alone on the two-lane highways on her way to her mom’s. God I wish she had someone with her.

“First, who is she? And second, what is it about her that got you back in the studio?”

I shift my gaze from the storm clouds and smile at my sister. Her eyes light up with pleasure, almost tearing the smile from my face. Have I really never smiled around her since Elsa’s accident? Jesus. I’m a dick. I force my smile back in place, if only for her benefit. “Well, she’s Jax’s best friend.”

Lillian lets out a gasp. “Lucy Moore?”

“The one and only.”

“Holy shit, Seth.” She bites her lip and gives me a grimace. “You don’t really believe she’ll leave Cadan Kinx, do you? Their music is… damn. Magical.”

“Don’t remind me,” I huff out. “I know. But here’s the weird part. It was her singing that snapped me back to myself.” She opens her mouth to speak, but I hold a hand up, stopping her. “Not her and Kinx’s songs. Last week she sang on her own at the bar as a birthday present for Jax. And damn if she wasn’t mesmerizing.”

Lillian’s expression turns to one of pity.

“Stop looking at me like that.” I scowl at her. “The point is that she was up there enjoying the hell out of herself. She was doing what she does best on her own terms, just for the love of it. She was so alive. I wanted that. At first I thought I just wanted her. But I wanted what she had. Passion for her gift.”

Lillian leans back in the chair and really studies me. “That’s great, Seth. Really. But tell me something.”

“What?”

“Have you or have you not been sleeping with her?”

Heat crawls up my neck as I clamp my mouth closed. This is not a conversation I want to have with my sister.

“Aha! I knew it.” She stands up, a knowing grin on her face. “Singing wasn’t the only thing that touched you.” She makes disgusting kissing noises and mimes making out by wrapping her arms around herself.

“Stop it. You’re embarrassing yourself.” I get up and grab my coat from the hook near the door.

She drops the act and shakes her head at me. “Just sayin’.”

I roll my eyes. Grabbing the painting once more, I ask, “You want a ride to Mom’s?”

“Sure.” She grabs her own coat, hooks her arm though mine, and tugs me out the door. I turn and look at the house. For the first time since the accident, it almost feels like home again.

Chapter Twenty-five

Lucy

The two-hour drive to Santa Rosa goes by far too fast. I suspect it has a lot to do with the trepidation I have for returning to my mother’s house. I don’t want to spend the entire time defending my decision to leave Cadan. And I really don’t want to have to make nice with Randy. My skin crawls with the thought.

As I take the exit for the pharmacy, my phone buzzes for the fifth time in ten minutes. A quick glance at the screen reveals Mom’s name. Crap. How’d she get this number? Cadan probably. “I’m driving!” I yell at it. “And it’s raining. Compulsive texting isn’t going to make me answer you any faster.”

A few blocks down, I pull into the parking lot and scan the messages:

Where are you?

Don’t forget Randy’s meds.

We also need milk. Skim.

Call when you get close.

What time can I expect you?

“Holy crow.” I delete all the messages and tap in one to let her know I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, then turn the phone off and toss it into my purse.

There’s a line of retirees stocking up on blood pressure and cholesterol meds before the pharmacy closes for the holiday. The delay puts me back another ten minutes, and when I pull to a stop at Mom’s house, she’s standing outside in the rain, her arms crossed over her chest. Her salon-dyed auburn hair is already stringy from the rain, and her satin blouse has rain splotches staining it.

I take a deep breath, grab the meds, the milk, and Mom’s Christmas present, and paste a smile on my face. “Merry Christmas,” I say as cheerily as I can muster.

She uncrosses her arms and places both hands on her hips. “I was worried.”

I bite back a snarky reply and brush past her toward her front door. She can stand in the elements all day if she wants. I’ll wait on the covered porch.

“You didn’t call.” She follows me onto the porch and smoothes back her damp hair.

“Mom.” I sigh. “I sent a text when I got to the pharmacy. After that I was driving. You do realize there are laws against using the phone while driving, right?”

“Don’t be difficult. I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.” I shift and lean against the side of her house. “So spill it.”

“I invited—”

The door swings open and Cadan strolls out, wearing designer jeans and an expertly tailored sports coat. “Lucy! Merry Christmas.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses me on the cheek, lingering longer than is polite for a simple Christmas hug.

My mind whirls while my body automatically relaxes, feeling completely comfortable in his arms. Irritated with my physical response, I stiffen and pull out of his embrace, trying not to scowl. Fighting in front of Mom will only make matters worse. She’ll take a side. His. “Cadan,” I say, eyeing him, “this is a surprise. I thought you’d be with your family.”

“I am.” He nods in my direction. “I can’t spend Christmas away from you.”

My jaw tenses. I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming. I should have. It’s exactly the kind of thing both of them would do. He’s going to milk this for everything he can. “What about your mom? She can’t be happy you’re here instead of back east.”

“Lucy!” Mom scolds me in a hushed whisper. “Stop berating him. He came to surprise you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. No he didn’t. He came to ambush me.

He smiles for my mother’s sake and shakes his head as if I’m being amusing. “Mom and Dad went on a cruise to the Caribbean. She’s been dreaming about it for years.”

“A gift from you?” I know he bought her the tickets. His parents, while they do fine, don’t have money for extras.

He shrugs. “It’s nice to do something for them once in a while.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest,” Mom gushes. She gives me a dirty look as she takes his arm and pulls him back into the house. “Lucy, get in here and be pleasant to your father.”

That uncontrollable anger rushes to my head again. The pressure is so great I’m certain my head is going to combust right there on her porch. How dare she refer to him as my father? Dad passed only six months ago. I almost turn around and leave right then and there, but Cadan extracts himself from her grip and is by my side almost instantly.

His expression is full of concern as he leans down and whispers, “Nothing she says can change the truth in your heart. Ignore her.”

“What if I can’t?” I ask, shaking from sheer frustration.

“Then I’ll take you home right now.”

He seems so sincere I almost take him up on it. But then I’d be stuck with him for two hours in the car. Not to mention if he drove me back, one of our cars would be left here. “No,” I say. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Lucy, Cadan,” Mom calls from her tract home. “Get in here. You’re letting all the heat out of the house.”

I let Cadan take my hand as we head inside. My chest constricts the way it always does when I come back to visit. It’s hard to breathe. “Has he started drinking yet?” I whisper to Cadan.

He nods. “Whiskey and Coke. I think he’s on his second.”

“Shit.”

Cadan squeezes my fingers and gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m here.”

As much as I don’t want to rely on Cadan for this, I’m relieved he’s here. Once Randy has another couple of drinks, I’ll need a buffer.

We walk through the formal living room and dining room, stopping when we come to the opening of the family room. The kitchen is to the right, and Mom is busy stirring something on the stove. Randy is sprawled in a lounge chair, wearing sweats and an NFL T-shirt. Classy. I ignore him and place Mom’s gift on the kitchen table. “What can I do to help?” I ask.

“Get Randy a glass of water and bring him his meds.”

At least she didn’t call him my father. Cadan, knowing my mother’s kitchen almost as well as I do, pulls out a glass and fills it while I put Randy’s meds on the counter. “How many of each?”

“Just open the bottles for him. He can do the rest,” she says over her shoulder. Then she stops and turns to glare at me. “Lucile Moore. You didn’t even say hello to him. You march over there right now and wish him a merry Christmas.”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” I protest. “It’s not like he didn’t see me.”

“Stop being rude,” she snaps. “I will not have a repeat of what happened last year.”

My pulse quickens and I open my mouth to let her have it, but Cadan speaks before I can get the words out. “Don’t worry, Mrs. P. Everything’s going to be great.” He takes the pill bottles from me and strides into the family room. His voice carries into the kitchen. “Hey, Randy. Claire asked me to bring these to you.”

There’s a pause, then Randy says, “So she’s here, then.”

“Yes. She’s in the kitchen talking to her mom. She’ll be out to say hello soon.”

“Go!” Mom says in a hushed tone. “Before trouble starts. You know how he is.”

“Why doesn’t he get up and come in here?” I grab a bottle of lemonade from the fridge and lean against the counter, refusing to play the game. It’s always the same. Tiptoe around Randy and pray you don’t say anything to set him off.

Mom gives me a withering look. “Why do you have to be so selfish? It’s Christmas. Can’t you at least try?”

The familiar sense of rejection and abandonment hits me. Only instead of crying like I’ve done in the past, I’m numb, resigned to the realization that she won’t change. No matter what happens, she’ll choose Randy over me every time. Of course she will. He’s her soul mate. That’s always her defense.

Without a word, I spin on my heel and head to Cadan’s side. It’s unbelievable how grateful I am that he’s here. I slip my arm around his waist, holding on for support. “Merry Christmas, Randy.”

“Lucy. I was wondering when you’d get around to gracing me with your presence.”

Cadan wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. I want to lean into him and pull away at the same time.

“You know,” Randy continues, “I can’t believe your mother keeps spending my hard-earned money on gifts for you when it’s clear that’s the only thing you show up here for.”

Cadan’s arm tightens around me, and before I can spar with Randy, Cadan says, “That’s uncalled for, Randy. Lucy doesn’t ask her mother for anything. Can we put past issues aside for today? Claire is going to be awfully disappointed if we have to leave early.”

Randy plants both feet on the floor and leans forward, glaring at me. “Last I heard, the label was suing you for breach of contract. Don’t you think for a minute I’m going to bail you out again.”

“Bail me out? Again?” I cry and then huff out a laugh. “Is that what you think you did?”

“Yes,” Mom says from behind me. “Didn’t you ever think it would be awkward for us to pay for Mack’s funeral? And you’ve shown no gratitude for our help.”

My mouth drops open. I’m too stunned to speak. Is that what all the hostility is about this time? It’s always something unexpected. My stomach rolls with nausea at her audacity to make me feel bad about how I’d dealt with paying for Dad’s funeral. I’d been waiting on a payment from the label and his insurance money hadn’t kicked in yet.

My fingers ache from squeezing into fists and a headache starts to form above my left eye. “You didn’t pay for anything. You loaned me the money for all of three weeks. And if it was such a problem, you should’ve said no.”

“How could I say no?” Mom asks with an incredulous look on her face. “What would people think?”

“Oh my God! Is that all you care about? What other people think?” I stalk to the kitchen, grab my purse, and head for the front door.

Mom follows me. “Where are you going?”

“Home. This holiday is over.”

“Right,” she says with a sneer. “Walk out. It’s what you’re good at.”

I spin, vibrating with the urge to throw something. I take a moment to collect myself and then stare her dead in the eye. “I guess that’s one thing I learned from you.”

Her mouth drops open in outrage. “Randy is my soul mate. I don’t know why you can’t understand that. I figured since you’ve met Cadan, you might be a little more sympathetic to what I went through.”

“Right. Because being with your soul mate is more important than anything else, like family or commitments, or self-respect.”

“Do not speak to your mother that way,” Randy says as he finally joins us in the hall. “You will treat her with respect or you can get out.”

Mom throws her hands up and tears fill her eyes. “I can’t take this.” Her breathing becomes uneven. “All I wanted was a nice Christmas and for you and Cadan to work things out. That’s why I invited him.”

I shake my head. “It’s not your place to try to fix my relationship, Mom. You have to let me work this out on my own.”

Randy lets out a skeptical snort while Mom cries harder.

“I’m going. Clearly this was a bad idea.”

She lets out a sob and then disappears down the hall, saying something about how ungrateful and selfish I am.

I pull the door open and step out onto the porch. Before I leave, I turn back around and shoot daggers at Randy with my eyes. “Treat her with respect, huh? Do you call belittling her in front of her friends respectful? Or what about hitting on my friends when she was at work? Or my personal favorite, spying on me when I was in the shower?”

“Why, you little liar,” Randy says through clenched teeth.

“He did what?” Cadan demands and takes a step forward, clearly ready to knock the shit out of him. I grab his arm and pull him back.

“Stop, Cadan. It’s not worth the shit-storm that’s sure to follow. Let’s go.”

“Don’t even think about coming back,” Randy yells.

I say nothing as he slams the door, getting exactly what he wanted—my mom all to himself.

Chapter Twenty-six

Lucy

Cadan walks me to my car and, without saying a word, takes my keys from my hand. And I let him. I’m shaking and too upset to do anything other than climb into the passenger seat and lean back with my eyes closed.

“Do you want to go somewhere and talk, or would you rather I take you home?” Cadan asks.

Every fiber in my being is screaming to be back at Dad’s house. “Home.”

“You sure?”

I open my eyes and study him. “Yes. Unless you really don’t want to.”

“Oh, I want to,” he says with a smile. “But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I probably won’t be able to get a rental car until Monday. I’ll be stuck in Mendo until then.”

I wave a hand. “It’s fine. If none of the inns have a room available, you can stay in my guest room.”

He gives me a skeptical look as if he highly doubts I’m going to let him in the house. Why wouldn’t he? I’d run from him earlier in the week. But he’d just stood up for me and was so much like the Cadan I first fell for that I want him in the car. Want to feel safe and comfortable. I’m still angry about what he’d done. Who wouldn’t be? But maybe we could move past that and find our way back to friends. Especially since I’m going to be forced to record the new album.

Cadan leaves me to my own thoughts as he navigates through the pouring rain. It really is bad out. Seth had every reason to be concerned. The thought of him reminds me he’s supposed to meet me at the house later. I glance at Cadan. It’s Christmas, and he’s taking care of me. I can’t imagine kicking him out as soon as we get back. I pull out my phone and tap in a message to Seth.

Have to cancel tonight, but don’t worry. I’m fine. I pause. I don’t want to go into detail about what went down or the fact that I’m with Cadan through a text. It’s too complicated. I’ll call you later tonight.

I hit Send and tuck the phone back into my purse.

“Jax?” Cadan asks.

It would be easier to let him think that, but I shake my head, not willing to lie. I’m not willing to do to him what he’s done to me. “I canceled my plans for later.”

“The guy from the bar?” His tone is clipped, and his jerky driving makes it obvious he’s having trouble staying calm.

I close my eyes again and heave a sigh. “Does it matter?”

No response. Then minutes later he says, “Yes. To me it does.”

I turn in my seat to look at him. He glances at me with pain in his eyes. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

His hands tighten around the wheel. “I know I hurt you, Luce. And I also know it’s going to take a lot to earn your trust back, if that’s even possible. But dammit, I’m going to. That’s a promise you can count on.”

All of the swagger and cockiness he’d adopted in the last two years is gone. This Cadan, the one driving me home in the pouring-down rain, the one who’d stood up to my mother and Randy, is the one I fell for. The one I’d loved beyond what our combined voices could achieve. It’s comforting and terrifying at the same time. I don’t trust him, but my heart wants to.

As we make the turn onto Highway 128, Cadan turns the radio on and switches the satellite radio to one of the pop-rock stations. “Rebel Beat” by the Goo Goo Dolls fills the car. The catchy tune pulls me out of my funk, and I start to sing along. Smiling, Cadan joins in.

The tension from the day evaporates with our connection, and I feel almost weightless with joy. I know it’s only temporary, but that doesn’t stop me from embracing all the magic sparking between us. Our voices meld perfectly, and I long for the days we’d hole up over a weekend to write and sing just for ourselves.

When the song ends, “In Repair” by John Mayer comes on. This time Cadan lets me take the lead and only contributes to the chorus. It’s sad and hopeful at the same time, not unlike this moment we seem to be sharing.

“That was beautiful,” he says when the notes fade away.

“All of his songs are.”

“No, I meant the way you sang it.” His eyes soften with tenderness. “It’s good to be here with you like this… though not the best circumstances with your mom, I admit.”

I wave a hand, indicating the drama doesn’t matter. It should. And the fact he’d manipulated his way into a Christmas invitation is annoying as hell, but if he hadn’t been there, it would have been infinitely worse. “Just promise you won’t try to get to me through my mother again. Please.”

“If you promise to not completely shut me out again.”

I give him my you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

“I know. I deserved it.” His eyes are locked on the road, and he sounds more serious than I think I’ve ever heard him. Sincerity practically streams off him. “It won’t happen again. I swear my life on it, Lucy.”

“What exactly is it that won’t happen again, Cadan?” I ask, my voice barely audible over the music.

“All of it. I won’t ever step out on you again. I got caught up in the lifestyle and lost my sense of self. I lost respect for everyone, including myself. I won’t make any decisions about our careers without discussing it with you first. Honest, Luce. I really thought I was doing what was best for you. I didn’t mean for things to go down the way they did.”

They are the words I’d longed to hear six months ago. A year ago even. Now they aren’t enough. I take my time to collect my thoughts. Seth’s image flashes in my mind. Sure, he’s a self-proclaimed womanizer, though his actions portray something else. Yes, I’d run into the one-night-stand chick at the bar, and everyone—Jax, Mike, and even Seth himself—had warned me to not get involved with him. None of that scared me though because of his honesty. Seth clearly cared about other people. His relationship with Jax was evidence enough.

Cadan, on the other hand, has gone around me and behind my back on several occasions. He was still doing it by conspiring with my mother. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t trust you.”

He lets out a long breath. “Okay, I deserve that, too. But will you give me a chance to prove myself to you?”

I honestly don’t know what to say. I’m going to have to record the new songs any day now. The choice is already out of my hands. I won’t risk Dad’s house or the loss of my creative work over something Cadan did to me. I’ll record them and tour for as long as the label requires. It sure would be a lot easier if Cadan and I could get along, maybe even be friends again. I’m not sure I can survive another romantic relationship with him. At the same time, I’m not sure I can resist one either. Not if I’m with him day in and day out.

Even now in the shadows of the car, his tall rocker body catches my eye, and I have trouble focusing on why I need to keep my distance. I know what’s under his designer jeans and long-sleeved Henley shirt. Slim from his vegetarian diet and toned from months of a diligent workout, he’s damned sexy.

“Lucy?”

“Huh?” I snap out of my daze.

“What do you say?”

He’s holding his breath, more nervous now than I’ve ever seen him.

I swallow the lump clogged in my throat. “I’ll try.”

His breath comes out in a soft whoosh. “Really?”

“Yeah. No promises though.”

He grins in obvious relief. “I’ll take it.”

Not wanting to talk anymore, I reach over and turn the radio up again. The familiar music washes over me and embraces me like an old friend. It’s the perfect end to our conversation. The first song we ever recorded together.

As we’d done literally thousands of times before, we both hum the intro and then start to sing.

The world outside is an illusion

One of straight confusion

You’re content to live there

But your heart won’t accept that forever

No, no, no

Your heart won’t accept that forever

Our voices build, getting stronger with each note. And as Cadan’s voice winds through me, melding with everything I am, I don’t even try to fight it this time. Instead, I embrace it, letting the magic of our harmony rinse away all the bitterness of the day.

By the time Cadan pulls into my driveway, I’m completely relaxed, and we’re reminiscing about the time Cadan wore a kilt during one of our performances.

Laughing, I say, “It was hot until the wind machine blew it up and revealed those heart-print boxers.”

He snorts. “You bought those for me. Besides, it’s better I was wearing those and not going commando.”

“Really?” I stare at him incredulously. “If you’d been going native Scotsman, that news would have boosted iTunes sales to new heights.”

He chuckles. “Okay. I’m in for the next performance on one condition.”

“What?”

He’s eyeing me mischievously, and I can’t help but be a little smitten. He’s fun and easy to be with when he’s like this. And he knows everything about me. His grin turns to one of pure sexual prowess. “You wear that red flared dress that barely covers your ass. The crowd will lose their minds trying to find out what you’re wearing under it as you dance across the stage.

“I’m not going commando,” I say as haughtily as I can without cracking up.

“No, I don’t want anyone to have a heart attack. I think a thong or G-string should be fine.”

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. He’d absolutely wear nothing under that kilt if I asked him to. Me? It would take a lot more than a few shots of tequila to get me on board. He knows it, too.

“We’ll keep that on the back burner for when we’re desperate.” He grabs the umbrella sitting in my backseat and opens the door. “Hang tight. I’ll come around to get you.”

I wait until he’s at the passenger door with my oversized umbrella. Cadan pulls me close, his arm around me as we head to my front porch. I have my key in the door when he says, “Do you want me to go?”

“Go where?” I ask surprised.

“To an inn or a hotel.” He shrugs. “I could call around and get a cab.”

“On Christmas Eve?” I make a face. “No, Cadan. It’s all right. Please, just come inside. I’m sure I can scrounge something to make for dinner.”

His eyes are full of concern, but I also see a twinge of hope. “You’re sure?”

I shake my head and push the door open. “Considering you’ve been relentless about talking to me this last week, you sure do seem hesitant to take your shot.”

He follows me into the house and drops the umbrella in the stand near the door but doesn’t take his coat off or move farther into the house.

I pull the coffee beans from the fridge and raise an eyebrow. “Are you going to join me?”

“I want to.” He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Cadan?”

“You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to let me stay. I know I was over the line accepting your mom’s invitation to Christmas. But you know how she is, and I really wanted to spend some time with you. If it’s not okay, please tell me and I’ll be on my way.”

Biting my lip, I drop the beans on the counter. Then I stride over to him and gently begin to undo the buttons on his jacket. He gazes down at me, his blue eyes full of questions. I focus on my fingers as I work the last button.

“Hold still,” I say and move behind him, slipping the jacket from his shoulders. Once it’s hanging on the coatrack, I take him by the hand and lead him into the kitchen. He sits in the same chair I did earlier that morning while Seth made me breakfast.

Seth. He was supposed to be here tonight. My body goes tense with desire at just the thought of him. And I’m a little sad I won’t be spending Christmas with him. The night would’ve no doubt been fun and full of mischief. There wouldn’t be all this crazy emotion combined with awkwardness. Still, I’m not unhappy Cadan is here. It’s just not exactly what I wanted for the holiday.

I move to stand on the other side of the counter and take Cadan’s hands in mine. Holding his gaze, I say, “It’s Christmas. A time to spend with those you love. I wouldn’t let you leave if you tried.”

He stares at me for a long moment and then swallows. “You still love me?”

“Yes,” I say, emotion trying to strangle me. As much as I wish I didn’t, I know I always will. “You’re a part of me. That isn’t going to change.” I let go of his hands and retreat back to the coffeemaker. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“Yeah, sure.” His tone is smooth and confident, but when I turn to glance at him, he’s staring at his phone, frowning.

“What is it?”

He pulls his gaze from the screen and scowls. “Your mom. She sent me eight texts, begging us to come back tomorrow.”

I stalk back over to him and grab his phone. It’s a long stream of messages telling him we’re being immature and that we can’t ruin her Christmas like this. That I’m being selfish as usual and she doesn’t understand why I can’t get along with Randy.

My vision turns red, and before I know what I’m doing, I hit Call and press the phone to my ear, waiting for her to pick up. She will.

“Cadan,” Mom says, breathless as if she’d run to get the phone. “Tell me you’re coming over tomorrow. If not, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“So that’s why you’re harassing him, then? Randy’s upset and taking it out on you?”

Mom gasps. “Lucy. Why are you using Cadan’s phone? Something happen to yours?”

“No, Mom. God, who cares about my phone?” I pull the device away from my ear and shake my head, trying for some sort of calm.

“I was just asking. Don’t be difficult.” Her voice fills the kitchen she’s speaking so loud.

I clutch the phone to my ear once more. “I’m being difficult?”

“Yes. You’re the one who stalked out for no reason. And now I have to deal with the fallout. Again. Why do you always do this? Your father—”

“Do not call Randy my father ever again!” I yell into the phone. “My father would never hit on my friends and make them so uncomfortable they never wanted to come over to my house. My father would never walk into my room without knocking and then laugh when he caught me half-naked, changing clothes. My father would never proposition me on my graduation day and offer me a new car to keep my silence.”

“Lucile Marie Moore. What did you just say? How dare you spew those lies? Randy never… He wouldn’t… I can’t believe any daughter of mine would ever behave this way.”

I grit my teeth, knowing this is how she’d react. I’d tried to talk to her about this once, but she’d shut me down before I could spell it out for her. I’m certain she knows it’s true, but she’s too cowardly to face it. “My father was my rock, the one person I could count on always. Your husband was never that person.” A sob rips from my throat, and my voice cracks as I push out the next words. “My father is the only parent I’ve ever been able to count on. Don’t call me or bother Cadan again. Not until you can accept that I’m telling you the truth.”

My heart pounds against my chest while the tears stream down my cheeks. The phone slips from my hand, but I don’t even hear it hit the floor. I’m too overcome by my outburst. The words had been pent up inside for the last three years as I’d tried to ignore what had happened. I just can’t do it anymore.

I stumble forward, tripping over one of the barstools. Pain shoots through my knee, and instead of getting up, I sit on the floor and hug my knees to my chest.

“Lucy, Holy Christ,” Cadan says and sits next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He kisses my temple and gently guides my head to rest on his chest.

Sobs wrack my body as I lean against him, crying for the broken relationship with my mother, for the hole left in my chest after Dad passed, and because Cadan is here, but I’m acutely aware that he’s not the one I want holding me right now.

“Shh,” he says and runs a hand over my hair. “It’s okay, baby. Everything is going to be okay now.”

His words light a fire in me. I suck in a breath and pull away from him. “Really? Why? Because you’re here?”

He frowns, looking more troubled than ever. “No, not just because I’m here. Because we can work on everything now. And once we get back into the studio, all this will be behind you and we can focus on what’s important.”

I clamber to my feet. “On what’s important?” I say, outraged. “And what’s that? Your career? Not my family issues? Which you helped to escalate, by the way.”

He stands and stares down at me. “What’s that mean? I didn’t do anything except drive you home.”

“Ha!” I stomp out of the kitchen and head for the living room. “You’ve been using Mom to get to me, pushing her buttons. My relationship with her has been more strained than ever because all she can do is tell me how stupid I am for leaving you.”

His eyes narrow, all sympathy gone. “I had nothing to do with that. All I wanted was your number to get in touch with you. You’re the one who cut me off.”

“And you’re the one who fucked everyone within a fifty-mile radius!”

He strides toward me, anger streaming off him in waves. Clearly trying to calm himself, he stops a few feet from me and takes a deep breath. “I told you already, that’s over. I made a mistake. If this thing between us is going to work, you’re going to have to let it go.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” I can’t believe him. Selfish Cadan is back in full force. He’s learned nothing. Yes, I’d brought it up, but I’m not over what he did to me. If we’re going to move forward, he has to acknowledge I have a few things to work through. “You’re turning this on me? Really?”

He steps back and clutches the back of his head with his hand. “No. Fuck.” He turns and moves toward the kitchen but stops and faces me once more. “I never meant to hurt you, Luce.”

A sound of someone clearing his throat comes from the hallway and I jump, startled.

“Sorry,” Seth says. He’s dressed up more than usual in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt. He must have come straight from his parents’ house. “I didn’t mean to intrude. My knock went unanswered and when I heard yelling I got worried.”

“Everything’s fine,” Cadan says in a clipped tone. Then he narrows his eyes at Seth. “Why are you here?”

Seth ignores him and walks to my side. “Are you all right?”

I nod, unable to form words for a moment. Then I grab him and push him back toward the entry hall. Once out of Cadan’s view, I wrap my arms around him and bury my head into his chest.

“What happened?” His tone is low, and I can tell it’s meant to be gentle, but it’s laced with an edge.

I shake my head. “Terrible day.”

He holds me until Cadan walks in and says, “Lucy? Can we talk?”

I extract myself from Seth’s arms and turn around, sending him a flat stare. “I need a minute.”

He hesitates, eyeing Seth.

“Cadan,” I warn.

He raises his hands in defeat and backs up. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll wait in the living room.”

When he’s gone, I turn to Seth and frown at the judgment I see in his expression. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh? What do I think?”

“I…” Dammit, I don’t know. “Can we go outside for a minute?”

His jaw tightens as he glances down the hall. When his gaze meets mine again, he nods once.

I stifle a sigh of relief and follow him out the door.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Seth

Lucy’s tearstained face once again triggers a primal instinct to stride back inside her house and tear Kinx limb from limb. What the hell had he done to her? And why am I the one being escorted outside?

She walks until she gets to my truck and then stands in front of me, staring at the ground.

“What’s going on?” I ask, ignoring the rain already soaking through my shirt. Lucy doesn’t seem to notice the weather.

She kicks a rock across the driveway. “You should have waited for my call.”

I wait for her to lift her head, to look me in the eye, and when she doesn’t, I use two fingers to lift her chin. There’s pain in her deep blue eyes. Lots of it. “When I didn’t hear from you, I got worried.” I gestured to the night. “Anything could’ve happened on those windy roads.” The familiar heartache clutches at me, but I swallow it down. Lucy is not Elsa.

“You didn’t get my text?” A lone tear rolls down her cheek and she wipes it away angrily.

I want to wrap her in my arms again, to protect her from whatever’s happening, but she crosses her arms over her chest while she waits for me to answer. “No.” I pull my phone out and scroll through the messages. Shaking my head, I hand her the phone to check for herself.

“Nothing.”

Her frown deepens. “I sent a text letting you know I needed to cancel and that I’d call you later.”

I raise my eyebrows and jerk my head toward the house. “Because of him?”

“Yes and no,” she says, her voice low.

“What does that mean? Are you saying if he wasn’t here you still would’ve canceled?” My insides clench with dread. This last week has been nothing short of perfect. Our time together, the fact that I’m painting again. That I can even talk about Elsa. It’s because of her. And if I lose her to that jackass so soon, I don’t think I’ll recover.

“No, probably not.” She steps closer, and for a moment I think she’s going to wrap her arms around me again, but she only places one hand on my chest as she stares up at me. “I had a fight with my mom and walked out. Cadan drove me home. I couldn’t just kick him out on Christmas. His car is in Santa Rosa.”

I wrap my hand around hers and pull her a little closer. Cupping her cheek with my palm, I wipe away the tears mixing with the rain.

“It’s almost impossible for him to find a way back now,” she adds.

“No doubt. But I’m more concerned about you and these tears.”

“Oh.” Her brow crinkles and she closes her eyes as she tries to blink back a fresh onslaught. “Mom and I had another fight on the phone and then Cadan and I got into it after I hung up on her.”

“I see,” I say, but I don’t. Not really. I don’t understand what it must be like to be her and to have such tenuous relationships.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“For what?”

“For having to deal with this crap. For walking in and finding him here.” She steps back, her voice stronger now. “I think I need to take a break from whatever this is while I deal with Cadan and figure out what I’m going to do about my contract.”

My heart clenches so tight actual pain ripples through my chest. “This is how it’s always going to be, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean how it’s always going to be?” Her eyes meet mine, and I can tell by the resignation I find there that she knows exactly what I’m talking about. But she wants me to put it into words. To make the break for her so she doesn’t have to.

But I refuse to let go so easily. I should. It’s the best thing for me. If I stay in this relationship, my heart is going to be shredded. But I can’t. Not yet. I reach out once more and brush her matted hair from her face. “Nothing. Call me when you need a friend.”

She frowns and her lower lip trembles as her eyes well up again. “I could use a friend right now.”

My resolve melts and I pull her close. This time instead of hugging her, I lean down and brush a soft kiss over her lips. It’s all I can do to not stuff her in my truck and take her home. Forcing myself to let her go, I take a step back. “I’m your friend, Lucy. Truly. No matter what you decide to do about Kinx.” The words send a bolt of jealousy through me. That ass has this gorgeous, sweet, sexy woman and yet all he can manage to do is hurt her. She deserves better. I’m acutely aware I want to be the one to give it to her. I shake myself.

Stop it, Keenan. She’s not yours.

“If there’s anything I can do or if you need to talk, I’m around.” I grin, trying to shake the mood. “Or if you just need someone to take your mind off of everything, I can think of a few ways…”

That gets a smile out of her. “Yeah, I’m intimately aware of your distraction techniques.”

We both chuckle. Silence stretches between us for a few moments. I should get in my truck and drive away. She needs to deal with her ex one way or another. Hanging around isn’t helping. Too bad all my instincts are screaming for me to stay.

“I better go in,” she says.

“That’s my cue.” Reluctantly I climb into my truck and stuff the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and before I can talk myself out of it, I back out of her driveway, swearing at myself for getting emotionally involved with the most unavailable single girl I know.

She’s still standing in the rain watching me leave when I crank the wheel and head back toward town. Emptiness creeps into my gut and spreads. I can’t help but feel that by leaving her with him that I’ve lost her before I ever really had her.

I tighten my grip on the wheel and lay into the gas, needing to get as far away from the pair of them as possible. Otherwise, I’ll turn around and go back. And I’m not that guy. For the first time, I start to really understand what Jax has been going through since the big breakup. I touch the Call button on my media center and hit Jax’s name.

“Merry Christmas!” she says by way of greeting.

“Hey,” I say.

“What’s up?” Her bubbly tone shifts to one of concern.

Feeling foolish for calling, I press harder on the pedal and take a corner a little too fast. The truck fishtails. “Oh shit!”

“Seth!”

I get the truck under control and slow to the speed limit. “Sorry. Took a corner too fast.”

“Pull over right this minute.”

“Jax.” I sigh. “I’m on Bluetooth.”

“Still. It’s awful out. You shouldn’t be talking while driving.”

Ignoring her admonishment, I ask, “Are you busy with family?”

“No. We’ve already done dinner, and I’m holed up in my apartment pretending I don’t have to get up at the ass crack of dawn to open presents no one wants.”

I snort. Jax’s mom still thinks her kids are eight. They get pajamas and board games just as they had every year since she was five. “What time is the wakeup call?”

“Seven-fucking-thirty. You’re so lucky your family does Christmas Eve and skips the morning torture ritual.”

“Yeah.” We used to do Christmas morning. That is until I’d just stopped going the year E died. That Christmas I’d stayed in bed and pretended the day didn’t exist. For some reason, after that, Mom stopped making a big deal about holidays. She said as long as we were together on a regular basis that’s all she cared about. The cold chill of loss hit me again. “Do you mind company?”

“Not if the company is you.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Jax is waiting for me in her doorway when I pull up in front of her house. “What’s going on?” she asks when I reach her side.

Still soaked from standing in the rain with Lucy, I shiver.

“Jesus,” she whispers. “Come on. Get inside.”

She pushes me into the bathroom and hands me a dry towel. “I don’t have any clothes that will fit you. Just strip and I’ll throw yours in Mom’s dryer. You can wrap yourself in a blanket or whatever while they dry.”

Too cold and wet to care, I do as I’m told and wrap the bath sheet around my hips. I emerge with my wet clothes and hand them to her.

She runs them downstairs to the dryer she shares with her parents, and when she returns, she rakes her gaze down my body. “Damn. No wonder Lucy keeps going back for more.”

“Not tonight,” I say almost to myself.

“Well sure. Isn’t she at her mom’s?”

“No.” I run a hand through my damp hair. “She’s home… with Cadan.”

Jax straightens. “What? No. She can’t be. I thought he finally left.” Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

I nod and sit on her couch, wrapping a blanket around me. “Yep. Positive. I just came from there.”

“Oh, damn.” Jax sits next to me, staring straight ahead, curling a lock of her blond hair with her fingers. Then she turns her sympathetic eyes on me. “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?”

I close my eyes, not wanting to answer. Of course I have. But I don’t want to admit it even to myself, much less Lucy’s best friend. “Does it matter? Her mate is back. Nothing I can do.”

She doesn’t deny it. After a minute, she leans over and hugs me. The way a sister would hug a little brother, even though I’m about a foot taller than she is. “What can I do to help?”

“Don’t worry about it. I mostly came over so I didn’t have to explain to Lillian why I was home.”

She straightens. “You’ve moved back to your house?”

I nod. “It would appear so.”

“It’s about time.” She jumps to her feet. “Since you’re staying over, I think it’s time to drink. A lot.” In three steps she’s in her kitchen with her liquor cabinet open. “What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey?” I say hopefully.

“Of course.” She fills two lowball glasses half-full and returns to the couch, the bottle dangling from her fingers. “I don’t know about you, but I won’t be happy until I can’t feel my lips.”

I raise an eyebrow in her direction. “Rough day?”

“Not as bad as yours, but bad enough. Remind me to fill you in later.” She raises her glass to mine. I follow suit, clinking my crystal against hers.

“To friends who stock plenty of whiskey,” I say.

She laughs and scans her gaze over my body once more. The blanket has fallen, and I’m once again only wearing the towel. “To hot half-naked friends who drink said whiskey.”

I nod, appreciating the ego boost more than I care to admit, and then throw the drink back with one gulp.

“More?” She holds the bottle out.

“Yes. And keep ’em coming.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Lucy

Seth’s red taillights glow in the distance. I stand in the rain, ignoring the water streaming down my face as I focus on his truck until he eases around a bend and the taillights disappear. A sense of loss hits me, and I start to shake. It’s evident who I want to be with, and it isn’t the guy waiting for me inside the house.

I drag my feet across the gravel walkway, wishing I could get in my car and follow Seth home. But I have to deal with my problems. Running away isn’t going to help. Once inside, I grab a towel from the downstairs bathroom and then head straight for my room to change. At the top of the stairs, I pause. There’s a light glowing from my bedroom.

Oh my God. Cadan’s in there. I yank the door open and storm in. “What do you think—” I stop mid-sentence, silenced by his pained expression. He’s holding the picture Seth drew of me this morning. Sadness haunts his eyes as he glances up at me.

“He drew this, didn’t he?”

I nod.

Running his fingers gently over the paper, he crumples the edge with his other hand as he appears to fight with his emotions. It’s all I can do not to rip it out of his grip to smooth the best gift anyone has ever given me. “Please be careful with it.”

His fingers uncurl, and with effort he puts it on my nightstand.

“You don’t have any reason to be angry, you know,” I say. “You and me? We’re not together.”

He stands and walks over to me. “I know, Lucy. The last thing I need is a reminder.”

I take a step back, and even though I’m fully clothed, I press the towel to my body. The way he’s gazing at me makes me feel as if I’m completely naked. As if he’s seeing more than he should.

“That picture?” He waves a hand toward it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that content. That peaceful.”

“I was asleep.”

“I saw that.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Do you love this guy?”

I stand frozen, unable to move, unable to answer his question.

“You do.” Cadan hangs his head, defeated.

“I… I don’t know. I mean, that’s not a fair question,” I stammer out.

He brushes past me and then pauses in the doorway facing the hallway. He doesn’t look back when he says, “You should get into dry clothes. We can talk downstairs.”

Once he’s gone, I shut the door with a soft click. I can’t recall ever seeing Cadan appear so sad. The guy who just left was a stranger to me. Usually cocky and full of more confidence than should be legal, he’s subdued, maybe even apologetic, as if he really is remorseful. I don’t know what to make of this new development.

I head to my bathroom and turn the shower on. Memories of this morning flash through my mind. Seth’s hands ghost over my body, making me tingle with remembered desire. It’s hard not to compare Seth to Cadan since Cadan is the only other person I’ve been with. I can’t stop myself though. When Cadan and I were together, we had plenty of fire and intensity fueled by our connection. But with Seth there is something else. When we’re together, there’s a tenderness combined with heat and raw emotion that doesn’t have anything to do with mates or magic. We’re two people desperate to know one another. By choice, not fate. And it seems more real.

After a hot shower, I emerge and dress in jeans and a sweatshirt. Wearing thick wool socks, I pad downstairs, dreading the coming conversation. Cadan is sitting stiffly on the couch in front of the fireplace.

“Hey,” I say.

He turns and gives me a slight smile. “You look warmer.”

“Definitely.”

“Have a seat.” He gets up and disappears into the kitchen while I settle in and wait. When he comes back, he hands me one of the two mugs he’s carrying. “It’s mocha.”

I tuck my feet under me, grateful I have something to concentrate on.

Cadan sits at the opposite end of the couch. After a few moments, he clears his throat. “I’m going to tell Cassie we’re not recording the new songs.”

I snap my head up and stare at him. “But what about the publishing contract?”

He shrugs. “We can write new songs for it. I’m sure we can work something out. I bet we can even get a shortened tour if you want. We’ll have to do a few television appearances, but not much more. Jeff’s been digging through the contract, and it’s pretty flexible on the promotional stuff.”

“Really?” I turn to face him, my brows pinched in confusion. “Last time I talked to him he said the contract was ironclad.”

“He was mistaken.” Cadan puts his mug down and gazes into my eyes. “I want you to be happy, Luce. Like that picture. I want you to sleep soundly and not look like you’re in a perpetual state of frustration or anger. After I saw the picture, I realized just how unhappy I’ve made you.”

“You didn’t make me unhappy per se…” I don’t really know what else to say.

He snorts out a sardonic laugh. “Right. Well, I disagree. When we first met you smiled a heck of a lot more than you do now. I’m pretty sure I’m a large part of that.”

“Cadan.” I sigh. “I just lost my dad. Mom and I have been fighting. Our relationship has been unsettled at best, but you’re not the reason I’m struggling. I’m just going through a rough patch right now.”

He scoots forward and places his hand on my thigh. “I know, babe. And that’s why I want you to have whatever it is you need. As much as it kills me to say it, this tattoo guy seems to be better for you than I am.”

I straighten. “Are you really trying to hand me off to someone else?”

“No.” He says it with finality. “Definitely not. I want you with me. Always. But not if it’s not the best thing for you. One day we’ll be together. But not now I don’t think.”

“One day, huh?” The pressure in my chest loosens a bit. It makes it easier to think we might have a chance to find our way together someday, even if I don’t feel it now. And I don’t. My heart lies elsewhere.

“Yeah.” His arms come around me and he holds me against him, stroking my hair. I let him, comforted by the fact that he finally seems to be thinking of me for once in his life. He lets go and stands. “I think I’ll go to bed. Merry Christmas Eve, Luce. I’ll see you in the morning.”

A moment later, the stairs creak under his footsteps and then the guest room door shuts with a soft click. Sitting on the couch with my legs tucked under me, I contemplate calling Seth. But I want to talk to Jax first about Cadan and this new turn of events. Pulling out my phone, I hit Jax’s name and wait. It goes straight to voice mail. Damn.

An hour and three more tries later, I give up and go to bed. As warm and cozy as I am, sleep eludes me. Not even the soft strum of the rain on the windows can lull me into oblivion. After staring at the ceiling and watching the clock tick until well past three a.m., I finally fall into a fitful sleep where I dream of Seth. He’s with me, but not really. We’re standing together, but he doesn’t seem to know I’m there, as if one of us is a ghost, but I don’t know which one. Frustrated, I do everything I can think of to get him to notice me. I yell, wave my arms, and even go so far as to wrap my arms around him and kiss him, but he stands there, impassive and unaware.

Finally he turns his head in my direction, but he doesn’t see me. No. He sees someone else walking out of the coastal fog. She’s tall and slender, her long hair blowing in the breeze.

Seth’s eyes light up with wonder, and he lets out a surprised gasp as he strides toward her. She grins and holds out her hand. Almost running now, he reaches for her, but just as his arms wrap around her, she disappears once again.

A guttural cry of loss tears from Seth, and it’s so heart wrenching it feels as if someone has stabbed me in the chest. I run to his side, wanting to comfort him, to ease his suffering, but still he doesn’t hear or see me. He sinks to his knees, anguish-ridden with grief.

I wake with a start. “Elsa.” Her name slips from my lips in a whisper, and I sit straight up in bed, wide awake, my heart racing. My eyes adjust quickly in the predawn light as I take in the familiar surroundings of my bedroom. The dream seemed so real I still feel the moisture on my skin.

Leaning back against my mountains of pillows, I rub my eyes and start when the sound of the front door opening catches my attention. Low voices reverberate from downstairs. I glance at the clock. Six a.m. Jumping out of bed, I stuff my feet into my slippers, wrap myself in my robe, and descend to the first floor to investigate.

Cadan and Will, our blue-haired bass player, are sitting at my bar drinking coffee. “Hey.” I rub my eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Will came to pick me up,” Cadan says into his coffee. “We’ll be on our way in a few minutes.”

“What?” I sink down onto a barstool. “But it’s Christmas and it’s so early.”

Cadan gives me a sad look. “I don’t mean to leave you alone today, but really, I think it’s for the best.” He gets up and nods to Will. “If you’re ready, I think now’s a good time.”

Will tosses him a set of keys. “Whatever, man. You’re driving. I haven’t even gone to bed yet.”

I grab Will’s arm. “You drove here from Sac?” It’s where the band is hanging out while waiting to see what Cadan and I decide.

He yawns and nods. “Don’t worry. I didn’t get up until four.” He gives me a quick hug and whispers, “I’m sorry about what went down. You didn’t deserve that.”

I squeeze him in acknowledgement. It feels good to have someone admit I’m not totally crazy. “It’s good to see you, even if only for a few minutes.”

“You, too, Luce.” He releases me and disappears out the front door. Cadan gazes at me, taking me in as if he’s trying to memorize this moment. Then without a word, he follows Will outside.

I sit back down, trying to reconcile the sadness of watching him go with the desire to dance around my kitchen in sheer elation. Without another thought, I run upstairs, throw on some clothes, and race to my car.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up to Jax’s house and stop behind a familiar red truck. I frown and glance at the clock. Six forty-nine. What is Seth doing at her house so early on Christmas morning?

More curious than anything else, I grab Jax’s present and jog up the stairs to her front door. I knock and hop back and forth, trying to stave off the cold. After a few moments, I knock again and blow on my now-frozen fingers while I wait.

Impatient, I press against one of her side windows and peer in. I gasp, then shock turns me to stone. I blink, certain I’m hallucinating. It isn’t possible. But the scene doesn’t shift. Right there on the couch is Jax, sprawled across Seth. She’s wearing tiny sleep shorts and a camisole top. He’s wearing nothing. Her shirt is riding up, helped along by his hand splayed across her lower back.

I jump back, a sob forming in my throat. Dropping Jax’s present, I spin and bolt.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Seth

An elbow slams into my gut and I groan. “What the—”

“Jesus, Seth. Cover yourself.” Jax throws the towel at me and runs to the window. “Oh, dammit!” She pulls the door open and yells, “Lucy!”

“What’s going on?” I ask, clutching the towel around my waist.

“It’s Lucy.” Jax scowls and waves a hand toward the street. “She must have seen us sleeping and got the wrong idea. ’Cause look.”

I peer out the door. The woman I’ve been dreaming about all night has a horrified expression on her face as she frantically tries to unlock her car door. She drops her keys, and when she bends to pick them up, she knocks her head on the mirror. “Ouch. Fuck,” she cries.

“Lucy,” I call, stepping out onto the porch. The cold morning air nearly freezes my balls off, but she’s so upset, I can’t force myself to go back inside.

She pauses but doesn’t look up before pulling her door open and climbing into her car.

Shit!

Barefoot and all but stark naked, there’s no way I can catch her before she peels away from the curb. “Son of a… fuck.” I slam the door shut and immediately search for my phone on the coffee table. Her line rings and rings and rings and finally her voice mail answers.

“Lucy. Jesus, babe. It’s not what you think. I slept on Jax’s couch. My clothes were drying and I passed out before they were done.” A knot forms in my stomach. “We were drinking and… Shit, that sounds bad. But really, Lucy. Nothing happened. Jax must’ve fallen asleep on me. I swear to God all we did was sleep. I’d really like to see you. Give me a call. I’ll come over. Or you can come to my place if you’re free. Call me back.”

Jax stares at me for a minute, her brows pinched, then makes a disgusted smacking noise with her mouth. “I have got to brush my teeth. I’ll be right back.”

I sit on the couch, running my hands through my hair while I wait for Jax to finish in the bathroom. By the time she finally emerges, I’m pacing. “I need my clothes.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not going to go over there, are you?”

“Of course I am. I can’t let her think something went on here.” I frown. “Why aren’t you more upset? You have to know what she was thinking.”

“I am upset. But we didn’t do anything, so this will blow over.” She crosses the room and fishes her phone off her desk and curses under her breath. “Dead.”

I wait for her while she digs around for the cord and eventually plugs it in. When she turns around, she actually takes a step back even though I’m across the room from her. “Damn, Seth. You look like you’re going to murder someone.”

“My clothes, Jax. I need to go.” The look on Lucy’s face, the obvious pain—I can’t let her go on thinking Jax and I… just no.

“No, you don’t. Isn’t Cadan still there? She doesn’t need you barging in on her. I’ll talk to her. Trust me.”

“Jax,” I growl.

She crosses her arms over her chest and juts her chin out stubbornly. “Wait for her to calm down.”

“Fuck me.” I stuff my feet into my shoes and grab the blanket off the couch. Wrapped in purple chenille, I’m halfway down the stairs before Jax catches up.

“Wait!” she calls.

Too late. I pull open the side door to her parents’ kitchen and come to a screeching stop. Holy shit. Jax’s dad’s bare ass is on full display as he pounds into her mom, right there on the counter. They’re too engrossed to notice me, and I spin, heading straight back out the door. But before I can escape, Jax barrels in.

“Seth, no. What will my parents—Mom? Dad? Omigod!” She stares at them in horror. “It’s Christmas morning. What are you doing?”

Despite my desperation to get my damn clothes and chase after Lucy, I can’t help the laughter that rumbles from my chest. “Pretty good present if you ask me.”

“Jax!” Her mom gasps and buries her face into her husband’s shoulder. “Could you give us a moment?”

Her dad doesn’t speak, but his entire body flushes red in embarrassment. Jax runs back out the door.

“Sorry,” I force out through the laughter and escape into the next room, unwilling to abandon my clothes now that I’ve been spotted. After a quick stop in the laundry room, I hurry out the back door and take the stairs two at a time back up to Jax’s apartment.

She’s fuming when I get inside. “What the hell was that?”

“Uh, some holiday cheer?” I offer with a snicker.

“No, you ass.” She grabs a pillow and throws it at my head. “I meant you barging in on my parents. Now they’re going to think I have something going on with you.”

Having easily dodged her assault, I pass her on my way to her bathroom. “I needed my clothes, and you weren’t cooperating. But don’t worry, your parents aren’t likely to mention this incident ever again.” I slam the door shut. It takes me less than a minute to pull my clothes on.

On my way out, I give Jax a quick hug. “Thanks for the couch. I have to talk to Lucy.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“What about Christmas with your parents?” I ask.

“Oh, hell no. They’ll be lucky if they see me before New Year’s at this point.”

“All right. If you’re sure.” Maybe Jax can reason with her.

“I’m sure.”

Jax spends the entire time in the truck using my phone to call Lucy. But it always goes straight to voice mail.

“She’s turned her phone off,” I say.

“I know. I just want to catch her if she turns it back on.” Now that it’s settled in how upset Lucy is, Jax is more anxious to set her straight than I am. “I can’t believe she thought we’d been together like that.”

I give her an incredulous look. “Seriously? I slept with her the first night we met. And my reputation isn’t a shining beacon of respectability.”

“Mine is,” she says with conviction.

“True, but you were looking for someone to take home the night of your birthday.”

Her face turns a bright shade of red, and she focuses on the ocean view as we head south on the highway.

“One-night stands are no big deal,” I say.

She lets out a huff. “Easy for you to say. You never seem to have a shortage of options.”

I chuckle. “I think if you’d had less tequila, you would’ve noticed a few solid possibilities.”

“Maybe.” She presses a button on my phone again and sighs. “Still voice mail.”

“We’ll be there in a minute.”

The second I pull up, Jax is out of the truck and pounding on the door. “Lucy! Open up.”

There isn’t any ambient noise from inside the house, but Lucy’s car is in the driveway. She pretty much has to be here. “Luce!”

I leave Jax at the front door and head around to the sliding glass doors in the back. There’s a small gap in the curtains, but the room is dark. And no Lucy. Feeling entirely too much like a stalker, I rejoin Jax at the front door. “Anything?” I ask.

“Nope,” she says to me and then pounds on the door. “Lucy, come on. We’re worried about you. Open up. Please?”

We stare at each other, both of us at a loss for what to do. Jax throws her hands up and takes a seat on the front step. “We’ll just wait her out. She can’t stay in there forever.”

I pace and finally end up sitting in my truck. We’ve been here for over a half hour. At what point does this become harassment? Unease settles in my gut. “Jax, let’s go.”

“No. She’ll crack sooner or later.”

“I don’t want her to crack. I want her to talk to me, not feel like she has to call the cops to get rid of us. She can call when she’s ready.” I tap out a text to Lucy, asking her to get in touch with me, and then fire the truck up. Jax is still sitting on the front porch. “I’m going. You coming?”

She glances over her shoulder and lets out a huff of frustration. “Yeah. But I’m not happy about it.” Taking her time, she slowly retreats back to the truck. After climbing in, she slams the door and crosses her arms over her chest. Like a petulant child, she glares at the house. “Merry fucking Christmas, Lucy.”

I ease out of the driveway. “Give her a break. She’s upset.”

She lets out a huff of irritation. “But I’m her best friend. She can’t honestly believe I’d sleep with you.”

“Ouch.” Damn. Way to punch a guy when he’s down.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Her scowl deepens.

We’re silent as I drive her home. Once parked outside her house, she doesn’t move to get out. “Are you going to your parents’?” she asks.

“Later for dinner.”

She nods. “We have dinner planned as well. But I might skip it after this morning’s events.” She makes a face.

“It’s Christmas. You have to go.” I smile. “Just avoid the kitchen. That should help.”

“Disgusting! Nothing will help.” She climbs out of my truck. “Call me if you hear from Lucy.”

“You, too. And thanks for the couch.”

“Anytime.”

I drive home in a stupor, worse off than I was the night before when I’d gone to Jax’s house. What is Lucy thinking? Why isn’t she with Kinx? After spending the morning in her driveway, I highly doubt he’s still there. Had he gotten a car and taken her somewhere? Had she left town with him? Would she even say good-bye?

The questions and doubts swirl in my mind until my head starts to pound.

The lights are on at my house. Damn. Lillian is still here. She’s not going to leave me alone until I tell her where I’ve been. My only hope is that she’s locked in the second bathroom, primping for what’s his name. Her mate who never seems to be around.

I quietly let myself into the kitchen, relieved to find it empty. The whiskey bottle beckons. It’s before nine a.m. on Christmas day. “Screw it.” I wash two aspirin down with a pull of the harsh liquor. It burns straight to my gut. I take another swig and the tension in my shoulders eases slightly.

“Hey.” Lillian leans against the threshold of the doorway leading into the living room. “Rough night?”

“Awful. And even worse morning.” I brush past her, heading for my bedroom.

“Seth?”

“Yeah,” I say without stopping.

“Are you living here full time now?”

That makes me pause and I turn to look at her. I’m not sure how to answer. For the past few weeks I had been either here, at the shop, or at Lucy’s. I hadn’t been back to Mom and Dad’s at all. “I guess so.”

She nods. “Good. Don’t get so drunk you miss Christmas dinner.”

I hold the bottle up, eyeing the contents. If I take it with me, I’ll likely finish it out of sheer frustration. Walking back down the stairs, I tip the bottle to my lips once more, then hand it to her. “You take it.”

Her hand wraps around mine and she squeezes.

I want to pull away, but if I do the bottle will smash to the floor.

Lillian steps forward and wraps her other arm around me, squeezing hard. “Whatever happened, little brother, you’re stronger than this.” She pulls the booze from my hand. “Spend the day wallowing, or head up to your studio, or go work out, but don’t let this get you again.” She kisses me on the cheek and silently slips from the room.

My breathing turns choked and I press my hand to the wall. Jesus. Was I really going there again? Whiskey for breakfast? Yeah. I was.

I’m not an alcoholic. I don’t crave booze on a daily basis. But since I lost Elsa, I have been known to be destructive when I don’t want to deal with something. And whiskey is one of my go-to vices. Shit. She’s right. My head is already spinning. If I keep it up, I’ll be passed out by noon. I should’ve eaten something at least.

After grabbing a box of left over pizza and two Cokes, I climb the stairs to my sanctuary. My studio. The room instantly calms me. Then it hits me. No matter what happens with Lucy, she’ll always be in my heart. Her presence in my life has given me what Elsa’s death stole from me. The desire to create just for me.

Chapter Thirty

Lucy

Jax and Seth are outside, but I can’t bring myself to go downstairs to talk to them. Lying in my bed staring at the ceiling, I know I’m being unreasonable, refusing to even talk to them. It’s as if I’m floating above myself, watching myself push away everyone who loves me.

I can’t help it, though. Seeing Jax and Seth sleeping together had flipped a switch in me. My trust in everyone is shot. I don’t know what happened between them. And it shouldn’t matter this much. Seth and I barely know each other. We haven’t made any promises to be together. I have no claim on him. I’d even sent him away because my soul mate was here.

But my heart is broken at the thought of him with my best friend. And the fact that Jax might use Seth for her one-night stand after I’d spent the week with him is unimaginable. Yet, I’d been the one to keep pushing her to go to him. She trusts him. Loves him even… as a friend. It’s just too much to process. And I trust no one.

When I hear the roar of Seth’s truck start again, I get up and move to the window. He’s calling to Jax to get in the truck, but she’s refusing. She looks so upset, I want to run down and pull her in the house. But there’s that nagging doubt. What if it’s true and she’s only upset that I found out?

Before they leave, I crawl back into bed and pull my pillow over my head. It’s time to spend the day with only myself. No boys. No awful parents. Just me.

I lie in the bed for hours, going over and over what I’d seen this morning. It’s a reel that plays on a continuous loop and makes me sick to my stomach. The thought of even talking to Seth or Jax has me running to the bathroom. After I empty the contents of my stomach twice, I curl up in the bed and cry myself to sleep.

***

I wake much later to the inky blackness of the wee hours of the morning. I’m groggy and hollow. Wrung out from grief. With my eyes burning from the gritty sandpaper sensation that comes from a fitful sleep, I glance at the picture of Dad on my nightstand and make an instant decision. I need to move forward. To get on with my life. Hiding here, using Jax and Seth as emotional shields, isn’t solving anything. I’ve got a contract to fulfill.

And despite everything, at least Cadan and I understand each other. I know who and what he is, and he knows me. With some firm rules, I’ll be able to make this work.

Without hesitation, I grab my phone, power it on, ignore the two dozen alert notifications, and then punch in the number I want to call.

It rings three, four, five times. On the sixth ring he answers. “Lucy? Are you okay?”

I glance at the clock. Two twenty-two a.m. I would apologize, but familiar voices filter over the line. He’s hanging with the band.

“Cadan,” I say, “I’ve made a decision.”

“Hey, guys, shut up!” he calls, clearly holding the phone away so he’s not shouting in my ear. His volume returns to normal, but there’s a new lilt of hopefulness. “About us?”

“About coming back to the band.”

“Oh.” The background noise coming from his end fades to silence.

“Are you outside now?” I stall.

“Yes. Everyone else is inside. Where are you?”

“In bed.”

“Always a good choice.” I can hear the smile in his voice. It eases me into a familiar comfort, making what I need to say next simple.

“I’m ready to record Dad’s songs. When’s the soonest we can start?”

Silence.

“Cadan? You there?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Sorry. You just shocked me. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“What happened? I mean, why did you change your mind?”

“I…” Telling him I’m ready to put the past behind me and move on is still too personal. I need this to feel whole again. To let go of all the pain. And I don’t want to answer questions about what this might mean for our relationship in the future. As far as I’m concerned, we’ll just be business partners.

“Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Do you want me to come get you?”

“No,” I say. “I’m going to pack, and I’ll come to Sacramento in the morning. I need the name of your hotel.”

He gives it to me. Then he hesitates as if thinking something over.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I just want to make sure this is what you really want. We can record something else if you’re more comfortable.” His tone is achingly sincere.

“It is. I’m ready to let go.”

“Ah, babe.” He sighs sympathetically. “Your dad will always be with you.”

“I know. And these songs will honor him.” I run a hand over my soft comforter. “See you early afternoon tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Luce. Merry Christmas.”

“Night.” I hit End on the phone and lean back against the pillows. The decision is made. The pit in my stomach doesn’t go away. It only widens and my heart breaks a little more. A voice deep inside says I should run as far from everything and everyone as I can. But I tried that and it didn’t work. All I managed to do was get hurt again. At least with Cadan I’ll have my career.

***

I pull up to the Grand Marquis Hotel in downtown Sacramento and climb out. Straight away a bellman rushes over.

“Hello, Ms. Moore. We’ve been expecting you. Your party is waiting inside in the bar area. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

“Thank you.” I hand him the keys and, with more than a little trepidation, head into the hotel. The bar is just off the lobby, and I spot them right away. Cadan and the band are lounging around a table drinking beer and watching a snowboarding competition on ESPN. It’s different than what I’m used to. Usually they’re all still passed out with half a dozen girls hanging around their rooms.

“Lucy!” Jessie, our drummer, calls and jumps up from his chair. In five long strides, he’s by my side, wrapping me in a bear hug. “Thank God you’re back. I need someone other than these ugly a-holes to look at.” He lifts me up until my feet are dangling off the ground.

Laughing, I hit his arm. “Put me down so I can get a good look at you.”

He does as he’s told and steps back, holding his arms out. Then he does a slow three-sixty, showing off his lean runner’s physique. “See anything you like?”

“Hey, now,” Cadan says, coming to a stop at his side. “Stop hitting on my girl.”

I ignore Cadan’s possessive demand and raise an eyebrow at Jessie. “You look… normal.”

He chuckles. “As opposed to?”

I grin. “Wrung out and hungover.”

“Oh that.” He gives Cadan a stern look. “This bozo said we were partying too hard and put the kibosh on the after-show invites. It’s no fun to sit around drinking without the ladies. So our social lives have taken a little bit of a hit.”

“Really?” I turn to Cadan. “You banned visitors?”

“No.” He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in. “Just random groupies. Friends are welcome. But it was getting out of hand and… the music was suffering.”

Jessie scoffs. “Not nearly as much as this guy.” He punches Cadan in the arm. “We thought we were going to have to get a bulk supply of Prozac there for a while. Talk about a downer. One minute he’s working on a new song and the next he’s—”

“Shut up, you fucker,” Cadan says as he pushes Jessie back. “Lucy doesn’t need to hear all this right now.” He grabs my hand and tugs me out of the bar.

“Hey,” I say. “I didn’t get to say hi to the rest of the guys.”

“You’ll see them tonight. First we have a meeting with Cassie.”

I stop and face him. “Already?”

“Yeah. She was in town meeting with another band, and when I told her you’d called she cleared her afternoon in order to welcome you back.”

“Oh.” I straighten my shirt and run a nervous hand over my hair. I’m not exactly prepared for a business meeting.

“Relax. She just wants to hammer out the schedule so we’re all on the same page.” He guides me to the elevator, and we ride to the thirty-ninth floor. It’s the highest before the penthouse suite.

The plush carpet is glorious under our feet as we make our way to the end of the hallway. “Pretty nice place,” I say.

Cadan nods and raps once on the door.

The door swings open, and Cassie’s smile turns to a huge grin when she focuses on me. Her onyx eyes sparkle with true pleasure. “Lucy! Dang, is it good to see you.” She pulls me into the room and then gives me a tight hug, wrinkling her silk pantsuit. “I hope your break was restful.”

I glance at Cadan over her shoulder. Break? I’d quit.

He holds his hands up as if to say he doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about.

“I know your dad’s passing was really tough for you. It’s no wonder you needed some time.” Cassie pulls back and stares me in the eye. “You let me know if you need anything, okay? A day off to be normal for a while. Someone to cook for you. A personal shopper if you don’t want to go out. Whatever you need. We’ve got you covered.”

“Uh…”

“Just don’t worry about a thing. We’re here to make life as easy as possible. The top priority is the new album. Whatever it takes to make it happen, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Okay,” I say, more confused than ever. I’d never gotten this treatment before.

“Everyone’s real excited about the new album, Luce,” Cadan says by way of explanation.

“Yes, we are!” Cassie waves a hand around the room. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the adjoining bedroom while we settle into chairs at a table near the window. There’s a view of the Sacramento River. It’s better than a parking lot, but still not very scenic.

Cadan reaches out and wraps his hand around mine, giving it a squeeze, and leans in. “I’m really happy you decided to give us another try.”

My insides tingle with nervousness. And not the good kind. I hadn’t said I wanted to get back together with him. I pull my hand from his. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, all right?”

“Sure,” he says and leans back. “A lot has happened.”

“For both of us,” I say almost under my breath. I’m trying hard not to still be upset about his cheating, but being back here in a hotel room, it’s all surfacing again. The image of Seth relaxing on my couch, laughing at something I’d said, flashes through my mind and that sense of loss deepens. Had I ever been that content around Cadan?

I search his tight expression. No. Not ever. What we have is fraught with tension. It can be exciting, but more often than not, it’s exhausting. Pulling out my phone, I hover over the twenty unopened texts. I’m certain some of them are from Seth. But I can’t read them now. Not here in Cassie’s hotel room. Maybe I can’t read them ever. I made the decision to come back here. I should delete them and let everything about Seth go. I don’t, though. Instead, I slip the phone back into my purse as Cassie breezes back into the room, her sleek black hair flying behind her.

“So exciting,” she says with a huge smile. “Want something to drink? Water? Coffee? Soft drink?”

“Coffee,” I say, just so I can have something else to focus on during this conversation.

“I’ll get it.” Cadan jumps up and pours coffee from a silver carafe already on the table. Cassie is prepared as always. He adds plenty of cream and one spoonful of sugar, just the way I like it. “Here you go.”

I wrap both hands around the mug. “Thanks.”

“Okay then.” Cassie hands us both a packet of papers. “I’ve worked out a schedule I want to go over so we can get everything rolling as soon as possible.”

I scan the sheet and my mouth drops open. “You want us to perform tomorrow night in San Francisco?”

She frowns. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Cadan says.

I scowl at him. “I thought you were done making my decisions for me?”

He jerks as if I’ve slapped him. Then he leans back in his chair. “Sorry, Luce. I didn’t mean to answer for you.” Then he turns to Cassie. “It’s not a problem for me if it’s not a problem for Lucy.”

His condescension irritates the crap out of me, but I put it on the back burner and focus.

“Is it okay, Lucy? Or do you have a prior commitment? I was under the impression you were back and available, but if not, I’ll need to redo some things here.” She twists her pen and starts scribbling on her copy of the schedule.

“No. I’m back and my schedule is clear. It’s only that I haven’t practiced with the band in almost four months. The new songs… they’re rusty. We can’t perform them.”

“Don’t worry about that. You can sing songs off the last album, and if you feel up to it, maybe one of the new songs.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she continues, “Really. Only if you want to. No pressure.”

“We can practice this afternoon and tomorrow before the show.” Cadan studies me with guarded eyes. “Then only if you feel up to it. We’ll leave the decision in your hands.”

His statement floors me. Cadan has always been the one to jump in and take charge, making the decisions for both of us before I even have a chance to process what’s happening. This is a new Cadan. A welcome, better version. Maybe there’s hope for him yet. “Okay. We’ll leave it open.”

“Excellent.” Cassie spends the next twenty minutes going over travel schedules, bookings, recording-session dates, and media events. My eyes are glazing over by the time she gets to the end of her list. “Any questions?”

“Yeah.” I close the folder, knowing our manager will keep us informed of daily events. “Just one. I drove my car here. What will happen to it if we leave in the morning?”

“I’ll have it delivered to your house. Not to worry about a thing.” She makes a note in her book. “Excellent. Then that’s it. The new contracts are being drawn up now. You’ll have them by tomorrow.”

“New contracts?” I ask.

“It’s all the standard legal stuff. Your agent has been negotiating fiercely.” Her phone rings and she holds her hand up. “Gotta take this.” She crosses the room, leaving us to ourselves.

“New contracts?” I ask Cadan. “I thought we were already locked in?”

He smiles. “We are. But these are renegotiated to be more flexible and with more money. They were so desperate to have you back they’ve been working to sweeten the deal. Don’t worry, Lucy. This is a good thing.”

I frown in Cassie’s direction. “That doesn’t sound like something the label would do.”

He shrugs. “Jeff’s been earning his money, I guess.”

“I guess so.”

Chapter Thirty-one

Lucy

The afternoon practice session falls into an easy rhythm that’s so familiar it seems as if no time has passed at all. Cassie’s right. We can do one of the new songs. I’m not sure what’s changed, but when the band strikes up the slow and haunting music, I throw my emotions into the song, really giving it everything I have. It’s raw and more than a little gut-wrenching, but by the time the last notes fade away, I feel purged of something. Maybe a small bit of grief. Or maybe some of my recent pain.

Either way, by the time we get back to the hotel, my nerves have settled and I’m actually looking forward to the performance the next night.

“Are you up for a late dinner?” Cadan asks as we walk into the lobby.

“Sure. Just let me wash up. Where should I meet you?”

“I’ll come by your room in about a half hour.”

I nod and take off, leaving him in the bar with the rest of the band.

Once in my room, I take my time washing my face and redoing my makeup. Performing is hard, sweat-inducing work. I’ve just finished painting my lips with a new lipstick when the hotel phone rings. I frown, wondering why anyone wouldn’t just call my cell.

“Hello?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Jax yells. “I can’t believe you took off without even telling me. Or Seth. Do you have any idea what you did to him?”

Righteous outrage has me seeing red. She should understand how hurtful it was finding them together like that. “Are you kidding? This is what I get after you spent the night with him? God, Jax. You knew I was falling for him.”

She scoffs. “We didn’t do anything. And if you’d taken one of our phone calls, you’d know that.”

I haven’t had the courage to listen to my messages yet. But I had read the text messages. Most of them were pleas to call one of them. Or to ask where I was. I should have called Jax to let her know. No matter what they’d done or hadn’t done, it wasn’t fair to just leave town and let her worry. “Nothing happened? But I saw you two sleeping together on the couch, and Seth was naked. How is that nothing?”

“Lucy,” she says with a long sigh. “He came over after seeing you, and his clothes were drenched. I don’t have anything that fits him, so he wrapped up in a towel and a blanket. We spent the night talking on the couch and we fell asleep. That’s it. He was talking about you all night long. If you’d answered your damn phone or come to the door when we came over, you’d have known this. And maybe you wouldn’t have run off to Destructionville.”

“Well, what was I supposed to think?” I demand, but the bottom falls out of my stomach. What she said sounded so much more plausible than the two of them sleeping together. “Shit,” I say under my breath.

“Yeah,” she agrees and then lowers her voice. “I’m sorry, Luce. I know how it looked. I can only imagine what went through your mind. But you can’t just run away.”

“I didn’t,” I insist.

“Yes, you did. You’re back with Cadan already. After what he did to you? Have you lost your mind?”

“No… Yes.” I press two fingers to my temple and sink onto the bed. “Jax?”

“What?” She’s still angry, and I can hardly blame her. I’d shut her out and made a huge snap judgment after leaning on her for three months.

“I don’t think I came back because of what I saw yesterday morning.”

There’s a pause on her end, then she clears her throat. “You mean you went back for Cadan?”

“Yes and no. Let me try to explain this.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Okay, here goes.” I lean back against the pillows and take a deep breath. “When I saw you and Seth… Well, I sort of snapped. I mean everyone I ever loved has let me down. My mom, Cadan, even my dad when he shipped me off to my mom’s. You’re the only one who has always been there for me. And then Seth.”

“We’re still here, Luce. We can’t force you to trust us, though.”

“I know. I really do. And this isn’t about that. The thing is, I have no hold over Seth. We spent a week together. It’s not like we had a commitment or anything. But the pain I felt just then, it was more than I could bear. I had to do something. Go somewhere. Do something with my life besides hide out in Mendocino, waiting for something that isn’t coming.”

I take a moment to gather myself, then continue. “Cadan and I are soul mates. That means something. But again, that’s not why I came back. I’m not here to start back up with him. I’m here to sing. I know what he is and what he isn’t. And the man he is today isn’t one I can be with romantically. Not with the way he trampled my heart.”

“Then why—”

Clearing my throat, I cut her off. “The one thing I can’t deny is that singing with him fills my soul and makes me feel like I’m doing something important. That’s why I came back. For me. To finish out my contract and to give myself something I want. Not because I’m hurt, but because I need to move forward and stop standing still. Being with Seth helped awaken that part of me that died three months ago. The part of me that is strong, that makes me my own person.”

“Wow,” Jax says. “And you think you can be your own person with Cadan there?”

“I’m damn sure going to try. I can’t make my own album until I fulfill my contract. That’s ultimately what I want to do. So I’m here to do what I have to. Whatever happens, happens. I just have to do this.”

“I see. Can’t say I think it’s a good idea.”

I laugh. She’s probably right. “I’d say the same thing if the situation were reversed.”

“Humph.”

“Jax?”

“Yeah?”

“We have a show tomorrow night in San Francisco. I’d love it if you could come. I really want to see you before I leave for SoCal.”

“By myself? I’d love to, but damn, it’s a long drive.”

I hesitate, then force the words out. “You could bring Seth.” My tone is strained and anxious.

“Seriously? You think that’s a good idea, having Seth and Cadan within miles of each other?”

I sigh. “Not especially, but I really want to apologize in person.” And see him one last time before I move on. Seth has given me something no one else could. I want to tell him about it. “Cadan will either be onstage or backstage. I could meet you and Seth after. Without him.”

“Oh.”

I pluck at the blanket on the bed, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

“You should call him.”

My heart rate picks up speed. Crap. “I was hoping to speak to him in person.”

“He won’t come unless you ask him to. He’s not into chasing anyone. And he already feels stalkerish for following you home yesterday. Just call him. If he says yes, we’ll be there.”

My stomach flips over at the thought. I’m terrified of what he’ll say, but I have to try. “Okay. I will.”

“Good. And remember to apologize.” Her tone suggests she’s teasing, but I know for certain she’s dead serious. I’d hurt them both by shutting them out. That hadn’t been my intention. I’d just been in a bad place.

“I will. And, Jax?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“You’re forgiven. And I love you too. Do your best to be sure I have a ride to see you tomorrow night.”

“I will.” I set the receiver on the base of the phone and stare into space for a moment. I contemplate breaking out one of the vodka bottles from the minibar, but then decide against it. Instead, I crack open a Diet Coke and fish my cell phone out of my purse.

“Time to listen to these messages.” Of the sixteen messages on my phone, two are from Seth. Four from Jax. They both denied anything happened and asked me to call them. And the rest are from my mother. Half are berating me for running out on Christmas. The other half are to tell me how glad she is I came to my senses and am back with Cadan. At least two explain to me in great detail how not to mess it up again. By the time I delete them all, I’m hot with silent rage. How dare she?

I have no doubt she’s been calling Cadan just as much. He probably told her I’d come back in an effort to get rid of her. Why she can’t just focus on her own life and leave mine alone, I can’t understand.

“Let it go,” I say to myself as I change into fresh clothes. “Time to woman up.”

Sitting back on the bed, I call. It immediately goes to voice mail. I clear my throat. “Seth. Hi… It’s Lucy. I was hoping to catch you, but maybe you’re working. Umm… I called to apologize for leaving without saying anything and for, uh, not calling you back. Yesterday was a tough day.” I clear my throat again. “I’m singing tomorrow night in San Francisco. If you’re not busy, maybe you and Jax can come. Eight at Blue Jays. I know it’s a long drive, but please consider it. I really want to see you… to talk to you in person. Okay, then. Hope to see you.”

I hit End, feeling emptier than ever. If he doesn’t show up, I know I’m going to regret how I handled things for the rest of my life. I text Jax to let her know I called, but he didn’t answer.

She texts back. I’ll work on him.

Cadan comes by as promised, and we head to the hotel bar for burgers. I’m even more quiet than usual. When he asks me about it, I claim exhaustion. It’s not long before I’m back up in my room. Alone.

The rest of the night crawls by as I watch reruns of Friends on TV. I once again fall into a fitful sleep. I’m awake by six a.m., and by eight, I’m showered, fed, and ready to go. I know it’s too early, but I have to get out of this room. I take off and find myself heading toward Cadan’s room. For some reason, I have to know if he’s alone.

His room is on the same floor as mine, at the end of the hall. I pause outside to steel myself. I could be walking in on anything. With a boatload of trepidation tempered with determination, I knock.

The door opens almost immediately. Cadan is shirtless, dressed in jeans, his hair wet. He has a new tattoo on his chest, but I’m too flustered to focus on it. “Morning, Luce. Come on in.”

I raise a questioning eyebrow, trying not to be affected by his stellar body. The boy has abs a Calvin Klein model would kill for.

He grins. “I was just getting ready to order breakfast. Want anything?”

“Coffee, I guess. I just ate.”

“Early riser. You got it.” He makes the call and then comes to stand in front of me. He towers over me, my face level with his chest. I can’t help but focus on the tattoo over his heart.

I let out a little gasp and lift my hand, gently tracing the dragon. The scales remind me a lot of the one Seth has on his arm. Then I trail my fingers over the letters. L and C. “When did you have this done?”

“Last week.”

I take a step back. “While you were on the coast?”

He nods, his eyes serious.

“Who… ah, I mean, where did you have it done?”

“Your friend did it… or most of it, anyway.”

“Seth?” My voice raises a few octaves. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. He’s really good.” He places both of his hands on my shoulders, then slowly runs them down my arms. “What is it? What did I do?”

“Nothing. I mean…” What had he done? Hired Seth to tattoo a soul mate mark that included our initials? It just seems so cruel. And why hadn’t Seth said anything about it? “It’s just weird, that’s all.”

“Why? Because you were seeing him? I didn’t know that at the time. Honestly, Lucy, I did this for me. And you. But mostly for me. I wanted you close to my heart, always. Now you are.”

I don’t know what to say. Cadan is different than he was when I left him in Denver three months ago. The tattoo touches me. It’s not as if girls wouldn’t still be hanging all over him at shows and willing to sleep with him, but this is a clear declaration of commitment to me. Tattoos like that tell the world you’re taken.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Your friend is talented,” he says. Then he disappears into the bathroom to finish his morning ritual while I sit at the desk, trying to reconcile the feelings swirling inside me. Cadan really does appear to be trying to clean up his act and is doing things that are both thoughtful and sweet. And while I appreciate it, I’m acutely aware that my heart lies elsewhere. Sure. I love Cadan. I always will, but what I feel for Seth is more tangible. It’s a different kind of connection. Meaningful on a basic human level, not a mystical one like what I have with Cadan.

I take a deep breath and check my phone for the fiftieth time to see if Seth has answered. He hasn’t. Nothing from Jax yet either. Damn. My heart sinks a little. I don’t really want to admit just how much I want to see him.

A knock sounds at the door. I cross the room, expecting room service, but instead there’s a courier holding a thick manila envelope. “Package for Mr. Kinx.”

“I’ll sign for it,” I say and scribble my name on his form.

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

Ma’am? What the hell? Do I look like I’m forty? I cross the room and go to lay the envelope on the desk, but it slides off and falls to the carpet, landing upside down. Near the flap it’s marked CONTRACTS. I pick it up and inspect the note taped to it.

Contracts for Cadan Kinx and Lucy Moore. Please look these over at your earliest convenience and get them back to us as soon as possible. Cassie.

I sit and tear into the packet. There are two sets of contracts. One marked Cadan and the other Lucy. Cadan’s has a note from Cassie.

As requested, the contracts were delivered to your room. Please pass Lucy’s on to her as soon as possible. C

I frown. Why couldn’t mine be delivered to me? Was it an excuse to come see me? Because he didn’t need one if he wanted to talk to me.

Settling back into the chair, I dig into the contracts. They’re pretty standard, though Jeff has managed to get us better terms than when we originally signed. Both the new and old are present with an addendum. The old one is rendered complete. With the addition of the new contract, they aren’t requiring us to finish the old tour. Everything is focused on the new one. Good. All bases covered there.

Then I come to the publishing contract. There is only one. The old one isn’t included. Maybe they forgot. So I start to read. By the time I get two paragraphs in, my stomach clenches and nausea rolls through me. By the third paragraph, I’m on my feet and striding across the room. I don’t knock. I just throw the door open to the bathroom and barge right in, the contract fisted in my hand.

“What’s up?” Cadan asks around the toothbrush lodged in his mouth.

“This.” I slap the contract on the counter.

He scans it, and the blood drains from his face. He spits the toothbrush out. “It’s not what you think.”

“Really? Am I mistaken that there was never a contract for the new songs? That this new one specifically says that any songs I wrote during the lapsed time between my old contract and the new contract are to be considered represented by the label? That if I sign this, I may not sell them to any other label? You’re saying I don’t understand what that means? Because this implies none of my new songs are currently under contract. I can walk if I want to.”

“No. That’s not…” He holds his hands up in a surrender motion. “I told them I signed for you. Since the contract wasn’t valid, they didn’t include it. And yes, you’re correct. You don’t have to sign the new publishing contract. That’s entirely up to you.”

I step back, holding the contracts to my chest.

“I swear,” he says.

“And just like that they voided it? All this time Jeff’s been struggling to get me out of my contract and now they’ve suddenly caved when you confessed to signing for me?”

He nods. “But that was also after you decided to come back. So it isn’t like they were losing anything. And trust me, they were not happy with me. If it wasn’t for you, I think they would’ve dropped me.” He steps forward and grabs my hand. “I’m really trying to do the right thing here, Luce. Give me a chance to prove myself?”

The mistrust and anger are still actively gripping me, but I relent anyway. “Okay. But you’re going to have to give me some time to catch up. This new you… it’s a little overwhelming.”

He cracks a smile and leans in, kissing me on the forehead. “I’m still getting used to it myself, babe.”

***

The label goes all out and hires an SUV limo for the ride to San Francisco. The guys are in good spirits, hyped up for the show. Their energy is intoxicating, and before long, I find myself singing along with their rendition of “Sweet Child of Mine.” When the high note comes, I give it my all, stretching it out in my best Axl Rose impersonation.

“Holy shit, Luce, That was fucking amazing,” Jess exclaims, giving me a high five.

I grin as Cadan and the rest of the band chimes in with appreciation.

By the time we get to Blue Jays, I’m more than ready for the show to start. I’m pacing my dressing room and going over the set list when a knock sounds at my door. My heart does a little flip. It could be Seth. I’d put his name along with Jax’s on the guest list.

“Lucy?” Cassie’s voice filters through the door.

Disappointment sets in. Damn, I have it bad. “Hi,” I say as I open the door.

“Oh, you look fantastic.” She sweeps into the room, her arms full of paperwork. There’s also a pen tucked behind her ear.

“Thank you.” I tug at the leather skirt and smile when I think of the last time I wore these boots.

“I’ve got some schedule changes and itineraries for you.” She sits down on the secondhand plaid couch, wrinkling her nose. “For such a nice club, you’d think they could update their dressing rooms.”

I shrug. “Can you blame them? Most bands are pretty hard on furniture.”

“True. Anyway, tomorrow we have you booked to visit two radio shows and then a spot on the morning show. So we’ll need you down in the lobby of the hotel no later than five forty-five.”

I groan. “That’s really early, especially after a show.”

“I know. No one ever said the life of a rock star was all spas and relaxation.”

“You’ve got a point.”

“Okay, I have to fill in the guys.” She makes a face. “I’ll probably have to drag their asses out of bed in order to make it on time.”

“Probably.” I grin. “Good luck with that.”

“Promise me you’ll help. I don’t think I can take walking in on a naked Jess again.”

That gets a snort of laughter out of me. One morning she’d found him passed out with no clothes on. That was bad enough, but he’d also had pudding smeared all over his man bits. Chocolate pudding. It wasn’t pretty. “Yeah, I’ll help.”

“Thank God.” She throws her arms around me and gives me a quick hug. “It’s so good to have someone on my side again. To be honest, I wasn’t sure we were going to get you back. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Well, we did have that contract,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. I don’t want an altercation, but I also don’t want to ignore the fact they’d pretty much forced my hand.

She frowns. “The one for the rest of the tour? I thought Cadan told you the label suspended that because of your dad.”

“Suspended?”

“Sure. We only had a few months left, and with your dad passing, we weren’t going to force it. I really thought we’d lost you for good. But here you are. And I couldn’t be more thrilled. The new song is going to make chart history. You just wait and see.”

“So I was free? My publishing contract was fulfilled as well?”

“Yeah.” Her brows pinch as she studies me. “Why?”

Red-hot anger flares to life, instantly replaced by a cold, unfeeling acceptance. I’d been lied to. “It’s nothing.” My voice comes out even, with not a trace that anything is wrong. “Nothing at all.”

Chapter Thirty-two

Seth

The closer we get to the city, the more I’m tempted to turn the truck around and drive back home. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” I say to Jax.

“Yes, you do. You want to see her sing again, and so do I. Besides, she called and asked you to come. I think that’s what got you on the road. Not me.”

She’s right. I do want to see Lucy one more time. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to survive seeing her with Kinx. Jesus Christ. What am I doing?

“It’s too late now anyway,” Jax says. “We’re almost there. And I’m not letting you chickenshit out. Got it?”

I make a face but keep driving. If she wasn’t in the car, I would turn around. This seems like a colossally big mistake.

Once in the city, it takes a while to find parking. And even then we end up more than six blocks away. “Damn. Are they all here for the show?”

“Looks like it.” Jax slides her arm through mine. “Everyone’s headed in the same direction.”

The line is impressively long, wrapping around the block. Jax glides past everyone to speak with the doorman. “We’re on the list,” she says and gives him our names.

He frowns. “Sorry. No one by either name is listed.”

She spends ten minutes trying to get him to double-check, but no amount of insisting helps and we end up at the back of the line.

“Thanks for nothing.” Jax scowls at the doorman an hour later when we finally make it through the line. “Lucy has been waiting for us.”

“Sure she has.” He rolls his eyes and goes back to checking IDs.

“Asshole,” she says under her breath.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk to her after.” I position Jax in front of me and place my hands on her shoulders, letting her lead us through the crowd. The place is so packed I’m certain the club is breaking some fire codes.

“Wow,” Jax says. “Giant crowd and they only announced this show last night. Crazy.”

The line at the bar is too insane to even contemplate. It’s just as well. I’m driving Jax back to Mendo tonight anyway. Better to stay as alert as possible. Though after I see Lucy, I’m certain I’m going to need that drink.

And then it happens. The lights go down over the venue, and after a short introduction, there she is, her short skirt showing off those gorgeous legs. My body comes alive as I focus on those boots. The boots. The ones that will forever be burned in my brain. Damn her. A knife to the heart would’ve been kinder.

“She looks amazing,” Jax says into my ear.

I nod, unable to speak. What I wouldn’t give to go back to Christmas Eve morning and make good on my threat to keep her locked away in her bedroom all day. Hell, all week.

Kinx joins her on the stage and every female in the place loses her fucking mind. There’s a lot of jumping, screaming, and even some crying. It’s nuts. I had no idea they were this popular.

He plays to the crowd, announcing their reunion and promising the best damn show, which is going to be full of surprises. My chest constricts, and I feel as though my heart is withering under my breastbone.

The band starts up, and all the lights go down except for the spotlights illuminating Lucy and Kinx. Lucy is more beautiful than ever, her dark hair framing her face seductively. She’s sexy as hell, and it’s torturous knowing she won’t be mine. But when she starts to sing and Kinx joins in, it’s as if a beacon of hope lights up inside me. The sensation is so overwhelming it almost brings tears to my eyes. I want her so badly, more than I wanted Elsa maybe. The pain bolts through my veins, but it’s tempered with the strange hopefulness that seems to be invading my heart and mind.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Jax says. “The magic they bring to everyone. I…” She clutches her chest and lets the tears roll freely.

I nod once and keep my eyes locked on Lucy. I want to study this moment, to remember her in her element. To experience her talent as I had the first night we met. Only this time she isn’t focused on me. She’s there for the entire crowd. Touching as many people as she can. Everyone except me. Even when her gaze flickers past us, she doesn’t linger or give any indication she knows we’re here.

The song ends, and they move right into the next one. My emotions run the gamut of joy, contentment, and despair, but through it all, hope is at the forefront. If this is the way most people feel while experiencing them sing, I can see why they’re so fucking popular.

Curiously though, while Kinx keeps trying to engage her onstage, she does her best to keep her distance. She sings in all the right places, makes eye contact when needing to stay on cue, but any time he moves toward her, she repositions herself to keep her personal space. That tiny knowledge keeps me sane right up until they get to the last song.

The music winds down and Lucy takes the microphone. “Hi, folks. Thanks for coming out tonight. You’ve been a fantastic crowd. San Francisco always is.”

The crowd goes batshit, and she smiles through it all, waiting for them to dial it back a notch.

“You may have heard we have a new song to reveal. However, I hope you’ll forgive me if I change things up a bit. There’s another song that’s more appropriate to my life right now. I think it’s fitting that I sing it tonight. What do you say? Are you with me?”

The crowd responds with enthusiasm, just as I’m sure she knew they would.

She smiles. “You’re the best.” Turning around, she nods to the band, and the keyboardist starts the entry to “Let Her Go” by Passenger.

Kinx frowns at her, clearly unhappy. There’s nothing he can do to change things now, though, and he starts in on the lyrics, his eyes burning in a hole in my head all the way from the stage. Lucy joins in when he starts singing about letting her go. Their eyes lock, and the whole room can feel the tension and struggle between them. He doesn’t want to be singing this, but she’s giving it her all.

Finally, she turns, and her smoldering gaze lands on me as she sings the last line.

“I can’t do this,” I say to Jax, unable to breathe. “I can’t stand here while she says good-bye to me.” Before she can answer, I take off out of the club, desperate for fresh air. The cold December night air assaults me, but I barely feel it at all. My one goal is to get to the truck. Six blocks away.

Once I finally find my ride, I unlock it and climb in, realizing there’s no way in hell Jax should be walking through the streets of San Francisco by herself at this hour. I take out my phone and instruct her to text me whenever she’s ready to leave and I’ll pick her up at the front door. It takes a while before she texts back, and when she does, she tells me to get her in one hour.

That hour turns out to be the worst hour of my life. Lucy’s inside that club, and I’m not going to be able to say my own good-bye. She’s had her say, and I got nothing. Electric anger pulses through my blood. Damn Kinx and their soul-mate connection. Damn him to hell. He has what I want. Desperately. Maybe I’m not what she needs, but I’m damn sure Kinx is a disaster waiting to happen.

It turns out to be two hours later by the time Jax emerges from the club. She’s serious and reserved, but that may be from my mood. I say nothing, opting to ignore the turmoil churning inside me.

“Don’t you even want to know what happened?” Jax demands.

“No.”

“No? That’s it?”

“Right. I want to remember the way she was onstage. Not some lame brush-off excuse. I don’t need one. Look, I got it. She’s with him now. It makes sense. He’s her soul mate.”

Jax narrows her eyes and gives me a disgusted look. “You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe.” The urge to demand that she tell me what Lucy had to say is overwhelming. But deep in my gut I know whatever she says will only make it worse. Lucy is gone. I need to let it go, and the sooner I do that, the better.

Jax huffs out a sigh of frustration, taps something into her phone, and then pulls my blanket around her shoulders and closes her eyes.

Good. At least she won’t nag me for the rest of the drive back.

The road is virtually empty and we make good time, cutting the three-hour drive down to two and a half. When I finally pull up to Jax’s house just before four a.m., she speaks for the first time since we left the city. “Will you keep painting?”

I shrug. “Eventually.”

She rubs her sleepy eyes and gives me a worried look. “You’re not going to give it up again, are you?”

I shake my head. “No. But there’s something I have to take care of first before I spend any more time in there.”

Confusion is written all over her face, but then her expression morphs into understanding. She knows. And oddly the knowledge puts me at peace.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “You know where to find me if you need me.”

I nod and turn to stare out the window. If I look at her, I might lose my shit. So much for peace. With one simple statement, I’m back to being the poor bastard who hasn’t let go of the past. “‘Night, Jax. I’ll call you.”

“You better.” She scrambles out of the truck and up to her apartment.

I wait until she’s safely inside, then go home, to the one I shared with Elsa. It’s time to come to terms with the cards I’ve been dealt.

***

Sitting on the beach, I gaze out at the ocean, seeing nothing but a wall of fog with the surf rolling in from under it. The day is one of my favorites. The sun is shining bright on the shore, holding the mist over the sea.

I’ve been sitting in the same spot for over an hour, trying to work up the courage to do what I came here to do. It’s not the first time I’ve come here for this purpose. But I’ve never been able to go through with it. I feel close to Elsa here. Almost as if she’s sitting right beside me, sketching the ocean and the fog. Once it’s done, will I come back here? I don’t know. This place is painful, right to my very core, yet I crave that pain, crave the weight that settles over me every time I sit on these rocks.

Today is different, though. The pain is there just beneath my breastbone as usual, but it’s tinged with sadness and acceptance. Before it had always been laced with anger and despair, a feeling I’d come to associate with the last time I’d seen her.

I know today is the day. It has to be. I’ve turned a corner and I won’t go back.

Chapter Thirty-three

Lucy

After three days of renegotiations and uncovering the truth of what has really been going on with my contracts, I headed back to Mendocino. Desperate to talk to Seth, I tried his shop and his house, then called Jax. She didn’t know where he was, but she’d had a good idea of where to look.

Now I’m standing in a small parking lot about thirty miles south of Mendocino, scanning the beach for Seth. The fog hovering over the ocean is a dramatic contrast to the sunny day, but it’s still pretty cold, and the beach is empty. I know he’s here. I’m parked right next to his truck.

Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I take off down the path to the beach. After what seems like forever, my lips are frozen, and I can’t seem to feel my toes anymore. I’m about to give up and go back to wait in my car when I catch a flash of green on top of an outcropping of rocks that meets the shoreline.

I squint and keep moving. Soon enough he comes into focus. Seth is at the edge, his head bowed as the waves crash below him. I pick up my pace, more anxious than ever to talk to him. To just look into his eyes and see the warmth that’s always there. But then he lifts a vessel and starts to pour the contents into the wind.

I freeze. Oh my God. He’s scattering ashes. The intrusion is utterly unforgiveable. I never would have come here if I’d known this was what he was doing. Slowly, I sidestep across the beach until I’m next to the cliffs, as far from the shore as possible, trying to stay out of his sight line. I don’t want him to know I’m here. I don’t want to interrupt this very private moment.

The wind picks up, and I huddle into my jacket, moving as quickly as I can, but I’m not fast enough.

“Lucy?” His voice carries on the wind.

I stop and slowly turn around.

Seth is scrambling off the rocks and staring at me in wonder.

I lift a tentative hand and wave.

When he finally catches up to me, he places his frozen hands on my cheeks and crushes his lips to mine. I open my mouth in shock and he deepens the kiss, devouring me with intensity and what appears to be desperation.

My fists curl in the fabric of his jacket as I hang on, meeting his frantic pace with one of my own. All too soon, he pulls back, leaving me completely breathless.

His hands are still cupping my face as he gazes down at me. “You’re really here.”

I take a breath and nod. “I am.”

Then his gorgeous eyes turn worried. “Why?”

“It’s a long story.” The way he looks at me makes it hard to think. Through the worry is also joy. He’s happy and scared at the same time. I want to cling to him and tell him I’m never leaving again. But that would be a lie.

“I’ve got time,” he says.

“So do I.” I grin, loving the way his eyes light up at my statement.

“How much?”

“Enough.”

The light in his eyes dims.

I stand on my toes and say, “I’m not going anywhere until spring, and then it’s only temporary.”

“Really?”

“Really.” I push up on my tiptoes and give him a slow kiss, wanting to taste every inch of him right here on the beach. And I would have if it weren’t less than forty degrees.

He pulls away, our lips still touching. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere warm.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to intrude.” I glance at the rocks he’d been standing on. “Honestly, Jax said you come here sometimes, and all I wanted to do was talk to you.”

“I want to do a lot more than talk,” he says, teasing me, but I can see emotion in his eyes.

“Seth?”

He takes my hand, holding it in both of his, and jerks his head, indicating we should start moving back toward the cars. “I made the decision to finally say good-bye today.”

“To Elsa.” It has to be. I saw him scattering ashes.

“Yes. This was one of her favorite places. I’ve been trying to find the nerve to do this for the past year.”

“What was different about today?” I ask gently.

He turns and scans my face then gives me a small smile. “You.”

“You saw me?” I ask, horrified.

“No. That’s not it. I realized after you came into my life that I was holding on to her because I didn’t want to move on. Didn’t think I deserved to.”

“And now you do?” I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t say he made a mistake.

“Honestly?”

I nod.

“Yes… and no.” He takes a step back and rubs his palm over the back of his neck. “It’s time. I’ve been punishing myself for far too long.” Staring at his feet, he takes another step back.

I grab his hand and hold it between both of mine. “Why?”

He flinches as if I’d slapped him.

“Seth?”

Then he jerks his head up, sadness shining in his beautiful eyes as his brow creases with barely controlled emotion. “It was my fault she was driving that night. I went out drinking, and she had to come get me.”

“Oh, Seth.” I sigh. “You can’t blame yourself for an accident.”

He stiffens. “She asked me not to go. But I went anyway. If it hadn’t been—”

I raise my hand and graze my thumb over his cheek. “She loved you and wanted to see you safe. You would have done the same if the situation were reversed. It’s what we do for those we love. You have to let it go. It isn’t your fault she lost control of the car, no matter how much you want to blame yourself. It was a senseless accident.”

“I know. I’ve been telling myself that for the last year. It’s hard to change what’s in here, though.” He points to his chest, and I feel like mine is going to split open from the ache I have for him. “I didn’t want to say good-bye, but I have to,” he continues. “There’s no getting around it.”

“Why?” I ask gently.

“I think my heart belongs to someone else now.”

I stop, utterly shocked. “What… I mean, you didn’t know I was coming back.”

“No, I didn’t.” He tugs me back toward him. “But that isn’t the point. I realized I wasn’t living. I was a shell of myself, and part of the reason is because I couldn’t move forward. I know I have to. And the only way to do that was to let her go.”

I slide my arms around his waist and gaze up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. It helps more than you know that you are here.”

I press my head against his chest. “I’m glad I’m here then.”

He holds me until I start to shiver. “Let’s go.”

When we get to the cars, I say, “Will you follow me back to my house?”

“There was no way I wasn’t going to… unless Kinx is there.”

I laugh. “No. Definitely not.”

“Good. I don’t like that guy.”

We make it back to my house in record time. We’re barely inside the door before Seth has his hands on me again. He grips my hips from behind and lowers his mouth to my neck, trailing hot, sensual kisses along my skin until my knees start to go weak.

“Seth?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we talk for a minute?”

He clutches me tighter for a moment and then takes a step back, his brows pinched with unease. “Lay it on me. How long do we have until you have to go back to Kinx and the band?”

“Forever,” I say.

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not singing with Cadan anymore. And there’s nothing in my contract that says I have to.”

“Wait a minute.” He presses his hand to the small of my back and leads me into my living room. “I think we need to sit down for this. How in the world did that happen?”

I curl up next to him and pull a blanket over our legs. “Turns out Cadan and my lawyer were working together. I wasn’t under contract at all. I had been, but once my dad passed, they waived the remaining dates on our tour. And there never was a publishing contract for my songs. Cadan didn’t sign my name, only his. He lied to me to get me back and paid the lawyer to make it seem legit. And the song he recorded? He finally told them he didn’t write it. And since the truth has come out, they pulled it from distribution. All the royalties are being transferred to me.”

“Whoa.” Seth’s eyes go wide with shock, then anger. “Is he really that much of a selfish asshole?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “I thought he was making positive changes, but turns out he was playing me to get what he wanted. When I found out the truth, I had a long talk with my rep at the label about what I wanted, and she agreed to sign me separately from Cadan. I still get to record my songs, but I don’t have to do a world tour and I don’t have to be on the road with my ex.”

“So you’re staying here, then?”

I smile. “Yes.”

“And no touring? That’s a shame. You’re a fantastic performer.”

“We’ll still tour a little bit, but it will be more like a few weeks on, a few weeks off, so I’m not living in a hotel for a year and a half. I want to perform. I just don’t want to kill myself to do it.”

“So…” He brushes a lock of hair from my eyes. “This means we’re neighbors? Permanently?”

“Looks like it.”

“Thank God.” Seth rises and reaches down, easily picking me up in his arms.

I giggle. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my girl to bed. Does that work for you?”

“I’m your girl?” My breath catches and tears sting my eyes.

“If you want to be.” There’s a tremble in his voice. He’s just as nervous about my answer as I am.

“I’ve never been someone’s girl.”

He frowns. “What does that mean?”

“The only other person I dated was Cadan. And while we were mates, he’s never treated me as his girl. I always felt more like I was an asset to be exploited rather than his actual girlfriend.”

“That guy deserves an ass-kicking.” Seth heads into the hallway and starts up the stairs. A moment later he gently lays me on my bed. “So, you didn’t answer. Do you want to be my girl?”

“Hell yes. Besides, my heart already belongs to you. You might as well have the rest of me.”

He stills as he takes in my words. “Do you mean that?”

I nod solemnly. He makes me into a better version of myself, unlike others in my life who are only interested in what’s good for them. “Yeah. I really do.”

Hovering over me, he closes his eyes, presumably taking in the moment.

“Seth?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Make love to me.”

His eyes turn emerald from the desire sparking down at me. “Gladly.” He kisses my temple, my eyes, and my jawline, and moves lower, nestling his mouth between my breasts. Lifting his head, he presses his lips to mine once more. “That’s what it is, you know,” he says against my lips.

“What?”

“Making love. Every single time I touch you.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I’m certain if I try to speak, I’ll start to cry.

“I love you, Lucy Moore.”

I can’t help the tear that spills down my temple. Raw emotion takes over. I swallow the lump in my throat and force out what I have to say. “I didn’t come back because things didn’t work out with Cadan.”

“You didn’t?” His body goes tight, as if he’s bracing for bad news.

“No.” I reach up and brush my fingers over his worried brow. “I could’ve started working on my album right away. I could’ve toured some. Or just stayed in a hotel and worked on my songs, all at the label’s expense. It was tempting. I have producing rights, which means most of it will be under my control.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It is. But I’m not quite ready. I came back because of you. Because I had to see you.”

The worry lines disappear, but now he’s searching my gaze as if he’s looking for something. But he doesn’t have to try too hard, because what he’s looking for comes flying out of my mouth, “I came back because although Cadan might be my soul mate, I have a much deeper connection to you. I’m in love with you.”

His eyes close, and when he opens them, they’re filled with joy. He gathers me in his arms and pulls me tight against him. “You’re never getting rid of me now.”

“That’s a hardship I’m willing to live with,” I say and work the top button of his shirt open.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Seducing you.” I press my hips against him, feeling the hard outline of his arousal. A tingle of satisfaction ripples through me, and I unbutton two more buttons. “Looks like it’s working.”

“You have no idea.”

“Show me,” I say with heat and scrape my nails lightly down his chest.

He visibly shivers, and then a second later, he pins me beneath him. His penetrating gaze holds me captive. “I’m not going to let go, you know.”

A slow smile blossoms over my face. “I’m counting on it.”

Mate or not, I know Seth is the person I’m supposed to be with. And when he claims my lips again, we give ourselves to each other so completely, a new magic blossoms. One that is born from what we carry in our hearts. Each other.

Accepting Fate

When two souls are fated...

A year ago, Jax Russo left school to escape to her safe haven, her hometown of Mendocino, CA. After overcoming depression and healing old wounds, she’s finally ready to move on. But when her brother’s arrested for a shocking crime, she finds herself caught between her family and her brother’s accuser—the man she’s been in love with since she was fifteen years old.

Firefighter Derek Alexander never wanted to be a hero. He does his job for one reason and one reason only—to make up for that terrible night nine years ago. His demons haunt him, but so do dreams of Jax, the girl he knows he’s fated to be with. But in a world of magical soul mates, sometimes even love and forgiveness isn’t enough.

Accepting Fate (Book 2)

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About the Author

Deanna is a native Californian, transplanted to the slower paced lifestyle of southeastern Louisiana. When she isn’t writing, she is often goofing off with her husband in New Orleans, playing with her two Shih Tzu dogs, making glass beads, or out hocking her wares at various bead shows across the country. For more information visit her website at www.deannachase.com.

Other Books by Deanna

The Jade Calhoun Novels

Haunted on Bourbon Street

Witches of Bourbon Street

Demons of Bourbon Street

Angels of Bourbon Street

Shadows of Bourbon Street

Incubus of Bourbon Street (Winter 2014)

The Coven Pointe Novels

Marked by Temptation (a novella)

The Crescent City Fae Novels

Influential Magic

Irresistible Magic

Intoxicating Magic

The Destiny Novels

Defining Destiny

Accepting Fate (November 2014)

Shattered Souls (Winter 2015)

Still Life with Strings

L.H. Cosway

For my readers.

You are a drop in a gigantic ocean but you mean the world to me.

A Note from the Author

Dear reader,

The story you are about to read is set in my home city of Dublin. It may not seem this way to strangers, but it is in fact a very small place. Lives can be interconnected in little ways that may seem unbelievable, but are actually very possible given how tiny the city, and indeed the country, really is. My heroine, Jade, works in a concert hall that is loosely based on but not a one hundred percent accurate portrayal of the National Concert Hall on Earlsfort Terrace. Similarly, my hero Shane is the concertmaster of an orchestra that is loosely based on but not a one hundred percent accurate portrayal of the RTÉ National Concert Orchestra. Just a short walk from the concert hall is Grafton Street, where Jade busks as a street performer, and just around the corner from Grafton Street is St. Steven’s Green, where Jade’s mother used to sell her paintings. If all this information seems random, I promise it will make better sense once you’ve read the story. However, if like Jade you are a dreamer at heart, you can simply choose to put it all down to destiny.

I sincerely hope you enjoy Still Life with Strings.

Yours,

L.H. Cosway.

At eighteen years of age, he never knew true grief until he saw her crying on the six o’clock news.

It was so palpable he could almost mould it with his hands.

His fingers itched to create a melody that would be the musical embodiment of her mourning.

So he picked up his violin and began to play.

Chapter One

They call me the Blue Lady.

The more poetic would say a dark angel, or an unexpected, fantastical surprise standing upon the mundane street. I wear a long midnight blue dress, a matching wig, white paint on my hands and face, and glorious, feathery blue wings affixed to my back.

I feel like a gap in reality, a moment where people can pause mid-stride and say in a breathy, wonder-filled voice, wow, look at that. For the more cynical, wow, look at that nutjob.

Perhaps for a moment someone will think that they’ve stepped into a world where normal is not the rule anymore, that the extraordinary is. That my wings aren’t false but real, that my skin is really this white, my hair really this blue.

Unfortunately, none of it is real.

But it’s nice, isn’t it, for a brief moment to imagine that it is?

In reality I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman with a stack of bills I’m struggling to pay and two younger siblings who are reliant on me to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their bellies.

I do this living statue act whenever I have the free time. It gives me an artistic outlet, while also making me some much-needed cash on the side. Admittedly, I don’t normally do it at one o’clock in the morning in the middle of Grafton Street, but it’s a Saturday. That means there’ll be lots of tourists. More to the point, lots of drunk tourists with loose pockets and even looser inhibitions about who they hand over their cash to – such as women who stand very still while dressed like a Manga fairy.

I stare directly ahead, unblinking, controlling my breathing using a qigong method, just as I hear the recognisable loutish shouting and laughter of a stag party up ahead. When they come into my line of sight, I see that they’re all wearing black T-shirts with their nicknames written across the back and Jack’s Stag Weekend across the front.

No shit.

I am an island, an inanimate object among the to and fro of humanity. I brace myself for the possibility that the stag party is going to be trouble. Moments later, one guy stands in front of me, waving his hand in my face and trying to get me to blink. How original.

Sometimes I feel like those guards who stand outside Buckingham Palace. And like those long-suffering buggers, I have also perfected the art of remaining still and giving no reaction at all.

“Are you blue all over?” he slurs with a drunken sideways grin.

As a street performer, you have to take the rough with the smooth. When you put yourself out there, you’re going to encounter every facet of society: the good, the bad, and the drunk off their arses. Kids are the best. They haven’t yet lost the sense of wonder that makes them stare up at you and truly believe you’re some sort of blue-fairy-bird-woman-thing.

“That’s a real nice rack,” says another of the stag partiers.

Yeah, you try carrying it around all day and dealing with the back problems, and then tell me how nice it is, I think. Soon they lose interest and continue on their way. A half an hour passes, and several more pedestrians throw some coins into my hat.

The moon is full tonight, a round white orb perched amid the stars. I want to go up there and see what everything looks like from on high. I flutter my wings and prepare for flight, flapping them through the air and then leaping into the sky. My ascent is an easy one. I pluck a star out of the blackness and stick it in my blue hair as an adornment. When I reach the moon, I find a comfortable spot and sit. Leaning my chin on my hand, I gaze back down at the street. The people look like tiny black ants, the buildings like less brightly coloured blocks of Lego.

I blink, and I’m back on my box, back on the street. I was never really on the moon. My wings are a pretty accessory, but they’re useless for flying. Sometimes I can imagine things so hard that I feel like they’re really happening.

My eyes catch on a group of people I recognise. They all play in the symphony orchestra at the concert hall where I work as a ticket attendant and bartender. I don’t talk to most of them, but I’m friends with a couple of the ladies. I know that one of the violinists is leaving to move to Australia with his family, so tonight must be his big send-off.

Often on my breaks I’ll sit at the back of the hall and watch their rehearsals, allowing myself to be swept away with the music. My favourite sound is at the very beginning of their performances, when all the instruments clamour together to get in tune. It builds up this addictive sense of anticipation.

I envy their lives as musicians, travelling the world and playing for amazing audiences in historic venues. It’s so much more beautiful than the life I live. I think a lot about the fact that I’m constantly near these people, and yet my reality is so far removed from theirs.

None of them even know that the woman with the painted skin dressed all in blue is the same inner-city girl who sells tickets for their concerts and serves them drinks at the bar after their practices.

In a way it’s quite a wonderful feeling. For a moment I am unchained from my own humdrum identity.

By the time I withdraw from these thoughts, the orchestra musicians are gone. Slowly, I turn my head slightly to the left and find a new position. I stand in the same pose for fifteen minutes at a time, and then I’ll make an almost imperceptible move to ease some of the strain. It takes willpower and the patience of a saint to do this. Fortunately, I’ve had years of practice being responsible for my younger siblings.

I’m all about the willpower, especially since I’m a recovering alcoholic who works in a bar. Most people say that to properly get over an addiction, you have to purge all presence of the drug from your life. I take a different approach. The fact that I can be around alcohol and not drink it, well, I like to think that makes me stronger. It’s been five years, and I haven’t touched a drop.

Anyway, what with jobs being so thin on the ground these days, I can’t exactly afford to be picky. You’ll be amazed by what you can achieve when necessity sets in.

Once I settle in my new position, I notice a man standing by the shuttered window of a shop on the other side of the street. He’s got brown hair in what my mother would have called a “gentleman’s haircut” when she was alive. It’s all neatly combed and swept to the side. His facial features are exotic yet not, giving the impression that he was born of a white father and an Asian mother — or vice versa.

He’s just standing there staring at me, looking fascinated and a small bit lost. I sometimes encounter people like this. Adults who see me and are touched by whatever emotion my appearance has managed to evoke in them.

These are the things I live for. Aside from the money, it’s the main reason why I do this.

Up until this moment, though, I’ve never had someone I’m attracted to show a similar sort of wonder. His eyes crinkle in a smile. I think he knows that I’ve noticed him. A couple who have also been watching me for several minutes finally drop some money in my hat, and I give them a small bow for their generosity.

My legs are starting to get a little too stiff, so I decide it’s time to call it a night. Stretching my arms up over my head and stepping down off my box, I pick up my money hat, fold it in half, and shove it into the box.

The beautiful man across the street stands up straight when he sees me move. I pull off my wig and stick that in the box, too, loosening my real hair out of the tight bun I’d had it in under the wig. Making sure not to damage the feathers, I shrug out of the wings and place them inside as well.

When I glance up, the man is standing before me, too close almost. His eyes are a deep golden brown, like a glass of fine brandy, and his features have a delicate masculinity. Strong yet vulnerable.

“Hello there,” I say with a hint of amusement, pulling my long cardigan from the box and shuffling out of my blue dress. I always wear a light slip underneath.

“Hey,” the man replies, watching as I fold the dress neatly and place it in the box before ducking into my cardigan. “You’re blonde,” he says then, eyes on my hair.

I’d expected him to be foreign, given his semi-exotic appearance, but his accent is middle-class Dublin through and through.

“That I am,” I answer, giving him a look as if to say, are we done here?

It’s almost two in the morning, but the street still has quite a few people on it, so I don’t really feel on edge about this stranger standing near enough that we’re practically touching.

His gaze travels down to my feet, a wry smile shaping his lips when he takes in my black biker-style boots. As he scans my bare legs, I feel a shiver run down my back, lingering erotically at the base of my spine.

Hmm, it has been a while, and this man is utterly gorgeous. He’s wearing a dark suit with a white shirt, no tie. He hovers over me, standing only a couple of inches taller. His breath whispers across my skin, smelling faintly of gin.

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asks, reaching out to run a hand through the waves at the end of my long hair.

Despite his forwardness, it feels good to be touched. Sometimes it seems like no one ever touches me like this — just for the sake of it. I had a really stressful day with my younger brother Pete acting the brat; a little relief would be nice. A bit of physical interaction. Some skin on skin.

Something thickens in the air between us as we make eye contact. The man sucks in a quick breath, his gaze flickering back and forth over my features.

Once I have everything put away, I close my box, pulling it along on its wheels.

“How about a quick shag instead?” I ask back, uncharacteristically brazen. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m never going to see this man again. He’s just what I need. A pretty stranger to lose myself in, to make me feel new again for a short while.

He laughs out loud, thinking I’m joking. Then his eyes widen and his nostrils flare when he realises I’m being serious. A touch of red colours his cheeks, possibly displaying his embarrassment. His hand moves from my hair to my neck and strokes downward to my collarbone. He might be embarrassed by my proposition, but he wants exactly what I want. I can tell.

“Okay, Bluebird, that sounds much better,” he says, breathing harshly now.

Taking his hand, I lead him away from the main street and down a dark, secluded alleyway. I rest my box against the wall, and seconds later he’s on me. Hands in my hair, lips on my lips, tongue in my mouth caressing my tongue. He tastes nice, like toothpaste and an expensive dinner. I undo three buttons on his shirt, slipping my hand inside and feeling his taut nipples and hard, muscular pecs beneath.

His hands move along my bare thighs to the backs of my knees, where he applies pressure and pulls my legs up around his waist. He holds me there, my back pressed hard against the concrete wall. His erection hits me right between the thighs now, nudging exquisitely in and out. All of his embarrassment has disappeared, his lust overriding it.

“You smell great,” he rasps, sucking on my neck. “You want me up inside you, Bluebird?”

“Yes, hurry,” I moan, allowing my face to fall to the hollow between his shoulder and neck. His hand slips inside my knickers, and he groans when he encounters my wetness. He shoves a finger in experimentally, and when I cry out he allows another to join it.

I reach down and fumble with his belt, undoing his trousers and pulling them down just enough to free his cock. The next thing I know, he’s tugging my knickers all the way down my legs and shoving them into his pocket. He rummages in his other pocket and whips out a condom, which I suppose isn’t too unusual a thing for a man out late on a Saturday night to carry around with him.

Rolling it on, he lifts his head to meet my gaze. He tilts his neck to the side, those gorgeous golden eyes hooded with desire. I don’t make a habit of propositioning random men on the street, and yet I have to admit that none of my previous one-night stands have ever progressed this quickly — or this smoothly. Usually there’s a bit of awkward fumbling before a rhythm is found, if at all, but with this guy it feels so natural. I guess the late hour has brought out my uninhibited, adventurous side.

He positions his cock at my entrance, still holding my gaze, and pushes slowly into me, letting out a guttural, “Fuck.”

I lock my legs tight around his waist, and he grips me firmly before he starts pumping into me fast. In this moment we’re base and animalistic. No reservations, no pretences, just two people seeking relief and some small piece of a human connection.

“You feel…really good,” he groans, flicking his tongue along my earlobe.

“Yeah, go harder,” I whisper, needing to be fucked so hard that I fall into the pleasure and forget.

“You’re a dirty, beautiful little thing, aren’t you?” he says, a glorious smile on his face. He lets go of one of my legs and pulls down the strap of my slip, my cardigan hanging loosely at my elbows. Then he pulls free one of my breasts and moulds it with his palm, pinching the nipple. I sigh and undulate, biting my lower lip.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be — just fuck me harder,” I tell him, throwing my head back when he thrusts up into me deep.

His eyes grow dark as he zeroes in on my mouth, then captures it with his lips. He slides his tongue in and out, as though mimicking the motion of his cock inside me. When he withdraws for air, I notice he’s got some of my shimmery white face paint on his cheeks and stains of it on the shoulders of his suit. For some reason, it makes me smile.

“You like that?” he growls and I nod, unable to find my voice.

His thrusts become even faster, harder, as he reaches down between my legs and rubs at my clit, coaxing me to orgasm. I can tell he’s going to come soon, so I let go, allowing myself to climax along with him.

He’s got a delirious look on his face as he spurts into me, letting out a long, deep, stomach-clenching groan. The noise is the essence of male sexuality. My orgasm hits me quick and intense, shattering through my system.

He holds me there long after he’s come, stroking my hair away from my face and cupping my cheeks. “I think I might have dreamt you,” he breathes, kissing one side of my mouth and then the other.

That makes me grin wide. What a romantic thing to say to a woman who let you shag her minutes after you just met.

“You’re a sweetheart,” I reply, giving him a soft kiss goodbye and then dropping my legs to the ground. I take a moment to right myself, fixing my cardigan back in place. Then I walk over to my box and grab the handle.

“So, I’ll see you,” I say, dipping my head to him in farewell.

He’s still leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. For a split second he seems taken aback by my abrupt departure, and then his cheeks redden like before.

“Yeah, see you, Bluebird,” he replies with a sombre smile.

Feeling him follow me out onto the street, I turn right at St. Steven’s Green in the direction of home. For a while it feels like he’s still behind me, but a minute or two later when I summon up the courage to look, he’s gone.

Perhaps it wasn’t that he dreamt me. Perhaps I was the one who dreamt him.

Chapter Two

I live in an area of inner-city Dublin known as “the Liberties.” There’s a historical reason for the name, but essentially it’s similar to what they call “the Projects” in America. The name is ironic, because there’s little that’s liberating about living here. In fact, it often feels like the opposite way around.

My house is on a street close to St. Patrick’s Cathedral, a short walk from where I had the encounter with my nameless stranger. I smell his cologne on me, something citrus and fresh. His spit and his sweat linger, too. It dawns on me that I never even asked him his name. When a soft breeze floats up my dress, I remember that he still has my knickers stuck in his suit pocket.

The street is empty, apart from a group of teenage boys hanging out at the end of the row of houses. I eye them as I pull the front door key from my pocket and notice a familiar red baseball cap. Oh, it better fucking not be. Taking a closer look, I see that it is him, my fifteen-year-old brother Pete. For the last year or so he’s been hanging out with a bad crowd. It’s been an absolute nightmare trying to keep him on the straight and narrow.

Opening the house door, I drop my box down in the hallway and then march my way toward the group. They all begin nudging each other as they see me approach, and then Pete turns around, a gigantic scowl on his face.

“Get home now,” I tell him firmly, allowing my gaze to touch on each individual present.

You can’t be eye-shy with these little shits. You have to show them that you mean business. It’s scary, because they’re all taller than I am and most likely carrying weapons, but when you strip that away, all you have left are scared little boys living in a world with no privileges. Some of them are a good deal older than Pete, too, maybe even eighteen or nineteen. And when eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds are befriending boys Pete’s age, you know there’s some variety of grooming going on.

“Piss off, Jade. I’ll go home when I’m ready,” Pete hisses.

Not bothering to retort, because I’m tired and want to go to bed, I simply step forward, twist his arm behind his back in a simple lock, and drag him away.

“Hey, let go, you fucking strong bitch,” he yells, clawing at my hand.

It’s true — I may not look it, but I am pretty strong, mainly because I practice Tai Chi twice a week at my local community centre. A lot of people don’t know that it isn’t all about waving your arms through the air and meditating. It’s actually a martial art as well. My teacher is a really cool hippy lady from France who only charges a small fee for the classes.

A lanky, well-built boy steps up and spits just short of my feet, a snakelike grin shaping one end of his mouth. He gives me a squint-eyed look that only the truly inbred can do justice, and calls, “Your sister’s a fucking freak, Pete. Why don’t you give her a slap and teach her a lesson?”

“I’ll give you a bloody slap,” I shout back. “And don’t be getting mouthy — I know your mother!”

I have no clue who his mother is, but it’s a tried and tested threat that always works to put wayward teenagers in their places.

He spits on the ground one more time for good measure just as I shove Pete into the house and slam shut the door.

When we’re inside he pulls away from me, cheeks red, clearly fuming. “Why’d you have to do that? You made a complete show of me, Jade!”

“Good! If it keeps you away from scum like that, I’ll be happy to make a show of you every day for the rest of your life.” I pause, hand on my hip, taking in his appearance. He’s got grey bags under his eyes and looks paler than usual. I’ve been suspicious that he’s started smoking and selling marijuana, but I don’t yet have any proof. “Is this what you want for yourself? Do you know how long most teenagers who deal drugs last before they get caught and sent to prison, Pete? Not very long, let me tell you, especially considering how idiotically dumb most of them are.”

“You’re the dumb one. You haven’t got a clue about anything. I hate you.”

“If I’m the dumb one, then what does that make your aesthetically challenged friend out there?”

Pete mouths the words “aesthetically” and “challenged” to himself like a question, shaking his head.

“Whatever, Jade. Damo knows his stuff. He’s headed for big things. He’s also going to set me up with some work. I’ll make a tonne of money.”

“The only big thing Damo’s headed for is slopping out in Mountjoy Prison. And if I see you anywhere near that tool again, you’ll regret it. Now get to bed.”

“Fuck you.”

I roll my eyes. “Ah, so sweet. Get to bed. Now.”

With that, he turns on his heel and stomps loudly up the stairs. I drop down onto the last step and breathe an exhausted sigh.

My mother died four years ago from lung cancer. She lived a hard life and smoked like a chimney, so it was only to be expected that the big “C” would take her. I miss her every day. Her death meant that at the ripe young age of twenty-two I had to step up and become the guardian of my three younger siblings. Alec is twenty-one now, so I don’t need to worry about him anymore, but I still have fifteen-year-old Pete and April, who’s seventeen, to look out for.

I know, lucky me.

I love them like crazy, but they aren’t little babies any longer, and sometimes it’s a lot to deal with. The two of them are going to send me into an early grave one of these days.

The situation with Pete is pretty much self-explanatory, given the fight we just had; he’s a confused, angry young man who lost his mother too soon. But April I worry about for another reason entirely. There’s been a couple of men way too old for her sniffing around. I feel like a guard dog half the time, barking at them to keep away.

Speaking of dogs, our family Jack Russell terrier, Specky, is trotting her way down the hall to me. We all named her Specky because she’s got two little patches of brown around her eyes that look like a pair of glasses. She nuzzles my hand and I pet her soft head, picking her up and carrying her with me to my room. I don’t normally sleep with her, but after what just transpired with Pete, I feel like I need her company.

“I was with a man tonight, Specky,” I confide, and she lets out a little yip upon hearing her name. “He just might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Inside my room, I plop Specky down on the bed and strip off my clothes. I use a makeup wipe to remove the rest of the paint from my face and hands, but it seems I’ve sweated most of it off already anyway.

Climbing under the cool sheets, I rest my head on the pillow, and Specky snuggles into me. Seconds after I close my eyes, I’m dead to the world.

At ten o’clock the next morning, my alarm clock chimes and I reach out, grumpily shutting it off. My shift at the concert hall doesn’t start until twelve, so I allow myself an extra half an hour’s sleep. When the scent of male cologne hits my nose, memories from last night come flooding back to me in vivid detail. His hand on my breast, his mouth on my neck, his eyes on my eyes. Smouldering.

It was unlike any casual sexual encounter I’ve ever had. I mean, the sex was actually good — really good. And considering it happened in a dirty alleyway, standing up, that’s saying something.

Once I’m thinking of these things, I can’t get back to sleep, so I get up, throw on a robe, and shuffle my way into the bathroom to take a shower. As usual at this time on a Sunday morning, the house is blessedly silent.

I work through my morning routine: shower, dress, breakfast, and by eleven-thirty I’m out the door. The walk to work takes fifteen minutes, so I go slowly, perusing the news headlines in a corner shop and buying a packet of mints.

I’m on duty in the first-floor bar today. There’s a lunchtime concert on, attracting elderly and middle-aged couples mostly. Young people don’t really go in for classical music, which is a shame, because getting to listen to it on a weekly basis has become something of a love affair for me. Just the sound of it gives me hope for a better life for me and my siblings. A life where I don’t have to worry about my kid brother going to prison or my teenage sister falling pregnant.

It’s funny that I’ve become the parent figure in our house, because I’m actually the only member of my family with a different father from the others. That’s why there’s a slight gap in our ages. My dad was a plumber from Galway whom my mother met at the wedding of a mutual friend. Two months after I was born, he got knocked over by a car and killed while walking home from the shop.

My siblings’ father’s name is Patrick. Unfortunately, he’s still alive. I don’t mean to sound callous, but it would probably be better for all of us if he weren’t.

He’s a drinker and a gambler who lives with his girlfriend, Greta, on the other side of the city in East Wall. Every once in a while he’ll show up looking for money, or a place to stay if he and Greta have had a fight. I can’t stand the man.

Making my way inside the building, I slip in the back and put my bag away. Then I head out to the bar. The place is already filling up, and I serve the patrons their drinks. A whole lot of white wine (for the middle-aged couples) and orange/cranberry juices/tea (for the elderly.) Once the concert begins and everybody’s in the main hall, I go to take a break and have a chat with my friend Lara, who works in the box office out front most days.

We sit down in the staff room with a cup of tea and some sandwiches, Lara telling me about her three-year-old daughter’s latest attempt to escape her crèche. When Lara works during the day, she has to use child-minding services, and little Mia is constantly trying to run away from them.

“I don’t blame her,” I tell Lara, laughing. “I wouldn’t trust some of the women they employ in those places to mind my dog, let alone my child. I remember Mum tried putting April in a crèche when she was little, and she took her out of it after only a week, said the workers were way too pushy and shouty.”

“God, that’s the perfect way to describe them. But I haven’t got another choice at this point,” she says, rubbing at her temples. “It’s a nightmare.”

“Hey, maybe I could get April to babysit for you. You know she finished school a couple of months ago and still hasn’t managed to find a job. That way Mia could be kept at home where she’s comfortable. I bet it’s the strange environment and all the other kids that upset her.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea. Run it by April and see what she says.”

I smile and sip on my tea, feeling like I’ve just killed two birds with one stone. This babysitting thing will help out Lara, and will also keep April busy and away from all those older men.

“So, did you go out busking last night?” Lara asks, breaking my thoughts.

“Yep. Made eighty quid. Not too shabby. It was a godsend, actually. I’m screwed money-wise for at least the next month. The bills just keep piling up.”

“Ugh, I know the feeling.”

Soon it’s time for the intermission, so I make my way back out to the bar. A man in his fifties wearing a wedding band orders two glasses of pinot grigio and eyes the top of my shirt, where there’s a small hint of cleavage showing. He tells me I have nice hair and very pretty green eyes. I take all his compliments with a polite but reserved smile, wishing older men wouldn’t always pigeonhole me as the young blonde they can have a wild, midlife crisis–style affair with. I seem to put out certain vibes without being aware of it, because I get hit on by these types all the time.

Once the concert ends, the building slowly empties out, and I go about cleaning up and restocking the bar for the evening event. Lara and I take the same break again, and chat some more about this and that.

Hours later my shift is almost done when the floor manager, Ciaran, comes and asks if I’ll make up refreshments for the musicians, who will be spending some time at the bar once the building has finally been emptied of patrons. I give him a quick nod and begin preparing some water and juices, alongside a couple bottles of wine. I also set out some peanuts and crisps in case they’re feeling peckish.

Slowly, the men and women from the symphony start filling the seats by the bar. Noeleen, one of the trumpeters, slides into the stool in front of me and asks for a shot of vodka. She’s a talkative middle-aged woman with red hair, and one of the few musicians who I’m on first-name terms with. She’s one of those people who will chat with anyone; there could be a three-year-old sitting beside her, and she’d start telling the kid about her recent colonic. I like that about her.

I chat with her for a minute before I get swept up serving drinks. I’ve just handed two men their glasses of orange juice when I feel someone’s eyes on me. Glancing quickly up, I get the most unexpected surprise.

For a short while time seems to move in slow motion, because standing before me is my next customer, who also happens to be my handsome stranger from last night. I pray that he doesn’t recognise me without the face paint, but the look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly who I am. How long has he been watching me? More to the point, what on earth is he doing here?

Chapter Three

My voice comes out scratchy when I say, “Uh, hi, what can I get you?”

He tilts his head, eyes hot, perusing me from top to bottom before he allows his gaze to rest on my face. Suddenly, I feel flushed in my work blouse and skirt.

“Hey, Bluebird,” he says, voice low. “Isn’t this a surprise? I’ll have a gin and tonic, if you don’t mind.”

I nod and go about making up his drink. A surprise is right. One of the violinists takes a stool beside him. I recognise her because she sits in the lobby a lot, drinking fancy coffees and reading bridal magazines. I once asked Noeleen when her wedding is, but my trumpeter friend simply gave me a wry look and shook her head, telling me the woman’s name is Avery and that she’s not getting married, she’s just obsessed with weddings. It made me feel really sorry for her when I heard that.

She’s got straight brown hair and nice eyes, but a slightly long nose that makes her face less conventionally attractive than it would be otherwise.

“Hi, Shane,” she greets my stranger politely. “How did you find things? If you need any help getting settled, just say the word.”

Shane. Now I know his name and why he’s here. He’s in the orchestra. He must have taken the place of the violinist who left. It dawns on me that I had sex with a man who can create the beautiful music that bewitches me. Suddenly, I feel this urgent need to witness him play, to see him hold his instrument with those skilled hands of his. I shake myself out of the thought.

Shane turns to her with a pleasant smile. “I had a great first night, thanks, Avery,” he says, his eyes landing on me for a moment as he continues in a low voice, “And it just got better.”

Avery misinterprets his statement as being directed at her, blushing and letting out a delighted titter. Now I feel bad. Oh, well, I’ll let her enjoy it. I set Shane’s gin and tonic down on the bar and then look to her to see what she wants.

“Oh, could I have a sparkling water, please?”

“Sure, hon,” I reply, turning to the fridge to grab a bottle. I slide a slice of lemon onto the rim of a glass, pour in some ice, snap open the lid of the bottle, and put them down in front of her. All the while I can feel Shane’s attention on me like a warm caress.

Everybody seems to be set for the time being, so I wipe down the counter and turn to talk with Noeleen again. I think I see Shane perk his ears up to listen in to our conversation.

“What was the symphony you played tonight?” I ask her while drying glasses. “I know I know it, but my brain is on a go-slow.”

“It was Beethoven’s Ninth,” she answers. “What did you think of the choir?”

“What I could hear from the bar sounded wonderful.”

“I agree,” she says, sipping on her wine. “My hand didn’t act up, either, so it was an enjoyable performance all ’round.”

I give her a sympathetic look. Noeleen has some wear and tear damage in her fingers from years playing the trumpet. Her doctor says that it’s most likely only going to get worse as time goes on; however, it doesn’t stop her from playing. She’s been in various orchestras for more than two decades now.

“Isn’t there anything the specialists can do about it?”

“There are some therapies, but mostly they just throw painkillers at me and hope for the best.”

Shaking my head, I turn to serve a man who’s asking for a red wine. Shane’s voice fills my ears then, requesting, “Oh, barkeep, could I get another gin and tonic?”

I give him a polite smile, wondering if he’s trying to be funny with the “barkeep” bit. “Sure.”

Avery chats away to him about brands of strings for the violin. As I’m about to slide the glass across the bar, he instead reaches forward and takes it from my hand, allowing his fingers to touch mine briefly. My face gets hot and flushed. It’s like we’ve switched places. Last night I was in the driving seat, and now he is. It’s just really thrown me for a loop to see him here.

I never thought I’d see him again, to be perfectly honest. I mean, it’s one thing to proposition a guy on the street in the middle of the night, but it’s another entirely to have him show up at your place of work. Not only that, but he works here as well.

A memory hits me of how I saw the orchestra musicians out last night, and it was right before I’d noticed Shane watching me. Now it all makes sense; he’d been with them.

He’s looking at me now like he wants to go for round two, and no matter how nice that would be, it can’t happen. I swore myself off relationships when I stopped drinking. It’s kind of like that saying, once burned, twice shy. Only in my case I was burned over and over again, making me a million times shy.

The whole point of last night with Shane was that he was a random stranger. Someone I could have a heated encounter with and then let drift into the recesses of my memory. Yet here he is, flesh and bone and sexy, pretty manliness.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

Avery’s chatter dies down as she realises he’s not paying attention to her any longer.

“What’s yours?” I counter.

“Shane.”

I give him a smirk. “Funny how we managed to forego first names, isn’t it? I’m Jade. Pleased to meet you, Shane.”

I reach out to shake his hand, and he takes my fingers into his warm palm before releasing them.

I think he’s blushing a little because of my comment, that adorable shyness creeping back in that’s so at odds with his polished confidence.

“So I guess I can stop calling you Bluebird, then,” he whispers.

I smile and joke, “I have you pegged. Women are all birds and bitches to you, right?”

He gives me a startled look, and I hold back a grin.

“I’m pulling your leg, hon,” I tell him, and the startled look fades.

Several moments of silence ensue before he regains his confidence. “So what’s with the living statue thing? They don’t pay you enough here or something?” He’s trying to be flirtatious now.

“That’s a hobby. And no, to answer your second question, they don’t pay me enough here. Not when I’ve got two mouths to feed at home.”

His brow furrows before he asks, “Are you a mother, Jade?”

I let out a small laugh and shake my head. “The look on your face! No, I was referring to my younger brother and sister.” I lean against the bar so that our faces are inches apart, then whisper, “I’m a poor little orphan, Shane. You want to come rescue me?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. My eyes flick to Avery when I hear her make a small noise of surprise. Damn, I’d almost forgotten she was listening to us.

“In what way do you need rescuing?” Shane asks back, his voice gravelly.

I stand up straight then and return to drying glasses.

“Contrary to popular belief, not all orphans need to be rescued,” I tell him with a wink, and walk to the other end of the bar. Soon the musicians begin to head home, and I finish closing up for the night. When I look back to where Shane had been sitting, I find he’s gone. Avery has left, too. Hmm, I wonder if he went home with her.

I call goodbye to a couple of other workers, hitching my bag up on my shoulder and making my way out through the employee exit. I give a surprised yelp when somebody emerges from the side of the building. Clutching my chest, I see it’s only Shane carrying a violin case and a small backpack.

“Shit, you scared me,” I exclaim, my breathing fast.

He gives me a sheepish grin. “Oops, sorry.” He pauses, biting at his full bottom lip. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Smiling now, I reply, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. I was, uh, wondering if I could take you out some time?”

“Aren’t we past all that?” I ask.

He looks to the ground and then back up at me, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t think so.”

I take a step closer to him, putting my hand on his arm and letting it drift lightly downward. He closes his eyes at my touch. Wow, this guy really likes me. Like, really likes me. All those posh women in his line of work must be prudes. Perhaps that’s why my overly forward ways have him so affected.

“You don’t think so, Shane? So it wasn’t you who fucked my brains out in the back of an alley last night?” I whisper.

“Bloody hell, Jade,” he exclaims, looking around to make sure there’s no one within hearing distance. Breathing heavily, he continues, “That wasn’t my initial intention. I did actually mean it when I said I wanted to have a drink with you. You’re amazingly beautiful — in your costume and out of it.”

I smile softly now. “You like my wings, honey?”

He nods. “Very much so. Your appearance as a living statue is striking, to say the least. I couldn’t look away when I saw you. You had this expression on your face like you were imagining heaven.”

I give him a full-on grin for that one. I don’t think I was imagining heaven last night, but it’s a nice idea. Now I’m trying to remember what I had actually been imagining, but it’s not coming to me. I think I was just noticing him and thinking he was incredibly attractive — him fucking me was pretty heavenly, though.

I smile up at him. “Are you a bit of a poet, Shane?”

He smiles back, and I see a dimple deepen in one of his cheeks.

“Nope. Just a lowly violinist.”

I start walking now and he moves, too, keeping pace with me. “Ah, I like a bit of modesty in a man. So, you must be thrilled to have snagged a place in the symphony. Where did you play before?”

His eyes light up at the fact that I’m asking questions about him. “Yeah, I was over the moon, actually. I had to do a number of auditions and interviews. Up until about a year ago, I was in a string quartet. We had a fairly large European following, so I got to do lots of travelling.”

“Wow. That sounds exciting. What was your group’s name?”

“The Bohemia Quartet. Ever heard of us?”

“Sorry, can’t say that I have. Do you have any recordings?”

“Yeah, three albums. You can buy our stuff on iTunes.” He gives me this cute little self-deprecating grin.

“Cool. I’m going to look you up sometime. So why did you leave?”

His shoulders slump as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “That’s a depressing story.”

“I can deal with depressing,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “Nah, not tonight. Perhaps some other time.”

“Okay. So are you planning on walking me all the way home?” I ask, noticing we’re almost at the end of Harcourt Street now.

Shane glances up and down the road. “How much farther is your place?”

“Five minutes from here. You can head off if you like. I might see you around at work.” I begin walking away, but he rushes to catch up with me.

“Hey, what’s your hurry? I can go another five minutes.”

I stop and turn to face him, giving him a sad look. He’s like an enthusiastic puppy — a darkly exotic enthusiastic puppy.

“We’re not having sex again,” I state, getting straight to the point.

He blinks and sputters. “Is that what you think I’m after? Jade, I just want to talk with you some more. I like you.”

Putting my hand comfortingly on his chest, I tell him softly, “That’s really sweet, and I’ve no problem talking. In fact, I’d love to be friends, but I just need to know you understand that what went on between us last night won’t be happening again. ’Kay?”

He stares at me, and his eyes tilt downward. Great, now I’ve kicked the puppy. For a moment I think he’s going to argue with me, but then he simply replies, “I’d love to be friends, too.”

He gives me a small smile, one which I return. “Friends it is, then. Come on, buddy. Walk me home.”

A few minutes later we’re approaching my house. I take a glance at the group of boys who seem to be continually camped out at the end of the street. Then I breathe a relieved sigh when I confirm that Pete isn’t with them.

Pulling my keys from my bag, I turn to Shane. “Well, this is me. Thanks for the chat. It was good talking to you. Hopefully we can do it again soon.”

He stands at the end of my front step, hands dug into his pockets. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s staring at me, real intense.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” I ask, letting out a small nervous laugh.

“I’ve never met a girl like you before,” he says.

What am I, a mermaid or something?

“Well, I wouldn’t imagine many of the girls from around here hang out with men who play the violin, nor do they attend any string quartet concerts,” I reply jokingly, gesturing over to a couple of girls standing by a house across the street, puffing on cigarettes in their pyjama bottoms, massive gold hoop earrings in their ears.

Shane looks to them and then back at me. “No, I don’t suppose they do. You know, I’ve never actually been in this part of the city before.”

“No, I don’t suppose you have,” I say, teasing him.

He narrows his eyes, giving me a tight-lipped smirk. “I, uh, don’t think I remember the way back.”

I laugh. “Well, that was silly, now, wasn’t it? Where do you live?”

“Ranelagh. I was going to catch a cab.”

“In that case, come on inside and I’ll call one for you. My neighbour Barry drives a taxi. He’ll do you a discount if he knows you’re a friend of mine.”

I turn my key in the door and step into the hallway, my ears immediately getting blasted with loud rap music. Great. I forgot my brother Alec usually has his friends around for a few beers on a Sunday night.

“Sorry about the noise. It’s just my brother and his mates. Come on into the kitchen.”

I gesture for him to take a seat at the table. “Do you want some tea while you’re waiting?”

“I’d love some.”

I put on the kettle and then pick up my phone to call Barry. It rings out twice before he answers.

“Jade, what can I do for you, love?”

“A friend of mine needs a lift out to Ranelagh. Are you free?”

“I will be in about fifteen minutes. You at your house or somewhere else?”

“My house.”

“Right, give me half an hour, tops. I’ll beep when I’m outside.”

“Great. Thanks, Barry.”

The music coming from the living room gets louder, and I find it hilarious when Shane furrows his brow as though offended. I can’t blame him. If I spent my life playing classical music, I’d be offended by rap, too.

I bang my fist on the wall, shouting, “Keep it down, Alec.”

The volume lowers, and I go about making the tea. A minute later Alec walks into the kitchen, opening the fridge to take out more beers. My eldest brother is a sight to behold these days. He’s been working for a construction company, so all the hard labour has bulked him up, and he’s taken to tattoos in a big way. He’s already got a full sleeve on his right arm and is building another on the left. His light brown hair, the same shade as that of all my siblings, is cut in a Mohawk down the centre of his head.

“Sorry about the music, Jade. Some of the boys got carried away.” He notices Shane then and gives him the once-over. The two couldn’t be any more opposite: Shane in his black shirt and slacks, and Alec in his jeans and ratty T-shirt.

“You a friend of Jade’s?” he asks, taking the cigarette that had been resting behind his ear and lighting it up.

“Yeah, he is. This is Shane. Shane, this is my brother, Alec.”

“Nice to meet you, bud,” says Alec, reaching across the table to give Shane’s hand a sturdy shake. What with his appearance and his deep inner-city accent, Alec can come across like a bit of a scary bastard, but he’s actually a really amiable guy. He’s the funniest fucker I know, brilliant sense of humour. You’ll never get one over on him in a battle of wits.

“Nice to meet you, too,” says Shane, smiling urbanely.

Alec grins when he hears Shane speak and gives me a look that says, haven’t you done well for yourself, snagging the posh fella.

I give him a look in return that says, we’re just friends!

“Right. Well, I’ll leave you both to it,” says Alec finally, picking up the beers and strolling back into the living room.

“And keep the music down,” I call after him.

“So, you’ve got two brothers and a sister?” Shane asks as I set a cup of tea down in front of him.

“That’s right, though Alec’s big and ugly enough to take care of himself now.”

Shane laughs. “Right, yeah, I can see that. What happened to your parents?”

“Whoa, bit of a personal question there,” I say, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him.

He looks embarrassed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you’re all right. Mum died four years ago from lung cancer. My dad died a few months after I was born, got knocked over by a car. The others have a different father, though — that’s why I’m the only one with this mad albino hair. Their dad’s name is Patrick, absolute waste of space. He shows up every once in a while, but mostly I try to keep him out of the picture.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is. So, do I get to ask about your family, or does this interview business only go one way?”

Shane sits back in his chair. “You can ask. My situation is fairly simple, though. I’m an only child. My parents live in Dalkey.”

I grin. “Well, I’d never have guessed. Is that where you grew up?”

He eyes me speculatively. “Uh-huh. And what do you mean, ‘you’d never have guessed’?”

“I was just teasing. I knew you must have been raised somewhere around that area, given your accent.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Are both of your parents white? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like you’ve got some Asian blood in you.”

“Bit of a personal question,” he says with a smirk, throwing my own words back at me.

“I like asking personal questions.” I lean in closer to him, my elbows on the table, and bite flirtatiously on my lower lip. I do it jokingly, but Shane’s expression heats up nonetheless, his eyes zeroing in on my mouth.

“I bet you do. And yeah, both of my parents are white. They lived in Beijing for several years in the eighties where my dad was working for the Irish embassy. While they were over there they tried for a baby, but something wasn’t working. In the end they found out that Mum was infertile, so they hired a surrogate.”

“Say what?” I exclaim humorously. Shane shoots me a narrow-eyed look. “No, seriously,” I go on. “I thought only crazy celebrities and millionaires hired surrogates.”

“It’s actually more common than you’d think. So anyway, they paid this nice Chinese woman to have a child for them. Basically, they used my dad’s sperm, and the surrogate got pregnant through artificial insemination. So I’m my dad’s biological son, but not my mum’s.”

“Wow. And have you ever met your birth mother?”

“No. Mum thought it would be best to sever all the ties. When I was five we moved back to Ireland.”

“What age are you now?”

“Twenty-nine. I’ll be thirty next month. You?”

“Twenty-six going on fifty.”

He laughs. “You don’t look fifty.”

“I feel it sometimes,” I sigh.

He gives me a sympathetic expression and reaches out to softly squeeze my hand. He doesn’t keep doing it for long, but it’s nice while it lasts.

We stay locked in a moment as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip, wetting it. I stare at his mouth, half mesmerised.

The moment is broken when a car horn beeps loudly from outside, signalling Barry’s arrival. “Ah, there’s your ride home, and the conversation had just gotten interesting,” I announce with amusement.

Shane stands and gulps down the last of his tea. “Well, we can continue it tomorrow if you’d like. Are you working?”

“Yep. Eleven o’clock until seven.”

“I have a rehearsal until four. Can I stop by the bar and see you?”

“Sure. You’ll be bored out of your tits watching me work, but I’ll try my best to fit in some talking time.” I smile and stand up, ushering him out to the front door.

“It’s a good thing I don’t have tits, then, isn’t it? See you, Jade,” he calls, blowing me a cheeky kiss and making his way over to Barry’s taxi.

I make a show of catching it with my hand, like a big fat nerd. Standing on the step, I watch him go until the car disappears out of sight. A second later, my sister April and her best friend Chloe saunter up to me, wearing outfits that almost match. They’ve both got some variation of a white cotton top on with similar denim miniskirts and fake UGG boots.

“Hey, Jado,” Chloe calls to me as they approach. She’s got this annoying habit of making up nicknames for everyone, normally ending with an “O.” She calls April “Apro.” You get the picture.

“Eh, who was that?” April asks, her voice booming halfway around the street.

“A friend.”

“Your friend is a fucking ride,” Chloe puts in, fanning her face theatrically. For those not in the know, “a ride” is Dublin slang for “hot.”

“Yep. That he is,” I reply to her, deadpan. “Where have you two been?”

“Nowhere,” says April, tight-lipped, which might as well be slang for “up to no good.”

“Okay. Have you seen Pete around?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a fountain of knowledge tonight, April, really you are. Here, I’ve got a proposition for you,” I say.

Chloe snickers at my use of the word “proposition.” I’m dealing with a future Nobel Prize winner in this girl. April looks at me appraisingly.

“What is it?”

“Lara’s looking for a babysitter for little Mia. What do you think? It’ll earn you some money until you can find a full-time job.”

“Yes, I’ll do it! How much is she paying?” April asks enthusiastically, while Chloe’s eyes simultaneously light up as she mouths the words free house at April.

“I saw that, Chloe, and there’ll be no free house.” I wag my finger at her. “If April’s going to do this, she’s going to do it properly. You can’t have boys over if you’re going to be responsible for a three-year-old. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t snap at me — it was Chloe who said it. I know I have to take it seriously. I’m not stupid.”

“Good to know. Now, are you coming in or what?”

She rolls her eyes at me and walks into the house, she and Chloe heading straight for the living room so that they can flirt with Alec’s friends. I spend the next half an hour trying to get a hold of Pete, but he’s not answering his phone. Eventually he arrives home, giving me the silent treatment after our argument last night. He shuffles up the stairs to his room, shutting himself inside with a slam of the door.

I really don’t know what to do about him anymore. In my room I fall onto my mattress, exhausted. This is what I mean about teenagers being a handful. To be honest, I’d much prefer two wailing babies.

Reaching for my handbag, I pull out my phone and check my messages, of which there aren’t many. The rap music is still thumping from downstairs, so I grab my headphones and stick them into the phone, scrolling through my music. Nothing tickles my fancy, so on a whim I go onto iTunes and search for the Bohemia Quartet. Their albums immediately pop up, and I download the most popular, titled Songs for Her.

I know I shouldn’t, but I immediately wonder who “Her” is. There’s a picture of the group on the cover, and all of them are equally good-looking guys, so it could be any one of their girlfriends or even a relative. Anyway, seeing the picture makes me understand why they were so popular. I’m sure they had a huge female following.

I hit “play” on the first song, and the opening notes hit me right in my soul like a soothing balm. All remnants of the rap music below float away as I get lost in the beauty of the strings.

Chapter Four

When I wake up the next morning, I realise I fell asleep with my earphones on, Shane’s music having lulled me into a slumber. Later that day at work, he shows up at the bar at a quarter past four, looking invigorated.

“Whatever you’ve been taking, can I have some?” I ask him jokingly.

“I sometimes get like this after playing,” he explains. “Could I have an ice water?”

“You can indeed,” I say, pouring him a glass. He knocks it back in three long gulps and then asks for another.

There’s a writers’ talk going on in the main auditorium at the moment. It just started, so the bar is empty. I decide to take a break, grabbing myself an orange juice and a gin for Shane before walking around to take the seat beside him.

He eyes my orange juice. “No drinking alcohol on the job, eh?”

“No drinking at all, actually,” I reply, pulling up my sleeve to show him the five small blue sparrows tattooed onto my inner forearm. “One for each year I’ve been sober,” I explain.

“You were an alcoholic?” he asks softly in surprise, eyes tracing up and down my tattoos. One of the best artists in the city did them, and the blue has the effect of looking like watercolour paints.

I give him a grave nod.

“But you work in a bar. Isn’t that kind of tempting fate?”

“For some, maybe, but not for me. I find being around alcohol is like working a muscle, so the more I do it, the stronger I become. The sparrows represent freedom from my addiction and my commitment to staying free of it. There’s nothing more committed than ink permanently under your skin.”

Shane reaches out and traces his fingers over the birds, his head tilted as he studies them. “They’re very pretty. Are you going to keep getting a new one each year?”

“Probably not. I mean, I only have so much real estate,” I joke. “They start at my wrist, so I guess once they reach the top of my arm I’ll stop. If I get ten years under my belt, I don’t think there’ll be anything that could ever drive me back to drinking.”

Shane looks at his gin now, like he feels guilty for having it in front of me.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Drink up. I know that most people can enjoy alcohol responsibly. I’m just not one of them.”

“When did you start drinking?” he asks, giving in and taking a sip.

“You probably don’t want to know the answer to that.”

He arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

I let out a sigh. “Eleven when I had my first taste, fifteen when I began drinking properly.”

“Fifteen, shit.”

I pick up a cardboard coaster and begin picking at it. “I had a few…issues when I was younger. I guess drowning them in a bottle of vodka was the only thing that worked for me back then. I got my stomach pumped several times, almost died from kidney failure once.”

Shane moves his stool closer to mine. “Is that what made you quit?”

I’m lost in my own thoughts for a second, and I don’t hear his question. “Sorry, what was that?”

“The kidney failure. Is that why you quit?”

“Oh. No, actually. My head could have been falling off and I wouldn’t have given up drinking. Didn’t care enough about myself, I suppose. It was my mum getting sick that gave me the final push. I suddenly realised that she was never getting better and that my family needed me. Pete and April were still just kids at the time, and there would be no one to look after them, not their waster of a dad, anyway. I couldn’t stand the idea of them being put into foster care, so I had no other choice but to step up.”

I look down at my hand, at my healthy skin tone, remembering a time when I was so ill it had almost turned yellow. I shake myself out of the memory. “God, I’m being really depressing now, aren’t I?”

“I think you’re fascinating,” he breathes, and then winces. “Did I just say that out loud?” he asks, shaking his head at himself.

I laugh. “Yep. Don’t regret it. It’s a good feeling to be fascinating to another person.”

He knocks back a gulp of his drink and turns to me properly, his eyes searing. “I really like making you feel good, Jade.”

His expression grows heated as he prolongs our stare. “Well, mission accomplished,” I tell him, a touch uncomfortable under his attention. “So, how about we trade one depressing story for another? You still have to tell me about why you left your string quartet.”

“Ah, can we not? It’s an awful story.”

“Surely not as awful as mine.”

“Want to bet?”

“Okay, no big deal. You don’t have to tell me.”

He looks sadly into his almost empty glass. “How about I tell you something else, something equally depressing?”

“Go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I have no friends,” he states, deadly serious.

Resting my elbow on the bar, I stare at him quizzically. Our faces are inches apart now as we conduct our intimate little conversation. “What you do mean?”

“I mean I have no friends. I have acquaintances, yes, but not friends. The only proper friends I did have were the three guys from my string quartet group: Leo, Justin, and Bryn. I don’t talk to any of them anymore, so now I have no friends.”

“Surely you have some. What about your childhood pals? You could reconnect with them now that you aren’t travelling all over the place any longer.”

He gives me an embarrassed look and then glances away shyly.

“What? You don’t have any childhood friends, either?” I ask in a surprised voice.

“Maybe when I was under five. At six my mum decided to bring me to have piano lessons. You know, at the music school on Westland Row?”

“Yeah, I know it. You can always hear the sound of instruments drifting up onto the street from down in the basement.”

He smiles fondly. “That’s the one. So, anyway, Mum had an old friend called Jill who worked there as a music teacher and brought me for my first lesson. She tried teaching me ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ on the piano, but I had no interest. Then when Mum came to collect me, she and Jill were having tea and left me to my own devices in the music room. I picked up a violin, began messing around with it, and within a half an hour I had ‘Mary had a Little Lamb’ down pat. I don’t remember all the details, but I do have a very distinct memory of it being like I’d found an extension of myself in that one small instrument. All of the strings made sense, and I knew exactly how to create the melody I wanted.”

“Wow,” I breathe, enthralled by his story.

Shane smiles and continues, “I was proclaimed a child prodigy after that. Mum began having me home-schooled by a private tutor so that I could spend more time focusing on the violin. So basically, I was isolated and rarely met other kids my age, hence the ‘no childhood friends’ bit.”

I briefly reach out and give his wrist a squeeze. “That sounds very lonely.”

“It was and it wasn’t. Mostly I was so focused on my music that I didn’t have time to realise I was lonely. Then when I got older, though, I’d see other kids my age out having fun, and I’d envy them. But I always had my violin. Often I’d wonder if I could be a normal teenager but had to give up music, which would I choose? Music always won. When you want to be accomplished at something, especially playing an instrument, you have to sacrifice other things in life. Natural talent only goes so far. You have to spend so much of your time trying to get better and better.”

There’s a small note of strain in his words, giving me the impression that he struggles over this on a regular basis. Being a virtuoso versus having a social life.

“Well, you do realise you can have both now, right? Music and friends, I mean.”

“I can?” he asks, looking at me in hope.

I laugh tenderly. “Of course you can. You already have a friend in me, so you telling me you have no friends isn’t true.”

He gives me a tiny smile. “I didn’t know if you really wanted to be my friend or if you just felt sorry for me.”

I shake my head at him in awe. “Are you serious? Of course I want to be your friend! In fact, I envy your life. If anyone should be felt sorry for, it’s me.” I pause to hold up a finger as I list off my reasons. “Recovering alcoholic, orphan, responsible for two wayward teenagers, lives in a shitbox area. Need I say more?”

Shane laughs at my humorous tone. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am so right. And you, Shane, are far too young, handsome, and talented to be so troubled,” I proclaim.

“Not handsome enough for you to want to sleep with me again, though,” he says, putting on a mournful face.

I give his shoulder a friendly slap and wink. “I don’t remember any sleeping being involved. But anyway, if I was the relationship kind of girl, I’d be sleeping with you all over the place, my friend. You’re a hot piece of arse. You should be getting out there and finding some willing females.”

“Why aren’t you the relationship kind of girl?” he asks with interest, ignoring everything else I said.

“We’re back onto me again, I see. Well, when I was a drunk I found myself in a very messy, co-dependent relationship with another drunk. When we were happy, I drank. When he hurt me, I drank. For me, boyfriends are closely tied to my alcoholism. So when I decided to start over fresh, no boyfriends was my number-one rule. You see, when my heart gets broken I turn straight back to alcohol, and I have too many people relying on me now for that to happen.”

“Who says I’d hurt you?” Shane asks seriously.

I shrug at him. “I can’t predict the future. Who knows what we’d be like together?”

“I think we could be good together,” he says in a low, flirty voice.

I suck in a breath at how his eyes rest on my breasts. “Feel free to elaborate on that,” I flirt back, picking up my orange juice and gulping some down. All of a sudden I’m really thirsty.

He grabs either side of my stool and pulls it into his so that our thighs collide. Next, he brings his mouth to my ear, his breath touching my skin and giving me tingles. “Well, for a start I’d lay you down on my bed and take my time worshipping your full, beautiful breasts. Then I’d spread your legs and use my tongue to…”

“Okay, I get the picture.” I laugh nervously, not having anticipated such a detailed erotic description, especially considering how shy he can come across. Perhaps that gin and tonic has already gone to his head. I quickly stand up from the stool and hurry back behind the bar, saying, “I think my break time is up.”

I can feel how fast his words got me wet, which I find startling for some reason.

Shane stares at me in confusion. “You did tell me to elaborate, Jade.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I’m my own worst enemy,” I mutter, picking up our empty glasses.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“We’re still friends, aren’t we?” he asks, worried that he’s ruined things.

“Of course we are, silly. The intermission is coming up, so I need to get back to work.”

“All right. I should probably be getting home anyway,” he says, unsure, grabbing his violin case from where it had been resting on the floor. He’s about to leave but then turns back to me. He remains silent for a moment before stating, “I really like talking to you, Jade.”

Giving him a warm expression, I answer, “I really like talking to you, too, Shane.”

Chapter Five

The next day there’s a free lunchtime concert on at work. I haven’t bumped into Shane since our conversation at the bar yesterday, and I’m really curious to see him play, so I quickly eat a sandwich and then make my way to the hall.

I take a seat close to the back of the room, not wanting to be noticed. There’s a decent-sized audience assembled, mostly nearby office workers who’ve decided to do something classy on their lunch break. I realise I’m in for a treat when the conductor announces that they’ll be playing Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor.

I don’t see Shane anywhere; however, there is an empty seat in first violins belonging to the concertmaster, which in my limited knowledge I know is the second most important position after the conductor. The fact that this seat could be Shane’s must mean that he’s pretty good.

What am I saying? I’ve heard his album; I know he’s good. In fact, I fell asleep listening to it again last night. I probably shouldn’t make a habit of that.

The conductor turns to address the audience, saying, “We usually have a guest violinist join us to play this piece. However, we recently welcomed a new and very talented member to our orchestra, Mr Shane Arthur, who I have invited to play the solo today.”

Those in attendance clap, and the conductor turns to take his place in front of the musicians. Shane appears and walks to the centre of the stage before the music starts up. Just seeing him standing there holding his instrument has me a touch hot and bothered. Immediately he begins playing, with the rest of the orchestra accompanying him, and my ears soak up the familiar melody.

It fills me with emotion, as classical music always does. Shane’s entire body is a work of art as he moves with his violin, and I realise that he was right, it really is like an extension of him.

My head wanders as I become enraptured by the music. I hardly see or hear any of the other musicians, my attention solely on this intriguing man. Musical notes float out of his strings in a cacophony of colours and textures. They fly up into the air. A treble clef drifts to me, catching onto the edge of my shirt. I pick it up and smooth it beneath my fingers, fold it in half, and stick it in my pocket for safekeeping.

There’s a lull in the music at one point, with Shane playing a low and sad melody. When he plays this, I see grief and misery in his entire form. I see loss. He’s so emotionally involved in the piece that I can’t help falling in love. Maybe I’m not in love with him, per se, but I’m definitely in love with something about him.

How fortunate I was that our paths crossed. I’ve a feeling that having this sad, lonely, lovely man in my life is going to change it irrevocably. Even if from now on I only ever get to observe him from afar, he will mark me somehow.

All of a sudden, his eyes seek me out. I go rigid in my seat as he plays to me for a long few moments before focusing on something else. For the remainder of the symphony I close my eyes and just…imagine.

In turns joyful, mournful and triumphant, I see streams of paint in my head, swirling and dancing to the music. All of the pain I’ve experienced in my life feels like it’s being expelled simply through Shane’s manipulation of the strings.

I remain seated even when the concerto is over, my eyes still closed. Minutes later I feel someone sit down beside me and take my hand in theirs. I can tell it’s Shane even before I open my eyes to look.

“You never told me you were coming to hear me play,” he says just as I lift my head to look at him. He’s closer than I expected him to be, his face hovering inches from mine.

“I’d hoped to remain incognito,” I reply, giving him a soft smile. “You’re amazing. The way you play is just — wow. I still have tingles.”

I lift my arm to show him how my hairs are standing on end.

He lets go of my hand and sits back in his chair with a satisfied look.

“I’d love to play for you alone sometime,” he says after several moments of quiet.

I breathe harshly just imagining it. I don’t think it would be humanly possible to sit in a room alone with Shane and have him play for me, and not want to fuck his brains out afterward. Even the way he holds the bow turns me on. For a brief moment I imagine him standing above me, reaching down and running it lightly down my naked abdomen.

“I’d give anything to know what you’re thinking right now,” Shane murmurs, breaking me from my dirty thoughts.

“Oh, nothing much.”

“It didn’t look like nothing. It looked like a whole lot of I’m thinking about sex.”

I smirk and try to deflect from the stone-cold truth of his words. “You wish I was thinking about sex.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. So when are we next spending some time together, friend?” he asks, giving my arm a little nudge with his elbow.

I take several moments to think about it before giving him a considering look. “That depends. How do you feel about haircuts and Indian food?”

He shrugs and runs his hand over his head. “I’m in favour of both?” he replies like a question.

“Good. Come to my house tonight at six, and we’ll hang out.”

“Okay. You aren’t going to explain?” he asks with interest.

I stand up. “Nope. I have to get back to the bar now. See you tonight.”

“See you tonight, Bluebird,” he breathes, shaking his head and smiling as he watches me walk away.

***

Once a month my friends and I get together at my house for a catch-up night. The group consists of me, Lara, Lara’s cousin Ben, and Ben’s boyfriend, Clark. Ben is a hairdresser and Clark is a counsellor, so we combine haircuts with talking about our feelings. I like to think of it as grooming for the inside as well as out. We also love Indian food, so we always order some in.

I’m beginning to wonder if Shane’s going to show at all when a quarter past six hits and he still hasn’t arrived. Ben is moving furniture about the kitchen to create a makeshift styling station, asking Lara what kind of a cut she wants this month. She tells him she’d like seventies-style retro layers, like one of the Charlie’s Angels. She’s far more adventurous than me in this respect. I always keep my hair long and just have a basic trim to keep the split ends at bay.

“So what’s he like, this new friend of yours?” asks Clark, sitting down beside me at the table. He and Ben are both in their late thirties, and I love having them around because they kind of feel like my two gay big brothers, giving me guidance and advice. Ben also had a drinking problem when he was younger, so we’ve bonded over that shared experience for years.

“Well, at first I just thought he was this good-looking, slightly shy violinist, but then I spoke to him some more and got to see him play, and now I kind of feel unworthy of his friendship. He’s like one of those, what do you call them? Virtuosos. He was a prodigy at the age of six.”

When informing my friends about Shane, I left out the part about us meeting on the street in the middle of the night and instead simply pretended we met at the concert hall after a show.

“All those classical musicians are mad in the head, though,” Ben puts in as he runs his hands through Lara’s auburn hair. “You know, like Beethoven. Oh, and the guy out of that movie, Shine.”

“Beethoven went mad because he had all this beautiful music to create but couldn’t hear it because he was deaf,” says Lara.

I look at her in surprise.

“What? Haven’t you ever seen Immortal Beloved? I cry at that film every time. The unrequited love that wasn’t unrequited after all.”

“I have, actually. I couldn’t watch it more than once, though. I was literally in tears for days afterward. Anyway,” I say, looking back to Clark, “I’d forego sanity any day of the week to be able to play like Shane.”

“Are you having a little cerebral crush?” Clark asks with a knowing grin. “You don’t want him for his body, you want him for the music he’s got inside kind of thing?”

I love how Clark uses words fancy words like “cerebral.” He’s one of the only people I know with a college education, so I’m always stealing his phrases.

“Oh, his body is something to be coveted just as much as his talent, let me tell you. But anyway, stop reading into this. I think I’m just fan-girling.”

There’s a knock at the front door, and my heart leaps. I give each of my friends a look urging them to be on their best behaviour and then rise to go answer it.

I stare at my reflection in the hall mirror for a moment. Little zinging gold sparks radiate from my chest, and butterflies flit around my head. I think I even see a love heart or two. I swipe them all away, not reading too much into their presence. When I finally open the door, Shane is standing on the step, holding a bottle of sparkling grape juice.

“Hey,” I breathe.

“Hey, Bluebird.”

We both smile and take each other in for a moment.

“You look great,” he says.

I’m wearing an old sundress, no shoes.

“Thanks, so do you. I see you brought refreshments.”

“Yeah, I almost grabbed a bottle of wine, but then I realised that would be counter-productive.”

“Counter-productive, indeed,” I say with a smirk, taking the bottle from him and helping him out of his jacket. I catch a whiff of his cologne and get assaulted by memories of our one night together…if you could even call it a night. Swallowing hard, I hang the jacket by the end of the staircase and lead him into the kitchen to meet the others.

Jacinta Lennon loved to paint pictures of her daughter.

It was one of her favourite things to do.

She took one final look at the painting she was about to sell to a passer-by, admiring the brush strokes and the quality of the canvas.

Her daughter stood within the frame, a blue beacon on the grey street, standing so still on her box.

Closing her eyes briefly, she made a wish that it would bring its new owner as much pleasure as it brought her.

Then she handed it away. She would never see it again.

Chapter Six

Shane pauses halfway down the hall as he turns to study a painting hanging in a dark wooden frame. It’s one of my mother’s. She never really held down a steady job when she was alive; however, she managed to keep the household afloat with welfare payments and the money she made selling her paintings on St. Steven’s Green. She loved to paint scenery and sometimes portraits. Often she’d make me sit for her. There are dozens of paintings of me up in the attic. I hate looking at them because I find it weird seeing myself through the eyes of another person.

“Where did you get this?” Shane asks, his gaze roaming over the country scene depicted.

“My mother painted it. She did lots of pictures like this one. Do you like it?”

“Ah,” he says with a sharp breath, as though something has just made sense to him. “It’s very good. Your mother was a talented woman.”

“She was. Come on, everyone’s dying to meet you,” I say, linking my arm through his and leading him into the kitchen.

Clark is the first to greet Shane, thrusting his hand out for a shake and introducing himself. I catch sight of Ben shooting Lara an omg, he’s fucking hot look. Lara gives him an omg, I fucking know look back. I smile to myself a little in satisfaction.

Though to me Shane’s not just hot, he’s beautiful. Man-beautiful.

Dangerous, slippery-slope thoughts I’m having these days.

I put the grape juice in the fridge as Shane says hello to Ben and Lara, taking the seat at the table where I had previously been sitting.

“Oh, Jade, Shane took your chair. Now you’ll have to sit on his lap,” Ben chirps with a saucy wink.

Shane shifts to look at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Oh, would you stop? I’ll grab a chair from under the stairs,” I say, shaking my head at Ben. If I know my friend, he’s going to go out of his way to try to embarrass me tonight. Ben just has that way about him.

When I return with the chair, I set it down beside Shane, and we watch as Lara has her hair cut. Ben already washed it before Shane arrived. It’s hard to talk once he whips out the hairdryer, but we just about manage to make casual chitchat.

Ben takes me upstairs to wash my hair in the bathroom when he’s done with Lara. We return a few minutes later, and I find with relief that Shane and Clark are deep in conversation, about politics of all things. Lara looks like she’s ready to nod off from boredom.

I can’t help myself when I brush my hand along Shane’s shoulder as I pass him by. He stiffens and then relaxes, turning his head to stare up at me hotly. I shouldn’t be teasing him like this, but every time I see him I feel this overwhelming urge to touch him.

“Clark, will you call for the Indian now? That way it’ll be here once Ben’s finished with my hair.”

“Will do,” says Clark, standing to retrieve his phone.

Shane watches as Ben starts to trim the ends of my hair. I stare right back at him, unable to pay attention to Lara and Ben, who are talking about the latest episode of their favourite soap opera. My body gets all warm as we continue to fuck each other with our eyes. Jesus, I want him so badly.

The eye-fuck Olympics are interrupted only when Clark starts asking everyone what they want to eat. Shane’s voice is gravelly when he speaks. I feel a silly little satisfaction deep in my belly to know I’ve affected him. Immediately afterward I reprimand myself for being so careless. I know I can’t have a relationship with Shane, and yet here I am, leading him on.

The moment he breaks my heart, I’ll be straight back on the vodka, and that just can’t happen. There are too many people who need me sober and functioning.

The food arrives just as Ben has finished blow-drying my newly trimmed hair. Shane bends forward and reaches out to run his hand down it. I watch him curiously. A second later he pulls away and clears his throat, getting up to assist Clark in dishing out the Indian.

“So, tonight’s theme is anger,” Clark announces once everybody’s seated with their food.

Hmm, we’ve never done anger as a theme before.

“Someone care to explain?” says Shane with a bewildered expression.

“Clark’s a counsellor,” I tell him. “Every month he gives us a new theme, and we have to talk about it. The theme is always an emotion. You have to discuss the time in your life you felt the given emotion most intensely.”

“Ah,” he furrows his brow. “Do I have to take part?”

“Of course you do!” exclaims Ben, reaching out to pinch Shane playfully on the arm. “Otherwise it’s just voyeurism, and that’s no fun unless there’s sex involved.”

Shane laughs good-naturedly, and I’m surprisingly relieved at how well he’s getting along with my friends. You are not grooming him to be your boyfriend, Jade, so stop it. I have to scold myself into submission; otherwise, my girl-brain will lose the run of herself.

I like to think that I have two brains. One is my girl brain and the other is my boy brain. They both have their good sides and their bad sides. For instance, my girl brain is great for organising, while my boy brain is good for fixing shit, and when you live in a house like mine, stuff gets broken all the time. My boy brain is crap at counselling night. He doesn’t want to talk about his feelings. My girl brain is ace at counselling night. She loves to talk about her feelings. In fact, sometimes she likes it a little too much.

“There’s no need to be anxious,” Clark reassures him. “What gets said on counselling night stays in counselling night. Or something like that.” He grins and dips some naan bread into his korma.

“Well,” says Lara. “I think I’d like to go first because anger is something I know all about.”

“Here we go,” says Ben, rolling his eyes teasingly. We all know the story Lara’s going to tell. In fact, she’s told it for a number of different themes already: sadness, despair, heartbreak. She eyes Shane, seeming eager to recount it again for new ears.

“Hey! Don’t take the piss. I’ve had a lot to be angry about in my life. The thing that made me most angry, though, was when I came home and found ‘he who shall not be named’ shagging my slut neighbour Leonie McEvoy. Leonie McEvoy lived in the apartment next to mine for two years, and she’d always be hanging around making ‘fuck me’ eyes whenever my boyfriend came to visit, wearing the tightest pair of jeans and the most revealing top she could find. She knew when he was there because she’d recognise his navy Ford Fiesta parked outside.

“‘You’re crazy, Lara,’ he’d say whenever I’d warn him not to go near her. ‘I only have eyes for you,’ he’d declare, the lying toe rag. I swear to God I felt like I was turning into the Hulk when I sauntered in tired after a long day at work, and there he was going to town on that wrote-off walking advertisement for chlamydia.”

We all burst out laughing while she pauses for breath before addressing Shane. She’s been addressing him the whole time because she’s well aware we’ve already heard this story before. “He’d moved in with me at this point, you see, and I was three months pregnant with my little girl, Mia. I didn’t care that I’d have to raise my baby by myself — I wasn’t going to stay with someone who cheated on me. I was so angry I smashed almost every plate I owned before kicking him out and telling him not to show his face ever again.”

“Well, that sounds pretty hardcore,” says Shane with a low whistle when Lara’s finished with her story.

She folds her arms, looking satisfied with his reaction. Ben goes next, detailing how there’d been a boy who’d bullied him brutally at school for being gay. Years later Ben had been standing on the street watching the pride parade go by, and who did he see sitting atop one of the floats wearing a crystal tiara on his head and a pointy Madonna bra? The very same bully who’d made his life a misery. Ben was so angry that he marched straight into the parade, climbed atop the float, and pulled the guy off it by the hair before punching his lights out.

I can see Clark eyeing Shane as Ben’s story comes to a close, and Shane looks sort of uncomfortable at the prospect of having to share a story, so I volunteer to go next.

“Hmmm, do we only get to tell one story?” I ask Clark. “I’ve been equally angry in the extreme about a few things over the years.”

“Just one story, Jade. Pick the one when you were most angry.”

I make a show of scratching at my chin as Ben gives me a sympathetic look. He knows exactly when I was most angry. It’s not something I’m ever going to share, and he knows it. So I select a substitute and lie.

“Well, there’s not much of a story to tell about when I was most angry. It was the day my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. She had a lot of years still left, but that bastard of a disease took her. It’s hard to deal with anger when there isn’t an actual person to focus it on.” I give Ben a sad smile. “You can’t pull cancer down off a gay pride float and beat the shit out of it, no matter how much you might want to.”

They all chuckle, and relief washes over me as I push my true story back down into the recesses of my mind. I can’t think about that. It was one of the main reasons why I began drinking at such a young age. I might have been angry when Mum got her diagnosis, but mostly I was just sad. Sad and determined not to keep living my life in a drunken stupor so that I could block out the guilt and loss I felt for so many years.

Shane leans forward and squeezes my hand comfortingly, his eyes full of empathy. We stare at each other for a long time, and then he excuses himself to go use the bathroom.

My friends get quiet when he leaves. Ben breaks the silence by declaring, “Jade, that man seriously wants to Channing all over your Tatum.”

I let out a burst of laughter. “You watch far too many YouTube videos, Ben.”

“Oh, Channing Tatum,” says Lara with a dreamy sigh. “Now there’s one hot slice of shepherd’s pie.”

“Number one,” says Clark, pointing at Lara. “If you’re going to use the ‘hot slice of pie’ analogy, the pie in question needs to be dessert-based. Apple is always a popular choice. Savoury pies just sound wrong. And number two,” he goes on, giving me a cheeky wink. “I think Jade would much prefer if he Colined all over her Farrell.”

“Oh, my God, would you all shut up! He might hear you,” I exclaim.

“What? I know for a fact you keep a DVD of Alexander the Great hidden under your bed. And let’s face it, you’re not watching that movie for the history.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “You’re evil.”

“I do try.”

At that moment Shane returns to the room, and they all start smiling at him.

“So, Shane, I think it’s your turn to share,” says Ben, clasping his hands together.

“Ah, right,” says Shane, sitting down beside me and grimacing. “Anger. Well, I guess my story is quite similar to Lara’s. I came back to my hotel room in Vienna after returning from a party to find my fiancée of two years in flagrante delicto with my best friend Justin. He was the cellist in my string quartet, and we’d been doing a set of shows there.”

“In flagrante what?” Lara asks, confused.

“He caught them having sex,” Clark explains to her.

“Oh, shit,” she blurts out, and then reaches over to put a comforting hand on Shane’s arm before pulling away again. “That’s awful. Your fiancée and your best friend!”

Shane winces a little when she reiterates the fact, and I can’t stop staring at him. Now I know where the almost tangible sadness comes from when he plays his violin. And now I also know the reason why he left his string quartet.

“Were you in love with her?” Ben asks in a low voice.

Shane gives him a mournful smile. “I should hope so. I’m not in the habit of asking women I’m not in love with to marry me.”

I can’t hold back from reaching to him under the table and taking his hand in mine for a moment. Our fingers intertwine effortlessly, and tingles shoot from his skin into mine when we touch. I don’t keep holding on for long, and when I let go I feel like I’ve lost something vital.

“Well,” Lara chimes in, “once a cheater, always a cheater, that’s what I say. You’re well shot of her, just the same way my Mia and I are better off without her lying man-whore of a father.”

The edges of Shane’s mouth curve up in a grin, and we continue eating our food. We chat for another hour or so, and then everyone begins to say their goodbyes and leave. Shane is still there when my friends have gone. Once I’ve waved off Ben and Clark, I return to the kitchen to find him standing by the sink, rinsing dishes.

“Hey, you don’t need to do that. I’m the hostess,” I say placing a hand on his shoulder.

He turns his head to look at me, and there’s an intensity in his gaze when his eyes wander to my hand on him.

“My grandmother always told me it’s good manners to help with the clean-up when you’ve eaten at somebody’s house. Let me do it — I’ll feel weird if I don’t.”

“Okay, but that means I get to dry,” I reply, grabbing a towel. “Sorry we don’t have a dishwasher.”

I don’t go into the fact that a dishwasher is a luxury I can’t afford right now. Shane only shrugs, and continues rinsing plates and cups. As we quietly clean up together, I’m aware of him watching me, but I’m too self-conscious to make eye contact. I don’t know what it is about being alone in the room with him that makes me get shy.

We’re almost done when the front door opens and shuts, and my sister April struts in. She’s wearing leopard-print leggings and a pink diamante Paul’s Boutique hoodie that’s probably a fake from the markets. God bless the teenagers these days, but they haven’t got a clue about fashion. Although to be honest, neither did I at that age. All I ever wore was baggy jeans and even baggier band T-shirts. My only nod to style was the fact that I used to dye my hair purple and colour my eyes in with copious amounts of black eyeliner, because, you know, I considered myself to be “different.”

April opens the fridge and pulls out a carton of orange juice, taking a long swig before she even notices anyone else is in the room. When her eager eyes land on Shane, a grin shapes her mouth.

“Hey, I’m April, Jade’s sister,” she says, thrusting her hand out for him to shake.

I watch the entire exchange with amusement as Shane turns and takes the dishtowel from me to dry his hands off on it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, April,” he says.

“Oh, nice accent. Posh,” says April, nodding her head as she sizes him up. “I bet you’re loaded, too. You look like you’re loaded.”

Shane bursts out laughing as April eyes his designer shoes. She might not seem like it, but my sister can spot expensive brands from a mile away. She’s like a baby gold digger in the making, and I can’t really blame her for wanting to improve her circumstances, given her less than lavish upbringing. Still, she can keep her eager little eyes off Shane.

“I’m sorry,” I apologise to Shane while giving April a light slap on the arm. “My sister was too busy donning her leopard print this morning to remember to put on her manners as well.”

“And I’m sorry that my sister talks like a nerd. Seriously, Jade, who uses the word ‘donning’?” she asks, grinning and sticking out her tongue.

“I do,” I reply, guiding Shane from the kitchen and into the empty living room. Alec must be staying with whatever girl he’s shagging this month, because he hasn’t been around this evening, and Pete’s upstairs in his room, playing computer games.

“She’s a character,” says Shane, sitting down on the couch as I turn on the television.

“Mm-hmm, that’s one way to put it,” I scoff.

It’s just gone half past ten, and I’m kind of wondering what he’s still doing here. It’s not that I don’t enjoy his company (to be honest, I enjoy it slightly too much), but it feels like he’s waiting. Like maybe if he sticks around long enough, something will happen between us.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” I ask casually, standing and flicking through the stations, afraid that if I sit down beside him I’ll want to do something crazy…like grab him and stick my tongue down his throat.

“I don’t need a cab. I drove here tonight,” he replies, and I turn to look at him with wide eyes. I didn’t know he had a car, since he didn’t drive to the concert hall the other night.

“You drove here? Where did you park?” I ask with just the tiniest hint of urgency.

“Just around the corner. There were no spaces any closer to your house.”

“Right, and what kind of car do you drive?”

“A Range Rover,” he says, and his brow furrows at my panic. “What’s wrong, Jade?”

Great, a flipping Range Rover in this neck of the woods. He’ll be lucky if it hasn’t been stolen and sold on the black market already — and I’m not exaggerating.

Without thinking further, I hurry into the hall, grabbing my boots, coat, and keys on the way. “I should have warned you. You can’t just leave a car like that around here,” I tell him as he follows me out the door.

Chapter Seven

We walk around the corner, and the anxiety that had been building in my chest dissolves when I see his car is still there. That only lasts a moment before I clock two shifty-looking characters hanging around nearby. One of them is leaning up against a wall, looking from side to side — keeping sketch, in other words. The other is craning his neck to look in the window of Shane’s car. I guess he’s thinking the whole rigmarole of selling a stolen vehicle is too much hassle when he could just do a smash and grab, steal something valuable from the glove compartment, and run off.

“Hey, Babyface Nelson, keep walking,” I call sarcastically, and the guy startles, his attention shifting quickly to me.

The other guy narrows his eyes as he chews on a wad of gum. “We’re happy where we are, thanks,” he replies in a hard tone.

Babyface Nelson walks to his friend and folds his arms. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Shane puts his hand to the small of my back in a protective gesture as he guides me to the car. “We don’t want any trouble here,” he says, pulling his keys from his pocket. Both their attentions light up when they see the keys, the plan for a quick clean steal formulating in their heads. I wish I’d thought to warn Shane not to take his keys from his pocket. Now they know he’s the owner.

Quick as a flash, one of the thugs pulls out a short flick knife, making sure Shane gets a good look at it and understands the threat.

“Throw those keys over here,” says the thug, and Shane eyeballs him.

“Fuck off,” he answers, his hand on my back pressing in harder.

The thug’s expression turns angry as he moves towards us.

“I said give me the keys, or I’ll fuck up your pretty little girlfriend.”

“And I said fuck off.” Shane stands firm.

I don’t like where this is going, not one tiny bit. I’m about to tell Shane to just give him the keys, because he obviously has insurance for a car this expensive, and it’s not worth getting stabbed over. But I don’t get the chance to do that, because the thug with the knife moves fast, running directly toward me with the blade. Before I can move, Shane twists his body around mine, and the thug ends up sticking him in the side instead.

I see red just as Shane clutches himself from the shock of being stabbed and the thug dives for the keys that have dropped to the ground. Leaping into action, I kick him hard right between the legs. The thug grunts in pain and I grab his wrist, twisting it so the knife falls from his hand. I pick it up quickly and hold it out.

“Get out of here now, both of you, before I call the police.”

Once they’ve scarpered, I turn quickly to Shane, pulling his shirt up so that I can check the damage. He didn’t get cut too deep, just enough to make him bleed, but it might need stitches.

“You okay?” I ask, slightly out of breath.

His lips turn up in an almost smile. “Yeah, I’ve been worse,” he says, giving a pained wince as I lead him to the passenger door. “I have to say, I’m feeling slightly emasculated.”

I grin. “What?! You got stabbed for me. That’s about as heroic as it comes. Come on, I’m driving you to A&E in St. James’ to get you looked at.”

He doesn’t complain about me driving his car, and since I’m used to my old Mini that I had to sell last year, it takes a bit of getting used to driving a Range Rover. Shane grins at my mistakes but doesn’t comment on them. I think he’s in a little too much pain to speak but is trying his best to hide it. I park close to the hospital entrance and hold Shane’s hand as we walk inside. We explain to one of the nurses on duty what happened, and she gives us a form to fill in before instructing us to take a seat. It’s eleven o’clock at night, so suffice it to say there are more drunks and junkies hanging around than actual sick people.

It’s an environment I recognise well. I’ve been hospitalised a few times over the years, all self-inflicted of course. With my life being so clean now, it’s hard to be reminded of when it wasn’t.

A woman drinking a bottle of strawberry Ensure is sitting in the row in front of us, having an argument with herself. I imagine all the nutrients and vitamins sinking into her damaged system, trying to repair a body fucked up by drugs. Vitamin A, vitamin B, vitamins C, D, E, and K. All in liquid form, because she can’t handle solid foods, or maybe she just doesn’t care enough to go through the hassle of chewing.

I know I didn’t.

Often I’d shun a bowl of cereal for breakfast in favour of a cigarette and a bottle of something strong.

“We could be waiting a while,” I say to Shane with an apologetic expression. I feel to blame for all this; the reason he’s injured is because he was protecting me (which makes me feel all mushy inside) and also because my neighbourhood is so crappy that he couldn’t even park his car there for a couple of hours without someone trying to steal it.

“I have good health insurance,” he replies. “Does that make a difference?”

His eyes light up for a moment, like he’s actually enjoying this or something.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe.”

Our question is answered no longer than twenty minutes later, when a nurse calls his name. Yep, the insurance definitely makes a difference. I’ve spent my whole life on free healthcare and sometimes have had to wait several hours to be seen. I try to go with Shane, but in a clipped voice the nurse informs me that’s not allowed. Huh. I wonder why she’s being so snotty. Maybe I gave her a hassle years ago and she remembers my face.

I sit back down in the seat and pull out my phone, dialling the number of the police station nearest my home. A male voice I recognise answers, a cop I’ve had to deal with a few times over the last couple months when Pete’s gotten himself into trouble. He’s a bit of an old prick, but aren’t they all? Sergeant Finnegan, I think I remember his name being.

I quickly tell him the details of what happened, and he says he’ll look into it. I get the feeling he doesn’t exactly play things by the book, because I’m sure he should have told me to come down to the station.

When Shane returns, he has that pleased look in his eye that shows he’s been given some good painkillers. He lifts the side of his shirt to show me his hip is all bandaged up.

“Are you going to be okay to play your instrument?” I ask with concern, trying not to ogle his momentarily bared abdomen.

He waves me off. “Oh, yeah, it was only a little cut.”

I grin and make a funny swooning noise. “Such a man.”

“The manliest.” He smiles and dangles his keys in my face. “Now take me home, woman. I strangely enjoy watching you drive my car.”

I swipe the keys and stand up. “What, like a comedy of errors?”

“Nah, more like foreplay.”

Snorting, I reply, “Oh, God. Did you really mean to say that?”

He continues, smiling happily, “Yes, Jade. Yes, I did.”

“I think they might have given you too much meds. You know sometimes that stuff works like truth serum.”

Pretending like he needs to lean on me for strength, despite just claiming his injury was only a little cut, he puts his arm around my shoulder. “This was a great night,” he declares. “I love being around you. You really know how to live.”

We’ve just reached his car when I slip out from under his arm and open the passenger door for him.

“Yeah, I know how to get my new friend stabbed and his car almost stolen. Such a great life I live,” I reply mockingly as I start the engine.

We’re driving out of the hospital when Shane says, “It’s better than being sheltered. You live in the real world, Jade, and you don’t know how desperate I am to join you.”

Turning from the road for a moment, I give him a funny look. “You live in the real world, too, Shane.”

“I live in a world of privilege.”

“Just because it’s privileged doesn’t mean it’s not real. It means you’re fortunate.”

He shakes his head and reaches out to put his hand on my arm. “It’s stifling and fake. And so fucking lonely. I want you to teach me to be like you, to live like you.”

For a while I remain quiet. Then I reply, “My life is one long series of fuck-ups, bad luck, and mistakes. I have nothing good to teach you. By the way, we’re almost in Ranelagh. Where’s your house?”

“Turn left here,” he says. “And I’m not letting you change the subject. Teach me, Jade.”

“You’re very strange sometimes.”

“Teach me.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Jade, please, just say yes.” He squeezes my arm. “I need this. You don’t know how much.”

The sincerity in his eyes startles me; he seems almost desperate. And so, despite the fact that I have no clue what I’m signing myself up for, I reply, “Okay, Shane, I’ll teach you.”

He grins big. “Thank you. My house is just at the end of this street.”

I let out a breath and park outside the red brick Victorian house. It has a really nice garden and white plantation shutters on the windows. Getting out, I throw him his keys.

“I need to call for a cab to bring me back to mine, but my battery’s dead,” I say as he catches them easily.

“Come inside. You can use the house phone.”

I eye his place warily, wondering if it’s a good idea that I go inside. He opens the door and turns to look at me when I haven’t moved.

“You coming in or what?”

“Yeah,” I answer finally, and walk into the foyer. The place has obviously been lovingly restored; it even has those old coloured tiles on the floor. Shane leads me to the living room and shows me to the phone, where I quickly dial Barry’s number. It rings out with no answer, so he must not be working tonight. Putting the phone back down on the receiver, I try to remember the number for my local taxi rank.

Shane’s sitting on his vintage brown leather sofa, watching me. We lock eyes for a long minute, a dozen emotions passing between us.

“Barry, the guy who drove you home the other night, he’s not picking up. I need to Google the number of another rank.”

Shane reaches into the pocket of his trousers and pulls out his sleek black iPhone. “Here, use this.”

I walk to him and reach out for the phone, but when I grab it, he doesn’t let it go.

“Stay,” he breathes, gaze intense.

“What?”

“Stay the night.”

“Shane, I can’t.”

Gripping my wrist with his other hand, he pulls me down onto his lap before I can resist, and then his hands are in my hair, trailing down my spine.

“We can’t do this,” I tell him, breathing heavily. My thighs are straddling his waist, and I can feel him hardening against me.

“Jade, please, just let me….” He trails off and pulls my face to his. Then he does the sweetest thing by running his nose along my nose before nuzzling my neck. It’s so simple, yet feels incredibly intimate. I close my eyes, wanting so much to give in and let him slip inside me. All he needs to do is hitch my dress up and undo his pants. So very fucking easy, and yet I know I have to be strong. Temptation is around me all the time, and Shane is just another form of it.

Shakily I open my eyes and get off his lap. He watches me, a sad expression on his face. He knows I’m not going to stay. Without another word, I quickly search for a number on his phone and then call a cab. The lady on the other end tells me a car will be there in ten minutes, but that could be ten minutes too long if I have to stare at Shane and think of all the things I can’t allow myself to have.

I look around the room for a distraction and see his violin perched on a stand. Walking to it, I run my fingers over its surface.

“It’s an original Stradivarius,” Shane says in a quiet voice, almost like he’s telling me a secret.

I turn to him, open-mouthed. “You’re joking.”

There are only a couple hundred of these violins left in the world, and Shane just leaves this one sitting in his living room for anyone to steal. Is he crazy? It’s at least worth several hundred thousand euros, if not millions.

“Not joking,” he replies, smiling.

“Uh, shouldn’t this be locked up in a safe or something?”

“Now, where would be the point in that? The beauty of an instrument is to play it, not to leave it to get dusty in a safe. Besides, it’s insured up the wazoo.”

I can’t stop staring at the violin, a piece of wood that was created perhaps two hundred years ago. What historical figures have held it in their hands? What great musicians have made it sing for them? Hundreds of multi-coloured fingerprints rise up on the shiny wood, dancing along its length, telling a thousand tales of music. I blink, and they’re gone.

“But how can you even afford this? I know your string quartet was popular but….”

“My grandfather left me a sum of money when he died. The rest I took from my own savings. I dreamed of having this instrument since I was a boy, and then a few years ago I finally had the means to pay for it.”

“Wow.”

“You sound impressed.”

“I am impressed, very much so. But you need to keep it locked up when you’re not at home.”

Shane shrugs. “I usually do. This time I forgot. Anyway, very few people would think it was anything other than a plain old violin if they saw it.”

“Hmm, that’s true.” I hesitate before continuing impulsively, “Play something for me.”

Shane tilts his head, studying me, then nods and goes to pick up the instrument. I watch him; he hasn’t even started playing yet, and I’m already enraptured simply by the way he moves. Bringing the bow to the strings, he plays a slow, sad tune. I recognise it from his album, the one I’ve been listening to far too much. He only gets a couple of notes in when there’s a harsh knock at the door, breaking my too short reverie.

“Damn, that’s the taxi.”

Shane nods, placing the violin back on its stand. “We’re forever being interrupted by those blasted things,” he says, referring to the other night in my kitchen.

“Yes, strange that,” I say with a smile.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“I am.” God, why is my voice coming out so breathy?

“I have two concerts to play, so I might see you around.”

Walking to him, I give his wrist a light squeeze. “See you tomorrow, then.”

And I go, walking straight out the front door and leaving behind what could very well have been an incredible night I’d never forget.

Chapter Eight

The next day I walk into work tired as hell. I had a rough time of it trying to get Pete up and ready for school this morning. Then I had to talk down an anxious April, whose first day as Lara’s child-minder is today. She might act like the cock of the walk most of the time, but April is prone to panic attacks, especially when she has to try something new.

In the end I got them both out the door with just enough time to shower, have breakfast, and take Specky for a quick walk before my shift. I’m manning the first-floor bar again today, and when I walk in I spy two men seated off to the side, deep in chat. I immediately recognise one of them as Shane, and the other I’ve never met before.

I take over from my co-worker and start restocking the fridges with bottles. Shane and the man he’s talking to are close enough for me to hear most of their conversation; I quickly catch on that he’s a journalist and Shane’s being interviewed for some magazine or newspaper. I guess it makes sense, since he is sort of a celebrity in the classical music world.

“So, you’re enjoying being back on home soil?” asks the journalist.

“Oh, sure. It’s great to play around the world, but there’s something that little bit special about being home. My parents used to take me to see concerts in this hall when I was just a boy. I idolised the violinists in the symphony, and now I’m one of them. Plus, there’s a great sense of community in an orchestra that you don’t get in smaller groups.”

The journalist chuckles. “It must be very fulfilling, but let me ask you, your departure from The Bohemia Quartet was somewhat abrupt. You say you left for health reasons, but now you’re playing again, so what I want to know is if that was really the reason why you left?”

Whoa, diving straight for the juicy tidbits there. Shane’s jaw flexes ever so slightly, but he quickly covers his anger at being asked such a personal question by laughing good-naturedly. “Yes, that was the real reason. I know everybody likes a good scandal, but in this case there wasn’t one.”

“So why haven’t you re-joined the group? You’re obviously back to health now.”

“As you probably already know,” says Shane patiently, “our manager, Jack Campbell, replaced me with a new violinist, Andrew Hollows. He’s a very talented musician, and I couldn’t have asked for a better replacement to bring the group into a new era. Besides, it was time for a change.”

“But didn’t you just say you left for health reasons?”

“Yes, but I also wanted to move on with my career, do something different.”

“You just mentioned your manager, Jack Campbell. Might I ask you about your relationship with his daughter, Mona Campbell, the concert pianist?”

Mona was his fiancée? Perhaps that’s who the album Songs for Her was named after. He must have really loved her to have done that. Shane drums his fingers on the table for a moment, and I wonder if it’s a sign that he’s getting ticked off with this line of questioning. He swallows visibly. “What would you like to know?”

“Word is that you two were engaged to be married, but she broke it off. Now she’s in a very public relationship with the Bohemia Quartet’s cellist, Justin Burke. Do you still keep in contact with either of them?”

“I wish them both every happiness, but no, we’re not still in touch.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there,” the journalist replies brazenly.

Shane doesn’t say anything, but simply eyes the man like he can’t believe what a prick he’s being. Neither of them have noticed my presence in the empty bar, so I decide to interrupt and give Shane a little break from the interview.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” I ask, approaching their table.

Shane’s eyes widen when he sees me, confirming my suspicions that he didn’t realise I’d come in. Damn, now I feel bad for eavesdropping. He might not have wanted me to know some of the stuff that was just said.

“Oh, an orange juice for me,” says the journalist, and I turn my attention to Shane.

“I’m good,” he says abruptly, and I frown.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have interrupted, but I was only trying to help. I walk back behind the bar and pour an orange juice into a glass of ice. I don’t really want to return to their table, given Shane’s somewhat frosty reception, but I don’t have another choice now.

Silently, I place the glass down on the table and quickly return to my station. Shane doesn’t meet my eyes the entire time, and I can’t tell if he’s pissed off or just embarrassed. They’ve moved on to a lighter, less personal topic now. I lose myself in my work, focusing intently on stacking glasses and stocking the bar for this afternoon’s event; a famous opera singer has flown in from Italy to do a handful of shows, and she’ll be accompanied by the house orchestra.

I like opera. Even though I can’t understand the words, somehow my brain translates the emotions, in the same way an instrumental piece can tell me a story with no words at all.

I’m in the small storage room at the back of the bar when I get a text from Alec telling me he’ll take care of dinner tonight for April and Pete since I’m going to be working until eight. As I type out a quick thank-you in response, I hear somebody enter the room from the soft click of a shoe. Turning around, I find Shane standing mere inches away from me.

“Uh, you’re not supposed to be in here,” I say while his eyes roam my face. Tingles seize my chest at his closeness. I can feel the air of his breath hit my cheeks.

“I know. I just wanted to apologise for being cold with you earlier. It wasn’t you — I was just pissed with the guy interviewing me.”

Sucking in a quick breath, I nod. “Yeah, he seemed to be going right for the jugular. How are your stitches?”

“They’re fine, a little stingy and a lot itchy. You look good in that shirt,” he says, the words tumbling out like he hadn’t meant to vocalise the thought.

I give him a small grin. “This is my work uniform. You’ve seen me in it before.”

“And you’ve always looked good in it.” His hand moves to my shoulder, his thumb brushing slowly back and forth.

I swallow.

“So, um, what was the interview for?”

He rolls his eyes and smiles. “They’re doing a feature on me in Hot Press, though you’d think it was for a gossip mag by the way that guy was carrying on.”

“Yeah, stupid nosy bastard,” I reply jokingly. “Asking lots of questions like it’s his job or something.”

Shane squeezes my shoulder and narrows his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Think you’re clever, huh?”

I raise my chin and continue to taunt him. “Yes, I think I’m very clever, Shane Arthur.”

He moves an inch closer. “Oh, really?”

“Mm-hmm.” His chest rubs off mine, and now I’m pushed up against the wall.

He dips his nose to my neck and inhales deeply. “You smell good,” he whispers, and I momentarily lose the ability to speak. The next thing I know his mouth is on my neck, sucking, and I let out an involuntary moan. Jesus. My willpower is really being tested as I force myself to pull away from him. His body is hard and strong, so it’s difficult to pry him off me, especially since he seems so determined to keep his mouth on my neck. If I don’t stop him soon, he’s going to leave a mark.

Perhaps that’s his intention.

Finally, I twist my body, duck, and swing under his arm. My chest is rising and falling quickly, and his gorgeous brandy-coloured eyes have grown dark with need. I move to the door, wrapping my fingers around the handle.

“You’re taking liberties here, Shane. I already told you where we stand.”

His eyes dip at the ends sadly as he continues to stare at me. “Yeah, that’s right, you did. I’m sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

“Well, you should’ve tried harder. I can’t be in a relationship. You know this.” My words come out sounding weak and desperate. I really need him to stop pushing, because if he doesn’t, sooner or later I’m going to give in.

He walks to me and takes my hand into his. “I’m sorry, Bluebird. I promise not to do anything like that again.”

God. How could I ever stay mad at a face as beautiful as his?

I look at him seriously. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

“Okay, then.”

He smiles big. “So, um, now that we’re friends again, could I ask a favour?”

“You can ask,” I allow.

“Well, I’ve got to do this ridiculous photo shoot for the Hot Press interview, and I was wondering if you’d come with me? You know, for moral support. I hate doing these sorts of things, but it’s good publicity for the orchestra.”

My lips curve in a grin. “You’re doing a photo shoot! Of course I’ll come. When and where?”

The idea of watching Shane getting dressed up by some stylist like a living Ken doll is oddly appealing to me. Perhaps I’ll get to watch him try on outfits, catch glimpses of his perfect body. You know, like the best and worst kind of torture all rolled into one.

“Tomorrow at lunchtime in the Clarendon Hotel. You don’t have a shift then, do you?”

I shake my head. “No, tomorrow’s my day off. I had planned on doing some busking, but I’ll put it off to go with you.”

“Great. They’ve booked a suite. I’m not sure how long it’s going to run, but there’ll be food, so you won’t get hungry.”

I hold up a hand, laughing. “Hey, you had me at photo shoot, there’s no need to sweeten the deal with free food, although it’s always a plus.”

Shane lets out a breath as though in relief. “Thank you so much, Jade. It would have been torture going alone.”

When he says this, I realise that what he’s told me is true; he really doesn’t have any friends. I feel quite honoured that he’s allowing me into his life, but I also plan on remedying his friendlessness, so I say, “If I come with you to the photo shoot, will you come somewhere with me this Sunday?”

“Sure, I’m not working. Where do you want to go?”

“It’s a surprise, but I promise you’ll like it.”

“Has it got to do with you teaching me how to live?” he asks slyly.

Hmm, I’d forgotten about that one. “Yeah, in a way I guess it does.”

“Then I’m all in.”

***

For the rest of the day I’m rushed off my feet with work. It’s almost a full house for the afternoon and evening concerts, so I don’t get the chance to see Shane again. We exchanged numbers before leaving the storage room, and when I get home I’m tempted to send him a text. I don’t even have anything important to say, but for some reason I feel this need to touch base. I hate to admit it, but I love interacting with him, love talking to him about anything and everything.

I resist the urge and instead give in to a different temptation, one that I’m sure to regret. I Google his ex-fiancée, Mona Campbell, and discover that she’s a semi-famous musician just like Shane, and a concert pianist at that. She even has a Wiki page. My gut sinks when I see how drop-dead gorgeous she is. The facts I glean are that she’s twenty-nine years old, the daughter of manager mogul Jack Campbell, is world-renowned in her field, and has the silkiest chestnut brown hair I’ve ever seen.

There are one or two old pictures online of her and Shane when they were together, taken at some sort of awards ceremony. They look perfect. There are also a couple of newer ones of her with the cellist, Justin, and I don’t get it, because he’s not half as good-looking as Shane. Deciding to cut myself off — otherwise, I’ll be browsing through pictures for the rest of the night — I go and check my emails.

A notification tells me that Shane Arthur has just added me on Facebook.

Interesting.

I laugh out loud when I check out his profile and see he’s got a grand total of 1,213 friends. Well, now, I’m definitely going to have fun with this. Immediately clicking to accept the friendship, I go straight to the private message function and type:

Jade Lennon, 21.43 p.m.: Only in this day and age can a man have 1,213 virtual friends while still having no friends at all. Here’s to number 1,214 being a real one ;-) P.S. How did you find me on this?

At first I put a few kisses at the end but then decide that might give him the wrong impression, so I change them to a winky face. Scrolling down his wall, all I see are messages from women proclaiming their love of his music. One girl called Suzy Carmine has posted almost every day for the last month. That’s kind of alarming, taking into account the fact that Shane hasn’t responded, but only “liked” the first few. A couple of minutes later he writes back:

Shane Arthur, 21.50 p.m.: It’s pathetic, right? They’re all fans and work contacts. I’m thinking 1,214 is going to be the magic number. Found you through your phone.

Jade Lennon, 21.53 p.m.: I am magic, aren’t I? And no, it’s not pathetic. I’m going to transform that low self-esteem into high self-esteem if it’s the last thing I do, mister! Btw, what’s the deal with Suzy Carmine? She seems…enthusiastic.

Shane Arthur, 21.54 p.m.: You’ve been busy, or should I say nosy! Sometimes the fans can be a little intense. She’ll get bored and move on eventually. P.S. Yes, you are fucking magic. Xxx

Jade Lennon, 21.54 p.m.: You’re too sweet.

Shane Arthur, 21.55 p.m.: You should let me show you how sweet I can be.

Jade Lennon, 21.55 p.m.: Shane…

Shane Arthur, 21.56 p.m.: I know. Sorry.

Jade Lennon, 21.56 p.m.: Okay, you’re forgiven. You nervous for tomorrow?

Shane Arthur, 21.57 p.m.: Dreading it :-/

Jade Lennon, 21.57 p.m.: Don’t be. You’re going to be fantastic. Are you bringing your violin?

Shane Arthur, 21.57 p.m.: Yeah, they want to get to some pics of me with the Strad.

Jade Lennon, 21.58 p.m.: Oh, this is going to be so much fun. For me, I mean. :-D I get to be a spectator.

Shane Arthur, 21.58 p.m.: You’re cruel.

Jade Lennon, 21.59 p.m.: Mwah ha ha.

Shane Arthur, 21.59 p.m.: I just realised your name is three letters off John Lennon.

I laugh when I read this.

Jade Lennon, 21.59 p.m.: That’s because I’m John Lennon reincarnated as a female. I was born seven years after he died, so it’s entirely possible.

Shane Arthur, 22.00 p.m.: Well, in that case I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for writing some of the best songs of the 20th century.

Jade Lennon, 22.01 p.m.: You’re most welcome.

Shane Arthur, 22.01 p.m.: Lol.

A couple of minutes pass and I’m tired, so I decide to say my goodbyes for the night.

Jade Lennon, 22.05 p.m.: Right, I’m gonna get some sleep. Talk to you tomorrow, friend!

Shane Arthur, 22.05 p.m.: Cool. Dream of me, Bluebird. Xxx.

His last message makes my belly flutter. He doesn’t know it, but I’ve dreamt of him practically every night since I met him. His kisses make my cheeks grow warm even though they aren’t real ones.

The next day I dress casually in jeans and a cream blouse. I’m on my way to meet Shane at the Clarendon when a little kid slides in front of me. He can’t be any more than eleven or twelve, and he has the gall to ask, “Hey, missus, gotta smoke?”

“No, I don’t. And you’re too young to be smoking,” I say before walking by him.

“Yeah, well, your arse is too big to be wearing those jeans, but that didn’t stop ya, did it?” he shouts after me, brazen as you like.

Ah, lovely. If I ever feel I’m getting too full of myself, all I’ll need to do is walk down this street, and I’m sure some little fucker will take me down a peg or two. Continuing my walk, I surreptitiously check out my bottom in a shop window. It’s certainly well-endowed, but…oh, fuck it. I’m not thinking about this.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I find a text from Shane telling me he’s already at the hotel and that he left my name at the reception desk. When I get there a couple of minutes later, I’m ushered on through to the elevators by a helpful receptionist.

Oh, yeah, one of life’s mysteries, why do elevators always have to be lined with mirrors? After my run-in with “little mister gotta smoke,” I’m feeling decidedly paranoid about my appearance, so I could really do without the three-dimensional view right now. I run my fingers through my wind-tossed hair and wipe a fleck of mascara away from under my eye.

When I reach the suite, I knock on the door and get greeted by a pretty redhead, the photographer’s assistant. Stepping inside, I find quite the professional setup. They must be planning on putting him on the cover or something.

Shane’s sitting in a chair while a stylist does his hair, which in my opinion doesn’t really need doing anyway. He looks so out of his comfort zone that I have to stifle the urge to laugh. There’s a free-standing clothes rack lining one wall and it’s full of classy men’s outfits — designer suits and the like.

His eyes are constantly scanning the room while his hair is fussed over, and when he sees me he gives a full-on smile; it’s one part happy to see me and two parts relieved his friend is here to make him feel less awkward at being primped up like a show pony.

“Jade,” he says, standing to greet me while the stylist scowls that he’s moved out of her reach. He takes my hand when I get to him and gives it a soft kiss, which makes a little swoosh rush through my chest.

“Hey, look at you,” I reply, gesturing to the sharp grey suit he’s wearing.

“Do I scrub up well?” he asks modestly.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Mr Arthur, I need to finish your hair,” the stylist, a twenty-something honey blonde, interrupts impatiently.

I give him the nod to sit back down and he does, while I peruse a table of sandwiches and drinks set up nearby. I pick up one that looks like smoked salmon and cream cheese, and pop it discreetly into my mouth, all la di da I’m just taking a look around.

“Jade, could you bring me some of those? I’m starving,” Shane calls, and I turn in surprise to find he’d been watching me. Caught red-handed. It causes me to gulp the whole thing down in one go like a bird of prey swallowing a live robin.

I purse my lips at him and suppress a smirk of my own, while putting a couple of the tiny sandwiches on a paper plate and carrying them over to him. The stylist lets out a sigh as I approach; I’m obviously making her job harder here, but Shane did ask for something to eat.

Feeling playful, I lift a sandwich to his mouth for him to take a bite. His eyes stay on mine the entire time as his mouth closes over it. Okay, perhaps that was a questionable move.

I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to stay platonic with a man I’m this strongly attracted to. There’s an underlying note of sex in everything we do. I can barely look at him without remembering what it felt like to have him fill me up, for him to effortlessly hold me and fuck me against a brick wall.

I hand him the plate then, deciding that feeding him was a little too…sensual for my liking. A couple of minutes later, the photographer, a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, strolls into the room and starts giving Shane directions as to where he wants him. I sit back and watch as he removes his violin from its case and goes to sit on a chair by the window.

The photographer tells Shane to look out the window and try to affect a thoughtful expression. He flattens out his mouth and narrows his eyes, giving a faraway look. I can’t help smiling, because he’s clearly not enjoying this at all. His posture is all ramrod straight.

The photographer tries to give him more directions, but he’s sort of useless at taking them. I butt in, saying, “Hey, why don’t you try squinching?”

The photographer turns to me, shakes his head, and laughs.

“Do I even want to know what that is?” Shane asks, hesitant but amused.

“It’s all the rage right now,” I explain. “You just sort of squint your eyelids and it’s supposed to make you look better in pictures, you know, like, all moody and smouldering. Ben and Clark both swear by it.”

I internally chuckle, remembering Ben showing me his holiday pictures from Spain last summer, and in every one it’s pretty obvious that he and Clark were trying to out-squinch each other, which just ends up looking ridiculous. So yeah, a rule of thumb, if you’re going to squinch, make sure there isn’t anybody else in the photo doing it as well.

“If I squint I’m going to look constipated, Jade,” Shane replies, deadpan, and I let out a bark of laughter.

The photographer puts his hand on his hip, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Is she your girlfriend?” he asks while snapping a couple of shots. Shane is still looking at me and smiling.

“Nah, just a friend,” he answers as he regards me warmly.

“Mm-hmm,” the photographer responds in a very sure she’s just a friend sort of way.

“Ugh, I’m so bad at this,” says Shane dejectedly, rubbing at his forehead for a second.

“Honey, nobody with a face and body like yours is bad at getting pictured,” the redheaded assistant butts in, all sass and flirtation. I automatically give her an evil look without realising I’m doing it. Shane is the only one who catches me, and he seems pleased as punch about it. Great, now he thinks I’m jealous.

“Hey, I know. You should play something and not think about trying to pose,” I say. “Forget anybody else is in the room, and just pretend you’re practicing. I bet you’ll look really natural in the shots if you do that.”

The photographer clicks his fingers at me. “That’s a fabulous idea.” Turning his attention to Shane, he says, “I like your friend — she’s good.”

“All right, I’ll give it a try,” says Shane, lifting his bow and setting the violin under his chin. He starts to play a really lovely, almost dreamy song, and the photographer is like a bat out of hell snapping pictures. I smile, satisfied that my idea is working. Sitting back on my stool, I watch the images float out of the camera and sail through the window like bubbles floating on air, capturing a moment of musical brilliance. The melody sparks off the images and makes them shine, makes them that much more vital.

A picture is just a picture, but add music and there’s emotion. There’s a story.

Shane plays for about five minutes, and I’m sure at least a hundred or more shots have been taken within that short space of time. In a voice that is unexpectedly quiet and entranced, I ask him the name of the song he just played.

“Méditation de Thaïs,” he answers, setting his violin down on his lap, gaze on me.

“It’s beautiful,” I reply, mentally repeating the name over and over in my head so that I’ll remember to download it onto my iTunes later on. I’m too embarrassed to try to write it down, because then he’ll know how affected I am.

A moment later the stylist abruptly calls for a wardrobe change, and my special moment is broken. This time she puts Shane in an all-black ensemble. Her phone starts ringing just as she’s about to put on his tie, so she hands it to me instead while she goes to answer the call.

Walking up to him tie in hand, I feel my throat go decidedly dry. Since he’s a bit taller than I am, I have to reach up to wrap the fabric around his neck. My fingers slide over his smooth skin, and I notice his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“You always dress well, but I have to admit right now you’re looking pretty dapper, Mr Arthur,” I say softly, and his head dips down a little while he watches the movement of my hands intently. He’s not speaking, and for some reason that makes me extra nervous. Our breaths mingle. We’re so close, and my stupid girl brain makes me go slowly with the tie, wrapping it once in a loop, pulling it up and over, and then slotting it through the loop. I tighten it a little, and several seconds tick by before I cough and step back.

“There you go. Perfect,” I whisper.

We lock gazes for a long moment, and then the door to the suite opens and shuts. When the sound of heels clicking on wood rings out, a posh female voice declares, “Oh, don’t you just look marvellous!”

I turn to see a tall, slim brunette lady wearing a tailored business suit standing a couple of feet away from us. Looking back to Shane, I’m not sure if I’m mistaken when I see him grimace.

“Hi, Mum,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Chapter Nine

A moment later Shane’s mother notices me standing there, and her brow furrows for a split second.

“Hello. I’m Mirin Arthur. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says, holding out her hand to me.

“Hi, Mirin. I’m Jade, a friend of Shane’s.”

She moves her lips in a weird way when she hears my accent and then says, “How nice, and where did you two meet?”

“Jade works at the concert hall, Mum,” Shane interrupts. Is it just me, or does he seem annoyed?

Her gaze darts to him and then back to me. “Oh, really, are you in management there?”

“Uh, no, I’m just floor staff.”

Usually I like to think I’m a decently confident person, but there’s something about this woman that makes me feel inferior. I’ve always been pretty proud of my job; I get to work in a wonderful place, but Mirin Arthur stares at me like I just told her I clean rat-infested sewers for a living.

“Right, well, it’s lovely to meet you,” she says with a fake smile, and then she turns her attention to the photographer. Striding toward him, she requests to have a look at the pictures taken so far, before proceeding to ooh and aah at how well they turned out.

Shane and I remain silent. I never considered the fact that his parents might not approve of our friendship, and let’s face it, I’m sure I’m aeons away from the women he usually sees. Not that we’re seeing each other. I’m definitely nothing like Mona Campbell, anyway. I bet she and Mirin got along like a house on fire.

While his mother talks on and on in the background, Shane takes a few steps towards me and discreetly laces his fingers through mine. He gives my hand a tight squeeze and whispers in my ear, “Don’t let her get to you.”

I pretend not to know what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?”

“I know how she is. My mother has this knack for sucking the life out of people. I have first-hand experience.”

My eyes are drawn to the woman as he tells me this. Now she’s arranging a vase of flowers on top of a chest of drawers. They’re bright and purple, but they wither away when she touches them, until they’re all black detritus.

“She does have a certain…way about her,” I finally agree.

Shane huffs a breath, like I’m putting it way too mildly, and let’s face it, I am.

“My mother is a fucking snob, Jade. I promised myself I’d stop caring about her opinion a long time ago, and I have. Do you know when I discovered Mona had cheated on me, I was more anxious about what my mother would think than anything else? How fucked up is that?”

I stare at him, my mouth open. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. I knew that she’d blame me for it, and of course she did. She thought the sun shone out of Mona’s too shiny and perfect-to-be-true arse. In fact, she still does. She thinks it was somehow my fault our engagement didn’t pan out.”

God, this poor man. He says he’s stopped caring, but the way he’s talking right now tells me he’s far from over the hold his mother seems to have on him. Perhaps that’s what his whole “teach me how to live” thing is about. He wants me to teach him how to get free from the emotional bondage.

Our hushed conversation is interrupted when Mirin calls, “Oh, Shane, come over here and stand by the door. I think it will make for a good background.”

I smirk when I notice the photographer giving the stylist an eye roll. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s not thrilled about Mommy Dearest coming in and taking over. Shane kisses me lightly on the cheek, sighs heavily, and goes to his mother. When I see Mirin looking at me in a puzzled way, I realise she saw the kiss and is none too happy about it.

My phone rings in my pocket, a welcome distraction. I pull it out to find Pete’s number flashing on the screen. I can only imagine what this is going to be about. I always make sure to call both April and Pete at least once or twice a day if I’m not in the house to make sure they’re okay. When Pete’s the one calling me it’s usually because he’s in trouble or needs money. He hasn’t called for money in a while, though, which is worrying, since he’s a fifteen-year-old boy with no form of income. It begs the question, where is he getting his cash from?

“Hey, Petey, what’s up?” I answer, walking into the next room of the suite to take the call.

There’s an audible sigh, then, “You need to go to my parent teacher evening.”

Jeez, is it that time of year again already? “Oh, yeah. When is it?”

“Uh, tonight.”

“Okay, you could have given me a few days warning.”

“This is me giving you warning, Jade. It’s two-thirty — the whole thing starts at seven.”

“Yes, but I would have liked some time to organise a decent outfit and all.”

“Fuck, are you going or not?” he grits out.

“Don’t swear at me. I’m not one of your pals on the street. And yes, of course I’m going. I’m your guardian, after all.”

“Good. Hanging up now.”

“I’ll be home to make dinner. I love you.”

All I get is an embarrassed, “Jesus Christ,” before he makes good on his promise and hangs up. I don’t care how much it annoys him — I’m going to keep telling him I love him until it finally sinks in.

A word to the wise, fifteen-year-old boys are perhaps the most emotionally stunted individuals on God’s green earth. And, I’ll add, they do not do well with compliments, affection, or any form of kindness, especially when given by older sisters.

Walking back into the room where Shane is being pictured, I mentally calculate how much time I’ll need to go to the shop for groceries, get home, cook dinner, find something to wear, and be at Pete’s school by seven. Yeah, I should probably get going soon. I hate to leave Shane since I said I’d stay with him for this, but his mum’s here now, so he won’t be entirely alone.

Though from our brief conversation earlier, I’m guessing he’d probably prefer to be alone than to have his mother here.

The photographer is sorting through shots, so I walk up to Shane to tell him I’ve got to go.

“That was my brother Pete. He decided to spring it on me that his parent teacher evening is tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I leave early?”

Standing from his seat, Shane replies, “No, of course not.” He pauses and then randomly volunteers, “I could go with you if you like?”

Giving him a funny look, I respond, “To the parent teacher evening?”

“Yeah, why not?” He lowers his voice. “That way I can pay you back for the moral support.”

I rub my forehead. “These things can be pretty stressful, especially when you’re dealing with a kid like my brother.” I go quiet for a moment, considering it and thinking about how the snobbish teachers sometimes look down on me because of my age and the fact that I’m only Pete’s sister. Having someone like Shane by my side could definitely make me look more respectable…they might even think he’s my husband or something. Okay, so not going there.

“You can come, but are you even done here?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “They’ve taken enough photos of me to last a lifetime, Jade. Besides, I don’t think I can stand much more of this,” he says, casting his eyes in his mother’s direction as she continues to pester the photographer.

A small chuckle escapes me. “She likes to take the lead, I see.”

“A long career as the CEO of an international charity will do that,” Shane mutters under his breath.

“She runs a charity? That’s impressive,” I tell him, letting out a low whistle. Mirin Arthur might not have been particularly nice to me, but I can respect a woman with that kind of drive.

“Think of it more as a business than a charity, but yeah, ‘impressive’ is one way of putting it.”

The tone of Shane’s voice tells me he doesn’t exactly agree. Loosening his tie, he says he’s going to go change. As I wait, I shove another tiny sandwich down my gullet to see me through until dinnertime (and a few in my handbag for Specky), and then I play with my phone for a bit.

Somebody clears their throat, and I glance up to see Mirin standing in front of me.

“My son likes you,” she states, all matter of fact, and I don’t know how to reply or if she even expects me to. Instead I stay quiet and wait to see what she’ll say next. Her eyes trail over me intently. Jeez, what’s she doing, taking my measurements or something?

Unable to stand the silence, I blurt, “Yeah, me and Shane are tight.”

Oh, God, did I just say that to this woman? That was probably one of the most ridiculous sentences to have ever come out of my mouth. Mirin gives me an almost imperceptible smile.

“Have you known each other long?”

“Not long.”

“I see.” She presses her lips together before continuing in a voice that’s not quite threatening, but it’s not not threatening, either. “My son is a vulnerable man, Miss…”

“Lennon.”

“Miss Lennon. He’s been through a very rough year, and I wouldn’t like to see him being taken advantage of.”

Vulnerable. What exactly does she mean by that? I nod along to what she says before I realise what she’s getting at. She thinks I’m trying to take advantage of him? Fuck, if this is the way she talks to all the people who’ve ever been in his life, then I get why he doesn’t have any friends.

“I assure you, Mirin, that when it comes to your son, I have only the purest of intentions. You have nothing to worry about.” Okay, so maybe I didn’t mean for that to come out sounding so sarcastic, but I can’t help getting riled up by her. You’d think her son was the King of England and I’m some hussy trying to sleep her way to the throne.

“Listen to me, if you think you can wheedle your way into his affections with your obvious…attractions” —her gaze flicks briefly to my chest and then back up to my eyes before she continues— “you are sadly mistaken. I will not see you hurt him. He has already been hurt enough.”

“Maybe you should look in the mirror and you’ll see who’s really hurting him,” I whisper, unable to help myself.

“What did you just say?” she whisper-hisses back at me.

“Is everything all right?” Shane asks, just entering the room, his expression suspicious as he takes in his mother’s fuming face.

“Fine and dandy,” I reply. “Are we off?”

“Yes. I’ll talk to you later, Mum,” he says, stepping forward and giving Mirin what seems to be a very strained kiss on the cheek.

“You’re leaving? But I was hoping we could do dinner at Marco Pierre’s?” she replies, affecting a disappointed demeanour.

“Another time, Mum,” is all he says before he’s putting his hand to the small of my back and ushering me out the door.

All the way to the elevator I feel like I’m holding my breath. Once we step inside the car, I let it all out, slumping back against those aforementioned pesky mirrors.

“Your mother is a character,” I say as Shane eyes me with some sort of intensity. His hand is still on my back, right at the base of my spine, and he’s rubbing small circles into the fabric of my shirt.

“My mother is never happy, not with anything. She’s always striving for something better, and then when she gets it there’s something else she wants.”

Even though he’s right beside me, his eyes are faraway.

I turn to face him, feeling far too close in the small space, yet I don’t move to put any distance between us. “Don’t let her make you feel like you’re anything other than perfect, Shane,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

His faraway eyes come back to me. “What is perfect, anyway?”

“Whatever you want it to be. Think of it more as a feeling. I think perfect is just feeling content with your lot.”

The elevator doors open just then, signalling we’ve arrived on the ground floor. Shane doesn’t respond to what I’ve said, but from the look on his face I can tell he’s really thinking about it. I ask him if he drove in, but he tells me no, that he left his car at home. Parking in the city is shit and all that jazz.

“I have to go grocery shopping first. Are you sure you still want to tag along?”

“Of course,” he replies enthusiastically, like I just told him I’m going on a roller-coaster ride instead of picking up a few things for dinner.

When we reach the supermarket, I surreptitiously stand aside and pretend to be searching for something in my bag, when really I’m toting up how much money I have to spend. I think Shane notices what I’m doing but he doesn’t say anything.

I decide I’m in the mood for something creamy, so I grab the ingredients for a spaghetti carbonara. April always complains when I cook Italian, too many carbs apparently (cue heavy sigh), but she’ll just have to put up with it for one evening. Shane follows alongside me as I stroll the aisles, like a really well-behaved dog. He watches me pick stuff up and mull over prices as though it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever witnessed.

To be honest, it’s starting to weird me out. I’m beginning to learn that this man can be pretty full-on.

“What do you normally like to eat?” I ask to break his rapt attention.

He grins sheepishly. “I usually order my food from this gourmet delivery service. I never really have time to cook. They do a chicken and avocado salad that I’m seriously addicted to.”

“Gourmet delivery, you say,” I tease him while twirling my invisible moustache. “What, is Dominos not good enough for you?”

“Dominos is fine, but if I don’t want to put on ten stone, then I try to avoid fast food.”

“Hmm, what do you do to keep in shape?” I ask, placing a bag of dried pasta in my basket.

“I run. I’ve never bothered with gyms because I haven’t really been in one place for long enough to justify a membership. Running is something you can do anywhere.”

He must run a lot, because let’s just say his violin is not the only thing that’s finely tuned, if you get me.

Thirty euros’ worth of groceries and one cab ride (courtesy of Shane) later, we reach my place, and Shane offers to put the food away while I feed Specky. She starts yipping like a maniac at the back door when I come in, so I let her into the kitchen.

“Okay, okay, come inside out of the cold, you mad little bitch,” I tell her — because I’m one of those ridiculous (often lonely) people who have whole conversations with their pets.

When she sees there’s a stranger in the house she goes quiet, though, eyeing him with suspicion. I pick her up in my arms and give her a kiss on the top of the head.

“Shane, I’d like you to meet Specky. Specky, this is Shane,” I say, bringing her close so that he can pet her. He puts the new carton of milk in the fridge and then turns his attention to my dog. Because she’s only a miniature Jack Russell, she’s particularly tiny.

“She’s fucking adorable. Is she still a puppy?” he asks.

“Nope, just the runt of the litter,” I reply, smiling.

“Why Specky?”

“See the spots around her eyes? I think they look like spectacles.”

His lips curve up when he glances at me. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, shush,” I say, sticking out my tongue at him.

I let Specky down so that she can eat the food I just put in her bowl. She’s been clawing at me to get to it, suffering through the introduction to the new human. Shane sits down on a chair, suppressing a smirk at my embarrassment over him calling me cute. I turn on the radio and start to throw together the dinner. The great thing about carbonara is that it’s cheap and you can make it in only a couple of minutes.

Over the next half an hour my siblings all arrive home, eager for something to eat. They sit at the table with Shane, shoving food into their mouths and asking him a million nosy questions. I wish they’d stop.

Alec watches on with amusement as April pulls her chair up as close as it will get to Shane’s, telling him she’d love to come see him play at the concert hall sometime, and, I shit you not, twisting a strand of her brown hair around her finger.

“That’s surprising,” I butt in cynically, “since you’ve never once expressed an interest in the place in the two years that I’ve worked there.”

She scowls vaguely in my direction, her catty blue eyes like a pair of laser beams.

“Jade’s got a point,” says Alec, pointing his fork at April. “All you ever listen to is Beyoncé anyway.”

“Would you two just shut the hell up?” she hisses, her cheeks getting redder by the second. Alec and I look at each other and laugh. Pete sits eating quickly and quietly, clearly wanting to have dinner over and done with so he can go out with his mates.

“I’ll be happy to get you a ticket for one of our upcoming shows if you’d like,” says Shane graciously, and April grins widely, her previous embarrassment all but forgotten.

“I’d like that very much, Shane,” she practically purrs at him.

I mouth the words thank you, and he smiles, waving off my gratitude. I know that he doesn’t have to humour my sister, but I’m glad that he’s being nice to her.

Yet again, this man has managed to warm my heart.

Chapter Ten

After dinner I tell April and Pete they’re on washing-up duty, to which I receive a whole array of complaints. I fold my arms and give them both my best death stare, and finally they get on with the task. Shane follows me upstairs to help me select an outfit for tonight.

The bedrooms in my house are pretty small, so basically my double bed takes up the entire space. If I got a single I could have more room, but there’s just something so depressing about sleeping in a single bed. It’s like, Yeah, I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve given up hope of ever sharing my sleeping quarters with another human being.

Seriously, the only people who should be sleeping in single beds are children and hospital patients. And yes, sometimes having an empty side can be just as depressing, but I generally remedy that problem by sleeping in the middle all spread out like a starfish. Try it. It might fuck your spine up something fierce, but it will be the cosiest snoozing experience of your life.

Shane eyes my walls, which are decorated with pale blue wallpaper that’s got golden sparrow patterns all over. I’m kind of obsessed with sparrows, hence my tattoos.

The symbolism of freedom is a big deal for me.

Old paperbacks line my window ledge and various pictures adorn my walls, mostly random art I’ve collected over the years. My bed is pushed right up next to the window, and on the other side is my wardrobe. Shane sits on the bed and scans the titles of my books. And yeah, he would have to select the copy of D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover to peruse. And let me just get out there that it’s not the new Penguin version with just the title on the cover, but an older version with a big sexy picture of a full-on naked woman on the front.

“What oh what is this?” Shane asks with a devious grin.

Okay, so I have been known to read some absolute filth in my time, but this one Lara brought over so that we could read it to each other over a bottle of non-alcoholic wine and have a giggle. I do a wicked Sean Bean impression.

“That,” I say, pointing a finger, “is not mine.”

Shane laughs long and hard.

“I swear! It’s Lara’s. It’s also a classic.”

He suppresses his smug-as-fuck smile. “Okay, I believe you. Millions wouldn’t.”

“Whatever.” I toss my hair over my shoulder and open my closet to search for something to wear. Peeking at Shane out of the corner of my eye, I see him flicking through the pages, clearly searching for the dirty bits to embarrass me further.

I’m considering a plain black dress when, God help me, he starts to read out loud:

“He drew down the thin silk sheath, slowly, carefully, right down and over her feet. Then with a quiver of exquisite pleasure he touched the warm soft body, and touched her navel for a moment in a kiss. And he had to come in to her at once, to enter the peace on earth of her soft, quiescent body. It was the moment of pure peace for him, the entry into the body of the woman.

She lay still, in a kind of sleep, always in a kind of sleep. The activity, the orgasm was his, all his; she could strive for herself no more. Even the tightness of his arms round her, even the intense movement of his body, and the springing of his seed in her, was a kind of sleep, from which she did not begin to rouse till he had finished and lay softly panting against her breast.”

I have to close my eyes when I hear his low, sensual voice reading the passage. I’m grateful for the closet door, which is shielding my face from him as I grip the edge of it so hard my knuckles have turned white.

“You’re evil,” I say, shaking myself out of whatever that just was.

He chuckles softly. “I was trying to embarrass you, but now I have to admit I’m kind of turned on.”

And I’m dripping fucking wet. This man’s voice is just as alluring as the music he plays, if not more so.

Grabbing a pillow from the bottom of my bed, I throw it at him and tell him to put the book away. I don’t fail to notice him “fix himself” as he slots it back onto the window ledge. Oh, Christ, what made me think it was a good idea to invite him up to my room? I’m so used to being around sexually nonthreatening gay men like Ben and Clark that I seem to forget Shane and I walk a very thin line between friends and lovers.

Trying to distract him, I pull out the black dress alongside a dark blue one to ask him his opinion.

When I turn back around, he has his violin out, looking ready to spin me a tune. He starts playing a riff from the start of David Bowie’s “Fashion,” and I roll my eyes.

“Very funny. I never would have pegged you as a Bowie fan,” I say, amused.

He feigns indignation. “I love Bowie!”

“Uh-huh. I’m not quite sure that song works on the violin, though. You need a double bass, my friend.”

He shrugs. “I try my best.”

“So, which do you think, the black dress or the blue one?” I ask, biting my lip. I don’t know why I always get so nervous for these parent teacher things. I guess I feel the need to overcompensate since I’m not Pete’s actual parent.

“The black one. It’s, how do you say? Très chic,” he answers, putting on fake French accent. Somebody’s playful this evening.

“I was going more for responsible and adult, but that will do,” I say, putting the blue one back in the closet and digging out my very precious Hermès scarf box from the bottom.

“What’s that?” Shane asks, playing a random little tune.

“It’s probably the most expensive thing in my wardrobe, but I managed to snag it for only a hundred euros on eBay. I spent a fortnight bidding, and I finally got my hands on one.”

When I place the box on the bed, he recognises the brand. “Oh, Hermès. Yeah, my grandmother used to wear those scarves.”

“Your grandmother was a classy bird, then.”

Opening the box, I pull out the red, navy, and gold silk and run my hands over its smoothness.

“Feel,” I say, holding it out to Shane. “One hundred percent pure silk. It’s like heaven in a fabric.”

His lips curve as he reaches out casually to touch it. “If you say so.”

“Oh, so unimpressed. I suppose all the kids from Dalkey grow up with silk pyjamas and Egyptian cotton sheets on their beds. Here in the liberties we’re lucky not to be subjected to those old scratchy war blankets,” I say sarcastically.

His amusement is clear as he watches me rant. “I grew up wearing Spiderman pyjamas, if you must know.”

I can’t help grinning at him. There’s just something about this man that manages to lure a permanent smile out of me. “Shut up.”

Going to the bathroom so that I can change in privacy, I bring my makeup bag along with me to reapply my mascara. Once I’m done, I return to my room, where Shane is still playing his violin. I guess that to get as good as he is, he needs to practice when and wherever he has the chance.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror by my wardrobe, I twist my hair up into a bun and then grab the silk scarf to tie around my neck. Next I slip on a pair of black heels, and I’m done. Shane pauses the song he’s playing to let out a low whistle.

“Looking good, Bluebird.”

“Why, thanks,” I reply, smearing on a dab of lip gloss.

I tell Shane he can leave his violin in my room while we’re gone and that I’ll lock the door. He nods and we go, walking to Pete’s school since it’s fairly close by. When we get there, the parking lot is full to the brim with cars and the lights are on in the classrooms. This isn’t the same school I went to; in fact, it’s one of the better ones in the area. I haven’t been back to my old school in a long time, and I never will. Too many bad memories there.

“So,” Shane says jokingly as he ushers me in the entrance, “how shall we play this? Am I your boyfriend, lover, gay best friend?”

“Oh, God, I didn’t even think of that. What do you want to be? I think gay best friend is out, though,” I say, laughing.

His eyes light up with a plan. “How about we tell them I’m your fiancé?”

“Hmm, that does have quite the classy ring to it,” I agree while a little rush goes through me at the idea. I’m a performer, a street artist, and I like to play pretend. Tonight I’ll pretend to be Jade Lennon, fiancée to Shane Arthur, concert violinist extraordinaire.

“That’s what we’ll say, then,” he replies, voice low, eyes intent on mine like he’s trying to decipher my reaction or something.

I pull out the piece of paper Pete gave me with his list of teachers on it. The first is Mr Hegarty, his science teacher. As we approach the classroom, Shane subtly slides his hand into mine. I’m about to pull away out of instinct when I remember the roles we’re playing. Holding hands is a perfectly normal thing for two engaged people to do.

Mr Hegarty is a plainly dressed man in his fifties. He greets us as we walk in and asks whose parents we are. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s thinking we’re both far too young to be parents to a teenager.

“Um, not parents. I’m Pete Lennon’s sister, his legal guardian, actually, and this is my fiancé, Shane.” I cough, the lie feeling ridiculous when I say it out loud. Still, this man doesn’t seem to notice. His expression immediately turns sour when I tell him I’m here for Pete.

“Right, well, let me see,” he says, flicking through a stack of folders before finding the one he’s looking for. “Your brother holds a rather unimpressive D average in my class, and I’m sorry to have to be frank, but half the time he doesn’t even bother to show up. If he wants to have any chance of passing his Junior Cert exam, then he’s really going to have to buck up.”

“He doesn’t show up?” I ask in alarm. “But the school never contacted me about any absences. Aren’t they supposed to do that?”

Mr Hegarty sighs and rubs at the crease in between his eyebrows. “The new attendance swipe cards they’ve brought in make things harder for us to tell when a student is absent. It’s a ridiculous system, in my opinion. The students are supposed to swipe them through the scanner once in the morning and then again after lunch. So we get a lot of kids having their friends swipe their cards for them, or else they come in, swipe them themselves, and then leave the school. It’s a big problem.”

“Right,” I say with a disgruntled heavy breath. “So this is clearly what Pete has been doing. He’s seriously in for it when I get home.”

“Miss Lennon, I’ve had kids like Pete coming through my doors for years. If they don’t want to be here, then there’s not a lot you can do beyond supervising their every move.”

“Yeah, and I definitely don’t have the time for that.”

“I suggest you have a talk with him, try to get him to understand that neglecting his education isn’t going to benefit him in the long run.”

I talk with Mr Hegarty for another few minutes while Shane sits quietly by my side. I wonder what he thinks of all this. The next couple of teachers pretty much tell me the same thing, and a few of them don’t even know Pete since he’s absent so often. It’s all a big old slap in the face, really. I knew Pete wasn’t exactly the most functional of teenagers, but I didn’t think it was this bad. And I’m also wondering why he even told me about the parent teacher night at all. Was it a cry for help, or simply a big fat middle finger?

It’s only when we go to visit his music teacher that I get some good news, a little trickle of hope. His teacher is a thirty-something balding guy wearing a paisley shirt, and he tells me that Pete’s been doing some amazing things in class when he bothers to show up. I’m getting that this guy is more into teaching modern music than taking the classical approach. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, since he didn’t recognise Shane when I introduced him.

So, apparently Pete’s got a whole bunch of music creator apps on his smart phone and has been creating his own tracks. Other than when he blasts all this trance and dance stuff from his bedroom, I didn’t even know he was that into music. Just goes to show that teenagers tell their parents (and guardians) sweet fuck-all.

I thank the music teacher and then get up to leave. When I reach the corridor, which is full of parents going from classroom to classroom, I slump back against the wall for a minute, wracking my brain for ideas. I need to think of something to get Pete back on the straight and narrow, but it can’t be all the obvious stuff like grounding him and taking away his PlayStation. That kind of aggressiveness never works for long. I need to take a softly, softly approach. Something less all guns blazing and more intelligent.

I only realise that Shane’s still with me when suddenly he’s folding me into his arms in a hug. I exhale against the smooth fabric of his shirt, and the tension in my body falls away. It’s amazing the things a hug from another human being can do.

“You’ll sort him out, don’t worry,” he says, his chin resting on my hair.

“Yeah, but how?” I ask, not really expecting any kind of answer.

A minute of silence passes before Shane suggests, “I could talk to him, teach him some stuff about music, if you like?”

I pull away slightly and eye him. “I’m not sure how much you could teach a kid who creates dance songs on a smart phone app, Shane. You’re a world away from that.”

“All music is music, Jade. I’ve been classically trained. I can teach him some important basics, and if he has something to focus on, then maybe everything else in his life will fall in line.”

“He has been hanging out with a bad crowd. Perhaps some music lessons will keep him occupied and off the streets,” I say, coming around to the idea.

Shane smiles. “Exactly.”

I smile back. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”

He pulls my hand up between our touching chests and squeezes, something meaningful in his expression. Letting out a long breath, he pulls away, and we walk out of the school back to my place. It’s late when we get there, given that there were queues outside some of the classrooms with parents all waiting to see the same teachers. Mostly Shane and I sat and chatted while he would intermittently give me these heated stares and I’d try to ignore the way it made me feel all hot and bothered.

As I look at Shane now, he seems tired, so without thinking I reach over and run my hand affectionately over his cheek. He practically melts under my touch, and I pull away immediately, asking myself what the fuck I think I’m doing. He’s such a wonderful person, and I have no right to lead him on.

“I’m just going to put the kettle on for a brew,” I say, clearing my throat and handing Shane the key for my bedroom. “You can go get your things upstairs if you like.”

Silently he goes, and I’m left alone with my guilty thoughts and the whistling of the kettle as it boils. The steam rises up into the air in the small kitchen, shaping itself into disappointed faces. I swipe my hand through them, annoyed at their presence. Leaning one hand against the counter, I rub the creases from my brow with the other.

“I called for a cab,” says Shane, entering the room from behind me. “It should be here any minute.”

“Oh, good. Well, thanks again for offering to spend some time with Pete. I’ll talk to him about it tomorrow, see what he thinks.”

Shane dips his head and looks around the room like he can’t bring himself to keep staring at me, and I don’t even have to ask myself why. My stupid body language can be a bitch, and just now she offered Shane something I can’t give him and then a second later snatched it away.

“I’m sorry if…” I trail off, the fire burning in my chest preventing me from continuing.

“You’re sorry?” Shane asks.

I scratch my head and practically whisper, “Yeah, I’m sorry if I’ve been giving you mixed signals.”

His mouth flattens out as he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair. “Jade, I don’t see why we can’t just explore where things go between us. I understand you’ve had a bad experience in the past, but so have I. I think that’s a good thing — it means we both know what it’s like to be hurt, and we’ll do whatever we can not to make another person feel that way.”

He’s talking a lot of sense, but still, I’m scared. “Friends” is comfortable; “lovers” is an unknown hole in the sky where anything could happen.

I can’t start drinking again.

With that thought in my head, my perseverance returns. “I’m sorry, Shane, but a friendship is all I have to offer you.”

His optimistic expression falls, and his hands drops to his sides. “Then I guess I’ll take what you have to offer, Bluebird.”

“Thank you,” I whisper as I watch him pick up his violin case and walk out the door.

Chapter Eleven

At seven the next morning I get up, dress, have some breakfast, and then go to Pete’s room, where he’s still fast asleep. I sit on the edge of his bed and study him, his child’s face that’s slowly transforming into an adult. I’ve been a mother to him since our own one died, since he was just eleven years old.

I can’t help but wonder if I’ve somehow fucked up the job.

He wakes up then and startles when he sees me sitting at the foot of his bed.

Rubbing at his eyes, he rasps, “Uh, what the hell, Jade?”

“Why did you even bother to tell me about the parent teacher evening?” I reply abruptly, folding my arms across my chest. So much for the softly, softly approach.

He speculates over what to say for a minute as he eyes me. Finally he says, “If you didn’t go, they would have contacted you, so you would have found out about everything anyway.”

“I don’t get it, Pete. You’re a clever kid, yet you’re just barely passing by the skin of your teeth, and if you don’t start attending again soon you’re going to be failing.”

“School is pointless,” he sighs. “There are so many better ways for me to spend my time.”

“School isn’t pointless. If you keep at it, you’ll get to go to college.”

“How many people from around here do you know who went to college, Jade? Yeah, that’s right, a big fat zero.”

“Well, somebody always has to be the first. And what do you mean, there are much better ways for you to spend your time?”

He just shrugs.

“Does it have something to do with the fact that you have those brand-new Nikes under your bed, not to mention a new iPod? Where did you get the money for those?”

He just looks at me now. “Where do you think?”

“I swear to God, Pete, this better not be drugs.”

Storming out of the bed, he answers, “So what if it is?”

“‘So what’? Are you fucking joking me? Are you telling me you’re dealing?”

His face transforms with anger, and it actually surprises me. I’ve never seen him so enraged. “Yes, I am dealing, Jade, and you’d better get used to it because it isn’t going to stop any time soon.”

Oh, he’s so not getting away with this. “Yes, it is going to stop, even if I have to chain you up in this bedroom until you see sense. And just you wait until Alec hears about this.”

“Ha! As if he wasn’t doing the exact same thing at my age.”

“Alec did it for a very short time before he realised how stupid he was being, and he got out before he was in too deep. And that’s exactly what you need to do.”

“I’m not quitting,” he seethes.

“Yes, you are. Now get dressed for school. I’m walking you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Swear one more time, Pete. Go on, see what happens,” I warn him, and I must have a scary look in my eye because he backs down.

When I leave the room, I find both April and Alec standing outside with identical looks of horror on their faces.

“Did I hear all that right?” Alec asks, working his jaw.

I sigh and slump back against the wall. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he replies in a soothing voice, and comes to rub my shoulders. “You go and have a lie-down. You’re all worked up.”

“Could you take him to school, too?”

“Sure, I’ll even wait to make sure he doesn’t try to sneak back out.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and April looks at me sympathetically.

I didn’t even get the chance to ask Pete if he’ll take music lessons from Shane.

Mustering my strength, I pull my sister into my room and ask how she’s getting along with Mia. We talk for a little while, and then she has to go and get ready for work. At least one of my siblings is doing okay. My shift doesn’t start until the afternoon, so I decide to don my costume and go busking for a while.

Standing in front of my mirror, I hold my tub of white face paint in my hand, using a sponge to rub it over my skin until it erases all of my features. When I’m done I feel like a blank canvas waiting for an artist to come and paint on some lips, a nose, and a pair of green eyes.

It used to take me forever to become “The Blue Lady.” Now it takes me a grand total of ten minutes. I have it down to a fine art. I step outside my house in my full costume, blue wig, wings, and all, locking up before I set off. My neighbour Linda who lives across the street is standing at her door in her pyjamas, a cigarette in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other.

She sucks in a long drag of her smoke, watching me like I’m a flying pig that just sailed into her mundane little world. Most of the people in my area are well used to my antics by now, but still, I doubt they like what I do. I’m the local freak. If it weren’t for what they all know happened to my family eleven years ago, then I’m sure they wouldn’t be so accepting of my eccentricities.

Normally, in a place like this you can’t be different. Everyone has to be the same. I once read about an experiment where they put an albino turkey in with a bunch of regular turkeys, and because the regular turkeys couldn’t understand why the albino was different, they killed it.

In this particular case, I’m the albino turkey.

But because of the tragedy that befell me, nobody is going to kill me. It’s sort of the same way nobody wants to be seen to be cruel to a blind girl or a girl in a wheelchair. So I get a free pass to be as different as I like.

Ten minutes later I’ve reached my usual busking spot on Grafton Street. I wave hello to Marcus, who’s setting up a couple of shops down. He’s a flamenco guitarist who plays mostly on weekday mornings. You make more money on the weekend, but I think he’s a bit frightened of the bigger crowds. They can become rowdy sometimes.

One Saturday lunchtime about a year ago, I had a guy grab my money hat and run off with it. Of course I got down from my box and chased after him, but he’d easily disappeared into the crowd, and all the cash I’d made that day was gone.

I like to imagine it made for a good visual, though, even if I did get robbed. Imagine it, a woman with wings all dressed in blue chasing a thug through the street like her life depended on it. Yeah. Perhaps I entertained a few people.

Hat on the ground. Box situated. I step up onto my little stage, which is probably about two square feet at most, and I become something else. I’m a statue in a museum full of priceless art. A mythical creature turned to stone in the White Witch’s courtyard in Narnia. A marble angel wrought by the hands of Michelangelo in a church somewhere in Italy.

Or just a girl on a box who finds comfort in the anonymity of white paint and fake hair.

A group stops to look at me, and I’m as still as a feather in a world with no air. One of the women smiles and steps forward, dropping a two-euro coin into my hat. Ah, for this she gets a present.

Some living statues give lollipops to kids. Some give pretty flowers. I, on the other hand, slowly reach up and tug a blue feather from my wings. Graceful as a dancer in the Bolshoi Ballet, my arm comes down as I bow to her and present the feather. Smiling whimsically, she takes it from my hand and says thank you. I allow the faintest of smiles to touch my lips in return as I rise back to my upright position.

After another minute or two, the group moves on.

I don’t give feathers to all the people who leave money in my hat. It always depends on the person. It’s like I have this internal radar that tells me who will throw the feather away at the nearest dustbin, and who will bring it home, put it somewhere safe, and cherish it like it’s a precious diamond they found buried deep in the earth.

When I go home, I replace the feathers by sewing in new ones. I have a big bag of them stuffed in my bottom drawer. One time when I was babysitting Mia for Lara, I left her in my room playing with her dolls, and when I returned I found her sitting on the floor surrounded by blue feathers.

I didn’t stop laughing for at least half an hour.

The sneaky little thing had discovered my secret stash. For weeks afterward I was finding blue feathers in random places around the house, and every time I found one it would make me smile to think of Mia’s face full of delight as she threw them up into the air and giggled.

A couple of hours of standing still pass before I call it a day. On the way home I count my money, which amounts to fifty-two euros and thirty-four cents, one brown button, a five-cent coin from Singapore, a piece of paper with the words “Art Slut” scrawled onto it, another piece of paper that says “I love you,” and a Trebor Extra Strong Mint.

Nobody can say this work isn’t colourful.

Also, I think “Art Slut” would be a great name for an all-female punk band.

Reaching my house, I take a shower to scrub the paint from my hands and face, have a quick bite to eat, and then head off for my shift. An American travelling orchestra are playing tonight. I don’t like the disappointment of knowing I’m not going to see Shane, but I soldier on.

I hate the way we left things last night, and I haven’t heard a peep from him since. Not a single call, text, voicemail, or Facebook message. And believe me, I’ve been checking. Perhaps he’s waiting for me to make the first move?

Ugh, I hate thinking about this stuff.

Deciding to be brave, I shoot him a quick text telling him the address to meet me at on Sunday if he’s still up for coming. Then I shove my phone in my pocket and go to take my place at the bar. Hopefully I’ll lose myself in work, and I won’t be fidgeting to check my messages every five seconds.

As it turns out, the bar is packed even though it’s an hour before the event. We have a nice spacious place here, so often people like to come and socialise before the show. Also, since you’re not allowed to bring any alcohol into the actual concert hall, people like to get their drink on in advance.

Now that I’m sober, even the smell of alcohol turns my stomach slightly, but I’ve learned to tolerate it — kind of the same way you get used to the cloying smell of petrol when you work in a gas station. And I used to work in a gas station, as it happens.

I’ve worked in a lot of places.

“Hey, could we get a Heineken and a white wine spritzer?” comes an unsettlingly familiar voice from behind me.

It’s almost time for the concert to start, so the bar has emptied out a good deal. I pause, as I’m crouched low, slotting bottles into the fridge. I haven’t yet turned around, and I’m not sure if I’m physically able to. Just as I regain the ability to move and slot the final bottle in, it slips from my fingers and crashes to the floor, liquid and broken glass going everywhere.

My hands are shaking.

The bar is loud because of the music streaming through the sound system, so I don’t think he heard me drop the bottle. It’s times like these that I wish they’d put two people working on this bar instead of one. That way I might be able to avoid seeing my ex-boyfriend, Jason, a man I haven’t set eyes on in years.

Unfortunately, there’s no one else around to serve him but me.

I don’t get what he’s doing here. He never listened to classical music when we were together. Turning around, I find him standing by the bar in a dark shirt, with a red-haired woman beside him. She’s a little older than he is, and there’s an air of class about her that enlightens me as to why Jason is here. The concert was obviously her idea.

His eyes widen when he recognises me, and within the next three seconds a whole barrage of memories hits me fast. Him going out and having sex with other women. Me drinking a bottle of vodka and spending the rest of the night in the bathroom puking my guts up. Fights. Break-ups. Make-ups. Sex. Sex. Sex. Parties. Drinking. More drinking. More fighting.

I blame him for the fighting. I can’t blame him for all of the drinking though. That started long before he came on the scene.

My heart is going ninety as I swallow down what feels like a rough stone jammed in my throat.

“Jade, wow, it’s been awhile,” he says, eyes flicking between me and the woman he’s with.

“Hi, Jason. Yeah, it has. I thought you moved to London,” I say, trying to appear casual and busying myself making the drinks he just ordered. Better to get this over and done with quickly rather than drag it out.

A Heineken and a white wine spritzer.

Heineken. White wine spritzer.

He scratches his head and smiles. “I did. That’s where I met Beth. She’s my fiancée.”

The redhead, Beth, smiles at me, probably thinking I’m just some old acquaintance, and flashes me her ring. Well, now, it’s some rock, and it surprises me because Jason was never the type to fork out for flashy items.

“Oh, gorgeous,” I say to her, putting the pint of Heineken on the counter and going to fetch the wine.

“I moved back to Dublin six months ago. My company set up new offices over here.”

Perhaps he finally got his act together and scored a high-paying job. It would definitely explain the several-thousand-euro ring. It’s kind of annoying to realise you were the shit part of a person’s life before they moved on to the good part. And here I am, still working for just over minimum wage, still living in the same house where I grew up.

“Cool, well, here are your drinks. That’ll be eleven euros, please.”

Jason hands over the money and stares at me weirdly. Maybe he’s annoyed I’ve abruptly cut off any chance of a conversation. He has no right to be if he is. My life with him is the past, a past I’d much rather forget.

Beth takes her wine and walks over to a table where a group of men and woman are sitting. They must have all come together. Jason stays at the bar, and I don’t get why he isn’t going with her.

“You look good, Jade. How’s your family?”

Looking up, I raise an eyebrow and fold my arms. “Are we seriously doing this right now? Go and have fun with your fiancée, Jason. And please, if you could make it so that you don’t come here again, that would be great. I’d rather not see you at my place of work, if it’s all the same to you.”

His mouth flattens as he yet again runs a hand through his dark blond hair. He always was overly fond of those locks. In this moment I feel like taking a razor blade and shaving them all off.

My anger is warranted. The last time I saw him, he was going down on some brunette in our dingy studio apartment. That was the tipping point for me. I packed up my stuff and moved back home. Two months later I gave up drinking altogether. Several months after that Mum passed away.

“I’m sorry — did I do something to offend you?” he asks abruptly.

“Yeah, you’ve done plenty.”

“You’re being rude.” He pauses, and a sly gleam comes into his eyes. “I should have a word with your manager.”

He definitely hasn’t changed a bit. Still the petty fucker he always was. “Do it, and I’ll tell your pretty fiancée all about your previous antics. I think she’ll be particularly pleased to hear how you slapped me across the face because I wouldn’t give you money to go out drinking with your mates.”

His expression turns glacial, and my heart pounds. It hurts to even think about our history, never mind put it into words.

Go. Please, just go.

“You’re a little bitch.”

I just stare at him, hoping that if I stare long enough I’ll realise that the last five minutes were a figment of my imagination and that Jason was never here at all.

He stands back and taps his toe on the floor, like he’s waiting for me to apologise or something. Finally, he gets the message, picks up his drink, shakes his head, and walks away. I walk straight to the back of the bar and let out a long exhalation like I’ve been holding my breath under water.

Tears catch in my throat, but I swallow them all back. I can’t start blubbering in the middle of work. A buzzing comes from my pocket as my phone rings on “silent.” Pulling it out, I see Shane’s name on the screen, and that in itself soothes something inside me.

“Hello,” I answer, my voice a little shaky.

“Hey, just calling to let you know I’ll be there Sunday,” he says, somewhat hesitantly. I guess he’s unsure where things stand between us after last night.

“That’s great. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Shane laughs, and there’s a faint note of relief to the sound. “Me, too, even though I don’t know what we’re doing. Hey, is everything all right? You sound a bit off.”

I rub my forehead. “I’m working, and I just had a run-in with my ex-boyfriend.”

Shane sucks in a breath. “You mean the ex-boyfriend? The one who made you swear off all relationships?”

The lilting, almost teasing tone of his voice makes me feel better than I did five minutes ago.

“The one and only. He’s still a prick.”

“A giant gaping prick,” Shane agrees. “You’re too good for him. Don’t be sad, Bluebird. You’re too pretty to be sad.”

“Aw, shucks, you know just the right things to say to a girl.” I laugh. “So what have you been up to today?”

I hear some movement before he replies, “I went for a run, then practiced and watched House of Cards on Netflix.”

“Good times. Well, I suppose I’ll see you Sunday, then.”

“Yeah, see you Sunday, Jade.”

Stuffing my phone into my pocket and feeling a whole lot better after only a short conversation with Shane, I head back out to the bar. The bottle I dropped earlier still needs to be cleaned up, but the bar is empty since the show has started. Going to the storage closet, I grab a dustpan and brush and a mop.

All the doors to the hall are closed, muffling the sound of the music. But then one of my co-workers slips out and hurries off on some errand; the door catches and doesn’t shut properly, so now I can hear the music full throttle.

Paul Dukas’s “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” streams out, and my heart lifts. Leaving the cleaning for a moment, I close my eyes and listen.

Dum dee dum dee dum dee dum dee dum…

Dum dee dum dee dum dee dum dee dum…

And then comes what I like to call the big extravaganza, that part of a piece where the whole orchestra comes alive and the power of the music feels like it could knock you off your feet. The music goes quiet again, building, building…

The roll of industrial paper towels on the counter starts to twirl, unwrapping in a long train of blue. It sails to the liquid on the floor, soaking up the spillage, then balls itself up and shoots into the bin. The dustpan I’ve left by the bar moves the tiniest bit. And again. I smile. Both dustpan and brush rise into the air and shuffle toward the broken glass. Sweep, sweep, sweep, empty. Sweep, sweep, sweep, empty.

Now the mop comes to life from its spot resting against the bar. It shimmies to the site of the accident and twirls in a dance as it cleans away the sticky spot of beer left over. Soon the floor is shiny and clean again.

“Jade, you can go on your break now,” says my floor manager Ciaran as he approaches the bar.

“Thanks, Ciaran,” I say, pulling off my half apron and grinning like I know a secret. All the bad feelings from Jason’s unexpected appearance are gone completely.

I love music. And I love my brain.

Chapter Twelve

My Sunday morning Tai Chi class feels like it’s heaven sent. All the stress of a long working week floats out of my body on a sea of calm. I go for coffee with two of the women from the class afterward, and then I head home to throw together a family dinner.

We don’t always get to eat together, but I try to at least have everyone at the table on a Sunday. I spoke to Pete last night about letting Shane teach him some music stuff, but he adamantly refused to do it. I’ll keep working on him, though. I’m not going to force him, but he could agree to it eventually.

Evening arrives, and I dress up nicely in a calf-length swishy silver skirt and a cream knitted top. I leave my hair down and put on some natural-look makeup. I know that tonight with Shane isn’t a date, but still, I like to make an effort.

When I reach the place I told him to meet me at, I see Shane standing by the steps that lead to the front door. He’s tapping on his phone, so he hasn’t noticed me approaching yet. I take the opportunity to study him dressed uncharacteristically casual in denim jeans, a dark grey T-shirt, and a black jacket. He looks good. I mean, really good, so good my breath catches a little.

Deviously, I sneak up behind him, whispering, “Boo!” into his ear. He jumps, and I break out into riotous laughter before giving him a friendly hug hello. What sounds like the loud yet melodic bang of a cymbal echoes from the house, and you can hear the people boisterously chatting inside even though the door is shut tight. It’s a brown door on a three-storey Georgian building with a red and black ladybird painted on it.

I lead Shane to the door as he murmurs something about me looking beautiful. He says it so quietly, though, that it’s easy enough for me to pretend I didn’t hear. Taking the knocker into my hand, I bang it once, then three times, then five times fast. A minute later it swings open, and I’m greeted by Mary, a long-haired brunette in her fifties, the resident hostess.

“Jade! We haven’t seen you in a while. Come in, come in,” she says, welcoming me into the packed hallway. Sitting on each step of the staircase are the members of a folk band playing a dreamy version of “Just like Tom Thumb’s Blues” by Bob Dylan. A bunch of people stand in the hall, holding drinks and swaying to the music.

“I’ve been busy with the family,” I say to Mary. “This is my friend, Shane. It’s his first time here.”

Mary’s eyes light up as she smiles and shakes Shane’s hand. “Wonderful! Welcome to Ladybirds, Shane. I hope you enjoy yourself.” And with that she saunters off to take care of other guests.

“What is this place?” Shane asks excitedly, keeping close to my side as I lead him out to the back garden.

“Hmm, do you want the straightforward answer or the urban legend?” I reply.

“Both, I guess.”

We reach the garden, which is lit up with glowing white fairy lights and Chinese lanterns. There are people all around chatting and drinking, and on the grass a woman is standing on some plastic sheeting while a guy paints her entire naked body in silver and gold. Shane raises an eyebrow and suppresses what I’m thinking is an embarrassed grin. We sit down on a bench to talk.

“Well, the straight answer is that it’s an artist’s club. It’s open to all, and you can use the rooms for practice space. On the weekends they throw big shindigs like this one. The urban legend says that the house was bought by a homeless street performer in the late eighties. A guy named Bob Farrell who used to sit on O’Connell Street with his dog and play guitar for passers-by. One day after finishing up, he looked in his hat to find the usual bits of change, but there was also a crumpled piece of paper that turned out to be a lottery ticket. Can you see where I’m going with this?”

Shane’s golden-brown eyes dance in the darkening light. “Sort of.”

“So Bob goes to check the numbers, and lo and behold, he’s won the jackpot. Keep in mind this was the late eighties and the jackpot was probably only a couple hundred thousand at the time. Still, he managed to afford to buy this house smack dab in the middle of the city and opened it up to his fellow struggling artists. When he came to view it for the first time, he found two little ladybirds on the windowsill in a room on the second floor. From there on out he christened the place ‘Ladybirds,’ and it’s been a haven for art ever since.”

“That’s some story. Where’s Bob now?”

“He’s still here. He lives upstairs, but he’s pretty old, so you don’t see him around all that much. Sometimes, though, he’ll make an appearance and play a few songs on his guitar.”

“Is he any good?”

I nod, remembering the first time I’d heard him sing and how it gave me goose bumps all over. “He’s got one of those Tom Waits character voices. Sometimes an out-of-key singing voice feels more real to me than a perfect one, especially if the emotions are raw.”

“I’d love to meet him sometime. What he’s done here is amazing.”

“You haven’t even seen half the inside yet. Come on, I’ll show you.”

I take his hand in mine, tingles shooting through my skin with the contact as I feel his trademark hardened fingertips. Musician’s fingers. They’re not callused, but they’re slightly leathery from the friction of constantly pressing on strings.

I lead him upstairs to the first floor, where there’s a big open room. Every year Bob hires someone to paint it entirely white, making it a new canvas, and encourages guests to paint pictures on the walls. Since it’s late in the year, there’s not much white left now. The room is a riot of colour; some parts of the walls look like they were done by master painters, while others are more amateurish. I glance to the spot over one of the windows where I painted a blue sparrow flapping its wings as though trying to break free of its two-dimensional concrete prison and fly out into the sky.

I know, sparrows again.

Everybody’s got a theme, I guess, and those birds are mine.

Shane walks into the room, running his hand over the gigantic mural of a woman’s face, tears streaming down from her sad, dark eyes. Then he glances up. A couple of months ago a group got together to paint the ceiling indigo and glue scrunched-up pieces of tin foil to the plaster to look like stars. They twinkle and shimmer against the lights, giving off a magical effect.

“This place must be the best-kept secret in Dublin,” he says, coming to stand in front of me.

“Yep,” I reply, tapping the side of my nose conspiratorially. “You’ve got to know the right people to get in. Luckily, you met me.”

He breathes out slowly. “That was lucky.”

We eye each other for a long minute before Ben’s recognisable voice calls, “Jade, Shane, over here.”

Shaking myself out of the tension, I turn and put on a smile for my friend. Ben and Clark are sitting on a red heart-shaped love seat in the corner. I hadn’t known they were coming tonight, but I’ll admit I’m relieved they’re here.

Whenever Shane and I are alone together, there’s this palpable tension, like I’m constantly aware of how much distance there is between us and how easy it would be to close it. That brief chance I got to feel his skin the first night we met wasn’t nearly enough, and so even though my brain knows it’s not a good idea to give in, my hormones are raging for me to fail.

“Shauna’s dance group is starting in a minute,” says Ben excitedly. “Come and sit.”

Shauna is a friend of Ben’s who teaches interpretive dance classes. Most people roll their eyes at me when I mention the words “interpretive” and “dance” in the same sentence, but this group is really good. It’s not all prancing around. I mean, some of the stuff they can do with their bodies is just incredible.

The room is packed with people, so aside from the space that’s been cleared for the performance area, there aren’t too many places to sit. Shane tugs on my hand just as the lights are dimmed and the music starts up. Before I can react, he’s pulling me to sit between his legs, my back against his chest, while he leans against the edge of the love seat Ben and Clark are perched on.

For a moment I fumble, unsure of what to do with my hands. In the end I just rest them in my lap, since that feels like the safer option rather than putting them on Shane’s thighs. Unfortunately, I’m not out of the woods yet, as his arms come casually around my waist and I think I stop breathing for a second.

His mouth is close to my ear when he bends forward and asks, “Is this okay?”

I catch Ben’s eye as he watches us with a pleased expression. I don’t want to make a big deal of it, so I simply nod and focus my attention on the dancers. There are six of them in all, and they’ve formed a crouched circle in the centre of the floor. A soft, piano-based instrumental song plays as they slowly rise to stand, then begin twirling in practiced patterns. They’re all dressed in white and remind me of a cloud floating gently across the sky.

Shane’s hand moves along the cushioned part of my stomach ever so slightly, and if I weren’t so aware of him, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it. He stops for a moment, then moves again. I wonder if he’s aware of how much he’s turning me on. Just the barest brushing of his thumb over the fabric of my top seems to have the ability to completely unravel me.

I let my body relax deeper into his. I’d been holding myself up a little, wary of getting too close. But now I can’t resist feeling his hard chest press into me. I close my eyes for a second, and I can feel every ridge of muscle. His arms around my waist tighten, and a whoosh of breath leaves me. I turn my head a fraction, and his mouth is right there, hanging slightly open.

Making the mistake of looking up into his eyes, all I see in them is want. They’ve grown hot and needy from just a minute or two of having me close to him. Christ, is a platonic friendship even possible for us? I feel like the only way I won’t find him attractive is if I go to hypnotherapy or something.

Which, by the way, doesn’t work. I tried it when I was weaning myself off alcohol. The guy told me I didn’t have a suggestible enough mind, whatever that means. I think he might have been a bit of a charlatan. And there’s a hundred euros I’m never going to see again.

The dance comes to a close, and the assembled audience claps. Then the group gets into formation for the next routine. This one is completely different from the first; the music is edgy, with drums and electric guitar, and the dance is fast-paced. The lights that have been set up are flashing all different colours. In other words, all of the attention is on the performers, and it feels like I’m in my own private little world with Shane.

His face moves to my hair as he sucks in a deep breath, scenting me. My hands, which had been resting idly on my lap, go to his thighs, holding on rigidly as though begging him to stop.

“Shane,” I whisper, but I can’t tell if he hears me over the loud music.

His hand keeps stroking my belly, bringing all sorts of sensations to life between my legs. I’m aching for him, and when I adjust my body on the hard wooden floor, I feel the stirrings of his erection nudge against my lower back.

Why is he doing this?

“I can’t help it,” he breathes into my ear, and I realise I asked the question out loud.

“Stop.”

His hand stills, and his arm around my waist loosens. He doesn’t say anything, but at least he’s done as I asked him to. A couple of minutes later the lights come back on, and the performance is over. I practically leap to my feet, mumbling about needing to use the bathroom, and then I hurry from the room, leaving Shane with Ben and Clark.

There’s a small bathroom just down the hall, and it’s mercifully unoccupied as I step inside and close the door tight behind me. Walking to the sink, I turn on the tap and splash some water on my face, hoping to cool the redness of my cheeks. What just happened in there with Shane was too much, provoked too many sensations.

What the fuck do I think I’m doing, being friends with him?

Playing with fire, that’s what I’m doing. But the pain of cutting him out of my life would be worse than the agony I go through when I’m with him, the willpower I have to expend in order to keep things in neutral. It’s not my fault he has this subtle way of pushing things into high gear.

When I return from the bathroom, I find Shane still with Ben and Clark, but they’re talking to a thin blond guy I’ve seen around before but have never met. He’s wearing a long white shirt, open to display his pale, scrawny chest. His hair is long and hangs down below his shoulders. On his chest somebody has scrawled the word “Happy,” which immediately informs me he’s something of a character.

Perhaps he used a mirror and wrote it on himself.

“This is Keith,” says Ben, introducing us. “He wants to know if we’ll take part in his interactive art installation.”

“Ah,” I reply, folding my arms and going to stand by Shane. “And what does it entail?”

I can’t hide the sceptical note in my voice. An interactive art installation usually equals embarrassment in some form or another. It could be anything from sitting on a stack of mattresses while people throw basketballs over your head to stripping naked and frolicking about like a nudist on a tropical beach while a choir sings the lyrics to “Over the Rainbow.”

Not that I’ve done either of those things. Ahem.

Keith starts to explain excitedly. “You partner up with someone, but it has to be someone you know personally, and you use a non-permanent marker to draw the first words that come into your head when you look at different parts of their body on that particular body part. I call it ‘Words and Skins.’ There’ll be a small audience watching. It’s all about opening up and losing your inhibitions.”

Christ, I knew it was going to involve nudity. Didn’t I just say it was going to involve getting naked? Sometimes I think these “installation artists” are simply perverts who spend their time coming up with ways to see a few tits and arses.

“So we have to strip for this?” I question, my cynical eyebrow almost hitting the ceiling.

“Just down to bras and knicks,” Ben puts in with a cheeky wink.

“Bras and knicks, you say? In that case, I hope you wore your good ones tonight. Otherwise your date might be unimpressed,” I quip, nodding to Clark.

“Actually, I went shopping in Ann Summers this week. The word ‘crotchless’ was involved,” Ben shoots back.

I nearly choke on my laughter when he says it, which puts me in a good enough mood to turn to Keith with a grin and reply, “Okay, I’m in. How about everyone else?” Then, turning back to Ben, “Also, Ann Summers? You classless swine. Get thee to Brown Thomas the next time, or I’ll refuse to have any further associations with you!”

Ben looks to Clark, who’s sputtering a laugh.

“Have you been teaching her how to speak like a dandy again?” he asks him, hands on hips.

“I might have been,” Clark manages to get out past his laughter.

Ten minutes later, we’re in a different room to the rear of the building. There’s a large stage set up, and about twenty people are sitting on bean bags on the floor. The audience, I presume. I watch Shane as he chews on his lip, and I place a hand lightly on his arm.

“Nervous?” I ask with a touch of a smile.

“I have no idea how I managed to be talked into this,” he replies, letting out a quick breath.

“It was probably the prospect of seeing Ben in his crotchless lingerie that got you going,” I joke, and he gives me a little amused scowl.

“But seriously, you can back out. This night is supposed to be fun. However, I will remind you that you wanted me to teach you how to live, and this, my friend, is living,” I say, gesturing around the room.

He gives me a confused look. “Stripping off in front of a bunch of strangers and baring your feelings is living?”

“It’s all about throwing away your inhibitions and putting your trust in other human beings. Believe me, letting this bunch see me in my unmentionables isn’t something I’m comfortable with, but I want to push my boundaries, see how fearless I can be.”

“You stand on the street in the middle of the night in a fairy costume. That’s fearless enough for one person, Jade,” he replies, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “And now that you mention it, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing those unmentionables.”

“Ah, I knew you were a scoundrel,” I reply with a laugh.

“A total cad and a bounder,” he says, voice low and hushed as he leans over to my ear. The way his breath caresses my neck gives me tingles and by the look on his face I’d say he knows it, too.

“You’re a cruel master, Shane Arthur, to tease me the way you do,” I tell him with false indignation just before Keith starts ushering us up onto the stage.

Those participating in the installation include me, Shane, Ben, Clark, and three other pairings, all male/female. Keith puts on some peaceful sort of meditation music and hands us each a marker, and then we begin to take off our clothes. I’m aware of the fact that this is going to be the first time Shane has seen me sans clothing, and me him. I caught one or two glimpses of him at the photo shoot, but nothing substantial. The night we had sex doesn’t count because it was dark and we only exposed the parts we, uh, needed to expose.

Although I’m not getting into my full birthday suit on this occasion, so there will still be parts left to the imagination. I’m like a high-class French courtesan who knows that partially covered flesh can be far more enticing than stark nudity. The unknown is sexier than the revealed. All magic tricks are a disappointment once you learn how they’re done.

Not that I want to be enticing here. Ah, crap, this really isn’t working.

Shane is already in his boxer shorts by the time I’ve dragged myself from my thoughts. He’s watching me, waiting. Only a minute ago I was the one telling him not to worry, and now I’m the one who’s stalling. Quickly, I lift my top over my head, revealing my ivory silk bra. I undo the zipper at the back of my skirt and shimmy it down my legs until there’s nothing left but the matching panties underneath.

“Do you want to go first?” Shane asks, his voice throaty, his eyes on the swell of my breasts.

I grip the marker in my fist, my palm growing sweatier by the minute. I’d been so caught up on the stripping part of this installation that I didn’t get the chance to think about which words I’m going to write on his skin. What do I see when I look at him?

I nod and swallow before stepping forward. Like all Band-Aids, it’s best to pull them off quickly. Uncapping it, I raise the marker to his collarbone and begin to write.

Chapter Thirteen

A few seconds later the word “vulnerable” is scrawled across Shane’s collarbone. For some reason he has his eyes closed, and I’m glad he probably isn’t going to be able to see half the things I’ve written on him unless he gets his hands on a mirror.

I’m hoping he decides to forgo the mirror and simply wash himself clean, because this shit is going to be embarrassing in the cold light of day. I lift his hand, and on each finger I write one letter until they form “skill.” His eyes are open now, and his attention is solely focused on what I’ve written.

I take his other hand and turn it palm up before scribbling “warmth.” On his abs I simply write the word “hot,” and he cranes his neck to see, looking pleased with himself when he reads it.

“Did you ever think this was what you’d be doing when I asked you here tonight?” I say, smiling up at him as I lower myself to my knees.

“In all honesty, I had no idea what to expect. You’re full of surprises, Bluebird.”

“Hmm, that was a good answer. By the way, those two girls sitting on the red bean bag are eyeing you up like you’re a prize turkey.”

His eyes crinkle. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Sure,” I reply sarcastically before lifting my marker to the defined muscle on his outer thigh and writing “strength.”

“Jade, you’re on your knees, and your face is right by my crotch. That’s the only thing I’m noticing right now,” he replies, all husky.

I start at his words and glance up at him again. Our eyes lock, and there’s a definite moment, though what we’re trying to communicate I couldn’t say.

“You’ve got a dirty mind, Mr Arthur.”

“And you’ve got the best cleavage, Miss Lennon. I mean, like, the best cleavage I’ve ever seen. I just want to put my mouth on it.”

“Somebody’s feeling frisky,” I observe, trying to sound calm and ignore the hot blush that’s spreading across my chest. In my head all I can see is Shane bending over me, his tongue flicking my nipple.

I stand again and move on to his shoulder. For some reason the word “regal” pops into my head. There’s something refined about the sharp lines of his muscles there that reminds me of royalty. On his inner forearm, the one that holds the bow when he plays, I write “strings.” On the left hand side of his chest, right where I imagine his heart to be, I write “pain.” I don’t know how he’s going to react to that, but I’m being honest when I write it. When I look at him, I see a heart that was badly broken and is only just sewing itself back together.

He stares at the letters for a long time and swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple moving. His eyes close then, and I wonder what he’s thinking about.

“You see a lot,” he whispers a moment later.

“We all see a lot when we decide to truly look,” I respond as I write “sex” on the “V” of his hip. He opens his eyes to see what I’ve written, and his gaze heats up.

“Why sex?” he questions intensely.

I smooth my hand over the word and bite my lower lip. My voice is barely a whisper when I say, “Because when I look here, all I can think about are your hips thrusting when you fucked me.”

“Jesus.”

“You asked the question.”

From across the room where he’s sitting in the audience, Keith rings a little bell and calls, “Okay, now it’s time to switch.”

Looking anywhere but at Shane, I screw the cap back onto my marker and wait. I was wrong when I thought being the “writer” was the hard part, because being the “writee” is much worse. The anticipation of knowing you’re going to find out what someone thinks of each part of you strips you bare. You’re completely at the mercy of their judgement, and that judgement could make you either plummet or soar.

This whole thing suddenly makes sense. Who we think we are is completely dependent on what others perceive us to be.

I now realise that Keith must have had a moment of pure genius when he came up with the idea for this installation. And to think I thought he just wanted to get his rocks off.

The first place Shane decides to write is on the side of my neck. I hold completely still, barely breathing as the soft brush of the marker moves across my skin. His other hand is on the opposite side of my neck, as though to keep me in place, but the only thing it’s really achieving is making me burn. Jesus, I’m practically panting here, and all he’s doing is touching my neck.

“What did you write?” I ask on a deep swallow once he’s finished. “That felt like a long word.”

To be honest, it probably just felt long because every second he has his hands on me feels like an hour.

“Wait and see,” he replies, and when I meet his gaze I find his eyes still haven’t lost their heat.

His marker goes to my breasts, where he scrawls “soft,” and then to my hip. I have to bend slightly to see he’s written “need.” Oh, God. His attention moves to my chest again, to my heart, and I swear I feel tears forming when I see him write “too big,” but I swallow down the emotion. Let it sit in my belly; better there than to seep through my eyes.

He turns me around, brushes my hair aside and begins writing along the expanse of my shoulders. It doesn’t feel like he’s writing, though. It feels more like he’s drawing something. I twist and glance over my shoulder, but it’s pointless. I can’t see a thing.

“That’s cheating,” I pout, and he reaches up quickly, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. I suck in air.

“You look cute when you do that.”

He bends down and writes something on the lower part of my arse, and again, I can’t see what it says. Damn him, it’s almost like he’s intentionally selecting parts he knows I’m not going to be able to read. His hand cups my cheek lightly, the touch making my heart pound. Moving along, on the top of my belly he writes “still” and on the bottom “life.”

Ha. That was clever. When I’m being a living statue, I find stillness in my core. I’m alive but I’m also a statue.

He takes my hand, and on each finger spells out the word “touch.” Then he turns it over and writes “me” in the centre of my palm. Wow. Does that mean he wants me to touch him?

I look at him, and it’s like he can read the question in my head because he answers, “All the time.”

My entire body is burning up, and right now I’m just hoping for this to be over so that I can wash his words off me and try to forget how he makes me feel. A moment later I get my wish when Keith rings his bell, signalling the end of the installation. Unfortunately, movement catches in the corner of my eye, and I realise that it’s not quite over yet.

Curtains that have been hung all around the stage, and which I thought were there simply for decoration, begin to be pulled back to reveal dozens of mirrors. There are big ones and small ones, round, square, and rectangular ones. Some of them have fancy wooden or metal frames, while others have no frames at all.

Okay, that Keith is one evil genius. I really hadn’t been expecting this, hadn’t thought that there would be a big finish. The audience is clapping and gasping as the lights in the room reflect off the mirrors.

Suddenly I’m catching glimpses of myself from all different angles. The other couples are going to the mirrors to study themselves and see what’s been written on them. For a long time I can’t move at all, afraid of what I might see. Then somebody’s taking my hand in theirs. Shane. He pulls me over to a large full-length mirror and positions me in front of it.

I stare at his elegant handwriting, and now I don’t want to wash it away. I want to tattoo it onto my skin so that I can keep this feeling, become the beautiful thing he thinks I am.

On my neck he’s written “swallow,” but for some reason I imagine the bird rather than the action. He knows I have a thing for birds. I turn around and crane my neck over my shoulder to see my back. My eyes trail to my arse cheek, and I giggle when I see the word “peach.” But that’s not what holds my attention. What holds my attention are the musical notes he’s drawn from one shoulder to the other. “What do they mean?” I ask.

He purses his lips, holding in a smile before answering, “It’s the musical notation to ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ by The Beatles.”

I laugh. “I love that song!” Sometimes I think my brain might be a Beatles track. You know, one of the trippy ones that don’t make any sense.

“Well, I would imagine so. You did write it in another life,” he teases.

“Ah, yes, very true,” I agree with a pleased nod.

He lets the smile free now. “It reminds me of you, the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

“My eyes are green.”

“Not to me. I see a world of things in your gaze, Jade,” he replies mysteriously.

I look at him through the mirror for a second but I don’t get the chance to question him because Keith hops up onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you ‘Words and Skins,’ and I’ll leave you with one question. Is your identity an organic thing or dependent on what other people perceive of you? Thank you, and I hope you enjoyed this installation. If you’d like to take part in the next one, you can contact me on Twitter, Facebook, or through my website.”

The audience claps, and I go to grab my clothes. As I’m pulling on my top, Shane comes up beside me, buttoning his pants. “I think he kind of ruined the message with the social media bit at the end,” he whispers jokingly.

I roll my eyes in agreement, trying not to stare at his bare chest. “I know. I was thinking he might have some real substance until he did that.”

The doors are opened as the audience members start to leave, and loud music streams in from the other room. Once I’m dressed I look around for Ben and Clark, but they’ve already gone. They’re headed home to shag each other’s brains out, no doubt. Not that I’m jealous or anything.

Shane and I go in the direction of the music, back to the big room with the painted walls. Inside are an instrumental band that consists of an acoustic guitarist, a keyboard player, a drummer, a violinist, and an accordion player. Mary is going around the room with a tray of drinks as the band plays a rendition of Coldplay’s “The Scientist.” She hands Shane a plastic cup with some sort of orange cocktail, and I wave her off when she tries to give one to me. I can smell the rum in it from here.

We go and sit on a couple of pillows a few feet away from the band, and I notice the violinist’s eyes widen when he sees Shane. He definitely recognises him. Perhaps he’s even a fan. This is so exciting. I’m friends with a “sort of” famous person. I think Shane’s noticed, too, because he’s shifting uncomfortably as he sips on the cocktail Mary gave him.

“How’s the drink?” I ask.

“Completely awful,” he replies, and I burst out laughing.

“Why are you drinking it if it’s awful?”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

I shake my head and take the cup from him before setting it aside. The song comes to an end, and I watch as the violinist goes to whisper animatedly to the guitarist. The guy is only about nineteen or twenty, so it’s very likely that Shane is someone he looks up to. My suspicions are confirmed when both the violinist and the guitarist start waving Shane over.

“I think you’re wanted,” I tell him with a pleased expression.

His posture goes rigid. “No, I’m not.”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Yes, you are. Now stop being antisocial and go over there and talk to them. Make some new friends.”

He gives me a long-suffering look before getting to his feet and walking to the musicians. I watch as the violinist gives Shane a big excited handshake and a pat on the back. The band all clamour around him, chatting animatedly. I sit back and watch. They’re obviously trying to get him to play a song with them because Shane’s shaking his head and I’m lip reading a whole bunch of “no” and “I can’t” responses.

I wonder how he can be so comfortable playing on stage with an orchestra, or even before with his string quartet, and yet he looks like playing here for this relatively small gathering of people is the last thing he wants to do. Perhaps it’s because there isn’t an actual stage here. There’s no formal line between him and the general public. Here he is the general public, and not some untouchable virtuoso on a grand platform. There’s no shield of distance.

Finally, it looks like the band has convinced him to play. He’s nodding his head and then making his way back over to me.

“They want me to play a song with them. Just one song. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all.” I smile. “Go knock ’em dead.”

He gives me a small smile in return and then goes back to join the band. The violinist hands over his instrument to Shane and then retreats into the audience. The band starts up, and it takes me a second to realise they’re playing a modern song. Apart from his attempt at David Bowie in my bedroom, I haven’t yet heard Shane play a non-classical piece. I recognise it immediately as “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars. The beat of the drum fills my ears, purple sound waves drifting up to the ceiling. The violin is like the voice, the rest of the instruments the backing track.

Whoa, he looks hot up there. He catches my eye then and doesn’t stop looking.

Feeling uncomfortable under his attention, I try to fix my stare on the other players, but it’s no use. I can still sense his gaze on me. Some people get up and start dancing to the catchy beat, some even sing the lyrics. It’s the kind of song that you can never feel sad after.

Once it’s over, Shane accepts some applause from the room before returning the violin to its owner.

“That was amazing,” I exclaim when he reaches me and sits back down. “I didn’t know you played modern songs, too.”

He shrugs, his eyes alight. I’ve noticed he always seems more energised after playing, more centred. “I learn them sometimes to take a break from my usual repertoire.” Pausing, he looks like he’s considering whether or not to tell me something. “My counsellor encouraged me to learn that one.”

It’s news to me that he sees a counsellor, but I don’t want to pry about it. “The Bruno Mars song?”

He grimaces. “She said I should learn some happy songs. There was a period of about six months where all I could play was funerary music.”

This piece of information concerns me, but I file it away for later. Deciding to make light of it instead, I whisper, “Did you go through a Goth phase, Shane?”

He laughs. “No, I was just sad.”

I venture a guess. “Because of Mona?”

“She was a part of it. Anyway, once I agreed to move on, I was glad. Funerary violin is beautiful, but it’s also pretty depressing.”

“I can imagine. So, have you had fun tonight?”

He grins. “Yes, in the most bizarre way possible.”

“Will you come again? Get to know the people.” I nod over to the band. “You’ve already made some new friends.”

“I’ll come again, but only if you’re here.”

“I’m here every few weekends. Next time I’ll bring you up onto the roof. It’s great to just sit in the dark and look at the night sky, see how many stars you can count, see if you can count any at all.”

Shane doesn’t say anything, and when I look at him his attention is focused intently on my mouth. He looks into my eyes then, and I get caught. I hadn’t realised until now just how close we are, just how cosy we must look sitting huddled together on these pillows.

He swallows hard and says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Promise not to get mad at me or not want to be my friend anymore?”

Wary now, I reply, “I’ll try not to.”

He moves even closer, taking my hand into his and smoothing his fingers over my knuckles. It feels nice.

“When we’re around each other there’s this…tension.” He pauses for a second.

Yeah, he doesn’t need to explain further, because I know exactly what he’s talking about.

“It’s fucking agony, Jade, not to touch you,” he continues, like he’s baring his soul. “And I know you’re not interested in a relationship, so I was thinking we could have an arrangement.”

I raise an eyebrow, not liking where I can see this heading.

“‘An arrangement?’” I question. He stares at me and I can’t take the atmosphere, so I have to crack a joke. “I hope you’re not suggesting a Pretty Woman scenario here?”

The ghost of a smile touches his lips. “You know that’s not what I’m suggesting.” He draws closer so that he can whisper into my ear. “I want to be inside you again.”

I whimper, and his tongue flicks over the shell of my ear, turning my entire body to jelly.

“You want us to be fuck buddies,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“I prefer the term ‘friends with benefits.’ I have so much respect for you, Jade, and I promise to treat you like a queen, but I need you. I’ll be your friend, but with more…”

“Shane, I…”

“Please don’t say no.”

“I have to think about this.”

He pulls me to him, resting his forehead against mine and exhaling. “Okay.”

“I’ll let you know…I mean, I think we need to call it a night.” I draw away, but he grips my hand.

“I’ll drive you home.” His eyes flick back and forth between mine as though trying to decipher my thoughts. “Jade, tell me I haven’t fucked up.”

“You haven’t fucked up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And with that he pulls us both up to stand, leading me from the room and out of the building.

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning I’m chatting with my neighbour Barry a couple of houses down from mine when I see Pete leaving for school. I say my quick goodbyes to Barry before cutting down a side alley that I know will bring me directly onto Pete’s path.

“Hello, stranger, fancy meeting you here,” I say as I fall into step beside him.

His sleepy eyes drift to me as he shakes his head. “What do you think you’re doing, Jade?”

“Taking a stroll,” I answer with a shrug. “Thought I’d keep you company while I’m at it.”

A sigh. “I know what you’re up to.”

He’s not getting mad at me, which is a good sign. “Uh, yeah. Like I said, I’m taking a stroll.”

“Herding me to school, more like.”

I let out a big long chuckle and smack him lightly on the shoulder. “Oh, you teenagers are such suspicious creatures.”

He doesn’t say anything, and we continue walking. Once we’re around the corner from his school, I wave him off. He takes a few steps before turning back around.

Scratching at his head, he asks, “Does your friend still want to give me music lessons?”

I’m surprised he’s asked this, and given the open-ended way I left things with Shane last night, I’m not certain what’s going to happen between us, but I’m sure he’ll still work with Pete if I ask him to.

“Of course.”

“And he’s not just doing it because you’re making him?”

“Of course not!”

“Okay, well, you can tell him I’ll do it.”

Wow, that was easier than I thought it’d be. I imagined I’d be in for at least another couple weeks of sulking before he came around. I salute him, then turn on my heel and head home.

Last night Shane dropped me off at my house, walking me to the door and giving me a long, question-filled hug. We parted ways, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since. I hardly got a wink of sleep, which is why I was up early enough to make sure Pete got himself to school this morning.

When I think about what Shane’s asked of me, my entire body screams that it’s the worst idea in the history of Jade Lennon. And believe me, there have been some bad ones. Every part of me wants to be with him, but at the same time every part of me says that I won’t be able to keep my emotions from getting involved.

At around lunchtime I get a text from him politely asking how my morning went. Politely skirting the real question. Even seeing his words on the screen of my phone makes me feel all anxious, and I can’t bring myself to reply. Later on I arrive at work and check the roster to find I’m on the front of house box office. This makes me relax a little, because Shane won’t be able to come see me like he does at the bar.

Midway through my shift, Lara ventures over from her station in the merchandise shop to slide a walnut whip through my window slot.

“What’s this for?” I ask with a grin.

“You look a bit down in the dumps today. I thought chocolate would be a good cure.”

Really, this girl has a heart of gold.

“You had the right idea. Thanks,” I say before she moves out of the way so I can deal with my next customers. There’s a show about to start in fifteen minutes, so the lobby is packed with people queuing to get to their seats. I’ve barely even noticed what’s on since I’ve been in such a daze all day.

“We have tickets reserved for collection,” comes a vaguely familiar voice as my next customer steps up to the booth. I slide the walnut whip under my seat and glance up to find Mirin standing before me with a man I presume to be her husband beside her. He’s got the same brandy-coloured eyes as Shane, but that’s the only resemblance.

My heart pounds. God, why did she have to come to this booth? I feel anxious enough right now as it is, since last night her son had the good grace to proposition me with an arrangement my brain refuses to work its way around.

“Oh, hello, Mrs Arthur. Are the tickets under your name?”

“No, my husband’s. Reginald Arthur.”

“Right,” I say as I flick through the reserve drawer. Mirin doesn’t bother to introduce me to Reginald, which leads me to believe she doesn’t want him to know me. Finding the tickets, I slip them through to her. All the while she’s staring down at me like I’m a slice of stale bread someone’s just put on her plate. She swipes the tickets up into her talons, I mean, hands, and away they both go.

Thank fuck for that being short and sweet.

Once the show starts, I join Lara in the break room to enjoy my walnut whip with a cup of tea. Lara has one, too, and we both chow down in contented silence. I always get a craving for sugar after a long day. She tells me how pleased she is with April as her child minder, and I’m pleasantly surprised that my sister’s actually taken to the work. I’ve even seen a marked improvement in her mood, since she’s now got a purpose and some regular money in her pocket. And there haven’t been any older men calling to the house, which is a plus.

Now it seems I’ve just got Project Pete to contend with.

Towards the end of our break, my supervisor comes and asks me if I’ll prepare the refreshments for the orchestra’s dressing room during the interval. The girl who’d been on duty there had to go home sick. I tell him I’d be glad to, but all the while I’m cursing him out in my head. Making my way to the bar, I find a rider of requested beverages, mostly water, teas, and fruit juices.

The members of the symphony have this great big dressing room with mirrors and bright lighting, like backstage on a Broadway musical. It’s basically a giant room with long lines of tables and mirrors, each one belonging to a different musician.

I know exactly which one belongs to Shane because he probably got the seat of the concertmaster who left. Checking the rider, I see all he asked for was a bottle of water. I quickly place it on his table and move on. At the rate I’m going, I won’t be done by the time the interval starts, given I have almost a hundred people to cater to.

Normally there are two workers to do this task, but we must be short-staffed tonight, which means I’m all by my lonesome. I can hear the recognisable melody of the William Tell Overture coming to a close, and then the musicians are making their way to the dressing room. I’ve still got about twenty tables to do, so I hurry up.

Water.

Coffee.

Ginger tea.

Water.

As I approach the next table, I pause and glance up because somebody is standing in my way. Shane’s deep eyes look into mine, and I swallow hard.

“You never answered my texts,” he says as he studies me.

We’re nowhere near his dressing table, so he obviously sought me out. I move by him and set another water down on a table.

“Sorry, I’ve been busy with work, and I left my phone in my bag in the staffroom. Was it anything important?” I say, trying my best to be casual.

Shane sighs. “So this is how you’re going to be, huh?”

I flinch as I transfer more refreshments onto dressing tables. There are people moving by all around us, which makes the situation even more stressful.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re acting all flustered and pretending like you’ve forgotten what we talked about last night.”

“I’m not pretending,” I say.

I’ve just finished with the last table, and a female cellist grins at me appreciatively, taking a sip from her orange juice.

“And I haven’t forgotten, Shane,” I continue quietly. “I’m still considering things.”

We reach the door leading out of the dressing room, but he puts his arm in my way to stop me. “Don’t freeze me out. I’m dying here,” he pleads, and the sound of his voice makes my stomach clench with guilt for making him wait, despite the fact it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.

I set the wheelie tray aside and give him my eyes, placing my hand on his arm in a gentle grip. “I’m not going to do that. I just need more time.”

He stares at me seriously, and he must see something that puts his mind at ease, because his body loses some of its tension. I can feel eyes watching us through the dressing room door, but I ignore them. I never read any rules about not being allowed to have a personal relationship with a member of the orchestra. We work in the same building, but you wouldn’t exactly call us co-workers, so I don’t really care about people assuming things.

A long stretch of silence elapses between us before I say, “By the way, Pete’s agreed to the music lessons.”

A smile splits his lips, a real one, too. He genuinely wants to help my little brother. “That’s great, Jade. I’ll let you know when I’ve figured out which day will be best. We’ve got a lot of shows coming up, and I haven’t fallen into a proper routine yet.”

“That’s cool. Call me when you know,” I say, moving to go by him. “I need to get back to work now, okay?”

Reaching out, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear that’s fallen free of my bun. “Okay,” he breathes, and then he goes back inside the dressing room. I hurry to restock my tray, and then I return to see if any of the musicians need refills. I’m busy, but I can feel Shane watching me from where he sits quietly sipping on his water.

The other violinist, Avery, has the dressing table right beside his, and she’s chatting away to him. I wonder if he’s even listening because his eyes haven’t once left me. All of a sudden my white blouse feels too tight, my black skirt too restricting. He has this way of making me feel stripped bare even when I’m fully clothed.

It’s customary for me to do the rounds of the entire room, and when I get to Shane he says yes to another bottle of water. I know for a fact he has no intention of drinking it. He’s just doing this so that we’ll have to interact. Avery doesn’t want anything else and turns to fix her hair in a French twist.

When I hand Shane his second water, his fingers purposely graze mine, his stare hot, and I practically trip over my own feet to get moving on to my next stop. I can’t be certain, but I think I see his lips curve in a smirk.

Soon the interval is over, and it’s time for the performance to resume. I couldn’t be happier for the reprieve.

When I’m helping with closing up later on, I see Shane with his parents and a few other people in the lobby, all chatting in a group. Everything about them screams money, from the clothes they wear to the subtle gestures they make as they talk. Lara shoots me a funny annoyed look from across the way, where she’s closing up on merchandise. Clearly, she wants all the stragglers to push on so that we can close up properly and get home to our much-needed beds.

I keep feeling my eyes drifting shut due to my lack of sleep last night, so I have to continually blink to stay focused. I cash out my till and then go to assist Lara in fixing the merchandise shelves. Straining my ears, I try to hear what Shane and the people he’s with are talking about, but they’re too far away.

When he catches me looking, he says something to his dad before leaving the group and walking toward me. Great. I brought this on myself by staring at him like a love-hungry teenager and I know it. Still, I busy myself with the DVD shelf and try to pretend I don’t know he’s standing right behind me.

“Busy night?” he asks, one hand resting on the shelf above my head.

“No busier than usual. Did you play well?”

“I did. You didn’t get a chance to come see?”

I shake my head and give him a little smile while continuing to stack DVDs. “I rarely do. I’m hardly ever on duty in the auditorium. They mostly put me on the bar or the ticket booths.”

Shane rubs his jaw. “Yeah, I noticed it’s always the old matrons who usher.”

I grin now and whisper, “They’ve got it all sewn up. They’re like the concert hall mafia. Ushering is the easiest job. Oh, and don’t ever call them old matrons to their faces. Otherwise, you’ll be sleeping with the fishes.”

Shane moves closer, chuckling low. “I’ll remember that.”

His hand strokes my neck. I gasp and step away. “You might be off duty, but I’m still working,” I remind him, not meeting his eyes.

“It must have slipped my mind,” he mutters, his eyes boring holes into the side of my head.

His mother calls him back over, and he whispers goodbye before leaving me. I let out a long breath and look to Lara, who’s standing several feet away and who obviously observed everything just now.

“Ben’s right. He really does want to stick his Channing in your Tatum,” she says on a giggle.

I feign throwing a DVD at her head and laugh at how catastrophically badly she just messed up that sentence.

***

“I want you out of this house right now,” I demand, standing in the kitchen doorway in my nightgown.

It’s nine o’clock in the morning and Patrick, the good-for-nothing father of my three younger siblings is sitting at the table. There’s a half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of him and a half-smoked cigarette dangling between his dirty fingers. I hate it when all his other options have dried up, and he decides to come and burden himself on us.

His dull eyes flick to me as he takes a drag. “Greta kicked me out. I’ll need to stay here for a few days.”

“This isn’t your house, and you’re not welcome, Patrick.”

His fist slams hard down into the table, and I jump in fright. “I’ll stay as long as I like.”

“You’ll get the fuck out, or I’ll tell Alec to throw you out.”

“My son doesn’t take orders from you. And you’d do well to behave,” he replies, the threat obvious.

I can’t stand him. A couple of months before Pete was born, he and my mother broke up for good. I can’t get my head around why she put up with him for as long as she did in the first place. Mum was an intelligent woman, but she must have had a touch of low self-esteem to ever think this fool was what she deserved. I had to put up with him as a shoddy substitute father for way too long. The last time he came here, he stole fifty euros out of my purse and went to the bookies.

Then he showed up at three in the morning, shouting to get in because I’d locked all the windows and doors. After about an hour of banging and yelling, and after he’d woken half the neighbourhood, he finally gave up and left. This is the first I’ve seen of him since.

I fold my arms. “I suppose you’re here to pay me back that fifty?”

“What fifty?” he answers casually, as though butter wouldn’t melt.

“That’s it. I’m getting Alec.”

Strolling into the hallway, I call for my brother, but then my stomach sinks when I remember he’s working today. Patrick must know this already because I can hear him laughing. Now all I’ve got is an empty house and a drunkard gambler in my kitchen. Deciding to face the music alone, I march back in and lift the landline from the receiver on the wall.

“Get out or I’ll call the police.”

He stubs his smoke in an empty mug and gives me a look that says, I dare you.

I give him a steely look in return and begin dialling those three little numbers. When the operator swiftly answers, “Nine, nine, nine. What’s your emergency?” Patrick’s chair squeals against the linoleum as he gets to his feet.

“Fine. I’m going,” he spits, and I hang up the phone just as the front door opens and slams shut. Hmm, he must have been in a spot of bother with the police recently and doesn’t want any more run-ins.

Patrick’s not clever enough to be completely evil; however, he is an addict and a leech. I can’t afford to have him in this house wreaking havoc with everyone’s routines. He’s never been a dad to Pete, April, or Alec, and the only reason he ever comes here is for money and a roof over his head.

As I go to find breakfast, I look down to see that my hands are shaking, so I make a cup of camomile tea in the hopes that it will settle my nerves. I try to steer clear of anti-anxiety medication, because like Patrick I’m an addict and I can’t do drugs of any sort in half measures.

Perhaps that’s why I can’t stand to have him around, because in a way he’s like a mirror held up to my own flaws.

After breakfast I get ready for work, and I’m late so I flag a taxi on my way. There’s an afternoon as well as an evening event today, so my shift is going to be a long one. The roster tells me I’m on the ground floor bar, which is a lot busier than the one on the first floor. And it’s just my luck that when I get there both Shane and Avery are sitting on stools and sipping on coffees.

“Hello, Jade, isn’t it?” Avery greets me as I step out from the back room. Shane stays quiet and lifts his cup to his mouth.

This woman is nice, I can tell, and since I’ve always kind of felt sorry for her after Noeleen told me of her wedding obsession, I don’t like the idea of Shane using her. The fact they’re both sitting here is either a coincidence, or he’s trying to make me jealous. Okay, so maybe I’m just a little on edge after my encounter with Patrick this morning and feeling extra suspicious.

“Yep, that’s right, and you’re Avery. I hear you’re wonderful on the violin.” I haven’t heard that, but I know she plays, and for some reason I feel the need to give her a compliment.

She smiles modestly. “Thank you. Shane was telling me about the place you took him to on Sunday. It sounds amazing.”

“Oh, Ladybirds? Yeah, it’s a great club. You can come with us next time if you like.”

Her eyes light up, and I sense an innocence about her, a sheltered life. “Really? I’d love to.”

Shane’s eyes warm as he takes me in, and I suddenly realise that I was wrong. He wasn’t trying to make me jealous. He’s just trying to make a new friend, like I’ve been encouraging him to do. He sees the same innocence in Avery that I see, and he likes that I’m being nice to her.

“Great. Shane can pick you up.”

“I’d be glad to,” Shane puts in.

I wipe down the bar and go to serve a customer sitting at the other end.

“Jade Lennon, you’re in big trouble!” I hear Alec’s voice boom jokingly around the room as he walks toward the bar. I sigh, taking in his dirty work clothes and his dishevelled Mohawk. Only my brother wouldn’t think twice about walking into a classy place like this in construction gear. He slides onto a stool and gives Shane a sturdy handshake before nodding hello to Avery and winking. Her cheeks redden, and I let out another sigh. Alec never met a vagina he didn’t like.

“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” I ask as I use a dish towel to dry some glasses.

“I heard you had a visitor this morning. I’m working on a site close by today, so I thought I’d drop over and see if you’re all right.”

“I can handle your dad, Alec.”

“I know that. But he can be a prick at the best of times. Did he say anything to you?”

“He said a few things. He always does. Had his mind set on staying at ours, but I threatened him with calling the police and he skedaddled. We probably won’t be hearing from him again for a while.”

Both Shane and Avery are quiet as they listen to our exchange.

“Yeah, he rang me, giving out hell and calling you every name under the sun. I told him straight that he couldn’t stay.”

“I’m sorry, Al. I know he’s your dad and all, but I can’t have him in the house. I’m only starting to make headway with Pete, and you know if Patrick’s around all that will go to shit.”

“I know. I don’t want him there, either.”

When I glance at Shane for a second, I find concern and protectiveness etched on his face. It makes my heart stutter.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask Alec. “Or I could grab you something from the restaurant. Have you eaten yet?”

He pats his stomach. “Nope, haven’t had the chance. If you could get your hands on a sandwich, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in a minute.”

The concert hall houses a restaurant to the front of the building and I’m friends with a couple of the kitchen staff, so I know it won’t be a problem getting something for Alec. When I return with a chicken and bacon club, I find Shane gone and Alec sitting on his vacated stool next to Avery, too close really.

I put the sandwich down in front of him, and he gives me a grin in thanks.

“So, how long have you been in the orchestra?” he asks her, and I watch with interest.

I don’t like the idea of my brother with this girl, mainly because I can see him chewing her up and spitting her out, but I’m still fascinated. The two of them are so different, her refined and well-bred, Alec unrefined and rough around the edges. In some ways they’re like me and Shane. Although I like to think I’m not as rough and ready as my brother.

“Just over a year,” Avery replies shyly, focusing intently on her coffee cup as she drains the last of its contents. She looks like she might have a heart attack from Alec’s attention. “I’d better get going. It’s not long before the afternoon concert starts.”

Just as she slides off her stool, Alec puts down his sandwich and grabs her hand, pulling it to his mouth and kissing it. I try to hold back my laugh. He can be such a little chancer at times.

“Hopefully we’ll bump into each other again sometime,” he says as he looks up at her.

Avery lets out a tiny gasp and blushes yet again before quickly stealing away.

Alec turns back around in his stool and resumes eating his sandwich, a pleased gleam in his eye. I shake my head at him.

“Smooth as ever, bro.”

He grins. “What can I say? I think I’ve just acquired a taste for posh birds.”

I point a finger at him. “You leave her alone. She’s not like your usual type.”

“Oh, so it’s all right for you to punch above your weight, but not me?” he chides me playfully.

I scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The half-Asian pretty boy. I know you’ve been getting yourself a slice of action there.”

“We’re friends, Alec. Believe it or not, some people are actually capable of maintaining friendships with the opposite sex.”

“Some people, but not you two. I’m not blind.”

God, he’s so right. I hate that he’s right. “Whatever.”

He lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “Ha! I knew it. To be honest, I’m glad for you, sis. I was beginning to get worried. You haven’t had a bloke since that fuckhead Jason years ago.”

“We’re not together, not like that. We just had a bit of a thing…”

“Okay, stop right there. I don’t want any details,” Alec interrupts, wiping some crumbs off his mouth with a bar napkin.

I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you won’t be getting any.” Sex talk with my brother is not something that’s on my bucket list, thank you very much. I serve a couple of customers while he finishes his food.

“So, I suppose I’m on dinner duty tonight,” he says, setting the plate aside.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m working until ten.”

“No problem, I’ll grab some Chinese.”

A few minutes later he heads back to work, and I get busy as the bar starts to fill up. When the early evening crowd have gone and it’s time for my break, I find a message from Shane on my phone from a few minutes ago.

Sorry I had 2 leave w/out saying goodbye earlier. Come c me in the dressing room?

I wonder what he wants to see me for. I have to grab something to eat while I’m on my break, but I suppose I can spare a few minutes to go talk to him. The dressing room is mostly empty when I get there; Shane’s sitting, scrolling through his phone when his head comes up and he spots me approaching. I slide my bum onto the table in front of him and fold my arms.

“I saw your message. What’s up?” I say as he tucks his phone back in his pants pocket.

“Have you eaten?” he asks and winces suddenly, lifting his hand to rub the side of his neck.

“Not yet,” I say, and frown. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a bit of neck strain. It happens when you spend half your life with an instrument tucked there.” He gives me a half-hearted smile.

“Ouch. Come here,” I reply before I’ve properly thought it through.

He comes to me willingly, and I lean closer so I can gently rub his neck. Letting out a low groan, he melts into my touch, and the noise stirs a tingle between my legs. His hand rests on my thigh as I continue to massage his sore spot.

“That feels amazing. Can I hire you as my personal masseuse?”

I chuckle quietly. “I’m afraid you couldn’t afford me, sir.”

Another low groan. Wow, that noise is such an aphrodisiac it’s not funny. “Name your price.”

I just shake my head and keep rubbing until I feel him loosen up. “Any better?”

His eyes move to mine, hot and seeking. He seems to be considering something, but then simply answers, “Much better,” and pulls his chair back to its original spot. “So, do you want to go grab some food?”

“Sure. I was going to get a burrito. I need the carbs when I’m on my feet all day,” I reply. “Does that suit you?”

“Suits me fine,” he says, grabbing his coat.

We walk to the nearby burrito bar and then decide to sit in the gardens just behind the concert hall to eat.

“My brother was chatting up Avery at the bar after you left, you know,” I say before taking a big bite.

Shane looks surprised. “Really? I wouldn’t have thought she’d be his, uh, type.”

“Alec doesn’t have a type. He likes all types. But anyway, maybe you could warn her away from him? I don’t want her getting hurt when he takes her for a one-night stand and then never calls her again. She seems like a sensitive girl.”

“Oh, right, that sort of behaviour must run in the family,” Shane teases me.

I stare at him. “That’s not that same thing.”

He can barely conceal his grin. “So you’re saying I’d have seen you again if it hadn’t by chance turned out that I played in the orchestra?”

“Of course you’d have seen me again. Every time you walked down Grafton Street, you’d see me standing there all in blue,” I tease him back.

“Ah, so I’d get to admire you from afar.”

“Exactly.”

“Kind of feels like that anyway,” he says quietly.

“That’s not true. You’re always close, Shane. Too close.”

“Not close enough.”

A silence falls. I take a couple more bites of my burrito, but I know I can’t finish it. All of a sudden I’ve lost my appetite. I wrap it up in the foil and put it in my bag. Perhaps I’ll eat the rest later.

“I’m not sure if I can agree to what you’ve asked,” I say softly.

He turns to face me, his brows knit together. “Why not?”

“I just don’t feel up to that sort of an arrangement,” I answer, my voice breaking slightly.

Understanding in his gaze, he recognises my inner struggle and nods, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to his side. “Okay, Bluebird. Let’s forget I ever brought it up.”

I rest my head on his shoulder and stare straight ahead, whispering, “Thank you.” And for the next while we sit in quiet, listening to the water crash in the garden waterfall close by.

Chapter Fifteen

People are all around me, but I’m alone in my own little world.

The rush of Friday shoppers flows by like a gushing river, so much movement, and yet I’m absolutely still. When I’m standing on my box, I like to focus on something tiny, something nobody else even notices.

On the building on the other side of the street, a piece of red ribbon has gotten caught on a shop sign. It flutters in the breeze as though dancing. I’ve been watching it for the last two hours, completely transfixed. I’ve been watching it for so long that it’s no longer a single object. Now it’s cheap thread and red dye; it’s the shine when it catches a certain slant of light. It’s the distant music I hear when it dances with the wind.

I prick my ears then, because outside my deep meditation something is breaking through. Something other than the din of the crowded street. It’s real music, music I recognise.

Curiosity wins out, and with the slowness you’d expect of a statue that has suddenly sprung to life, I change my pose so I’m looking in the direction the music is coming from. Just a few yards away Shane is standing outside a shoe shop playing “Carmen Fantasy” on his violin.

What’s he doing here?

When he sees that I’m watching him, he winks. Winks!

Well, now he has my attention, not to mention the attention of several people who have stopped to listen to him play. Soon a crowd has formed to watch the virtuoso on the street. Living statues never really attract crowds. We connect with one or two people at a time. Music is where the big money is at when it comes to street performance. That or circus acts. Anything that involves fire and stilts always attracts interest.

Unless of course you happen to set yourself on fire or fall off your stilts, and in my years doing this I’ve witnessed both. Though in all honesty, the accidents bring with them their own audience.

I like this piece he’s playing. It reminds me of a tango dance. Shane does this really cool vibrato, and the crowd cheers. All of a sudden people are pairing off into couples and tangoing down the street. And don’t even ask me where the women got all those frilly dresses from, or the men their fancy black tuxedos.

Soon I’m surrounded not by shoppers but a street full of ballroom dancers. The bright blue sky darkens, the outdoor air drifts away, and I’m indoors in a ballroom that extends forever. Chandeliers hang from ceilings, light glittering through the cut crystal. Antique candelabras all around are lit with long, thin candlesticks.

A couple struts around my box. The man dips the woman low and runs his hand down her thigh, which is exposed by a deep slit in her dress. He lifts her up and twirls her away from me. The piece approaches its finish, and the room begins to brighten. The enclosed ceiling turns back into the open sky, and the glittering chandeliers are replaced by dull white clouds.

Shane’s music ends, and there are no dancers anymore, just ordinary shoppers like before. Sometimes I hate it when the music stops, hate the finality. Lots of people put money in the open violin case at his feet, and he thanks them gracefully. I smile when he packs up his things and walks toward me.

I haven’t moved a muscle since I turned to see where the music was coming from. He looks up at me as though admiring a work of art, his eyes landing on my wings, my white face, the waistline of my dress. Standing before me, he gives a deep bow, then rises and walks away, a smile on his lips all the while.

Okay, that was possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Needless to say, I’ve never had a man come and play music while I stood on the street in my costume. All of a sudden a loud involuntary laugh bursts out of my mouth. It’s so full of simple happiness that I find it difficult to breathe.

What is he doing to me?

Why is he doing this to me?

He doesn’t even know it, but he’s making me love him.

***

When Sunday comes I have to work, so I can’t make it to Ladybirds like I promised Shane and Avery. They agree to put it off until another week, since they both have a concert to play anyway. A week and a half passes by, and somehow every time I’m busking on the street Shane manages to show up to play me a song.

Sometimes it’s hours before he makes an appearance. Other times it’s only minutes.

I’m beginning to think he must be psychic because I busk on different days each week, but he always knows when I’m going to be there. I guess he figures it out by checking to see if I’m working. When I’m not working I’m almost always busking, unless April or Pete need me. Mostly though, they need me less and less these days. There’s something quite heart-breaking about watching the kids you’ve cared for transform into adults.

I’m smiling from ear to ear as I stroll home on a Wednesday afternoon. Shane came and played “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” to me by finger-plucking the strings; the whole time my belly was fizzy with emotion. The grey street was transformed into a glowing forest awash with mischievous winged creatures. One night he came and played “Clair de Lune,” and I paid a visit to my friend the moon, sitting on his round white head while I listened. Another time he played “Estrellita” and I was sufficiently seduced. Of course, he didn’t know that.

I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t hear him play again.

Dropping into a nearby newsagents, I grab some milk, bread, and other necessities, paying for it all with a whole bunch of coins because it’s the last of my money until I get paid on Friday. One downside of relying on the money people give to you on the street to buy stuff is that you end up having to pay for everything with small change. The girl at the checkout lets out a sigh when she sees me coming. I shop in here quite a bit, so she knows I’m the chick with the coins.

Sometimes I go to the bank and get it changed to notes, but I don’t always have the time for that. It seems to me that banks open some of the shortest hours of all businesses. I mean, unless I want to spend my entire lunch hour queuing, I’m not going to make it there between ten and four.

When I reach my street, pulling my box along on its wheels with one hand and carrying my shopping bag in the other, I spot Barry in the tiny patch of grass that makes up his front garden. Local authority housing in the city centre doesn’t exactly allow for large garden spaces.

Anyway, back to Barry.

It’s an unseasonably warm day, and he’s brought an armchair out from his living room and placed it in a nice sunny spot. Beside him is a plastic foldaway table on which sits a radio streaming commentary for a football game, alongside a bottle of Budweiser.

He’s lounging back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head, eyes closed as he soaks up a few rays. The picture of contentment. I have to admire him for how much he doesn’t give a shit about being weird. I think that’s the main reason why he’s the only neighbour I actually get along with.

I suppose that once you reach fifty, have worked your arse off all your adult life to support a family and have lost half your hair, you’re entitled to do as you please. The commentators get riled up as one of the teams scores a goal, and I’m guessing it was Barry’s team because he jumps up from his armchair and pumps his fist into the air, letting out a bellow of triumph.

I laugh as I walk to my house.

“I see you’re making the most of the sun while it lasts,” I call out to him.

“Yes, yes I am,” he replies, grinning and reaching for his beer bottle. “And I’m not the only one, it seems.”

He nods in the direction of an apartment block that overshadows our street. It’s got those metal frames on the windows that aren’t quite a balcony and aren’t quite a window box. One of the windows has been thrown wide open, and there are two shirtless teenage guys sitting on the ledge with their legs dangling out, sunning themselves.

“You do it better,” I tell him. “And safer. I can see one of them falling from that window if they aren’t careful.”

“Feckin’ eegits,” Barry agrees, and returns his attention to the radio.

Just as I’m stepping out of the shower a half hour later, my phone starts to ring, the number of an agency I sometimes work for flashing on the screen.

“Hello,” I answer, multi-tasking talking on the phone and rubbing my hair dry with a towel.

“Hey, Jade,” Jonathan, the HR guy who used to get me regular temp gigs before I started working at the concert hall, greets me. “Please tell me you’re free tonight.”

“Free as a bird. Have you got some work for me?” I ask with interest. Last-minute agency jobs usually pay decent money, and I could do with a little cash injection. I’m expecting my electricity and gas bills any day now.

“I might. You’ve got silver service experience, haven’t you?”

“I do indeed. I’ve been a server in a couple of hotels over the years.”

“Yes, I thought I saw that on your resume. Right, well, we’re providing the manpower for a charity event tonight. It’s a dinner-auction affair, and one of our servers has had to pull out. Can you fill in for her? It pays one-fifty for the whole evening.”

“I’ll be there with bells on. Where’s it being held?”

Jonathan fills me in on the details, and I memorise them before hanging up and throwing a sandwich together for lunch. I’m not scheduled to be at the concert hall until tomorrow evening, so I can afford to work late tonight. There’s a knock at the door, and since I’m the only one home I go to answer it.

Pete’s scumbag “friend” Damo and two other boys in their late teens stand on the doorstep.

“Pete’s at school,” I tell them, and go to close the door. Damo sticks his foot out to stop me.

“You’ll tell him we’ve been looking for him, yeah?”

The aggression in his voice raises my hackles, so I kick his foot away from the door. “Aren’t you a little old to be hanging around with Pete?” I ask, because sometimes I can’t help myself but to invite trouble.

Damo narrows his eyes to slits, looking outraged that I just kicked his foot. “You ever do that again, and I’ll put a brick through your window,” he threatens me.

Okay, now it’s on. I step forward, and all three boys back up a bit. Yeah, I can be scary when I want to be, and there’s something about the mother hen in me that makes me get all protective when it comes to my younger siblings. People harming my family is a big trigger for me.

“You break my window, and I’ll break your face. Now fuck off, and don’t call here again.”

Damo’s threatening stance falters for a split second, but he quickly puts it back in place before his two friends notice. “Just tell Pete we were looking for him,” he spits, and then nods to the others to follow him before stomping away.

Yep, I definitely won that round. I’ll keep that drug-dealing piece of shit away from my brother if it’s the last thing I do.

A couple of hours later Pete arrives home just as I’m placing a lasagne and salad on the table for his dinner. He looks exhausted and, if I’m not mistaken, a little bit haunted. It concerns me. Dropping down into a seat, he lets out a long sigh and then starts silently eating. I lean against the side of the fridge, studying him.

“Damo and two of his friends came knocking for you earlier,” I say, and watch his reaction.

His eyes widen, and he seems flustered when he responds, “Did they say what they wanted?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.”

“Has something happened?”

He swallows a mouthful of food. “Uh, not really.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Nah.” He’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I might have seen something that freaked me out.”

“Like…?”

He scratches the spot below his ear. “This guy Damo was dealing to wouldn’t pay up, said he gave him shit coke, so Damo beat him.”

“And you were freaked? This is the world you said you wanted to live in, Pete.”

“I’m not talking about a few slaps, Jade. He beat him so badly he had to be hospitalised. Fucking hell, I can still see the lad’s face…all bloody, all wrong.” His voice starts to choke up, and then tears are running down his cheeks. Shit. I hurry to his side and throw my arms around his shoulders. Sometimes it feels like he’s growing up so fast, but really, he’s still just a kid.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I murmur as I hold him to me. “I’ll get Alec to have a word with Damo, tell him to stay away from you.”

Pete’s head comes up as he wipes at his tears. “You think he’ll listen?”

I grin. “Have you seen your brother these days? Of course that skinny little shit will listen.”

Pete nods and seems to calm down. Then he gets embarrassed when he realises he’d just been crying in front of his big sister. He pulls away, clearing his throat, and then finishes his food. I go upstairs to get ready for the agency gig, a feeling of relief washing over me. Pete is finally seeing sense that Damo is bad news.

The charity event is in the Convention Centre on the quays. I’ve always thought it was a strange-looking building, kind of like a gigantic glass cylinder tilted on an axis. Or a gigantic glass cock tilted on an axis. Whatever architect designed it must have been smoking some strong shit at the time.

When I arrive I’m immediately handed a uniform consisting of a white blouse, tight black trousers, and a black waistcoat. The guy who gives it to me quickly runs me through the proceedings for the night, which will consist of a three-course meal for a thousand people and a jewellery auction with pieces donated from a well-known Irish designer to raise money for breast cancer. There’ll also be some high-profile bands playing on stage.

Normally when I work on these sorts of events I’m put in charge of a couple of tables, but since this is all so high-end there’s a server for each one. Mine is close to the stage and seats eight people. Before any of the food is served, we have to bring out the drinks. There’s a choice of red or white wine, pink Prosecco, or champagne.

Back in my drinking days pink Prosecco was my celebratory tipple for birthdays and such. Now it holds absolutely no appeal.

My heart stutters when I’m carrying the first tray to my assigned table and I clock a handsome profile and a dark head of hair. Shane. He’s sitting with his mother and a few others. His dad’s not there, though.

Of all the awkward coincidences.

It suddenly makes sense. The charity Mirin runs must be the one holding this event.

Shane doesn’t seem happy to be here. In fact, he appears downright miserable. He looks up as I approach and is taken aback when he sees me, but then a big warm smile shapes his perfect lips. That smile is what gives me the courage to keep going.

He doesn’t say anything while I place the drinks on the table, and Mirin is caught up chatting with an older man beside her so she doesn’t notice me. Women like her rarely take note of the people who serve them.

Shane selects a glass of champagne and knocks back a long gulp. For whatever reason, he looks like he needs it. I stand close to him, and his voice is low when he asks in amusement, “Just how many jobs do you actually have?”

My mouth curves in a barely there smile when I reply just as low, “I work events like these occasionally.”

Subtly he reaches for my hand out of sight of everyone else and gives it a quick squeeze. “You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here. Someone must have taken pity on me, because I really needed to see a friendly face.”

I give him a curious look, not understanding what’s going on with him. It’s only as I’m stepping away to return to the kitchen that I recognise the couple sitting at a table one row down and everything clicks into place.

She’s even prettier in real life, Mona Campbell, perched beside Justin, her new husband-to-be.

I can’t believe Shane’s mother invited them, knowing how they went behind Shane’s back. I wonder if she even told him they were going to be here, or if she just sprang it on him when he arrived. What a thorough-going bitch.

I almost gasp when Mona rises from her seat in her floor-length evening gown, a gown that is doing nothing to disguise her small rounded baby bump. Ah, shit. That’s not something Shane needed to see. Not only is his ex-fiancée moving on with his ex-best friend, but she’s also very much pregnant with Justin’s baby.

I feel like putting aside all my professionalism, running to him, and giving him a massive hug in front of everyone. But I don’t do that. Perhaps I’ll be able to catch him in private at some point. Twenty minutes later the starter is served, consisting of seared scallops and a fancy pear sauce. When I put Shane’s plate in front of him I allow my body to brush off his, a small token of my moral support. Then I’m back in the kitchen, rushing around the massive, humid room helping to get everything ready for the next course.

The one thing I don’t like about these kinds of events is that there isn’t much camaraderie among the staff, since not everyone knows each other and we’re all in such a frazzle to get things done on time.

With the starter finished, I collect the empty plates and realise just how self-absorbed Mirin is because she still hasn’t recognised me. Shane’s on what must be his third or fourth glass of champagne already. I put my hand to his shoulder for a second, leaning down and murmuring, “I know why you’re miserable, but getting drunk isn’t going to help. Don’t let the bitch get to you.” I pause and amend, “Either of them.” Because his mother is just as much of a “see you next Tuesday” for inviting Mona as Mona is for cheating.

I’m just about to move on when Shane catches my hand to stop me. “I’m leaving once the meal is done. My dad’s out of town on business so I told Mum I’d be her escort, but I can’t take much more of this. Come home with me?”

Looking into his pained eyes, I’m not sure what he’s asking, but his expression is so agonised that I find myself nodding and whispering, “Okay.” I probably won’t get paid the full amount if I leave early, but Shane needs me, and I find myself unable to refuse him right now.

A few minutes after I serve the dessert, a chocolate fondant that makes my mouth water just looking at it, I make a quick run to the bathroom. After doing my business, I return to my post just in time to see Shane standing so abruptly from his chair it falls over behind him, making a loud clatter in the process. Then with an angry look on his face he marches right out of the room. Not knowing what else to do, I follow him.

When I reach him he’s pacing back and forth in a quiet corridor. He looks up at my approach and his expression is agonised. A moment later he lets out a long sigh.

“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. He stops pacing and raises his lowered head to me. His eyes are full of stark emotion.

Startled, I take his hand and lead him to the end of the corridor, where we won’t be disturbed. Then I pull him into a hug and whisper, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s fucking pregnant,” he grits out, his face nestled in the crook of my neck.

“I know,” I murmur, rubbing soothing circles into his back to comfort him.

What he says next almost knocks me off my feet. “She aborted our baby, and now she’s having one with him.” His words are so choked that I’m not sure I heard them at first. Jesus, no wonder he’s so fucked up.

I put both my hands on either side of his face so that his sad eyes meet mine. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?”

His quick, fervent nod is all the answer I need. Keeping a hold of his hand, I take him with me as I go to get my things from the temporary locker I was given when I arrived.

The locker room is empty, since all the staff are busy working the event, so I manage to slip out of my uniform and back into my own clothes quickly. I’ll probably get an angry phone call from the agency tomorrow for my disappearing act, but Shane needs me.

We leave through the back exit so as to avoid his mother and then catch a cab back to his place. His house is quiet when we get there, and I sit him on the couch in the living room before going to make some tea.

When life kicks you upside the head, a hot beverage is always a much-welcome comfort.

Returning to the living room, I place two steaming mugs on the coffee table and sit down beside Shane.

“That’s what messed my head up the most, you know,” he says quietly. He didn’t speak a word the whole journey here, almost like he was stuck in a trance since he told me about Mona having an abortion in the empty corridor. “For months I could feel her drifting away from me, so when I found her with Justin I was angry, but I wasn’t exactly surprised. A few days later I found a crumpled receipt in her coat pocket for a cheque made out to an abortion clinic. I confronted her, and she admitted to being pregnant with my kid several months previously. She said she wasn’t ready for a baby and knew I’d never agree to getting rid of it, so she kept it a secret.” He stops and lets out a joyless laugh. “She had the gall to tell me that what I didn’t know couldn’t hurt me.”

Bringing my hand up, I brush his hair away from his forehead in an affectionate gesture. “People are shit. The day you stop expecting decency from them is the day you’ll free yourself from getting hurt.”

He shakes his head and turns his body, shifting closer to me. His anger has long since dried up, but I can tell seeing Mona tonight is still affecting him. “Not all people are shit. You’re not. You’re the opposite of shit.”

I grin at him and make a joke. “Why, thanks, Shane. That’s one of the nicest things anybody’s ever said to me.”

A full, throaty laugh escapes him, and my heart lifts to see him smiling. “You’re so fucking cool, you know that?” he says, running his hand through my ponytail.

“Ah, so many compliments tonight. Stop, or I’ll get a big head.”

“You’re like a salve to all the crap I’ve been through. I sit and have a conversation with you, and poof, all the pain is gone.”

“Well, I’m happy to be able to help.”

We fall into a silence as I lean forward and pick up my mug, taking a long, hot gulp. My other hand has somehow found its way into Shane’s, and he’s tracing circles with his thumb on the inside of my wrist. I place the mug back down and turn to look at him. His hair is a little dishevelled from stressfully running his hands through it one too many times. His beautiful gaze is shining and intense, focused in on me like I’m the bull’s-eye on a dart board.

“I like how you’ve been coming to play for me on the street,” I say, breaking the quiet.

His smile grows wide. “Who says I was playing to you?”

I give him a look. “Weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s kind of becoming the highlight of my day,” I blurt out honestly.

“Hearing me play is the highlight of your day?” he asks in genuine surprise, like he thought maybe I was just tolerating his eccentricities or something.

“I didn’t mean to admit that,” I reply bashfully, and focus on the movement of his thumb at my wrist. “But yeah. It’s nice. Kind of makes me feel special to have a virtuoso come and perform just for me.”

He sucks in a breath, his thigh moving and nudging against mine. “Explain to me why we’re just friends again?”

“Shane…”

“No, seriously. I know I’m not the only one who’s feeling this.”

I stare up into his eyes, some kind of recklessness forming inside me. I want to feel every inch of him, want to put my lips on all his gorgeous skin.

So the next thing that comes out of my mouth is probably going to be the biggest regret of my life, but I can’t seem to stop myself. My voice barely a whisper, I ask, “That arrangement you suggested, is it still on the table?”

Chapter Sixteen

The grin that spreads across Shane’s face makes my pores tingle. It’s almost…predatory. His thumb moves from my wrist up and along the veins on the inside of my arm.

One eyebrow raised, he murmurs deeply, “I thought you said you couldn’t handle it?”

With my free hand I gesture between the two of us. “I can’t, but I can’t handle this, either. So why deprive ourselves when it’s going to hurt either way?”

Shane sucks on his lower lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then we won’t hurt each other,” he says with a determined look in his eyes as his face hovers inches from mine.

“Okay, it’s a deal, then,” I say backing up a bit, thrusting my hand out to him and laughing out of nervousness. “Nobody gets hurt, and we both get to enjoy some incredible no-strings sex.”

Shane doesn’t breathe a word while he shakes my hand, his gaze growing dark with thoughts and need. In the back of my mind I know what I’ve just said is the most untrue statement of the century, but I need to fool myself into believing this is a solid plan. Kind of like when you convince yourself to eat that slice of chocolate cake, since you’re going to be starting a diet in the morning; in a tiny corner of your mind you know the diet’s about as likely to happen as Brad Pitt walking through the door and declaring his undying love.

With my hand in his, Shane pulls me into his body so that our chests slam together and we’re both breathing quickly. He leans forward and brushes his lips over mine, just a whisper of a touch, and yet I feel it right in my core.

“I didn’t say we have to start right away,” I rasp as he trails those lips from my mouth over my cheek to the line of my jaw.

“Just a taste,” Shane mumbles against my skin, and my entire body breaks out into goose bumps. “I want to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it almost every day since we first met.”

A small chuckle escapes me as I watch him kiss his way down my neck. “You little pervert.”

His hand glides along the outside of my thigh to the inside before skimming up to the apex of my legs. He rubs lightly through my jeans and says in a voice that’s deliciously lustful, “I want to suck on your clit until you scream.”

Wow. My sophisticated concert violinist has a dirty mouth, and it thrills me.

“Jesus, Shane…”

His hand comes up, and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip before dipping inside my mouth. I gasp and then touch my tongue to it, sucking hard. He groans.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes on me the entire time.

“I’m a sure thing, you know. You don’t have to butter me up with flattery,” I joke, my voice strained.

He stares at me for a long time, slowly shaking his head. “You’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen,” he says firmly, each word enunciated sharp and precise, like he’s sending a message. Reaching up, he unbuttons my shirt to expose my bra. He trails his hand over the lace before pinching my nipple through the fabric. I let out a little whimper, and he grins full-on, moving down to undo my jeans. I lie on his couch, transfixed, unable to bring my attention away from him as he casually undresses me. It’s like he’s been doing it all his life.

Soon my jeans are gone, thrown onto the floor. He licks a line across my abdomen, nipping and kissing my belly. I gasp softly when really I want to scream for him to take everything off me. I’m hardly taking part in this at all, too fascinated by how sexy he is, so focused and attentive. I think it’s true what they say about the shy ones being the complete opposite in the bedroom.

Turn off the lights and turn off the shyness.

Shane’s got this subtle confidence in his sexuality that can’t be taught. I’m totally at his mercy. His teeth graze the edge of my knickers, teasing, hinting at the fact that he could probably rip them off me if he wanted to. Instead he slowly pulls them down, exposing me inch by agonising inch. I’m breathing like I just ran five miles, heaving, obsessed with how his golden eyes drink me in.

He kisses my mound, and for a second I’m relieved I keep everything neat and tidy down there. Then I’m not thinking at all. I’m only feeling his tongue as it flicks over my folds, soft and feather light, almost like a question. His warm hands push my legs farther apart, and he looks up at me, gaze hooded, as he goes deeper. Every time he licks me, so carefully, so skilled, a spark of pleasure rips through my system.

Groaning, he parts my lips and finds my clit, rubbing circles into it with his thumb and making my body shake. Then he moves fast, his mouth going to the tiny bundle of nerves and sucking hard. Before I can think another thought, he thrusts two fingers deep inside me, and I let out a moan so loud I actually feel like blushing. Me. Blushing. Has the world turned upside down?

How have I survived this far without knowing the pleasure of having this man worship me with his mouth?

“You’re…really…fucking good at this,” I gasp, letting my fingers drift into his hair.

I can see him smiling, but his mouth is far too indisposed for a response. His fingers start to pump hard and fast as he begins to swirl his tongue around my clit. Jesus Christ, but he knows what he’s doing.

His other hand moves up my body to squeeze one of my breasts. I practically cry when he drags his mouth from me and pulls me up to sit.

He seems to see the question in my disappointed gaze because he replies, “We need this off, Bluebird.”

I understand then as he unclips my bra and throws it onto the floor with the rest of my things. I’m suddenly aware that he hasn’t removed a single item of his own clothing, so I make quick work of disposing of his shirt. Before I get the chance to take off his trousers, he’s moving back down my body, his mouth doing all sorts of amazing things to my most intimate parts. He reaches up and pinches my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he begins moulding my breast with his hand.

“How are you so good at this?” I breathe as a fire starts to build in me. I’m going to come in seconds if he just keeps circling my clit with his tongue. Unfortunately, I was dumb enough to ask a question.

He comes up for air and replies low, “Maybe I spent a little too much time imagining doing it to you.”

Okay, that was the best answer. The. Best. Answer.

I moan. “Don’t stop.”

His grin is intolerable, and then his tongue is on me, his fingers are inside me, and I feel like I’m going to explode. I hold onto his hard shoulder with one hand, my other hand gripping a cushion so tight I might rip a hole in it. It’s a good job cushions don’t need to breathe; otherwise, I’d be suffocating the thing.

“You feel amazing,” he says as he licks me, his words vibrating through my sex.

I whimper as I feel myself reach my climax, pleasure ripping me apart. I’ve never come so hard with a guy. Never. It’s almost like this has been building up for days. Being around each other and not touching at all is like the most torturous kind of foreplay.

He keeps on tonguing me, even after I’ve come, and it’s so intense that I have to beg him to stop. He kisses his way up my body until he reaches my mouth and starts nipping at my lips. I pull his mouth to mine and kiss him deeply, needing to taste him. It’s a heady sensation, the mix of the two of us.

He hooks one arm around my back and the other under my legs, and then unexpectedly lifts me from the couch. I slide my arms around his neck and hold on.

“Where are we going?” I whisper.

“My room. You’re tired.”

“I should go home…”

“You’re not going anywhere. We’re sleeping, Bluebird. Just sleeping.”

“That’s kind of crossing a boundary, isn’t it?”

He shushes me, and then we’ve climbed the stairs and he’s kicking open the door to his room. The walls are bare, and the bed is gigantic. He puts me down on the mattress and flicks on a low lamp. There’s a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a tonne of book shelves. In the far corner there’s a small couch with a bunch of sheet music spread messily across it.

I stay sitting on the bed, stark naked, not knowing what to do. He wants me to stay over, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, what are the rules here? Do I return the favour by going down on him? Do I leave early in the morning before he wakes up so there’s no awkwardness? I’ve always felt that ideas seem much better at night than they do in the harsh light of day.

Will I regret this tomorrow? Probably.

Do I want to stay here now and let him hold me as I sleep? Most definitely.

God, this is such a shady situation with way too many grey areas. He pulls back the covers and drags me under with him, curling his body around mine, his arm tight around my middle. He traces shapes over my skin, the soothing touch causing me to close my eyes and drift to sleep.

When I wake up it’s morning, bright light streaming through the window. Groaning, I stretch out my body, remembering where I am and the exact events that brought me here. Yep, hasty decisions definitely seem better at night. A feeling of dread is forming in my gut, not because I didn’t enjoy what happened between me and Shane, but because I enjoyed it too much.

We took to each other like we’d been together forever, not like it was only the second time we’d been intimate.

I’m alone in the bed, but I can hear someone pottering around down in the kitchen. I look about the room and remember that I left all my clothes downstairs, so I grab a clean T-shirt of Shane’s from one of his drawers and throw it on. It hits me mid-thigh, which is just enough coverage to be considered decent.

When I go in search of him, I find him sitting at the table, topless, a cup of coffee in front of him and a violin in his lap. His back is turned to me, so he doesn’t know I’m there yet. The muscles in his shoulders move as he puts new strings on his instrument. The movement sort of holds me transfixed. I never imagined this would be a strenuous activity, but by the looks of it, it is. His muscles tense up and release as he works.

I step fully into the room and walk around the table to sit across from him. His hands pause, setting the violin aside, and his eyes come up to meet mine.

“Morning,” I whisper, feeling strange about being here. Though by the way he’s eating me up with his gaze, I’m thinking he’s not feeling the same way.

“Is that my T-shirt?” he asks, smiling widely.

“Yeah, we left my stuff in the living room, remember?” I reply, folding my arms over my chest and shifting uncomfortably as my stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble.

Shane chuckles. “Do you want some breakfast?”

I stand up and nod, needing something to do to keep my nerves at bay. His eyes follow me as I walk to the fridge and open it. “Sure. What have you got?”

I spot a carton of eggs, some bread, milk, butter, the usual mainstays. Then I feel his breath hit the back of my neck and the warmth of his body tingle along my spine. His hand slides across my belly and then dips down under the hem of the T-shirt I’m wearing. My thighs drift apart slightly as I gasp and he cups me right between the legs. His lips brush over my neck, causing goose bumps to scurry down my spine. He caresses my sex, and I’m instantly wet for him, so full of need.

A surge of arousal rushes through me, and then all of a sudden I’m taking the lead.

I turn around swiftly and push him over to where the kitchen opens up into a sun room extension. I push him again, down onto a narrow sofa before straddling his hips. He watches me as he lies there, mouth open, chest heaving. His eyes glitter in the sunlight, and I’m so turned on I don’t even care that we’re in a room made of glass for all the world to see.

I reach down and try to get the fly of his jeans open. I have absolutely no underwear on, grinding my sex against him. Once I have them open I pull him free, practically shaking as I run my hand down his length. He’s perfectly long and thick, just what I need.

Raising myself up, I position his cock right at my entrance and then slowly lower my body down all the way. I can feel every inch of him as he fills me, and a loud moan erupts from the back of my throat. Shane lets out a guttural groan, his hands fisting at my hips. Then I start to ride him, pushing myself up and down on his cock slowly, seeking pleasure from his body and giving him a show in the process.

He grips the hem of my T-shirt and drags it up over my head, my long hair falling through it and my breasts bobbing free. His eyes are glued to my chest as I ride him, and I feel his cock hit every sweet spot inside me. If I thought standing up was good, it had nothing on being on top. This is the deepest he can possibly get, and it’s maddening. All my inhibitions fall by the wayside as my sounds fill the room.

“Incredible,” he rasps. “We fit so well together, Bluebird.” His hand moves up along my hip to my ribcage.

Those words momentarily break my lusty haze. They’re too romantic, have too much meaning, and they make this something it’s not supposed to be. Now I’m no longer lost in the sex. Unprotected sex, might I add. Completely my fault, too, since I practically jumped on him without thinking of the consequences. I’m on the pill, so pregnancy’s not an issue. Diseases aren’t really an issue, either. We’re both mature and responsible enough to keep track of those kinds of things.

It’s the intimacy that’s the problem.

Being skin on skin. No barriers. It creates an emotional, almost soul-deep connection that’s not supposed to happen between friends with an “arrangement.” But God, it feels so good to have him inside me, to be able to feel all his hot, silky skin, that I almost don’t care about the implications. Almost.

He reaches up and grips my neck, pulling my mouth down to his for a deep, earth-shattering kiss. Now I’m not the one riding him anymore; the pleasure is so much that my body has gone limp. My bones have turned to mush. Now he’s moving his hips from his position below and pumping up into me.

“Babe,” he murmurs as I drag my mouth from his so I can bury my face in his neck. It’s warm here, and nice. This way I don’t have to look into his beautiful, deep eyes and feel things I’m not supposed to be feeling. Hands clutching my hips again, he starts to pump faster, and I rise up, all of my insides tightening with impending release. Now we move together, fast and frenzied, coaxing each other to that perfect place where for seconds that feel like hours there isn’t a single thought in your head, there’s only the feeling of coming.

So in tune with one another’s bodies, we orgasm together, my walls pulsing around his cock, milking him dry. He swears profusely under his breath, because swearing is the only way to express how amazing this feels. I swear, too, because I know this is bad, really fucking bad.

Anything that feels this perfect needs to be vocalised with a couple shits and fucks.

We stare at each other for a long time, me above and him below. Absolutely connected, having a conversation without words.

Yeah, we’re both completely screwed.

Once my breathing has started to slow down, I lower my body to his and wrap my arms around his neck. His hands pet at my hair, as though trying to reassure me that everything is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I drift off for a while, half asleep, half not, and then finally I move off him.

“Can I use your shower?” I ask.

He nods. “Go ahead. I’ll cook us some eggs while you’re showering.”

I grin. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“It’s more of a ‘not having time to cook’ issue than not being able to. I get by,” he says, and then pats me playfully on the bottom.

I go into the living room to collect my discarded clothes from last night. Upstairs I turn on the shower and then step under the hot spray, almost feeling sad that I have to wash Shane’s smell off me.

And that right there is why this whole thing is one big old bad idea.

Can I back out of the arrangement now that it’s been… consummated? Perhaps since we’ve fucked each other’s brains out a second time, the need will have dissipated. Though even as I’m thinking this I can already feel the hunger for him re-fuelling. This is scary, and not something that’s going to go away after one or two sessions.

Sometimes I wish my brain didn’t always have to warn me about things. Stupid people seem to live such easy, carefree lives.

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off with a towel and wrap up my wet hair. Then, like any decently curious human being, I go snooping. God forbid I actually ask for a tour. No, I’d rather be nosy in private, thanks very much.

It’s a four-bedroom house, but only two of the rooms have actual beds in them. The other two are sort of office slash practice rooms, full of stuff I assume he’s accumulated over the years. There are lots of music books. You know, those old thick cream ones with pages upon pages of sheet music and music theory inside. There are also several violins, some shiny and perfect, hanging in cases on the walls, and others battered and bruised. Clearly these are the ones he practices with. He doesn’t have to care about breaking cheaper instruments.

For some reason, I see more life and spirit in the cheap violins than I do in the pristine ones in their sealed protective cases. On a stool there’s a bow with half the fibres broken off. I pick it up and run my hands along the snapped horse hair, imagining the demons Shane worked out as he sawed it into the violin so hard it broke.

Because I know he has demons. On the outside he’s like his polished, perfect violins, but on the inside lies a battered and broken one. I need to know what happened to him. He told me about Mona and the abortion, but I sense more. It’s probably hypocritical of me to want to know, since I’ve got demons I never plan on revealing to him.

In the corner of the room there’s a black leather trunk; the lid is open, and inside there are a bunch of paintings in fancy frames. He must not have had the chance to hang them yet, which makes me wonder just how long he’s been living here.

There’s a sort of half-finished feel to the place, so I’m thinking not that long.

Pulling up a seat, I flick through the paintings, admiring them. Most of them are modern art, a bunch of shapes and colours on the canvas that mean something different to every person who looks at them. I gasp out loud then, because the next painting I come across is eerily familiar. Before I’ve even pulled it out of the trunk, I recognise the brush strokes.

They belong to my mother.

Then, when I’ve pulled it out and laid it on my lap, something strange catches in my throat. How on earth does he have this?

The picture shows a city street, pedestrians walking hurriedly by, and in the background there’s me. The Blue Lady. Mum did lots of paintings of me when she was alive and this is just one of them, but the question is, when and how did Shane acquire it?

The feeling of betrayal is an ugly emotion.

Sometimes it’s so virulent that it makes you want to die.

He stood on the edge of the famous Reichsbrücke.

Sucking in what he envisaged would be his very last breath, he jumped.

***

Healing a broken body is easier than healing a broken heart.

His limbs had long since knit themselves back together, but the silly organ still ached.

His only solace was the painting on the wall, the one of the woman in blue.

She gave him hope.

Chapter Seventeen

Heading downstairs on shaky legs, I carry the painting with me under my arm. Shane is busy setting plates on the table, so he doesn’t immediately notice what I’ve got. I prop the painting on a chair and sit down, leaning my chin on my hand and looking at him speculatively.

Shane turns from the cooker with the hot pan full of scrambled eggs. He dishes them onto the plates and then pauses when he sees me. His eyes travel from me to the painting and then back again. He swallows, turns around, and puts the pan back on the cooker. Wiping his hands off on a dish towel, he comes and take his seat on the other side of the table.

He picks up his fork, scoops up some eggs, and shoves them in his mouth. A minute later he nods to the painting. “Where did you find that?”

If I’m not mistaken, his voice sounds hesitant.

“I was looking in your practice room, saw your art collection and started browsing. You’ll understand my surprise to find one of my mum’s pictures there.”

I start eating now, too, watching his reaction all the while. It suddenly makes sense why he took an interest in Mum’s art when he visited my house.

“I’ve had that piece for a while,” he says, voice low.

“You mean from before you knew me?” I ask in genuine surprise. For some reason I had it in my head that he got his hands on it after we’d met.

He nods. “Yeah, that’s why I was watching you that first night. I felt like I’d walked into a dream. There you were, the blue woman from my painting.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “I thought you were just drunk.”

“I was a little tipsy,” he admits. “Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been so blatant about staring at you.”

I bob my head and eat some more of the breakfast he made for me, a strange fizzing sensation in my belly. This is just kind of weird. Weird, but also a little wonderful. “So where did you get it?”

He raises a brow. “The painting?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s from my parents’ house,” he explains. “It was hanging on the wall in the spare bedroom, and I’d been staying there for a while after, well, after my entire life fell apart, thanks to Mona. I don’t know why, but that painting was a huge comfort to me.”

“Wow,” I whisper, feeling odd to discover that a man I didn’t even know had been deriving comfort from a picture of me. It makes me wonder who else might have my mum’s paintings. She was pretty prolific, so there could be hundreds, if not thousands of them in circulation around the country, even around the world.

“I asked my dad where he got it from, because I loved the style and I wanted to buy another. There’s this peaceful quality about your mother’s work, kind of like she’s trying to tell the world not to fret on things,” Shane continues. “Like she’s telling you everything will be all right in the end.”

I get that. There’s always been a warmth in Mum’s art, almost like a maternal affection for the world. The way she depicted things showed her heart.

“And what did your dad say?”

“He didn’t know. So I asked Mum, and she couldn’t remember where they’d gotten it from, either. She thought maybe it had been given to her as present at some point. It was a little mystery, and I was kind of disappointed that I’d never be able to find another work like it. Then I was out that night and I saw you, my painting come to life. I don’t normally approach strangers like that, but I just had to know you.”

“That’s sweet,” I tell him, smiling. “And you took it from your parents’ place when you left?”

“Yeah, it was like a comfort blanket. I couldn’t let it go.”

I frown. “How long had you been staying with them?”

His eyes shift away from mine. “A while.”

“How much of a while, Shane?” I press.

There’s a long pause before he finally answers. “Six months.”

My jaw drops. “That’s a long while.” I stop talking then, considering what to say next. “At the photo shoot when you were off getting changed, your mum said something weird to me.”

His face grows serious. “What did she say?”

“She said you were vulnerable. What did she mean by that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shane.”

“What? I said I don’t know. Now just leave it.”

“Fine,” I reply, not liking his snappy response. I stand from the table and carry my plate over to the sink. “I’m going home now. I have a shift later on.”

I don’t look back at him as I turn to leave the room, but he quickly catches up to me. He grabs me by the waist, hauling me back against his chest. “Don’t run off. I didn’t mean to get pissed. It’s just that she had no right to say that to you.”

I turn in his arms so that I’m facing him. “She was warning me away from you.”

“That sounds like Mum all right.”

My hand trails from his chest up to his neck, resting just under the line of his jaw. “If you have issues, Shane, I need to know about them. This thing between us could go badly wrong if we’re not completely transparent with one another.”

I search his face, and what I see is turmoil. If he has mental health problems, which is what I got from Mirin telling me he was vulnerable, then I need to know about them. I need to know where to tread lightly.

“Right after I found out about Mona’s abortion, I did something stupid. I was at my lowest, and you have to understand that this wasn’t typical behaviour for me. It just felt like everything in my life was a lie.” His words are hushed, quiet, like he’s ashamed or something.

“I know all about stupid, Shane. Believe me, nothing you’ve done could hold a candle to the stupid I’ve committed over the years.”

“I jumped off a bridge in Vienna. On purpose,” he says, abruptly cutting me off.

Whatever words I was about to say next immediately die on my tongue. Suicide. Shit. There were times, particularly in my mid to late teens, when I would have happily ended my own life, but somehow things never got extreme enough for me to go there.

Perhaps I thought death would be too easy, not punishment enough.

I pull him into me and wrap my arms tight around him. “Don’t you ever feel like you can’t tell me stuff,” I whisper to him soothingly. His body melts into mine with what feels like relief. Fucking hell. This man. All I want to do is fix him. Is it even possible for a girl this scarred to fix a broken boy?

“There’s no judgement here. Okay?” I ask, pulling away slightly so I can see his face.

He stares back at me, all beautiful and sad. “Okay, Bluebird.”

I smile and rub his arms, coaxing a smile from him in return. “Are you playing tonight?”

“Yeah, Beethoven and Mendelsohn,” he answers, seeming happy for the change of subject.

“Cool. You want me to come see you in the dressing rooms before you go on?”

He gives me a firm nod. “I always want you to come see me, Jade.”

There’s some meaning in that sentence that I try not to read too much into. I press my lips softly to his and then go to grab the rest of my things. He offers to drive me home, but I say no, telling him I have to run a few errands on the way. I do have some things to do, but I also need some space from him. Some room to clear my head and figure out what exactly we’re doing.

After what I just found out, I can now confirm that although his mother is a bit of a bitch, she was right about one thing. Shane is vulnerable. Never mind about my feelings getting hurt and me turning back to alcohol — I need to consider his feelings, too.

I want to be respectful of him, let him know that I’ll never treat him the way Mona did. But how do I tell him that when we’re not supposed to be anything more than fuck buddies? Even though it’s a liminal situation, I like where we are right now. I like not having to completely define things and just go with what we feel. Touching each other when we want to be touched, and not touching when we don’t want to.

When I arrive home I’m greeted by Alec’s smug face as he sits in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.

“Well, look who it is. My sister, the dirty stop out. Where were you all night?”

He puts the paper down and folds his arms. I give him a long-suffering look, relieved that Pete and April aren’t around. The two of them aren’t exactly children anymore, but I always feel a little bit guilty when I stay out all night. Still, I did text Alec to let him know I wouldn’t be back so that he’d stay in and keep an eye on them.

Not that it happens often. In fact, this is the first time it’s happened in a long time.

“None of your business,” I tell him. “Just like it’s none of my business what you get up to in your own time, Alec.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna be like that, eh? Anyway, I’ve been meaning to ask you, you wouldn’t happen to have that Avery chick’s number, would you?”

I raise both eyebrows at once while shaking my head. “No, I wouldn’t. And I thought I told you she was off limits.”

“Come on, Jade, you know that only makes me want her more,” he replies with a cheeky wink.

“She’s in the orchestra, Alec. I barely know her. Why on earth would I have her number?”

“Huh,” he says, chewing on his lip. “Maybe I’ll look her up on Facebook.”

“Yeah, you do that. But don’t come crying to me when it all goes belly up and she starts to get clingy.”

Alec grimaces, and I let out a laugh. I knew he wouldn’t like that imagery. My brother is about as commitment phobic as you can get. A typical twenty-one-year-old male who wants to sow his wild oats without any thought to the consequences.

“I’m a man, Jade. I don’t cry.” He pauses and amends humorously, “I might whine to you something fierce, but you’ll never see me cry. Not in public, anyway.”

I point a finger at him before letting Specky in from the back garden and scooping her up into my arms. “You leave that girl alone. She’s done nothing to deserve you. Stick to the mean girls. At least you know they deserve it.”

He chuckles. “Okay, I’ll think about it. By the way, I had a word with Damo. He’ll be steering clear of Pete from now on.”

A quick breath escapes me. “That’s good news. What did you do to him?”

Alec intertwines his fingers and flexes his hands. “I didn’t have to do anything. The prick remembers when I kicked his older brother’s arse a few years ago. I think that was warning enough for him. All those fuckers only pick on little boys because they know they’ll be easy targets.”

Stroking Specky’s soft head, I ask, “Are you sure he got the message? Pete really broke down with me yesterday. I feel like shit for not realising what a hard time of it he’d been having.”

Alec eyes me. “He got the message, sis. Don’t you worry.”

I nod, believing him, and then go upstairs to my room. I spend a couple of hours reading and lounging in bed with Specky before I have to get to work. When I arrive I find a small white envelope in my cubbyhole. I open it up and discover two tickets to a show the orchestra is playing next week. There’s a note that reads:

Tickets for April as promised. I hope you’ll come, too. I spoke with Lara, and she says you’re not working that night. Been thinking of you all day.

Shane.
xxx.

My heart squeezes as I hold the tickets in my hand. I’m not sure if April still remembers she was promised them, since she hasn’t asked. That probably means there’s some other guy on the scene for her to focus her attentions on.

My shift is a busy one, but a couple of hours in I get a break and manage to slip off to the dressing rooms. The orchestra had a rehearsal earlier, so a lot of the musicians are still hanging around for the evening concert. Shane’s sitting in his spot, a book open on his lap as he sinks his teeth into an apple.

Memories from last night flood my senses. And yeah, I’m kind of jealous of the apple.

Like before, I slide my bottom up onto the table in front of him, and he brings his attention from the book to me. He looks pleased to see me as a handsome smile shapes his mouth. I take a sip from the peppermint tea I’m drinking in a paper cup I snagged from the staff room.

We don’t say a word, simply staring at each other in the same silent communication that’s becoming something of a habit. Close by someone’s streaming music from a radio, the faint melody of “Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine in my ears, moons and stars and hearts seeping into my subconscious. A landscape of emotion.

Whichever people can actually pull off friends with benefits without their feelings getting involved, I lift my hat off to those heartless fuckers, because I’m failing catastrophically.

Shane pulls his chair forward and runs his hands up my legs, stopping mid-thigh.

“Thanks for the tickets,” I tell him, clearing my throat.

His gaze flicks to mine. “You gonna come?”

His words give me a little jolt, and the dark look in his eyes tells me meant every ounce of that double entendre.

“I hope so,” I finally respond, and shift my bottom a little so that we’re a fraction closer.

He sucks in a breath and starts moving his practiced hands up and down my thighs, slow and torturous. “The PR company that handles the orchestra wants me to do a television slot tomorrow morning.”

“Really?” I ask excitedly. “What for?”

“It’s to promote the upcoming season of shows. I’m shitting a brick, to be perfectly honest.”

“Have you done TV before?”

“Once or twice in France and Germany, but that was with the quartet, and the other guys did most of the talking.”

“Do they want you to do it alone?”

“No, I’d be going on with Henry White.”

The name rings a bell as I reply, “That’s the conductor, isn’t it?”

He nods and tells me sheepishly, “One of the agents got it into her head that I’d be a big selling factor with female ticket buyers, which is why they’re pushing for this.”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Oh, yeah?” I reach over and fix his collar. “She might be right. Plus, Henry would be an added bonus.”

He narrows his eyes, and his hands pause on my thighs. “What does that mean?”

I shrug and tease, “He’s seriously hot. There’s something about conductors, you know. All those vigorous movements, kind of like they’re fucking the air.”

Shane purses his lips, clearly trying to suppress a smile. “You’re being mean. I don’t want you to find anyone else in this place attractive other than me.”

I lean closer so that my mouth is above his ear when I whisper, “After last night, you have nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing to worry about, Shane.”

“That’s good to hear, but I might need a little more convincing,” he says, bringing his mouth to my chin and giving me a little nip. A man a few seats away is blatantly watching our interaction, but I’m enjoying this far too much to care right now. Turning my face quickly, I catch Shane’s mouth in mine and kiss him softly. Just a whisper of a kiss, a promise of more to come later.

“Will you come with me tomorrow?” he asks then, voice low.

“Would you like me to come?”

His nostrils flare. “I’d love you to.”

“Then I’ll come,” I say, pressing my lips to his one last time before sliding off the table. “I’ve got to get back. Good luck with tonight’s show.”

“Yeah,” he replies, and I can feel his eyes glued to my behind the entire time I walk away.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning I’m woken at six-thirty by my phone ringing. Yeah, that’s right, six flipping thirty in the mother-effing a.m. Peering at the screen through squinted eyes, I see it’s Shane who’s calling, and I remember I agreed to go with him to the television studio. What with him playing a concert last night, we didn’t get a chance to hash out the details.

I was exhausted after my shift and so was he after playing, so unfortunately we didn’t have the opportunity to take further advantage of our “arrangement.” Hopefully, I’ll get to remedy that tonight, or maybe even today if I’m lucky. I answer the phone groggily, and Shane tells me he’ll be picking me up in half an hour. There’s a smile in his voice; clearly he can hear how tired I am. I don’t know how the people who work on those morning shows manage getting up so early every day.

I feel like a zombie as I take a quick shower and get dressed. I don’t have time to dry my hair, so I twist it up in a loose bun. For an outfit I throw on a nice peach-coloured shift dress with my biker boots, mixing prim and proper with some urban decay. There’s a knock at the door soon after, and Shane greets me with a smile and a takeaway coffee cup.

We’re quiet on the drive, with him giving me heated looks every once in a while. Where does he get his energy from? I’ll need at least two more coffees and something carb-heavy before I’ll feel like the living.

“That’s a nice dress,” he murmurs, turning a corner into the studio parking lot.

I rub my palms on my thighs, smoothing out the material. “Thanks.”

When we go inside, a runner leads us both to the wardrobe section, but Shane says he’s happy to wear what he has on already. He looks good, too, in light grey slacks and a tailored white shirt. Smart casual.

Henry White, the orchestra conductor, is already there, having his salt and pepper hair fussed over by a stylist. Shane takes the seat beside him and gives him a smirk, at the same time waving off the offer of having his own hair primped. I always wondered whether the people who go on these shows are forced to endure the wardrobe and makeup part or if they have a choice. Seemingly, from what I’ve seen so far, they get a choice.

Opting out is probably better, because you can always tell when the person feels uncomfortable in what they’re wearing and the makeup that’s been piled onto their face.

Shane introduces me to Henry briefly, and then I have to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, nature calling. I almost get lost as I search through corridors that all feel identical, people rushing this way and that, busy bees. From what I can tell, the show is live on the air right now, but Shane and Henry aren’t going on until the final ten minutes.

At long last I find the ladies room, and then on my way back to the hair and makeup department I see Shane walking toward me. Before I can react, he’s pulling me into an empty closet and shutting the door. Then his hands are in my hair, pulling out my bun and letting it fall over my shoulders. His mouth crashes down on mine as he inches the hem of my dress up my legs.

“I couldn’t wait until after,” he groans against my lips, pressing the hard length of his erection to my inner thigh.

I let out a sharp hiss of breath at the feel of him, a thrill in my belly. He was so desperate for me that he’s doing this here. Here! An idea pops into my head as I kiss his neck, and then I draw away from him so that I can lower myself to my knees.

In the dimly lit closet, I see Shane swallow deeply as he watches me. The only light is streaming through the cracks in the door from those fluorescent bulbs that line the windowless halls.

I rub him through his slacks and nuzzle my nose against his cock over the fabric. Then I draw down the zipper and pull him free, luxuriating in the feel of all that silky, hot hardness.

“Jade,” he whispers, his voice low with need.

“Let me,” I whisper back before tipping my tongue, feather light, to the head of his penis. He shudders. I take him into my mouth, just the barest inch, then draw away and dip my head to lick him from the base of his cock all the way to the tip.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, his hand going to my cheek in a caress.

Opening my mouth wide, I take as much of him in as I can. I’ll never be able to fit all of him. He murmurs lots of sweet things to me as I bob my head up and down slowly. I grip his thigh for support and then go deeper. His answering strangled moan tells me he likes it. Increasing my speed, I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock, and a salty drop of pre-cum hits my mouth.

His hand moves from my cheek and slips down the front of my dress, under my bra and directly to my breast, where he squeezes. I feel myself growing wet between my legs when he pinches my nipple, continually applying pressure and then releasing.

I’m sucking him fast now, the tempo increasing as my own desire builds. I’m so turned on I feel like I might come simply from the way he’s pinching my nipples. He’s doing it to both of them, pinching and releasing. His cock is hard and wet in my mouth. I drag my teeth along his length, just a tiny hint of pain, and I’m rewarded with a masculine groan and more pre-cum.

I lick him from the base all the way to the head one more time before I take him back inside and suck him with vigour. I’m dying for him to come into me, dying to taste him. I’ve never felt such a need to pleasure a man as completely as I do with Shane. He’s so gorgeous, such a beautifully pained soul, and there’s this deep need in me to make him feel as good as I possibly can.

One hand releases my breast and goes to my hair, fisting it right at the nape of my neck. He tugs ever so gently, and I gasp around his cock. Looking up into his eyes, I see him almost smiling, his gaze dark with desire. Every time I suck on him he pulls, and every time I can’t help my muffled gasp.

Then I feel his body tense up; his cock gets so hard and big that I can hardly fit him anymore, and he cries out as warm spurts of semen fill my mouth. I keep moving my lips on him, up and down, up and down, until every last drop has been released. I swallow, and he pulls me up to stand, pushing me harshly against the door and slamming his mouth onto mine.

His hand slips beneath the hem of my dress and right inside my drenched underwear. I moan as his fingers rub at my folds, finding my clit and giving it a little pinch.

“So wet,” he breathes, his tongue licking a line from my ear to my jaw.

My hand goes to his cock and rubs; he’s hardening again already. His fingers whisper over my entrance before plunging inside, and I have to hold onto his shoulder to keep upright. My legs turn to jelly as he finger fucks me hard and fast. Pleasure ripples through me, and the noise of my heavy breathing fills the tiny space. The sound of his fingers slapping against my wetness echoes in the background.

“So tight,” he goes on, his fingers still fucking me, his mouth doing pretty things to my neck.

“I wish we were somewhere else,” I manage to whisper, because I don’t want this pleasure to end. I want him to fuck me with his cock for days. Unfortunately, we’re in a storage closet in a television studio with dozens of people rushing by right outside the door. So for now his fingers will have to do. Not that they’re doing a bad job. No, not at all.

“I don’t,” he replies, his voice a hot caress. “I like it here. It’s sort of forbidden. The danger of being heard, getting caught.”

Well, now, isn’t he just a little kinky bastard.

At this he thrusts his fingers right up into me, and I moan far too loudly. His answering chuckle makes me want to smack him, but I’m enjoying what he’s doing far too much for that. His thumb starts to flick at my clit, building a fire inside me.

I gasp and moan, pressing my face into the hollow of his neck. I nuzzle his earlobe and then lightly take it between my teeth and bite. He rewards me by rubbing a hard, torturously slow circle around my clit with his thumb, his fingers inside me slowing down. I feel him hit every pleasure spot now, the lack of speed somehow making this better.

“Come for me, baby,” he urges as he nuzzles my nose, encouraging my face to move from his neck so he can see my eyes again.

“I’m going to. Soon,” I tell him in response, my words all shaky as everything inside me builds to what is going to be a fucking intense orgasm. Our gazes locked now, I let out a breath, and he sucks it in. Breathing each other’s air. My fingernails dig into the fabric of his shirt where I’m clutching his shoulder, and I practically yelp when all of a sudden he pumps fast again, sensation shattering from my core and outward into my whole body. His thumb presses hard into my clit and I come, moaning and sighing all at once, tremors wracking my body.

I hold onto him for long moments after they’ve subsided, my head all in a daze. His arms go tight around my waist, and mine go around his neck. We kiss and peck at each other, not saying a word but silently acknowledging that what just happened between us was incredible. And needs to happen again — as soon as possible.

Shane moves and brings his wrist to his line of sight to check the time on his watch. Quickly, he lets out a string of swear words and untangles our bodies.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, disappointed that he’s pulled away from me.

“I have to get back. We’re supposed to be on the air in five minutes.”

Oh, shit. I step back and take a look at him, fixing his hair while he buttons his trousers. Opening the closet door, we step out into the light and hurry to the studio. Along the way Shane’s phone rings in his pocket. He stops and pulls it out, staring at the screen long and hard but not answering. I study his face, wondering why he looks so pissed all of a sudden. Then he ends the call and shoves the phone back in his jacket.

A harried runner gives Shane an annoyed look when we finally show our faces. Shane takes a peek at himself in the mirror; he’s still a little dishevelled after our encounter, so he straightens his clothes and fixes his hair some more.

Henry gives him a knowing smile, and then they’re both being escorted to the set. I follow behind. I’ve never been in a studio like this before. I take in all the equipment and lights, the behind-the-scenes team making sure everything runs smoothly.

There’s a male and female duo presenting this particular show, and right now they’re reading off a teleprompter, doing the intro for Shane and Henry. An overweight man in his fifties who looks like he’s in charge talks swiftly to the two of them in a hushed voice, and then they’re both walking onto the set and shaking hands with the presenters. They take their seats on the red sofa, and the male presenter, whose name I think is Jim, asks the first questions. I stand close by on the side lines, watching and listening.

“You’re both very welcome. Now, tell us a little bit about the new season that’s coming up. I hear you’ve got lots of exciting shows happening.”

Henry nods and dives straight into a practiced spiel about the orchestra’s upcoming events. I hardly pay him any attention as I focus on Shane. He looks flushed, and I guess he has reason to be, given the last half an hour. The female presenter gives him an appraising look, her expression showing that she likes what she sees. Huh.

There’s a long table nearby with tea, coffee, and various pastries. Me being me, I clocked it right away as we walked onto the set. Stepping over to it, I pour myself a cup of coffee, dumping in three sachets of sugar and some milk. I also grab an iced Danish and take a big hungry bite. Free food, you have to love it.

When I settle my attention back on the show, Shane’s eyes meet mine past all the cameras, and he smiles.

Wow. I’ll never get used to how his smiles make my heart go pop.

“I hear you’ll be having some fabulous musicians from the around the world coming to play with you,” says the female presenter, trying to bring Shane into the conversation.

He doesn’t say anything. Oh, shit, I think his nerves might be getting the better of him…or maybe he’s too busy smiling at me to hear her. There’s a moment of awkward silence before Henry comes to the rescue.

“That’s right,” he says. “Philippa Sedgwick and Ian Hughes will be with us next week.”

“And is it true that Mona Campbell might even be making an appearance?” the presenter goes on.

Now she has his full attention as his face whips to her. Suddenly, my focus is no longer on Shane’s gorgeous smile. It’s on the brief look of horror that quickly passes over his features before he puts a casual mask back in place. Uh, what? Mona’s going to be playing at the concert hall? From the looks of it, Shane had no idea about this.

Henry replies in the affirmative, and my gut sinks. The presenter brings her focus onto Shane again by asking, “Isn’t it true that you and Mona have a romantic history?”

“Yes, a long time ago,” Shane answers, trying to be polite.

The presenter smiles, like this is all fun and games. “I suppose sparks will be flying at the reunion.”

Shane gives her a cold look. “As I said, it was a long time ago.”

“Mr Arthur and Miss Campbell will be playing Brahms’ Hungarian Dance No. 1 and 5 together,” says Henry.

Now Shane cuts his eyes to the conductor. Obviously, this is the first he’s heard of any planned duets. Henry goes into more detail about that particular show, but I tune him out. Shane’s jaw is tight with tension, and he looks like he wants to get up from the sofa and leave. Take that, live television.

Thankfully, he doesn’t leave.

I will his gaze to meet mine, and when it finally does I try to channel all my calming chi into one look. His tension visibly slips away as he gathers himself and settles back into the interview. I wonder why the management for the orchestra has organised these duets. I only have limited knowledge, but normally it’s the job of a guest musician to do solos. Then again, Shane is something of a celebrity in this world. Perhaps they wanted to drum up a bit of gossip and intrigue, sell more tickets and the like.

Soon the interview is being wrapped up, and the presenters are thanking both Shane and Henry for coming in. The two look to be having a heated discussion as they step off the set and over to a quiet corner. I move around a guy operating a camera to get closer so I can hear.

“Why the hell is this only being sprung on me now?” Shane grits out.

Henry has a beseeching look on his face. “Honestly, I thought you knew. Maybe it’s a clerical error and someone forgot to contact you.”

“I can’t play with her. There’s too much bad blood there. It’ll be a disaster.”

“Surely if she’s agreed to do it, then there can’t be that much bad blood. Like you said before, it was a long time ago, Shane.”

Hmm, it can’t have been that long ago. If my estimations are correct I’d say a year at most.

“This is fucking bullshit, and you know it. Someone deliberately made it so that I wasn’t told until it was too late to back out. I know how this works. They think they’ll have a sold-out house because people will want to come and witness the sheer fucked-upness of it all.”

Shane drags a hand through his hair, and Henry gives him a small smile. “Is fucked-upness a word now?” The teasing lilt to his voice makes Shane a little less tense, and a tiny laugh escapes him.

“Shut up.”

Henry clasps him around the shoulder. “You can do this, son. Believe it or not, I’ve had a few romantic entanglements with musicians over the years, too. I know it can be tough.”

Shane looks at him and nods, seeming to come to a conclusion that he’s going to struggle on. Play the duets with Mona, and get them over and done with.

I can’t say I’m pleased about it, but I’m glad he’s not going to let it all get to him.

Spotting me standing by a water cooler, he comes and wrap his arms around my middle, placing a kiss to the very tip of my nose. I laugh.

“I suppose you heard all that,” he says, lips in my hair.

“Yeah. You handled the interview really well, despite everything. For a second I thought you were going to say some choice words to the presenter.”

“Oh, there were a few on the tip of my tongue, all right. I held them in, though, for the sake of professionalism, of course.”

“Of course.”

At this moment the presenter in question walks by with an assistant. I still don’t know her name, but she cocks an eyebrow as she takes in the two of us wrapped around each other and then keeps walking. Shane says his goodbyes to Henry and then leads me by the hand out of the studio.

I breathe in the cold, crisp air once we get outside. There’s something kind of depressing about the lack of windows inside.

“Want to go for a drive?” Shane asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.

I shrug. “Sure. Where do you have in mind?”

He glances at me and then straight ahead through the windscreen, tapping his hands on the steering wheel. “Let’s go see the ocean.”

Chapter Nineteen

I keep staring at him as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot. While he drives I turn on the radio, messing around with different stations until I find something I like. Once I settle on a song, I sit back and enjoy the ride.

His phone rings again, and again he ignores it, waiting until it goes to voicemail. I’m starting to become a little too curious about who he’s avoiding speaking to.

Somewhere along the way, Shane reaches over with one hand and squeezes my thigh. He leaves his hand there, only moving it when he needs to before quickly putting it back. I watch him, remembering when he’d been doped up at the hospital and blurted out that watching me drive was like foreplay. I kind of get it now. His arms strain beneath his shirt when he steers, his profile beautiful and strong at the same time. It kind of makes me hot and bothered.

I look at his hand currently grasping my thigh and realise that he hasn’t had the opportunity to wash it since we were in the closet. He’d done the entire live television interview with me all over him, and I’m still on him. The idea causes a little shiver to dance down my spine.

A while later we’re at Bray strand, and Shane’s parking again. It’s not a warm day. In fact, it’s kind of chilly out. It’s a good thing I brought a coat. Getting out of the car, I shrug into it and button it up all the way. There are hardly any people on the beach, just one or two folks walking their dogs. There’s a good deal of wind, creating waves that bash against the shore.

Right now the tide is fully in, making the sea seem that much bigger and closer. Shane leads me down to the sand, where he finds a decent spot and sits. He pulls me between his legs, my back flush with his chest, and puts both his hands over mine to keep them warm. He’s wearing an expensive black wool coat, and the collar brushes off my cheek when I turn to briefly press my lips against his.

“I didn’t even remember to ask if you’re working today,” he says, breaking the kiss as the wind sings through the air. We’re nothing but spots of rust inside a giant’s thin whistle.

“Not until six. Lots of time to do lots of things,” I say, and give him a wink.

By the hot look that comes over him, I’m betting he knows exactly what I’m talking about. Turning his body slightly, he looks behind us at the street beyond the beach that’s lined with hotels and bed & breakfasts.

His breath makes me tremble when he brings his mouth close to my ear. “We could get a room. I don’t think I have the patience for the forty-minute drive it will take to get back to my place.”

My eyes flicker between his when I turn to face him, a feeling of reckless abandon coming upon me. For a girl from the Liberties, renting out a hotel room just to have sex in would be considered quite lavish, extravagant, even. I mean, we’re going to pay for it and not even stay the night.

“Let’s do it,” I whisper before kissing his perfect lips again.

Pulling me up to stand, we walk arm in arm across the road and down the street. After a few minutes we finally settle on a hotel and go inside. It doesn’t take long to get a room. I try to protest when Shane hands over his credit card, but he won’t hear a word about me paying. It’s a good thing too, because I’m quite low on cash. I’ve never been with a guy who could be considered a gentleman, so it’s a whole new feeling to be paid for like this.

We touch each other in subtle ways until we reach the elevator. Shane punches in the number for our floor, and then we’re ascending. Hardly a second passes before he’s pushing me against the wall and devouring me with his mouth, his lips, his tongue. Everything he does makes me melt, makes my body pliant, a willing supplicant to whatever he sees fit to do with me.

Ping, the elevator doors open.

The hushed sound of our feet stepping swiftly across thick carpet.

He slides the key into the door and then pushes it open, dragging me along, hardly taking his mouth off my neck the entire time. I’m vaguely aware of the room being nice, but not overly fancy, and then my bottom’s hitting the mattress. Shane pushes up the hem of my dress until it reaches my belly and then drags the entire thing over my head. Now I’m only wearing my bra and knickers, pretty matching cream ones, I note happily.

I’d been in such a rush to get ready this morning that I couldn’t remember what I put on.

Shane starts to undo the buttons on his shirt and I watch, my chest heaving as he reveals inch after inch of his perfect lightly tanned skin. The hint of Asian blood in him means he doesn’t have pasty pale skin like most of the men I’ve been with. He’s so beautiful, from a whole other world, really.

I shiver as a cold breeze sweeps in through the window that’s slightly ajar. The maid must have left it open to air the place. Shane sees me tremble and walks, now topless, over to the window to close it. I’m still in the exact same spot he left me in when he comes back and climbs on top of me, whispering, “Come on, Bluebird, I’ll warm you up.”

Oh, my God. I’m certainly in for something right now. His string-roughened fingers push my legs apart as he settles between them. His mouth moves to the curve of my cleavage as he buries his face there, and let’s just say there’s a lot to get buried in. I smile, thinking of how preoccupied he can be with that part of my body, yet he rarely refers to them directly. Almost like he’s too shy to say he likes them.

I find that shyness incredibly appealing. It’s so rare to find a man like that these days.

There’s no shyness in him now, though. There rarely is when we’re being sexual. When we’re alone. It’s other times that he gets bashful, like how he’d blushed when I’d talked about him fucking me outside the concert hall the second night we met. Anybody could have heard. Such scandal.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, all raspy as he looks up from my breasts. At the same time he pulls my body up slightly so he can unclip my bra and do away with it.

“I was thinking about how you’re a study in contrasts,” I murmur, and squeeze my eyes shut with pleasure when his tongue flicks across my nipple.

“Oh, yeah?” he says while his mouth busies itself on the tightening peak of my nipple, one hand pinching, one mouth sucking. A strangled cry comes out of me before I speak.

“Around other people, you’re all polite and reserved. But then when we’re alone, you’re all take charge and throw me down on the bed.”

His answering chuckle radiates from my nipple in his mouth right into my breast and throughout my entire body. I’m immediately wet. Wow. My skin goes all goose pimply again, but not from the cold air this time. His hand moves between my legs, rubbing at my underwear, which is a little worse for wear after our encounter in the studio.

He grips the side and pulls them down my thighs. I whimper in frustration when his mouth leaves my nipple so he can remove my knickers completely. Then he’s spreading my legs apart so wide I feel a strain, and his mouth is right over my sex, breath heavy and humid on my flesh. His hands grip either of my thighs as he brings his mouth directly to my clit and sucks.

Oh, shit. I cry out, fisting the sheets so hard they might rip. My neck arches back, my head thrashing against the pillow. He continues to suck as his fingers thrust inside me and pump, hitting my G-spot perfectly. Just as I feel I’m about to come, he withdraws. I moan unhappily this time as he brings himself to kneel between my legs. His hand slips inside his pants pocket, pulling out a condom.

Then he’s shoving off his pants and freeing his gorgeously hard cock. He rolls the condom on, his eyes not leaving me the entire time. I’m almost grateful that he left me hanging when he shoves his thick length into me in one swift movement. I’m so primed that I feel it more intensely than ever. My body is on the cusp of orgasm, and as he starts to push his hips back and forth, driving his cock into me again and again, I feel the most intense release building. A release the likes of which I’ve never felt before.

Our gazes lock as he takes both my hands in his and lifts them above my head. He holds me captive as he continues to thrust into me exquisitely hard. It’s not fast; his speed is measured and controlled. Every time he fucks me, it’s so hard and deep I feel like my body is melting. Burning.

Sunlight streams into the room, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re fucking in daylight. We did the other morning, too, and it’s shocking because it’s something I never do. Every inch of me is on display for him. Sex for me has always been at night, always in the dark. Most often with alcohol as a primer. You can hide yourself in the dark. In the light it’s like an entire tapestry of your emotions is on show. Everything that’s inside you is on display for your lover to see.

Before now I’d always considered daytime sex to be something that people in love do. They wake up in the morning and fall into it, still half asleep. Or maybe they feel an urge in the middle of the day. So completely inappropriate but so right at the same time.

A sheen of sweat has accumulated on Shane’s forehead, on his chest, too, as he thrusts into me with a kind of determination you’d only get from a man like him. A man who practices a skill to perfection. Tremors pulse through me, the muscles of my sex tightening every time his cock drives into me.

Unable to hold back, I shift my hands out of his hold above our heads. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a deep kiss. It’s as we’re kissing, our tongues sliding against each other, his chest pressed to my chest, that I completely fall apart. My muscles clench as I come on his cock, pulsing so many times I lose count.

I’m moaning and whimpering as we kiss, and he pulls back to watch me, his cock still moving inside me. I can see his movements grow more desperate as his own release builds. And then the most erotic, masculine groan I’ve ever heard comes out of him when he comes. He unravels and I watch him, unable to take my eyes off him.

When he’s completely spent, he puts his arms around me tight and rolls us so I’m lying on top of him. Reaching down, he pulls a sheet over our bodies, pressing soft kisses to my mouth and face.

“That felt incredible,” he says, voice low, as my eyes drift closed and I relish the feel of his warm, damp skin on mine.

“Mm-hmm,” I mumble, sleep pulling me under. Since I got up so early this morning and only got to bed late last night, I’m exhausted.

“I love the feel of you,” he continues, his voice a lazy caress. I can hear his tiredness, too. A little thrilling jolt rushes through my sleepy brain at his words. “You’re so tight and wet. I want to feel you skin on skin again.” His tender hand drifts over my lower back in a circling motion as he refers to the other morning. Things had gotten out of hand, and we’d neglected to use protection. It’s a dangerous thought, but I want to feel that again as well.

I nuzzle my face into his neck and make a little purring sound of agreement. Seconds later, we’re both fast asleep.

When I wake up, it’s because I’m incredibly turned on, which, might I add, is not how I usually wake up. Shane’s hand is between my legs, gently stroking. I moan and glance over at the clock on the bedside dresser. It’s just after two, which isn’t so bad. I still have more than enough time to get back to the city for my shift.

“Fucking hell, I want you again,” he grits out as he takes my earlobe into his mouth and gives it a playful bite. Somewhere in between our nap we’d rolled over into a spooning position. With one hand on my belly, the other still between my legs, he moves me so I’m flat on my stomach. He kneels behind me and nudges my legs apart with his knee. A few seconds pass, and I get the feeling he’s admiring me from this new angle. I shiver. Then he pulls me up to take me from behind. I cry out at the pleasurable invasion, feeling him from a whole new position this time. The depth is delicious as he starts to hammer into me fast.

Not knowing where to put my hands, I grip the headboard for support. I’m vaguely aware that there’s no condom in the mix this time, the sneaky bastard. As I said before, I don’t have concerns about him giving me something, and I know that I’m clean and on the pill, but it just feels too close like this. I practically see my heart pumping out of my chest, my vulnerable veins reaching out and attaching themselves to his.

It’s hard for me to place my emotions in the hands of another person. Even if it’s a sweet and caring person like Shane, there’s this sense of panic. A fear of not knowing what they might do with your delicate organ. They could push you back into a destructive addiction which may cause your family to fall apart. When I was a drunk, I didn’t care. I’d give my heart to the most untrustworthy, low-down men I could find. I guess that’s why I’m so cautious now. I know what it’s like to be burned.

Both of Shane’s hands fist my hips as he swears some really lovely, sexy curse words, telling me how great I feel, how beautiful we look joined together. When we come this time, we do it in unison, my walls pulsating around him, milking his cock. I feel him fill me up, and a wave of emotion washes over me. It feels foreign and way too intense, so I push it away. I try to focus only on the sensation of him inside me. When he withdraws, he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bathroom.

Before I know it, the shower has been turned on, and he’s settling me under the spray. He comes in to join me, sliding the door closed behind him. He’s brought in some tiny bottles of hotel shampoo and soap, and I laugh with pure joy as I watch him struggle to get them open. Finally he manages it and pours some shampoo into his hand before lathering it into my hair. I do the same for him, luxuriating in the simple activity, loving the feel of his wet hair beneath my fingers.

For the next half hour we wash every inch of each other, staying in the shower until the water has almost run cold. I think we both like it here. We’re away from reality in a world that’s only touch and water and soap. Finally we get out, rubbing each other dry with the big fluffy white towels that were resting on a shelf by the door.

Reality intervenes with the buzzing of his phone on the dresser. I pick it up and look at the screen, but there’s no name, just a landline number. I recognise the area code as South Dublin. Shane follows behind and swipes the phone out of my hand, cancelling the call.

“Who’s been calling you?” I ask curiously, tugging the towel tighter around my chest as I sit down on the bed. I know it’s not exactly my business, but his avoidance puts me on edge. Either it’s someone he just plain doesn’t want to talk to, or it’s someone he doesn’t want to talk to in front of me.

Shane sighs and runs a hand through his wet hair, coming to sit beside me. He picks his phone up again and rubs his thumb along the blank screen.

“It was Mona’s home number. I don’t know why she’s been calling,” he finally answers.

I look at him in surprise for a moment, before saying, “You haven’t answered at all?”

He shakes his head. “I have nothing to say to her.”

“Maybe she wants to talk about the upcoming show. You two are going to have to work together then, right?”

His tortured eyes continue to stare down at the blank screen of his phone. “Yeah, probably. I’m still not sure if I’m capable of doing it.” He pauses and meets my gaze now. “She brings back too many bad memories.”

Reaching over, I slide the phone from his hand and put it aside, before slipping my fingers through his. “You mean your…your suicide attempt?” I whisper softly.

His nod is barely perceptible. “It’s not something you’re ever going to forget,” I tell him, pulling him into a hug. “Unfortunately, our memories like to give us a little bitch slap from time to time. I know all about it. Use the pain as fuel, let it make you stronger. You’re the best musician I’ve ever seen and that’s because of the emotions you channel into your music. Those emotions are what make the audience love to come see you, to feel that catharsis.”

He chuckles sadly. “You didn’t happen to complete a psychology degree at some point?”

I give him a warm smile. “Nope. I learned all I know in the school of hard knocks. Plus, I force Clark to teach me new stuff all the time.”

“Well, you can thank Clark for me. You give better advice than most of the professionals I’ve seen,” Shane replies, rubbing his finger down my cheek.

Giving him a serious look, I say, “You’re welcome, just remember it when you’ve got to face Mona.”

“I should be able to survive the memory bitch slap,” he answers warmly.

“That’s the spirit,” I murmur and lean in for a kiss.

We’re both quiet as we dress. Shane seems thoughtful, contemplative, even. I’d give anything to know what’s churning up inside that head of his. I tie my hair in a fish tail plait, a style my mum taught me when I was only little. Shane stands behind me at the mirror, fully dressed now, and runs his hand down the braid.

“Pretty,” he murmurs before pressing his lips to my cheek. I smile at him, but it’s half-hearted. There’s a pebble of fear in my gut that I can’t seem to shake. A feeling of urgency that this sweet thing we’ve got can’t last.

On the drive home, we stop off at a restaurant for something to eat. Afterward, Shane drops me home, and I scurry about to get into my work uniform and throw dinner together for April and Pete. I’m out the door with just enough time to spare and arrive at six on the dot.

That night after the concert, Shane finds me as I’m helping with the close-up. He asks if I’d like a ride home, and I tell him yes. Although if he tries for an invite to stay over, I’m going to have to tell him no. It’s not that I don’t want him to stay, it’s just that we tend to be pretty loud, and my entire family will be home.

We leave through the backstage exit, and I ask him how he played tonight. There was a big group of students from a nearby music college in the audience, so we had a full house. As we leave, we’re stopped in our tracks by a group of girls in their late teens and early twenties who are getting some of the orchestra musicians to sign stuff.

Huh. Orchestra fan girls. I never thought I’d see the day. Unless there’s a really big name playing at the venue, we don’t normally get a lot of fans queuing up for autographs. Most of the time the musician or speaker will stand in the foyer to sign books or CDs.

“Oh my God, that’s him!” I hear one of the girls hiss excitedly as Shane emerges through the exit.

The next thing I know they’ve all flocked around him, thrusting programmes and CDs in his face to sign. I quickly get shoved out of the way, so I step back a bit, kind of annoyed at their rudeness. Looking at the CDs, I notice some of them are old ones he recorded with the Bohemia Quartet. One girl asks if he’ll sign her arm, and he does so graciously. Glancing down at my watch, I realise I’ve been standing here waiting for at least ten minutes, and they’re not showing any signs of letting Shane go soon.

I’ve got an early start in the morning, since the concert hall is hosting a big conference, so I need my beauty sleep tonight. I try to get by a few of the girls to tell Shane I’m going to head off, but a brunette gives me the stink-eye and elbows me out of the way, telling me to wait my turn.

“Uh, I’m not a fan. I’m his friend,” I tell her, disgruntled.

She gives me a look as if to say, so what? and I decide I’m really not in the mood. I put both hands around my mouth and call to him over their heads.

“Yo! I’m going to walk. I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”

I’m surprised that he actually hears me over the excited chattering. His head whips up from a CD he’d been signing, his eyes locking with mine.

“Give me ten minutes?” he asks pleadingly, and some of the girls’ gazes cut to me.

I tap my wrist. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early start. You stay. I’m good walking.”

He looks disappointed for a minute but then finally nods his acceptance, gives me a quick wave goodbye, and goes back to signing. I turn and start in the direction of home. When I reach my street, I notice somebody sitting on my front doorstep. As I get closer I see it’s Patrick, looking like shit with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, intermittently taking sips. If ever there was a picture to describe the term “lowest ebb,” this would be it. So much for him staying away for a couple of weeks. It’s only been a few days, and he’s back already. He must be having a particularly bad time of it.

I stop in front of him and tap my foot on the path. “Do you mind getting out of the way, Pat?” I ask. As it stands, he’s completely blocking my entrance.

His bleary eyes move up to meet mine, and he does a little shrug. “Been knocking for ages. Alec won’t let me in.” His voice is all lonesome and dejected, and something stirs inside me. I know what it feels like to be Patrick. I’ve been at rock bottom, too, and it’s the loneliest place in the world.

I go down on my haunches and study him. He glances up from his bottle and does a little huff as though to keep from crying. To be honest, his face is so messed up he could already be crying, and I wouldn’t be able to tell. Somewhere in the days since I last saw him, he’s gotten himself a black eye and a fat lip. Either he was in a fight, or he owes someone money that he can’t afford to pay back.

“It never leads anywhere good, does it?” I ask, reaching over and tapping the glass bottle in his hand.

He stares at me full-on then, and it’s hard to keep looking at eyes that bloodshot. His mouth twists, and then he finally answers, “No, it doesn’t.”

I don’t know a lot about Patrick’s life before he met my mother, but I do know a few bits and pieces. His father was a violent drunk who beat his wife and kids. The usual fucked-up family story. At times it’s hard to judge Patrick when I know there’s a reason for his behaviour. As I said, I’ve been there myself.

I take the bottle from him, and he must have completely run out of steam because he doesn’t even bother to fight me. I’ll probably regret this decision in the morning, but I help him up to standing, wincing at the smell of him, and say, “You can stay one night. Tomorrow I’m going to call an old friend of mine and get you booked into rehab, okay?”

At hearing the word “rehab,” his entire body stills, and I can tell he’s deciding whether or not to make a run for it. Is a night with somewhere warm and safe to sleep worth going into a clinic? I can practically see his mind weighing the options as he stands there frozen. A minute later he wipes a hand across his mouth, turns to me, and nods.

I open the front door and lead him into the kitchen before sitting him down on a chair and placing a pint of water in front of him.

“Drink this. You’ll thank me in the morning,” I say just as Alec comes down the stairs.

“Jade, I already told him he can’t stay. Why did you let him in?”

“I took pity on the pathetic bastard. Come and help set up the couch for him to sleep on, would you?” I reply tiredly.

Alec scratches the back of his neck. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“It’s just for one night. I’ve got a friend who works at the rehab centre I went to back in the day. She might be able to find a place for Patrick. That’s where I’m sending him in the morning.”

“You think it’ll work? He’s quit rehab at least five times already.”

“I think I can get through to him if we talk. This is the last chance he’s going to get, and I’m doing it for you, April, and Pete. If it’s possible to get him clean, then I’ll do everything I can to help. You three deserve a proper father, even if you are all grown already.”

Alec keeps staring at me and then pulls me into a hug. “You’re a better person than me, sis. I gave up on him a long time ago.”

I smile at him tightly when we break our hug. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a lost cause.”

Because I was one, and I know it’s possible to get better.

Alec goes into the kitchen, speaking a few quiet but hard words to Patrick as I go upstairs to get some pillows and a blanket from the airing cupboard. He’s probably warning him not to fuck this up, because this is the last chance we’re going to give him. In the living room I make the couch into as much of a bed as I can manage. It’s old and threadbare, but it’s the best we have to offer him at the moment.

Entering the kitchen, I find Patrick alone now, sipping quietly on the water I gave him. I put the kettle on and make myself a cup of tea. Then I go to sit down opposite him.

“How old are you, Pat?” I ask, clasping my hands around the warm mug.

He looks at me, then slurs, “Fifty-two.”

I whistle. “That’s old.”

“Piss off,” he says, but chuckles just a little.

“Apart from when you were a kid, did you ever not drink? And I don’t mean just a day or two. I mean being completely sober.”

He purses his lips, thinking about it. He looks a little ashamed when he replies, “No.”

“And in your fifty-two years, have you ever been happy? More to the point, has drinking ever made you happy?”

Dejectedly, he shakes his head, not even bothering to form words.

I take a sip of tea. “So, every time you go drinking and gambling, you think it’s going to make you feel better, but it never does, not in the long run, anyway. Maybe there’s a period of about an hour in every drinking session where you feel on top of the world, but the rest of the time you feel like shit. Am I right?”

“Are you lecturing me, Jade?”

“If anyone needs a lecture, it’s you, Patrick. So you go through all the money loss, the sickness, the depression, the feeling like you’re twenty years older than you actually are, and you never learn your lesson. All for a pathetic hour of feeling free and many hours of feeling nothing. That’s fairly fucking dumb, isn’t it?”

Patrick lifts his head like it takes a great effort. “I know my life is a joke. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Yeah, your life is a joke, but it doesn’t have to be. You get yourself sober, get a job, and a little apartment maybe. Spend some time with your kids. They’re great kids, Pat, and I feel sorry for you that you’ve missed out on so much with them. But anyway, don’t waste time regretting your mistakes — take control and make them right. Don’t waste any more time.”

Picking up the pint glass, he tips the last of its contents into his mouth. “I’ll try.”

“Don’t say you’ll try, say you’ll succeed. Trying means you’re giving yourself the option to fail. Don’t give yourself that option. I didn’t, and look at me. Five years sober.”

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll — I’ll succeed.”

I stare at him approvingly. I have no idea if he’s actually going to clean up his act. That’s all on him. All I can do is give him a little push in the right direction. After walking him into the living room, I pull back the blanket I’ve set on the couch and gesture for him to lie down. He slips off his boots and jacket and then drops down onto it, closing his eyes.

I’m at the door, about to leave and go to bed myself, when Patrick suddenly says, “You’re a good girl, Jade. I know I’ve always been a prick to you, but you never deserved it.”

I only nod at him, not knowing what to say. In all the years I’ve known him, I think this might be the first time he’s said something genuinely nice to me.

“And I’m sorry about your sister,” he says then, his words mumbled.

“Who, April?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

Eyes still closed, he shakes his head and whispers, “No, not April.”

I suck in a sharp breath. Emotion immediately grips me, clogging my throat. I can’t speak, so I simply step out of the room and close the door softly behind me. It seems I’ve just been dealt my own little memory bitch slap. Upstairs in my bed, I lie beneath the covers and stare at the sparrows on my wallpaper.

Those sparrows mean so much more to me than most people even realise.

For the first time in years, I think of a girl long past and cry myself to sleep.

Chapter Twenty

The next morning I almost regret having given Patrick a chance. It takes forever to wake him up, and he’s hung over as fuck. The living room smells like a brewery, so I have to open all the windows as wide as they’ll go to let the stink out.

Once I’ve wrangled him into having a shower, I go get my phone to call my old friend Cheryl. She works as an administrative assistant at the rehab clinic I booked myself into way back when. Thinking about it, it should be time for me to get a new tattoo to add to my collection soon.

When I get her on the line, I beg and plead and practically promise her my left kidney to get her to find a place in the clinic for Patrick. In the end she finally finds a way to squeeze him into a three-week stay. I really hope he stays the course. If he leaves, then I wash my hands of him.

There’s only so much you can do for people before they have to take control of things themselves. It feels like I’ve barely had time to breathe as I rush into work after getting Alec to drive Patrick to the clinic.

I have a two-and-a-half-hour break in the middle of the day between the conference and the evening concert, so I go home to put my feet up for a while. I’m at a deli getting a chicken salad wrap made up when my phone buzzes with a text.

Shane: Hey Bluebird. You want to come over tonight? Xxx.

A little thrill goes through me at his question as I remember our time in the hotel yesterday. I do want to come over, but I don’t text him back right away. There are a few misgivings rising to the surface of my thoughts, telling me I should slow things down with Shane. I mean, fuck buddies are only supposed to get together every once in a while, right? But with us it seems we’re seeing each other practically every day.

At my house I’m hoping to relax and watch some mindless daytime television. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to get my way as I step inside the living room to find April lounging on the couch, snogging the face off some guy. They’re going at it so much that they don’t even hear me come in. I have to cough extra loudly to get their attention.

Immediately they hop off each other, and I grin, eyeing the guy. I could definitely refer to him as a boy, thankfully, because he looks no older than eighteen or nineteen. He’s got the whole skater style going on.

“Sorry to interrupt,” I say, folding my arms and shooting April a raised eyebrow.

She fumbles with her T-shirt, fixing it back in place. “Uh, this is Chris. Chris, this is my older sister, Jade.”

“Pleased to meet you, Chris,” I say, flopping down onto an armchair and opening up my wrap. I take a big bite, chewing as I ask, “So, where did you two meet?”

“He lives in the apartment next to Lara’s. We met when I was leaving her place one day,” says April, a small smile on her lips. She seems nervous. She must really like this boy, and he’s actually an appropriate age. I could jump for joy right now.

“Cool,” I say, just as she gets up from the couch and motions for Chris to do the same. He rises, his cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment. They’re about to leave when I tell her, “Oh, by the way, Shane gave me tickets for you to see him play. Do you still want to go?”

April looks at me, and then her eyes flick to Chris. “Nah, you can have them. I’m good.”

Well, no one could ever say my sister didn’t have a flighty side. A new boy on the scene, and she’s all but forgotten about her little crush on Shane. Although it’s probably a good thing. It could get slightly weird, given I’m having sex with the man.

The front door opens and shuts, signalling their departure, and I let out a contented sigh. Peace at last. When I’m done eating, I let Specky in and she sits on my lap, keeping me company as I watch a Dr. Phil rerun. Is it just me, or is he getting bitchier in his old age?

After a while I take out my phone and read Shane’s last text again. I feel bad leaving him hanging, but I really don’t know how to reply. In the end, I bite on my lip and start typing.

Jade: I’m going to be working late again. Can we wait a few days? Miss you. X.

I hit “send” before realising that asking him for a few days’ break from each other and then telling him I miss him is a bit of a contradiction. It’s true that I miss him, though. It’s just that what happens when we’re around one another scares me.

My phone buzzes.

Shane: Miss you, too. Like crazy. A few days will kill me. Tomorrow?

I can’t stop my heart from speeding up when I read this. I mull over how to respond for a minute.

Jade: This is only supposed to be a casual thing. I want to see you, but I think we’re letting ourselves get serious too quickly. It frightens me…

Whoa. Talk about frank honesty. I feel incredibly nervous after I hit “send,” not knowing what he’s going to say to that, but I need to get it out there. Seconds later my phone starts to ring. Oh, no. He’s calling me. This can’t be good. Forcing the shakiness out of my hands, I pick up the phone and answer.

“Hey.”

“Babe,” says Shane, his voice low and full of affection.

“What?” I respond, unable to disguise the note of anxiety in my tone.

“You’re fucking adorable, but you need to stop overthinking this.”

“No, you need to stop being so nice to me,” I blurt out, and he chuckles.

“What? You want me to be a bastard instead?”

“That’s not what I meant. You’re being all attentive and stuff, and I know exactly what you’re up to.”

There’s a smile in his voice when he replies, “Okay, enlighten me, then?”

“You’re making this ‘arrangement’ into a relationship, a serious relationship, and that’s not what I agreed to.”

When I dived into this thing head first without a thought for my sanity, I never considered he’d be sly like this. And the fact of the matter is, my heart loves that he’s being sly. My heart is a needy thing that wants to be lavished with attention.

He lets out a long sigh, and it sounds like he’s fiddling with a piece of paper or something. His voice is low and serious when he says, “That’s not what I’m doing, Jade. I can’t help it if I’m into you and I get carried away. Tell me where the boundaries lie, and I’ll stick to them.”

I bite on my lip. He sounds like he means what he’s saying. “Okay,” I reply warily.

There’s a beat of silence before Shane says, “Are you at home or at work?”

“I’m at home.”

“Should I come over so we can discuss this in person?”

“No,” I answer, almost too fervently. “I have to get back to work soon. Let’s just talk on the phone.”

Because if I see you in person, I’ll only want to kiss you, and then no talking will get done.

“Okay, stick it to me, babe. What are your rules?”

Oh, God, did I mention how much I like his telephone voice? It’s so deep and masculine, like a cup of warm chocolate. And when he calls me babe like that? Fucking hell. It’s not one of those contrived terms of endearment, it’s like it just slips out so naturally and he can’t help it.

“Well, I suppose only seeing each other every couple of days would be a good rule,” I say.

“How many days is a couple?”

“Um, three?”

“Right. So I can’t see you for another two days?”

I hesitate, realising I don’t like the sound of that, either, but I soldier on nonetheless. “Yeah.”

“That’s going to be hard. What if we bump into each other when you’re working?”

“That’s fine. When I say ‘see each other,’ I mean, like, you know…”

Jesus, am I blushing?

“Fucking?” Shane finishes for me, a raspy note in his voice.

“Yes.”

There’s a muffled sound of him moving and then, “Okay, what else?”

“No, uh, public displays of affection when we bump into each other.”

“I can’t touch you?” He sounds disappointed.

“No, you can’t.”

“I like touching you.”

“And that’s something that couples do. We aren’t a couple.”

“Fine. Anything more?”

“I think that’s it. I’ll let you know if I think of more.”

Specky, who had been snoozing on my lap, wakes up and hops down onto the floor before scurrying into the kitchen. I stand and follow her, opening the back door to let her out.

Shane clears his throat. “So then I suppose I won’t see you until the night you and April come to see me play.”

Oh, for God’s sake, why does he have to sound so sad…and so appealing?

“Actually, there’s a change of plans needed there. April got herself a new boyfriend and has no interest in coming to the orchestra anymore. I think I might ask Alec along. I know he’ll agree to it if I tell him Avery will be there.”

Shane laughs. “Sounds like a plan. Will you stay with me that night?”

My reply comes out low and shaky. “Sure.”

He seems happy again when he says, “Brilliant. I can’t wait.”

I laugh, loving how quickly his mood can improve, especially since it’s the prospect of spending time with me that improves it. Again, my needy heart is reaching out for some affection, and it’ll take whatever it can get.

“Right. I’ll see you then, Shane.”

“See you, Bluebird,” he murmurs, and then hangs up.

That night during my shift, when my break comes I decide to go outside for some fresh air. There’s an emergency exit to the rear of the first floor that leads out to a metal staircase. I’m not supposed to, but it’s where I normally go when I need some quiet time. I’ve been uncharacteristically accident prone tonight, letting a glass smash onto the floor and almost spilling wine on a woman who was ordering drinks from me.

It’s all because of Shane.

The merciless man is turning my entire life upside down. Perhaps not in a way that anyone can see, but my head is a complete mess because of him. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it up. Lara let me steal one from her bag in the staff room. I don’t normally smoke. I only do on occasions like this when my nerves are at me.

I take a long, deep drag and stare out at the tops of the trees in the gardens behind the concert hall. If I listen carefully enough, I can hear the wind rustling through the leaves like the trees are whispering secrets. The smoke flows out of my mouth, a wisp of fog snatched away by the darkness.

Hushed conversation drifts up from below, and I peer down to see two people standing just outside the backstage exit. I’m leaning against the railing, so if either of them looked up, they’d see me right away. It only takes a second for me to recognise one of them as Shane, and the other looks to be his father.

“Why won’t you speak to her?” I make out his father’s words. He’s dressed casually, so he’s clearly not here to see the show.

Shane drags his hand through his hair. He’s wearing the tuxedo that all the men in the orchestra wear during performances, a black coat with tails, a white shirt with a white bowtie. I momentarily note how handsome he looks in it, how much it suits him, before he replies to his dad, “I told her I was through after the other night. How could she think it would be a good idea to invite Mona and Justin to her event?”

“Your mother didn’t realise how upset you’d be. Besides, we saw you on the television the other morning. You said you’d be playing a duet with Mona for the orchestra’s new season. I can’t see how you can be mad at her when you’ve agreed to work with the woman.”

Shane steps forward angrily, and his dad takes a step back. “That’s got nothing to do with it. And for your information, I wasn’t told about playing with Mona until it was announced to me quite inappropriately live on the air. I expect that kind of carelessness from the orchestra management. I shouldn’t have to expect the same from my own mother.”

“She’s very sorry, Shane. She hasn’t been herself since you stopped taking her calls.”

“Good. She deserves a taste of her own medicine.”

“She’s your mother. For God’s sake, have a heart.”

At this Shane whips his head up to his dad, spitting out, “Is she my mother? Really? As far as I’ve been told, my mother is some impoverished Chinese woman who needed money so bad she agreed to sell her baby to a pair of strangers.”

“Now you’re twisting things. You’re my son, and you’re your mother’s son, too. It shouldn’t matter who birthed you. Your parents are who raised you.”

Shane stares at his dad, his shoulders slumped sadly. “I know that. I’m sorry for snapping. You’re not the one I’m mad at.”

Wow. I think maybe I should head back inside. I look down at the cigarette in my hand, realising that the whole thing has burned all the way down to the butt, and I only took one drag. I’d been so rapt with the conversation going on below me that I’d forgotten to smoke it.

Looking back at the two one more time, I actually feel a little sorry for Shane’s dad, stuck in the middle of a fight between his wife and son. Then I feel sorry for Shane, too. He’s clearly in turmoil over what his mum did. I feel like going down there and comforting him, but that might not be my place. And anyway, I have to get back to the bar.

Leaving them to the rest of their talk, I return to my post and try not to think about how Shane is suffering right now. I know he has to go back inside and play the second half of the show, which must feel awful after fighting with his dad.

When I get home that night, I bring up Shane’s number on my phone several times, agonising over whether or not to call him. Every time I chicken out, and in the end I have to toss my phone under my bed so I won’t be tempted. Instead I pull out my old mp3 player and fire up the one album I have of his, Songs for Her. I close my eyes and listen, and once again I fall asleep to the sweet allure of his violin.

Chapter Twenty-one

I thought that two days would be lots of time to get my head around me and Shane, but seemingly I can’t get past the butterflies I feel when I think of him to even consider anything else. I’ve thought it a very appropriate description to compare the feeling of being “in lust” with a person to having butterflies in your stomach. But at the same time it irks me, because they always fail to mention how those butterflies have wings made of steel, cutting through your insides so that all you can feel is burning.

I haven’t seen Shane since the incident with his dad, which is probably a good thing, because I don’t know what to say to him about how he’s stonewalling his mother. Is it wrong for me to think that what he’s doing is a good thing? I don’t know all the ins and outs of the situation, but from what I’ve heard, she doesn’t really deserve forgiveness.

Alec readily agrees to come with me to the concert, since I mentioned we might have drinks with Shane and Avery afterward. Of course, all I’ll be having is a plain old orange juice, but the rest of them are free to get a little tipsy if they like. I put on my black shift dress and heels before twisting my hair into a fancy bun and putting on some silver stud earrings. I go light on the makeup as usual and knock on Alec’s door to see if he’s ready.

When he steps out, I grin from ear to ear. He’s wearing a navy shirt and dark slacks. I think this is the fanciest I’ve ever seen him dressed.

“Are those your interview clothes?” I ask in amusement. Someone’s definitely out to impress tonight.

He shrugs. “They might be. Am I driving, or are we getting a taxi?”

“You can drive. It’ll give you an excuse to offer Avery a lift home, now, won’t it?”

“Ah, I didn’t think of that!” he says, raising his hand for a high-five. I leave him hanging, though, not wanting to participate in setting my brother up to score the shy violinist any more than I already have. I feel bad for a second before I realise that Avery will probably be delighted with the attention. My brother might be tatted up to bits, but he’s definitely a looker. You’d hardly notice the tattoos with the way he’s dressed tonight. All you can see is the faintest tip of a demon wing he’s got inked on the side of his neck.

When he was a teenager, I always used to tell him not to tattoo any body parts he couldn’t cover up: hands, face, neck, etc. I warned him he’d never get a job if he did. I’m surprised he didn’t make me eat my words when he had no trouble getting work in construction.

We park outside the concert hall and go inside. It’s odd, but in all the time I’ve worked here, this is actually the first occasion where I’ve come to see a show. I’ve sat in on one or two during my shifts, but I’ve never been an ordinary audience member until now.

Lara’s standing in the middle of the foyer at a podium, selling programmes, when we walk in. She knew Shane gave me tickets for tonight, but she still makes a big deal as we approach her.

“Well, la di flipping da. Look at the two of you all dolled up to the nines.”

Alec gives her a smooth grin, his eyes scanning her up and down. I think Lara is the only woman I know who’s immune to my brother’s lasciviousness. She’s been around the block far too many times not to recognise a player when she sees one. Needless to say, his flirty smile doesn’t work on her.

“Thanks, Lara,” I say, giving her wrist a quick squeeze. She shoots me a reassuring look, knowing I must be nervous, and I feel better for it. Alec and I move on and go inside the auditorium to take our seats. There are people chattering all around us, the place only half full so far. Most people are out at the bars, finishing their drinks.

Shane got us some of the best seats, too, right in the middle. If you’re too close to the front, you only have a partial view of the musicians, while if you’re in the middle a good few rows back you can see everything much better.

I shoot a quick text to April, making sure everything’s all right at home since she’s babysitting Mia at our house tonight. She texts back a minute later telling me everything is fine and that Pete’s in his room watching movies. I tuck my phone back in my bag and focus on the stage.

Alec eyes the empty seats and asks me where Avery will be sitting. I point out the second row in the violins section and then have a look at the programme I got from Lara. There are going to be three pieces played, the first of which will be Debussy’s La Mer. I know enough French to translate that as “The Sea.” Next is a piano piece called “Une barque sur l’ocean,” by Ravel, which means “A Boat on the Ocean.” And lastly is Sibelius’ “The Oceanides.” Turning back to the front of the programme, I see the title of the concert is Uisce, which is Irish for “water.” Clever.

About five minutes later the auditorium is full, and the members of the orchestra are walking out onto the stage. I see Shane right away, looking dashingly handsome as always. The audience claps, and his eyes drift across the hall until he finds me. He gives me a heart-stopping smile, and I can’t help grinning in return. Fizzy excitement bubbles in my belly. I adore classical music, and it’s a rare treat for me to see it live and not in small scraps like when I’m working and manage to catch a few stolen minutes of a performance.

Tonight I get to gorge myself and see an entire show from beginning to end. Once the musicians are seated and have tuned their instruments, the conductor walks out and takes his place at the front of the stage. He says a few words introducing the piece they’re going to play, but my attention is all on Shane. I watch how he turns a page of sheet music on the stand in front of him and whispers something friendly to the violinist beside him.

There’s a moment of quiet right before the music starts, and I relax into my seat, closing my eyes and allowing it to wash over my senses. The piece has a soft, slow start, but I can tell it’s building. Suddenly, there’s a loud caw from above, and I blink my eyes open to see two seagulls swoop low and fly right over my head.

The salty smell of the sea fills my nose and the walls begin to move, bricks turning over on themselves and transforming into wooden slats. The top of the auditorium where the organ and choir section is located begins to narrow into a point, becoming the bow of a ship. Down the centre of the hall, giant billowing sails rise up to the ceiling. The roof disappears, replaced with clear blue skies, wind fluttering through the white sails.

The boat containing all our souls moves with the music, calm waves crashing against its sturdy sides. Bright rays of sunlight shine down, caressing my skin and reflecting through the glassy waters. A dolphin jumps out of the sea in an explosion of droplets before diving back under. It emerges again, so playful, dancing alongside the moving vessel.

Then, up ahead, dark clouds form, a storm on the horizon. Rain crashes down from the sky, soaking all of us in a sheath of cold water. A clap of thunder sounds as the wind gets turbulent and waves form, rocking the boat from side to side. The ship rocks so hard to one side it almost turns over.

People clutch onto each other, but the orchestra plays on, because when everything else in life fails, there still has to be music. My heart seizes as I stare straight ahead at a dark object rising out of the water. A whale with its mouth wide open, so huge it could swallow us whole. We narrowly escape the mouth of the whale, only to crash into its tail. A crack shatters in the body of the ship, and water starts to gush through.

More and more water comes. There’s no escape. We’re going under. My entire body is surrounded now, only my head above, my breathing laboured, panicked. There’s nothing but water and music and death.

The music stops. The audience starts to applaud, and my heart pounds like I really did just drown. One man a couple of rows in front of us rises, initiating a standing ovation. Others follow suit. Alec nudges me with his elbow and we both stand, clapping as the musicians graciously accept our applause.

There’s a short intermission, and Alec goes out to grab a drink at the bar. I stay in my seat, still too moved by the music to do anything but feel the after-effects. A grand piano is wheeled out onto the stage. When the hall re-fills after the intermission, a guest pianist is introduced to play the Ravel piece.

The rest of the concert passes beautifully, and I make a promise to myself to do this more often. My phone buzzes with a text as Alec and I slowly leave the auditorium.

Shane: Come backstage.

I reply simply.

Jade: On my way.

When we reach the dressing rooms, Alec immediately goes in search of Avery. I imagine he has some big compliments about her performance all at the ready, with the intention of getting into her pants by the end of the night. I’m not sure why, but I have this feeling that the two of them could be good together, that she could be the woman to finally knock Alec on his arse.

I can’t see Shane at his usual spot, but then I know why when two strong arms wrap around my middle. I smell his cologne first, something citrus and masculine.

“Three. Fucking. Days. Are you trying to kill me, woman?” he whispers huskily in my ear.

I chuckle. “That wasn’t my intention, no. And I thought we spoke about PDAs?” I whisper flirtatiously in reply, turning my head to him slightly. He presses a light kiss to my cheek and pulls away.

“Sorry. I’ll have to expend more willpower in the future.”

I look him over, seeing he’s already got his violin case with him, a backpack hanging from his shoulder. It seems he’s all ready to go; he hasn’t even changed out of his tux, which, by the way, I don’t mind. Not at all.

He holds his hand out to me. “Shall we go?”

“Um, yeah, just give me a second,” I say, turning around and trying to pinpoint Alec. I spot him a few yards away, leaning against Avery’s dressing table as she brushes her hair and seemingly blushes profusely. I wonder what he’s said to her to warrant such a reaction. When I catch his eye, I mouth to him that I’m leaving and he nods, waving me off.

Turning back to Shane, I meet his gaze, and his eyes are shining. God help me, but it looks like he’s got big plans for me tonight. I take his hand, and he leads me out of the building and to his car. Before I know it, I’m strapped in and we’re driving in the direction of his place.

Glancing from the road to me, he asks, “Did you have a good time?”

“I loved it,” I answer honestly, and bite my lip. I can’t handle the intensity of his gaze, so I stare out the window at the passing scenery instead. There’s something electric about him tonight, and it makes me jumpy. His hand moves to my thigh and trails up under the hem of my dress. The warmth of his skin causes a tiny moan to erupt from my mouth. I wince with embarrassment. Has three days away from him really made me this needy?

He strokes the apex of my thighs, his thumb seeking my clit over the fabric of my underwear. Shivers break out on my arms and neck. Then he moves his hands and continues driving until we get to his house. I almost protest. When he parks, he gets out first and walks around to open my door for me, helping me from my seat, his hands on my waist.

My feet hit the concrete, but we don’t move. I stand there, staring up into his eyes as his grip on me tightens. He ducks his head down and presses his lips to mine, his tongue flicking out experimentally for a second.

“Better get inside, or I’ll be in danger of taking you right here,” he murmurs darkly into my ear and I tremble, allowing him to lead me to the house. I didn’t bring an overnight bag because I don’t plan on staying the entire night. I have to get back to April and Pete, but there’s also the fact that sleeping with Shane, and I mean actually sleeping, is too intimate. Since we spoke on the phone, I realised that needs to be another rule. Just sex. No sleepovers.

“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks as we walk into his kitchen.

I shake my head, and he sets down his bag and violin case. I glance at the clock and see it’s almost eleven, which means I can spend a couple of hours here before I have to leave. Seconds later he’s scooping me up into his arms and kissing me so deep I ache.

Kissing and roaming our hands over each other, we fumble up the stairs, somehow finding our way to his room without tripping up on anything. He turns me so my back is to his front, and then his hand goes to my neck, gripping it possessively as he walks me over to his bed. My knees hit the mattress and he bends me over, grinding his erection against my bottom. Frenzied, he tugs my dress up over my thighs until my underwear is bared, which he quickly rids me of.

He seems to be in the mood to take the lead and I let him, revelling in it.

His mouth joins his hand at my neck, licking and sucking. “It’s probably a bit late to be bringing this up, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m clean.”

My brain is too fogged by desire to get what he’s saying at first. Then I understand. “I’m clean, too,” I reply breathlessly.

His hand on my neck tightens. “I don’t want to use protection with you. Is that okay?”

Moaning as he uses his teeth to nip my neck, I nod my head. “Yeah. I want to feel you.”

My response seems to please him, and he gives my bottom a little spank. I yelp and he growls, kneeling down behind me and lightly biting the curve of my arse cheek.

Emitting a low groan, he purrs, “Have I ever told you how much I love your arse?”

I laugh. “Not that I recall.”

“Well, I do. It’s fucking perfect.”

He bites me again, a little harder this time, and then stands. Before I know it he’s undoing his pants and whipping out his cock. I’m still bent over the edge of his bed, waiting, my impatient sex quivering with anticipation. When I feel him part my lips and position his cock, my muscles clench, needing him inside. He pushes in slowly, easing through my tight channel and feeling every inch of me around him.

“Every part of you is perfect,” he breathes, both hands going to my hips and holding on.

He thrusts into me once hard before he starts to fuck me with quick, delicious pumps. I fist the duvet, trying to keep my arms from falling limp. When he’s inside me, my entire body gets so full of pleasure that I can hardly focus on doing anything.

“Perfect,” he says again, this time sounding like he’s gritting his teeth. “I love doing this to you.”

I can only moan in response. The sound of our skin slapping together fills the room, and I can feel my wetness running down the inside of my thighs, I’m so turned on. There was hardly any foreplay between us, and still I’m soaking wet. He reaches around the front of my body and between my legs, finding my clit and rubbing fast circles, coaxing me to a sharp orgasm. I moan loudly as I come, my channel tightening and releasing around his cock.

“Wow, babe, you feel amazing,” he murmurs, kissing the back of my neck, still thrusting into me.

He keeps going after I’ve orgasmed, clearly not ready to end this yet, savouring me. When he finally comes, the sound he emits makes me shiver. His arms tighten around me, and he doesn’t pull out. Instead he guides us onto the bed so that we’re spooning. He kisses just below my ear, creating tingles at the base of my spine. I feel him softening inside me, and then he finally pulls out.

“Let’s get under the blanket,” he tells me, all husky and sleepy, as he pulls the duvet out from under us and then over our bodies.

“Are you tired?” I whisper.

“I could go another round if you want, but I’d rather sleep. I love sleeping with you, Bluebird.”

I turn around in his hold, trying to keep from sinking into him and just letting myself sleep. Tracing my fingers over his beautiful face, I say softly, “I can’t stay, Shane.”

His body tenses and he frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s another rule I thought of. No sleepovers. Plus, I need to get back and check on the kids.”

“Shut up and sleep. That’s a ridiculous rule,” he says, his arms turning to steel around me, clearly getting ready not to let go. “And we both know Alec is there to keep an eye on April and Pete.”

“Shane,” I start, but he interrupts me.

“No, babe. I’m sorry, but I’m not accepting that rule. I can deal with only seeing you every three days and I can deal with not touching you in public, but I can’t fucking deal with you not sleeping here. I need this.” He pauses, face serious. “Please.”

The agony in his features makes my chest pound. God, I feel like a bitch right now. My resolve withers away, and I press my lips together.

“Okay. I’ll forget about that rule, then,” I whisper tenderly, my words barely audible while my heart urges me to forget about all the rules.

He kisses me softly and gives me an intense look. “Thank you. Now go to sleep.”

Resting my head on his shoulder, I close my eyes and let sleep take me. That night when I dream, I dream of drowning in deep, dark water, and Shane’s music pulling me back to the surface.

Chapter Twenty-two

Familiar music drifts into my consciousness, dragging me from sleep. I turn over in the bed, naked but all wrapped in blankets. I discover the music is real when I blink open my eyes and see Shane sitting in a chair by the large window, topless. The blinds have been pulled, bright light streaming in, and he’s holding his violin. I love how the muscles in his arms move when he plays.

I know I’ve heard this song before, but I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is. I smile at him sleepily and he smiles back, continuing to play. Glancing to the side, I see a big glass of orange juice on the dresser alongside a plate with grapes, cheese, and crackers.

“Is this my breakfast?” I ask softly, and he only nods, smiling again.

My heart does a somersault in my chest. I’ve never been brought breakfast in bed by a man before. Picking up the juice, I take a long gulp, those butterflies wreaking havoc with my insides as his beautiful playing penetrates something deep in me. I put the juice down and pop a couple of grapes in my mouth before starting in on the crackers and cheese. I feel like the most special girl on the planet right now, being entertained by a world-class musician while I do something as mundane as eat breakfast.

A couple of minutes later Shane’s piece comes to an end, and he puts his violin down. I have a sheet wrapped around my chest to cover my modesty. He steps over to the bed, bow still in his hand, and uses it to lower the sheet. I’m too busy eating to stop him, and the sheet falls free. He sucks in a breath, his eyes drinking me in. I’m struck with a memory of fantasising about him stroking my body with his bow, as though playing me like an instrument.

“That was a sneaky move, Mr Arthur,” I say, attempting a scolding tone as I set down the plate and pull the sheet back up and around my body.

He gives me a hot look. “I’m not going to apologise.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think you would.”

He perches on the edge of the bed and runs his hand from my collarbone and over to rest on my nape. “I ran you a bath,” he says low, leaning forward to nip my earlobe.

“Oh, and I suppose you showered already?” I ask back teasingly.

His grin is evil. “Nope. I was hoping we could share.”

“Hmm, that depends.”

“On?”

“How big is your tub?”

He lets out a loud bellow of a laugh that makes my sex clench. Yeah, I definitely want to share my bath with him. He stands, shucking off the trousers he’d been wearing before holding his hand out to me. I take it and he leads me into the large bathroom, the tub filled with warm water and bubbles. I step in and sink under, sighing in pleasure at the sensation.

A moment later Shane climbs in behind me, pulling my back flush with his chest. His entire body is wrapped around mine, and I can feel his erection pressing against my lower back. He runs his hands up and down my arms for a long time and I stay still, eyes closed, enjoying being touched just for the sake of it.

His hands move to the upper part of my chest then, before sliding slowly down to my breasts. I moan softly, and he grunts. When he reaches my nipples, he pinches them lightly, and then his hands continue their descent below the water. They get to my belly and still, his thumbs rubbing small circles into my skin. Then one hand lowers between my legs, which have fallen open. He strokes my throbbing lips and then fingers the petals of my sex.

He keeps stroking me for so long that I feel like I might burst. Finally, he moves lightning fast as he plunges two fingers inside me. I let out a sigh of relief, rubbing my bottom against his cock, which is now rock hard. We continue to play this game. I swivel my hips in circles and he groans, clearly enjoying the friction. He keeps his fingers inside me, moving slowly in and out, all lazily sexual, as his other hand moves to my aching clit. He rubs as slowly as he possibly can, and I feel an intense orgasm coming on.

I want him to come, too, so I keep swivelling my hips. I move my own hands to my breasts, moulding them and pinching my nipples, letting out a long, erotic sigh of pleasure. Shane practically hisses when he sees me touching myself.

“Fuck,” he mutters, breath heavy and humid against the side of my neck. “Come,” he goes on. “I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

“Please,” I beg, needing him to rub me faster, but he continues at his slow pace, building an inferno inside me. I tug on my nipples hard, causing pleasure to ripple right down between my legs, where both his hands are hard at work.

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna come,” I pant, my muscles clenching.

I feel him spurt all over my lower back as I orgasm hard, crying out wildly with the release of it. Once I’ve ridden out all the waves, my body melts back into his and I shut my eyes. I’m glad we’re not facing each other, because if we had been, he would’ve seen something scary on my face just now. Something far too serious for what’s supposed to be casual sex.

We stay there in that exact position for a long while. He whispers sweet things in my ear and I try not to let them get to me, but they do. I need this man far more than I care to admit. After a time Shane turns on the tap and lets in some fresh water before he washes every part of me clean. I’m too shaken by my own emotions to stay and do the same for him, so I climb out of the bath once he’s rinsed my hair and wrap up in a towel. I need distance.

But I don’t want it.

In his bedroom, I gather my clothes and start to get dressed. I’ve just finished when I hear my phone ringing in my bag. Pulling it out, I see it’s Ben calling and hit the “answer” button.

“Hey, Ben, how are you?”

“Heya, honey, I’m as good as gold. And you?”

I cough. “As well as can be expected.”

“Have you fucked that sexy beast of a man yet?” he questions blatantly. Typical Ben. I swear he doesn’t get embarrassed about anything.

“That’s none of your business, you nosy bitch,” I respond with a laugh, and he makes a delighted sound of surprise.

“Oh, my God, you have! Spill the beans — what’s he like?”

“Uh, I can’t really talk right now,” I hedge just as Shane walks into the room, a navy towel wrapped low around his waist. My eyes travel over his abs before I focus back on the phone call.

“Ah, you’re with him as we speak, aren’t you?” he says, all hushed intrigue.

“I might be. Listen, I’ll call you back later.”

“Yes, you fucking will, biatch. But wait, I have to ask you something. A friend of Clark’s has a holiday home in Kerry, and we’re driving down to stay there next weekend. It’s a long weekend, so we can chillax, have a little mini break from life. You know, the usual. Lara’s mum’s going to take care of Mia for a few days, so she’s coming, too. What do you think?”

“Well, it sounds great, but I’ll have to check the rota at work. If I have shifts, I can probably get someone to cover for me.”

“Excellente! Would you like to bring the sexy beast along as well?” Ben asks hopefully.

My eyes shift to Shane. He’s put on some boxer briefs and is rubbing his hair dry with a towel. “I’ll ask him. See what he thinks.”

“Cool. Talk to you later, babes,” says Ben, making a smacking kissy noise with his lips.

I hang up the phone and turn to find Shane watching me.

“So, what do you have to ask me?” he says with a grin.

I narrow my eyes, trying not to grin back. “How did you know I was talking about you?”

He shrugs. “Lucky guess.”

I search for my hairbrush in my bag and quickly fill him in on Ben’s offer. He tells me he doesn’t have any shows that weekend, as there’s a traditional Irish group playing a string of concerts, so he’s all in. I feel slightly breathless at the idea of spending an entire weekend with Shane in the same house. If we do this, we’d definitely be breaking one of my rules.

I vaguely remember wanting to do away with all the rules last night, but the memory makes me too nervous to keep thinking about it. I start to comb my hair, preparing to style it into a braid, and Shane sits back down in the chair he’d been in when I woke up this morning. He’s dressed now in a T-shirt and lounge pants. He picks up his violin and bow, and starts to play another song.

I recognise this one as well, and finally I figure out where I know them from. Both pieces are on the Bohemia Quartet record I have. The one that lulls me to sleep most nights. I can’t believe it took me this long to recognise the music. It sounds a little different when it’s just the violin and not the whole quartet. There’s something vital about the stripped-down version, like a person singing a capella.

I’ve always thought that if there was one instrument that’s most like a human voice, it would be the violin.

I want to ask him who he wrote the album for. It’s called Songs for Her. I looked up who the composer was and discovered Shane’s name. He continues to play as I take out some mascara and lip gloss, applying a little before putting both away again. Oh, hell, if you don’t ask, you won’t receive, so I might as well ask.

“I have that album, you know,” I admit somewhat shyly.

He pauses playing and glances at me. “You do?”

“Yeah. I actually downloaded it that first night you walked me home. I was curious.”

A pleased expression comes over him. “And have you listened to it?”

I give him a sheepish look and sigh. “Too many times, Shane.”

“Really?”

I nod and turn back to the mirror, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. Then I speak up. “I know you wrote all the songs, but who are they for?”

He gets a faraway look in his eye and turns to stare out the window. “The answer to that question is a little weird, actually. I wrote them for a girl I never met.”

“Huh?”

“I was in my late teens and had just started playing with the quartet. Our manager had gotten us a couple of gigs over in the States, and I was packing up all my stuff, preparing for the long stint away. There’d been this story in the news for ages, about a girl who’d gone missing. I can’t even remember her name, but I was watching the news when her body had been found buried close to the Dublin Mountains.”

I’m hardly breathing as I listen to him speak. My heart is pounding. I can’t function enough to form words as he continues, “People had been talking about the girl for weeks. It was a huge deal for someone to disappear back then, probably because the population was smaller. She was blonde. She actually looked a lot like you, Jade, which is why I was so struck by you when we first met and you took off your wig. You had all this pale blonde hair, just like she did.”

Finally I find my voice, but it’s barely a whisper, “So you wrote the album for her? The missing girl?”

Shane shakes his head. “No. When her body was found, it was all over the television stations. Reporters were trying to get an interview with her family. There was a clip of her mother talking to one of them, and her sister was there. At one point the camera focused in on the sister, and I couldn’t look away. She wasn’t talking, just crying silently beside her mum. She had all this crazy purple hair and a tonne of eyeliner on, so it was all running down her face like a mask of sadness. I’d never seen someone in so much pain as that girl. It made me want to cry for her, made me feel so much, like I’d lost something as big as she had.”

He stops speaking, and I can’t move. I just keep staring into the mirror at my own face, watching as tears slowly begin to fill my eyes.

“That night I composed so much new music I felt like my hand might fall off. It was all for her. In the morning I had to fly out, but I continued composing the songs over the next few weeks. Up until then the quartet had only ever recorded covers. Songs for Her was our first and only original album, and our most popular one, too. I was so busy travelling to ever find out if they caught the person who killed the girl. In a way I didn’t want to know. Even if they found her murderer, there’s no happy ending to a story like that.”

My eyes meet his through the mirror. “No, there isn’t,” I reply, no tone to my voice at all.

I can’t get my head around what’s happening. First the painting he’d had of me, and now this. Is this like some fucked-up version of serendipity or just a complete and total coincidence? A consequence of living in a tiny city where lives can become so strangely intertwined? I stand up and straighten out my clothes, picking up my bag and throwing it over my shoulder. I might not have wanted distance before, but I do now.

“I have to go,” I say, not looking directly at him.

He seems to be lost in thought, running his fingers over the body of his violin, like he’s trying really hard to remember the lost girl’s name. He glances up at me then, about to protest me leaving, but then he sees the look on my face and falls silent.

“Sparrow,” I whisper.

“What?”

“Her name was Sparrow,” I finish, just before I turn on my heel and walk out the door.

***

I catch a bus back to my house, and it’s still early when I get there. I hurry up the stairs to my room and pull out my costume. After the morning I shared with Shane, I need to become someone else for a while. Putting the white paint on my face, I feel like I’m erasing it all. Erasing my confusion that we were somehow in each other’s lives years before we ever actually met.

He wrote an entire album about me, an album I’ve been listening to on “repeat” for nights on end. As I put on my wings, I consider opening up my window and flying away, like Mary Poppins with her umbrella. I leave the house in full costume, walking down the street, receiving the usual curious glances from people who don’t know me or my story.

They know nothing about Jade Lennon. The girl whose twin got killed by a sick psychopath. Let her dress up like fucking Santa Claus if it makes her happy.

I reach my regular spot and set up as usual. As I stand on my box, I feel better because I don’t have to be me. I can focus only on my breathing, focus on it so hard that no thoughts enter my head. Not a single one. I can listen only to the sounds of footsteps on the path, forever passing me by, and no thoughts enter my head. Not a single one.

There’s no violin music this time. No sweet melodies to transport me into a scene that exists only in my own mind. I look across the street, and he’s standing there alone, outside the very same shop from the first night we met. He doesn’t have his violin. He’s frowning at me, studying me so intensely he looks like he might burst a blood vessel.

I never move. Not once.

After a long time of me not moving, Shane buttons up his coat because it’s getting cold, and walks away. I stand there for many more hours, until the day darkens to evening. When I step off my box, I feel like I might need a chiropractor, because not moving has given me a pain that runs down my spine.

I walk home.

A few teenage boys and girls shout some obscenities at me. You tend to garner negative attention when you’re wearing something as bizarre as I am. I stop in front of them, twirling in a massive circle and bowing down while raising my middle finger in a silent “fuck you.” I continue on my way. Opening my front door, I hear talking coming from the living room and immediately recognise Shane’s voice.

What’s he doing here?

I walk into the room to find him sitting across from Pete on the couch. He has his violin and Pete’s got the laptop I managed to scrape together the money to buy him last Christmas open, some sort of application running on the screen that looks like a virtual recording studio.

“Hey,” I say, glancing between the two of them, my voice more air than sound. “What’s going on?”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “Shane’s giving me music lessons, remember?”

“Oh, right,” I mutter, and then look to Shane.

His expression is indecipherable. A long moment of silence passes between us, a dozen questions hanging in the air. Finally I clear my throat and ask him softly, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Some sort of tension leaves his body as a breath escapes him. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Uh, Jade you’re getting that white crap all over the door,” Pete interrupts.

I glance to the side to find I’ve got my hand pressed against the wooden frame, white makeup smeared all over it. I drop my hand and take another step into the room.

“How’s everything going? Have you seen Damo around at all?” I ask my brother.

Pete lets out a snort as he types furiously on his laptop. “He’s shitting himself over Alec. He came to me after school, telling me to let my brother know he doesn’t want any trouble.”

I sigh in relief. “That’s good. Is school okay?”

“It’s all right. A few of the teachers practically tore me a new one over all my absences, but I can handle it.”

I smile. I want to reach over and ruffle his hair, but I can’t because I’m still in my costume. The wings are so big they hardly fit inside our tiny living room. I quickly duck out and go upstairs to change, using a makeup wipe to get the face paint off. I throw on some comfy yoga pants and a baggy jumper before going back downstairs to the kitchen. I find a note on the counter from Alec telling me that he fed and walked Specky this morning, but that he’s got a date with Avery tonight, so he won’t be home until late.

I look over the ingredients in the fridge and decide I’ve got everything I need to throw together a chicken curry with rice. About twenty minutes later, as I’m standing by the cooker stirring the sauce, the door opens and somebody comes inside.

Two arms wrap around my waist, and a chin rests on my shoulder. “Smells good,” Shane says, voice low. “You okay, Bluebird?”

I nod, not saying anything. He holds me there for a few seconds longer and then goes to sit down. The food is just about ready, so I start dishing it onto plates. Pete comes in and grabs his, bringing it into the living room to eat, leaving me and Shane alone. April is out with her friends, so there aren’t going to be any interruptions. I’m still in turmoil over whether or not I should tell him that I’m the girl he wrote all those songs for. Will he be freaked out, or think it’s romantic?

We eat quietly, and I thank him for starting those music lessons with Pete. He shrugs it off, telling me he enjoyed spending time with my brother. He says that Pete taught him almost as much as he taught Pete. Shane was pretty much in the dark about all the new technological stuff that’s out there.

When we’re finished eating, we wash up together, and I ask him if he wants to hang out in my room for a while. I don’t have sex in mind. I plan on telling him the truth. All about the strange coincidence I suddenly became aware of this morning.

In my room, I turn some relaxing music on low and then sit down on the bed. Shane slips off his shoes and does the same.

“Why did you freak out and rush off earlier?” he asks after a long while.

I turn to him, hugging a pillow to my chest as he lounges back against the headboard. “It was the story you told me, about the missing girl and her sister.”

He leans forward, curious. “That freaked you out? Why?”

I bite on my lip, clasping my hands together to keep them from shaking, and meet his gaze. “Because the missing girl was my twin. I’m the sister, the one you saw on the news.”

Shane’s eyes flicker back and forth between mine numerous times, a dozen emotions crossing his features. He moves closer to me then, taking my shaking hands into his still ones. “Wow,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” I say. “First you have that painting of me, long before you ever knew who I was, and now it seems you’ve actually written an album for me. It’s downright spooky.”

Not to mention it makes my heart to do a backflip and then try to turn itself inside out.

Shane seems to be more focused on my history than anything else. The need to know my story is practically humming from him. “What happened to her?” he whispers. “I mean, did you ever find out?”

I stare at my wallpaper, at my golden sparrows, my mind wandering to a dark place. “Yeah, we found out. I knew all along who it was, but the police never released the information to the press until after her body was found. They were afraid it would compromise the investigation.” I stop for a second, then tell him, “I was there when she was taken.”

Shane inhales sharply and stares at me empathetically. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

I let out a small breath. “Well, it seems I’m in a storytelling mood, so you might as well sit back and listen. I never talk about her. And I mean never. I pay tribute to her in so many ways every day — she’s constantly present in my world, but I find it hard to actually speak about her. Her name was Sparrow. We weren’t identical, but we had the same colouring and looked a lot alike.”

“Sparrow? Is that why you got those tattoos?” he asks, eyes going to my arm.

I nod. “And my wallpaper. I’m always drawing those damn birds, too. I can’t get them out of my head sometimes. They’re a symbol of her. She was an artist just like my mother, the good twin. I was the moody one, always trying to change my appearance so that people would see us as two different people rather than one. That’s why I had the purple hair and the makeup. Sparrow never deviated from her natural blonde roots. She was so pretty. It brought her attention from people and was probably why her abductor took an interest. They always go for the pretty, innocent types, right?”

Shane just stares at me silently, empathy streaming from his every pore.

“Anyway, we were walking home from school one day, and it started to rain. We were getting soaked and began running, holding our bags over our heads to keep from getting wet. Then a car pulled up by the side of the road. It was our geography teacher, Mr Francis. He offered us both a ride home, but I’d always had a bad feeling about him, so I said no. Sparrow, being as trusting as she was, wanted to accept the offer, but I told her not to and began dragging her away. We got into a fight because she didn’t want to walk the rest of the way home in the rain. We shouted at each other. In the end I gave up and let her get in the car. I should never have let her get in the car.”

“Fuck,” Shane swears under his breath. “You couldn’t have known.”

I take a deep breath and continue, “I walked the rest of the way home, expecting Sparrow to be there already, but she wasn’t. I didn’t get too worried at first because she’d often have dinner at her friend’s house down the street, so I thought that was where she’d gone. Mum was out doing groceries, and she had Pete and April with her. The evening progressed and everybody started to arrive home, but still there was no sign of Sparrow.

“Mum and I sat up half the night calling her friends, calling everyone we knew and asking if they’d seen her. We didn’t get a wink of sleep, and finally in the morning we called the police. It took about a day before they began searching for her properly. I told them she’d gotten into Mr Francis’ car, so they went to his house to ask him questions. He told them he’d given her a lift because it was raining but that he’d left her off at her street and driven home to his wife and kids. His wife gave him an alibi, but she must have been lying. The police could find no evidence, no CCTV footage of him taking her, no proof at all. So it was the word of some Goth teenager over that of an upstanding citizen, a local schoolteacher who’d never had any trouble with the law.

“About a week passed, and still there was no sign of her, no leads. I was so angry I felt like going to his house and threatening him until he confessed. Instead I went to school early one morning and thrashed his classroom, scrawling the word ‘paedophile’ across the blackboard. I got a week’s suspension, but Mum was too busy worrying about Sparrow to be mad at me. She believed me about Mr Francis, and I think she might have even been a tiny bit proud of what I’d done. Two months passed by. I rallied all the students together to boycott his classes, and in the end he resigned, stating he couldn’t work under such conditions, said he was being demonised. What a joke.

“It was almost three months exactly that she’d been missing when a couple walking their dog near the mountains found a suspicious-looking patch of freshly dug-up earth in an under-populated area. They called the police. The police came, and that was the day they found Sparrow buried three feet below the ground. I knew she was dead all along. I could feel it, like a part of me had been ripped out of my chest. Two days later, Mr Francis shot himself in the head. A week after that, the results came back from the tests they’d run on Sparrow’s remains. She’d been raped and then strangled to death. Mr Francis’ DNA was all over her. I wanted to die, thinking of the suffering she must have gone through, all because I couldn’t stop her from getting in that car.”

I pause for breath, wiping at the tears leaking down my face. Shane wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him.

“Jesus,” he whispers.

“I was so full of guilt. The only thing that could numb it was alcohol, and that’s where my drinking started.”

“You were so fucking young. No one should have to go through what you did,” Shane says, his mouth on my hair, his nose breathing me in.

I stare at my wallpaper for a long time, then draw away from him, going to my wardrobe and pulling out the sketch pad sitting at the bottom of it. Bringing it back over to the bed, I sit down beside him again, placing it on his lap. He hesitates a moment, then opens it up.

“Sparrow wanted to be an illustrator when she grew up. She was always drawing these little sketches, creating characters,” I tell him as he flicks through the pages.

“She was talented,” says Shane as he stops on a page, his mouth falling open.

“That was her favourite character,” I explain. “The one she drew the most. She called her Evangeline Spectrum — don’t ask where she came up with the name. She thought it sounded cool, like a futuristic angel.” I get up and go back to the wardrobe, pulling out a big canvas, the only large-scale picture Sparrow had ever had the chance to complete. I set it on the edge of the mattress for Shane to look at. It shows Evangeline Spectrum, her blue wings spread out wide as she sits on the moon, staring down at a world full of people.

“But this is you,” he whispers, his eyes taking it all in.

I shake my head. “It’s not me. I re-created Evangeline as a living statue. I’d been playing around with the idea for a long time, and after a while I gathered everything I needed for the costume. Somehow dressing up as one of her characters made me feel closer to Sparrow. That’s how I cope with missing her. I put her in my life in little ways, like tattooing birds on my arm or drawing a sparrow randomly on a wall in a house full of artists. It feels better than crying into my pillow or drinking myself half to death.”

Shane picks up the canvas, his gaze eating it up. “You’re amazing.”

I let out a surprised laugh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Most people call me crazy.”

He sets the picture down and looks at me dead-on. “Those people don’t know what they’re talking about.”

A second later he’s pulling me back into his arms and stroking my hair. We stay like that for a while, and then I start talking again.

“Before Sparrow died, I didn’t believe in anything. I was a complete and total nihilist, thinking the world had no meaning. It just was. I had never lost anyone, so it was easy for me to believe that when people died, that was it. They were gone. Dust on the wind. There was no good place they were headed. Then my twin was dead, and I found myself believing in everything if only it would mean that this wasn’t the end. It was completely hypocritical, but I was desperate for the light at the end of the tunnel to be true. I needed to hold onto the hope that I’d get to see her again, that she’d get to live on somewhere wonderful after the horror she endured. So now I let myself see the impossible in the mundane. I let myself believe that things can happen that defy explanation. That I can fly with my fake wings or that I can be standing listening to music on the street, and suddenly I’m in a grand ballroom full of dancers. It’s the only way I know how to survive without her, the only way I can convince myself we’ll meet again.”

Shane looks at me for a long time. His hand on my hair pauses as he dips down to kiss me on the temple. “We all have to believe in something to keep going, Bluebird,” he murmurs, and then drags me down to a lying position. Somewhere along the way he pulled the blanket over us, and the music I put on earlier isn’t playing anymore. It’s so quiet. His thumb brushes the edge of my forehead, pushing my hair away from my face.

“Us being here together right now could be a sign, you know,” he says then.

“What do you mean?”

“You want proof of the impossible, and you have it right in front of you. I saw you crying on the news eleven years ago and wrote an album of songs for you like I was possessed by music. Then years later I find myself staying in a room where a picture of you is hanging. A couple of months after that, I’m walking down the street one night, and the woman from my painting is standing in front of me in the exact same pose from the painting. If there’s magic in the world, then we’ve both experienced it for ourselves.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, tears fill my eyes. Something stabs at my heart, and I love him for every word he just spoke, even if none of it is true, even if it’s all just coincidence. I look between his beautiful eyes, barely breathing, and then finally I whisper, “Thank you.”

Nothing more needs to be said. He made my entire world right just now, and I’m clutching onto his words.

I’ll never let them go.

It was just an ordinary night.

He didn’t think anything extraordinary would happen.

Until it did.

Turning a corner onto the bustling night time street, he saw her all in blue.

The woman from his painting was a living, breathing thing…and she was so completely still.

Chapter Twenty-three

I wake up early the next morning wrapped around Shane. We’re both in my bed, fully clothed from the night before. My face feels stingy from tears, but there’s a lightness in my chest, like getting everything out lifted a weight I didn’t even know was there.

My body is half on top of his and I lie still, admiring how handsome his face looks when he’s sleeping, how his dark lashes create shadows over his cheekbones. He stirs a little then and wakes up, blinking his eyes a few times. When he realises where he is and who’s on top of him, I feel his body spring to life. His cock hardens against my inner thigh.

Suddenly he flips us over so that I’m flat on my back on the mattress and he’s hovering above me. He does it so instinctively that it sets my nerve endings alight, like it’s so natural for him to want to fuck me.

“How did you sleep, Bluebird?” he asks huskily as he runs his knuckles down one side of my face.

“Good,” I answer, quiet. “And you?”

“Good, too. I always sleep well when you’re with me.” He moves his hips a little then, rubbing his erection against the centre of my thighs. A quick breath escapes me. Then he seems to think of something and pauses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Crap, what time is it?”

I glance to the clock on my nightstand. “Eight-thirty. Why?”

“I have a radio interview at lunch, and they want me to play live on the air. I need to go home and practice, but I really don’t want to leave.”

There’s a sort of agony in his eyes. I understand that he wants to get busy, judging from his current state of arousal, but…and then I get it. He thinks that if he goes now he won’t be able to see me again for another three days.

“You can come over tonight,” I offer hesitantly. “Or I could come to yours?”

He narrows his gaze. “But what about the rules?”

“Fuck the rules,” I tell him brashly and he laughs, bending down and sucking on my lower lip. Damn, I really wish he didn’t have to go now, either.

Pulling back, he stares at me, his gaze roaming from one part of my face to the next, his eyes glittering. His thumb brushes back and forth over my collarbone, and I keep on staring back at him, unable to break the connection.

“I feel like I’m falling,” he whispers, bringing his mouth to my lips for a soft, barely there kiss.

All my words get stuck in my throat as he draws away from me and slides off the bed. I watch as he straightens out the clothes he slept in and pulls on his shoes. Why did he say that? More to the point, what does he mean? I refuse to allow myself to draw fanciful conclusions, but it seems fairly obvious what he was trying to tell me. It feels like a lifetime has gone by when I find my voice at last.

“I’ll call you later. Good luck with today,” I tell him softly.

“Thanks, Bluebird,” he replies, looking at me for a long moment as he stands by the door. Then he opens it and walks right out. When I hear him leave the house, I sit up in bed and try to gather myself.

I’m not going to obsess over that one little sentence. I can’t. It will drive me crazy. My gaze wanders to the small calendar I’ve tacked to the side of my wardrobe. Scanning to today’s date, I let out a little surprised gasp. There’s a big blue circle around the day. It’s the anniversary of my sobriety, and I’m not sure how it managed to creep up on me like this. Normally I’m so aware of each day as it passes, but since I met Shane my head has been completely preoccupied.

It’s six years today since I last had a drink. More to the point, it’s time for a new tattoo. I’m actually glad for the distraction as I get out of bed and get dressed. I’m not due to be at work until three o’clock, which leaves me with lots of time to add another sparrow to my arm. I take care of a bit of housework and then set off for the parlour.

Just before I leave I catch a weather report that says it could snow later on, so I make sure to wrap up well. I’m actually glad for the cold weather. Somebody told me years ago that it’s better to get tattoos when it’s cold, because that way you don’t sweat any of the ink out. It could be an urban legend, but I’ve always found myself following that rule anyway.

When I reach the parlour, a short walk into the city centre, it’s mostly empty. There’s just one guy sitting getting a piece done on his leg. Unlike a lot of tattoo parlours, this one has an open-plan setting, so unless you’re getting something done in a place you don’t want anyone to see, they tattoo you right out in the open.

It’s daunting but liberating at the same time.

The place is decorated in a unique fashion, with kooky lopsided mirrors hanging on the walls alongside surrealist paintings. I talk for a while with the receptionist, and then the artist I always see, a tall guy called Stew with a septum piercing and wearing a tight black muscle T, comes out.

The buzzing sound of the needle and the smell of antiseptic fills me with a sense of anticipation rather than fear. It’s always strangely relieving for me to add another bird to my collection, a symbol that I’ve survived another year. The more years I survive, the easier it becomes.

As I sit down and Stew makes his preparations, somebody turns off the prog rock music that had been playing and switches it over to a radio station. My new sparrow is going to go just past my elbow on my upper arm. Only another couple of years before I reach the top. I vaguely remember telling Shane I’d stop once I’d gotten to year ten, but maybe I won’t. Perhaps I’ll just keep getting these sparrows under my skin until they start calling me the Bird Lady instead of the Blue Lady.

Stew settles himself in a comfortable position, and then the needle is burrowing into my arm. I suck in a breath at the initial sting, but it’s a manageable sort of pain. My attention goes to the radio and I hear the DJ speak, introducing his special guest of the day, violinist Shane Arthur.

I call to the receptionist, who’s typing into a laptop close by, and ask her if she could turn the radio up. She nods, and then Shane’s gorgeously masculine voice is filling the parlour. I close my eyes and allow it to wash over me, hearing his words from this morning in my head again.

The DJ asks him a couple of the usual interview questions, nothing too personal, and then invites Shane to play something for the listeners.

“This song is for my Bluebird,” Shane says before he starts to play.

It’s the song from yesterday, the one he’d played for me as I was waking up in his bed. My heart starts to fizz with giddiness. By the time he’s finished the song and the DJ is thanking him for coming in, I glance down to see that Stew is almost done with my sparrow. Looking around the parlour, I see that it’s still empty enough, with only two teenage girls waiting to have their noses pierced.

“Do you have any appointments after me?” I ask Stew, his face a blank picture of concentration as he pauses and uses some tissue to wipe away the blood on my arm.

“No, not until late afternoon,” he replies, looking up from his work with one eyebrow raised. “You got something else in mind?”

My smile is barely there, the edges of my lips ever so slightly curved up. “I might have.”

“Big or small?” he asks.

“Somewhere in between. I’m guessing it’ll take you about an hour. What do you think?”

He shrugs. “You’re the one paying. I’ll do whatever you want.”

And then he goes back to finishing my sparrow. I sit back, and my smile spreads wide as I picture my first tattoo that has nothing to do with the birds on my arm.

***

As I stand at the reception and pay for the two pieces I had Stew do for me today, I glance out the window and see small flecks of white falling from the sky. The weather report was right; it is snowing. I thank Stew one more time for yet another great job and for all the work he did looking up what I needed online. Then I leave the parlour.

I button my coat right up to my chin and pull up my hood. There aren’t many people on the street, because aside from excited children, nobody really likes to be outside when it’s snowing. A fleck lands on my nose, and I look down to see it isn’t snow at all, but a tiny clear diamond.

The ground is glittering with them as they fall from the dark, heavy sheet of clouds in the sky. When they hit the pavement, they make a little pinging sound, like broken glass. My chest fills with wonder as I turn back and stare down at the street behind me; every surface is glittering with diamonds, and I gasp at the beauty of it.

My back stings with my new tattoo, but it’s a good kind of stinging. The meaning behind the piece makes me feel complete, like I’m no longer alone in this life.

And no, I didn’t get a tramp stamp, thank you very much.

I walk home, trying to avoid crushing the precious stones beneath my plimsoll-clad feet. Right now the world is a diamond-encrusted tiara, shimmering and bright.

At my house I gather my things for work, and by the time I’m leaving again the snow has stopped. Some thief stole all the diamonds, because all that’s left on the ground is cold, wet sludge.

When I get to the concert hall, I’m greeted by Lara in the staff room. She’s in top form, telling me about how delighted Mia was when she took her for a walk in the snow. I think of how much more delighted little Mia would have been if she’d seen all those diamonds.

For tonight’s show Lara and I are both working side by side in the box office at the front of the house. We have a giggle as we watch people enter the foyer, making up stories for them as they pass us by. I love these blah blah blah chats we have. It’s like yoga for the brain — gives it a nice good stretch but never overtaxes it.

A group of young people in their late teens enter, and we talk about how when we were their age we wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this. They’re all dressed in formal wear and probably attend some fancy college where going to see the symphony is what constitutes a night out on the tiles.

Lara mentions how they all look like little right-wing conservatives in the making, and I quote Winston Churchill, saying, “If you’re not a liberal at twenty you have no heart; if you’re not a conservative at forty, you have no brain.”

“So all those kiddos out there have no hearts?” Lara asks.

I shrug. “At least they have brains.”

“Damn,” she chuckles, “that means I’ve only got a couple more years before I have to throw away my liberalism. I’d better start attending some wild left-wing protests before I run out of time.”

“Yeah, get burning those bras,” I quip as a couple approaches my window, having heard what I just said. I cough to clear my throat as I sell them two tickets. The very second they walk away Lara bursts out laughing, and I give her a half-hearted scowl before succumbing to her laughter.

A minute later I have more customers and my laugh dies on my lips, leaving nothing but a straight sober line in its wake. In front of me are two people I recognise well, but they don’t know me at all. There’s an air of tension to Mona and Justin as they request two tickets, in the stalls preferably. I note how Justin’s voice is all mannerly and urbane.

For a second I don’t know what to do, and I certainly don’t know how to interpret the flirty wink Justin gives me when Mona isn’t looking. I have a crazy thought of asking them what the hell they think they’re doing here, because Shane clearly wouldn’t be pleased about it. But I don’t. Instead, I silently sell them their tickets.

As I’m punching the command in on my screen, Justin leans closer. Mona has taken her phone out and steps back to scroll through her messages.

“I don’t remember there being such hot employees the last time I was here,” he says to me in a low voice, and I have a momentary daydream of punching him in the face, my fist miraculously breaking right through the pane of glass in front of me, shards flying into the air in slow motion.

I slide his tickets through the slot and shoot back, “Yeah, well, I don’t remember the last time I had such a sleazy customer, so that makes us even.”

Justin’s eyes narrow as he swipes up the tickets, gives me a look that’s half-annoyed, half-disgusted, and then leads Mona away. As soon as they’re gone, I fumble for my phone in my pocket and rapidly type out a text to Shane.

Jade: Don’t freak but Mona and Justin are here.

Lara watches me, clearly having heard what I said to Justin, so I quickly explain to her who he was. She remembers Shane’s story from that night at my house, so she understands why I was so rude. Then I get a text back from Shane.

Shane: I know. Mum came to the radio station today and told me she’s been in contact with Mona. She wants to mend her bridges since we have to play this concert next week. Apparently, that’s why she’d been calling. Not gonna happen.

Jade: You okay?

Shane: I’ll survive. Come to me when your shift is done?

Jade: I will. x.

When the show starts I’m tempted to go inside the hall and make sure Shane’s all right. For some reason I have this vision of him seeing Mona and Justin in the audience and having a breakdown. I know he’s stronger than that, though.

When my shift ends, I go to the staff changing rooms and put on the cream blouse and navy jeans I brought, since I didn’t want to wear my work uniform when I go to see Shane. I let my hair down out of its bun and run my fingers through the waves. Applying some reddish lip gloss, I study myself in the mirror and decide I’ll do, slipping on my ankle boots to complete the outfit.

I’m on my way to the dressing room, walking down a corridor close to the stage entrance, when I stop in my tracks. Shane is standing there, talking to both Mona and Justin. He looks fine on the surface, but just beneath it he doesn’t look fine at all.

For a second I hesitate, not knowing if I should approach or wait until Mona and Justin leave. It’s a terrible thought, but I wonder if Shane would be ashamed of being associated with someone like me. After all, Justin will surely recognise me from the box office earlier.

Deciding not to let my insecurities get to me, I keep walking. Mona frowns when I step up beside Shane and slip my hand in his, squeezing it ever so slightly.

Mustering my most sultry voice, I say, “Hey, baby, who are your friends?”

I press my lips to his mouth for a moment, meaning for it to be a quick greeting, but Shane sinks into the kiss, deepening it as though it’s giving him strength. Tingles scurry all down my spine. Then he pulls away. “Hey, you look great,” he breathes, squeezing my hand and turning back to Justin and Mona.

Justin’s got a cynical look on his face, and Mona is still frowning.

“This is Jade,” says Shane. “My girlfriend.”

A quick swoosh of excitement goes through me at his words, and I have no intention of correcting him. Am I his girlfriend? I’m definitely more than just a friend with a particular benefit now. At least, that’s the way it feels.

Mona purses her lips, and she smiles smugly. Clearly, she just remembered where she saw me before. “I know you. Weren’t you working out the front earlier?”

“That’s right,” I reply, nodding. I’m not going to bother to shake her hand.

“Ah, so how long have you two been together?” she asks.

“A while,” I answer before Shane has the chance. She isn’t getting any details because I know that’s what she’s after.

Justin is giving me this knowing look, like when he flirted with me earlier I was actually receptive to it, instead of cutting him down like I did. I raise an eyebrow at him, and his face immediately sobers. I should tell Mona what he said to me. I bet he’s been cheating on her all over the place in the exact same way she cheated on Shane. I also bet she doesn’t like the taste of her own medicine one tiny bit.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jade,” says Justin, stepping closer and taking my hand in his to kiss it. Shane immediately bristles, and I quickly pull my hand away like there might be venom in his saliva. “Hey, why don’t we all go out for a few drinks? Catch up on old times?” he continues.

“I’m sorry, but no,” says Shane sharply. “We have plans.”

“And I don’t drink,” I add for good measure.

“Okay, no problem. Perhaps another time.”

Shane gives him a look like he’s got his shit in bucketfuls, and Justin’s face loses some of its cocky confidence. “I don’t think so,” Shane tells him, voice low and defensive.

“We’re trying to be civil,” Mona cuts in. “Why throw away years of friendship over something so stupid? Justin has missed you, Shane. All of the guys have. Even Dad says he wishes you’d come back and play with the quartet again.”

Shane’s body goes ramrod straight with tension. “‘Something so stupid’?” He spits her own words back at her. “Are you for real? You’re fucking delusional if you think I’d ever want any of you in my life after how you lied to me. And I know the only reason you’re bending over backward to gain my friendship is because ticket sales for the group’s concerts have fallen dramatically since I left. This all boils down to money.”

Justin’s expression grows angry. “Our sales are doing just fine. We’re here because we want to make up for what we did to you. It was awful, I know. I hate to think I’ve lost you as a friend.”

“Fucking hell, those lies drip so easily off your tongue, don’t they? I’ll never be your friend again, Justin, because you were never a friend to me.”

Shane tugs on my hand and leads me away from them, down the hall toward the dressing rooms. When he get around the corner, he stops and leans back against the wall, closing his eyes firmly and taking deep breaths as though trying to keep from going back there and punching Justin in the face. Yeah, it seems I’m not the only one who’s had that fantasy tonight.

I bring my arms up around his neck and pull him close, resting my face in my favourite spot just below his jaw. I rub soothing circles into his nape with my thumb, and some of the tension falls away from him.

“I’m so glad you got there when you did,” he murmurs, his lips grazing my cheek. “I was on the verge of breaking his hand so he’d never be able to play again.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” I whisper, because I know it’s true. Shane doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. A minute or so passes in silence.

“I just can’t believe they both had the gall to come here. When Mum came to see me today, she let it slip that she’d been in contact with Mona’s dad, my old manager. Apparently he’s eager to meet up with me and discuss some things. The quartet hasn’t been doing as well as it used to because a lot of my fans have heard rumours about Mona and Justin, and aren’t going to the shows anymore. I imagine he wants me to re-join so they can win those fans back.”

I pull away and look at him. “You’d never go back,” I say. It isn’t a question. I can see it in his eyes that re-joining the group is never going to happen, no matter how much they might plead.

“No,” says Shane. “I wouldn’t. Mona’s father has clearly given her and Justin the push to come see me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind this whole deal with us playing a duet together. He probably thinks I’ll fall for her charms and do anything she asks of me. It’s kind of insulting.”

The idea of Shane falling for Mona again makes my lungs hurt. Is that a possibility? Some insecure corner of my heart wonders.

“You want to get out of here now?” I ask, kissing his jaw and allowing my hand to wander suggestively down his chest and over his abs.

He swallows visibly, and a small smile shapes his lips. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

I bring my mouth to his ear and whisper, “Your place. Your bed.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move faster as he goes to collect his things and then leads me out to his car. On the drive I text Alec to make sure he’s home tonight. When we get to Shane’s house, he pulls two boxes of pre-made meals from the fridge and sets them on the counter where I’m perched on a stool.

“Are these courtesy of your gourmet delivery service?” I ask teasingly as I open the box and fork up some of the chicken salad.

Shane gives me a sheepish grin. “You know I never get the chance to cook.”

By the time we’ve finished eating and have eye-fucked each other half to death, Shane prowls around the counter to me and positions himself between my legs. I gasp as his rock-hard erection hits me right at my core. He grinds it against me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me hot and deep. I have a small notion in my head that I’m going to need to keep my new tattoo hidden from him. Not the sparrow, the other one. I’m definitely not ready to show it to him yet, and I kind of want to wait until it’s healed.

I put some antiseptic cream on both of them before I left for work today, but I can feel the skin tightening now, getting ready to form a scab. Yeah, tattoos aren’t all smooth and sexy right away. It takes weeks for them to heal, and while they do they itch like a bastard.

“Not here,” I murmur against Shane’s mouth. “Upstairs.”

He follows my lead as I pull him to his room, his mouth nibbling at my neck, his hand pulling my blouse over to expose my collarbone. Hmm, it’s actually going to be difficult to keep those wandering hands of his away from my back.

“I want you on top,” I tell him, my head foggy with desire as his deft fingers undo the fly of my jeans and pull them down my thighs.

He smiles against my lips. “I think I can manage that.”

Slowly, he lowers me down to his bed, the fresh, clean smell of his sheets hitting my nose. He runs his hands along my abdomen, inching my blouse up little by little, kissing my belly playfully. When he finally removes my top, his eyes zone in on the new sparrow on my arm, his fingers brushing over it tenderly.

“When did you get this?” he breathes.

“Today. Happy anniversary to me,” I answer in a singsong voice.

“So pretty,” he purrs, kissing each sparrow before continuing his way over my chest to my collarbone. I let out little mewling noises of pleasure as his hand drifts between my legs and cups me. Then he does one long stroke, pressing hard over my clit and sinking past the fabric of my underwear. When three of his fingers slide inside of me all at once, filling me up, I realise how wet I am.

“You’re so ready for me,” Shane says huskily, arousal dripping from his words.

“Oh, God,” I moan as he pumps me good and hard.

He rids himself of his clothes in short order, and then he’s sliding his cock over my entrance, teasing me before thrusting all the way in. The entire time his eyes never leave mine. I bring my hands up to his face, marvelling at how his hot gaze peruses me so possessively.

Suddenly, I’m struck with the thought that I could never handle losing him.

His hips move as his desire builds.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, one hand drifting through my hair, which is spread out over his pillow. It’s strange, because I was thinking the exact same thing about him. I lose myself in a haze of sex and need, his hard body working itself into mine, and when he comes, I come with him. He doesn’t pull out as his sweat-soaked chest falls against mine and his breathing slows as he falls asleep.

Chapter Twenty-four

The following week my belly is a bundle of nerves. Not only am I going to be spending an entire weekend with Shane come Friday, but this is also the week that Mona comes to play at the concert hall. Shane and I have been with each other every chance we can get, stolen moments at work and late night visits. I haven’t mentioned Shane’s pseudo declaration in my room last week, and neither has he.

I’ve also managed to avoid having him see the tattoo on my shoulders, which was some feat, given that he has this way of ridding me of my clothes before I even realise it’s happening.

Catching sight of his driver’s licence one evening, I saw that his thirtieth birthday is this weekend, so I make a note to do something special for him.

Right now I’m walking down a corridor at work, returning to the bar after delivering a tray of drinks to a group of businessmen having a meeting in one of the conference rooms. My heart skips a beat when I see Shane walking toward me from the other direction. He’s looking casual in jeans and a dark grey T-shirt. We stop a foot apart, not saying anything but drinking each other in with our eyes.

“Hey, what are you doing here so early?” I ask while he brings his hands to my shoulders, then lets them drift down my arms. At the same time he’s manoeuvring me back against the wall and sucking in a harsh breath.

“I have a rehearsal to get to, but you, babe, are a welcome distraction,” he purrs, and bends his mouth to my neck.

“Shane,” I gasp, making an effort to push him off but not trying nearly hard enough. “We can’t do this here. My supervisor could come by.”

Both his hands move up to my neck, his thumbs rubbing circles into the exposed skin at my throat. “Oh, yeah,” he murmurs, his mouth curved in a wicked smirk. “Tell me more.”

“I could get the sack,” I go on, my protest weak.

“No man would dare sack a face this beautiful,” he disagrees, kissing both my cheeks and then moving in for my mouth. He nibbles on my lips, and I feel myself tremble against the wall.

“It’s a pity my supervisor today is a woman, now, isn’t it?” I finally respond, and he chuckles against my lips.

“I’ve missed your smell,” he murmurs, one hand moulding my hip, pushing up the hem of my work shirt.

“You saw me last night.”

“I know,” he replies with a sullen little expression before capturing my mouth in a deep, wet kiss. My knees practically buckle out from under me when his tongue plunges inside, caressing my tongue in long, languid strokes. I come alive, growing wet between my legs as I clench my thighs together tight. His mouth is like heaven, and he’s kissing me like he does when we’re having sex. There’s no manners to it, just hot, fevered passion. I can feel my cheeks getting warm with a blush. Before I met this man I think I probably blushed about three times in my entire life. Now it’s become a constant look for me.

He draws back an inch and stares at me, his face so close I can feel his breath on my skin. My eyelids are at half-mast, and I’m clenching his shirt with my fist.

“Fuck, you’re all heated up, and now I have to go,” he swears, his eyes consuming me.

My breaths come out quick and heavy. “I told you we couldn’t do this here.”

“Yeah, well, I have a hard time listening to logic when you’re around me.” He pauses and bends close to my ear to whisper, “A real fucking hard time.”

Shivers dance along my skin, and I can’t keep my eyes from quickly glancing at his crotch. Yeah, he isn’t lying.

“You’d better get to your rehearsal,” I tell him, my breathing slowing down a bit.

He lets out a little petulant sigh. “I bet you’re soaking wet right now.”

“Shane,” I say, giving him a small push. “You’ve got to go.”

“I know,” he sighs again, and comes in for a kiss goodbye, this one not nearly as hot as the last, and yet it still speeds up my pulse. With one final stroke of his hand down my cheek, he turns on his heel and continues his way down the corridor.

I gather myself and get back to work, wondering if his practice today is with Mona or if the entire orchestra will be there. As I do a stock take, I try to quell the desire to slip inside the auditorium and find out. After another five minutes of stock-taking, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I go upstairs to the balcony entrance. That way nobody below will notice me come in.

As quietly as I can manage, I push open the door and walk down the aisle, taking a seat in the first row. I look down to the main part of the auditorium to find that my suspicions were right. It is just him and Mona today. The conductor, Henry White, and two other men are sitting a few rows down from the stage. They’re all chatting back and forth to each other while Mona sits at a piano and Shane looks to be tuning his violin.

He seems to have it in tune when he steps forward and calls down to the three men, “What would you like to hear first?”

“Hungarian Dance No. 1,” Henry replies after corresponding with his neighbours.

Shane nods and walks back to the piano, standing only a foot away. I can’t help hating seeing him so close to a woman he was once in love with. It makes me ferociously jealous, and I’ve never had a jealous bone in my body up until now.

I wonder how he proposed to her.

It was probably beautiful, and the bitch didn’t deserve a single second of it. God, these thoughts really frighten me, and I can say without a doubt that this very moment is the closest I’ll come to hitting the bottle again.

Mona seems to be trying to make eye contact with Shane, but he won’t look at her. At least that’s something. A moment later he starts to play; it’s a fast, passionate tune, full of fire and fury. So appropriate for these two. Mona accompanies him on the piano, her part like a trickling stream of water to his hot, angry inferno. It’s almost like they’re fighting through music. Shane is accusatory, pained, while she is supplicant, trying to win him back.

Is that what this is about?

I know I wasn’t imagining things last week when I’d met her and Justin for the first time. They didn’t strike me as two people in love about to tie the knot and have a baby. They struck as a couple who has come to the realisation that all they ever had was lust and secret thrills. And that lust and those thrills have long grown stale.

Shane walks across the stage as he plays before turning back to the piano. He looks at Mona now, and there’s so much emotion in his eyes that I’m not sure I can continue watching. Does he still have feelings for her, or is it only hate he’s trying to communicate?

The piece comes to a dramatic, swift end and I’m glad those three awful minutes are over. I stand up from my seat and am turning to leave when I stop in my tracks. Standing just inside the door is Mirin, a look on her face like the cat that got the cream. I keep walking. I have no idea what she’s doing there, watching me as I watched Shane and Mona, but I have no desire to engage her in conversation.

Just as I’m passing her by, she starts to speak. “They have so much chemistry on the stage, don’t you think?”

I give her my most nonchalant expression and shrug before muttering a reply, “I’m not sure that’s what I’d call it.”

I shouldn’t have taken the bait, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. What can I say, there’s something about being around a woman who thinks I’m no better than the dirt on her overpriced shoes that rubs me up the wrong way. My “rubbed up the wrong way” metre is cranked right up to eleven.

“They’ll get back together sooner or later,” she says, glancing down at her nails.

“Uh, I hate to break it to you, but Mona’s engaged to Justin and pregnant with his kid.”

Mirin’s eyes gleam now, like she’s been keeping the secret of the century. “She’s going to leave him. She’s confided in me that she’s unhappy and the biggest mistake she ever made was breaking up with my son. I found it in myself to forgive her and gave her my blessing in her efforts to win him back.”

I give her an astounded look. “You do know what she did to him?”

Mirin purses her lips. “All water under the bridge. Mona is right for my son. She’s the most talented pianist to come out of this country in years, and Shane’s star is shining bright. They’re ideal for one another.”

Rolling my eyes, I deadpan, “Oh, well, don’t I just feel so unworthy. Your work here is done, Mommie Dearest.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, or make insinuations…”

I laugh. “That you’re Joan Crawford? I hate to break it to you, Mirin, but you’re not nearly that interesting.”

And with that I stride right by her and out of the auditorium, feeling triumphant at the sound of outrage she makes upon my departure. That right there was probably the finest last word I’ve ever gotten. Unfortunately, my satisfaction doesn’t last very long, as I hurry to the staff bathroom, lock myself in a cubicle, and take several long, deep breaths.

Shit, I’m not sure I can handle this anymore.

It’s one thing for Mona to be trying to convince Shane to return to the Bohemia Quartet because her dad’s making her do it. It’s another entirely for her to be here trying to win him back. Perhaps Mirin was lying to make me feel insecure so I’d break things off with Shane before they’ve even begun.

God, I hope she was lying. I mean, I can understand why she doesn’t like me. I’m so far from her idea of an approvable girlfriend for her son I might as well be sitting on Mars roasting my bottom. What I don’t get is her continuing support of Mona, a woman who has treated her son so horribly she could be in the running for a worst fiancée of the year award.

I mean, the woman drove him to suicide for God’s sake.

I guess these people will overlook many, many flaws in favour of good breeding and a sophisticated background. Mona is the lesser of two evils in Mirin’s eyes.

After a few minutes, I finally gather my nerve to return to work. Thankfully, this evening’s event won’t be featuring the symphony, so I can avoid Shane, his ex, and his manipulative witch of a mother for the night.

When I arrive home after my shift, I’m surprised to discover Alec and Avery in the living room watching a movie together, the lights turned low. If my estimations are correct, this must be their third or fourth date, and I’ve never known my brother to see a woman more than twice. I smile to myself. Perhaps he’s turned over a new leaf. I take in the sight of them sitting close on the couch before quickly apologising for interrupting and ducking out of the room.

In the kitchen Specky’s bent over her food bowl, eating a few doggie biscuits. I pet her head and sigh. She makes a little rumbling noise and abandons her food to come and hop up on my lap. I love dogs. They never have any shame about letting you know just how much they’ve missed you.

“Oh, Specky, you should have seen the drama I’ve dealt with today.”

She makes a sound that’s too tame to be a bark, sort of like a questioning noise. Before I can continue being pathetic and telling my problems to my dog, my phone buzzes loudly from where I set it on the table. I pick it up to find a message from Shane.

Shane: You coming over tonight? xxx

Jade: Too tired. Tomorrow?

Shane: I could come to you.

Jade: The walls in this house are paper thin.

I’m hoping he gets what I mean by that, because no way are we having sex here within hearing distance of all three of my siblings. That would just be too weird. Plus, after what I saw transpire between him and Mona today, I need some time to myself to think. They might not have actually spoken to each other during their practice, but the multitude of emotions that were flying around the auditorium was enough to make me dizzy.

It feels like there’s still so much that’s unresolved between the two of them.

Shane: I can be really quiet…

Jade: Unfortunately, I can’t. How’d your practice go?

I can’t believe I just asked that question, but I needed to change the subject and couldn’t think of anything else on the spot.

Shane: It was with Mona. More painful than getting a tooth pulled minus the anaesthetic.

I smile at his creative description. At least he didn’t lie about Mona being there.

Jade: Did you two get the chance to talk?

It takes a few minutes longer than usual for him to reply.

Shane: I don’t have anything to discuss with that woman.

Jade: You sure about that?

Shane: Positive. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about what underwear you have on.

Hmm, that was a crafty change of subject. I laugh out loud.

Jade: Are you trying to sext me, Mr Arthur?

Shane: Of course. Underwear?

Jade: Black lace.

Shane: I like you in black. Are you alone?

I stand up from the table and Specky hops off my lap, returning to her bowl of doggie biscuits. Walking upstairs to my room, I shut the door and text him back.

Jade: I am now.

Shane: Where?

Jade: My room.

Shane: Lie down on your bed.

Jade: Okay…

Shane: Fuck, I’m hard just picturing you. Take off your top and pull down your bra.

Before I get the chance to take my top off completely, April shrieks loudly from her room, yelling something about hurting her hand when trying to move her bed. Shit. I shrug back into my top and type out a quick text to Shane.

Jade: Got to go. There’s an April emergency.

Shane: Babe.

Jade: I know, I’m sorry. Go get some sleep. You’ve got a big show tomorrow.

Shane: Okay. I hope April’s all right. xxx

With that I hurry to April’s room to find she was trying to rearrange her furniture and got stabbed with a rusty nail when she was lifting one end of her bed. Tears are streaming down her face, and there’s a nasty wound in the centre of her palm. Too nasty to be sorted with a bit of Savlon and a Band-Aid. I wrap my arm around her and give her a squeezy hug before making arrangements to head to A&E.

My neighbour Barry drives us, and we don’t get home until the early hours of the morning. I drop onto my bed, exhausted, and have just enough time to set my alarm before I conk out.

The next day I arrive at work around lunchtime, yawning all the while since I didn’t get as much sleep as usual. April’s been complaining nonstop about having to wear an unsightly bandage on her hand, so I’m happy to be out of the house, even if it does mean dealing with the stress of Shane and Mona’s concert.

Apparently, every last ticket has been sold. Never let it be said that people don’t enjoy a good scandal. If it’s true that Shane’s fans have been boycotting his old group’s concerts, then it must be common knowledge that Mona cheated on him, despite the fact that Shane himself denies it when asked.

I kind of respect him for that. He could have played up the sympathy card, but he didn’t. In fact, I’ve been doing a bit of covert Googling on my phone during my break period, and have discovered that before Shane came to play with the symphony no one had heard anything from him for more than a year. I’m guessing a good deal of that time was spent recovering from his suicide attempt, but still, for such a well-known musician that’s a long time to be out of the spotlight.

I wouldn’t normally be so determined to delve into his life before we met, but Mirin’s words from yesterday are still affecting me. Still making me question what would happen if Mona broke things off completely with Justin and laid herself at Shane’s feet. Would he step right over her, or pick her up and take her back into his warm, strong arms?

You see, on the outside I may act like everything falls right off me like water, but on the inside I’m as insecure as they come. My brain finds these ways of twisting things, blacking out all the signs that show Shane only has eyes for me and making me question if a part of that gorgeous gaze still belongs to Mona.

The evening comes sooner than expected, and I’m back in my usual spot, tending bar. As the venue starts to fill, I turn to serve my next customer and find Justin sitting on a stool, his elbow leaning on the bar top. He’s wearing a white shirt, several buttons undone, and his sandy coloured hair is all dishevelled.

“What can I get you?”

From the slightly bleary look in his eyes, I’m guessing he’s already had a few. “Are you really his girlfriend?” he slurs, and I decide I’m not going to serve him any more alcohol. He must have been warming the seats at the downstairs bar for a while, judging by his current state.

“Shane’s girlfriend? Yeah,” I say, not really knowing whether I’m lying or telling the truth.

He sits up a little straighter. “I’ll take a double vodka.”

I pick up a glass, and fill it with water and ice before placing it in front of him. “That’s all you’re getting from me.”

He narrows his eyes and scowls at me. This is one thing I like about working here. The clientele are usually of a certain class, so when you refuse them alcohol, they become moody about it. Sometimes they’ll get mouthy, but very rarely do they become violent. It’s a complete contrast to a dive bar I once worked in where the patrons would glass you for so much as looking at them the wrong way.

Justin’s body slumps against the bar top now as he shoves the glass of water aside. “I don’t want that.”

“You should drink it. Your head is going to be splitting in the morning.”

“Don’t care.”

I give him a concerned look. “Are you all right, mate?”

He fumbles in his pocket for a minute before retrieving an expensive diamond engagement ring. He sets it down on the counter and looks at it with the most miserable expression on his face. I almost feel bad for him. I actually have to remind myself what this piece of work did to Shane.

“She gave that back to me this morning,” he mumbles, and air catches in my lungs.

Fuck, Mirin wasn’t lying. Mona really is planning on getting her claws into Shane again.

“She said she doesn’t love me anymore, but that I shouldn’t worry. She won’t stop me from seeing my kid once it’s born.” He lets out a long, joyless laugh.

“Why did she break things off?” I ask, my voice shaky.

Justin makes a sound low in his throat. “I had sex with a waitress.” He pauses, and a drunken smile comes over his face, like he’s cherishing the memory. “Or two.”

“Well, then, can you blame her for giving you back that ring?”

“It’s not like she’s a bloody saint, either. She’s gonna fuck his head up all over again, you know.”

I stare at him hard for a long moment. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

“Yeah, you’re hot and all, but she’s Mona.” He pauses before continuing in a sarcastic voice, “The Mona Campbell. Shane’s been in love with her since he was twenty.”

Justin’s words give me a quick, violent thump right in the chest, but I soldier on.

“He was in love with her. Not anymore. He hates her now.”

“They always say there’s a fine line between love and hate.”

I can’t listen to much more of this, so I go to serve my next customer. By the time I look back at the spot Justin had been sitting in, he’s gone. Good riddance. The engagement ring is gone, too. I wonder if he’ll sell it off or give it to the next woman who comes along.

My supervisor slides in behind the bar once the last call for the start of the concert is announced, and asks if I could go help out in the auditorium. Fuck my life. There aren’t any more people waiting for drinks, so I have no excuse. I have to go and witness this concert first hand. Yay.

She guides me through the entrance for the stalls and tells me to direct people to their seats on the far left-hand side. The chatter of patrons filling the auditorium echoes all around me, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the heavy beating of my heart. I’m so on edge it’s unreal. I mean, what do I think I’m going to see up there on that stage, some sort of lover’s reunion?

I could probably get away with leaving once the show begins, but there’s this self-flagellating side of me that wants to stay. I want to watch and prove to myself that my fears are unwarranted. That no matter how hard Mona might try, Shane will be unmoved by her efforts.

When the members of the orchestra walk out from backstage, I sink to a dark corner of the hall, leaning back against a wall and waiting. I’m half relieved that the first piece is a symphony, and not Mona and Shane’s duet. I won’t have to suffer just yet.

A group of women to my right are excitedly discussing the two musicians in hushed voices, talking about the rumoured love triangle and poor Shane’s broken heart.

“Excuse me?” comes a recognisable voice from behind.

I turn around quickly, breaking my attention from the gossiping women to find Mirin and her husband standing there waiting to be seated. I silently take the tickets from her hand and look at the seat numbers.

“Straight down the aisle, two rows before the steps,” I tell her with a reserved tone.

“Thank you,” Mirin replies, taking the tickets back from me. “It’s going to be a wonderful show,” she continues as her husband walks on ahead. “I’m so pleased you’re here to see it.”

I give her an emotionless look and gesture for her to take her seat. She smiles, eyes cruel, mouth hard, then turns and walks away. I let out a long, deep breath and bring my eyes to the stage, where the symphony has already begun. Trust Mirin to be fashionably late. Shane is in his usual spot, his arm moving vigorously with the music, his violin resting just under his chin.

When it’s time for Mona to come out, she gets a big round of applause, and I despise every clapping hand in the place for giving it to her. Shane stands a few feet away from the piano, and they start to play the same song from their practice yesterday. I’m not sure I can take witnessing this piece all over again, but I stand firm, studying both of them, trying to pinpoint some sign that my heart is going to get broken.

And there it is.

If I can’t have him, my heart would definitely be crushed. Does that mean I’m in love with him? I think I might have loved him for a while now, far earlier than would be deemed appropriate. It’s hard for me to know such a talented, beautiful, good-hearted man and not fall a little bit, just enough to zing a tiny spark into my much-guarded organ.

I should never have even agreed to be his friend, but then again, how could I have helped myself? Show me a working-class girl who doesn’t harbour secret desires to be swept off her feet by a handsome, sophisticated guy.

The song ends, and the audience is clapping again, a few people getting to their feet. The next piece, Hungarian Dance No. 5, isn’t as difficult to endure. It’s an up-tempo, almost jovial song. The only problem is, Mona’s been looking at Shane the whole time, a small smile shaping her mouth. He isn’t returning the smile, but at one point he looks back at her, and I feel my chest go pop in a bad way.

What are they sharing? Is her smile a secretive one?

Okay, I think I’ve endured enough. I hurry right out of the auditorium and dash to my quiet spot, the emergency exit on the first floor. I push the heavy door open, and the sharp night air cools me, sliding over my skin like a soothing balm. Tilting my head back, I look up at the night sky, silently asking the stars for answers.

Unfortunately, none are forthcoming.

A couple of minutes later I go back inside, and it’s just my luck that I bump right into my supervisor. The intermission is just about to begin, and I should have been at the bar long before now.

“Where the hell have you been?”

I start to say something, but she cuts me off. “Never mind. I had to put Lara on the bar, since we couldn’t find you. Right now I need to you to prepare these drinks and bring them to Mona Campbell’s dressing room. She’s got a reputation for being a diva, so be quick and try not to make any mistakes.” She shoves a piece of paper into my hand and I nod my head, wondering if this night could possibly get any worse.

I go to the bar and prepare Mona’s drinks, which seems like quite a lot for one very slim woman. Perhaps she’s expecting company. There are special private dressing rooms for visiting musicians, and I try to push away my nerves as I head in their direction. When I reach her room, tray in hand, I find the door slightly ajar. I don’t know why I do, but I pause, taking a quick peek inside.

It’s a good thing I did, because there’s someone else in there with her right now, and that person is Shane. She’s sitting on a chair in front of the dressing table, and Shane is a few feet away, leaning back against a tall closet. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and I can practically see the tension in the room, it’s so thick. Keeping a hold of the tray with increasingly shaky and sweaty hands, I prick my ears to listen.

“Why have you asked me here, Mona?” Shane asks as she brushes some powder onto her nose, turning her face from side to side in the mirror to examine her appearance.

Then she swings around to face him and holds out both her hands. “Do you notice anything missing?”

Shane raises an eyebrow and replies, “A soul?”

Mona pouts and turns back to the mirror. “I’m not wearing my engagement ring.”

“And this is of concern to me why?”

“Justin and I are over.”

“Congratulations.”

“There’s no need to be so sarcastic. I’ve been through a terrible time of it lately. You’d think you could muster a little sympathy.”

“I’m crying a river for you on the inside.”

Mona sighs. “And the sarcasm persists.” There’s a long stretch of silence before she tells him in a soft, sweet voice, “I’ve missed you terribly, Shane.”

“Fucking hell, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and pacing the room now.

“I have. I’ve been in turmoil over what I put you through. I can’t believe my own actions. It was truly awful, and I want to make it better. I want you to forgive me.”

“Not happening. Are we done?”

“Shane!” she cries, standing from her seat and walking toward him. She grabs at his arm, but he pulls right out of her hold. “Please give me a chance. I know it will take time, but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

She keeps on following him until he’s in the corner of the room and she’s standing in front of him. If he wants to get by her, he’ll have to physically push her out of the way. My feet are on the verge of walking right in there and pulling her away from him, but I remain still. For some reason I need to see how he handles this, and it feels like everything is riding on it.

He stares at her, eyes dark, breathing quickly as his chest rises and falls. She takes a step closer and places her hand tenderly on his arm. “Justin cheated on me, you know. Several times, in fact. It must have been God’s way of punishing me. I’m a different person now. I would never be unfaithful again.”

He keeps watching her, and his breathing slows. “Why are you so intent on destroying me?” he whispers. If I weren’t listening so hard, I probably wouldn’t have heard him. The agony on his face, the emotion passing between the two of them, is too much to take.

One of my co-workers is passing by at that exact moment, so I shove the tray into her hands. “Will you deliver those in there for me? I’ve something I need to take care of.”

“Sure,” she replies, taking the drinks from me.

As soon as the tray is out of my hands, I run.

Chapter Twenty-five

When I locate my supervisor, I tell her I’m sick and need to go home. She doesn’t seem too happy about it, but eventually she gives me permission to leave. I don’t go directly home, though — I go to the big house in the heart of the city where I’ve spent many an hour contemplating.

There aren’t too many people around when I get to Ladybirds. Mary answers the door and invites me in for a cup of tea. I follow her to the kitchen at the back of the building and sit down on a long bench painted a muted shade of green. Rubbing my cold hands together, I watch as she puts loose leaves into a pretty ceramic teapot.

Bob Farrell, the man who owns the house, walks in and holds a pan under the tap, filling it with water. Then he pulls a bag of chickpeas out of the cupboard and pours some into it. His back is slightly hunched over from age, and he’s wearing a brown shirt with cream polka dots. When he sees me he smiles.

“Ah,” he says, “the Blue Lady has paid us a visit. It’s good to see you, Jade.”

“You too, Bob.”

“How’s life?”

“Complicated.”

His wrinkly eyes sparkle. “Stop making me jealous. I remember complicated, exhilarating stuff.”

“Want to swap?”

He grins. “The old ticker wouldn’t be able to handle it, I’m afraid,” he says, lifting his hand to his heart.

“Oh, well. It was worth a try.”

Mary comes over and puts a steaming cup in front of me. I’m not sure what kind of tea it is, but it smells faintly of wet twigs. I lift a questioning brow at her and she explains, “It’s Pu-erh, supposed to be good for when you want to lose a few pounds.”

I laugh. “You trying to tell me something, Mary?”

“No, no! It’s me who’s on the diet. My doctor says I need to lose three stone. He’s the one who suggested the tea.”

I lift the cup to my mouth and take a sip. It tastes like mud and dust. “Your doctor is a sadist,” I say, scrunching up my nose. Both Mary and Bob have a good chuckle.

A minute of comfortable silence passes. Mary drinks her tea — she must be used to the god-awful taste — and Bob goes about preparing his chickpeas. All of a sudden, Mary leans forward and takes my hand in hers.

“Something troubling you, honey?”

I blow air out through my mouth, enjoying the feel of her soft, pudgy hand on mine. “I think I might be in love.”

Her answering laugh is light and tinkling. “Well, now, there’s no need to sound so miserable about it.”

“He’s way out of my league.”

“And who told you that?” Mary responds, her tone disagreeable.

“His mother.”

Bob chuckles some more as he stands by the cooker, stirring his pot.

“If you ask me, his mother sounds like a bit of a B-hive,” says Mary.

Now I’m the one to chuckle. “Is that a mannerly way of saying biatch?”

“The young people aren’t the only ones who like to make up slang,” she replies, a happy grin on her face as she takes yet another sip of that disgusting tea.

“Oh, Mary. I don’t know what to do,” I say, planting my face down on the table to express just how lost I feel. She leans forward and strokes soothingly at my hair.

“What else can you do other than tell him?”

“True, but that would take guts, and I’m a gutless wonder.”

“You’re not fooling anyone, girl. There’s steel in that belly of yours. Tell him. I can’t imagine any man would find it a difficulty to have a beautiful woman confess her love.”

“You have such romantic, old-fashioned notions, Mary, and I thank you for the compliment, but I wish you were right,” I reply, sitting back up and trying to regain some dignity after my face plant of despair.

I spend another half an hour at Ladybirds and then head home. Walking in the door, I shrug out of my coat and slip off my shoes before going straight up to my bedroom. Checking my phone, I see that the battery has died. I’m about to grab the charger when I stop and put the phone back down on my dresser. I need a night of no contact to get my head on straight, so I decide to wait until the morning to charge it.

It’s going to be difficult enough sleeping, since a vision of Shane and Mona in her dressing room, her hand on his arm, has been constantly flitting through my brain. It wasn’t so much the fact that she was touching him that gets to me, but the way he’d looked at her. I couldn’t tell whether it was longing or anger in his eyes. It seems that Justin was right — there is a fine line between love and hate.

I’ve got a couple of audiobooks on my mp3, so I browse through those until I find something that piques my interest. Audiobooks are my Ambien; after a little while listening, I’m usually on a one way ticket to Snoozeville, but not tonight. Tonight my brain has other plans, and those plans involve keeping me up until the wee hours of the morning. I’ve listened all the way to the end of the first book and have started the opening chapters of book two before I finally nod off.

I wake up with a headache, and somebody’s licking my face. Sadly, that somebody isn’t a hot violinist whose name begins with an “S,” but rather another “S” name. Specky lets out a little yip of excitement and then hops off the bed. Hops back on again, hops off, hops back on again. The hyper bitch.

What? It’s perfectly acceptable to call a female dog a bitch.

My bedroom door is wide open, and April’s standing there, laughing her head off.

“Oh, you’re bloody hilarious, April,” I mutter as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

“It’s after twelve, you know. Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“I have the next couple of days off. By the way, I’m going down the country with Ben, Clark, and Lara for the weekend, so I want no funny business from you while I’m away.”

She grins like she has absolutely no intention of behaving yourself. “Can my boyfriend stay over?”

I widen my gaze, incredulous. “You’ve got a boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah. You met him the other week, remember?” Her eyes gleam with hope that’s about to be obliterated by yours truly.

“Right, yes, I remember. And no, he cannot stay over.”

“Jade, please. I’m begging you.” She gets down on her knees and puts her palms together like she’s saying a prayer.

“All right, step inside my office and we’ll have a nice long discussion about French letters, more commonly known to you and me as condoms.” I sound out the word just to make this even more embarrassing for her.

She holds her hands up. “No effing way. I’m not talking about sex with you.”

“Then there will be no boyfriends spending the night under this roof,” I tell her happily and she turns on her heel, sulking all the way back to her bedroom.

Unable to keep my curiosity at bay any longer, I grab my phone and plug it into the charger. I need to know if Shane tried to call me. I’m hoping he did, because if he didn’t, that could mean he caved to Mona’s pleadings and decided he’s going to give their relationship another college try.

If he did, then not only might I actually be finding my way to a bottle of vodka in the very near future, but I will also have lost all respect for him.

My phone lights up, and several missed calls flash across the screen. One is from Ben, and the rest are from Shane. They span over several hours, and the last time he tried to phone me was at four in the morning.

In the words of Germans in bad situations the world over: Scheisse.

He never left any voicemails or texts, so I have no clue what’s going on with him. There’s a message from Ben, asking me if I’m all set for our weekend away and telling me that we’ll leave from my house tomorrow morning. I send him a quick message back saying I’ll be ready with bells on. Then I text Shane.

Jade: We’re leaving from my place tomorrow at ten. You still coming?

It’s the safest option. I haven’t mentioned his countless attempts at calling me, nor have I made reference to my ear-wigging adventures last night. I sit back and wait for him to reply, but when I get no messages right away, I go shower and have breakfast. Over an hour passes, and still there’s no response.

I have a couple of errands to run today, one of which involves going grocery shopping and stocking the fridge with food for when I’m away. Another is giving Alec strict instructions to make sure April doesn’t sneak any gentleman callers into her bedroom.

I’m determined not to dwell on Shane’s radio silence, so I get busy and head to the nearest supermarket. As I’m leaving, my hands full carrying plastic bags, I spot a familiar face staring back at me from the magazine racks. I was right when I predicted they were going to put him on the front cover. It’s the edition of Hot Press containing Shane’s interview.

Standing there for far too long, I hesitate over whether or not I should give in and buy a copy. I mean, I overheard most of what was said in the interview, but not all of it. Perhaps there will be some little gem in there that will enlighten me as to who he really is. Something that will make him seem less perfect in my eyes, like expressing a racist sentiment or declaring his support for the neo-Nazi movement.

I also have a shameful desire to slobber all of the pictures that were taken at the photo shoot. Glancing from left to right, like I’m afraid of getting caught buying a porno mag, I snatch a copy off the shelf and bring it to the register to pay before stuffing it into one of my shopping bags.

When I return, I give the downstairs of the house a spring clean and make lunch for Pete. Ever since he’s started going to school again, he’s been coming home on his lunch hour. I’m seeing this as a good sign. If he’s at home, then he isn’t hanging out with Damo and company.

Coming in the door in his uniform, he drops his bag at the bottom of the stairs and walks into the kitchen. I’ve already set a sandwich and a glass of juice on the table, so he swipes up the sandwich and takes a big hungry bite. Then he goes upstairs to get his laptop, muttering about wanting to show me something. When he returns, he plonks his laptop down on the table and fires it up.

I sit on the other side eating my own sandwich, Specky sitting dutifully at my feet waiting for scraps, her eyes full of hope that I’ll drop a nice piece of ham or maybe a pickle. Unlike some dogs, Specky will eat almost anything. I once came home and found her trying to fit her jaws around a Golden Delicious apple.

“Okay, so I want your honest opinion,” says Pete. “I’m thinking of putting it up on YouTube.”

He seems nervous, and I have no clue what he’s talking about. “Putting what up on YouTube?” I ask, hoping to God he hasn’t filmed one of those awful Harlem Shake videos.

“The song I made with Shane. I recorded a sample of him playing the violin and worked it into a dance track I created. Listen.”

I do listen as a slow, heavy beat starts up and rolls into a Dubstep-style track. About thirty seconds into it the violin comes in, weaving through the electronic bits and creating a really original sound. “Wow, it’s brilliant,” I tell him. “I didn’t even know you two recorded anything.”

Pete looks pleased as punch with my reaction but tries to hide his excitement by affecting a cool demeanour. “So you think I should put it on YouTube?”

“Yeah, go for it.”

He grins full-on then, and I reach over to ruffle his hair, to which he immediately scowls. I don’t care. I’m so happy that he’s found something to be passionate about that for a few brief minutes I forget all about my own troubles.

Soon he has to head back to school for his afternoon classes, and I clear the table. Then I pull out the magazine I bought, running my hands over the front cover showing Shane’s handsome face looking off into the distance.

Flicking to midway through the mag, I stop on Shane’s interview, which has the photos of him spread throughout. There’s one that really catches my eye. It’s from when he’d been holding his violin and I’d made a joke. He’d smiled at me. I hadn’t realised it then, but his smile was so full of affection. As I stare at it, I find it difficult to breathe for a second.

Starting at the beginning of the interview, I discover the usual pat questions, which then move on to the part where the journalist brazenly asked about Mona. He puts in a little aside about how Shane clammed up and didn’t seem to want to talk about his ex, which could be a sign that there’s a colourful history there. Huh. You don’t know the half of it, Mister.

At about the three-quarter-way point I discover questions that were asked after I’d gone, one of which stands out.

LB: Do you think you’ll ever write any original pieces again like you did for the Bohemia Quartet’s album, Songs for Her?

SA: For a long time, no, I didn’t think I would. Those pieces were inspired by a particular experience, and afterward I simply didn’t have anything else that inspired me in the same way. Very recently, though, I’ve had a new person in my life who’s made me hear music in my head again. I’ve actually already composed one or two pieces because I just had to get them out. I guess that’s how it happens — the music burrows its way into your brain, and the only way to stop it driving you crazy is to make it real.

Oh, lord. The only new person who was in his life right then was me. At least as far as I know. For a moment my head is awash with fanciful notions of being his muse, before I force myself back down to earth and continue reading.

LB: Well, that’s very exciting. I hope you plan on recording this work at some stage. I’d love to hear more about the new person in your life, though. Is it a girlfriend, perhaps?

SA: *Smiles fondly* No, just a really good friend.

LB: I bet your female fans will be glad to hear that.

SA: *Chuckles* Maybe.

And then the journalist delves into a couple more questions, asking Shane who his biggest idol is and whose career he’d like to emulate, before wrapping things up. I sit back in my chair and sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket to find the screen depressingly free of any new messages. I’m dying to know what’s up with him. Is he sulking, or has something important come up that’s keeping him away from his phone? Has he fallen into a depression?

Knowing that he was once in such a low place that he considered ending his own life, I worry a little. It makes me momentarily consider going to his house to check up on him, but I don’t. He’s probably just busy today, and if I show up all crazy and worried about him he’ll think I’m being overbearing and clingy.

The rest of my day drags along at a snail’s pace, and just before bedtime I pack my bag for the morning. The weather report is predicting snow again, so I don’t bother to bring anything fancy, just lots of warm, comfy outfits. Ben said the house we’re going to be staying in is a ten-minute drive from the nearest town, so we probably won’t be going out much. That’s fine by me. I’m in the mood for a weekend of relaxation and warming my toes by a nice open fire.

I just really hope Shane decides to show up.

***

It’s two minutes after ten the next morning and there’s still no sign of him. I caved and tried to call him late last night, but I didn’t get an answer.

“Is lover boy coming with us?” Ben asks as he helps Lara and me shove our bags into the back of Clark’s car.

“I’m not sure,” I answer hesitantly. “Can we wait until a quarter past and see if he shows?”

Ben gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Of course, babes.”

When 10:16 hits and he still hasn’t turned up, I decide to swallow back my dashed hopes and expectations, and let us get on our way. Ben allows me to sit in the passenger seat beside Clark because he has this strange aversion to riding in the front unless he’s the one driving. We’re just about to pull away from my house when a taxi stops on the other side of the street. My heart lifts as Shane steps out of the vehicle, a bag thrown over his shoulder and his violin case in his hand.

Wow, what relief I’m feeling right now. It’s a little disconcerting.

He jogs over to the car as the taxi drives off, looking out of breath as I roll down my window.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” I say, my eyes drinking him in.

Shane nods, his hair messy like he didn’t get the chance to comb it this morning. “I didn’t think I was going to make it. I’m running terribly late. I’m sorry, everyone,” he calls to the others.

“Go hop in the back,” says Clark. “I’ve popped the trunk so you can throw your bag in there.”

When Shane gets in the car and Ben starts up the engine again, I glance at him in the overhead mirror. All of a sudden, I’m disappointed that I sat in the front. I want to touch him, want to ask him why he hasn’t been in contact. It’s going to be an awfully long drive, an awfully long five-hour drive, to be exact.

I’m already willing the minutes to go faster so that we can stop off somewhere for food midway through. He leans forward and reaches out, squeezing my shoulder and giving me a strange look. I have no idea how to interpret it.

“Pete played the track you two made together for me,” I say.

“Oh, yeah? What did you think?”

“Amazing. I can’t thank you enough for spending time with him. He’s like a different kid to the one he was a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” says Shane modestly.

“Hey, why don’t we all play one of those memory games?” Ben interrupts, and the next few hours are filled with mindless chatter.

Chapter Twenty-six

When lunchtime hits, we’re all starving, so we stop off in a town called Nenagh in County Tipperary, parking in front of an old roadside restaurant. I want to ask Shane a dozen questions, but he places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me inside.

“Can we talk when we get to the house?” he murmurs in my ear, and I’m relieved that he actually plans on discussing things.

“Sure,” I reply before sliding into the worn leather booth, wondering if I should take Mary’s advice from the other night and just tell him. Hand him my heart, and let him decide if he wants to keep it or awkwardly give it back.

I order a tuna melt wrap from the waitress, finding myself sitting in between Lara and Clark. Damn this day. Some higher power is determined to keep me from being even remotely within touching distance of Shane. Ben’s sitting beside him on the other side of the booth, sucking a vanilla milkshake through a straw and eyeing Shane with an amused expression.

“Say, Clarky, honey, didn’t we see Mr Violin here on the front cover of some fancy magazine in the shop the other day?” he chirps.

“Yes.” Clark smiles. “Indeed we did. They got some great pictures of you, by the way.”

Shane gets this cute embarrassed look on his face and scratches his jaw. “Uh, thanks.”

I shake my head at my friend. “Since when was Hot Press fancy?”

Ben puts on a dramatic pout. “It’s fancy to me. Though I’ll be honest, I was more than a little disappointed that they didn’t include any topless shots.”

“Ben!” I exclaim, and he laughs uproariously.

“Oh, look, she’s all possessive of her man, how adorable. Doesn’t want anybody else to see the goods.”

“He’s not…” I start, and then stop myself from completing the sentence. “Just shut up, okay?”

“These cushiony lips are sealed,” he says with a wink.

“Ha!” Lara snorts. “You wish they were cushiony.”

“Well, they will be,” Ben argues. “Clark’s agreed to get me Botox injections for my birthday next year. Haven’t you, honey?”

Clark shifts uncomfortably. “We’ll see.”

“Oh, Jesus, please tell me you’re joking,” says Lara with one eyebrow raised.

I zone out of the conversation then, because Ben mentioning birthdays has reminded me that it’s Shane’s thirtieth tomorrow. He must not enjoy people making a fuss, because he hasn’t mentioned it. The waitress drops off our food, and I slide my phone out of my pocket, doing a search for the nearest bakery to where we’re going to be staying. You know me, any excuse to eat cake.

Somebody nudges my foot, and I look up to see Shane watching me.

What? I mouth.

A small smile curves his lips. “What are you up to?”

I slip the phone back in my pocket and pick up one half of my sandwich. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“Be quiet and eat your lunch,” I say, sticking out my tongue at him.

When we’re done in the restaurant we get back on the road, and despite it only being mid-afternoon, I’m feeling sleepy. I roll my cardigan into a ball and shove it against the window as a pillow before laying my head down on it, and try to catch a few winks.

Surprising enough, I do manage to fall asleep, and when I wake up the car isn’t moving anymore. I can smell Shane’s cologne, and somebody’s undoing my seatbelt. Opening my eyes, I find him so close to me I could lean forward just a fraction, and our lips would be touching. It feels like it’s been forever since we last kissed.

But I don’t kiss him, because I want to know what’s been going on with him and why he didn’t contact me at all yesterday. And, to be perfectly honest, I’m a little pissed about it. I mean, why hasn’t he explained himself yet? If it were something simple like he lost his phone, then he would have mentioned it already.

“Sleep well, Bluebird?” he asks, his minty breath washing over me.

I sit forward, and he moves back to give me room. “Yeah,” I reply, clipped, and slide out of the car.

“I already brought your bag in. Clark’s put us in the double room to the rear of the house.” He pauses, running his hand back and forth over his head. “Is that okay with you?”

I study him as I question him back. “Are you okay with it?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, for a start, you ignored me all day yesterday, and then you show up for this trip late, like you weren’t sure you were even going to come.”

“Let’s go inside and we’ll talk about this,” he says, stepping forward to take my hand, but I move out of his reach.

Frustration grips me as I look around. The house is gorgeous, a long bungalow with a wraparound porch, surrounded by woodland. It’s getting dark and it’s cold out, so I turn away from him and walk inside anyway. I’m not in the mood to have a fight out in the open.

Ben and Clark are in the kitchen, unpacking the food supplies they brought with them.

“Where’s my room?” I ask, standing in the doorway, hands on hips.

Ben gives me a funny look and replies, “The last door at the end of the hall.”

I nod and walk out, making my way down the hall. I don’t realise Shane was hot on my heels until I open the door and he pushes me in, shutting it behind him.

“I don’t get why you’re pissed. You seemed fine earlier,” he says as he stalks me to the other side of the room.

Letting out a sigh, I apologise, “I’m sorry. I think the car nap might have made me cranky.” Going to sit down on the bed, I look up at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s been going on?”

He sits down beside me and takes my hands into his. “The other night at the concert, Mona asked if we could talk. I should have told her no, but she wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I finally gave in and went to her dressing room.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

Shane looks confused. “You know?”

Pulling my hands from his, I begin to pick at my nails and confess, “I was sent to deliver drinks to that room. When I got there I saw you both inside, so I waited in the corridor and listened.”

“Jade.”

“Look, I know it sounds bad, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what you were doing there.”

His expression is unreadable now, and it makes me nervous. “So you must have heard how she broke off her engagement to Justin and that she wants me back.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “I didn’t stay and listen to all of it, though. I couldn’t.”

A period of quiet falls between us, and I wish he’d say something. After several minutes he does. “She threw herself at me.”

“Threw herself at you in what way?”

“She kissed me,” he answers, eyes gauging my reaction.

My heart rate starts to speed up. “And did you kiss her back?”

“Of course not! She took me by surprise. I pushed her away immediately and told her she was being absurd. If you had stayed, you would have heard what I said to her afterward. I told her…”

He falls silent, and I grip his hand in mine. “You told her what?”

Everything hangs in the balance as I wait for his reply, my entire being on a knife’s edge.

His voice is barely audible as he lifts his eyes to mine and murmurs, “I told her that I was in love with someone else, in love so deep that it makes me understand what I had with her was never love at all.”

I gape at him, open-mouthed, as my heart sings in my chest, thumping a mile a minute in glee.

“You’re in love with…me?”

“Yes,” he answers, the one word spoken with agony as his eyes fall away from mine. “You must have known. I’m so ridiculously smitten with you, Jade. I have been since the first night we met.”

Running my hand down his cheek, I ask, “Why do you sound so sad?”

“Because I know it’s not what you wanted. I promised you an arrangement, and love was never supposed to come into it.”

“Oh, Shane.”

“I can go if you want me to,” he says, still staring into his lap. “I can get a bus or a train back to Dublin,” he continues before I interrupt him by pulling him to me and planting my mouth on his. He groans into me, grabbing onto the kiss like it’s a life raft and he’s about to go under.

Our tongues do battle as his chest presses hard against mine, his hands running through my hair. I break the kiss, my breathing erratic, as I stare at him with glittering eyes. “You’re not the only one who feels…” I trail off, unable to finish.

He squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again. “Babe, please finish what you were going to say,” he begs.

An idea strikes me. Instead of speaking, I stand up from the bed and slowly pull off my top. His watches me heatedly, and then I turn around. A loud gasp escapes him as he takes in my tattoo for the very first time. I stand there, as still as if I were the Blue Lady performing on the street. A moment later I feel his warmth against my skin. He’s behind me now, his fingers tracing the ornate musical notes that have been inked along my shoulders, musical notes to the very first track on ‘Songs for Her.’

He looks awestruck. “Are these?”

I nod my head, swallowing down a lump of emotion that’s gotten stuck in my throat. My eyes are watering with tears, and I don’t even know why. Shane keeps tracing the notes, like if he stops they might disappear.

“You once told me there’s nothing more committed than ink under your skin,” he says in a silky voice laden with pure pleasure.

“I might have said something along those lines,” I whisper.

“You’re shaking, honey. Why are you shaking?” he asks, turning me around to face him. When he sees my tears, he brings his fingers up and wipes them away from my cheeks.

“Because this is fucking scary.”

“Loving me back is scary?”

“I never said…”

His fingers move to my lips to shush me. “The ink says it all, Bluebird. Tell me, what made you get this tattoo?”

I laugh through my tears. “It was a moment of reckless insanity, I guess. I was in the parlour having a new sparrow done, and you came on the radio playing the song you wrote for me. Getting the tattoo just felt right.”

He studies me for a long moment. “Do you regret getting it?”

I look back at him, not a flicker of uncertainty in my words when I say, “No, and I never will.”

Even if this love isn’t forever, I’ll never regret meeting him. He’s changed my world irrevocably, and the markings on my back symbolise us so completely.

His arm wraps around my waist, his hand going to my shoulders again like he can’t get enough of the feel of the ink.

“You’re my muse,” he murmurs into my lips. “And I love you, Jade Lennon.”

For a long time I just stare at him, before at last the right words come to me. “I love you, too, Shane Arthur.”

***

Believe it or not, we don’t immediately jump into bed and shag each other senseless. We do, however, lie in each other’s arm, touching one another in small ways. He still hasn’t told me why he was AWOL yesterday, so I ask him.

He gives me a sketchy look as he turns his head to me on the pillows and answers, “Right after I set Mona straight, Justin showed up drunk off his face.”

“Oh, no,” I breathe.

“Yeah. He swung for me, clearly looking for a fight. I tried to calm him down, but there was no talking to him.”

“And?”

“And I punched him in the face. There was nothing else for it.”

I burst out laughing. It’s more the way he says it than the actual idea of him hitting Justin that sets me off, his phrasing so polite and proper. So one of us did get to punch the bastard after all.

When I finally gather myself, I quip, “I sincerely hope you broke his nose.”

Shane grimaces. “I did, actually. It was pretty bad. An ambulance had to be called.”

“Shit.”

“Anyway, I thought I was done with him once he was taken to the hospital. I went home and tried calling you, but your phone was switched off. You were probably sleeping, since it was fairly late. I was going to come see you the next morning, but the police showed up at my house to arrest me. Justin had reported me for assault.”

I sit up straight now. “Oh, my God!”

Shane grimaces and strokes my hair. “I was angry at first. They brought me to the station and everything. It was hours before I managed to contact Mona to come and tell them that I only hit Justin in self-defence. In the end she showed up and gave a statement. I was off the hook. The problem was, she’d brought Mum along with her, and after I was let out of the station, they decided to stage an intervention.”

“Uh, what?”

“They said they wanted to have a talk and persuaded me to come back to my parents’ house. I reluctantly agreed. Big mistake. They sat me down in my dad’s study and basically talked at me, telling me what a bad decision I was making by not giving things with Mona another shot. I seriously thought I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. I mean, Mum must have the shortest memory in history if she thought being with Mona would be good for me.”

“I don’t think it’s about Mona being good for you, Shane. I think your mother would simply prefer you to be with someone like her rather than someone like me.”

His thumb brushes over my temple as he leans down to give me a kiss. “And that right there proves that Mum has the worst taste possible. You’re the best person I’ve ever met. Mona is quite possibly the worst.”

I laugh and move to straddle him. He stares up at me and slides his fingers into mine. “Oh, you do love to flatter, Mr Arthur,” I purr at him.

“Perhaps I’m hoping it will get me somewhere,” he replies, his voice pure gravel.

I move my hips a little, and he responds immediately, the bulge in his pants getting harder. “You’re in with a good chance, but first, you need to finish your story.”

He lets out a long sigh. “They kept me in the room for hours, arguing with me and, as Mum put it” —he pauses and makes bunny ears with his fingers— “trying to get me to see sense. Mona even broke out the waterworks at one point. It was pure hell. I wanted to leave, but it’s difficult to get out of a room when there are two hysterical women standing in your way. Eventually Mona pulled a strop and left. Then it was Mum’s turn to start crying. I didn’t know what to do, so I tried comforting her and asking if she could just let me live my life in a way that would make me happy. She’d knocked back a couple of shots of gin at this point and got all soppy, bawling her eyes out and saying she only wants what’s best for me. A while later she fell asleep. Dad came down then and helped me get her to bed. He’d been hiding upstairs all night, pretending to be dealing with some urgent work matters.”

“As you would,” I put in, laughing.

“Indeed. After that I was so exhausted from dealing with everything that I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up at nine this morning and barely made it home to pack for the trip. I’d been so stressed when the police came to take me to the station the day before that I forgot my phone. That’s why I hadn’t contacted you.”

My lips curve. “So you weren’t ignoring me?”

He brings his hands to my hips and squeezes. “I would never ignore you, babe. In fact, you’re kind of impossible to ignore.”

I’m about to bend down to kiss him again when there’s a light knock on the door, followed by Ben exclaiming, “Come and look, it’s snowing out.”

I shake my head. “He’s like a five-year-old sometimes.”

Keeping a hold of my hips, Shane slides me off his body. “Come on, Bluebird. Let’s go see the snow.”

We leave the room and go to stand by the sliding doors in the kitchen to stare out at the falling sheet of whiteness. It comes down so hard that the entire ground is covered in a thick blanket within an hour. After we eat dinner, Ben suggests a snowball fight, and I think I’m the only one who’s against the idea. When they all finally wrangle me into to joining in, I go and grab a thick scarf and some gloves before putting on my coat.

The cold air makes my nose go red as I bend down and scoop up some snow, moulding it into a spherical shape. As I’m doing this, I suddenly get lobbed in the shoulder, the snowball smashing to pieces as it hits me. Looking to my right, I see Shane standing several yards away, wearing a huge grin. There’s snow in his ruffled hair, but I try to ignore how adorable it makes him look and instead run after him, snowball in hand.

He dashes through the tall trees that lead into forestland and I stop running, taking aim and flinging my snowball at him. It hits him right on the cheek, and I laugh uncontrollably. My laughter dies on my lips when he makes a deep growling noise and grabs up a handful of snow. Now I’m in for it. I run in the opposite direction, back toward the house. Shane throws the snow at me, not bothering to make it into a ball.

It hits me in the leg, but I keep running. Seconds later I’m being tackled to the ground by two strong arms. He chuckles in my ear as I struggle to get free of his grasp, but he straddles me. My thighs are caught between his legs, both his hands capturing mine and raising them over my head.

“You don’t play fair,” I say sullenly.

He smiles with teeth and murmurs, “No, I don’t,” before he dips down to give me a spine-tingling kiss. Somewhere nearby I can hear Ben letting out a loud wolf whistle. I just about manage to give him the finger, even though my wrists are still captured in Shane’s grip. He drags his mouth off mine lazily and then stands up, offering me his hand and helping me to my feet.

We go inside, and Clark declares that he’s going to make us all a cup of his homemade hot chocolate. I go and change into some comfy PJs, and Ben fires up the DVD player. When I enter the living room, Shane’s sitting on one of the couches, his stare hot as he takes in my fleece pyjamas. By the way he’s looking at me, you’d think I was wearing some slinky lingerie.

I sit down on the other side of the couch, but he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms tight around me and nipping playfully at my ear. His hand settles on the lowest part of my belly, which means that when Ben starts the movie I can hardly concentrate on the story at all. Clark comes in with a tray of hot chocolates, and I take mine gratefully. The warm liquid and dollop of cream on top soothes my nerves.

This is a good feeling, I think. To have great friends. To be loved. I don’t know what I did to deserve the man I’m currently wrapped up in. Then a dozen recollections flit through my mind.

Looking into the eyes of the devil who killed my sister as he pretended to be innocent.

Puking up blood and vodka as I hunched over a toilet bowl.

Going through alcohol withdrawals. God, the withdrawals were the worst.

Okay, so maybe I do deserve this moment. But I’m still slightly on edge, like I’m going to wake up from a dream. It’s not like I haven’t spent half my life imagining fantasies to try to escape the darkness. I remember him telling me he felt like he dreamt me the first night we met. Perhaps he feels the same way. Perhaps I’m just as much of a miracle to him as he is to me.

What he said to me is always in the back of mind, that how we met is proof that there’s magic in the world. Those words are always there, making me feel a little bit better about living this life full of pain.

As the movie comes to an end, Shane’s hand has started to play beneath the elastic of my pants. I clench my thighs together, thinking of all the things I want him to do to me tonight. Clark asks if we’d like some cheese toasties, but I’m too full of butterflies to eat anything else.

Shane offers to help with the toasties, and I go to our room for a breather. One of those little mundane things in life that bring me pleasure is to dive with all my weight onto a bed without a care to the possibility that you might break it. And that’s what I do.

Jump up.

Dive.

Fall.

Relax.

Then I just lie there, my head turned to the window, counting the flecks of snow as they drift like beacons through the dark night. Fairies perch on their edges, hitching a ride down from their secret world in the sky. They are just as pretty and cute as you might imagine, but don’t get too close, or they’ll bite.

Someone coughs from the doorway, and I look to see Shane leaning against the wall. It feels like he’s been there for a while.

“What were you thinking about just now?” he asks with an indulgent smile.

I shrug and turn back to the window. “About fairies that bite.”

“And here was me thinking it might have been sex.”

I laugh. “Well, that, too.”

Shutting the door firmly behind him, he strides from his spot by the wall. With one knee levelled firmly on the mattress, he stares down at me, and this action alone makes my heart speed up. Then he crawls up my body, stopping when he gets to my stomach. He pushes up my top and presses his face to the rounded part of my lower belly, breathing in deep.

“I fucking love the smell of your skin,” he purrs.

“My skin?”

“It smells like the beach, sun, and sand.”

“I’m hoping this is a classy beach we’re talking about,” I joke.

“It’s beautiful. Not a bit of sewage in sight,” he replies with a devilish wink.

“Well, that’s all right, then.”

His fingers run along the edge of my pants, nudging them down little by little. I stare as he pulls them clean off me and then lowers his face to my mound. His lips press down hard over the silky knickers I’m wearing and I tremble beneath him, heaving, expectant.

His finger traces a circle on the innermost part of my thigh before moving to my underwear and shoving them aside, baring just part of me. I can feel how wet I am as he dips a finger in and groans with pleasure. Two fingers come together to slowly slip inside me, his hungry eyes watching my every reaction.

He works them in and out as my channel clenches around them. God, I need more. Using his teeth, he tugs my knickers down and off me at long last, and I moan loudly when his mouth dives right in. I have to stop myself from moaning a second time, aware of the other people in the house. His tongue laps at me as his fingers pump. The hand he’s not using travels up my body to pinch at my nipples, and I think I might combust. He never neglects a single part of me, ensuring I feel him everywhere at all times. I have never felt more possessed, claimed.

He sucks my clit into his mouth, releasing it with a loud pop. I cry out and tense my legs, an orgasm approaching. When I come, it’s with his mouth licking me hard, his fingers moving faster and his other hand pinching my nipple to the point of pain. Shudders wrack me, but as he moves up my body I realise he has no intention of giving me a break.

His clothes are gone within the next ten seconds, a distant memory. My sex is still sensitive from so recently coming, so when he positions himself and thrusts his cock deep inside, I become boneless.

Mouths meeting, tongues colliding, I taste myself on him, and it’s the most erotic sensation. Like not only has he claimed me, but in a way I’ve claimed him, too. His brown eyes shimmer with gold under the dim lamp light as he breaks the kiss.

“Love you,” he pants.

I stare right back at him, unable to form words, but silently communicating that I feel the same say. Fucking hell, if there’s magic in the world, then this is it. He comes with a violent thrust, growling and biting gently on my collarbone. I adore this exact moment, the quiet after he’s poured himself into me, the peace that comes over him as he wraps his arms around me and holds me close as though in reverence.

“Happy early thirtieth birthday,” I whisper with a smile.

I can feel him grinning into my skin, when he replies, “Was that my present?”

“Wait and see. I just might have more surprises in store.”

I stroke his dark hair, loving the feel of it. His face is buried in the crook of my neck, and then I notice he’s humming a tune, humming it so softly that I can only barely make it out.

“What’s that?” I ask, my tender voice echoing around the room and mixing with his hum.

He nuzzles me. “Just a song.”

“One you wrote? It sounds like a lullaby.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “I haven’t written it yet. It came to me just now.”

A flush marks my cheeks as I comprehend the fact that he thought of new music while he was inside me. Electric tingles prick at my skin, my every pore coming alive.

To be a muse is to be a wonder in someone else’s eyes, flaws and all.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Six months later…

By some strange twist of fate, I find myself in the southwest of the country again. This time I’ve travelled with Shane for a performance. He was asked to come play as a guest with the Symphony Orchestra at the Cork Opera House.

I love seeing him play in the symphony back home, but there’s something extra special about his solos. It’s like I’m getting to view all the passion and emotion that’s inside him from the comfort of my seat in the audience. I get to witness how his playing affects others, how he sometimes brings a tear to their eyes and often brings them to their feet with applause by the end.

I’m really excited for tonight and have even splashed out on a new dress for the occasion.

I know, fancy dress, fancy man. I still feel a little like I’m playing a role when I go to these types of things, but then again, I do enjoy assuming a persona. Or maybe I can be me and be fancy all at the same time. I will shun perfection in order to remain a caterpillar. In fact, I’ve always thought that butterflies are overrated. Caterpillars may be pests, but they do have a certain quirky charm, bumbling along with all those legs and eyes.

Instead of becoming poised and sophisticated, I will continue to bumble.

Speaking of which, Mirin has been slowly coming around to the fact that this caterpillar is going to remain a permanent fixture in her son’s life. I have a feeling Shane might have had a good long talk with her about it, because she came up to me in the concert hall a little after the whole Mona drama and apologised for how she’d treated me. I accepted her apology with quiet grace, while a small surge of triumph settled itself in my chest.

At the moment we’re staying at a swanky hotel, but Shane left just after lunch to go to a rehearsal. In reflection of my unsophisticated ways, I changed into my dress and then decided to treat myself and order a slice of chocolate cake from room service. In fact, I ordered two slices so I could keep one for Shane for when we get back later.

Ever since our weekend break in Kerry, I’ve been reminiscing about cake. I got up early the morning after our first night, leaving Shane snoozing in bed, and got Clark to drive me to the bakery in the nearby town. They didn’t have anything that was as grand as what I’d been envisioning, so I went wild and purchased three large cream sponge cakes. When we arrived back at the house, I stacked them one of top of the other to create a super cake, planting a three and a zero on top and lighting them with the flick of a match.

Now that’s how you say happy birthday, Jade Lennon style.

Shane woke up and came sleepily into the kitchen to be greeted by me, Clark, Ben, and Lara yelling “surprise!” at him, blowing on party whistles and wearing ridiculous cone party hats on our heads. I’m surprised we didn’t give him a heart attack. After all, these sorts of surprises are generally an evening affair. I got it into my head that doing it in the morning would bring an extra level of excitement.

I mean, cake in the morning? It’s so wrong it’s right.

Shane’s eyes lit up when he saw the cake on the table, looking a little more like a monster cake than a super cake, if I’m being honest. I didn’t know what his reaction was going to be, but then he laughed harder than I’d ever heard him laugh, clutching his stomach, happy tears rolling down his face.

That day we had cake for breakfast and lunch. Take that, Marie Antoinette. By the time dinner came around, none of us wanted to look at another slice for at least a month. Anyway, long story short, nowadays every time I want to treat him, I buy him a cake.

So, back to my current cake debacle. I’m so ravenous to shove it down my gullet that I end up dripping a load of chocolate sauce onto my lap. And yeah, I’m so busy enjoying myself that I don’t even notice the error of my ways until I’m at least four bites in. Panicked, I shove the cake aside and pull the dress up over my head. It takes forever but I manage to salvage it by dabbing the sauce off with a damp towel in the bathroom. A tip for getting out stains: dab, don’t rub.

By the time I get outside the hotel I’m seriously late, and it doesn’t help that it takes forever to hail a cab. I mutter swear words to myself all the way to the Opera House, shoving a twenty in the driver’s face and not even bothering to wait for change. The concert tonight is Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, and as I’m being seated by an usher I note that they’re already playing the Summer Concerto. There are some grumblings as I pass people by, but at last I reach my seat. It’s in the second row, and as I look up I see Shane standing in the middle of the stage, diving right into Summer Presto.

I remember him practicing this in our hotel room this morning while I was taking a bath. It sounded wonderful then, but now with the accompaniment of the entire orchestra it’s like it’s a living, breathing thing, invading every one of my senses.

A shower of colourful petals bursts out of the strings section like confetti at a wedding.

Roots explode from the stage floor, crawling swiftly up the walls, making me feel like Jack staring aloft at a gigantic beanstalk. Daisies sprout around my feet, and a bunch of lilies falls into my lap, filling my nose with their pretty scent. Pink chrysanthemums twirl down from the ceiling as though dancing through the air.

Bringing my attention back to the stage, I meet Shane’s gaze, his bow sawing into the strings in quick, vigorous movements. I mouth the word sorry at him, apologising for my unexpected lateness. He only smiles with warm eyes in return, a smile so hot it makes me feel a burning underneath my skin. Whoa, he really is sexy when he’s up there performing. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, but that only adds to his appeal.

I relax back into my seat, unable to close my eyes and let the music wash over me because I simply can’t stop staring at him. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit with a white shirt, the first two buttons undone, no tie. The vision of his exposed neck causes all sorts of vivid images to corrupt my thoughts.

He walks across the stage, playing his part effortlessly, like it’s second nature. The piece of wood resting beneath his chin is his glittering soul in tangible form, an expression of all he has felt and all he has experienced. He may be playing music composed almost three hundred years ago, but this is his interpretation, and it is an expression of this very moment. It makes me imagine things most would deem impossible, and that’s why it reassures me. I glance down at the hand resting on my lap and smile. One of those diamonds that fell from the sky outside the tattoo parlour that time made friends with some eighteen-karat gold and found its way onto my ring finger.

Standing at the very edge of the stage as the piece come to its dramatic finish, Shane is watching me still.

I hope he never stops.

***

A single raindrop falls on my head, but I don’t wipe it away. Statues can’t wipe away the rain, after all. A light shower came down, covering my body in a delicate coat of water. No matter. The sun is peeking its face out over the clouds. If I stand here long enough, I’m sure it will dry me off.

Clink.

Somebody drops a few coins in my hat and walks away. A pity they were in such a hurry to move on, or I might have bestowed them with a precious blue feather.

I decide it’s time for a change of position as I slowly raise my arms into the air. I hold them out on either side of my body, like I’m mimicking the branches of a tree. It’s a difficult position to hold for very long, but the best for getting dry.

Earlier today I got a surprise to find Patrick sitting in my living room. Alec had let him in. We hadn’t heard from him since I sent him off to rehab, and to be honest, I had no clue whether or not he stayed the duration or quit. I decided to avoid calling to check up on him, because the responsibility was on him to get better. In the back of my mind I never thought he would actually stick it.

As I joined him on the couch, I marvelled at his well-put-together appearance. I mean, it actually looked like he’d been showering regularly. His complexion was brighter than I’d ever seen it, and his eyes weren’t as dull as they’d been before. We talked for a long time, him telling me about his journey to sobriety and how he stayed away until he knew he was on the straight and narrow. He’d been on the housing list for a while but finally got allocated a small one-bedroom apartment in Harold’s Cross. I did my best not to well up when he took my hands in his and told me it was all my doing. If I hadn’t told it to him straight that night, he probably never would have realised he needed to make a change.

Alec was unusually silent throughout the exchange, too shocked at his father’s dramatic turnaround to speak. Avery, who’s been a regular visitor to our house in recent months, stood by his side, holding his hand. Seeing my brother happy is the greatest gift in the world.

It seems it’s true that leopards can change their spots. Not too long ago I’d considered Patrick a complete and total lost cause. Now look at him.

Rays of sunlight shine down, breaking through the clouds, the warmth caressing me in my damp costume, drying the sodden feathers of my wings. Somewhere on the street, music trickles its way into my consciousness. A lullaby in strings. It’s the song Shane heard in his head as we made love, so sweet and soft yet full of unspoken declarations.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice a bird land on my outstretched arm. I’ve been so still that it must have thought I really was a tree and not a human at all. Too curious, I turn my head to the side and gasp in surprise. Sitting happily on my arm is a blue sparrow, a bird that must be rare because I’ve never actually seen one in the flesh.

Oh, wow. I don’t think I ever want to move again.

The bird flaps its wings and takes flight, sailing off into the great big sky. I imagine it’s an incarnation of my Sparrow, flying happy and free under the golden sun. Reaching around to my wings, I pull a feather out and make a wish that one day she’ll get born into a happy life with a happy ending while I seek my own in this one. Somewhere, someday, Sparrow will die an old lady surrounded by the ones she loves. I release the feather and it floats away. I keep watching it until it’s nothing but a speck of blue far, far, in the distance. Now I’m still again, never moving, not an inch. Come and see the Blue Lady — you’ll get a feather for your trouble.

Shane’s violin plays on and I savour the melody. I wonder if I have taught him something about life like he wanted me to. All I know is that I’ll never let him try to silence his music again. Looking off into the sky where the blue sparrow has now disappeared, I wrap this one moment in a box and stick it with a label.

It reads, “The Most Beautiful Way to Live.”

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Read on for an excerpt from L.H. Cosway’s newest romance, Six of Hearts.

Six of Hearts Excerpt

Making my way down the narrow staircase that leads out of the building and onto the street, I bump into a tall man with golden-brown hair. I wouldn’t normally notice a man’s hair so specifically, but this guy has some serious style going on. It’s cut tight at the sides and left long on the top, kind of like a sexy villain in a movie set in the 1920s. I stare up at him, wide-eyed. He’s wearing a very nice navy suit with a leather satchel bag slung over his shoulder. Even though it was the first thing I noticed, his hair pales in comparison to the wonder that is his face. I don’t think I’ve ever been up close to such a handsome example of the male species in my life.

Why can’t men like this write to me online? I ponder dejectedly.

Because men like this don’t even know the meaning of the term “socially awkward,” my brain answers.

My five-foot-something stares up at his six-foot-whatever, and I think to myself, what’s a prize like you doing in a dive like this? Actually, now that I’m looking at him, he does seem vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen him before.

Probably on the pages of a fashion magazine, if his looks are anything to go by.

If it hasn’t already been deduced from the fact that I can’t even find a date using the romantic connection slut that is the Internet, then I’ll spell it out. I’m useless with men, and I’m talking all men. Even the nice approachable fellows. And I’m not looking at a nice approachable fellow right now. I’m looking at a “chew you up and spit you out” tiger.

Rawr.

Since the entrance to the building is so narrow, we have to skirt around each other. I give him a hesitant smile and a shrug. His eyes sparkle with some kind of hidden knowledge as he lets me pass, like beautiful people know the meaning of the universe and are amused by us ordinary folks who have to bumble along in the dark.

I’m just about to step out the door when the tiger starts to speak. “I’m looking for Brandon Solicitors. Do you know if I have the right place?”

I step back inside.

He sounds like Mark Wahlberg when he’s letting his Southie roots all hang out. His deep American accent makes me want to close my eyes and savour the sound. But I don’t do that – because I’m not a complete psycho.

“Yeah, this is the place. I work here, actually. I’m the secretary slash receptionist slash general dogsbody. It’s my dad’s firm,” I reply. Too much information, Matilda. Too. Much. Information.

The tiger smiles, making him better-looking, if that’s even possible. And thankfully, he doesn’t comment on my fluster. “I have an appointment with Hugh Brandon at nine. I’m Jay,” he says, and takes a step closer to hold his hand out to me. My back hits the wall, his tall frame dwarfing mine. I don’t think he realises just how narrow this space is, and now I can smell his cologne. Wow, it’s not often that I get close enough to a man to smell him. And Jay Fields smells indecently good.

“Ah, right. Jay Fields. Yeah, I have you pencilled in. You can go on upstairs, and Dad will take care of you,” I reply, shaking his hand and letting go quickly so that he doesn’t notice my sweatacular palms. “I’ve got an errand to run.”

He stares at me for a long moment, like his eyes are trying to take in my every feature, but that can’t be right. When he finally responds, it’s a simple, “I won’t keep you, then, Matilda.”

God. Why does the way he says “keep you” in that deep voice have to make my heart flutter? It’s been literally thirty seconds, and I’m already well on my way to developing a crush.

He makes some keen eye contact with me, then turns and continues up the stairs to the office. I’m already on the street when I realise I hadn’t offered my name, and yet he knew it.

Buy Six of Hearts:

Books by L.H. Cosway

Contemporary Romance

Painted Faces
The Nature of Cruelty
Six of Hearts

Urban Fantasy

Tegan’s Blood (The Ultimate Power Series #1)

Tegan’s Return (The Ultimate Power Series #2)

Tegan’s Magic (The Ultimate Power Series #3)

Tegan’s Power (The Ultimate Power Series #4)

Crimson (An Ultimate Power Series Novella)

About the Author

L.H. Cosway has a BA in English Literature and Greek and Roman Civilisation and an MA in Postcolonial Literature. She lives in Dublin city. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. You can contact her at lhcosway@gmail.com.

She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell the best stories.

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This Time

Book Three, The Moments Series

Marie Hall

Dedication

To all of you who fell in love with my boys from Austin. This one’s for you guys…

At the door of my soul she is standing,

So sweet in the gleam of her garment…

Her footfall awakens a fury,

A fierceness of love that I knew not…

13th Century Viking Warrior Poet, Kormak~ Tor to Jamie

Tor

I saw her crossing the club floor, walking on stage and heading behind the curtains to the area where only the band was allowed. She shouldn’t have been back here, but she didn’t seem to care. Jamie was determined to get to the exit and away from people in general.

Athletic, slim legs strode quicker than her short legs should have allowed, but she seemed hell-bent on getting away.

I’d noticed Jamie Sullivan for years, ever since Zoe started working at The Garage.

Problem was in all the years I’d noticed her, Jamie had been dating Angel—a.k.a. guy who didn’t deserve her, a.k.a. guy I wanted to break his legs for making the vivid blues of her eyes always seem a shade too sad. And in all the years I’d noticed her, she’d never once noticed me.

Until tonight.

Angel must have just bailed on her again, and she was running, trying to get away. My set had just ended; if it hadn’t I might have missed her.

Zoe hadn’t shown up tonight, so it was surprising to me that Jamie had come. She’d never come alone before. My eyes had zeroed in on her the moment she’d walked through the club doors as if by magic. I’d felt the intensity of her stare as she watched me walk on stage and sit behind my drums, and even though the lights were blinding, I’d known exactly where she’d sat. I’d kept my eyes on her throughout the night after that, just to make sure she was still there.

Desire and madness were converging, a reckless need for her that was growing in intensity the longer she stayed. Things were changing inside me. I was a man, she was a woman, and tonight…tonight she was here.

Dressed in skintight jeans and a velvet blue halter-top, she was my every fantasy come to life. Her blonde hair was long and flowing and my fingers itched to fist it, body buzzing off the adrenaline rush of the wild crowd; the mood was electric and what I would never have done in the light of day, I found myself doing now.

Our set had just ended and deep down inside I knew that she was running away because she didn’t want me to catch her.

I hadn’t stopped to think. So often I would let Jamie walk past, always reminding myself that she was with someone else, but for once I didn’t care. I was like a ravenous beast that’d just caught a mouth-watering scent.

Side-stepping my lead singer, Lilith, I nodded to let her know I had somewhere else to be and in three long strides I was next to Jamie.

She was so small, so delicate, and a region of my heart trembled. I’d wanted this woman for years and tonight nothing was going to stop me. She was going to know, because I could see what she didn’t—she didn’t love Angel and Angel didn’t love her. They were wrong for each other.

I didn’t say anything when I caught up to her, just spun her around by the elbow. Her big blue eyes grew wide in her face and it wasn’t my imagination that there were definitely tears sparkling in the whites.

Sadness cloaked her like second skin and I damned my desire. Told myself that I shouldn’t be doing this. A good guy would try to find out what was wrong, why she looked so sad. But I wanted her too bad to do that. Never in my life had I taken something from someone. I tried not to be selfish, put the needs of others before mine. It was how my parents had raised me, God rest their souls.

But I was going to fight for Jamie. I was done waiting for her to notice me. I rubbed my thumb along the silken flesh of her collarbone and wanted to roar with satisfaction when her breaths turned choppy.

Look at me, Jamie. Look at me. I’m here and I’m real and I want you. The words didn’t pass my lips, but I knew they were pooling in my eyes.

Her sweet scent of orange blossom filled my head. Her hands shook a little as she placed them on my bare chest. I always stripped my shirts off when I drummed, it was my trademark, but I wasn’t prepared for the heat that transferred from her to me, or the way the blood felt like it boiled through my veins. Her fingers twitched and I sensed that she was not sure whether to push me away or drag me closer.

Her eyes were wild and full of fire. She was licking her lips and there was a sort of manic frenzy to it that I felt she was about to bolt. She was like a terrified rabbit that’d just stumbled into a fox’s den.

She wasn’t leaving me. I wouldn’t let her, not tonight.

I clamped my hands around her wrists and silently dared her to object. When she looked up into my eyes, my world spun out of focus, and I knew I was done being the guy who only noticed. I was going to make this girl see me. Why? Because I wanted her and she might not know it yet, but she wanted me too.

Seduce my mind and you can have my body, find my soul and I’m yours forever…

Anonymous~ From Jamie to Tor

Jamie

Everybody thought I was a doormat. They thought I didn’t know what Angel was doing, or that I was blind to his ways. People couldn’t be more wrong. Even Zoe, who I knew only wanted what was best for me, wanted me to leave Angel. And a side of me wished it were so simple. Wished I could just walk away and never look back. I think I would, too, if it weren’t for the fact that I felt partly responsible for the man that he was today.

But it was getting harder to pretend that I didn’t see his whoring ways, to pretend that I was okay with his drug use and his constant drinking. His destructive ways were definitely not okay with me, but I had this horrible feeling that if I walked away and left him to the care of his demons, they’d devour him.

I shouldn’t have gone to the club tonight, especially once Zoe had called to say that Alex’s car had gotten a flat and there was no way they’d make it in time. Angel had promised to show up, but I knew the chance of that was slim to none.

I should be home, not walking into a club hoping to lose myself in dangerous thoughts, not walking into Tor’s arms, and I damn well shouldn’t have let him hold me. But I was weak and I was drunk and when I stared into his blue eyes the only thing that kept going through my head was…I need to feel alive again.

He smelled so good. Like sandalwood cologne, and God, the way he’d rocked me. When I’d hiccupped and he’d tilted my chin up and our gazes had locked, for a split second time stopped, all rational thought fled.

There’d been fire and heat and danger and my breathing had grown jagged and it’d been all I could do to keep my fingers to myself. To not wrap them into the muscular ropes of his arms and drag him toward me.

Because in that moment, in that second, I felt what I hadn’t felt in years.

Alive.

Our bodies had vibrated, the pulsing beat of smash-mouth death-metal blared through the confines of that club. Normally I hated this music, it grated on my nerves, on my ears. Two seconds ago I’d been ready to leave. But I wasn’t really hearing the music now, because the sound of my beating heart was drowning it out.

The phone call had shattered the last vestiges of my resolve to fix Angel.

He’d gone too far and the heart that’d already been beaten and bruised was now nothing but a pulp, bloody and broken.

I was bloody and broken.

Sweat trekked down his nude chest. He was wearing black leather pants and biker boots. A horned hat that should have looked ridiculous but his face was so chiseled, so masculine and starkly beautiful that I doubted anything could make him look silly. Not to mention Tor was covered in bold black tattoos that wrapped around his arms and wrists and connected in heavy patterns along his collarbone.

I licked my lips. He was tall and so intense, staring at me like I was a raw slab of meat and he was a hungry lion. Angel hadn’t looked at me like that in years.

That stab of pain gripped my heart again and I winced.

“I need to go,” I whispered.

We were standing in the band area, the exit was just steps away. I needed fresh air; I needed to get out of here. I needed time to think. Zoe was always talking about Tor, always telling me I should give him a chance. That he was sweet and a big teddy bear, but Tor wasn’t looking at me so sweetly.

“You need to stay,” he growled.

I blinked.

His fingers curled around my biceps. I worked out, so they were nice and toned, and so unbelievably small next to his large, large hands. I was barely five foot, so it wasn’t like I wasn’t used to being overwhelmed by guys.

But there was something about Tor that was so massively overwhelming it made me dizzy. I was like Alice falling through the rabbit hole, and I should have been terrified of feeling so out of sorts, but I was numb.

I hadn’t been with another man, not since meeting Angel in high school my sophomore year when I was fifteen. I was twenty-three now. Nine years with one guy was practically forever for someone my age. This felt a lot like cheating.

Even though technically I wasn’t.

My heart was pounding.

I wanted him to kiss me.

But this was wrong.

It was so wrong.

I swallowed.

“I can’t stay, Tor.”

But even as I said it, I wanted him to call me on the lie. Because I did want to stay. Not because I’d been burning a secret candle for him, either. Truth was, right now, I would have wanted to stay with anybody. Because I wanted to forget, I didn’t want to think about the phone call I’d just gotten. Or the fact that I’d tried so hard to save Angel. I’d done everything in my power. I’d stayed when I should have left. I’d done everything to prove that old saying false, that love wasn’t enough to save a loved one from themselves. I was so sure I would be the exception rather than the rule.

But I’d not been enough for Angel for a long time and I hated that I should be crying and instead all I wanted to do was lose myself in a man who’d hold me, move inside me, and make me forget that the man I’d tried so hard to save had just overdosed for the second time in two years.

His sister had called in tears. The doctors had revived him and the whole family was waiting for me to come. Because that was the way it always was.

But was it selfish that I didn’t want this anymore?

Was it selfish that for once I wanted to be alive, for once I wanted to be wanted?

Was that selfish?

God, I wished someone would tell me what to do. Right now. Just tell me what to do.

“Come home with me, Jamie.”

Tomorrow I’d regret this. Tomorrow I’d hate myself, but what else was new?

“Yes, Tor. I’ll come with you.”

Chapter One

Jamie

Tor and I didn’t talk as he drove my Jeep to his apartment. It was dark out and I didn’t really take the time to study it. It was one of many brick buildings in downtown Austin, nothing distinctive about it.

We rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor.

The whole time my nerves kept twisting and growing, making me feel ill at ease. He gave me a brief smile.

We didn’t touch, even when the elevator doors opened up to a narrow hall full of brown-painted doors that looked like an exact carbon copy of its neighbor. He walked us all the way to the door at the very end.

There were so many chances for me to leave. If I’d really wanted to, I knew the option was open to me. There’d be no denying to myself tomorrow morning that I hadn’t wanted to do exactly what I’d come here for.

The door slid open and as he went to turn on the lights, I placed my hand over his and shook my head. I didn’t want any sort of mental picture of this place. Everything was steeped in shadow, and that’s how I wanted this to remain.

A hazy, surreal memory of a stolen night of madness and reckless passion.

He must have understood because he kicked the door shut, lifted me into his arms, and walked back to his room.

He didn’t even breathe heavily, he held me as though I weighed nothing. Next thing I knew I was on his bed, and his hands were busy on my clothes. Unzipping my jeans and helping me to pull them off. Then went my top, my bra, and finally my panties.

I kept waiting for the shame to hit, but it wasn’t coming. The black mink blanket he’d laid me on was so soft against my skin, and I watched him slowly peel off the layers of his own clothes.

The only sounds in here were the excited inhalations of our breaths and the motor of his ceiling fan.

Moonlight and the glow of several apartment lights sliced through the curtains of his window, highlighting the sloping, graceful beauty of his form.

Angel was fit.

Tor was…like a god. Like his namesake. Broad of shoulders, slim of waist, with abs that I could bounce a quarter off of. He even had the friggin’ V that led to his cock. And it was big and beautiful, just like the rest of him.

Tor was a framework of art. He was covered in intricate scrollwork patterns of black, white, and gray. It wasn’t just on his arms and chest as I’d first assumed at the club, there were even some on his thighs. Celtic knots—the name suddenly came to me.

And as long as I could pretend that this was all a dream, then I could do this. As long as I kept reminding myself that Angel hadn’t been true to me for a long time. That just tonight, he’d been caught coked up with a skank whore sitting next to him. That once again he’d made a fool of me—then this was okay.

Tor let his hair down and I sighed as it spilled down his back. With his strong cheekbones, and a hawk-like nose, square jaw, and electrifying eyes, what might have looked overly feminine on anyone else didn’t on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whispered and opened my arms. Tonight there would be honesty. For once in my life I’d be exactly who I wanted to be.

His blue eyes seemed to glow and the bed dipped as he crawled to my side, moving like a jungle cat.

“Jamie Sullivan,” he whispered in that throaty, melodic accent of his and my insides dipped, my toes even tingled.

Who knew toes could tingle?

His finger traced the dip on my belly and my insides rioted. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to sensation. His fingers were rough but smooth. An artist’s hands. He smelled like soap, good, clean soap, and even a little bit of sweat.

But a little bit of sweat, especially now, could be really, really good.

“When you look like that…” he growled and my eyes snapped open.

A wall clock ticked.

“Look like what?” I asked after a lengthy pause before moistening my lips. I was nothing special. Blonde. Short. Stubby legs. Average.

“Like an angel.” His eyes burned through me, he swirled his finger higher before wrapping his palm around my breast. “You’re going to rip my heart out, aren’t you?”

No. In that moment I truly believed it. When he touched me like that, like I mattered, like I was clay and he was the potter, I knew I could never hurt him. I shifted then pulled him down to me, because I needed his skin on mine. Needed his touch, his mark, his brand.

“Tor.” I breathed his name.

“No, don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep. This night is ours, the darkness holds our secret, and this is where it’ll remain. And that is my promise to you.”

I framed his face. How had I never noticed the slight indent in his left cheek—like a dimple playing peekaboo? My heart beat a little faster.

Was it possible that I could break his heart? How? But those thoughts were too deep, too intrusive to the now.

I leaned up so that our lips very nearly pressed together. His body was so warm and large. “Kiss me,” I demanded.

With a growl that seemed to border on desperation he slammed his lips to mine and I moaned. Lost in his taste—like hot cinnamon candy. I drowned in him. Twining my tongue with his.

Then he was nipping at my lower lip, not rough, but not gentle, either, and my blood was enflamed. He reached for a condom, and I held my hand out. Wanting to roll it on him.

Passing it to me, he watched as I ripped the golden packet open with my teeth. It’d been a while since I’d handled one; Angel and I hadn’t had sex in over a year now. Mainly because of my trust issues where he was concerned. But it was like riding a bike—you never really forget.

Except as I went to roll it on him, my hands were shaking so hard my nail sort of flicked at the tip. Not hard enough to rip it, but it still gave me a moment of panic.

No babies. Maybe ever. My life was too complicated for children.

Finally I got it on him and he moaned as I rolled it down. I checked the tip one final time, feeling for any slight tear, but it was perfectly intact. Then I was guiding him toward me.

He gasped when I rocked my hips forward and we shouldn’t fit like we were. He was so big, I was so little, and sometimes with Angel it got awkward. But he slipped in smooth and easy, filling me up and making me whimper because it was good.

I clutched onto Tor’s neck and swayed up. I was not with Angel; I was with a Viking. A potent male. A powerful male. And he was owning me.

Taking me.

The world spun out of control. Everything was chaos except for him. He was calm, my calm in the storm. I clung to him, desperate that this moment would never end.

He was whispering words in my ear, words I could not understand but that shivered against my soul because I felt the depth of his truth in them.

He had to stop—this wasn’t what I’d come here for. I hadn’t come to feel this; I’d come to forget. That’s all this was.

Me forgetting.

I stole his lips, cut off his words, even as the tears burned my eyes.

He was a stranger to me in a lot of ways. This wasn’t me. I didn’t do this.

Ever.

But even while I thought it, I didn’t stop. Because I was a slave to him, a masochist to these wild sensations. To the way my body responded to his every touch, he was lighting me up. He glided his fingers along my flesh, breaking me out in a wash of goosebumps, in a need so profound I couldn’t fathom this was real.

Only a dream could be so perfect. He sighed, and I think he may have even whispered my name. Said it with such need, such longing, that I couldn’t help but respond.

I was spiraling closer to the edge, creeping toward that dark, brilliant void of nothingness. I cried out, wrapping my legs even tighter around him.

The soft mink beneath me, his hardness, his gentle touch, the scent of his clean soap… I was coming undone.

“I’ve got you. Eg elskar deg. I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” I whispered. Not sure why, not sure what I meant, but it was like something inside me understood that this was more than just forgetting.

This was real. Tor was real. This wasn’t a dream. And we were speaking not in words, but from our very souls. Giving and receiving, and he held nothing back from me.

Cradling my face in his big hands he looked at me, and I wanted to look away because this was so raw, visceral. I was held captive by his gaze. Tor wouldn’t let me forget where I was, not even for a second. As he pushed inside of me, filling me, I knew I never would.

And then we were there, and I was spiraling out of control. Losing myself, but Tor was holding me, and rocking me, and kissing me and telling me not to cry.

I touched my cheek.

It was wet. I didn’t even realize.

Then I looked at him and he closed his eyes.

“Don’t leave me, Jamie. Just let me hold you. Just for tonight, and then I promise,” he said, turning back to me, “you can go and I won’t say a word.”

He slipped out and once again I felt strangely void.

So empty.

I should go. I should leave now; I’d gotten what I’d wanted. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

He was rolling over and taking me with him, wrapping his arms so tight around me and he kept whispering the word he’d used just moments ago. Elskede. Elskede.

Over and over, and it sounded so beautiful and I was so tired. So tired of hurting, of feeling so alone. I didn’t want to do the things I always did to myself when these moods came upon me, not tonight.

So I wrapped my arms around him too and sighed when he kissed my temple. His voice was so soothing as he talked to me in his strange, beautiful language. I closed my eyes and decided that just this time, it was okay to let go.

***

Tor

If she only knew what I was saying, what I was calling her. What I’d always wanted to call her. What I’d wanted to say since the moment I’d seen her and my heart knew she was mine. Jamie was more than what I’d imagined. Her passions. The depths of her soul. I’d felt it all tonight, she’d laid it all out there and it was lovelier than I’d ever imagined.

She would leave me in the morning. I knew it, and I was prepared for it. But I wasn’t really sure I could let her stay away forever.

This woman had been crafted by the gods just for me—she was mine. I owned her soul just as she owned mine. I’d not felt this depth of emotion for another in years. Not since losing my Ida. I’d thought I could never love another again.

But tonight I’d discovered that for the lie that it was. I did love Jamie. I think maybe the emotion had been sneaking up on me for years, but it wasn’t until this moment that I’d actually recognized it.

This had been more than just sex. I knew she had to have felt it too. This may have started out as just a one night stand, but I felt the rightness of us, and tomorrow I was determined to prove that to her one way or another.

Chapter Two

Jamie

I groaned when the sunlight punched me in the face. Where the hell was I? Sitting up, I recognized I wasn’t in a room I knew. I was also naked. My cheeks heated the second reality intruded on the peaceful lull.

“Oh no.” I shook my head. Because what had seemed so vital during the night now seemed so wrong on so many different levels. I could blame it on one too many shots of whiskey, but I remembered the long drive, the walk down the hallway, and the memory that I’d not left myself an out to excuse what I’d done.

I’d known exactly what I was about, and while the sex had been amazing, what I’d done was thoughtless. Especially considering the circumstances.

There was a loose sheet of paper on the pillow next to me. Snatching it up, I read it with fingers trembling:

“I’m at work. Eat whatever’s in the fridge. Don’t worry about the bed, I’ll make it when I get back. Jamie, I’m going to be honest with you. I know all about Angel, and I know you probably have no intention of leaving him. All I want is to be your friend. I expect no more than that, so don’t be weird.

~Love,
Tor”

Love.

My heart pounded furiously. Guys never signed a note “love,” not unless they meant it, right? But it wasn’t as if I’d had many booty calls in my life. In fact, this had been my first, and try as I might to feel humiliated by what I’d done, it still wasn’t there.

I was anxious and nervous as hell, I felt bad because of the timing, but I wasn’t ashamed.

Which was just more proof of how bad I was. Because really, who cheats on a person right after discovering he’d been taken to the hospital?

“Crap.” I dropped my head. The hospital waited. Thank God I worked out of the house; work would just have to travel with me today.

Not like it was hard—it’s what Angel always told me. I was a prissy, silly girl who had life way too easy. A fact that always made me feel kind of guilty because he was right. Compared to his, my life was easy.

So why was I such a freaking mess?

“Damn it.” Angel’s family was going to be so pissed, and the last thing they’d want to hear was that I hadn’t shown up because I’d been getting it on with a big, sexy Viking.

“Damn it!” I swore again, hoping the second time would magically help me to feel better. But it really didn’t. Yanking on my pants, I shoved the top back on. I’d go home first, get presentable, grab a manuscript, and then I’d go. Really.

I wasn’t dragging my feet or anything. Right? But deep down I knew that’s exactly what I was doing.

But if Angel had died, they would have called me by now.

The second I thought it I cringed. How heartless was I becoming? What was wrong with me? Growling, I snatched my purse up off the floor and ran out his apartment, making sure to lock the door behind me.

And for just a tiny little second the thought that it might have been nice to wake up beside Tor flirted through my mind.

“Oh God, gotta get outta here now,” I muttered. What was wrong with me? Why was I doing this? Then it dawned on me that I could feel the cold floor beneath my feet. Well, one foot.

“Dammit.” I’d left my shoe in the house. I’d been in such a rush I’d not even realized I wasn’t fully dressed. Looking down then up at the door then back down again, I knew it was gone. I’d locked the door and I had no way to contact Tor. Not that I would have anyway.

Shaking my head, I ran for the elevator. So grateful no one caught me doing the walk of shame. Thank God he’d driven my car here last night. Getting into the Jeep, I backed out in a squeal of rubber and stomped it for home.

I needed to talk to Zoe, like, yesterday.

“God, I’m an idiot.” I slammed my palm on the wheel, relieved to feel the sting of hard plastic. The second I got in my apartment, I jumped into the shower. Memories of Tor, of what he’d done to my body, how he’d made me practically purr kept slamming into me.

How he’d looked last night, like a fantasy breathed to life by me. Like I’d plucked him straight from the pages of my innermost heart. So big, so strong and gentle.

My pulse throbbed. Breathless with desire all over again, I gripped the shower railing and held on tight. Relaxing into the hot water, breathing in and out, trying not to panic.

What was everyone going to think?

They’d know. One look at me and they’d know I’d been up to something. What would Angel’s mother think? His sister? Oh God.

I squeezed my eyes shut as adrenaline hammered in my throat.

More than just going to the club when I’d known it would just be me there was the fact that I’d attempted an escape out the back, knowing full well it would take me past Tor. A man I knew liked me because Zoe always took every open moment to tell me so.

Subconsciously, I’d known exactly what I was doing. If I hadn’t wanted it to happen, I would have gone out the front. But I’d gone through the back knowing he would see me, hoping he would stop me.

I was a bad person.

Feeling myself about to have a full-on, nuclear-level panic attack, I turned the tap off and jumped out of the shower slipping instantly the second my wet feet hit the tile. “Get yourself together,” I muttered, waiting a nanosecond before I released the wall and much more carefully rushed to my phone. Dripping wet and naked, but I didn’t care. Snatching it up, I pressed one—speed dial for Zoe—and stuck my thumbnail between my lips while I anxiously counted the rings.

One.

Two.

“Hello?” Zoe’s happy, warm voice flowed down the line.

“Zo!” I cried—well, shrieked really—and then plopped down onto the couch. Thank God the blinds were all closed and that I now lived alone. Or else someone would catch sight of me and swear all the rumors of a wild woman were true. “Ohmygod,” I sobbed as the dam finally burst.

Immediately I sensed a shift in Zoe’s happy mood. “Jamie, what’s going on? Are you okay? Where were you last night? Marianna called me all night long looking for you. You heard about Angel, right?”

And that was it. The tears were streaming. Coming so hard I couldn’t even contain them and I was trembling, shaking from the reality of what I’d done.

“Oh shit,” Zoe whispered, as if divining it all immediately. “What’d you do, honey?”

Taking two deep breaths, forcing my body to stop acting so freaking wimpy, I stuttered out, “I…I slept with him.”

“Wait! What?” she practically shouted, and then there was a rustling of the phone, like she was covering the receiver with her hand, and Zoe was whispering, “It’s Jamie, she’s fine, Alex. But I’m gonna have to go to her, ‘kay, babe?”

Biting down on my lip to just the point before I split it, I rocked on my bottom, staring around at the apartment I’d never even bothered to decorate yet. The walls were white, bare, and empty. There was a TV, a couch, two lawn chairs, and loads of boxes.

Boxes I’d never unpacked since moving into the one-bedroom two years ago. I guess in my head this place was never supposed to be anything but temporary. Because at some point Angel was going to get his crap together and we’d marry, have two point two kids, build that white picket fence, and everything would be perfect.

“Jamie.” This time it was Alex speaking to me. “You good? Need me to bust someone’s ass for you?”

As much as I’d not liked the cretin first time Zoe had met Alex, thinking he was no good for my bestie, somewhere along the way I’d come to love him just as much as I loved Zo. Snorting, feeling only slightly better now that I was actually talking to my friends, I shook my head. “I’m a wreck, Alex, but I’m not gonna die. If you could send Zo to me for like the next hour, though, I promise to bake you a giant batch of chocolate chip cookies, deal?”

Those two were inseparable. Like Siamese twins, where one went the other was bound to follow, and I wasn’t going to lie and say that some days I didn’t envy the hell out of them. They’d been together two and a half years now and were seriously planning marriage the moment Alex wrapped up his master’s degree. It made me happy, if not a little lonely sometimes.

“Get your purse, Z,” Alex shouted. “Make sure she bakes them with the super chunks, cause those are my favorites.”

Zoe laughed and then she had the phone back and was saying, “You’re devious, J, be there in two shakes of a tail feather.”

Grinning, I rubbed my brow. Already the panic attack was lessening—that was what those two did for me. They were the calm in the storm that was my life. “Zoe, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“Pft,” she laughed. “You’re just jealous ‘cause you’re not cool enough to get it.”

Zoe always had an effervescent quality to her, like nothing was ever that bad, there was always good just around the corner. It was why I’d clung to her like a leech and refused to ever let her go.

Hanging up, knowing Zoe would get here within fifteen minutes or so, I ran to my room. Grabbed the first things I found and yanked them up.

Which just so happened to be a bright blue t-shirt with a picture of a Tardis on it and seafoam-green booty shorts I’d washed three days ago but hadn’t folded that were now a wrinkled mess.

No, I did not look my best. But at a time like this, that was the very least of my concerns. Brushing my hair out, I pulled it into a messy bun and was just getting the ingredients together to make cookies when the door opened.

Zoe had a key.

She’d chopped her hair to chin length and it now had streaks with thick chunks of red in it. Shoving razor-edge bangs out of her eyes she cocked her head, studying me with her lioness gaze. Dressed in blue pedal pushers, a prison-striped off-the-shoulder tee, and red velvet pumps, she was the essence of hip and I adored her.

Then with a shake of her head she kicked the door shut and rushed me. Pulling me into her arms for a big bear hug. I shuddered into her. Zoe was so tall, freakishly tall for an Asian, nearly six feet, and I, on the other hand, was the exact opposite.

“Making cookies,” she said after a minute, “is never a good sign. What happened?”

Before I knew it we were falling back into our old routine. Her walking to the cabinets and pulling out a filter and ground coffee, me whipping together a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies—because they made everything better—and finally I felt that horrible tension ease.

Clicking on the oven to preheat, I shook my head. “I lost my head last night.”

The aroma of roasted beans filled my kitchen and made my stomach growl. I’d not eaten a thing this morning. Grabbing two cups, Zoe sat them on the counter before taking a seat at the bar.

“Jeez, J, you really need to dress this place up.” She glared around as if offended by the sight of such a sterile apartment.

I shrugged as I dumped the flour. “Whatever, I thought I’d be out of here before now anyway.”

Drumming long, red-lacquered nails on the countertop, she crossed her legs and stared at me. “Okay, I’ve got about a million questions, so where do I start?”

I cracked an egg and plopped it into the batter. “How’s Angel?”

It sucked that I was asking her that, I knew it. I was officially the world’s worst friend.

She lifted a dark brow. Her smooth honey skin pulled into a tight frown as she said, “It was close. Like closer than ever before.”

I grimaced, whipping the batter harder.

“They pumped his stomach. Marianna said he was puking up green sludge for a couple hours.” She sighed, peered at me, and then frowned.

“Don’t say it, Zo. I already feel like the biggest ass alive, believe me.”

“Say what?” she snapped, full-on glaring at me. “That this shit is old, that I’m so sick of him screwing with you this way? That you’re always blaming yourself for him being too weak to get his act together? Which part exactly do you not want me to say?”

I dropped the bowl. It clattered hard against the counter. If it’d been porcelain like the one I’d almost grabbed, it would have shattered. “I slept with Tor last night!”

I yelled it. And then immediately realized the walls here were paper thin, that my stupid, noisy punk, barely-out-of-his-diapers college frat boy of a neighbor could hear everything if he was home. I clamped my lips shut, eyes going wide.

She just sat there. Staring at me, and there is nothing worse in the world than to confess your sins and have someone just look at you. Like they hadn’t heard you, or maybe they were too stunned, too shocked by what you’d said that their brain had temporarily fritzed out.

“Did you hear me?” I planted my hands on my hips.

“I heard you.” Her tone was even, perfectly collected.

I shook my head, because I knew if she’d really heard me she’d have laid into me. “I don’t really think you did.”

“Oh, trust me.” She hopped off her stool, walked over to the coffee pot, and poured two cups before handing me one of them. “I totally did. And right now I’m having a very difficult time pretending I’m not happy about it.” Her smile was huge.

“What?” The coffee in my hand sloshed onto the bottom edge of my shirt and I hissed then slammed it down and grabbed a rag to dab at it before finally tossing the towel away in disgust. “How could you even say that?”

“God, J, you are so freaking blind.” She tapped her forehead, sat back on her stool, and took a sip before looking me dead in the eyes. “Look, I get you want to be Angel’s angel, fine, that’s normal. He’s in the hospital, so yeah, you should go to him and you should tend to him, if you want.” She stressed the word with a roll of her eyes. “But I’m going to tell you what I’ve been telling you for years. That man is toxic, and you’re lucky you weren’t the one in the car with him last night. Because that girl he was with, she broke her neck. Neither one of them were strapped in. So if that’s what you want in your life, and you want me to tell you that sleeping with a man who’s quite possibly the most perfect example of a male on this world—and you know I adore my Alex—then fine.” She flapped her wrist. “Shame on you. But let’s not forget, you and Angel aren’t actually dating anymore.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“No, it’s not.” She sipped and then tipped a brow.

“Then don’t turn it into one,” I growled. “And as far as Angel and I not dating, yes, true enough. But we’ve been on and off for so long that we might as well be. We were supposed to talk last night. Reconnect. Figure things out.”

Sighing, she sat her mug down and I was gearing myself to hear the same old thing. The ‘dump his ass’ speech Zoe gave whenever Angel did something stupid. And admittedly he was in the hospital and I should feel a lot more sorry for him than I did, but it didn’t negate the fact that what he’d done last night was stupid. The only reason I got so pissed whenever Zoe brought it up was because I knew she was right.

But instead of nagging me, she just shook her head and sighed. “Oh, Jamie.”

And the completely defeated tone in her voice had me twirling on my heel, because heat was pricking the backs of my eyes and I wasn’t going to let her see me cry.

I shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“You say that every time and yet…” She sighed again. “Look, that conversation was going to go the same as every other: if he even bothered showing up, he’d lead you on, make you believe he was a changed man, and then he’d screw the next bitch in heels to walk past. I mean, God, if it’s not proof enough that he was found in the car with some hooker, I don’t know what else you need to go through to see it’s never going to work.”

“Zoe, please.” I pulled open a drawer, grabbed a spoon, and began ladling cookie dough onto the sheet tray. “I’m going to go to the hospital in a little bit, so just…don’t. Okay.”

The continuing silence made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wanted to turn around, see what she was doing, how she was acting, but I knew if I did the tears would spill and they just couldn’t. You’d think after being down this road as many times as I already had it would have gotten easier.

But it never really did; in fact, it always seemed to get just a little harder.

“What are you going to do about Tor?” she asked softly.

My spine stiffened at the mention of his name and my brain flashed with images of the two of us entwined, moving and moaning.

Swallowing hard, I plopped a huge glob of dough down before letting the spoon clatter into the sink. “It was a mistake. One I shouldn’t have made. I was just so vulnerable and he was there.”

Opening the oven, I put the cookies in. The temperature wasn’t quite ready yet, but I really didn’t care. Turning around, I leaned against the counter and clamped my hands down. Finally giving her my full attention.

Her lips were thinned and she was looking at me with a mixture of pity and resignation.

I hated that. Hated that that was what always happened whenever the subject of Angel came up. “What are you thinking?” I finally made myself ask.

Wrapping both hands around the red mug, she shook her head. “I doubt very much you want to hear what I’m thinking, J.”

Jutting out my lower jaw, crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at her. “Just tell me, ‘cause if you don’t I’m gonna get pissed off and ignore you for the next few days and then we’ll be doing that whole teary ‘but I really do love you, you’re my best friend’ BS spiel when it’s all said and done, and yeah,” I groaned, “I’m just not in the mood for the drama. You think I shouldn’t go to the hospital, right?”

“Come on, I’m not a totally heartless bitch,” she scoffed, “But I am saying that—”

She paused as she grabbed her purse and dug around in it, then pulled out her phone and texted something. I frowned, stumped by what she was doing.

Smiling, she clicked the screen off and shoved the phone back into her bag. “That you should probably hurry up.”

“What?” I scrunched my face. “What the hell was that?” A bad feeling wormed its way through my belly as I stared at her. “You’re telling me one second that I need to get over Angel and the next you’re rushing me out the door?”

Taking another swallow of coffee, she nodded. “I’ll take care of the cookies. You know how particular Alex can be about them being just right.”

I snorted. “You do realize that I’m the baker and you do not cook. Like, ever. What are you up to? ‘Cause I know you’re up to something.”

She rolled her eyes. “You always think so poorly of me. Look, fact is I was supposed to be at The Garage by now, so I texted Ryko to let him know why I’m late. But seriously, go.” She shooed me.

“Ah.” I looked around. “Do you see how I’m dressed? I’m a wreck. What happened to being there for me and—”

She thinned her pretty red lips. “I’m gonna tell you what I tell Alex: pull on your big boy pants and face it. You don’t get to run away from your problems, J.”

“What. The. Hell?” I snapped, wrapping my arms around my middle. “Are you crazy? That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. I already told you I was going to the hospital. Hello?”

She didn’t say anything. Just got up, grabbed my purse off the lawn chair, and held it out to me by its strap. “Tell him I said hi.”

I was seriously tempted to call her a bitch. But I didn’t, because Zo and I had been through a lot. And there were times in our lives where we agreed to do the whole “tough love” thing, but this was just cruel. Even for her.

Narrowing my eyes, I yanked my purse out of her hands. “Whatever. Lock the damn door behind you and thanks for being such a good friend.”

She probably didn’t deserve that last part, but I was a little too angry to care right now.

Shaking her head, she looked sad again. “Honey, I’m being the type of friend you need, maybe not the one you want. I’m not gonna let you wreck your life.”

Hand on the knob, I knew I was gonna go. I really was. I was going to ignore that last jab and get the hell out before I said something stupid, but my hand refused to obey my brain. Turning on her, I glowered. “You know what, you’re so obsessed with saving me, but it’s not your life to save. My life is fine. So butt out.”

I walked out before she could get a chance to respond back and cringed as I got to my Jeep, because if my life really was so perfect I wouldn’t have called her to come and baby me. But sometimes the truth is the very last thing you want to hear.

Thanks to lunch traffic it took me nearly twenty minutes longer than my normal eighteen to get to the hospital. The second I parked I hopped out, and that’s the moment I realized I’d failed to bring my manuscript.

Thoroughly disgusted with myself by this point, I headed through the main hospital doors. There was no need to ask anyone which floor ICU was on or what I needed to do to check in; I’d been here so many times already the memory was ingrained in my brain.

Pictures of animals, nature, and inspirational quotes littered the white walls. It was the exact same ones, too. A humpback whale diving in deep blue water. A waterfall crashing into boulders. Pink flamingos in flight. The carpet beneath my feet was a dull blue-gray. There were exactly five rows of florescent lights down this particular corridor. Two elevators, one of which took forever to get to open and close its doors. Twenty private rooms, ten on each side. Room seven was painted a cheery blue. Room eleven a vibrant yellow.

My hands shook.

Hidden behind each door was someone so near to death no one was laughing or smiling; vibrant and cheery and cute animals didn’t make any of this better.

Feeling irrationally annoyed, I went to the check-in desk, found out he was in room nine this time, and just as I was about to open the door I made a sudden and quick beeline for the women’s bathroom.

My heart was racing out of control in my chest, my breathing was turning shallow, and if I didn’t watch it, I’d be passed out on the bathroom floor in two seconds.

Bending over, I stuck my head between my knees and took big, deep gulps. It took about a minute before things stopped spinning. Blowing out a shuddery breath, I was just about ready to stand when a toilet flushed.

Mortified at the thought of getting caught, I flew straight up, causing my equilibrium to go out of whack again. Black spots danced in my head as a person I definitely recognized walked out of the stall.

She was as short as me, at least a size smaller, and had a long, curly mane of jet-black hair. Her normally striking brown skin now looked muted, and there were heavy bags under her warm brown eyes.

“Jamie.” Marianna, Angel’s sister, greeted me with a dip of her head. Her voice was scratchy and rough, as if she’d not used it much recently.

Grabbing hold of the wall for support, I lifted a brow. “Hey,” I said softly. Seeing her was making the guilt crash heavy and hard. She’d been the dutiful sister, and it wasn’t like I was Angel’s wife, but as a friend who’d been with him since sophomore year of high school, he’d deserved more than what I’d given him last night.

My daddy had always said to me growing up that just because someone was mean to me didn’t mean I needed to be mean back. That sometimes being the bigger person meant I had to forgive and move on, even if the other person didn’t deserve it. That unforgiveness was a cancer that would leech the life right out of me if I let it fester for too long.

Daddy had been the smartest man alive and my hero as I’d grown up. And in theory those words had always made sense. Lately, though, it was getting harder and harder for me to do.

Moving to the sink, she shot me a glance in the mirror as she washed her hands. “Called you. About three times last night.”

There was no censure in her words, her tone was without inflection, almost as if she was talking just for the sake of having something to say.

I nodded and about a million different responses went through my brain. But none of them came out. I just continued to cling to the wall with the sort of desperation that came from sheer panic. I didn’t have to look to know my knuckles were turning an ugly shade of white.

How’s Angel? How is Angel? How is he? How’s he?

All those words were rolling on the tip of my tongue, desperate to break free, but just the thought of opening my mouth made me feel nauseous.

Flipping off the faucet, she shook the water from her hands and then wiped them down the front of her blue jean coveralls before looking at me.

“I don’t know about you, but this is getting real old.”

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. You could have heard a pin drop, the silence was suddenly so loud.

“Wh-what?”

Tucking a curl behind her ear, she shook her head. “Jamie, you know I love my brother. I adore him, but I’m tired. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for you.”

“What?”

Not the ultimate of comebacks, but I literally couldn’t seem to string a coherent thought together.

Chewing on the corner of her lip, she snorted. “I know that sounds callous. But did you know that I was on a date last night? The first one I’d been on in a year. I really like the guy, too. And then I had to go and bail just as dinner came around because of my brother. I love Angel, but sometimes I really hate him too.” Her eyes flicked up at my face and then down at her feet before she said, “I’m surprised you even showed up.”

Hurt that she would assume I wouldn’t, I frowned. “I’m not really sure what you’re trying to tell me here, Marianna.”

“Fine,” she growled, “you want me to spell it out?” Her face scrunched up into an angry mask. “Angel had a mix of coke in his system, along with a blood alcohol level of point one-nine He should be dead. Three times.” She shoved her fingers into my face. “Three times he’s done this. I’m sick of it. Mom’s sick of it. Dad, he’s just..” She sighed. “He’s gonna kill them with stress. Why are you still here, Jamie? He’s a fucking emotional leech.”

Her shoulders shook and then she was sobbing and suddenly my panic was gone. This wasn’t about me anymore. Grabbing her, I pulled her into my arms and let her cry. I’d known Marianna since she was just thirteen and I was fifteen.

Wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, she gave a soft laugh. “God, I’m a mess. I can’t seem to figure out whether to be pissed at him or depressed. This sucks.”

“Welcome to the club.” I grinned.

But the moment soon passed and once again the enormity of the situation crashed down on the both of us. She looked at me and I looked at her.

“In a lot of ways,” she said, smiling, revealing the chip on her upper left tooth she’d gotten during softball practice four years ago, “we’re like sisters. But I always kind of wanted you as my real one.”

I frowned. “I am a real one.”

“No.” Twisting her lips, she walked to the door. “Jamie, he’s never going to ask you to marry him.”

With those words she walked out, and I grew cold from head to toe.

There’d been a time when I was so sure that was exactly what I wanted. After high school when he and I both had gotten accepted to the university my plans had been date through college, get married, have kids right away.

And that was the way it was gonna be. I just knew we were well on our way to having that fairytale romance.

My parents couldn’t wait, his family was ecstatic, we’d been written in the stars. Romeo and Juliet, fated to be. But just like that couple, the universe conspired against us.

July twenty-first, two months to the day from when we’d graduated high school—that was when it’d all gone to hell. The car accident that changed everyone’s lives forever. Like the proverbial domino being tipped against its neighbor, bringing the entire stack down, that was what that accident had been.

It’d ruined everyone who knew and loved Angel. His dad, mom, Marianna…me.

Shaking my head, I walked over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and wiped my face down. Needing another minute before I felt brave enough to go in there.

Staring at my pinched features in the mirror, I wondered what Tor saw in me. What about any of this was attractive? Pale skin, dark bags, bloodshot eyes.

Snatching a paper towel, I wiped my face down, tossed the towel in the garbage bin, and walked out. Determined to get in there and do my duty to the Romeros.

But the instant I walked out I was greeted by a sight that froze me cold.

Tor’s giant body was squeezed into a small hospital chair in the waiting room. He was holding on to my blue suede pump from last night and had his chin on his fist, staring at the carpet.

He looked so sullen, almost dejected, that for a split second my heart turned to mush. Even in the harsh light of day the man called to me on a visceral level. But my common sense was no longer dulled by too much liquor.

Ready to turn tail and run, I took two giant steps back, but as if sensing my presence, he looked up right before I could make myself scarce and I knew he saw me because his eyes narrowed.

Caught like a freaking deer in headlights, I could only stare on in horror as he walked my way. Breathing hard, I was able to take six breaths before his scent of soap tickled my senses. An older woman walking down the hall at the same time glanced up at him with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

Tor sort of inspired that in me, too.

“Hey,” he whispered when he was within earshot.

“Hi?” I dropped my brows, glanced around, and then whispered, “What are you doing here?”

He licked his front teeth, and that’s when I noticed he had his hair pulled back. Dressed in a black shirt and scuffed-up jeans, he looked amazing, and I felt even more exposed, more naked than I had last night.

Leaning back on my heels, I slipped my hands into my pockets, wishing I’d at least ironed out the wrinkles in my clothes.

He rubbed a hand over his head and shrugged. “Zoe texted me, told me to come here.”

“Of course she did,” I bit out, realizing the wench had lied to me. She’d probably never even texted Ryko. The second that dawned on me I also understood that the ‘say hi to him for me’ wasn’t for Angel, but Tor.

I nodded when he handed me my shoe. Which was about as damning a confession to what had happened between us last night as if I’d just spoken the words out loud. Tipping it toward him, I murmured a quick thank you. Heat crept into my cheeks.

Nibbling on my lip, I realized things were getting super awkward super quick. One-night stands didn’t generally meet up the next day. I mean, that was sort of the unwritten rule about those things, right? What happened the night before remained there and life moved on.

“Stop,” he half-growled.

Frowning, I glanced up. “Stop what?”

“Stop overthinking this. We slept together, we’re consenting adults.” He shrugged. “Go visit Angel, I’ll stay out here.”

My brows gathered. “You’re really going to sit out here while I go inside and visit with my friend? Doesn’t that strike you as a little, I dunno…” I wiggled my wrist. “Weird?”

His thick jaw clenched. Man, he had such a nice one.

I cleared my throat.

“I want to talk about what happened last night,” he said, taking a step closer.

“You said we wouldn’t.”

“I know what I said. But I think if we don’t we won’t get beyond this.”

“Do you want to get beyond this?” Why was I asking him that question? Fact was, we needed things to stay as they were. My life was too screwed up right now for this. Whatever this even was.

Reaching out, he trailed his fingers along my cheek and my lashes fluttered. My pulse quivered, speeding up for a fraction of a second, and I sucked in a sharp breath as the memories of last night were breathed back to fiery life.

“I do. I’ve wanted to get to know you for a long time, Jamie Sullivan.”

On his left hand he wore a silver ring with a Maltese cross trimmed in red on it. I’m not sure why I noticed that. But I did. Just like I noticed that he wore black leather boots. That there was a small hole at his left knee, but it didn’t make his jeans look raggedy, more like it was intentional, that he didn’t care, and so he was all the hotter because of it.

Wetting my lips, I shook my head. “I’m not in a good place, Tor.”

He rolled his eyes, dropped his hand, and said, “When are we ever? Life is what it is. Bare minimum, when this is all said and done, we’ll be friends. And what’s wrong with having more friends?”

Guys didn’t act like this. They really, really didn’t. Not that I had much experience with men in general, but guys just weren’t this nice.

Right? They wanted one thing. Sex. And if you give it to them, then maybe they wanted more or maybe they didn’t and they’d move on. So did that mean he wanted more? Was that all this was?

“Do you want to have sex with me again?”

He looked as if I’d slapped him, and for a second the panic clawed its way up the back of my throat.

Holding up a hand, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Zoe always tells me I have diarrhea of the mouth—I say whatever stupid thing pops in there. Look.” I pinched my nose. “I’m going into that room.” I pointed to number nine. “And I don’t blame you if you want to leave. In fact, if you do I promise not to get all crazy about it like some girls would. I’m a hot mess. That’s about as much honesty as you’re ever going to get from a girl. If I were you, I’d check out now.”

And with my lips thinned, I didn’t give him a chance to say anything back. Turning on my heel, I opened the door, and Angel looked far worse than I could ever have imagined.

Chapter Three

Tor

The minutes crept slowly past and I sat in the chair with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my fists, glaring at the door and wondering what in the hell I was doing here.

Seeing her hadn’t gone as I’d hoped or expected. Granted, I understood the magnitude of what was happening. Angel was in the hospital. Again. In some ways it felt like I lived this nightmare with Jamie over and over.

I’d been around her for years, though I didn’t think she’d ever really noticed me. I’d seen her crying, exposing her heart to Zoe over and over, and in my head I would always tell myself that I needed to stay away.

But there was something about her, something real that felt vital to me.

I don’t know, maybe I was just blowing smoke up my own ass. Maybe I wanted to believe that. Maybe I needed a reason to believe that I left Norway because there’d been a greater purpose than my need to get away from the demons that’d haunted me. That in some way I could feel needed and valuable again. It wasn’t that I needed a girl. I wasn’t that kind of man. I didn’t even need Jamie. I just wanted her.

There was a difference.

Why would she ask me if I wanted to have sex with her again? I mean, yes, okay, I did. What red-blooded male wouldn’t? She was sexy, smart, and damn…the things she’d done to me, how she’d moved on me.

Grunting, I shifted position as the sudden rush of blood pooled in places it really shouldn’t have in this place.

Jamie wasn’t asking though because she’d wanted me too; she’d been asking almost as if to say she knew it was the only thing I wanted from her. I wanted everything. Her body. Her mind. Her smiles. Her soul.

Was that so wrong?

I sat back in the chair, crossing my leg and giving a brief smile to a little brown-haired girl clutching onto a woman’s hand while hugging a weathered looking teddy bear in the other. They’d just walked out of the room next to Angel’s. Her eyes were wide and she looked like she’d been crying.

In the past half hour I’d seen a lot of people walking around, a lot of splotchy faces, and witnessed a lot of breaking hearts. How could Jamie continue to do this? Time and time again?

I had the rest of the day off. Zoe had agreed to pick up my schedule for the day. There was nowhere I needed to be. But I sure as hell didn’t like being here.

I understood that Angel was sick. I fucking got it. What I didn’t understand was how he did this to her all the time and she would constantly be sucked back in to the nonsense of that man’s life. And it was like everyone but her could see it.

The man was a junkie, he screwed around on her constantly, and she always swore it would be over, and yet…he must have had some sort of magnetic pull, because before I knew it they’d be back on and she’d be trying to save him.

But she couldn’t save him. She wouldn’t save him, because you couldn’t save someone who refused to let you in. And maybe because I was on the outside looking in I could see that so clearly.

If the situation was reversed, though, and she was the one suffering like that, would I be any different?

In a sense, I really didn’t think so. Because here I sat, waiting on a girl who didn’t even notice me.

I knew I was setting myself up for failure here. My best bet was to cut my losses and run, which was exactly what she expected me to do. Hell, she’d given me permission to do it. But after all the years I keep telling myself that, the harder I seemed to fall.

I wanted to know her. I wanted her to know me. I couldn’t help but believe that if she and I took the time to finally stop and talk, that she’d see what was so clear to me.

So I drummed my fingers on my pants and waited.

***

Jamie

The room was pink and instead of one bed there were two. Thankfully the other cot was empty. A picture frame holding a photo of a smiling polar bear rested right above Angel’s head.

I was noticing the mundane because I didn’t want to keep looking at him. Didn’t want to keep seeing the tubes down his throat, the cannula in his nose, the way half his face was so dark and swollen it looked like someone had taken a hammer to him. Both his eyes were taped shut and his hair was matted with blood.

The steady beeping of a heart monitor was the only sound in the room. I glanced up to see his mother perched on the side of his bed, holding on to his hand and crying silent tears.

She looked so old to me today. There were more wrinkles on her brows and around her eyes. Her hair was no longer the silky black I remembered first seeing, but was now streaked with thick lines of silver. The whites of her eyes were now almost entirely red.

She looked like hell.

“Ms. Romero,” I whispered, sitting next to Angel and grabbing his other hand.

It was cold, and he didn’t even twitch when I took it. I wondered why I wasn’t crying. Last time this had happened I’d cried so much. I’d been just like his mom, refusing to leave his side. Now I wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Jamie, you know you should call me Jessica—I feel old when you say Ms. Romero.” She sniffed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her finger.

I nodded. Respect for my elders had been pounded into me from my parents, but that was a Southern upbringing for you. She always wanted me to call her Jessica, and it never really felt right for me to do it. I guess I was old fashioned that way.

Giving her a tired half smile, I jerked my chin in Angel’s direction. “What have the doctors said?”

She brushed her fingers across his forehead. “He was very combative when he came in. So violent, in fact, that they had to restrain him. As far as Miguel can figure out”—Miguel was Angel’s father—“they gave him some sort of shot to make him pass out.”

She shrugged, sighed, shoved a piece of hair out of her eyes, and I could read the exhaustion all over her. My heart broke for Ms. Romero; this couldn’t be easy.

“There was some bruising in his brain. And he’s broken four toes.” She rolled her eyes. “Not sure how he managed that one. But other than that, they expect he’s gotten through the worst of it.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “His brain?” I literally felt my stomach roll. The last thing Angel needed was any more brain damage.

Wetting her lips, she nodded. “I told them about his history, and the results of his MRI should come in any time now.”

Releasing his hand, I got up and walked around to the other side of the bed. Tugging her into my arms for a short but strong hug.

“I’m so sorry. I should have been there for him more. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

Ms. Romero sniffled and I knew she was crying again. Her small shoulders were shaking. I wasn’t large by any means, but hugging her made me feel like a giant. Ms. Romero was at least two inches shorter than me.

Pulling back, she grabbed a napkin from her pocket and blew her nose into it. “Jamie, I’m grateful you weren’t there. What you’ve done for mijo, there are not words enough to convey my gratitude.”

Looking down at Angel, wishing like hell I could cry one tear, I said, “Maybe if I had been there I could have at least prevented him from driving.”

“Aye, mija,” she said, tucking the napkin back into her pocket, “we both know how he is.”

She sounded so defeated, more exhausted even than myself. I didn’t know what to say to her about it. What was appropriate in a situation like this? The guilt of what I’d been doing last night, even after I’d found out about Angel, was really beginning to prick at me.

“Where’s Marianna? I saw her in the bathroom just a second ago.”

It finally dawned on me that apart from Ms. Romero’s purse, there was no indication of anyone else being around.

“I sent her and Miguel home to shower and change. They’d been here all night.”

“Maybe you should go, too. I can stay.” I patted the top of her hand.

“No, mija.” She grabbed on to her son’s hand again and gave it a steady pat. “I could never ask you to do that.” A short sound, like a mix between a chuckle and a sigh, fell from her lips. “We’ve all been here before. You deserve a rest from this madness just as much as the rest of us. Where are your mom and dad?” She glanced at me side-eyed.

“Saving the world again.” I laughed, but it wasn’t really funny. They worked for the Peace Corps and were currently stationed in Nigeria, so neither of them could drop what they were doing to come out and hug me.

Her face curled up. It was an old argument between Ms. Romero and me. As a devout Catholic, it wasn’t that she hated what my parents did—she admired them for it. But she’d confessed to me a time or two that it didn’t sit right with her that they were so concerned with saving others that they rarely had time for their own daughter.

Not that I disagreed with her entirely, but I’d been pretty much on my own for the past six years, and I guess I’d grown used to it.

I shrugged and picked at the blanket covering Angel’s legs. “It’s fine. They come back for a weeklong furlough soon and I’ll catch them all up then.” I smiled.

Sniffing, she shook her head. “You’re a good girl, Jamie Sullivan.”

Grimacing, because at the moment I was feeling anything but, I waved her words off. “Call Victor to come and get you. Take at least thirty minutes to get cleaned up. I promise I’ll call you if anything happens.”

Victor was her brother, but he was only two years older than me so I didn’t feel right calling him Mr. Victor.

“I don’t know.”

Giving her a stern look, I lifted my brows. “I had a good night’s sleep. I’m fine. But you look exhausted. Just go eat something, shower, and then come back. Okay?”

I could tell I was wearing her down. In the past she never would have left Angel’s side. She’d stayed with him once the entire two weeks of his time in the hospital. But I couldn’t stand the thought of her doing that again. Her health had begun to decline in the past year. Marianna told me that her mom was now on anti-anxiety medications and suffering from high blood pressure.

Angel was slowly killing her.

She needed rest and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Probably realizing I wouldn’t drop it, she nodded.

“Okay, but just a short break.” She held up a finger. “I think I will go home for just a while. Call me if anything changes, okay?”

“Of course.” I smiled when she leaned up to kiss my left cheek.

Her hair smelled of coffee and cinnamon sugar. The Romeros owned a chain of highly successful Mexican bakeries—called panadetias—and she worked at the one down the road from where they lived. She worked the counters so much the smells were a part of her now.

They were wealthy enough that neither one of them actually had to work anymore, but they loved it, and considering there were very few things in their lives that kept them happy, it was no wonder they worked as they did.

Leaning over, I grabbed her purse off the chair and held it out to her.

Taking it from me, she dug out her phone, gave Angel a kiss on his cheek, and then, with a small finger wave, she was out the door.

Now it was just he and I.

Taking a seat, I stared at the man I’d fallen so hopelessly in love with back in high school. Back then Angel had been my world—a soccer athlete with an A average and a scholarship to the University of Texas for athletics. He’d planned to go pre-med. Study to become a doctor. We’d had so many wild dreams. All of them wrapped up in each other.

Life was perfect. And at eighteen it’d been impossible to think it wouldn’t always be. That things could ever go wrong. Youth breeds optimism. Or at least it had for us. We were young, beautiful, and in love.

Leaning my chin on my fist, I stared at Angel, barely even recognizing him anymore. His skin looked more yellow than I remembered. The drugs and alcohol were really doing a number on him. He also had scabs and sores around his mouth. It’d been a long time since I’d let him kiss me. I didn’t trust him to tell me the truth about any STDs he might have. I knew he was a coke user, he called it recreational, but he was deluding himself. I’d once begged his mother to get him treatment and she’d almost done it, until Angel had pissed and railed that he was okay and I was just overreacting, and nothing had ever come of it.

We didn’t hang out as often anymore, but still kept up almost daily phone conversations. I think for Angel having that open line of communication was all he needed—just to know that I was there when he wanted me there was enough for him. For me, it’d become a taxing and straining way to hang on to a friendship, let alone a pseudo-relationship.

But I knew with him constantly being high, it was smarter to keep a physical distance. Deep down I believed Angel was still the sweetheart he’d been back in high school, but I also wasn’t stupid enough to believe that drugs didn’t change a person.

Marianna had told me he’d begun thieving from the panaderia till sometimes. His habits were getting worse, and since I wasn’t technically family I had zero legal say as to how they should handle him.

In fact, if he’d shown up to the club last night, that would have been the first time in a month since I’d seen him. He’d told me he’d been clean for over a week and wanted my help in getting him directed to a good drug rehab facility. I’d been stupidly hopeful.

But gazing at him now, the way his skin was changing, I wouldn’t doubt if the one-week sobriety had been a lie. Not only was he not off drugs, but it looked like he’d been doing much worse than just crack. There were sores and scabs I wasn’t entirely sure came from the accident, and if that were the case, I’d hazard a guess that he’d moved from crack-cocaine to meth.

My heart broke every time I saw him. I used to burn to try and save him. Now there was a cold numbness spreading.

The door opened.

I expected it to be a doctor or a nurse. Maybe Ms. Romero, but it was none of the above. A tall, blond-headed Viking poked his head in.

“Jamie,” he said in that soft, throaty accent of his and my stomach dropped to my knees. “I figured you were in here alone, wondered if you’d like some company?”

I couldn’t figure Tor out. It was why I didn’t say no. He was a total mystery to me. I flicked my wrist, too exhausted to even fight this.

More than anything I wanted to know why he was here, why he’d even bothered trying with me. Maybe if he saw Angel he’d go away; maybe then he’d realize trying to get to know me was a bad idea.

“Hey,” I said when he took a seat in the chair beside me.

Steepling his fingers, he stared at Angel for a while before then turning his attention back to me. His eyes were so serious, and in the dim lighting they seemed a darker blue.

“I figured you’d have left by now,” I whispered. Not that Angel was going to be waking up anytime soon; whatever the doctors had given him, it must have been pretty powerful. I could only imagine the level of rage he must have exhibited for them to decide to knock him out, especially considering his drug history.

His full lips thinned. I couldn’t help the flutter of my pulse thinking about where his lips had been last night. “I considered it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

His gaze was heavy and penetrating. “Because it’s not what a friend does.”

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

“If you’ll let us be.”

I sighed. The machines beeped, Angel’s chest rose and fell. It was all so bizarre, I felt completely outside of myself. “Look where we’re at, Tor.” I pointed at the bed. “Doesn’t this seem wrong or weird to you? Why do you want to be here?”

He grabbed my hand then, and god, I should have made him let me go. I should at least have asked him to drop it. But I was so, so tired. And his fingers were strong, and they were stroking my palm and it felt so warm, so alive. I shuddered and hung on tight.

“Because I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

I laughed. But none of this was funny. I was sick to my stomach, so confused, and, honestly, a little scared.

“I’m not sure what you want from me,” I finally said, sneaking a glance at Angel, because I really shouldn’t have been having this conversation here in front of him. I knew he was out, but I’d always been a big believer that subconsciously we were always aware. Tor really should go.

And had I even an ounce of propriety left in me, I’d tell him to leave. But he was looking at me like he really understood, like he wasn’t demanding anything, like he really wanted to be here and I couldn’t say the words.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said and crossed his legs. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

His thumb stroked the soft skin between my thumb and finger. With how he said it, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been here before.

Silence stretched between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t peaceful, either. I was so aware of the rhythms of life. That the man I’d sworn I’d save looked like a broken shell in that bed, that I was currently holding the hand of a man I barely knew but somehow felt understood me, that my stomach rioted, not because of guilt this time, or even lust, but something else I wasn’t quite sure of. I squeezed his fingers.

Tor turned to me. “Tell me about him.”

I frowned. Shouldn’t he be demanding we talked about the sex last night? Trying to force me to define ‘us?’ “You really want to know that? C’mon, what man wants to know something like that?”

“Last night you mentioned honesty, right?”

I lifted a brow.

He drummed long fingers on his pant leg. “I don’t really want to know. But I think I should.”

I really didn’t like the sound of that and released his hand instantly. “Look, what happened last night it doesn’t give you any sort of—”

“Kvinne,” he growled and grabbed my hand back, putting it on his leg and giving me a look as if daring me to defy his action. “I’m not some caveman. Stop comparing me to one.”

He sounded legitimately put out and I was more confused than ever. “What did you just call me?”

“Woman.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and stared straight ahead.

I clamped my lips shut. I could tell he was prickly, angry even, but his caress was still soft and tender. Tor was such a dichotomy. I couldn’t understand him or his motives. I squeezed his fingers until he turned to me.

Wrinkling my nose, I murmured, “Sorry. It’s just easy to assume nowadays.”

“Well don’t assume it with me. I’m not like other men. I don’t play around, Jamie. I tell you how I feel always. Honesty—your words, not mine.”

“I know.” I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth.

Rubbing a hand over his head, he shrugged. “I want to know you. I like you, I won’t deny it. But in all the years I’ve seen you, I’ve never been able to just talk.”

“And that’s what this is? Just talk?”

His blue eyes gleamed. “That’s it. And maybe we’ll discover that we were only destined to be friends after all.”

That sounded almost too easy. A friend. A male friend. Not like Zoe, who never hesitated to call me a bitch when I was acting like one. But a big teddy bear whom I could hug and hang out with and not let things get weird between us.

Was something like that even possible when feelings were already involved?

He dropped his leg, planting them both squarely on the ground.

I parted my lips, ready to tell him…well, I wasn’t really sure what, when the door opened. Startled, I jumped and dropped his hand instantly, heart thumping out of my chest when a nurse dressed in pink teddy bear scrubs walked in. She smiled when she saw us. But not a happy smile, more like a “this is awkward” smile, and I cleared my throat. Wiping my hands down my shirt.

She narrowed emerald-green eyes. “You family?”

I shook my head. “Just friends. Ugh. Girl. Friend?”

What was that? I scrunched my nose. Why had that been so hard to get out?

“Okay.” She gave me a timid grin, glanced at Tor, and I caught the flash of not only awe but attraction in her eyes when she did it. Walking over to a rolling contraption of some sort, she unhooked an empty baggie and replaced it with another.

“When are his MRI results coming back?”

Dropping the baggie into a garbage bin, she walked to the sink to wash her hands and shrugged. “No idea. But you know we can’t release that information to you, right? Only immediate family and technically you shouldn’t even be in here without some member of the family to vouch for you, but...” She drifted off, gaze going to Angel. “I just feel kind of bad for him.”

Her smile was short but sweet.

She wasn’t mean about it exactly, and I did understand the rules, but it had my hackles rising anyway. I’d stuck with Angel through worse times than what most spouses would. It wasn’t her fault and she’d been completely nice, but it still made me angry. I hugged myself and kept my lips shut. At least she was letting me stay.

The door opened and closed again.

“I’m going,” Tor said, and I whipped around.

“What?”

“Jamie, it’s obvious I’m intruding. I’m sorry. I was just trying to be here for you. I didn’t think you should be alone right now, but this seems like a really stupid idea.”

His hands were shoved into his pocket and my heart was beating out of control. Now that he was leaving, the thought of it wasn’t something I really wanted either. I was so freaking confused.

“Don’t go.”

Looking puzzled, he pointed toward Angel. “I’m not trying to hurt you and I’m not trying to put you into a bad position. Our timing is always terrible. And maybe that’s just the way things are.”

“What do you mean ‘our timing?’ This is the first time.” I stepped toward him.

“Elskede.” He rubbed my arm. “I’ve been trying to know you for years.”

Same word he’d used last night.

As he looked down at me and I up at him something strange happened between us—we connected. It was brief, so lightning-quick others would be tempted to disregard it. But the way he looked at me, it called to my soul. There was a quickening, a flutter deep inside of me. Brought back to life something I’d thought long dead.

Wonder.

Curiosity.

Hope, maybe? I wasn’t really sure about the last one.

“Come to lunch with me,” he offered.

This time when the door opened, it wasn’t a nurse, but Marianna and her mother.

Chapter Four

Tor

I knew the second her eyes grew wide and she looked like a child caught breaking the rules that lunch wasn’t going to happen.

“Never mind,” I said, and dropped my hand. “I’m going to go.”

An older Hispanic woman looked at me, at Jamie, then at Angel. There was suspicion in her gaze, but she didn’t say a word. It was the younger one that stepped forward, setting purses down on the empty bed, who spoke up first.

“Who are you?” She turned to me. “Angel’s friend?”

Realizing that this could get bad for Jamie real fast real quick, I shook my head and held out my hand. “The name’s Tor. I’m a friend of Zoe’s, actually. She sent me here to make sure Jamie was all right.”

Her thin brows gathered; maybe they didn’t know who Zoe was. Jamie patted my bicep and it startled me so much that I looked at her, forgetting that I was trying to shake the other girl’s hand. I was surprised she’d touch me in front of them, especially considering how hot and cold she sometimes ran.

“It’s okay, Tor.” Her smile was small, but strong. “Actually, Marianna and Ms. Romero, he’s my friend. I mean,” she said, fluttering her wrist, the one she wasn’t hanging on to me with, “he’s Zo’s friend too. But he’s here to help me out.”

She finally released my arm and for a second I wanted to tell her she could keep touching me, but I clamped my lips shut instead.

“Give us about ten minutes, and then I’ll come right back, okay?” She was looking at them as she said it.

“Okay,” I said in a gruff voice. Then looked at the other two ladies, both of whom seemed very confused. Can’t say that I blamed them. I hadn’t wanted to make things awkward, but apparently there was no good way to do something like this.

“Ms. Romero, I’m so sorry. I really do hope Angel gets better.” I patted her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly before lightly tapping her fingertips to my hand.

That tentative touch made me feel more awkward than if she’d hugged me. I could only imagine what all of this must look like. Angel wasn’t the best of guys, but the idea that a man was already trying to horn in while her son lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life was wrong.

Wishing I’d listened to my initial gut reaction of not coming to the hospital when Zoe had texted me, I gave her daughter a brief nod and then headed for the door. The scent of Jamie’s orange blossom perfume trailed behind.

Her small hands latched on to my elbow the moment the door closed behind us. “Hey, look at me,” she said in a soft Southern twang.

She looked adorable in that nerdy t-shirt, all rumpled, and the memories of what we’d done last night was a fist to the gut. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to shove her against the wall and tell her that we weren’t over, we weren’t done. Not now. Not yet. We hadn’t even started. I’d waited so long and in my excitement to get to know her I pushed too far too fast.

Rubbing a hand over my head, I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Jamie. This was tacky. I shouldn’t have come. I just didn’t think you’d want to be alone. But I can only imagine what—”

She grabbed my hand and I stopped talking. Her fingers were soft, just like the rest of her. Like touching the velvety petals of a rose. I wanted her hands all over me. I didn’t want to walk away; everything inside of me screamed to fight. To stay put and win her heart.

I drowned in her clear blue eyes.

“Tor?”

My name was a question on her tongue. I wondered if she felt it, too—the fragileness of this. I should have waited to make my feelings known, but the adrenaline spiking through me last night, coupled with the sadness in her, my declaration had been inevitable.

Just as this now was.

I smiled. “You know where to find me if you ever need me.”

Pulling her into my arms one final time, I kissed the top of her head. I didn’t expect her to hug me back as tight as she did. Or dig her fingers into my shirt. Resting her cheek against my chest, she whispered, “Last night was pretty epic, wasn’t it?”

I laughed, but inside I ached. Because it’d been everything I’d dreamed it would be from the moment I’d laid eyes on her. “I’ll see you around, eskelde.”

Then I let her go and I walked away. I had to. Last night had been a fantasy, one I’d thought by will alone I could turn into reality. But in the cold, glaring light of day the truth was that she and I traveled different paths that for a very brief moment had intersected.

And now our paths would move their separate ways and there was no fighting this, it was life and sometimes there wasn’t a fairytale ending.

A harsh reality I’d already learned once before.

***

Jamie

I stood there like a moron and watched that beautiful, brawny male walk away from me with a horrible sense of failure and fear. My toes tingled with the need to chase him down, to accept that lunch date, because the possibility of what he represented was suddenly, startlingly clear. But it was so easy to be a chicken.

With a heavy sigh, I shoved the door open. The two of them looked at me. But Marianna, as always, was the first one to speak.

“So tell me, Jamie, is he the real reason why you didn’t show up last night?”

I didn’t have a clue how to answer them. If I said no, it’d be a lie and they’d know it anyway; I wasn’t much of a liar. If I said yes, I’d break their hearts.

So I thinned my lips and said nothing at all, which was probably even worse.

Chapter Five

Tor

“Why in the hell are you back here?” Zoe snapped to attention the moment I stepped into The Garage.

She was sitting at my workstation, tattooing on a tomato. It’d taken her two years to get to the point that Ryko trusted her to work on clients. She was good, but she was always practicing at it. Which meant that someday she’d be great.

Setting the tomato down, she snapped off her gloves and tossed them. Shoving bangs out of her eyes, she glared at me. “What did she do?”

“Nothing, Jamie did nothing. But I should not have gone.”

Dropping down into the swivel chair next to her, I studied her tomato. White tattooing was currently the hot trend, it wasn’t easy to do, either. It took a special dye and an extremely precise eye to make white pop all on its own. She was currently doing a filigree pattern. It was pretty good, a little sloppy around the edges, but not too bad.

Candy, who was sitting at the reception desk, turned toward us. The shop was currently empty, not uncommon at lunchtime on a Monday. There really didn’t need to be all of us here, one artist at this time of day was fine, but clearly none of us had anything better to do.

Lifting a magenta-painted brow, Candy popped an electric blue piece of bubblegum. Dressed in her typical red pleather mini-dress with black belt buckles, she winked at me. I never took her flirting seriously; everyone in the shop knew she was obsessed with herself and occasionally Ryko, when he was giving her stuff.

“Wazzup, Sexy McSexy?” She popped her gum.

If it wasn’t for the crazy hair and dresses, Candy would probably be my physical type. But beauty, as they said, went only skin-deep.

I shrugged, setting the tomato down. “Nothing much.”

“Your band practicing tonight?” She crossed her long legs, bouncing her top foot. In the past year I’d had a hand in sleeving her calf. Her tattoos were pure girl—rainbows, cupcakes, and hearts in various shades of eye-grabbing color. Not many could pull it off, but she could.

“Yes, why?”

She shrugged. “Just wondered if Zander was going to be there.” When she smiled the light caught the silver Marilyn Monroe stud above her lip.

“Of course you would, lollipop,” Zoe popped the P, glaring at Candy, who instantly returned the favor.

The two hated each other. Probably because Ryko had been Zoe’s boyfriend years ago and Candy had been one of the many reasons for their breakup. I don’t think Zoe really cared about Ryko anymore; she seemed to have a good thing with Alex. But I try not to get in the middle of female grudges. I had no beef with either one of them and that was how I’d like it to stay.

Candy rolled her eyes and shot up to her feet, walking with bad intentions toward Ryko’s office. I chuckled when she opened the door and Ryko growled, then the door slammed and the shouting began.

“Anyway,” Zoe said, tapping my knee after a second, “what happened?”

Reaching into my desk, I pulled out a packet of raw almonds and tore it open. “Nothing at all.”

She scoffed. I remembered the first time I’d seen Zoe: she’d been exotically beautiful and earthy to me. I’d taken an immediate interest, until two weeks later when her miniature friend came into the shop looking for her.

Bouncing her foot, she looked at me with raised brow. “I’m not going to leave you alone until you spill everything.”

“It was a very bad idea, that’s what it was. I should never have gone to the hospital.” Popping a handful of almonds into my mouth, I chewed slowly.

Grabbing a pen, she tapped it rhythmically on the desk. “You’re a terrible liar. Something happened.”

“Gods, woman.” I glowered at her good-naturedly. “Fine, you wish to know all the details?”

“That’s right, big boy. All of ‘em. Spill to mama.”

“You are very weird sometimes.”

“No.” She wagged a finger in my face. “No changing the subject. You did something or she did something, but you were barely there…what…” She checked her wrist watch. “Thirty minutes, forty? It would have taken you at least twenty to get back here. So what gives? You were supposed to sweep in there and be her gallant Viking and take her away from that place.”

“Gallant Viking.” I chuckled. “You obviously know very little of Vikings. And Zoe?” I popped another almond in my mouth. “Angel is ill. Very ill. It was tactless on my part. I should never have gone.”

I shook my head as the truth of those words settled in my gut, making me feel slightly queasy. What had I been thinking?

She smacked my shoulder. It didn’t hurt, but I rubbed it anyway. “And what was that for?”

“Because you’re being an imbecile just like her. Fine. Fine,” she huffed, holding up her hands. “I get it, Angel is in ICU and yes, that’s bad form. But I also know J. I didn’t send you there for a booty call, and god I hope you didn’t go there.” She gave me the evil eye.

I tossed the empty packet away. “Who do you think I am? Some mindless sex maniac?”

She laughed. “You are male and it’s a fact that y’all think about sex a lot. Like a lot. A lot.”

Licking my front teeth, I shrugged. No sense in denying that truth.

“But,” she sighed, “my BFF has a tendency to self-flagellate. She takes the cares of the world upon her tiny shoulders and makes everything,” she stressed, “her fault. Angel has been a weight, a burden, I can see it. The whole world can see it, but not her. What she needs is someone”—she touched my kneecap, looking earnestly in my eyes—“to remind her that it’s okay for her to be happy sometimes, too.”

“And I’m the man for that job?” I asked with a trace of sarcasm.

Face gone completely serious, she briefly flitted her fingers across my chin. “Yes. You are.”

As much as I wanted to believe that, I no longer did. “Last night I would have said yes. But when I went into that room, I saw him lying there, and how her eyes looked whenever she turned to him. I cannot fight that. I’m no longer sure I even want to. There is too much history there, Zoe.”

Dropping her hand to her knees, her entire body slumped forward. Like she was a balloon that’d just been deflated. Leaning back in her chair, she stared up at the florescent lights. “That history is going to kill her. It’s not that I wish Angel harm. Although,” she said, rolling her eyes, “as many times as he’s broken her heart, I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about cutting off his jewels a time or two.”

Grabbing her tomato again, I picked up the tattoo gun, dipped the needle in the white ink, and began doodling over the top of her work. The rhythmic buzzing was a lulling sound that instantly quieted my thoughts. Giving me clarity and focus.

“I invited her to lunch,” I finally said after a two-minute pause.

She looked at me. “And?”

“And I’m here.” I sat the fruit and gun down then shook my head. “I’ll be there for her if she ever needs me. But I’m not doing that again. I just can’t.”

A client finally walked in. Relieved, I hopped up and walked over to the thirty-something woman dressed in jeans and a tank top. I felt Zoe’s eyes boring into the back of my skull like a laser.

***

Jamie

“You’re going to lunch with him tomorrow,” Zoe practically screamed through the receiver. Cringing, I pulled the cell away from my ear then dropped a handful of noodles into the pot of boiling water on my stove.

“Zo, stop. You can’t force this thing.”

There was a huff and then a short growl. “Look, you. I’m not trying to set you guys up.”

“Then what the hell are you doing?” I snapped, stirring the meat sauce with a little too much force, spilling some over the edge of the pot. “Why can’t you just stop this? This is so not the time to play matchmaker.”

She sighed. “How is Angel?”

“As good as can be expected.”

The silence on the line grew long and then she quietly asked, “And how are you?”

That softly spoken question brought a sudden surge of heat to my eyes and a lump to my throat. Clearing it twice, I turned and grabbed a wet kitchen rag from my sink to wipe off the sauce, needing a moment to gather myself so that I wouldn’t start crying.

“I don’t know.” I answered truthfully after a pause. The automatic I’m okay or good almost slipped off my tongue, but Zoe wouldn’t have believed it anyway—she knew me too well.

It was seven thirty at night. I’d been messing around with the manuscript for the past four hours, ever since coming home from the hospital. I’d only stopped because of Zoe’s phone call and realized I needed to actually cook something.

One thing my mama taught me was how to cook; it was one of my passions besides writing. Which I was sad to say I was total crap at. But books were in my blood and now instead of penning them, I edited them. It was a job that suited me well.

Slipping a little fresh thyme and oregano into the sauce, I stirred it slowly.

“You know, J,” Zoe whispered, “in all the years I’ve known you, I’ve always known what a tease and flirt you are, how you like to pretend that you’re such a slut because it’s funny or something. But in all that time you’ve never slept with anyone but Angel. What you did with Tor last night, it means more than you think it does.”

I gave a short laugh because she was dead wrong. “Love? That what you’re implying? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not true. If it hadn’t been him last night, I would have done it with someone else. Anyone else.”

“C’mon,” she scoffed. “We both know that’s not true. You’re so freaking loyal it would even put the Pope to shame.”

Suddenly the sound was muffled and I heard low murmurs. She was covering the mouthpiece, talking to Alex. I heard her say something that sounded like “in a second” and then she was back.

“Look, I’m gonna give it to you straight. I love you. I have loved you pretty much from the moment we met. You were the coolest, funniest, and prettiest girl I ever knew. You also have a great capacity for understanding and seeking out truth. You have great instincts, J, it’s why you fell in love with Angel in the first place. But the Angel you knew when you guys got together, he’s not the same guy anymore. Deep down I think you might even know that. But at some point you’re going to have to understand that you can’t save him from himself.”

Placing my palms on the counter, I closed my eyes, her words driving through my heart like a rusty nail. “I would never give up on you.”

I wasn’t even sure what I was implying there. I was just so tired of all of it. The tears I’d been trying hard to choke back were suddenly coming, pouring freely because I knew I was reaching critical mass where Angel was concerned.

A part of me, a big part, wanted to give up. I’d always thought that if there was one good quality about me, it was my constancy. Without that, who was I? And why now, when he desperately needed me to champion him, was I ready to throw in the towel? Why couldn’t I have come to this realization before he was stuck back in ICU?

“Oh, Jamie,” Zoe whispered, voice breaking.

Even though I cried silently and never made any noise, she knew me so well. Giving me time, she murmured soothingly to me.

“It’s okay, honey. I promise it’s okay. I know you’re scared, and the timing is less than perfect, but I really believe in my heart that you need Tor.”

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut.

“And before you say no, I’m not saying for love. Or a soul mate, or even for sex. But you two are so similar, more than you could know.”

The disappointed look Ms. Romero and Marianna had given me after Tor had left, it’d made me feel so small. Terrible. I’d known what that looked like, what I’d looked like. I hadn’t wanted him to leave. I couldn’t really explain it, we barely knew each other, but when I was with him I didn’t feel quite so manic or scared.

“I’m not broken, Zoe.” I sniffed and wiped my nose with the back of my hand. “I don’t need someone to fix me.”

“Who said I’m doing this just for you?”

I had zero idea what to say back to that. Tor seemed strong and stoic, like nothing really bothered him ever. In the years I’d known him he’d never come across to me as someone struggling with life.

Not the way I did.

She sighed. “I’m gonna have to go here in a minute, Alex is starting to pull pans out of the cabinet and I think we can both agree that the thought of him cooking anything is pretty much a nightmare waiting to happen.”

“Hey!” His voice echoed down the line.

Zoe laughed and it sucked because I was having one of those bad friend moments where I was horribly jealous at how easy and simple things were between the two of them.

Shifting until my hip rested against the counter, I picked at my thumbnail. It wasn’t that I didn’t want Zoe to have her happiness; I just wanted mine too.

“Babe, I love you, but I swear if you don’t put that stick of butter away I’ll personally shove the whole thing down your throat.”

There was a whole bunch more laughter, some gentle growling from Alex, a sigh or two from Zoe, and then a kiss, and I was a second away from pulling the phone away from my ear to give them some privacy.

“Hey, J!” Alex chimed in. “Come over for dinner. I’m about to make some eggs and toast.”

“Like hell you are,” Zoe said and then I heard a loud smack.

“Oh, baby,” Alex crooned. “Spank me again.”

I couldn’t help it: I laughed. Those two were so disgustingly perfect for each other, almost three years later and they still acted like friggin’ honeymooners. “You both make me sick.”

“Yeah, well.” Zoe came back on the line. “I can’t help it if I think my cowboy is extremely sexy. A rotten cook, and you know I love ya, babe, but you suck at it. Just sayin’.”

“Pfft, you’re just jealous you’re toast doesn’t come out as black as mine. Amiright, Jamie?” Alex yelled it, though his words still came out small because he wasn’t the one actually holding the phone.

I snorted.

“Oh jeez, will you go away so I can talk to Jamie in peace? Thank you. Ugh.”

But it was all a show. Zoe was so sprung for her golden-haired Adonis it wasn’t even funny.

“Anyway, like I was saying, we really do want you over for dinner this weekend. Though not tonight—it’s Mother Hubbard’s cupboard up in here and there’s nothing really palatable. But come okay, we’ll strategize.”

“Strategize about what?” I stirred the noodles one final time, realized they were now done, and took the pot over to the sink, pouring it into the strainer.

“Life.”

I could hear her smile behind the word.

“I dunno, maybe, it all depends on how Angel’s doing.”

“Do you have his number?”

I knew immediately whom she was talking about. “Zoe, no. And if he’d wanted me to have it he would have given it to me.”

She blew a raspberry. “Sometimes I feel like a freaking fairy godmother. Get a pencil and a pad.”

“No.”

“Get it. I won’t hang up until you write it down.”

“I could always pretend,” I huffed.

“No, you won’t, because your memory is crap and I’m going to make you repeat it back to me. Now go get a notepad and pen. I can wait.”

“God, I hate you.” I rolled my eyes, but dutifully did as told.

After rattling the numbers off in quick succession, she asked me to repeat them back. I was only able to because I’d written them down. She was right: my memory was crap.

“I love you. Now call him.”

“Z,” I groaned, slapping the pen onto the counter. “No.”

“Call him.”

“No.”

With a mumbled oath, Zoe hung up on me. Shrugging, I put my phone down and refused to think about that number that suddenly seemed to be mocking me.

With the pasta steam still curling around my face, it dawned on me that I’d made way too much food. I cooked when I got anxious.

It was a weird habit, one I’d developed back in high school. Also a typically wasteful one, as I could never finish half of what I made and Angel was more into drinking beer than eating solids nowadays.

Planting my hands on my hips, I knew immediately what I was going to do. Clamping down on the little voice in my head that screamed this was beyond stupid, I walked back to the counter and picked up my phone and called him.

One ring.

Two.

My mouth felt suddenly dry. Maybe I should hang up.

“Yes?” Tor’s exotic voice stoked a fire deep inside me. “Hello?” he said when I failed to respond.

“Umm, yeah. I was…” God, why was this so hard? Spit it out, you idiot.

“Jamie? Are you okay? How’d you get my number?” The sincerity of concern I heard in his tone made me feel brave.

Squaring my shoulders I cleared my throat. “Zoe gave it to me—I hope it’s okay that I called.”

“Of course. Yes.”

I smiled at the sound of his excitement.

“So…umm…what are you doing?”

“Now?”

“Yeah. Like right now?”

“I’m at band practice.”

The smile on my face wavered. “Oh, well.” I gave a short laugh. “No problem. I’ll talk to you—”

“Yes.”

“What?” I blinked, confused.

“Whatever it is, yes.”

My stomach tingled. “But I haven’t even asked you the question yet.”

“So ask me now.”

Was that a challenge? My lips twitched. What was it about Tor that made me feel the need to be a little more carefree, less…me? “Do you like spaghetti?”

“I like an-y-thing.”

His accent turned that anything into something that sounded positively wicked. I bit my bottom lip, fighting the huge grin threatening to overtake me.

“Tor?”

“Yeah?”

“Were you flirting with me just then?”

There was a full five-second pause of silence before he whispered, “And if I said I was?”

“I’d have to tell you to stop.” I placed my left foot on top of my right and wiggled my toes.

“Then I wasn’t.”

I wet my lips, palms going sweaty as I murmured, “What if I told you I liked it?”

“Where do you live?” His voice had grown hoarse, almost guttural.

My heart raced like I’d taken a shot of speed. I rattled off the address to him quickly.

He whispered back, “I’ll be there in under an hour.”

“But I thought you said you were at practice?”

“It has ended unexpectedly early tonight.” He chuckled, prompting me to do the same.

Feeling suddenly crazy nervous, I hung up the phone after an excited goodbye and raced for the shower. It wasn’t that I was dirty, and I wasn’t really sure why I was soaping my body down with lavender soap or spraying myself with even more flora perfume once I’d dried off. My hands shook as I stared at my face in the fogged-up mirror.

If I’d been anyone else I would have sworn I was getting ready for a date. Which was ridiculous. Because I didn’t date. Even when I wasn’t with Angel, I’d always known he was going to come around, so I kept myself free and clear. It was what I did.

Yanking on a bright pair of electric-blue skinny jeans and white crop-top shirt, I ran a brush through my hair, knowing there’d be no time to straighten it. It was just going to have to be wavy today. I put on my ivory pearl seed earrings and was heading back into the kitchen to stir the simmering sauce when my doorbell rang.

Butterflies swarmed my stomach, and clenching my fist to it, I went and opened the door.

Tor’s hair was pulled back in a knot, highlighting his slashing cheekbones and square jaw. His broad, totally kissable mouth was tipped up at the corner. His body crowded the frame of the door, and I realized he’d changed his shirt from when I’d seen him earlier. The gray shirt he wore looked sculpted to the hard planes of his chest and abs. He was still in those scuffed-up jeans that just so totally worked for him.

Pulse fluttery and feeling slightly breathless, I stepped to the side.

“Hey.”

Please tell me that sex-me-up breathy Marilyn Monroe voice did not just come from me. I pressed my hand tighter to my stomach.

His eyes did a slow perusal of me, starting at my bare feet, traveling up my legs to my chest and lingering there for what felt like a ridiculously long minute, but was probably only a few seconds, before settling on my face. His smile grew wider.

“Jamie. May I come inside?”

Was he for real? Were there really guys like this still left in the world? Apart from my dad, I’d been tempted to believe chivalry was dead.

“We’ve already slept together; shouldn’t this be easier by now?” I chuckled.

And so did he, a rich, lilting sound that washed through me and immediately the tension of uncertainty was no longer so powerful.

“You’re very blunt, you know that.”

I waved him on in, noticing my frat boy neighbor peeking his head out his door. Giving him a flash of a smile, I latched on to Tor’s thick wrist and pulled him inside.

Shrugging, I pointed toward the kitchen. “Which is probably why I manage to run people off.”

Sniffing, he moaned appreciatively. “I’m very hungry. Smells good. And I don’t scare easily.”

Feeling oddly pleased by his praise, I swatted his compliment aside. “Well, I hope it tastes good. I usually only cook for me and I’m not a picky eater.”

He looked around.

My apartment seemed much smaller with him in it. He was just so big, and with all my unpacked boxes everywhere it was already very cluttered. I grimaced, more aware than ever of what a mess this must look like.

Nibbling on the corner of my lip, I pulled down two plates, two glasses, and utensils. I hadn’t really thought any of this through. I didn’t even have a kitchen table, for crying out loud. “Umm. We could lean against the bar I suppose.”

He nodded. “We could. Or”—his blue eyes blazed with heat and other things that made me jittery—“we could spread out a blanket right there,” he said, pointing to the empty spot beside the wall, “and have a picnic.”

“A picnic?” I laughed. “In here?”

“Why not, Eskelde? You up for an adventure?”

I so had to figure out what he kept calling me, and now that he’d brought up the idea of a picnic, it sounded like a lot of fun. Setting the plates down, I held up a finger. “Hold on, I think I have the perfect thing. Just. Wait.” I nibbled my bottom lip.

Leaning against the counter with his arms straightened out behind him, he nodded. “Always.”

Whoa.

I turned on my heel, heading for my linen closet in the bedroom as heat skated up the back of my neck. I’d say he was trying too hard to get into my pants, except he already had. Then an ugly thought took me. What if he was just here hoping for a repeat?

Glowering, I yanked the red- and white-checkered blanket out. I must have still been wearing the look when I walked out because he grabbed my shoulder as I began to unfold it.

“What’s the matter? Is it Angel?”

Brows dipping, I shook my head. Why was I making everything so weird? If he’d come here looking for a booty call, that wouldn’t make him any different than countless other dudes. Didn’t mean he was bad or wrong for thinking it, either. Hell, I was thinking about what we’d done last night.

Confused by own weird reaction to him, I took my time smoothing the blanket down. “No, it’s not Angel. I’m just…I’m…” I brushed at the edge of the blanket hard.

He was beside me then, placing his large hand over my own. “Look at me.”

I turned to him. His blue eyes were so pretty.

I mean, that’s kind of corny to think. Especially about a guy, but they really were. The outer edge was a really dark blue that slowly lightened as it got to the pupil until it was almost a frosty color. I shivered.

“You don’t have to be scared of me, Jamie. I meant what I said in that note. I don’t want this to be weird, but I do want the chance to know you. So let’s be friends.”

Friends.

That word made me want to pitch a fit. Stomp my foot in frustration, kiss him with all the longing now raging inside of me… What in the hell was going on?

“You scare me.” Again my mouth spoke before my brain could filter. Why was I telling him all these things? The last thing a guy needed to know was that he affected you, especially someone like Tor.

Tugging on a curl of hair laying across my shoulder, he flicked at the edge of it with his thumb. “I’m a giant teddy bear. Just take a chance.”

Didn’t the Devil say that too?

Blowing out a deep breath, I forced him to let my hair go and walked back to the kitchen on suddenly shaky legs. “I can do friends.”

“Good,” he said from behind me.

Lifting the lid off the pot, I was aware of him standing right behind me. I felt the jolt of his body brush up against mine. The heat of his body twined with my own. God he smelled good, like aftershave and…Tor.

I don’t know how to even describe it. It was spicy and cool and a little dark, but in a good sort of bad-boy way. Jeez, I really needed to lay off the romance novels.

My fingers twitched as I gave the sauce one final stir.

“Looks good,” he whispered from over my shoulder.

Spine stiffening I froze like a deer in headlights. If I turned now I would kiss him. Kiss the soul right out of him. My body was one giant live wire. Excited and buzzing, electric and humming with several years’ worth of pent-up need.

As if sensing my internal struggle, he picked up the plates and held one out to me.

“Thanks,” I managed to squeak out.

Grabbing the strainer I spooned noodles into both plates, piled on the sauce. Grated a little fresh asiago over the tops of them and then jerked my chin toward the fridge. “There’s a bottle of sparkling cider in there. If you bring the bottle and cups, I’ve got the plates.”

At first I felt a little ridiculous sitting down on the floor with spaghetti, ‘cause, yeah, I didn’t imagine we’d be having a Lady and the Tramp kind of moment. My sauce, while delicious, was messy. Rather than sharing a plate of noodles, I was pretty sure I’d be wearing mine by the time I was through.

Kneeling to the right of me, he sat down the cups and bottle, then fixed the problem by upending two short boxes that were at the perfect height for us to set the plates on and eat. I smiled.

“You do this a lot?” I dug into my noodles after a moment.

Twirling his noodles on the fork, he lifted a brow. “Do what?”

“Eat on the floor?”

“Ah, yes.” He put the fork into his mouth and chewed on his bite of food. “All the time. I’m more of the minimalist type.”

“Really?” I asked with a stomach that suddenly felt like lead, wondering what he thought of the food. He was Scandinavian; did they even eat Italian-style spaghetti over there?

“No, it was a joke.”

“Oh.” That was awkward.

Swallowing, his brows rose. “This is really good. Wow.”

Cheeks warming, but terribly pleased, I thinned my lips. Angel never acted like that about my food. I was okay at best. I snorted. “If you say so.”

“No really.” He reached over to grab the chilled bottle of cider and cracked the lid open. “It’s delicious. Did you make the sauce yourself?”

Nibbling on the noodle on my fork, I shrugged. “My mother taught me. She was an Army cook, but she had a passion for food. That and saving the world.” I laughed. “I learned by watching and mimicking what she did.”

“Well, she must have been very talented.” He poured our drinks, then handed me a cup.

Taking it from his hand, I jolted when his fingers grazed mine. But rather than quickly take his hand back, he stayed that way for a while, making it obvious that he’d meant for it to happen.

With a small smile he finally released it into my care and my nerves were totally shot. I wasn’t sure how I was ever going to get through this dinner. Something strange was happening to me, scrolling through my mind I tried to remember why I’d never seen him this way before. How had I missed him all those years?

Twirling another big forkful of noodles, he smiled. “Tell me about yourself.”

Swallowing my bite of food, I took a sip of my drink. “That is such an open-ended question. Make it more specific.”

“What color do you like?”

“Umm.” I frowned, gazing around my sterile apartment. “Well, I can tell you that I hate white.” I popped a bite of Italian sausage into my mouth. I’d sautéed onions and garlic before cooking the sausage and could definitely taste their influence on the meat.

“If you don’t mind my asking—”

I passed him a napkin. Tossing me a grateful glance, he wiped his mouth.

“—how long have you lived here?”

“Oh” I grimaced, curling my nose, because I was going to be so embarrassed to tell him the truth. “Well…” I stabbed at my noodles. “A…year.”

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, his eyebrows shot high on his forehead. “A year?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And in all that time you’ve not unpacked?”

Rolling my eyes, I inserted a mouthful of spaghetti and took my time chewing. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. It just sorta did. I was shacking up with Zoe before this. We lived together for a little over three years when she got with Alex, but things got serious and I had to move out quick. So I found the first place I could afford that was cheap and in a good neighborhood.”

My laugh was self-effacing, because that really sounded lame when I put it that way. I’d had a freaking year to get on with my life. This place was proof that I’d gone into stasis mode completely. The reality of that sucked hard.

He nodded, but I could see the wheels in his brain spinning. Connecting the dots, the unsaid words. The fact that I’d had a year to get my stuff together, so if I wasn’t doing that, then there must have been another reason.

I expected him to ask the foregone conclusion but he surprised me again. “You never did say what your favorite color was.”

Smiling, I glanced around. “I like gardens. The colors of the blooms. I don’t have a specific color, I like them all.”

“Mm. Okay. Duly noted.” He smiled around the bite of food in his mouth and my heart was slamming powerfully against my ribcage.

It was a miracle to me that he didn’t hear it. Sense my disquiet.

“What about you?” I actually was curious now that he’d brought it up. Stomach starting to feel full, I sat my fork down and sipped on my drink.

I’d piled his plate high because he was a big guy, but he was definitely starting to slow down too, though, but, unlike me, he’d gotten at least three-quarters of the way.

“Guess.” He licked his teeth and, setting his fork down, rested back on his hands.

Biting onto the lip of the cup, I narrowed my eyes, rolling my gaze up and down his body. Trying to search out a clue. But I couldn’t really figure it out; none of his colors matched. “Blue.”

“Because I’m a guy you’d assume that, right?” His laughter was rich.

“I guess.” I snorted. “Then if it’s not blue, what is it?”

“A storm.”

“Ohh. Good one.” I grinned. “Well,” I said, drawing my hand down, “you’re wearing blue jeans and a gray shirt, so I really should have guessed that. So why a storm, Tor…” I frowned, only just realizing I didn’t know what his last name was. “I just realized I don’t have a clue what your last name is.”

Moving his hand just slightly, so that his fingers grazed mine, he said, “Boler.”

My hand tingled. Hell, my entire arm tingled. If I were braver I’d lift my hand and put it on top of his. But was he doing it on purpose? Or had this been an accidental grazing?

I wasn’t a freaking virgin, clearly. But when it came to the mechanics of dating and subtle cues I was a hopeless cause.

Pretending I had something trapped in my throat I coughed a little. At his look of worry I held up my finger. “Just something itchy.” I pretended to wheeze then smiled. “Tor Boler—I like it.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. It sounds so exotic.”

“In Norway Tor is probably as common as Matt is here. But I’m glad you like it. Your dinner was wonderful.”

Was he hinting that it was time to go? My heart tripped. Hard. I didn’t want him to go. This was fun. But I didn’t know how to ask him to stay either. I’d done the hard part by inviting him over; the rest was up to him. I nibbled on a corner of my lip.

“Tell me about Angel, Jamie.”

Chapter Six

Tor

Her eyes went wide and for a second I thought maybe I shouldn’t have done that. The fact was I didn’t really want to know anything about their romance, or obsession, or whatever it was going on with them.

What I did want to know was whether I stood any chance. Because tonight had been a shock. A pleasant one. And I could feel myself sliding right back to that place that I’d promised myself I wouldn’t go to again.

“Oh gosh.” She finally heaved a long sigh. “You go straight for the kill, don’t you?”

“I don’t believe in ignoring the obvious. He’s a part of your life, so I want to know about him.”

Taking a swallow of her drink, I noticed her hand shook a little. In fact, I’d notice she’d been high strung almost from the moment I’d arrived. I’d wanted to comfort her, to tell her that I wasn’t her enemy, but I was confused.

At the hospital I could have sworn we’d gone as far as we ever would. Maybe I didn’t have a right to delve into her life this way, but if things could lead where I hoped they would, then we needed to clear the air.

“What do you want to know specifically?” Her lips thinned.

“Are you currently dating?”

Her lips hovered by her cup. I’d tasted those lips last night, supped from them. I wondered what they’d taste like with the hint of apples upon them. My pulse quickened.

“No. We haven’t been dating for over a year now.”

I cocked my head, because the adrenaline that’d just shot through me demanded I get up and pace, but since I couldn’t do that, the slight movement helped alleviate some of that need. “So you didn’t cheat on him?”

There was a long enough pause that I understood she didn’t exactly view it that way. “No.”

“But?” Realizing she wasn’t attached to Angel, I laid my palm over hers.

Her entire body went rigid, but she didn’t deny me the touch. After a second her shoulders visibly relaxed. “But I haven’t been with anyone since him. Ever since high school. He’s been my only. The only…”

Pink stained her cheeks and she turned to the side.

I whistled, because damn, I’d had no clue their relationship ran so deep. It didn’t exactly fill me with hope at my odds.

Her middle finger threaded through mine, tugging a smile to my lips. Then again…maybe there was an ember of possibility.

Their relationship confounded me. I couldn’t understand how a woman as vibrant and beautiful as Jamie would hang around waiting for Angel. Everyone knew he cheated on her. Almost constantly. He drank. He did drugs. He was hell-bent on a path of destruction and he was dragging her down with him. It frustrated me, but there was nothing I could do about it either. I had no hold to her, all I could do was sit and wonder why men like that couldn’t see the gift they’d been given.

If Jamie were mine I’d never make her question where I stood. It simply wasn’t in me to deceive in that way. Either I was all in or out. Period.

“I can practically hear your silent thoughts.” She glanced at me.

I shrugged, not sure what to say. This was a delicate subject, I didn’t want to push her too hard, but I did want answers. Trying to get involved with someone when they were clearly still a part of someone else’s life was never a good idea.

But I’d never been one to take the easy route in life, either.

She stared at our clasped hands. “It feels like I’ve known Angel my whole life. We went to elementary together, and then middle school. But we really didn’t know each other well—it was just one of those things where I knew of him but I didn’t know him know him. Not like Zoe did. Zo and Angel kind of grew up in the same world. Angel’s dad owns a really successful chain of bakeries. It’s made them pretty wealthy, actually. They grew up in the same circles. I was Zo’s friend, she was his, and one day she brought us both together. Back in high school. End of junior year.” She nodded, giving me a faint smile.

“I didn’t know that.” Not like I should, really. I wasn’t begging Zoe for details, but it struck me as strange that it’d been Zoe who’d brought them together when she was now the most vocal about breaking them apart.

Her laugh was self-effacing. “It’s a sore topic for Zo, she feels responsible for it. But back then Angel was different. And I know, I know, everyone always says they were different, but he really was. He was kind, generous. Sweet.”

Her eyes were distant, lost in the memories, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me to see her wistfulness.

“He was rich, well, not Zoe rich, but he was definitely well off. So I felt almost privileged to run in their circle. To be part of that glitzy, glamorous world of upper-crust Austin, Texas. Neither one of them ever made me feel like I didn’t belong, either, I was one of them. So I fell in love with both of them. And I was sure my path was set. I’d be friends with Zoe for life, marry Angel, we’d have kids, life would be perfect. Of course, it’s always that easy when you’re seventeen, eighteen, right?” She chuckled.

No. It’s really not. I wanted to tell her that, but then again I didn’t. Because I wasn’t ready to go delving into my own past. Why I’d left Norway as I had and come to seek my destiny in a country completely alien to me.

To people and places that were unlike anything I’d known. I loved it here now, and didn’t regret my leaving.

There was nothing left for me back in Norway except painful memories.

“So what happened?” I squeezed her pinky finger. It was delicate and soft, and her nails were long and painted a vibrant-hued indigo.

It was funny that Jamie said she loved gardens, because she always made me think of the colorful tapestry of one. With her golden spun hair, vivid blue eyes, and the bold, colorful clothing she always wore, she screamed life to me.

She tipped her chin up, closing her eyes for a brief second. “The accident. When I say that Angel wasn’t always like this,” she said, turning to me, “I’m not making excuses for him. We got into a car accident a little after graduating high school, hit by a drunk driver. Angel was behind the wheel, I was in the passenger’s seat, and one of our buddies was in the back. We were coming back from a party that I’d begged him to drag me to, but we hadn’t had anything to drink. It was just a get-together really. We were a couple weeks away from college and it was our last hurrah before breaking out of the nest.”

I nodded, slipping my thumb beneath her hand so I could rub her palm. “Were you injured?”

“No, none of us were, except for Angel. We were all wearing our seat belts. I hit the air bag and apart from some ringing in my ears, I was fine.” She nibbled her lip with her front teeth. “His bag didn’t deploy. He smacked the wheel so hard it caused blunt head trauma.” She shuddered.

Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I tugged her into my side. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. It must have been horrific to have a front row seat to such an event.

Wiping at a tear from the corner of her eye, she sniffed. “It didn’t even look that bad. Worst case, I thought he’d maybe had a concussion, which was why he wasn’t responding to me. There wasn’t a lot of blood. But by the time the paramedics got there I knew it was really bad just by the way they acted. I later found out his brain was swollen and he’d been bleeding internally. He was in a coma for three days—it was awful. I felt a lot of guilt for what happened to him. Angel didn’t deserve it. He was so smart and had such a bright future. That a drunk jackass would get behind the wheel and take it all away, it just seemed so horribly unfair.”

Rubbing a hand down the length of her back, I was going to switch the subject. This was the last thing I’d expected to hear about the guy and, really, I didn’t need to know more. But it was almost like a dam had broken for her, even though the tears slipped her voice was steady.

“When he woke up, we were all thrilled. We thought, all right, no matter what happens, he’s back with us. If he needs a little therapy, no big deal. I’m going to be the dutiful girlfriend and be there for him.” Her fist gave an adamant shake.

“But it was obvious to us within a month that the Angel we knew was gone. The doctors said that sometimes the brain damage can be reversed. But I think”—her eyes sought mine and held them—“in my heart I knew it wasn’t the same guy.”

She sighed before rubbing her hand across her mouth.

“Second time he was placed in ICU it was for a drug overdose.” Her laugh was soft and full of pain. “He was only in there two nights, he pulled through and promised he’d never do it to us again. And yet, here we are. Wash. Rinse. And repeat.”

Understanding the depths of Jamie’s loyalty made a hot, sick feeling work its way through my gut. On the one hand, I was amazed by her. That a woman so young would be willing to stick it out with a man who was no longer what he’d been, but on the other, it was now years later and Angel had just as much of a hold on her today as he had back then.

I didn’t stand a chance in hell.

And maybe that was how it should have been. I knew from personal experience no amount of will in the world could change a fated outcome. Sometimes things just weren’t meant to be. It was a hard realization; I’d wanted Jamie for so long. But for the sake of my sanity and heart, it was one I would have to make.

This night would be it. I’d be her friend and if she ever needed me, I’d be there for her, but reality was sharp and cruel. I’d been down this road once before and I’d learned it was a devastating place to be. I couldn’t do this again.

Wouldn’t.

Nodding, mind made up, I squeezed her one final time and then slowly pulled my arm back to my side.

As if aware of my internal thoughts, she frowned. Bottom lip pulled between her teeth. It was an adorable little habit of hers. I couldn’t help but rub my thumb along it. “You’ll hurt yourself, Jamie.”

She sniffed, gave me a short grin, and wrapped her arms around her knees. I knew she knew, I saw it in her eyes: the acceptance of the truth.

I took a deep breath and licked my lips. “I can help you clean up, if you’d like.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got it.”

We were just making our way to our feet when her cell phone chirped.

“Sorry.” She held up a finger. “But that’s Marianna’s ring tone, I’ve got to get that.” Racing to the counter, she snatched up her phone. “Hello?”

Gathering the dishes, I took them over to the sink. I could at least help her out before leaving. Running the water, I shot some soap into the sink, and was just about to turn it off when she plopped onto the barstool.

Brows dipping, I cocked my head. “Jamie?”

Setting the phone down very gently, she gave me a vacant stare that covered me from head to toe in chicken skin.

“What’s the matter?” I rushed to her side immediately, grabbing her upper arm as my heart throbbed a staccato beat in my chest.

He’d died. He must have. How was she going to take this? This would shatter her. No matter what I wanted, I never wanted that for her. Ever. I pulled her into my arms.

“Angel’s in a coma again,” she whispered against my chest. “Can you take me back to the hospital?”

***

Jamie

“What happened?” I asked the second I marched back into the hospital room. Just this afternoon the doctors were supposed to transfer him to a different ward—he’d been improving, I thought.

The other bed that’d been empty this morning was now occupied. The curtains were up, shielding whoever it was from our view. Aware that I needed to keep the volume down, I whispered to a stunned-looking Ms. Romero, “What happened?”

“Aye, mija.” She sniffed, dabbing her nose with a white handkerchief, and shook her head. Mr. Romero grabbed her shoulder and squeezed once.

He was a broad man, square and powerful looking. With arms as big as tree trunks from kneading dough all his life and a big belly from constantly tasting his wares. His hair was salt-and-pepper gray, but his eyes were still the kindly warm brown they’d always been whenever he looked at me.

“Mija, thank you for coming,” he said in his deep voice. “It is good that you are here.” Giving his wife a kiss on her cheek, he smiled at me. “Now there’s someone else in the room, and we can only have two in here at once, so I’ll leave you both to talk. Jessica, do you want anything?”

“No, papi.” She tapped his hand. “But thank you.”

Nodding, giving his boy one last long look, he turned on his sturdy black work boots and walked out.

The beeping machines seemed suddenly too loud.

Angel looked as he had this morning. Like he was only in a deep sleep and that at any moment he’d open his eyes, smile, and wonder what we were all doing here. He should have woken up a while ago.

“They say that because of the brain damage the first time, it is easier to happen again and again,” she whispered, brushing strong fingers across her son’s whiskered cheek.

Taking the seat next to hers, I held my hands on my lap, feeling totally useless. “I’m sorry about this morning,” I murmured, because I hadn’t meant to shock her when she’d caught me in here with Tor.

Sighing, she threaded her fingers through Angel’s and glanced at me. “I was surprised, yes. But I cannot be angry. You are young, and this is so very heavy. It is an exhausting burden to bear. Especially for the third time.” She patted my knee.

The warmth of her absolution flowed through me like a wave of relief. It’s not that I didn’t love my parents, but in so many ways they were just an idea in my head. Ms. Romero was like my pseudo-mom and dad; she’d adopted me as hers in a lot of ways. As I had with her. I grabbed her hand.

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t a burden, that I loved her son. But I didn’t think that was really true anymore. I was here because I wanted to save him from himself, and that wasn’t really the same thing was it?

“God.” My voice broke. “Why does he keep doing this?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “We sent him to therapist after therapist, they all said the same thing. Angel suffers from PTSD, and when it gets too bad, he goes to dark places. You know we’ve tried, mija, right? You know that? Even though he wouldn’t let us put him in that drug rehab, we did try to prevent this.” Her big brown eyes pleaded that I understand.

I nodded, even though she and I both knew he’d needed more than a couple of therapy sessions. “I keep hoping that at some point he’ll miraculously wake up and be who he was. It’s why I stay, because I keep trying to remind him of who he really is.”

Her breath caught on a sob. Turning her face into her handkerchief, she blew her nose twice.

While I gave her the time to get herself together, I gazed at Angel and felt a sickening, crushing weight of guilt. Because whenever I looked at him, even during his good times, he was a burden. I’d given everything to this relationship, hoping that because I was staying faithful, even when he wasn’t, that fate would see and reward my efforts. Tip the scales of justice in my favor and give him back.

The thing was, what I’d done with Tor last night, it’d sparked me. Like Frankenstein’s monster I’d woken up, and as sad as I was to let Tor go, I knew it was probably the right thing to do, at least for right now.

I was nowhere near ready to dive into a new relationship.

I would turn him into a rebound and he didn’t deserve that. But being with him made me see I couldn’t do this with Angel anymore, either.

I had nothing left to give, and as much as Angel hurt me, I wasn’t into sleeping around just to get my revenge. All I wanted was just to move on and discover me.

And this time it wasn’t empty words. My tank was empty. I still wanted Angel to do good, wanted him to wake up from this coma and be the man he should have always been, but I no longer wanted to share my life with him.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave me a wobbly grin.

And that right there was the source of all my problems. My heart sank deep into the region of my stomach.

I couldn’t make a clean break. Because as much as I was done with Angel, I wasn’t done with his family; there was too much history and love there to walk away from them. Once again I was back in the same predicament as always, picking up the pieces. Except this time I was coming to resent him for it.

We sat there in silence for the next hour and a half.

And that night, as I lay in my bed, I thought about what I was going to do. I knew what Zoe would tell me: “Walk away.” But I’d never really been good at that.

Rolling over, I stared out my window. Living on the fifteenth floor of the apartment building in downtown Austin afforded me a beautiful view of the city lights at night. The lights seemed to wink and roll on for miles. The sky was black with a hazy golden fog threaded throughout because there was never a true night in such a big city, and usually I loved this time of day. Loved the shadows and darkness and all that it hid.

For some darkness was scary, treacherous, but not for me. It’d always felt magical, soothing. Not tonight, though, tonight I felt alone and tired.

More tired than normal. The bedside clock read five past two in the morning. Thank God I worked from home; otherwise I’d would have been a giant mess in the morning. But as the time ticked on, one hour bleeding into the next and the next, I knew sleep would elude me.

Sometimes things came to a head, the storm finally tore through, and what few threads of sanity you’d been hanging on to snapped. Heat burned my throat and eyes.

Rubbing at them, I reached over for my cell and didn’t think about it before I dialed my parents’ office. It was a long shot that they’d even be around—when they were out in the field, getting in touch with them was virtually impossible.

I held my breath as the line rang.

“Hello?” My mother’s soft voice immediately made me sob. Clutching the phone to my ear, I tried to will the tears away but the harder I fought the harder they came.

“Jams, is that you?”

Face screwing up, I could only nod in silence and sniffle loudly.

“Baby doll, what’s the matter?”

Closing my eyes, I scooted up in the bed, sitting cross-legged. My stomach pitched with a sudden and intense wave of nausea. Grabbing myself, I thought I might have to run for the bathroom, but just as soon as it came it went.

“Mama,” I whispered, “I’m just. I’m...”

“Shh. Shh. It’s okay, hun, it’s okay. What happened?”

I looked straight ahead at the only thing I’d bothered hanging on my walls. It was a painting I’d done when I was ten. It was a picture of a painted desert. It was crude, done by the inexperienced hand of a child, but I’d been so proud of it. A red desert with the sun setting behind it and a sea of colorful flowers blooming magically upon the sands.

She’d kept it in the living room for years. I’d sometimes see her brush her fingers across its canvas and it would always bring a smile to my face. When she’d left to Nigeria she’d asked me to watch over it.

“It’s Angel. He’s in the ICU again.”

She sighed and then was silent for so long I thought the call had been dropped.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Jams.” Her voice sounded suddenly strained, like she was old and tired.

My parents had had me in their thirties, and mom was close to her sixties now. The idea of that really bothered me.

“Tell me something, Mama. What should I do?”

“Jamie, you’re so much like your daddy. You all want to save the world, and you think you can do that. But sometimes you just can’t, all you wind up doing in the process is killing yourself. I know how much you’ve wanted that boy to wake up, but darlin’—”

Her Texas twang came out just then and made my heart ache.

“—sometimes in life you need to learn when to let go.”

That was the thing, I really did want to. I did. In the quiet of my room I could almost believe it was possible, but I knew the moment I looked into Ms. Romero’s eyes that my desires would waver. I wasn’t a saint by any freaking stretch of the imagination, but I did love them, and that meant something.

Sensing it may have been a bad idea to call, I switched the subject, making idle chitchat that meant absolutely nothing. She knew it and I knew it. I wasn’t sure when it happened that my mom and I no longer had anything in common, mainly because it’d happened so gradually that I’d not been aware until the day I turned around and realized I was talking with a stranger.

Mama didn’t know me at all.

“Tell Daddy I love him,” I whispered after ten minutes of pointless conversation.

“I will, Jams. Good night, baby girl.”

“Night, Mama.”

I’m not sure if she even heard that last part; the connection was already dead. Staring at my phone sightlessly, I had an epiphany.

There was nothing saying that I had to stay in Austin right now. I was a book editor; there were book conferences galore I could go to help promote my business better. I needed to get out for a while. Just long enough to get Humpty Dumpty’s pieces back together again.

***

Two weeks later I was in New York City and sitting all by my lonesome at a booth with a big sign in front of it that read: “EDITOR for hire.”

Probably not the classiest way to pimp out my services, but it was getting the job done. I’d seen many happy faces pass by, some took my card, others left me a partial manuscript to give them a sample of my editing style, and even a few asked if I was hiring.

I crossed my legs. The silky black pantsuit I’d bought precisely for this event was now a wrinkled mess. My back was aching and after a full day of mingling at the East Coast Romance Lovers conference, I was exhausted. My smiles weren’t coming as readily anymore, either.

Not even when the sexy male models dressed in chaps and tight leathers would saunter past stopping for photo ops from rabid fan girls. The crowd was strong and the interest was there, but my brain felt so foggy and muddled that I cut my time slot short by an hour. I packed up my pens and business cards in no time. I carted my ridiculous sign with me to the elevator and the moment the doors pinged open, I slumped against the brass handlebar and cringed as another wave of nausea hit me. I’d not eaten anything today. I’d been too excited and amped up by my unexpected success.

The buzz and excitement had gotten to me. But it was past eleven at night, I hadn’t felt this sick in forever.

Just then a bout of nausea so powerful overcame me that I doubled over, grabbing hold of my stomach and my mouth before I upchucked all over the pretty burgundy carpet, counting slowly to ten in my head until the violent wave passed.

The moment the elevator doors swished open I raced for my room.

Inserting my key into the lock, I threw the door open and flung my purse to the ground, kicked off my shoes, and ran for the bathroom like the hounds of hell were nipping at my feet. Grabbing the toilet bowl with a death grip. But even though I gagged and teared up, nothing came.

Not a surprise: there was nothing in my stomach.

I wasn’t really sure this was even from not eating, though. For the past few days I’d not been feeling good. Chalking it up to too much stress, I’d ignored it. But maybe this was more than stress.

Flushing the toilet, I grabbed a glass tumbler and filled it with some water. Taking small, steady sips until the nasty feeling passed. Grabbing hold of my stomach, I plopped onto the corner of the bed and picked up my cell. Calling Zoe.

She answered on the first ring. “Hey, J. How was the convention? Any hot guys?”

I groaned, not really up for small talk. “I feel like crap,” I moaned. Setting the cup down, I laid back and flung my arm over my eyes.

“Still?”

She’d noticed the night before last that I’d not been feeling good, and, in her words, I’d looked “like death warmed over.”

“Yeah. My stomach is always rolling. I didn’t eat today, so that’s probably all this is, but I’m just so damn tired.” I sighed. “I did get lots of maybe clients, though, so that’s one good thing.”

“Umm…sweetie pie, just a quick question.”

Rolling over into the fetal position, I crammed a pillow against my stomach and felt a little better with the pressure against it. My insides were still flip-flopping. Not with nausea now, but with twinges of pain. It wasn’t horrific pain, but I wasn’t enjoying it, either.

“What?” I closed my eyes, wondering if I should just skip part two of the conference and sleep in tomorrow. I’d be flying out the next day and going immediately to the hospital.

Angel was still in a coma, but the doctor’s said there were now definite signs of brain activity. Marianna said that at one point she could have sworn that Angel’s finger twitched against hers. It hadn’t happened again, but we were all positive that was a sign that he was close to pulling through yet another near-fatal catastrophe.

I’d always told Angel he was like a cat with their nine lives, and he was absolutely proving me right. In my heart I knew he was going to wake up again, it was really just a matter of when. Everyone else felt the same. First time around, this had still been a devastating time. But after three rounds, it was just easier to move on with life and know that until he woke up, there was really very little anyone could do, and sitting in his room crying helped nothing. Whatever guardian angel he had deserved a raise and some serious time off.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose.

“When was the last time you had a period?”

“What?” I snapped into a sitting position, mouth grown suddenly dry and pulse pounding. Those were nine words no twenty-three year old ever wanted to hear. “Zoe, stop.” I held up my hand. “Don’t even go there. I only had sex with Tor like three weeks ago and we used a condom. Before him, it’s been a year. Not possible.”

My words said one thing, but the chaotic beating of my heart was saying another. Breathing beginning to turn short and choppy my brain rewound all the problems I’d been experiencing lately. Extreme tiredness, nausea, pain in my stomach area.

I blinked.

“Shit,” I breathed, then gulped, then shook my head. “Oh my God, oh my God, Zoe.”

“No. No. No. Shh. Stop the panicking right now, do you hear me?”

“No! I am panicking, why would you even put that stupid idea in my head if you didn’t want me to panic?” I bunched the floral-patterned hotel comforter in my fist.

“How do your boobs feel?”

“How the hell should I know? Like squishy boobs.” As I said it I squeezed them, sure they were feeling a little more tender than normal, but that wasn’t that uncommon for me at the end of the night.

But then again…

Where just seconds ago I’d felt on the verge of passing out, I was now completely awake and pacing on the soft, slate-colored carpet.

“What am I gonna do? What will Tor think? Oh my god, what will the Romeros think?” I shoved a fist into my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut as hot tears threatened to roll.

“Okay, first of all, get yourself together,” Zoe snapped, “you might not be. Jeez, lady, high strung much?”

I hissed into the line.

She only laughed. “The way to know for sure is to test yourself.”

“Well, even if I am, I’m still too early to tell, right?”

“Actually I think they have some that can tell you kind of early now. Janelle, Alex’s co-worker, just found out she’s pregnant and she’s only like two and a half weeks along. It’s actually why I thought of this in the first place.”

“I hate you so much right now,” I groaned, growing absurdly terrified of the idea of a child.

What in the hell would I do with a kid? By myself? Because I seriously doubted Tor would want anything to do with a baby; he was only twenty-six. We were way too young for something like this.

Grabbing my skull I imagined a world in which I raised a child by myself and couldn’t even picture it as a possibility. I was nowhere near mature enough to raise myself, let alone a baby. With a sinking sense of dread, I moaned.

“Zoe, I’m scared.”

“Before you freak yourself out even more, take a test.”

“What? Now?” I practically shrieked.

“Or when you come back. Just don’t freak out, okay? I’m sorry I even brought it up—you’re probably not.”

In bright, bold clarity, the image of my pinky nail nicking the condom blazed to life making my already fast heartbeat pound out of control. “Condoms tear all the time,” I muttered with lips gone numb.

Zoe’s sigh sounded heavy. “I’m trying to comfort you here, J, you’re pretty much making that impossible by playing devil’s advocate.”

“Why’d you even have to say something? Why couldn’t you have waited until I got back home at least?” I glowered at the ugly painting of a moose tramping through a forest hanging on the wall in front of me.

They didn’t even have moose in New York, I couldn’t understand what the interior designer had been thinking when he or she had picked that hideous thing out.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “I don’t know. ‘Cause I suffer from diarrhea of the mouth. I’m sorry.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I’m never going to be able to sleep tonight. Now I have to go get a test. There’s a drug store in the lobby.” I was already slipping my shoes back on.

“Seriously?”

I tossed my hand up. “Zoe, what do you think? I’m not going to freak out about this all weekend long.”

“But you might not be ready yet for an accurate test.”

Grabbing my room key and a couple bucks out of my purse I headed for the lobby. “Then you shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m going to be freaking out about this if I don’t get it over with.”

She sighed. “Call me when you get the results at least.”

“I will. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, I slammed my palm onto the lobby elevator button, praying to God my crazy friend was wrong.

Fifteen minutes later I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet, and staring at a pee stick that had a very faint but definite pink line.

Chapter Seven

Tor

“Tor, we need to talk,” Zoe said to me the second she came into the shop that morning.

I was in between clients, but I had another due in five minutes.

“In private. Outside.” She glared at Candy, who was being entirely too obvious that she was eavesdropping.

Glancing up at the art deco wall clock, I pointed at it. “You’ve got until twelve thirty and then I’ve got a client.”

“This isn’t going to take me more than two minutes.”

She wasn’t wearing her customary eyeliner this morning. In fact, her face looked puffy, like maybe she’d been crying. Which made me curious and suspicious. “What’s going on?”

“Just…” She sighed and pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “Outside.”

Popping a stick of sugar-free gum into my mouth, I followed her out. The second we were in the alley, I shrugged. “What’s the problem?”

Licking her lips, she stared at a spot over my shoulder with unblinking eyes. Now that I had a chance to stop and notice, more than just the no-makeup, she was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, very different from her typical hipster vibe she usually had going on. Something was definitely wrong with Zoe.

“You’re worrying me.” I looked at her until she noticed me again.

Blinking, looking at me with a startled expression, she sighed and then leaned against the wall with her foot braced against it. “Smells like piss out here,” she finally murmured. “Damn tomcat’s back.”

Yeah, that was nothing new. Ryko was aware of the cat problem back here; the brackish water lined around crates and the dumpster wasn’t water at all. There were a lot of rodent droppings, which was probably the reason why the cats had come to begin with. It was a problem we were working on a solution for and I doubted very much this was the reason she’d brought me out back.

Crossing her arms, she tapped a long red nail against her trim bicep.

“I think you should call Jamie,” she finally said as she glanced at me from the corner of her eye.

Just the sound of her name made my body crawl with tendrils of heat. I’d not spoken to Jamie for several weeks now. Not since the night of the picnic dinner, and though it’d been difficult at first to stay away, I was glad I had. The absence of her made it easier to move on. She’d also not found any reasons to come around the shop, which was something she’d regularly done for years, and I’d taken it to imply that she knew as well as I that it was easier that way.

“What happened to Angel?” It was my first thought. I wasn’t sure what kind of comfort I could be to Jamie at this point.

“No.” She shook her head quickly, shoving the straight bangs out of her eyes. “It seems like he’s going to be pulling out of this. He woke up on Sunday. He’s weak, but he recognizes everyone and still seems to have all his faculties. That’s one lucky bastard, I swear.”

My lips thinned. Was she still trying to pair us off? Not that it was really any of her business, but Zoe was my friend and Jamie’s—maybe Jamie hadn’t spoken to her yet. Shoving my fingers through my hair, I grimaced; sharing wasn’t the easiest thing in the world for me.

“Look, I don’t know what Jamie has or hasn’t told you, but considering all the history with Angel, we felt it best to stop and remain friends only.”

She rolled her eyes, nibbling on the edge of her thumbnail. Something about that obviously nervous action bothered me. Zoe wasn’t acting like herself at all. A sense of uneasiness began to worm its way through me.

“Is Jamie okay?” I’d never even stopped to consider that as a possibility, the thought of it felt like a sucker punch to my gut.

Her silence spoke volumes. I jerked off the wall, going immediately tense.

“What’s wrong with her?” I barked.

“Ugh, God,” she moaned. “She’d be so freaking pissed at me for telling you. That girl always puts me in bad positions. Look, you guys seriously need to talk. Jamie is pissing me off here, we found out something almost a week ago and she’s refusing to do anything about it. I can’t convince her to do shit, and she’s angry at me.” She huffed the last as if offended at Jamie for it. “But I’d hoped that maybe you could talk some sense into her. I’m worried about her.”

I was so confused, but also twisted up inside. “Is she okay? That’s all I need to know right now. Is she okay? Do I have to rush her to the hospital?”

“She’s not dying, okay? That’s the extent of what I can tell you. It’s not my place to say too much more. But you need to go to her.” Her honey eyes pleaded with me.

Something about this entire situation wasn’t sitting right with me. I’d not heard from Jamie in weeks, and now Zoe was coming to me begging me to go over there. Why? “Zoe, what do you expect me to do? She doesn’t want to talk to me—if she did she’d have called. Come here. I really think I should respect her privacy. Whatever this is, she’ll figure it out, I’m sure, but the last thing she needs is me—”

She latched on to my wrist with a surprisingly strong grip. “You’re wrong, and so is she. What she needs is you. This involves you as much as her.”

My brows dipped because I couldn’t see how that was possible and then… I sucked in a sharp breath, every cell in my body suddenly alert and on edge. Was she implying? That I…that we…?

“Shit,” I ground out. “Is she pregnant?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, released my hand, and wilted against the wall. “I think so. She is going to hate me forever—dammit, this didn’t go the way I’d planned at all.”

Clapping a hand to her shoulder until she looked at me, I shook my head. “It’s okay, Zoe. Look, I’m glad you told me. I’ve got a client.”

I felt hollow as I walked back inside the shop. Staring at the walls full of flash like I did every time I came in for the past eight years. My blood was cold, my hands shaking.

Pregnant.

That one word was like a blast of cannon in my head. I was only twenty-six years old, she twenty-three. What the hell were we supposed to do with a child? Did I even want to be a dad? The thought had never even crossed my mind. I mean, I’d thought about kids, but in an abstract sense. Something that would happen down the road when I was more settled and preferably in a healthy relationship, not as the result of a one-night stand.

There was no way in hell I was going over to her apartment right now. I was too muddled. I had to have time to think this through, to get this information processed before I could handle seeing her.

“What was that all about?” Candy’s soft accent pricked through my shock.

Blinking, I looked up at her. Dressed in a shiny black micro-mini skirt and a flowing black top with boots that laced up to her knees and heels that were a good three inches long, she looked every bit like Elvira’s stepsister. Except where Elvira had the onyx hair, hers was a bright magenta that flowed in soft waves down her ivory arms.

She was filing her long pink nails and giving me a sharp eyed look like she knew or already suspected what Zoe and I had been talking about.

Just then Zoe came back in and without looking at either one of us walked toward Ryko’s closed office door. She was really off her game today if she didn’t even bother to give Candy one of her infamous proverbial bitch slaps before walking past.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

I was spared from having to come up with any more lame-ass excuses when the bell above the shop door rang. Springing to my feet, I rushed up to meet my appointment. A tall, dark-haired woman with piercings in her left brow, nose, and tongue smiled at me.

She had nice looking features, a strong jaw for a female, but with soft, lush lips and piercing green eyes. Her hair was a pile of dreds bunched up into a messy bun, and she was dressed in a short blue jean skirt and flower-print top with black Doc Martens on her feet. She reminded me a lot of the girls from the city back home in Norway. That sort of eclectic, cool style that originated from the techno rave scene.

“Hi, I’m Nina.” She smiled at me, revealing a small gap between her front teeth.

I shook her hand, noticing she came up to my chin. Which meant she had to be tall, maybe even taller than Zoe as I was six-foot-six and a half.

“I’m Tor. What were you looking to get done today, Nina?”

Turning on her heel, she slipped the top off her left shoulder, revealing a small, crudely drawn black and white butterfly. “This thing looks awful. I wanted a cover-up with maybe a Wonderland on acid kind of theme?”

I studied the lines of her back; apart from the small butterfly her skin was a blank canvas. “I think I can do that, but you’re asking for a big piece.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She shrugged, giving me a flirty smile. “I’ve got nowhere else to be today.”

Any other day and I might have taken my lead from her cue. “Give me about twenty minutes to draw something up, just take a seat over there.” I pointed to the large hand-shaped chairs behind her.

Without giving her a chance to say anything else I walked to the backroom and drafted up a sketch. I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was going to do about Jamie, but for now I would draw, lose myself in the hum of the needle and the scent of ink. What I needed was to not think for a couple hours, and then maybe…just maybe I could tackle things.

It’d taken me six hours with Nina—the piece had been bigger than I’d first imagined—but she’d been a good client. Chatting and talking about whatever came into her head. She was in graphics school and in her final year. She liked the color pink, and listened almost exclusively to 70s rock.

In six hours I felt like I’d come to know her better than I knew Jamie. Which was really sad and only emphasized the madness of our situation. I was cleaning my station, putting my inkwells away and ready to call it a day when Ryko came by.

“Hey man, shit, what a rough fucking day. I need a drink—you done for the night?”

I nodded, stood, and stretched. “Yeah.”

“You got the Fok thing tonight?” He grinned.

I snorted. Ryko always did like to give me shit about the band name. Even though I’d told him a million times it meant “fog” in the Old Norse tongue.

“Nah.” I shoved my wallet into my back pocket. “Tomorrow night.”

His dark eyes gleamed. “Got anything to do?”

It felt like I did, but I couldn’t stop thinking that if Jamie really did want me there she’d have called me. What if that baby wasn’t even mine?

I sighed. “Not really.”

“Candy,” Ryko yelled at her, “you and Z hold down the fort for about two hours, I’m getting some chow.”

Zoe rolled her eyes before turning back to her client. She was doing a Betty Boop and it looked pretty good. In another year or two she’d have the chops to start her own shop if she wanted to. Though I hoped she wouldn’t leave us.

Candy shot up from her chair, glaring at Ryko. “You promised we’d go out tonight, Ry-ry.”

Waving her off, he turned back to me and jerked his head toward the door. “C’mon. Cactus Jack’s doing a late happy hour.”

Jack’s was just down the road. Second we were out the door, Ryko shoved his hands down in his jeans pockets and growled. “I swear that bitch is only with me for my dick and what I can buy her.”

“She’s loyal.” I chuckled, letting the sights and sounds of downtown Austin wash through me. The chaotic and frenzied pace of this Texas city was what’d drawn me here. My love for old John Wayne movies as a boy, thinking I wanted to grow up and be a cowboy on the rugged plains. Of course, the second I got to the States and realized that it didn’t look a damn thing like the movies of my youth, I figured out quick enough there was still a lot to love here.

For better or worse, this was my home now.

He snorted.

We didn’t say anything else until we were seated at the bar ordering our beers. Jamie only lived four blocks from here. I squelched the thought immediately.

Cactus Jack’s wasn’t as busy as on the weekends, but there was laughter and a live blues band playing, the smell of hot wings in the air, and waitresses dressed in short shorts and tops. Ryko was drilling a hole in the bartender’s ass. She was just his type. Tall, slim, and athletic. With dark brown hair and a ready smile.

Bending over, she grabbed our beers, then brought them back. His gaze never wavered from her. There was a magnetic pull about Ryko, something that always seemed to draw the women to him.

I wasn’t really sure what it was—the man made no bones about the fact that he only wanted them for sex. Nine times out of ten they were more than willing to play along. Sex was fun, of course, and I’d gone through a phase in my early twenties right after getting here. I’d been with plenty of women I had no intention of being with long term, but I’d been very careful to only pick out those who felt as I had. That had been a very dark period of my life, but once the pain had begun to dull, I’d outgrown the casual flings.

Until of course the other night with Jamie. But I’d never intended for that to be casual either.

And somehow my thoughts circled right back around to her. As it always seemed to do.

“Whatcha doin’ tonight?” Ryko asked her, glancing down at the bartender’s nametag with a lascivious smirk on his lips as she shoved our Coronas at us.

“Mandy,” she offered, and cocked her head. “Nothing. I’m off in about ten minutes, actually.”

Pursing his lips, he chugged on his brew and smirked. “Come get me when you are.”

With a trilling laugh, she sauntered off to the other end of the counter to wait on new customers who’d just sat down.

“Can’t believe that shit works for you,” I drawled, taking a swig of my beer. I’d asked her to squeeze a lime into it, and it tasted like she’d squeezed two. It was good, but had a kick to it.

He laughed, but didn’t say anything else about Mandy. “How’re things going, man?”

The band began the opening strains to “House of the Rising Sun.” I drummed my fingers on the polished chrome bar top. “Fok’s got a gig at the Austin amphitheater in a few months, we’re opening for some big band, no idea who yet.”

“Sweet.” He nodded. “Y’all are getting big time, man.”

“Yeah.” I snorted, taking a sip. “But I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I can sense Zander trying to shift the sound of the group. I’m not sure I like it.”

“Then change it back. That’s your band.” He lifted his brows and then tipped his beer at me before taking a huge swallow.

I shrugged. “I dunno.” I flicked at the neck. “I’m not having as much fun anymore. Feels like some want to go one direction, others a different way. I’m not sure what’s going on with us right now.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Ryko gazed back at the bartender, who was smirking back at him.

Not wanting to be part of the mental foreplay going on between those two, I averted my gaze. Was I being a dick by not rushing over to Jamie’s? I kind of sensed I might be, but everything inside of me was so damn confused.

If she was pregnant and that was my baby, then why hadn’t she called me? But if it wasn’t my baby, then the last thing in the world I wanted was to go over there and be told that to my face.

It made me hot and sick to my gut to think about anyone else with her. Touching her like I’d touched her, worshipping and stroking her velvety softness. I fisted the bottle in my hand until my knuckles turned white.

“Want some wings?” Mandy’s sudden voice sliced through my thoughts, causing me to glance up just as she slid us a tray of fire-roasted chicken wings slathered in BBQ sauce.

“What?” I cleared my throat, releasing my grip on the bottle just a little.

“Wings,” she said again, sliding them closer to me but eyeing Ryko with a hungry smile.

As if speaking telepathically, Ryko got up from his seat, clapped my shoulder hard, and then jerked his chin at her. Mandy untied her waist apron, slid it underneath the counter and crooked her finger behind the bar.

Apparently “wings” was code for sex.

I could leave. Probably should. Who knew how long Ryko was gonna take—knowing him he’d have her shoved against the office wall banging the life out of her in two minutes or less. Not like either of us was really in the mood to make idle chitchat anyway, but I knew if I left here I’d have to confront this situation head-on.

For now, this was my oasis. I dug into the wings. They were okay, not my favorite food. Not like that pasta that Jamie had made the other night. Normally I liked to eat really clean, and carbs weren’t something I indulged in frequently. But hers had been good enough to make me forgo my rules for a night.

I snorted, washing down the grilled meat with another swig of now-tepid beer. I wasn’t really sure how long I’d been sitting there before it dawned on me that I’d finished all six wings and the new bartender was coming over.

“Done with that?” She smiled. Her eyes were a funky shade of violet, clearly contacts, and her hair was dyed a powder-blue.

She was thinner than Mandy, who was nicely curved. Not as pretty, either. But her features stood out more. Her nose was round and the bridge of it was covered in a striking array of freckles.

“Yes.” I shoved the plate away.

Taking it, she lifted her brow. “Don’t like the music?”

“No, I like it. I’m a musician, too; they’re good. What’s their name?”

“Infinite Monkies.” She widened her eyes for dramatic effect and then laughed, a husky sound, like she was a longtime smoker. But her smooth skin made me think her much younger than me. Twenty-one, maybe twenty-two, tops.

I shook my head. “Nice.”

“What’s your band’s name?” She wiped the countertop down in front of me.

Leaning back on my seat, I shrugged. “Fok.”

“Oh, that’s naughty.” She laughed again.

“Yeah.” I picked at the label on the bottle with my thumbnail, not really in the mood to correct her.

I began to understand that I wasn’t going to be finding the answers I needed here, ready to just pay and go. I reached for my wallet when Ryko walked in from the back room with a glaze-eyed and giggling Mandy behind him.

“Ugh, she does that every time,” the blue-haired bartender said with a definite drip of disgust in her tone before turning and walking toward them.

Mandy had her arms around Ryko’s neck and was nuzzling it. For his part Ryko looked completely put off and was cringing as he disentangled her arms. Some quick words were passed between them before he was patting her on the shoulder and coming back to me.

“Pay and let’s get the fuck out of here,” he whispered, whipping out a ten and tossing it down.

He didn’t need to tell me twice. I was curious just what had gone down back there, but I wasn’t going to ask. I paid and we left.

The second we were back on the sidewalk, he looked at me and with a really serious expression said, “I want Zoe back, dude. I’m so fucking miserable.”

Then shoving his hands down his pockets, he glowered at the street ahead. Every once in a while Ryko would break man law and speak his mind, always with the understanding that I not say anything back to him about it. We all knew that ship had sailed, Zoe was long gone and he was stuck with Candy. Cheating on her as he almost constantly did wasn’t any of my business, but it was also not a practice I could ever get behind.

“What would you do if you found out you may have gotten a girl pregnant?” I asked him, not looking at him, but at a rainbow-hued Beetle driving past with bumper stickers on it saying things like: “Peace. Unity. And Crabs.”

He laughed, and the sound was ugly and grating. “Shit, dude, that’s why I wrap it up twice. I can’t be a dad. My life is too fucked up for that.”

We were heading back to the shop when we stopped at the crosswalk and the decision I’d been grappling with all night suddenly came into clarity.

“I gotta go.”

He frowned. “Where?”

I licked my front teeth. “Just got some stuff to do. See you at work tomorrow.”

“Yeah okay then. Later.” Throwing me the peace sign, he walked away.

I didn’t have a clue what I was going to say to Jamie, but if I was a part of this, then I was going to man the hell up and do what I needed to do. I was now only two blocks away from her apartment when I saw a small mom and pop bookshop.

Walking in, I noticed that the musty smell of old books and pets was everywhere. The cramped space was lined with wall-to-wall shelves full of yellowed, weathered books. An old lady wrapped in a colorfully crocheted lime green shawl smiled up at me, shoving her wire-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Can I help you?”

Mouth dry and nervous as hell, I looked around. Spotting the gray tail of a cat disappearing behind a large stack of glossy, leather-bound atlases. “Yes, I am looking for something about pregnancy.”

Her smile grew wide. “Congratulations.”

Shocked by that, I stared at her, dumbfounded.

“Ah, you must have just found out, yes?” She winked. “Well, no worries. I have the mother of all books for you.” Moving nimbly out from behind the narrow counter, she sauntered past me, flicking her fingers in a way that meant I should follow.

She was surprisingly spry for looking as old as she did. Her long gray braid fell well past the base of her spine.

Taking me on a winding path that eventually led to a self-help section before stopping. Tsking softly under her breath, she tapped her gnarled finger to her chin as her gaze drifted from shelf to shelf before finally smiling and beaming. “Ah ha, there you are, you pesky little devil. One copy left.”

Reaching up, she yanked it down and then pressed it to my chest.

It was a thick book, and flipping it over I saw that there was a picture of an obviously pregnant woman sitting in a rocking chair. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting?” I touched the title.

“Best book there is. Covers everything from first trimester on through birth and even a little bit after it too. Lots of good stuff in there.”

“How much?” I turned it over.

She wrinkled her nose. “You know, I would charge three bucks for that usually, but I’m feeling in a good mood today. Nothing.”

“I can’t just take this.” Her kindness was very much appreciated, but I didn’t feel right taking something from her, especially considering I saw no other patrons in the shop.

“Fine, you want to pay, then put those three dollars into the jar on the counter. I’m raising donations for inner city youth programs. That I will take.”

Smiling, I nodded at her and then turned and walked back to the front of the store. I stuffed a five in the jar before heading the final few blocks to Jamie’s apartment.

But my steely resolve to get to the bottom of things between us wavered the moment I was confronted by her apartment number. What the hell was I thinking dropping by unannounced? What if she wasn’t home?

Or maybe she was home and had a friend over?

Maybe another man?

“Drittsekk,” I swore for never even considering those possibilities. The book in my hand suddenly felt about ten pounds heavier.

I was halfway back down the hall when I stopped, knowing that running away wasn’t the answer either. Tipping my chin up, I counted slowly to ten, as my mother had always taught me to do when I was a child and confronted by something uncomfortable.

Marching back to her apartment with purposeful strides, I knocked hard twice.

“Coming.” Her voice sounded small and muffled through the door a second later.

There was the fumbling sound of a lock moving and then her big blue eyes were peeking out at me. It took me less than three seconds to do a quick onceover. Her skin was pale, there were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked exhausted.

Suffering an urge to wrap my arms around her, I gripped the book tighter.

“Tor?” Her voice sounded scratchy. “What’s going on?” She glanced over my shoulder.

There were voices in the background, laughter, and claps. She’d been watching TV.

I scratched my jaw. “Do you have company?”

“No.” She frowned, gripping the frame. “What’s going on here?”

Stomach a knotted mass of nerves, I inclined my head. “Can we talk inside?”

“Have you been drinking?” She sniffed.

“I had a beer.” I grabbed the edge of the door, afraid she might try to close it on me. “Can we…can we talk inside? Please?”

As she nibbled on the corner of her lip, I could practically hear her thoughts and knew the second she’d decided to let me in. Sighing, she nodded. “Okay. But I’m really tired, and I’ve got a trip tomorrow, so this really can’t take long.”

“Fine.”

She pulled the door completely open and stepped aside. The television I’d heard was actually a show playing on her iPad. Walking over to the couch, she shut the tablet off and then plopped down on the seat farthest from me. Crossing her legs in front of her, she patted the space beside her.

Sitting, I wiped my palms on my jeans, at a complete loss as to how to begin this conversation. Opting to go with something neutral, I asked, “How’s Angel?”

Her smile was small. “He’s good. Not really talking much to anybody, but his vitals are improving every day, though he’s really weak. Doctors think he’ll be able to start physical therapy soon.” She shrugged.

“That’s good. That’s good.” I scratched my head. “And um…how are you?”

Cocking her head, she reminded me of a baby chick. “Fine?”

There was a note of suspicion in her voice.

Realizing it was now or never, I spread my hands wide. “Zoe came to me today and—”

“Oh no.” She groaned, squeezed her eyes shut and pinched her brow. “Please tell me she did not tell you what I think she did.”

She looked so defeated and small and I knew immediately by her reaction that the child was in fact mine.

“So it’s true then?”

Dropping her head into her hands, she shook her head. Not speaking for several heartbeats. My palms grew slick as I tapped my fingers on the book in my lap.

The instinct to hold her grew stronger. But not knowing whether she’d accept that or not, I traced her salmon colored shirtsleeve instead. “It’s okay, Jamie. I’m not going to run away. But I have to know.”

Her fingers spread open and she gave me an overly long look, almost of disbelief. “Really? You’re okay with this, because I’m pretty sure I’m not. I’m barely beginning to process this as a new reality.”

Unable to resist any longer, I sidled closer to her and tugged her gently into the crook of my arms. At first she was stiff, but after a few seconds she relaxed into me.

“I hear of false positives all the time,” she whispered.

To me she sounded like a woman hanging on by a thread of hope. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of having a child myself, but I didn’t like hearing it coming from her either.

“How long have you known about this?”

“A week, which would put me close to a month pregnant at this point if I am. Which lines up perfectly to our…night.” Her voice warbled and the only thing I knew to do was pat her on the back.

“We’re too young for this, Tor, and I would never expect anything from you, okay? It’s why I didn’t tell you, because I’m not really sure yet.”

“Jamie,” I growled, a tiny bit exasperated that she’d keep something like this to herself and forced her to look at me. I know things haven’t exactly been easy between us. But if this is my baby.” I narrowed my eyes. “It is my baby, right?”

She sniffed, wiping at the corner of her right eye. “Yes. It could only be yours. I haven’t been with anyone else since or even…” She sighed. “Well, a while before that.”

A powerful caveman feeling of mine washed through me. I wasn’t ready for a child. To say I was would be a lie. But now there was a legitimate and powerful reason for the two of us to work whatever this was between us out. We had nine months to figure things out and to hopefully come to terms with the reality that our lives were about to be forever changed. And that I liked.

I probably didn’t have the right just yet to claim her lips, but it didn’t stop me from doing it anyway. She looked so fresh-faced, young, and heart-achingly fragile—like a delicate butterfly—I rubbed her jaw with my thumb and then stole a kiss.

Her taste of berries and cider filled my mouth as she slipped her tongue along mine. It always amazed me that even though we were rarely together, the moments we were, it all felt so natural and easy.

Small fingers clutched at my shirt and she whimpered into the kiss, showing the same type of passionate intensity she had our one night together.

I wanted to strip her down, worship not only her body but her soul. Kiss her belly, and whisper a hello to my child, but I sensed that Jamie needed me to be slow and gentle. What we had was so new if I didn’t handle it with care I could ruin it completely.

With great reluctance I pulled away. Her blue eyes were dazed but smiling when I did.

“Have you had a doctor’s appointment?”

“No.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’ve been dealing with Angel during the days and editing manuscripts at night. Honestly, I’ve been putting this aside, hoping that maybe that test I took in New York would be proven wrong. But”—she swallowed—“I don’t feel right. Something is definitely up with my body.”

“Have you had a monthly?”

She shook her head reluctantly.

I rubbed her palm, savoring the texture of her petal-soft skin. “You said you’re leaving tomorrow?”

Jamie always smelled so good, like the flowers she loved. I curled a strand of her hair around my finger. She tipped her head in my direction. I wasn’t used to her being so receptive to my touch; it was nice. Though different. I sensed that the reason she was allowing me to touch her was because of her fear and worries, that she needed someone here and I was present.

Or maybe she understood as I did that if we could make this work, or at least give it an honest shot, it would be the best situation for us both. Not to mention the child.

“Yeah, but not far this time. I’m going to Dallas for another book convention that I unfortunately scheduled a while ago and I probably shouldn’t go, but if I am pregnant I really want to start making more money than I am.”

I wanted to assure her that she didn’t need to feel the pressure of being the sole provider now that I was here, but I wasn’t sure she’d easily accept my horning in on her life this way just yet either.

“I’m trying to drum up more interest in my business. I figured I should probably make more of an effort to make this editor thing succeed, all things considered.” She rubbed her stomach.

“You’re an editor?” I grinned. In all the years I’d known Jamie, I’d had no clue she had a passion for the written word. A fierce longing to know everything there was about her, what made her tick, happy, sad, came over me.

“Yeah.” She patted my chest. “I used to think I wanted to be an agent when I was going through college, but now thanks to the advent and popularity of self-publishing I realized I could just cut the middle man out of the equation and go straight to the writers. My dream is to someday man a world-renowned editorial service known for quality work while keeping prices competitive, with myself being in charge and having a host of other editors working for me. It’s an untapped market, but one I think the industry is hungry for.”

Her mood instantly lifted as she talked of her work; it brought a sparkle to her eye and a smile to her lips. It was like someone turning on the lights inside of her. I’d always found Jamie beautiful, but now I was witnessing her inner beauty and it left me awed.

“That’s how I feel about my art. That joy you’re sharing now, that’s what it does for me.”

She blushed and I traced the pink in her cheek with my finger. She shivered beneath my touch.

“I do love my job, I’m grateful I can work for myself, be my own boss. It helps, especially during times like these when I don’t feel so good.”

Thinning my lips, I nodded. “You need to take it easy and make an appointment. I wish you weren’t going to Dallas tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Zoe thinks I’m being stupid too, which is probably why she went and tattled on me to you.” She peeked at me from the corner of her eye. “But I’ll only be there for the weekend, then I’ll fly back.”

“I could drive you.”

“No.”

She shook her head. “You’ve got the shop, and I know how tight the schedule’s been for you guys lately. Zoe’s always complaining how you need at least two more artists.”

That was the truth, but not one that would stop me either.

“I still think—”

Placing a finger over my lips, she smiled. “No. I appreciate it, but I wouldn’t ask that. I’ll be fine. I’ll fly there and fly back. Women get pregnant every day—it’s not a life threatening condition. So you both just need to relax. Hopefully I’ll make a few more contacts, interview some potential editors, and then I’ll make that appointment. I promise. Besides, I may not be pregnant and this could all be a moot point.”

She was a grown woman, possibly even the mother of my child; I wasn’t going to make demands on her, though everything inside of me balked at her going so far away, even if it was only to Dallas.

“Take care of yourself, and call me every night. Deal?” I lifted a brow.

“Deal.”

“And take this.” I handed her the book.

She finally looked down at it and then grabbed her stomach, cringing. “You meant business when you came over here, Tor.”

I chuckled. “Damn straight I did. And next time, no secrets, Jamie.”

Her lips twisted. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” I pulled her into me and kissed the top of her head. “Me too.”

Chapter Eight

Jamie

Lying in my bed the next night, exhaustion crept over me like thousands of insect feelers. I closed my eyes and debated whom to call first.

All day I’d been at the conference, smiling, handing out my business cards to prospective client after client, interviewing a few potentials to add to my editorial line up crew, but in the back of my mind one thought kept hammering away at me.

I wanted to talk to Tor.

Last night it’d been all I could do to let him leave my apartment. I hadn’t wanted him there at all in the beginning, but thanks to Zoe always being such a freaking busybody he’d been there and the second he was I realized not only was it not so bad, but that for the past week I’d been a mess of fears and worries until he’d held me.

Until he’d whispered that he’d be there.

More and more my gut was telling me the impossible was happening, and though I was still terrified, I no longer felt so alone in this, either.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I picked up my cell and called Ms. Romero. The hospital was supposed to be discharging Angel tomorrow. He was finally stable enough to go home, which was definitely a good thing.

“Hola?” She gave her automatic response. “Jamie, is that you?” she asked, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah.” I plopped the pillows behind my back. My sides were aching today, had been for the past few hours.

My fingers froze at the sudden realization that eventually she was going to discover the truth of Tor and me. Squeezing my eyes shut, I plastered on a fake smile, hoping that maybe it would help my nerves not to sound through the line.

“Is Angel asleep? I know you guys pack up tomorrow, so I’d like to just say goodnight to him if he’s there.”

“Oh, Marianna didn’t tell you?”

My brows shot up. “Tell me what?”

“They released us early this afternoon. He’s home now, lying in bed. Grumpy as ever, but you know.” She laughed. “At least he’s home.”

My heart ached from the yearning evident in her words. The unspoken words that he was home and safe and she’d try her damndest to make sure he stayed that way this time. I wished it was true, wished I could believe it, but I no longer did.

“Can I talk with him?” This time there was no hiding the glumness from my tone.

“Mija, are you okay?”

My throat squeezed as tears clogged it up. I was far from all right, but none of this was her burden to bear. “I’m just tired is all.”

There was a long pause. “Okay, well, here he is.”

I toed the large stack of manuscript samples I’d printed out today. It wasn’t good for the trees, but it was the best way for me to make solid edits. Maybe out of this pile of twenty potential clients I could impress at least half and make them long-term patrons.

“Hey.” Angel’s sleep-roughened voice snapped me from my daze. “Why aren’t you here?”

I frowned. “Angel, you know I’m trying to build my business, I told you last week I’d be gone. But I come back Sunday night.”

“Well excuse me for being in a fucking coma and not remembering shit,” he snarled.

Lips thinning, I was ready to snap at him. Ready to remind him that that coma was his own damn fault, that he’d freaking answered me back with an okay when I told him where I’d be, and that the mere fact that he expected me to always be at his beck and call made me want to run even further away.

I took several deep breaths through my nose, body shaking from the jolt of adrenaline his words had caused.

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what’s wrong with me—my head hurts like a mother. But it’s not your fault. Do you forgive me?”

I banged my head against the headboard. “Yes,” I gritted out, hating myself the instant I said it.

It was always like this between us. Him snapping, saying or doing something hurtful, me just blithely accepting it and moving on for the sake of his recovery. I growled.

“No. No, actually I’m not okay. I’m so sick and tired of being your GD doormat.” I pounded the comforter, shifting the papers I’d taken such care to arrange in proper order. “I’m glad you’re okay, but you don’t get to fucking talk like that to me, ever.”

There was such a long pause that I was sure he’d dropped the phone. Angel had developed a type of bipolar disorder from his first head trauma. Super highs coupled with bouts of super lows. It was why I tiptoed around him as I did, why I constantly walked on eggshells, because I never wanted to bring on one of his moods. But the past few years it was getting harder and harder for me to curb my tongue.

“Jamie,” his voice sounded so small, “I love you. I’m sorry I’m so hard to handle. I’m so sorry. I try, Jamie—” His words shuddered.

And I knew he was crying, doing the silent sobbing that’d always broken my heart and made me take him back. My jaw trembled, the tears already too close to the surface inside of me because of my own damn problems came crashing down. I didn’t know what to say.

He sniffed and blew his nose before whispering, “My head is killing me. Doctors won’t give me the hard stuff because of my addictions,” he sighed. “I miss you so bad. I need you home with me, Jams.”

He’d been found in a car with another woman, full of coke, and doing God only knew what. What kind of self worth did I have if I took him back? But on the flipside, what kind of person was I if I just walked away when he’d literally crashed and burned and left his already depleted family to pick up the pieces on their own?

As much as the guilt wanted me to tell him that I’d take him back, I had much bigger problems. Problems neither he nor his family could help me out with. For once in my life I needed to be selfish and think of me first.

“I don’t know, Angel. I’ve got so much going on in my life right now, things are…” I said, squeezing my eyes shut, “…complicated.”

I shifted on the bed and a lance of pain ripped through my middle. Grunting, I grabbed hold of my stomach. But as quickly as the pain came it was gone, leaving me shaken and sweaty from shock, but feeling fine.

Was that a normal part of pregnancy? I didn’t remember ever hearing woman talk about stomach pains, though of course most of my friends were a long ways from having children. I had brought that book Tor had given me; I could read it after I got off the phone to see if maybe there was something about it there.

I couldn’t believe how thoughtful he’d been to do it. It made a smile tug at my lips to think of that big guy walking into a bookshop to buy it.

“Hey you,” Angel’s soft voice filtered through my ear.

I jerked back to the present.

“What?”

“I feel like you should be asking me questions, demanding to know who she was.” Angel exhaled wearily.

I don’t know, maybe I should have been. That’s what people did when they cared enough, right? If they loved or hated, they wanted to know. But not even from the moment that Marianna had left me that message had it ever once crossed my mind to go digging deeper. I was just numb about it all.

“Why aren’t you asking, baby?”

I curled my nose. I didn’t want him calling me baby anymore. I almost couldn’t believe how quickly I was ready to let him go, but when I thought about it, this wasn’t really quick at all. Each hurt had caused a tiny fissure that compounded and compounded. Growing bigger and bigger until the fissure had turned into a crack and the crack into a fracture that was now so deep it made it easy to want to walk away.

“Because it doesn’t matter. That’s why.” I sighed. “Look, I promised to call Zoe before bed. I’ve got to go.”

“Okay.” His breaths echoed between us. “Will you come see me when you get back?”

“Yeah.” My heart clenched and I ran my fingers over my belly.

“I’m going to fight for you, Jamie. I know that now. This time, this is it.”

He said those same words too often. There did come a point when words literally meant nothing anymore.

“What makes this time any different than the last one? You’ve done this to me before.”

He growled and I could hear his breathing grow hard. “I was in that car with that girl because you’d left me, because I was broken.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so dramatic. I’d left you a year ago. Yeah, we talked, because I’d still like to consider you my friend, but don’t try to pass that lame ass excuse off on me and make me think that one morning you woke up with the epiphany that I’d left—”

“That’s exactly what happened!” he snarled. “My brain isn’t right, you know that. I can’t handle these demons all the time, but if you think I ever stopped loving you, you’re wrong. I always knew those girls weren’t you.”

“Fuck you, Angel!” I snapped. “So you screw their lights out but deep down you wub me so much that it pains you. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

I was huffing like I’d run a marathon, I was so angry. Every time I let him do this to me. Every single damn time. I was a pathetic person to just keep hanging in there.

He was calm when he spoke next. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. When the darkness comes I don’t want it touching you. So I leave. I run away and find someone who doesn’t matter. Because I hate myself so much. But you are always going to be the one for me and I am going to get myself straight, Jams.”

Once I would have died to hear those words. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Mama told me you were at the hospital every day—people don’t do that unless there is still love there. The boy you knew in high school, he’s still in me, Jamie, and I swear to God I want him back. But I don’t think I can do it without you. I love you.”

I didn’t tell him I loved him, even after he repeated it again. But I did say goodbye, and somewhere inside me the words felt final.

I did dial Zoe next, but she wasn’t home. After leaving a message I hung up, and with a stomach full of butterflies I dialed the one number I’d wanted to call from the beginning. Tor picked up on the second ring.

“Eskelde?” His softly accented voice washed over me, causing my lashes to flutter and my toes to curl.

“What does that word mean?” I had to know, the way he always said it, how it made me feel, I had to know.

The sounds of drums and strings played in the background. I’d obviously caught him during band practice. I smiled, wondering if he was wearing the sexy horned helmet again.

“My beloved one,” he finally answered.

I exhaled slowly. That should scare me so much. “How long, Tor? How long have you felt like this about me?”

On my worst days I was blunt, but being on the phone made it easier to ask questions that I’d been dying to ask since the night we’d had sex.

“Years, Jamie.”

I laughed, feeling aglow inside. Happy and effervescent, not like I had when I’d been on the phone with Angel. Guilt tried to worm in, but I refused to let it.

“So you’ve been pining after me for years, hmm? Interesting.”

His chuckle was like dark chocolate, rich and velvety. “I never said I was pining, woman. Don’t paint a picture of me I could never hope to live up to.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Boo. I don’t like that answer.”

I heard his smile, and it warmed my heart. “I’ve always tried to get you to notice me.”

“Really?” I crossed my legs. “I never even realized.”

“Then you’re not very observant.”

“Jeez, your insults warm the cockles of my heart, seriously.”

He snorted and I giggled. This was fun. I knew we were totally doing this thing all backward—in a perfect world I would have met him, fallen in love, had sex, then had the baby. Not the other way around, but in any direction this thing choose to happen, I was going to follow wherever it led.

I strummed my belly.

“Jamie, if you’d ever even given me half a chance I would have pursued much harder, but—”

I sighed and pulled open the pack of gum on the bedside table. The taste of mint flooded my tongue. “Angel was always in the way,” I finished for him.

“I suppose, yes.”

“I’m sorry for that.” I kicked the sheets down, scooting under them and shutting off the lamp, casting the room into a blanket of darkness. If I closed my eyes I could almost pretend he was here in the room with me.

The edits would have to wait until tomorrow. Rolling onto my side, I breathed a sigh when the pressure helped relieve the constant dull throb in my lower back.

“You couldn’t have known,” he whispered.

Hugging a pillow to my breast, I shook my head. “I wish I had. Is that weird? You feel so real to me, comfortable. We barely know each other.” I snort-laughed.

“Then know me now. Ask me anything.”

I grinned. “I hear the music behind you—are you sure I’m not interrupting?”

“You are. But I don’t care, they’ll just have to go on without me right now because in this moment, you’re far more important.”

My belly tickled, and I bit the edge of my lip so hard I was sure it would bleed. What I was feeling now was full-on crush mode. That warm puppy love phase where things were beautiful and perfect, but life had taught me this wouldn’t last.

There’d be rough, choppy waters ahead. But for now, it felt so good to not be there.

“Tor?”

“Yes?”

“Is this real?”

I wasn’t exactly sure what I was asking him, mainly because that one question enveloped about twenty more. What I wanted to know was that he wasn’t going to bail on me, that it was okay for me to share and let him into my life. That no matter what the outcome was with Angel’s family when they found out what I’d done, that he’d be there for me. For us. I was willing to try again, but only if I knew he was too.

“Eskelde, I’ve only been waiting for the day that you would let me in. This is very real, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t think I’m a very nice person. I’m moody, and Zoe tells me I get really catty when I’m hungry. I don’t believe her, but she’s not the only one to tell me that. I like to read at night in bed. And sometimes I let the laundry pile up. I hate cleaning bathrooms.”

He laughed. “I could give you a list of my flaws, but I’m afraid I’d run you off. Just know I’m not perfect either. Don’t expect it out of me. All I can offer you is my sincere truth, if I’m not happy, I’ll tell you, and I hope you would do the same for me. But I like to play music until I fall asleep, or sometimes I sketch in charcoal and leave dust on the sheets. I don’t mind cooking but it’s not my favorite thing to do. I’ll clean toilets, but I don’t dust. Ever.”

Placing my fist in my mouth so as not to wake up the neighboring rooms with my cackling, I gave a muffled chortle. “That sounds pretty perfect to me.” I nibbled on the corner of my lip. “I saw a thundercloud in the sky this afternoon. It made me think of you.”

He sighed. “I miss you.”

“Me too. It’s crazy, but I really do. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Tor. I’m not very good at depending on others not to disappoint me. The only one who never has is Zo. But I promise, I’m going to try, we don’t really have a choice now, do we?”

“No. We don’t. Have you read the book?”

I patted the thick book on the stand next to me. “I meant to, but I’m so tired. I could hardly keep my eyes open today.”

“Please don’t overdo it, okay? I worry about you, especially when I’m not there to help.”

Wiggling my toes together, I squeezed the pillow harder. Imagining for a second it was him. Wishing like hell that it was.

“You should go to sleep, my heart. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

My heart…

Wow, if I wasn’t already halfway toward being infatuated with him that would definitely have done it. I kept waiting for his ugly to show, kept waiting for prince charming to turn into the warty frog, because I was spiraling so fast and so hard the fall would be terrifying alone.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. I was just disentangling myself from a messy, horrible relationship, walking into a new one was such a stupid idea. But because of the kid, I didn’t feel like I had much of a choice.

I had momentarily thought of an abortion when the stick had shown pregnant. The abortion pill, telling a doctor to just cut it out—it’d all flashed through my head in quick succession. Mainly because the fear had consumed me. But as quickly as it’d come over me, I’d just as quickly discarded it. I didn’t think I could ever actually go through with lying down on a table and letting a doctor cut into me. So I’d also considered adoption, but now with Tor things were changing again.

I wasn’t sure I was ready for any of this, but I was beyond the point of having a lot of options left me.

“I will,” was the only thing I could manage to croak out. “Wait,” I cried before he hung up. “One more question.”

“What?” I heard the smile in his voice.

“The hat. Are you wearing the hat?”

He snorted. “Why, do you like it?”

Nodding, I bit onto my bottom lip. “Maybe. Although I read online that Vikings didn’t wear horned helmets.”

“Mm.” His voice purred over the line, making my stomach dive to my knees. “Someone’s been studying up on me, eh? You do realize that you’ve just admitted to being in love with me?”

I laughed. “You’re crazy. I have not. I was curious.”

“Okay, infatuated at least.”

“Whatever.” I so wasn’t going there.

“To answer your question, I wear it because it seems to make all the girls go crazy.”

That snot. I was not going to even validate that with an answer. “Goodnight,” I singsonged and was on the verge of hanging up when he spoke up.

“And Jamie?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be dreaming of you tonight.”

I shut off the phone with a happy sigh, feeling like Cinderella. But just like in the fairytale, when the clock struck midnight, reality came crashing in hard.

I got up to go to the bathroom, and that’s when I noticed the blood staining the sheets.

***

Tor

I had a rare day off from the shop, and it was a little past ten in the morning on a Sunday afternoon, but with nothing to do, I found myself walking through the doors I couldn’t seem to stay away from long.

Zoe was busy tattooing a slender blond lying on the table. Walking up behind them, I glanced over Zo’s shoulder. She was drawing an image of a swallow sailing over a fantasy-themed nautical scene.

It was actually pretty good—there was a slight distortion of dimension around the swallow’s head, but some skillful shading could cover that up so that it wouldn’t be noticeable.

I was impressed with her progress.

Sitting in Candy’s normal spot was her fiancé, Alex.

“Hey, man.” He dipped his head. “Thought you had the day off?”

Zoe’s buzzing needle finally stopped. “Hey, Viking, you looking for Ryko? Said he’d be back in two shakes of a tail’s feather.” Wiping a little lube onto her gloved finger, she rubbed it over the girl’s blood-red back before dipping her needle back into the black ink.

Grabbing a stool, I waved to Alex and shook my head as I sat beside her. “Not here for Ryko.”

“Oh geez.” She grinned, tucking a piece of hair behind her head. “Don’t tell me you missed my company so bad you had to come and see me. It’s sweet, really, but I’m already taken.”

Alex chuckled. “Damn skippy, woman.”

Snorting, I yanked out my sketchpad. “It is disgustingly lame that I can’t seem to stay away from this place.”

The girl on the table whispered something to Zoe, who pointed at the bathroom door. “Over there.”

The client’s back was a shade of cherry-red that had nothing to do with ink. Her steps were slow and painful as she made her way to the bathroom, holding the front end of her shirt plastered to her chest.

The minute she was out of earshot Alex grinned. “Virgin.”

Zoe shushed him. “Be quiet, you. Need I remind you of the big fat baby tears you cried when I—”

Jogging over to her, Alex bent and gave her a kiss, stealing the words she’d been about to say, and I chuckled at the sight of them.

Zoe sighed, patted his chest with a dazed expression, and then winked at me. “So what’s really up with you, sexy Norseman?”

“Heeey.” Alex gave me a mock glower. “I should hate you, dude, she’s always calling you shit like that.”

She just laughed. “I only do it cause you punish me afterwards.”

Waggling his brows, Alex gave her a gentle shoulder massage. “Anyway, how’s it going, man? Been a minute since I saw you last. Hear you’re getting it on with my woman’s BFF.”

Zoe slapped his thigh. Alex grinned and jumped out of the way when she tried to swat him again.

Flipping open my sketchpad, I shrugged. “Don’t know. I was bored today.” I wasn’t too focused on what I was drawing, just using my chalks and letting my creativity wander. “Actually, I did want to come and talk with you, Zoe.”

“Yeah, about what?” She rested her shoulders on Alex’s stomach when he finally returned back to her side.

Picking up a violet stub of chalk, I began shading here and there. “I’d like to do something for Jamie, but I’m not sure what, or if she’d think it was weird.”

“Uh.” Alex held up his hands. “Yeah, I’m no good at this sharing time thing, I think I’ll go grab me a Coke and fries from the lunch wagon across the street. You want something, she-devil?”

Hissing at him, Zoe pointed her finger. “You’re so gonna pay for that comment, cowboy. Get me a cherry lime slushie. Chop chop.” She clapped her hands.

Snorting, he tossed me the peace sign and walked out.

Her eyes followed him out. There was a dreamy quality to them, and while I didn’t normally give a crap about other people’s relationships, I couldn’t help but want that with Jamie. Want her to look at me like I still hung the moon, even after three years.

“So.” She whirled on me. “You talked to my home girl. Good, I’m glad. Jamie tries so hard to be Wonder Woman but sometimes she needs to slow her roll and be willing to let someone in. I’m gonna tell you something, though, Tor. I set her up with Angel, years ago. In a lot of ways I feel really responsible for the stuff that’s happened between them.”

There was a flush.

Setting my pad aside, I crossed my legs. “I think she’s willing to try with us, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess for the sake of the baby. We’ve agreed to make it work. It’s just…” I sighed.

Brown eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I don’t know.” I planted my palms on the desk behind me. “I worry that I’m moving this too fast. I’ve wanted to be with her for years, and I’m afraid I might scare her off.”

I didn’t usually open up like this with others. But Zoe wasn’t just anybody either. I’ve known her for years, in a lot of ways she was like the sister I never had. My parents were dead, I had an aunt who lived in Lofoten, but that was a fairly remote fishing village in the Arctic Circle and she got terrible reception out there. When I called we were lucky to talk for ten minutes straight before the line went dead.

In a lot of ways Zoe had become my stand-in confidant.

She sighed. “Do you have any idea how romantic that is? Like, seriously. If I hadn’t been completely obsessed with my cowboy and sucked into the black hole that is Ryko, I’d have been all over you. You’re a girl’s dream.”

I laughed. Gathering my hair back, I knotted it at the base of my skull. “I’m still a man with plenty of flaws, trust me. I’m merely good at masking them is all.”

She laughed. “Viking, you might not consider yourself Prince Charming, but trust a girl who’s kissed too many frogs: your breed is exceedingly rare and highly sought after. A girl can deal with a slightly scruffy man who might occasionally drink one too many beers. There are much worse things out there.”

I studied the heel of my boot. My parents had been in their fifties when they’d birthed me. I’d been a product of much love and hope. Hope that someday a miracle would happen, they’d gone to specialist after specialist in the hopes of having me. When they’d quit trying was the day I came. Because of their age and how settled in life they were, they’d raised me far differently than other children.

I was doted on, taught to be kind above all things, to honor and cherish and respect life because of its fragility. That outlook on life, the kindness they’d instilled in me had gotten me far, but it’d also brought its fair share of pain.

“Hey, big boy,” she crooned. “Earth to Tor.”

I blinked, looking up at her soft smile.

The toilet flushed again.

That more than anything snapped me from my thoughts. Snorting, we said at the same time, “Courtesy flush.”

She laughed. “Man, I hope she’s okay. Anyway, you want to know what to do for her, do something with your hands. You’re so freaking skilled, write her a song, make her a painting. I promise she’ll love it.”

“But what if she changes her mind? Angel is still—”

“Stop.” She held up her hand. “Last time I checked she wasn’t having a child with Angel, she was having it with you. And on top of that, if there’s anything you can learn from her history with Angel it’s this: once Jamie makes up her mind about something, she’s like a rabid dog with a bone. I believe in my heart that things with Angel will work itself out. I don’t wish him ill; he’s had a rough life. But I do want him out of her life, at least until he gets his shit together, and for the first time I think Jamie’s actually ready to let go of the dream that she can save him. Just be there for her. If you feel half of what I think you do, show her. Don’t be afraid to fight, Tor. Just show her and let fate work itself out.”

The shop door opened. Alex stood in the entryway holding the drinks and bag of food, looking between us, the empty table, and down the hall at the bathroom. “What the hell is she doing? Taking a dump?”

Chuckling, I got up. Zoe slammed a finger over her lips. “Alex, jeez, some tact would be nice.”

The toilet flushed again. We all tried but failed not to laugh.

Moving to put my sketchpad away, I noticed what I’d drawn. A wild field of blooming heather. An idea came to me then.

“Zoe, her walls are white.”

A question formed on her brows for a split second before a smile crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Yes. Get the supplies, I’ll finish up here, and we’ll meet at her place in about an hour?”

Setting down the stuff, Alex scratched his head. “Am I missing something?”

Making grabby hands for the drink, Zoe rolled her eyes. “Always, sweetie, always.”

***

Six hours later, the mural I’d envisioned in my mind was now a reality on Jamie’s front wall. Zoe was slumped against a snoring Alex on the couch, smiling happily at the field of wild poppies we’d painted.

There were splatters of paint in her hair and smudged on her cheeks, and her coveralls were flecked in it. I’m sure I looked the same, except I’d tied a bandana around my head before starting. We’d laid down a tarp on the wooden floors to make sure we got no paint where it didn’t belong, and since most of her stuff was still in boxes, it’d been easy enough to move things to the side.

Now that we were done I was nervous as hell.

“She’s gonna love it.” Zoe smiled and nodded.

I sat down beside her, drawing my knees up and studying the realistic mural. Even from here the petals had a waxy, glistening red look to them.

“You are so crazy good. Man, I’m jealous,” she squealed, shaking her arm before dropping it to Alex’s thigh and rubbing it slowly.

Personally, I liked it. But I wasn’t sure in hindsight whether I should have done this. “You don’t think I’m overstepping a little? She didn’t invite me into her space while she was gone. Perhaps—”

“Tor.” She rolled her eyes, mock-glowering at me. “If you ask me that question one more time I might just have to stick my cowboy’s boot in your ass. This is so Jamie.”

“She did tell me she hated white walls.” I scratched my bristly jaw.

She winked. “Look, I would never let you do something to her sanctum sanctorium if I hadn’t believed for a minute that she wouldn’t go absolutely nuts for it, okay. Now, it’s past ten. My boy is drooling and it’s not a pretty sight. I need to get him home. Can I trust you to lock this place up and not go digging in her panty drawer like a stalker when I’m gone?”

I glared at her. “Seriously?”

“Sense of humor, Viking—get one.” Patting my cheek, she then kissed Alex’s lips and whispered, “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

“Wha?” He rubbed his mouth, looking around with the dazed expression of someone who’d been roused from a deep slumber. The blond spikes of his hair stood straight up on the back of his head.

Zoe had mentioned that thanks to his master’s program, Alex was getting little to no sleep lately. There was something about watching the two of them together, how completely opposite they were, and yet how they worked on a visceral and vital level, that gave me hope for Jamie and me.

Wrapping Alex’s arm around her neck, Zoe asked him to stand. Blinking several times before finally muttering beneath his breath, Alex got to his feet, and with a final parting wave, they were gone.

My cell phone rang. There was only one person I’d pick up for tonight.

“Elskede” flashed on my screen.

“Jamie,” I said her name swiftly, full of nerves, wondering what she’d think when she saw her place.

“Hey.” She sounded more tired than last night.

Cocking my head, not liking that, I asked, “Are you sleeping well?”

“Not real good. I really regret coming out here.”

I rubbed at my chest, wanting to reach through the phone and bring her back to me.

“Baby, are you okay?” I was ready to jump in the car and go get her; Dallas wasn’t that far.

She sighed. “I just need to come home. I just…”

My throat squeezed. “Which hotel are you at? I’m coming down there.”

“No,” she said quickly, “no. God, I’m being such a baby. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling wimpy and, honestly, a little scared. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming to this thing right now.”

Clenching my molars as everything inside me screamed to go and rescue my damsel in distress, it took everything I possessed to remain seated.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come get you? Because it is not a problem.”

“You are about the sweetest man I’ve ever known, Tor, and you have no idea how much I appreciate it, I do. But it’s too late for you to drive all the way here. It would take you a couple hours, so don’t worry about it. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

I didn’t like this. I wanted to respect her wishes; my mother had been a staunch feminist and had drilled into me that a woman was more than capable of being independent and taking care of herself. But I’d also seen my mother many times depend on my father for help. It wasn’t wrong to offer it, especially when it came from a genuine place of caring.

“Just tell me something about yourself. Something I don’t know.” She sighed. “It might help me to sleep.”

I murmured the first thing that came to mind. “I had a pet reindeer as a child that I called Loki.”

Her laughter filled me up, made me feel warm. I missed her like crazy.

“Why does that strike me as incredibly adorable?” she asked. “Tor and Loki. Was he always playing tricks on you?” she teased, but I could tell her heart wasn’t really in it.

I swallowed hard. Feeling helpless. “Jamie, how are you feeling, really?”

There was a long pause of silence and then, “I’m just so tired.”

It wasn’t my imagination that her words trembled at the end. I might not know her that well, but I was attuned to her. I’d learned her through the years, being observant and watching. How her eyes would light up when things were good, and how her voice would grow scratchy and tired when they were bad. How sometimes her words would tremble with unshed tears.

I heard the same thing now.

“I should go to sleep,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Tor.”

“Goodnight.”

When we hung up I knew what I had to do. Dialing Zoe, I asked her the second she picked up which hotel Jamie was staying in.

“The Marriot on Main. Room two-hundred and seven”

Chapter Nine

Jamie

No matter how hard I tried to close my eyes and go to sleep, the fear gnawing away at me like cancer wouldn’t let me. I’d not bled any more since last night, and last night hadn’t been a lot, just a little spotting. I’d ripped into the book the second it had happened and read that it was sometimes normal in pregnancy, but that other times it could be a sign of a pending miscarriage.

I sniffed, completely cried out at this point. My nerves were shot. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a baby, and yet on the other hand the thought of having a miscarriage made me want to go fetal.

There was no way I wanted to drive home in this condition, but my plane didn’t take off for hours yet; I’d booked a later flight because I’d wanted to be able to sleep in. But even if I did try to leave, I didn’t know where in the world to go to rent a car at this hour and the thought of wandering around Dallas alone at night didn’t feel like the most brilliant idea either.

When Tor had offered to come it’d been so tempting, but this thing between us was so new and I’d not wanted to come off as being desperate or needy.

Even if I was feeling pretty damned needy right now.

I closed my eyes, but tossed and turned for the next hour. Going from feeling sure everything was going to be okay to panicked because another sharp pain would tear through my middle.

Two a.m. and no longer able to stand it, I sat up, walked to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and decided I was going to see if there were any red-eyes available.

Just as I was dialing the airline, a knock sounded at my door. And then a muffled voice cried, “Jamie, it’s me, Tor.”

Heart somersaulting, I dropped my phone and rushed over, glancing through the peephole. Shocked that it was actually him. And then immediately thrilled that he’d come. Smiling, I yanked the door open.

“Tor? What are you—”

The rest of the words were lost in his kiss. His callused palms framed my face so gently as he moved his lips along my own, awakening a hunger I’d not felt since the night of the club.

Breaths feathery, I latched on to his wrist when he pulled back and leaned my cheek deeper into his touch. “You’re here.”

His dark, stormy blue eyes devoured me. Assessing me from top to bottom. I wasn’t in my sexiest of nighties; I’d brought a pair of dark brown knee length stretchies and a long shirt with Minnie Mouse’s smiling face on the front.

Meanwhile, he looked good enough to eat. Tor was dressed in the distressed jeans he favored and a black Pantera shirt that made his eyes pop. My mouth watered.

I didn’t know if it was pregnancy hormones making me so aware of him, but he was so unbelievably sexy. Even with the dark circles shading his eyes.

“I hope I didn’t overstep, I just got the sense you might…” He cringed as if not sure whether to finish his thought.

“Thank you.” I whispered it from the bottom of my heart. “Seriously, thank you.”

Tugging him inside by the wrist, I locked and closed the door behind us. Now that he was here the panic wasn’t nearly so overwhelming. Glancing around the sparsely furnished room, I felt a little embarrassed. It’d been the cheapest one I could find in close proximity to the conference. There was a bed, a seventies-style dresser replete with golden lamp, and a small desk and chairs pushed against the window.

“Tor?”

He looked at me.

“I need a hug.”

He wrapped me in his massive arms, pulling me completely off the ground.

Laughing, I snuggled my cheek into the crook of his neck and inhaled the spicy coolness of his scent.

Taking us over to the bed, he sat down but didn’t release me. Instead he cradled me, and the feeling of being treasured almost brought tears to my eyes. It wasn’t that I was some damsel in distress needing rescuing—I’ve managed to take care of myself for past the few years just fine. But there was also nothing wrong with letting the white knight take the reins every once in a while, either.

I wrapped my arms around his thick neck and marveled at how small I was compared to him. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, just rubbed circles on my back and held me as if it were vital, as if he’d needed this as much as I had.

A startling, and terrifying thought intruded. Was I being stupid by letting him in this way? By not shielding myself better? What if this didn’t last? What if tomorrow he realized I had too many issues, too much baggage? What then?

But behind the panic came the gentle knowledge that if it didn’t last, I should enjoy it now. No one else could be the sole source of my happiness, and I shouldn’t make him that. If there was one thing my parents absence had taught me, it was that you needed to be strong and confident in yourself.

I kissed his neck, delighting at the rush of goosebumps he got when I did it.

“Eskelde,” he murmured in a much gruffer voice than I was used to from him. He sighed, framing my face again, pressing our foreheads together.

Honesty. Truth.

I took a deep breath. “I bled last night, Tor.”

“What?” He frowned, gaze immediately shooting down between us. “That’s not good, right?”

Mouth grown dry, I shook my head. “I don’t know. I read in your book that it could be normal. Maybe.”

“We should go to the hospital.” He made as if to stand.

I gently pushed on his chest. “I don’t know where it’s at here, and I have no desire to drive around downtown Dallas, especially at this hour. I only spotted, and very lightly. I’ll go first thing tomorrow when I get home.”

Getting up, still holding on to me, he walked to the head of the bed before gently laying me down beneath the sheets. “You should have told me sooner.”

He sounded disappointed with me, and my lips tipped downward. I wrapped my arms around myself, missing his warmth already.

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Tor toed off his biker boots then pulled his shirt over his head. Exposing the long, lean lines of smooth, solid sun-kissed muscle. I gulped, hypnotized by the flex and movement of his body. Next came his jeans. Undoing the button, he slid them down his legs, causing his boxers to shift just a bit, exposing the V of muscle that tapered to his legs.

My eyes widened as my mouth watered, the blood in my veins grew hot, and though I knew I couldn’t have sex with him until I figured out what was going on with my body, it only made my need more desperate.

Last, he pulled the knot of his hair down. He’d cut it while I’d been gone and it now came to just above his shoulders, but gave him a sexy Calvin Klein unkempt-model vibe that made my knees shake and center ache.

“Tor, you sure you’re not related to the gods?” I grinned.

Which caused the dark clouds in his gaze to lift just a little. Kneeling on the bed, he tapped my thigh so that I’d move over, before crawling under the sheets with me. “I’m happy that you think so.”

Unable to resist from running my fingers along his hard bicep, I squeezed until he turned to me. His hair was plastered against the pillow I’d just been lying on, his full lips were slightly parted, and I knew I’d be dancing with fire if I allowed myself even a second to give in to the temptation of kissing him.

Heart beating violently in my throat, I leaned over until the heat of our bodies touched. Just to get the spark of him. Sharing breath with one another. “It’s not just me, Charming. You have to know the way girls look at you.”

His knuckles brushed my cheeks. “There is only one woman I want to look at me like this, and as long as you do, I can die a happy man.”

Placing my palm to my chest, I pulled away. That man gave me serious feels. Scary feels. Wonderful, exciting, delicious feels.

Reaching up with his long-ass arm, he turned off the lamp. I would have had to move half off the bed to reach it from where he had.

“Come here and let me feel you.” He patted his shoulder.

Having zero problems with that sleeping arrangement, I cuddled into his warm side, slipping my hand beneath my cheek and taking in three drugging lungfuls of air. He smelled like soap and cologne.

His fingers threaded through the ends of my long hair and I closed my eyes, the sleep that’d eluded me for hours now threatening to come on with a vengeance.

“What is this name Charming?’” he asked.

I smiled, lips stretching against his hot skin, coming dangerously close to one nipple. It would be nothing to pull it into my mouth and tug on it with my teeth. The man was like a drug to my senses.

“Prince Charming. You came to my rescue tonight.”

He tipped my jaw back so that our eyes met. “You did not mind, then?”

“No. I really didn’t.” Digging my toes into the mattress, I moved up just enough to lightly feather my lips to his.

He sighed into the touch.

“I was going to tell you about the bleeding, Tor, I promise. I wasn’t going to keep this from you. I was scared and panicked and didn’t know what to do. I figured when I saw you tomorrow I’d tell you and ask you to take me to the hospital then.”

He shook his head. “I feel very confused about all of this. But I don’t want that either. Do you understand?”

I did. He was telling me exactly what I was feeling. A baby right now wasn’t ideal. But losing it wasn’t any better.

Strumming my fingers on his ridged abdomen, I stared at the wall with unseeing eyes. “What if I’ve miscarried? I was so careful, I didn’t lift anything heavy, and didn’t walk a whole lot. And I didn’t have any alcohol, either. I tried—”

“Jamie.” He kissed the top of my head, playing with my hair again.

I loved it when he did that. My hair was an erogenous zone for me, I know that might be weird, but it was why I took such pride in keeping it healthy and clean, because whenever anybody played with it totally turned me on.

I was such a weirdo.

“Then we deal with that, too. My mother had many in her life. I was her last pregnancy and her only viable child.”

I wrapped my leg around his, playing with the hairs on them. “Tell me about your parents.”

He smiled. “They were wonderful people. Old when they had me. My mother birthed me in her fifties.”

“Wow,” I gasped. “I was thinking more like late thirties.”

He chuckled. “I remember growing up we’d get people looking at us and saying how much my grandmother must love me. She’d just smile and I’d laugh—it became something of a running joke between us. Pappa was a fisherman, as were all men in my village. And often gone, as he was the captain of his ship. Cod. It’s what he caught. He’d bring home barrelfuls after each excursion. I think if I don’t see cod for the rest of my life I should be very happy.”

I giggled, imagining a little six-year-old Tor poking at his steaming plate of cod with a frown on his rosebud lips.

He squeezed me gently.

“Tell me more. What made you leave?” I asked, wanting to know.

The moment I asked it I sensed an immediate shift in his mood. With his parents being as old as they’d been when they had him, they might even be gone now. Frowning, I pulled up onto my elbow. “I’m sorry, that was personal.”

“No.” He gave me a small smile. “No, you should know. I fell in love back in Norway.”

That was not at all what I’d been expecting to hear and, if I were being honest with myself, the immediate tightening in my gut was definitely the stirrings of jealousy.

“Oh,” was all I could manage to say.

The room was so dark, the quiet heavy as the shadows danced along the walls from passing motorists outside.

“Her name was Ida. Ida Dahl.”

He said it with not only love but a thread of reverence. I had no right to be upset to hear it; he hadn’t lived in Norway for years. And yet, there was a side of me that liked thinking I was the only one he’d ever felt like this for. Completely irrational thought, I knew. Especially considering my own circumstances.

“What?” I cleared my throat. “What happened to her?”

Blinking himself back to the present he looked at me, rubbing my cheek. I was becoming addicted to his touch. Every time he did it I felt something fractured inside of me begin to mend. It was scary how quickly I was falling for this gentle giant.

“We met back in primary school, and I knew even as a little boy that there was something about her that was special. Ida loved the stars. We’d sneak out of our homes at night and lie down on the docks, looking up at the stars. She’d invent wild stories with the gods as her central theme. It was fun, and both our parents knew quickly that we were probably going to marry someday. Settle down. I’d take over my father’s business—that’s how things happened there.”

I wanted to listen to this story without the ache of knowing just how close I’d come to never meeting him. It was ridiculous the urge I felt to wrap my arms around him just so that I could lay my stamp on him, claim him as mine in the quiet darkness of this Dallas, Texas hotel room.

He pushed hair out of my eyes as he narrowed his own. I was trapped in his gaze, ensnared by the rich beauty of his blues.

“We dated all through upper secondary. I was turning seventeen and while everyone else was dreaming of heading to the city, my dreams were humble. As were hers. I’d found my happiness, it was enough.”

I planted my palm over his heart, letting the steady beat of it soothe my own.

After a long pause, his lips thinned. “I do not often speak of Ida, it is very hard for me.”

“What happened, Tor?” I traced his jaw with my thumb, knowing the next part of this story would probably be a heartbreaker.

“Ida went out with her pappa to sea, it was just supposed to be a quick weekend catch. But he was a man short and she’d been trained since infancy to fish the waters. She was a wonderful deckhand. A storm came, and I knew standing on the dock that night as I watched the lightning dance upon the choppy waves it would be a miracle if she returned to me.”

“Oh, Tor.” I twined his fingers through mine, but he was again back in the past and far away from me.

“We found out in truth the next morning what we’d feared the night before: the ship had sunk. Her body was found three days later. All I kept thinking was why had I waited to ask her to marry me until her return.” His lips thinned. “My biggest regret was that she never knew I’d been carrying a ring in my pocket for the past three days.”

Tears crowded my eyes and I regretted my jealousy, wishing only to take the haunted look out of his gaze.

“Hey.” I tipped his face toward mine.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and a reversal happened between us. Because no longer was I the broken one and he the knight come to save me, but now it was my turn to save him. I hated that he had lost Ida, but I was also selfishly glad to have him in my life now.

Taking his lips, I breathed what little strength I had in me into him. I gave him me, the parts of me I’d only ever saved for Angel. The pieces that were cracked and broken, but still there, still going, still able to give. I thought I’d had nothing left, but beyond my growing hunger for this man, was the need to help. To make him feel whole again. And the beauty of it was that I knew he wouldn’t take more than I could give.

His warm hand slid underneath my shirt, sliding up my bare back until he had the leverage to pull me on top of him. I came to him willingly, spreading myself over him like a living blanket. We were a giant hug of arms and legs.

I kissed him with all my heart and all my soul and knew that as I was giving of myself to him, he was also giving to me right back.

We were like two lost and broken souls traveling on separate paths, and had the terrible things not happened to us as they had, we’d still be moving in opposite directions. But by some miracle our paths had intersected and we’d stopped just long enough to look up. And I was so grateful for that.

“I’m so glad I looked up, Tor,” I whispered upon his lips.

He nodded. “I don’t fall in love often, Jamie. It is a deliberate decision and action on my part because I know that if I allow it in, then it is in forever. I will not leave, no matter what happens with the child.”

There were still so many issues between us. Angel being first and foremost. Our relationship was done, but my relationship with his family, the responsibilities I felt, they were still very much there and I would be a fool to think that it might not come between us down the road.

But just for tonight, I set all the worries away. For tonight I allowed myself to imagine what it might feel like if it was just Tor and I forever.

Chapter Ten

Tor

We got up bright and early the next morning, both of us wanting to get back to Austin so I could take her to the hospital. Now that I was here, I was driving her back. I didn’t want to let her out of my sight again.

We pulled into the city limits just a little past ten in the morning and walked into the ER thirty minutes later.

Her skin looked paler this morning, but I hadn’t asked her if she’d bled any more. But she’d come out of the bathroom fighting tears and shaking. It broke my heart to see her that way, and made me feel completely helpless and useless.

I was getting her seated when a nurse came out and called her back to check her vitals.

She looked at me.

“Go, let me call Zoe and Zander and let them know I could be gone for several hours today.”

“Charming, are you sure?” She gripped my hand.

It warmed me how easily those pet names now slipped from her tongue. Our stay in that room last night had changed the dynamics of our relationship. It’d been hard to share as I had, but I’m grateful I did. I still worried about Angel and the influence he had on her life, but I was determined to see this through.

“Ms. Sullivan,” the nurse repeated impatiently.

Jamie stood.

“Yes, I’ll be right here when you come back out.”

Nodding, she wrapped the ivory cardigan tighter around her and marched into the back room.

Getting up, I walked outside and made the phone calls. Told Zoe to cover my shift, which she was all too happy to do. Ryko was pissed as fuck, but he’d get over it. The business was a quarter mine, so he could just chill. This was the first time in eight years that I’d called out last minute like this.

Zander, on the other hand…

“Fuck, man,” he snarled. “You know we’ve got the gig next week and you still don’t have the rhythm down. You need to be here tonight for practice.”

“Look, dude,” I tunneled my fingers through my hair, “my girl needs me. I don’t give a fuck about that gig right now.”

“Tor, I know Fok is your brainchild, but this shit has got to stop. You’ve been flaking ever since you got with that stupid chick.”

Fire built in my bones. “Say another word about her and I swear to God you’ll regret it.”

He growled. “You know what I mean. She’s just some pussy, man, you’ve got to decide what’s more important. The band or the girl. Cause this shit’s important.”

“Zander, you’re a great guitar player, and you write the best lyrics around, but you’re right, this is my band and I won’t hesitate to kick your ass out of it.”

“You don’t mean that. We’re about to hit the next level, man.”

“Yeah, and I told you I wasn’t in this shit to get there. You contacted that promoter, you got us that gig, local, that’s what I told all of you from the beginning. So don’t act surprised that I’m not on board with it. Let Lilith know that we’re switching up the order of the songs. I wrote one last week, I want her to practice it tonight.”

“Tor,” Zander’s voice grew louder. “You gotta be here.”

Disgusted, I hung up the phone. Everyone in the band knew I wasn’t replaceable. It was my influence that gave us the Scandinavian sound we were known for. Just let them try to get rid of me; I’d take my ideas and my music with me.

When I walked back in, I saw her already back in the seat, eyes wide and waiting for me. Jogging to her side, I sat down and grabbed her ice-cold hand, warming it between mine. “You okay?”

She shrugged. “My blood pressure was a little high. I guess now we just wait.”

The next two and a half hours were some of the most stressful of my life. The knowledge that this pregnancy would be confirmed one way or another, that we could hopefully get to the bottom of her bleeding weighed heavy on me.

By the time we were called back in and put in a room, neither one of us was talking. The nurse gave her a gown to change into. I turned my back, giving her at least a little privacy.

“It’s okay, Tor, I’m changed,” she whispered a minute later, sliding onto the bench. With her bare legs and feet dangling out, she looked so small and fragile.

Wrapping her in my arms, I kissed her forehead. “No matter what, Eskelde.”

She nodded.

Just then the doctor, a middle-aged man with balding gray hair, walked in.

“So we think we might be pregnant, huh?” he asked, looking at the chart and smiling.

She looked at me and I could taste her terror. Getting up, I laced our fingers together and held my hand out to the doctor, and he quickly shook it.

“We think maybe, but she’s begun spotting so we wanted to come in and make sure she’s okay.”

“Hmm. Yup.” He flipped her file shut. “Saw that. And I’m guessing you might be the father?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered, squeezing my fingers so hard she bunched them together.

“Okay then.” The doctor flipped the lights off before wheeling a small machine over to us. “I’m just gonna take a peek inside with this wand and see what’s going on real quick.”

The wand was a white oblong shaped thing that looked a lot more like a dildo than a piece of hospital equipment, especially when he rolled a condom over it and lubed it up.

“I promise this won’t hurt a bit.” He sat down on a stool, then pulled out two metal stirrups from the side of the bed and patted them. “Lay down with your butt almost at the edge and place your feet in here.”

She nibbled her lip. This couldn’t be easy for her. I made sure to stand at the head of the bed so I wouldn’t catch a glimpse then rubbed her head. Looking up at the ceiling she slid down, propped her feet up, and sighed.

The moment the doctor inserted the wand, a whooshing sound echoed through the machine. The screen was black and white and gray and swished with movement. I couldn’t understand any of the spots or bumps I was seeing.

She was looking at the screen without blinking. The doctor, though, was frowning.

I did not like that look.

“How many days have you been bleeding?” he asked, looking up at her.

Her jaw trembled as she said, “Just this weekend. Friday night and this morning a little.”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, not liking that he still hadn’t given us any answers.

He licked his lips. “Well, you’re definitely pregnant. See that little bean there?” He pointed to a floating bit of white. “That’s the baby, you’re almost a month along now.”

It’s not like we hadn’t already suspected. But the reality of it came crashing down for both of us, because she started crying and I felt as though I couldn’t take a proper breath.

I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her knuckles tenderly, scared to death.

“So the bleeding is normal?” she asked on a hiccup.

He was back to looking at the screen, moving the wand around and sighed. “No. In fact, I’m really not liking what I’m seeing.”

He sighed again and my heart clenched.

I’d already lost someone way too young, and the thought of losing anyone else almost crippled me. It didn’t matter that Jamie and I hadn’t been dating until recently; for me it’d been years.

Shutting off the screen and pulling out the wand, the doctor wheeled his chair over to the light switch and turned it on. I helped Jamie sit up and covered her knees with the gown as best I could.

“How painful have periods been for you in the past?” he asked.

“Umm…well…” She looked at me, and immediately I could tell she was nervous that I might freak out.

This wasn’t my ideal topic in the world, but being with someone was always a for-better-or-for-worse situation anyway.

“I could leave you if you want, but I’m okay, Jamie,” I added to put her at ease with whatever decision she made.

Twisting her lips, she nodded. “Pretty painful. I would pop a couple of Motrins and try to sleep it off when it got too bad.”

“Any cases of really heavy bleeding?”

I rubbed her back. I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I sensed that she was. “I’ll just step outside and—”

“No.” She grabbed my wrist. “No, just… stay.” Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Yes, sometimes really heavy. But it’s been like that almost from the beginning.”

He nodded. “Well, I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on here. But one more question: do you feel heaviness between your legs, cramps sometimes, that sort of thing?”

Her shoulders slumped. “Am I getting ready to miscarry?” Her hand slipped over her stomach. I covered hers with mine.

“That all depends.”

“On what?” we asked in unison.

He grimaced. “I counted at least three fibroid tumors in your uterus.”

“What?” she shrieked, hyperventilating. “Cancer—is that what you’re saying?”

Ice flowed through my veins. This couldn’t be happening.

“No.” He smiled. “No, these are generally noncancerous, only rarely do they turn into such. We’ll have to take a biopsy to know for sure—in fact I’ll make a note of that for your follow-up appointment with your OB.”

I blew out a relieved breath; just the thought of losing Jamie now, not to mention our unborn child, would have gutted me.

“But,” he said, spreading his hands, “fibroids can cause complications. Be expecting some light spotting throughout the pregnancy—that’s very common with them. Don’t overdo it; if you’re into exercising heavy I’d suggest you really scale it back. Don’t lift anything over five pounds max. Fibroids have been known to cause not only miscarriage, but also early deliveries.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand, so you’re telling me to be a slug? I can’t…I just…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “For nine months?”

“Jamie, I’ll be there to help you.”

“Tor.” Her blue eyes shimmered. “This is a big, big deal. I can’t expect you to do that for me, not to mention what Angel’s family is going to think when I suddenly don’t show up to help him through physical therapy.”

My nostrils flared. I’d hoped the specter of that man might stay hidden for a little bit longer than a few days.

“Your health comes first, and that of our child.” I tried to keep the anger from my tone, but it was there.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, however you guys decide to work this, you’ll need plenty of rest, so don’t overexert yourself, and I have to agree with your partner: helping someone with any sort of physical therapy should really be out of the question. At least until you get through your first trimester, as this is the most delicate time. Also, hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he said, grimacing, “but until you get to consult with your OB I’d highly encourage you not to have any type of sex or stimuli for now.”

That last bit was a serious buzzkill. Not that I hadn’t expected it, but still, not something any man liked hearing. Regardless that sex with Jamie hadn’t exactly felt like much of a sure thing lately anyway.

She pulled her hand out of mine and rubbed her brow.

The doctor made her a follow-up appointment two weeks from now with her OB. The drive to her apartment was done in complete silence after that.

I helped Jamie to her apartment door. “Are you good?”

She looked at me with those ice-blue eyes of hers and nodded. My heart clenched. She was carrying my child, I was falling madly for this woman, but I was also angry.

Angry that Angel was still her priority, even over her own health.

“Tor?” Her voice quivered. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t offer to invite me in, and I didn’t ask.

We both needed time to sort through this and somehow, someway I needed to figure out what I could and couldn’t live with.

“I’ll come by later,” I whispered, planting a swift kiss on her lips before turning and walking off.

***

Jamie

The first thing I noticed upon entering my bleak, cold apartment was a dazzling array of color. Bright ochre red and rich, buttery yellows, splashed with green and brown. I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands as a tear slipped from my eye.

If I ran, I could probably catch him.

But it was like my legs and my brain weren’t working in tandem. They refused to budge. Vision blurry, I dug into my purse and pulled out my cell, calling Zoe.

“J, wazzup, kiddo? How are you feeling?”

Throat locking up, I had to swallow three times really hard before I could speak. “He painted my wall.”

“Oh.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “That doesn’t sound like a happy voice. Umm…”

I sniffed, rubbing my nose before plopping down onto my couch. I literally couldn’t seem to peel my eyes away from the beauty of that wall garden. “I am happy. And scared. And confused. I screwed up, Zo.”

“Hey, what’s the matter? Tor told me you guys were going to the hospital, how did it go? What happened?” I could hear the strain of anxiety in her voice.

I shook my head hard. “I’m pregnant,” I sobbed.

God, if these hormones were going to do this to me for the next nine months I might be tempted to shoot myself. Growling, I snatched up a tissue from my purse and rubbed at my eyes furiously.

This crap had to stop.

“Well, we kinda already figured that out. Why were you guys at the ER, though? He never did go into details.”

Tor was too freaking nice. Why couldn’t he have a wart or two? At least. Why did he have to consider my feelings about everything? Why couldn’t he be a jerk so I could figure this damn thing out without constantly feeling like I was letting him down?

“I was bleeding this weekend.”

“Oh no, are you good? What about the baby?”

A dull throbbing was beginning to pound at the base of my skull and I rubbed the back of my neck. “I saw the baby, so did he. I have fibroid tumors, or at least that’s what the doctor thinks.”

“What the hell is that?” she asked in a fearful rush.

“Not cancer, just some nasty crap that apparently seems to have been a part of me for years. I’ll have a follow up in two weeks with my OB but the doctor didn’t seem very alarmed by it. He just said I have to take it easy and not do anything real heavy for the sake of the pregnancy.”

My stomach felt hollow; it growled almost violently and I closed my eyes. Resting my head against the cushion. Wishing I had Tor here with me now. I should never have let him walk away.

“I’m scared, Zoe.” My fingers curled around the phone. “I think I totally pissed Tor off.”

“Baby girl,” she laughed, “I doubt there’s much you could do to scare that boy off. It’s not like you’ve exactly been nice to the guy for years. If he’s held on this long, trust me, he’ll stick around.”

Ouch.

I bit my lip as I reclined on the couch, kicking my heels up on the armrest and crossing them. She was right. I didn’t like to admit it, but she was right. Tor had never really figured into my life until very recently, and mostly because of this pregnancy.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

I huffed. “Why is he so damn nice?”

“Umm.” There was a pregnant pause. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

“Yes.” I clenched my fist. “He came up last night out of the dead blue to my hotel in Dallas, came and found me. He held me, told me stories of his life in Norway. He took me to the hospital, then I go and mention Angel and he suddenly clams up on me and… Why, Zoe, why now?”

“Are you listening to yourself?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “I know this sounds irrational, but none of this was supposed to happen. I was supposed to fix Angel; I was supposed to marry him. He was supposed to wake up and this nightmare, this brain damage fog was going to be lifted and I would finally get to reap the rewards of being so faithful to him. Life was going to be perfect, Zoe.”

I had to stop talking because the lump in my throat was growing too big to speak around it. She didn’t say anything, and I’m glad she didn’t. Because I knew I was being completely irrational.

“I’m pregnant and nothing is right anymore.” My voice cracked.

“Ryko, I need a minute.” Zoe’s yell was muffled, as though she’d clapped her hand over the speaker. “Okay,” she whispered, “I had to get out of there. Tor just walked in and I don’t think you’d want him hearing this conversation.”

My heart spasmed. “No, I don’t hate him. I’m just…”

A door clicked shut and then she sighed. “You have to tell them. You know that right?”

“Tell who? My parents? I doubt they’d really care. They’d just tell me to handle it ‘cause they’re busy right now.”

“No, not them. Although of course they need to know. The reason why you’re so conflicted right now is that you’re freaking about what the Romeros are going to think of you.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, rubbing my belly. Zoe could always figure me out. “I don’t know how. They’re going to be so disappointed.”

“Jamie, my God, listen to yourself. I know you love them, as I’m sure they love you, but everyone knows by now that the Angel thing is a pipe dream. They may not like it, but it’s not their life. It’s yours. And that baby’s. And now Tor’s. You owe him that much. You have got to bury Angel. Metaphorically, you know what I mean,” she rushed on to say when I huffed.

“I know that, it’s not like I even love him anymore. I mean, I do.” I shook my head, because I felt as confused as I sounded. “I love who he was. And I love his family. I really love his family.”

“The quicker they know, the quicker you can make up with Tor.”

“He painted my wall.” I peeked at it again. Just the sight of it brought a smile to my face. It was so beautiful, each petal so delicate looking. Perfectly made. So lifelike it almost felt like I should be able to reach in there and pluck one out.

“I know, baby girl. He put so much thought into it, too, you should have seen him last night. The idea was all his. And not for nothing, but if a man took the time to not only make that beautiful painting, but then drive down in the middle of the night to come and be with me, let’s just say if I wasn’t already sprung for my cowboy, I’d be all over Tor. Men like him are rare and few. Appreciate what you have before it’s gone.”

“Am I being stupid?”

“No,” she sighed. “You’re just being you. Just make the right choice, Jamie. I know most people would be tempted to tell you go with your heart, but your heart isn’t exactly the most rational organ in your body.”

“Hey,” I grunted.

She laughed. “Well, it’s true. Go with your brain, girl.”

“I should call them. I told them I would.”

“Be brave.”

“Yeah. Brave.” My already topsy-turvy stomach grew queasier.

“Rip it off like a Band-Aid.”

“Bye, Zo.”

I stared at my blank phone screen, watching as each minute ticked by, telling myself that I was going to call them in one more minute, just one more. But one turned into two, then five, and then ten.

The person on my mind, in my heart wasn’t Angel. Not anymore. So why was this so hard? When had I become this person who was too afraid to live because she feared what others would think? Hadn’t I given enough of myself to Angel? Enough of my time and stamina? Didn’t I deserve to be happy too?

“Use your brain,” I muttered, and with nerves born of determination I dialed Ms. Romero’s number.

“Hola?” She sounded tired.

What was I doing? Maybe calling wasn’t the right thing; maybe I should do this in person. But how, when?

“Ms. Romero,” I sighed.

“Ah, mija, how are you? How was Dallas?”

“It was…” I stuttered, shaking my head. Awful. “Fine.”

“Good. Good. Would you like to speak with Angel? He’s right here next to me and—”

“No!” I held up my hand. It was now or never. “Actually, I…um, I need to talk with you.”

“What’s the matter?” she whispered and I could hear her walking, likely going to her back bedroom and away from Angel’s earshot.

Use your brain. Your brain.

“I’m pregnant.”

Whoa. My eyes widened. I totally hadn’t meant to blurt it out that way. I stuck my thumbnail in my mouth. The silence was deafening, making my anxiety riddled nerves stretch even thinner.

“Hello?” I whispered.

“I…I’m here.”

I could picture her sitting on the edge of her bed, staring off into space, wondering how this could have happened. Feeling like I was about to throw up, I thinned my lips.

“Please say something.”

“Who?”

I cringed. This wasn’t my mother, but I was more afraid of telling her than my own mom. “The guy in the hospital room from the other day.”

She let loose a string of swear words in Spanish. On the verge of tears a-freakin-gin, I swallowed hard.

“You’re not happy, are you?”

Finally she sighed. “Of course not. Of course I’m not. I won’t lie and say I’d hoped that Angel would wake up to the realities of what he was throwing away. I prayed so hard. But in my heart I always dreaded this might happen. He didn’t appreciate you then, but mija, he seems different this time. I can’t understand…”

“But I’m pregnant, I can’t undo this, and—”

“Do you love him?”

“Who?”

“The boy? Do you love him?”

“No. We barely know each other.” I felt great affection for Tor, and the things he did for me—my heart ached for his gentle presence—but that wasn’t love. Right?

You can’t love someone after barely knowing them. The only thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want him to go anywhere right now.

“Good, then there is still hope. Angel will just have to learn to accept that he played a part in this.”

“Whoa.” I held up my hand. “No. No, I’m sorry. But Tor and I are going to try and figure this thing out. I may not love him yet, Ms. Romero, but there are so many things about that man that are amazing. He’s so sweet, and tender, he’s an artist, and painted my wall with a beautiful flower garden. He drove down to see me last night, he’s—”

She sobbed and I couldn’t understand why. Or maybe I could: I’d just shattered her dreams. This wasn’t easy on any of us. I was as much to blame for how she felt as Angel in all of this. I’d held on, promised them I wouldn’t go anywhere. In the end I would hurt them just as much as their son had.

“You do love him.” Her voice was small. “I hear it in your words.”

“No. I barely know him.”

“But you’re falling in love already, you just don’t know it yet. Promise me something.”

Biting on my knuckle, I murmured, “What?”

“Don’t tell Angel. He needs you right now, Jamie, he’s been talking nonstop about you since he’s gotten home. He begins his first therapy session next week and if you could just be there, it would help.”

I can’t. I can’t. The words screamed in my head. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped, the way I expected yes, but not the way I’d hoped. “I can’t hide this forever. I’m going to show soon, eventually he’s going to find out.”

“Then I will be the one to tell him. Please, mija, it would mean a lot to me if you just kept this between us for now. Angel is recovering; this is a setback he doesn’t need. Not now.”

If not now, then when? When would I be free to live my life on my own terms? When would the responsibility of someone else’s happiness not fall on me? But I couldn’t ask her those things because it wouldn’t be fair; I wasn’t the only one having to put my life on hold. If anyone understood this situation, it was her.

Ms. Romero, more than anyone else was the reason why I’d stuck this out the way I had. “Fine, I won’t tell him. But I don’t think I can come to physical therapy. I had complications and had to go to the ER today for a little bleeding.”

“Is the baby okay?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “But I have to take it easy, I can’t really help.”

“Just being there is help enough. That’s it, just be there to cheer him on and I promise that before you start showing I’ll tell him. Deal?”

“And Marianna?”

“Her either. This is between just you and me. I’m not even going to tell Miguel.”

I didn’t like this, but I didn’t really feel like arguing about it either. Angel was recovering. I doubted he held any true love for me anymore so keeping this a secret didn’t seem like the greatest idea. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to put off the conversation at least for a few more days.

“Fine. I won’t tell them. But you have to soon.”

“I will. Now do you want to talk with Angel?”

I frowned. Why had she sounded so hopeful? “No, I’m not really sure that’s a great idea. Especially not today, I’m exhausted.”

“Okay, but you will come to his session next week, yes?”

I agreed with a very heavy heart. By the time we hung up I regretted the promise I’d made her. It didn’t sit well with me to keep my pregnancy hidden. But I was too tired to call back.

I had to apologize to Tor. The second I’d mentioned Angel’s name in the doctor’s room his face had fallen and I’d known instantly that my priorities were still all wrong. Angel was not my future, like it or not, that ship had sailed.

Calling Tor, I waited for him to pick up, but it went immediately to his answering machine. I clicked it off before leaving a message. He’d see my number as missed and could call me back if he finally felt like talking to me.

Why had he shut his phone off? Was he really that mad at me?

Feeling like I’d just swallowed a bucket of rocks, I dialed Zoe back.

“Hey,” she said immediately.

“Is Tor there?”

“No. Why?”

“I tried calling his cell,” I sighed. “He must have turned it off.”

“Yeah, he left about five minutes ago.”

Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I asked, “How did he look?”

“I don’t know.” I could hear her shrug. “He didn’t say much. Just grabbed a few things from his desk and then he headed out. He was really quiet.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. So tired of feeling guilty about everything in my life, I nodded. “Well, if you see him tell him to call me, okay?”

“Yeah, hey, did you call them?”

“Yeah. She didn’t take it well, asked me to hold off on telling Angel for a little bit.”

“Hmm. I don’t like that. I hope you didn’t agree to it.”

“Of course I did, Zo. ‘Cause I’m an idiot and she started crying and I didn’t know what to say.”

“Oh, Jamie. Just get some rest, okay? I’m sure Tor will call you back soon.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’m gonna take a nap.”

We hung up after that and I wasn’t actually sleepy, I was hungry, but I didn’t want to move from the couch. My stomach was aching still from a mix of hunger and cramping.

Shoving a pillow under my side, I rolled over and stared at the mural as another tear spilled.

Chapter Eleven

Tor

I’d called and canceled with the band today—I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Zander’s shit—and instead I’d gone to a garage downtown that I’d rented out for myself months ago and decided to play some music just for me. It’s not that I wanted to be away from Jamie right now, but I didn’t want to say something stupid either.

Pulling out my guitar, I strummed a few chords, losing myself in the slow rhythm of the progression. I wanted to not think about anything for a few hours.

The responsibilities before me were heavy and daunting. But as I played my mind kept wandering back to that moment in the room when her first thought had been of Angel. To be honest, I was still pissed at her for it. And yet, I couldn’t blame her either.

What if Ida had lived? What if she’d come back to me as brain-damaged as Angel was? With a completely different personality? Would I have felt good about myself leaving her to pursue my own happiness with someone else?

I doubted it.

Gradually my fingers found a pleasing tune, one I’d not played before. It had a sad, haunting quality to it. Beautiful, and yet full of longing and pain.

And as I played I thought of Jamie. Of her smiles, her touch, her sad, haunted blue eyes. She was this music. I was crafting an image of her soul, what I thought of her when I saw her.

Her fragility and strength.

I played with the song for a while. Losing myself in the need to create. Eventually I grew aware of the late hour. I’d left her back in that apartment without a word. Had she tried to call me?

I’d turned off my phone not wanting to get into anything with her, not wanting to say something I’d regret. When I turned on the phone I noticed she had called about four hours earlier.

Setting my guitar down, I moved to pack up. I needed to talk to her. We were going to figure out a way to make this Angel thing work. Not for me, not for Angel, but for her. Because I cared for her deeply, and I wanted to prove to her I was better than this petty jealousy.

I could, and would, rise above this nonsense.

I called her. The sound of her voice made my pulse quicken. “Eskelde, I’m sorry,” I murmured.

There was a long stretch of silence. “Me too.”

“Can I come over?”

“Yes,” she rushed out.

My lips twitched. “Have you eaten?”

“No, and I’m starving. But my stomach hurts and I’m too afraid to move.”

Feeling like an asshole, I shoved my fingers through my hair. “I’m going to bring you some food, okay? Anything you like?”

“Just nothing greasy.” She groaned.

“I’m coming. I’ll be there in a minute.”

I was getting ready to hang up when she whispered my name.

“Yeah?”

“I love my garden.”

I smiled. I might be an ass, but she still loved the garden.

***

Jamie

Tor had clearly not known what to get me. He’d come bearing two giant paper sacks stuffed with food from the local Whole Foods. The scents of roasted vegetables made me drool.

“Please tell me that is roasted squash,” I moaned, closing the door behind him.

Walking into the kitchen, he nodded. “Yes, and grilled tofu, quinoa salad, steamed salmon and asparagus—”

Being bold I wrapped my arms around his waist. Well, I tried anyway. My fingers couldn’t quite touch. My Tor was a big man.

Sitting the bags down on the counter, he turned in my arms, looking down at me with an intensity in his eyes that stole my breath. Fingers fluttering over my cheekbones, he smiled and the barely there dimple that liked to play peekaboo flashed at me.

“I swear you get better looking each time I see you,” I whispered, planting a kiss on his chest.

Then, before I had a second to brace myself, he was lifting me up. Not even kidding. He grabbed me underneath my arms and picked me up so that our eyes were level. Automatically I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling a level of intimacy with him I’d not felt before with Angel.

Turning so that my bum now rested on the edge of the counter, he braced his legs wide. Again I was overcome by a sense of security and once more I found myself growing more Zen, less crippled by fear.

“I’m sorry, Jamie, about this morning.” His voice was thick and gruff and full of emotion.

My lashes fluttered. “It was because I’d said what I did about Angel, wasn’t it?”

His jaw clenched. Even now, with the peace offering he’d brought, and how tenderly he held me, I knew that was a sore topic for him. Trying to place myself in his shoes, I could see where I’d be as upset by it if the situation were reversed. Hell, I’d felt the same way about his ex, and the poor woman wasn’t even around anymore.

Framing his jaw with my hands, I sighed. “I’m glad you came over, because I wanted to tell you in person that I called Angel’s mom. I told her about us, the baby. You.”

He slid his large palm up my thigh, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

“You did?” He sounded so young and hopeful and it made me want to chuckle to witness it. It was heady knowing this big, beautiful man felt so powerfully about me.

I nodded. “I really do want to give this thing a shot, Tor. And not…” I wet my lips.

“Yes?”

“Not just for…” I rolled my wrist, “the baby. But for us. For you. What you did for me this weekend, how I feel when you’re around.”

He moved deeper into me, we were so close that our centers grazed. I felt the thickness of him press against my heat. I wanted Tor.

His body, his passions, he’d awakened a hunger in me. A fire that I desperately wanted to explore. I wanted to know him and be known by him.

“How do you feel?” he asked. The clean, soapy scent of him was like my crack. I was never going to be able to smell this again without thinking of him, in my kitchen, soulful blue-eyed gaze penetrating right through me.

His hands were warm as they slid around my waist, hugging me tight. Every inch of me tingled.

“Safe.”

His kiss was sweet and gentle. Just a tender press against my own. But it was enough to turn my insides to liquid. To make me wish the doctor hadn’t told us we couldn’t go back to my room right now and seal the official start of us with fevered whispers of passion.

Curling my fingers around his neck, I toyed with the tip of his knotted hair.

“Let’s serve ourselves,” he whispered, “and then lay the ground rules.”

“You think we need them?”

“Of course.” He nodded.

Dumb question. Of course we needed them. I needed to know where he stood; he needed to know where I stood. This thing could only work if we did it together. That much at least I’d learned from my failed time with Angel.

Everything was still steaming and hot when we served. Grabbing a thick wedge of teriyaki glazed tofu and nice scoop of quinoa salad with roasted summer veggies, I followed him to the couch.

At some point I was going to have to get a dining room table. At the bare minimum. A lot of things were going to have to change in a very quick amount of time. A little daunted by the task, I sat.

Moving a box with his knee, until he’d pressed it against the couch, he put one of my many throw pillows on top of it and patted it. “For your legs.”

I hope I never got used to his thoughtfulness so that I’d never fail to appreciate it. “Thank you.” I smiled.

Sitting next to me, he crossed his leg over his knee and cut into his salmon steak with his fork. “What did Angel say about us?” he asked me around a bite of fish.

Fluffing the salad, I scooped some into my mouth, moaning in appreciation at the toasted nuttiness. “Don’t hate me, but I didn’t tell Angel.” Rushing on before he could say anything, I grimaced. “I swear I called to let him know, let all of them know. But Ms. Romero feels that with Angel starting physical therapy so soon it could be detrimental to his mental state.”

I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. Tor just chewed, swallowed, and forked in another bite. His breathing was even, and though he didn’t seem terribly happy to hear it, he also wasn’t going nuclear.

That, at least, was promising.

“When are you going to tell him?” he finally asked, looking at me head-on.

Unable to hold his stare long, I dug into my tofu. “I told her we have to do it soon. I mean, I’m pregnant, right. The cat can only stay in the bag for so long.”

“True.” He nodded. “I need some water, you want any?”

“Yes, please.” I nodded when he got up. “Are you mad?” I asked him when he pulled down the cups.

Grabbing a pitcher of water from the fridge, he poured for us. “No, Eskelde. Not at you. I was at my garage playing for hours, trying to understand how to handle this thing between you and Angel.”

Coming back in, he sat down and handed me a cup. I placed it on the floor beside me.

“We really need to make this place a little bit more habitable,” he said, noting my drink.

I sighed. “I know, but I’m so overwhelmed. I don’t know where to even start.”

Shoulder bumping me, he gave me a grin. “Well, you’re not alone anymore. I’m going to help you get things done before the baby comes.”

Giving a nervous laugh, I shook my head. “This feels so surreal. I can’t believe you and I are going to be parents. Together.”

He snorted, slipping some roasted eggplant in his mouth. “Not the way I would have scripted things, for sure. Mm.” He chewed, pointing at his plate with his fork. “This is very good. Have you had it yet?”

“No.”

“Here.” Scooping some onto his fork, he lifted it toward me.

A little shy, I kept my eyes down as I took from his fork. He was right; it was good. Soaked in brine and sautéed in olive oil. “Yes.” I covered my mouth giving him wide eyes before throwing a thumbs-up at him.

“Right.” He winked.

My heart totally melted as he reclined back on the couch. Chewing contentedly. Was it possible things could really be this easy? It felt so natural with him. Not only did I feel like I could fall in love with the guy, but for sure I wanted to be his friend. I liked being around Tor, seeing him laugh and smile, hear him call me his beloved, try new things with him.

I guess if I had to have a baby with somebody I’d not been planning on doing it with, I could have done much, much worse than Tor Boler.

“She wants me to come to the physical therapy session next week,” I muttered loud enough that he could hear me.

He shifted, giving me a raised brow. “And how do you feel? Do you want to? You know what the doctor said.”

“I know.” I dragged the fork through my salad. “I’m not going to get as physical with him this time. In fact, I plan to sit the whole time I’m there.”

Finishing up his plate, he set it aside before grabbing his cup. “But you didn’t really answer the question. Do you want to go?”

“Do I want to go? No.” I thinned my lips, being honest for the first time about this whole situation. “I know everybody thinks I’m still infatuated with Angel, and honestly, I’m not. But there’s a lot of guilt mixed up into this whole thing. I might be ready to walk away from him, I’m not ready, or even wanting, to walk away from his family. For years they were the only ones ever really there for me. Besides Zoe.”

“Where is your family? I thought they were here.”

“No.” I scratched my neck, setting my half-finished plate aside. I was still hungry, but too nervous to really eat anything. “They’re part of the Peace Corps—they’re setting up some schools and libraries in Nigeria right now. They’ve been gone off and on since I was eighteen.”

He frowned. Rubbing my knee. “Do you talk at all? Do they know about this?”

I gave them a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “They know about you. But no, I didn’t tell them about this because I didn’t know for sure and I can’t always reach them. They’re busy.”

Licking his teeth, he tossed his other arm behind the couch. “That’s why Angel’s family is so important to you, then? It makes sense.”

“Does it really? Or are you just saying that?” I tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Grinning, he palmed the back of my head, rubbing it gently. “Of course it makes sense. They took you in, became like family. But I cannot lie and tell you I’m happy with our circumstances; they are far from ideal.”

I snorted. “You can freaking say that again. I do want Angel to know, and I swear I’m going to tell him. She asked me to wait, but it just feels wrong to me. I get this weird feeling like she’s still holding out hope that her son and I will eventually have the fairytale. Which is pretty much impossible at this point.”

I pressed my hand to my stomach. His gaze followed the movement.

“Do you regret this? With me?” he asked in a hushed whisper.

I shrugged. “I’m scared. I’m barely twenty-three. This wasn’t in the cards for me, not for a long time, if ever. A part of me honestly wishes this hadn’t happened.”

His lips twisted up, I grabbed his hand as he made to shift.

“But,” I said, tapping his chest, “I don’t regret meeting you. I can’t regret our night together, and maybe God knew that I’d never quit hoping and trying with Angel unless I was forced to reassess myself.”

I knew he didn’t like hearing that. And I wish I could tell him I loved him or something more relationship-defining. But it wasn’t true. Not yet, maybe someday.

Hopefully.

“Ah, Jamie.” He dropped his crossed leg and slouched a little on the cushion until his head rested against it. “It is not easy being forced to remind myself that you do not feel for me as I do for you.”

“I’m here, Tor. Not there. I’m invested.”

His smile was brief. “And that is a start, I suppose.”

“What time is Angel’s appointment?”

“I’m not sure.” I crossed my legs, rolling my ankles as my calves began to twinge a little bit. “I’ll have to ask her.”

“Would you like a ride there?” he asked as he tugged at my pant legs, silently demanding I give him my feet.

I was about to protest placing my feet in his lap—that is, until he began his massage. Moaning with both pain and pleasure as his thumbs stroked up my left calf. “Yes.” I nodded. “That would be nice.”

I shivered when he rolled his magic fingers downward. “You’re going to make it so that I have no choice but to fall in love with you, aren’t you?” I teased him.

The fire was back in his eyes. “That is the plan, Eskelde. That is the plan.”

We didn’t do much the next week, just began to settle into a rhythm of sorts. Me catching up on my crapload of edits, and Tor working, coming to me at night, helping me to unpack one box a day.

I’d even managed to hang up a few items. Some paintings, picture frames, two wall sconces. Keeping stuff packed up as I had, I’d forgotten how cool so much of what I owned was. Thanks to that gorgeous mural, the apartment was really beginning to feel like home.

And Tor, oh man, he was fantastic. Cooking for me each night, showing me he had some mad culinary skill himself. Granted, he was making mostly salad.

But he wasn’t just tossing tomatoes and cucumbers in there, he was grilling meat, sautéing vegetables, toasting almonds and walnuts, creating his own dressings.

He’d made one the other day with fennel and dill that would have literally knocked my socks off if I’d been wearing any. Zoe laughed at me when I told her, saying socks couldn’t literally be knocked off, but what would she know anyway?

In a word, I was feeling amazing. The apartment was looking cleaner every day, I was being fed like a queen, and the sexiest Viking in North America was speaking louder than any words how much he cared for me.

I was a lucky girl.

Which was why I was really dreading today. It was Friday, which was good. Tor would get this weekend off. But it was also noon, which was bad. Because I had to see Angel at physical therapy.

I was hating myself for making the promise. Every night at nine sharp he’d call and every night I let it go to voice mail.

I literally had no idea what to say to him, so I was ignoring him. When the world got too scary, I played ostrich. It’s what I did, and I did it well. I wasn’t saying it was good, only that I might be panicking just a little.

Tor was driving my Jeep, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “You okay?” he asked when we rolled to a stop at a red light.

Grabbing my stomach, I cringed. “I think I might puke.”

“Might just be morning sickness.”

When the light turned green, I’m not gonna lie, for a split second I was really hoping for some major road traffic up ahead, anything to slow down this trip. We were less than five minutes from the clinic.

“I’ve not been having morning sickness.” I frowned. “Do you think something might be wrong? Shouldn’t I be feeling horrible?”

He laughed. “My mother said she had no symptoms with me. In fact, she went in for a cold and that’s when she was told she was four months pregnant. Do not worry so, the baby is fine.”

Reaching over he palmed my still-flat belly. I covered his hand with mine and closed my eyes. In such a short amount of time this man was coming to mean so much to me.

“Any more bleeding?”

“No.” I pulled his hand up to my lips and gave his knuckle a kiss before resting my cheek on it.

It probably wasn’t easy driving with just one free hand, but he didn’t complain as he turned into the parking lot. I saw the Romeros’ hunter-green minivan two rows over. Parking, Tor turned to me.

“I can come in with you.”

The offer was more than tempting. I shook my head. “I really should do this by myself. At some point I have to face this. Them.”

“I’ll be out here waiting for you when you finish then.”

“You don’t have to.” I touched his wrist. “This might take a while. I can’t just go in there and blurt this out. I’ll probably wait until after he’s finished his therapy. So at least an hour. I know you had an appointment at the shop later.”

“Jamie.” He frowned. “It’s okay.”

“Tor, I know you don’t mind. But I can’t make you stop your life for me either.” I kissed his whiskered cheek, loving the smell of him. I flicked at the knot of his hair. The man was unbelievably sexy, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and jeans, and my heart always pitter-pattered when he came to my door.

We hadn’t been sleeping in the same bed, and I really wasn’t liking that. The nights felt so long without him.

“But you’ll need a ride back.”

I tapped his shoulder. “I can get a ride from them, Viking. Don’t worry about me so much. I’m a big girl.”

“I will worry about you—you’re my girl.” His thumb brushed at the delicate spot beneath my eye.

My belly grew warm. I loved when he touched me like that, said those sorts of things to me.

Dipping my head and fighting a blush, I was grabbing for the door handle when he said, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Lips twitching, I planted a kiss on his cheek and was out the door laughing, feeling lighter than air. Life was good.

Maybe not perfect.

But right now it was pretty damn good.

If only my feelings of euphoria could have lasted longer than the three minutes it took to get inside and see Angel sitting in his wheelchair staring out the window, looking at precisely the spot in the parking lot where I’d just come from. Where Tor was now headed back into incoming traffic.

I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself.

“Who was that?” he asked without preamble.

Taking a seat next to him in the waiting area, I ignored his question. Marianna was sitting to the other side of him, and she gave me a short smile. She was plugged into her iPod and was tapping her sneakers on the linoleum tile.

“Where’s Mama?” I asked, looking around at the mostly empty room. Knowing Ms. Romero would be here—she was always here.

Life went on hold when her son needed her.

“Bathroom.” His tone was brusque; he was still staring out the window, not looking at me.

Pouting.

“You know you didn’t need to come,” he growled, narrowing his eyes as he finally turned toward me.

“Angel.” I pinched my brow, barely a minute here and already he was grouchy. “I’m here, okay?”

“Why haven’t you picked up the phone when I’ve called? Why haven’t you called me back?” His tone got progressively louder.

“Stop,” I hissed, glancing at the receptionist who was openly studying us.

“Answer me then.” It was hard looking at him. He face wasn’t as swollen as it’d been the first day I’d seen him in ICU, but he now had the ugly, jaundiced looking bruising all over the left side of his face.

“Because,” I sighed, shaking my head, “I don’t know what to say to you anymore, Angel. That’s why. Because I went to that club that night expecting you to show up—”

He scoffed. “You asked me to that damn place, even though you know how much I hate it there.”

“Zoe was supposed to be there; I’m not just gonna bail on my friends. That’s not what a friend does.”

“Yeah, well, she bailed on you.” He snorted.

“Alex got a flat fucking tire—that’s totally different than picking up some hooker so I can go snort coke and get wasted.” I glowered at him, all the pent-up anger and frustration seeped out of me.

His jaw jutted out.

“What? Nothing to say now?”

Rolling his eyes, he tapped his fingers on his armrest.

“Typical. This is just so typical of you. Angel, I’m happy you’re better. Believe me, I really am, but we’re completely fractured.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He swiveled toward me.

Jeez, was he really that clueless? Did he really not see it?

“I love you.” He blurted it angrily.

I laughed. “No, you don’t. You love me being here, me doing stuff for you. That’s what you love. You don’t love me. Because the second I’d think you were trying with me, you’d backslide and there I was, left to pick up the pieces again.”

His nose curled. “You have no fucking idea the demons that live inside of me. Sometimes they get dark, real dark. That’s why I take that shit away from you. Why I go and pick up some dime bag ho, because I don’t want you to see me that way.”

Same shit he’d said the other night on the phone. And maybe I was jaded now, but I wasn’t buying this anymore.

His hand shook as he stuck the tip of his finger in his mouth, staring at a blank spot on the wall.

We were so toxic, this thing was poison—I mean, I’d known that for years. But it was impressing itself upon me in a way it hadn’t before. Because always tempered behind the pain and the hurt was the hope. But being with Tor for these past few days, seeing what a healthy relationship looked like, staying around Angel was just getting to be too much to bear.

I shook my head. “How many times have I broken up with you?” I asked softly.

His lashes fluttered. “Too many. But always we come back together.” He turned to me, big brown eyes earnest and pleading. “I want to fix myself, Jamie. I really do. I want to get right. I do love you, I swear by everything that’s holy, I just don’t know how to fix me. This.”

My future clicked into place. Those words of his would have had me wrapping my arms around him, would have given me just enough strength to take him back.

But I had a baby on the way, a little being I was coming to feel was real and would someday depend on me for guidance, for answers. What would my child think if he or she saw Mama walking back into a destructive relationship over and over? What would their life be like if they ever got to the point that those actions became commonplace to them? I would die if I ever see my child stuck in a relationship like this, and that more than anything gave me the courage I’d lacked around Angel.

Grabbing his hand, I threaded my fingers through his. “I have to go.”

“What?” He shook his head. “No, baby, please.”

Ms. Romero came out of the bathroom just then wearing a smile on her face. This was all wrong. So wrong.

“I swear, this time I’m going to fight for us,” he pleaded. “For me. I’m sick and tired of this. This whole week—you not answering, me alone—I’ve had time to think. Jamie, I don’t want to die. And I don’t want to be stuck here. I will go to therapy this time. I’m going to do everything.” He squeezed my hand.

I was relieved for him, but also for myself. Because I was no longer conflicted about what I should do. “I wish you every happiness in the world, Angel.” And I really did mean it. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

His mother came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. I knew she’d heard. She was staring at me with wide-eyed horror, silently begging me to say nothing of the pregnancy.

I rubbed my belly. Her eyes zoomed into the action and I could have sworn I’d seen a vein jump in the side of her neck.

Angel was here to get better; I’d let him get better. I didn’t need to tell him about Tor or the baby. It didn’t matter anyway, because I was done.

Really, truly done.

Leaning over, I kissed his cheek. “Get better, Angel.”

“Jamie, please,” he whispered, voice cracking.

I almost cried from the instant wave of relief I felt. How could I not have realized what a cancer Angel had become to my life? Standing, I smiled softly at Ms. Romero. I loved her and I did hope that someday she might forgive me.

Grabbing her, I gave her a tight hug, whispering in her ear that I had told him nothing.

Sniffling, she nodded, and I knew she did not want me to do this. But Tor was right: my life wasn’t my own anymore. I needed to get better—healthy for my child. Part of that included letting go of a burden I’d carried for far too long.

Marianna stood, whipping the buds out of her ears.

“Hey,” I said, smiling, “anytime you need me for anything, anything at all, let me know.”

I doubted she’d ever call me again, but I wanted them to know that even though I had no choice but to cut Angel out, the same did not apply to them.

Almost as if she’d expected this day might come, Marianna nodded. She didn’t cry like we’d done in the bathroom the other day. Just gave me a sad, soft smile.

A nurse came out and called Angel’s name.

He wouldn’t even look at me. Grabbing his chair, Ms. Romero shook her head at me one final time before rolling her son back to therapy.

I wish so many things could have been different for us, that this hadn’t been the way things ended. But life was rarely easy, or perfect. Only in fairytales would they have understood and promised we’d all be friends no matter what.

In reality, I’d caused Angel a lot of grief. I’d dashed Ms. Romero’s hopes and Marianna’s dream of becoming my sister in truth someday.

Feeling a hard lump work its way up my throat, I swallowed hard. Zoe wasn’t at work right now. I could call Tor, but he’d already done so much.

Zo answered immediately and promised to pick me up in twenty minutes. She was there in ten.

Life was going to be okay.

Eventually.

Chapter Twelve

First Trimester (Month 1 and 1/2)

Jamie

“Okay then,” Dr. Laura Gold said, giving me a winning smile as she cheerfully rolled her chair toward where I was lying on the examination table.

This room felt much less sterile than the ER had been. I’d been instantly put at ease by giant pictures clearly drawn by the hands of children hanging all over her walls. There were pink and white carnations in a vase on the desk and the doctor herself was dressed in a colorful smock decorated with images of Betty Boop. I’d felt my blood pressure lessen by several degrees when I’d stepped through.

This time I’d also remembered to wear socks. Tor stood by my side, holding my hand. Today was the day we found out just how bad my fibroids were. I’d come in last week for the biopsy, which hadn’t been done by Gold but by an attendant.

Waiting an entire week to get the results back was almost worse than the spotting, just the unknown of what could be going on with me. My mind had taken me down some dark places these past few nights.

Tor gave my hand a brief squeeze as the doctor turned the lights off.

“So let’s see what’s going on here,” she said, returning to my side and inserting that invasive white wand back inside of me.

Once again the room filled with the whooshing sound that both soothed and terrified me.

The monitor lit up with strange flashes of red and blue and black and white. Different than what the ER doctor had done.

I frowned. “What are the colors?”

“Oh, that.” She smiled. “Just showing me the path of the blood, just trying to see how comfy the little bean’s home is.”

Little bean. My heart flipped. This time I had no problem making out my little bean. Already three times bigger than the tiny pod it’d been in the ER, it was floating and resembled a sort of sea monkey with nubs for feets and hands and an enormously bulbous head with alien eyes.

I couldn’t help but grimace at the sight. What in the world were we creating?

Tor snorted, hiding a smirk behind his hands. Either he’d seen my reaction or had had the same one himself.

I didn’t find it funny at all and glared at him.

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.” She nodded and repeated her affirmations over and over again.

The doctor wasn’t freaking out about the way our bean looked. Maybe we really were descended from apes. God, that thing was ugly.

Although I’d read in a textbook that at one point in history the prevailing theory had held we’d been descended not from apes but fish. Which, yeah, I could believe that too. The bean twitched and I couldn’t help but smile at it.

A feeling of warmth flowed down my spine. It might be hideous, but it was mine, and that counted for something.

“How is she?” Tor’s rumble broke the ever-thickening silence.

I don’t think he was referring to the baby.

I’m a little surprised he took his lunch break to come be with me here today. He didn’t need to; I knew he was backed up at work. Ryko was pissed and Zoe was trying her best to pick up the slack. They desperately needed that third artist soon.

But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at all by my Viking, this was just his way. Thoughtful to a fault.

“Well, my dears, good news and bad news.” She flicked off the machine, pulling out the wand at the same time.

My heart clenched at the words bad news. “Bad news first,” I murmured, running my cold fingers down my gown as Tor helped me to sit up.

Flicking on the lights, Dr. Gold washed her hands and smiled. She had a really nice one. Open and honest—it’s why I’d chosen her to be my OB all those years ago. She was a middle-aged, slightly paunchy woman. But there was a toughness hidden behind her sugary sweet exterior that appealed to me.

Like she knew what she was doing and was more than capable of getting things done.

“Bad news, no sex.” She thinned her lips, giving us I’m sorry eyes.

Tor cleared his throat and I wanted to laugh at the pained expression that’d momentarily flitted past. We’d been hopeful that ban might be lifted.

Of course, I think him more than me. This week my body had decided to betray me. The bliss I’d felt at not having the typical pregnancy problems had laughed in my face when one morning my boobs had gotten to be two incredibly painful orbs stuck to my body and every morning saw me kissing the porcelain throne the moment I would wake.

Sex right now was pretty much the furthest thing from my mind.

But I did feel bad for him. I mean I could always give him permission to get his rocks off with some other chick, since we weren’t still a technically official couple. But yeah, the thought of it set my teeth on edge and made me want to bitch slap that imaginary chick. So I’m pretty sure that was not gonna happen.

Dr. Gold shrugged. “And that’s mainly because one of the fibroids is pressing right at the apex of the uterus. The fibroid isn’t the issue, though, it’s the way the placenta is nestling itself. Now, there’s a possibility as the pregnancy progresses that it’ll gradually move up thanks to the stretching that’ll be happening down there. If it does, well, then,” she said, dusting her hands together, “the ban will be lifted.”

I laughed. “Unless I stop puking in the mornings I don’t think I’d be up to the task anyway. Sorry, Charming.” I gave him a tiny smile.

He licked his front teeth and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his knot of hair. Have I ever mentioned how much I lust after his hair? I mean, yeah, so sexy. He looked adorable with his slightly pained expression and it made my heart melt.

“Believe it or not, the stronger the symptoms of pregnancy, the better the outcome for your pregnancy. Fibroids in and of themselves don’t pose a serious threat to you or the baby, other than to give moms heart attacks at the sight of blood, that is. It’s really the placement of the placental lining that’s causing you the issues, but with a little bed rest and patience, that should work itself out in a few months’ time. Also we got the results back on the biopsy and this is the good news: they are one hundred percent harmless.”

“Yeah, that is good to hear.”

“Yes.” Tor nodded and squeezed my fingers. “Very good to hear.”

Sitting, she crossed her legs and slipped a pen into her pocket after she’d written a quick something in my file. “Spotting is normal, but if you’re bleeding, like period bleeding, come in immediately.”

She wore a serious mom face.

“Okay. I promise.” My lips twitched feeling so much relief.

Tor rubbed my back slowly. “So she needs bed rest for the next nine months?”

“Nah.” She flicked her wrist, turning back to us as she clacked away on the computer. “Just take it easy. But still walk, do what you need to do to keep healthy. If you start to feel crampy, take a Motrin and place an ice pack over your tummy. It’ll work itself out. You’re not high risk, so apart from that, you’re quite healthy. Which is good.”

“Oh man, so no more foot rubs, damn.” I snapped my fingers, nudging his shoulder.

“I’ll still give them to you, Eskelde.” He kissed the top of my head.

“Good grief.” The doctor fanned her face, staring between us. “Your child is going to have some darn fine genes. Barbie and Viking Ken for parents, pretty much impossible not to.”

We laughed.

“What is the sex?” Tor asked with a hopeful expression.

“Too early to tell yet. At about the fifth or sixth month mark we’ll know for sure. So I guess…” She clapped her palms to her knees. “Just make an appointment for three months from now. That’ll put you at a little over four months. Next time we’ll get to hear baby’s heartbeat, that’s always exciting.”

An immense weight lifted off my shoulders as Tor walked me back to my Jeep a few minutes later. I’d discovered Tor didn’t actually own a car, he owned a motorcycle. Which would explain the biker boots he always wore.

I’d have loved to ride behind him on it, but apparently the vibrations of the motor could cause contractions. Who knew?

So many rules to understand when you were pregnant. Most of it I was okay with, like eating raw fish was bad. Fine, I wasn’t a fan of sushi anyway. Green papaya off the list. Okay, that one wasn’t too bad; I loved the vinaigrette I got at my local salad shop, but I could forgo the dressing for the next nine months. The one that stuck in my craw though was the unpasteurized cheese ban. The thought of not getting to eat a Greek salad with extra feta on top made me want to weep.

Tor promised he’d help me through it and would do without all those things himself. The man was too much.

We were pulling back up to my apartment when he said, “So I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah.” I plucked at a loose thread on my fuchsia floral top.

His thumb was tender as he pressed it to the side of my jaw. “You okay, love?”

He’d been doing that more lately, dropping little pet names at the end of almost every sentence. I was becoming dangerously addicted to this man it was almost scary how bad I had it.

“Are you?” I studied his deep blue eyes. “No sex.” I bit my bottom lip. That ban hadn’t been that important to me before, but for some reason it was starting to become more so. I didn’t want to analyze why. “I know we’re not technically ‘together together,’” I said, finger quoting, “but I really don’t want to sh—”

Leaning over, he stole my lips, silencing my words. His tongue was hot and demanding as he thrust it inside, twining with my own. He tasted of candy and mint. A delicious and heady combination that made my brain feel momentarily fuzzy.

I was dizzy when he pulled away and whispered softly, “I didn’t realize you needed me to actually say it, Jamie. Of course we’re together together.” He grinned like I was so silly for even thinking otherwise. “This”—he palmed my slightly puffy belly—“and this”—he placed his other hand atop my beating heart—“are my treasures. You are mine, Eskelde, and I am yours.”

I giggled—yes, giggled; I hadn’t realized I was still capable of feeling this level of unfettered joy—and placed my hands over his. “You say the sweetest things, Charming. I wish we could have sex right now.”

His eyes darkened, rolling from blue to a bottomless deep one. The cool interior of the car felt suddenly stifling and my blouse too tight as our gazes locked.

“As long as it takes, the waiting will only make it sweeter.”

Chapter Thirteen

Month Two

Tor

Tonight was the night of the big concert. Standing backstage while I waited for the band before us to finish their set, I couldn’t get Jamie’s eyes out of my mind. She’s been pissed that I’d asked her to stay at the apartment.

But staring out at the writhing mosh pits crowding the front of the stage, I was glad I had. This was an outdoor concert, with very little backstage area for her to go and relax in. She could have stayed in our trailer, but she’d have been by herself and that place was a shitty dump hardly big enough for two people to sit in, let alone for one pregnant one to recline.

She’d begun bleeding again last week. Heavier than normal. I’d taken her to the ER with my heart in my throat, she’d been okay and so had our baby. But she needed to take things even easier than she’d been.

I knew she didn’t like not walking around the park in front of her apartment at night, but she had to relax. I simply wasn’t willing to risk either one of them.

Which probably made me a villain in her book right now. I sighed. So be it.

“Cheer up, man.” Zander clapped my shoulder, pointing at the rabid crowd.

There were over fifteen thousand in attendance tonight, though not really for us—this was a festival that drew in people naturally, but I couldn’t help feeling the pressure of this.

“All for us, dude. Suck it in.” He inhaled deeply.

Zander had put a thick rim of guy liner around his eyes, worn his most shredded and tattered-looking black leathers, and spiked his hair. He looked like he’d ripped himself straight out of the pages of some underground black metal band.

The man had aspirations, which was great. But he and I shared none of the same ones.

Our band was supposed to be a local celebrity sort of thing. No bigger than a crowd of a couple hundred, something comfortable. That’s what this thing was supposed to be when it started out.

I’m not sure how I didn’t see his ambition when he’d joined. How he’d had plans for far greater than the humble house band I’d created.

The final strains of a crying guitar solo reverberated through the suddenly still night. The stage lights turned blue; soon it would be our turn.

“I’m about to shit myself a little,” Zander snorted, patting the neck of his BC Rich Custom he’d sacrificed his left nut for.

His dark brown eyes glittered and suddenly everything was clear to me.

“This is my last show with you guys.”

“What the fuck? You’re saying this shit now?” He pointed at the stage.

“Look, man, I get that you have goals for this band. But Fok was never supposed to get huge. I’m good with being small, being local. I have other passions.”

The other band was taking their bows, and making their way off the stage. I loved music; it was in my soul. But not like this.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I can’t keep doing this.” I didn’t even like being thirty minutes away from Jamie right now. But I was now over an hour away and that worried me. Zoe was in town so could see to her if she needed help, but I felt the sense of that responsibility to her.

This shit wasn’t for me. Not anymore. Girls, sex, and rock-n-roll—I’d outgrown it.

“You’re such a dick, man. A pussy-whipped dick.”

I shrugged. I couldn’t care less what Zander thought of me; all that mattered was what I thought of me. This was my life and after tonight he’d play no further part in it. “Whatever, let’s just get through this set without killing each other.”

Lilith gave me a strange look. I suspected she knew I was wanting out. Somewhere inside me I was still kind of hoping the rest of the band would take my lead. We’d all started out with bar dreams, but looking at them now, the were they were pacing and practically glowing with the thrill of adrenaline, I was pretty sure I’d be the only one walking off this night.

It should make me sadder than it did. Right now all I felt was determination to get this over with.

The promoter announced us. Fog machines belched white smoke and a crack of thunder and flash of lightning seemed to descend from the dark heavens above as the stage guys set the tone.

Yeah, it was cool. Going bigger would allow us these sort of flashy-ass perks, but then again, Fok had never been about that for me. It’d been organic and pure, real.

This wasn’t real—this was smoke and mirrors.

The echoing chants of hundreds of voices crying out our name did give me a speedball shot of adrenaline. Laying her hand on my shoulder Lilith looked at me and smiled.

“You should stay, Tor.”

I didn’t have time to respond to that because we were up.

Getting behind my drums, I stared at the sea of faces; in the thousands before me there was one I actually wished was here. It was cool how big the band had gotten, and somehow the fact that we’d gone beyond a novelty act shouldn’t have surprised me the way it had.

As Lilith sang and the pan flute played and the faces around us became entranced by the otherworldly beauty of the music, I thought of nothing outside of the sounds.

This was what I liked, closing my eyes, letting the rhythm move through me, become a part of me. Following each individual thread of noise, then taking a metaphorical step back and letting each thread fill me up, until I swelled with the sounds of it all. Until it wasn’t just a guitar, or drums, flutes, or a voice, but one. I lost myself in it, losing my worries, my fears that still gripped me concerning Angel and what he might mean to Jamie down the road.

But eventually even those questions ceased to matter. Here and now there was only this…

Before I knew it the set was winding down. I was sweating, lighters were glowing, asking us to play one more song. Zander played up to the ground, caressing the body of his guitar like he was making love to it. Somewhere along the way the man had let the fame get to his head.

Death metal bands didn’t make it big, and even when we’d switched over to my haunting Celtic rhythms, those weren’t bands that American Idols wanted to mimic. But as we played the final song of the night—and I recognized it as one of Zander’s newest pieces, much more pop and radio friendly than anything else we’d done—I understand exactly where his true intentions lay.

Slowly he was changing our style, making it more mainstream and less underground.

In time they’d find another drummer as versed on the bodhran as I was and they’d move on. They might even make it big—they were all talented enough for it. But when I stood and waved goodbye to the crowd, I knew I was really saying so long. It didn’t fill me with terror or doubt that maybe I was making a rash decision; this had been coming for a while.

We’d have a group meeting later this week to decide the ultimate fate of Fok, but in the end it was over for me.

When we walked backstage I dipped my head. “So long.”

Lilith looked startled, as if she’d hoped our playing now might have changed my mind. “Did you not hear the cries, the chants for us? This is just the beginning.”

“It’s what I told him.” With a roll of his eyes, Zander sauntered over to the refreshment table and flirted with the petite brunette passing out drinks behind it.

Ophelia, our flutist, shrugged. She was easy going and rarely took the time to get riled up about anything. Life was too short, she’d always say. She disappeared back into our trailer.

Which left me alone with Lilith. Her blue eyes thinned. Tonight she’d worn a black dress that slid all the way up her throat and fell to her knees, exposing the deliberately slashed fishnet stockings encased inside her black Doc Martens.

Her corn silk blonde hair and piercing blue eyes gave her a fairy-like look; paired with her throaty vocals, Lilith was a study in opposites and a product of her Irish roots. Dark and light, sexy and reserved. I’d hate to lose her as my lead vocalist.

“You’re really leaving us?” she asked with the roughened voice that came after almost an hour of nonstop singing.

“Yeah.” I turned to look at Zander. “What he wants, it is not for me. This is not why I started Fok.”

Her pale lips thinned. “You are the soul of this group, Tor.” She sighed. “Zander is wonderful, but wild. I do not think I could rein him in, not as you’ve done. Ophelia will go wherever the majority leads.”

“And where does your heart lead you?” I asked her.

She picked at her black-painted nails. “It would be a lie to say that I have not enjoyed the fame in some ways, but ever since the day I walked into your tattoo shop and decided that I wanted to be in your band, my ideals haven’t really changed much.”

My heart kicked up a notch. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that Zander loves his idea of death metal and mainstream colliding, and that’s okay. I could screech it till my balls dropped off.”

I chuckled.

So did she. “If I had any, of course. But you know that is not my style of choice. Do we have time to have a group meeting on this?”

I sucked in a deep breath, digging my cell phone out of my pocket when I felt it vibrate against my leg. Jamie had sent me a text.

“Jamie: Have a surprise waiting for you, Charming... Hurry home!!! :)”

Home. It’s funny how we’d sort of slipped into the habit of calling her place home. I practically lived there at this point; I wondered what she’d think if I suggested making it more official, though.

Shaking my head, I tucked the phone back into my pocket. “I have to go. My girlfriend needs me.”

She sighed. “God, I hate her.”

But her words lacked any heat, there was a sparkle dancing in her eyes. “Don’t worry about the band, Tor. I’ll talk with them tonight, see what’s up.”

Grabbing my gear, I nodded to one of the sound tech guys who was busy scrambling to get ready for the next band. The night was electric, my mood high. Life was good, and it was hard not to dwell on what might happen down the line. But Ida’s death had taught me perspective, it wasn’t always easy, but sometimes you had to learn to appreciate what you had right now.

Just as I was getting ready to go, a man in an expensively tailored suit walked up to Zander and they shook hands.

I stood there, watching as Zander became entranced by the devil in the dark suit. Lilith rubbed my arm as my sneer grew.

“He would destroy my love of this. I know what he wants, but I just don’t think it’s in me.” I glanced at her from the corner of my eye.

She nodded. “Have faith, my Norwegian friend. Now go to your insanely hot girlfriend and tell her I said hi.”

Arriving home almost two hours later thanks to an awful accident on the highway, I didn’t bother knocking. I opened the door, knowing she’d left it unlocked for me.

Jamie turned with a big smile on her face. The apartment smelled amazing.

She stood at the stove wearing a chef’s apron and hat, barefoot and pregnant. There was definitely a joke in there somewhere, though I wouldn’t make it.

“Hey, Viking.” She winked. “Guess what I made y—”

Kicking the door shut behind me, I rushed to her, hauling her slight body into my arms and pulling her in for an all-consuming kiss.

She purred, dropping the spoon she’d held and wrapped her arms around my neck. Feeling alive, happy, I poured my feelings into that kiss. Teasing her lips with my tongue, sucking her own into my mouth when she opened on an excited little moan.

She smelled of spices and orange blossoms.

Head dizzy with both the fog of lust and the desire to blurt out how I was really feeling, I placed my forehead to hers and breathed her in.

“Wow, that was a nice hello. Maybe I should miss your shows more often,” she teased.

I grinned, setting her down gently before shaking my head. “I quit the band.”

“You what?” Her glittering blue eyes widened. “But you love that band, you love music. Why would you quit?”

Placing my palm over her stomach, I stared at her deeply. “Because there are things that matter much more.”

“But babe,” she said, covering my hand, and my soul trembled to hear her use that term of endearment, “isn’t it—”

Lifting her hand, I gave it a gentle kiss and then shook my head. “I couldn’t in good conscience remain, Jamie. The band is on the cusp of going big. I sense it.”

She gave me a perplexed look, and I knew she couldn’t grasp what I was getting at.

“We get too much bigger and that would mean touring, that would mean traveling from state to state to state—I’d rarely see you.”

“I could come with you.” She smiled sweetly.

“But the baby, Eskelde. That is no life for our child. I’ve lived among musicians for years, and it’s fine for me. For a single man or woman. But relationships fracture, they break, the business consumes it. And I will not leave you to raise the child on your own. It is not my way.”

She didn’t speak, just stared at me with her mouth open a fraction of an inch and I thought that maybe I’d said or done something wrong, especially when tears began to gather in her eyes.

“Jamie?” I wiped at the wetness beginning to leak from the corners with my thumbs, perplexed by what I could have done.

She laughed, swatting my hands away, and then got strangely quiet, giving me a deep, thoughtful look. I swear something powerful passed through her gaze, something I’d never seen in her before when she looked at me. Something that made me scared to hope, to believe that it could be what I possibly thought it was. Leaning up on tiptoe, she tugged my shoulders forward so that I could bend to her level and when she kissed me there weren’t fireworks and passion like what we usually shared, but something raw and necessary.

Gripping her biceps, I poured my heart into my woman, knowing I was so far gone for her it was terrifying and exhilarating, and I hung on tight because I’d lost someone vital to me before and had nearly not survived it.

When she finally broke away she wore a dreamy smile. “I cooked you dinner. I felt good for the first time in days.”

I finally noticed what was cooking on the stove. I grinned, recognizing it instantly.

“Farikal.”

“Yes.” Her eyes widened. “Do you have any idea how hard it was find to lamb at this time of year? I mean, this is Austin, you’d think they’d have it in more specialty markets, but jeez, I had to call six different stores before—”

“I love you, Eskelde.” The moment I said it she stopped speaking. Instead she swallowed hard and gave me big eyes.

Immediately I wanted to take it back. We’d only technically been together a little over two months; maybe she’d still not been ready to hear it. But she had to know how I felt—I’d made it more than obvious.

She closed her eyes, but moved into my body. “Say it again,” she whispered.

And when I wrapped my arms around her and felt her trembles I knew she felt it too.

“I love you.”

Jamie didn’t say it back, but her smile spoke louder than any words could have.

Chapter Fourteen

Third Month

Jamie

I frowned as I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t look pregnant, just fat. I couldn’t zip up my jeans and I had a bigger belly than I’d ever had in my life. The morning sickness was finally beginning to go away and I was definitely feeling more human, less weepy.

Most days.

There was a knock at the door, and then a bang.

“Jamie!” Tor’s powerful voice boomed.

I smiled. I loved how he sort of dominated my tiny apartment. Everything felt right when he came over. Which was basically every day and every night if he wasn’t working.

“In the bedroom,” I called out.

“Love.” He sounded disgruntled. He came tromping in a moment later and my heart literally skipped a beat when he walked through. Dressed in form-fitting jeans that showed off his deliciously muscular physique and a black t-shirt that looked painted on, he was oh so yummy looking.

The guy was fine. And all mine. I still couldn’t get over that fact. His golden hair was pulled back in a knot, highlighting the sharp planes of his scruffy jaw He’d taken to letting his facial hair grow out a little once I’d casually mentioned liking a little man fur on a guy’s face.

“God, you’re hot,” I whispered like a love-struck teen with a giddy, stupid smile on her face.

His full bottom lip twitched and then he growled. “How many times am I going to have to tell you to lock your door? What if someone comes in here and tries to—”

“Charming.” I snorted. “You worry too much. I’m surrounded by frat boys on all sides. If I scream they’d come running.”

“Exactly my point.” He narrowed his deep blue eyes. “You’re too trusting, Jamie. I swear that if something ever happened to you, I would—”

Walking to him, I poked him in the chest until he plopped down onto the edge of my bed and gave him a lifted brow. “Fine, I’ll start locking the door. It’s just that you don’t have a key and it’s easy.”

“Then give me a key.” He shook his head and chuckled.

My heart sped. Give him a key. “Wow, wouldn’t that make this thing like seriously official?” I teased.

He rolled his eyes. “This is seriously official. Do you think I would do this for somebody I don’t love? No.”

Oh, I shivered every time he said that to me. I’d still not said it yet, not because I didn’t feel it. At this point I was so far beyond in love it was kind of tragic. But fear always kept my lips firmly clamped.

“So what you’re saying is you want a key?” I whispered huskily, stepping in between his parted legs and wrapping my arms around his neck.

Immediately I sensed the shift in his mood go from playful teasing to full-on arousal. It was really getting hard to ignore my need for him.

Cocking his head, he gave me a strange look. A mix between shock and wondering whether I was teasing, because I knew when he’d said it he’d not actually expected me to have one available for him.

Not to mention the fact that I, unlike him, was much more gun-shy and prone to skirting around the issue of our relationship. Trying to define it or plan too far into the future with it usually gave me the willies.

I swallowed hard, palms suddenly going clammy. I’d gotten a set of keys made for him. One to my car and my home, at the time it’d felt like the natural evolution to this thing and not something I’d overthought either.

Because that was my way. And he knew that about me, I was a free spirit prone to going whichever way the wind blew me. It just so happened that this time it was blowing me closer to him, to us.

But maybe it was too soon. Maybe it’d really only been a joke for him. I mean, I knew Tor wanted us to be more…I dunno, more everything. More visceral than we already were, but he was always so careful not to push me too far.

“It’s…it’s not like you’re ever at your place much anymore anyway,” I stuttered, coming up with an easy out in case he said no.

His hands were firm, but not hard as he grabbed my arms, tugging them toward his chest. I planted my palms against him.

“What are you asking me?” His words were slow and measured, thoughtful.

Just like him. In the weeks since we’d decided to actually get serious I’d noticed that Tor never really did things without considering every aspect and angle of an issue. He didn’t speak rashly like I did.

All. The. Time.

A quirk of mine I thought must sometimes totally annoy him.

I knew when he was really listening to me because it would take him a while to reply.

I wet my lips, experiencing an electric, giddy thrill as his eyes zoomed into the movement. The air sparked with tension, crackled with our unspoken desires.

There was one of two ways I could go with this thing. I could answer and say that I was tired and too lazy to get up every time he knocked on my door, so now he could just let himself in, or…I could say what I was really thinking.

A thread of hair had slipped out of his knot. Brushing it back behind his ear, I smiled when his lashes fluttered. His Adam’s apple rolled. Nervously scratching my nails along his whiskered cheek I whispered, “Move in. With me.”

He didn’t say anything, but his fingers dug into my wrists a little.

Blue eyes sparking like hottest flame devoured me. His scent of soap and sandalwood cologne wrapped me up in a heady fog of sensual desire. My nipples tingled and puckered, ached.

Not from the pregnancy anymore either, but from an overwhelming passion I’d buried so far down deep that I’d thought myself incapable of ever feeling like this again.

“Yes.”

My eyes widened. “What? Just like that? You’re not going to take hours or days to—”

Tugging on me until I spilled onto his lap, he stole my lips, silencing the rest of my words with a powerful, hungry kiss. His hands were all over me and mine were all over him, sliding beneath his shirt, scratching at his nipples until he hissed and nipped at my bottom lip.

“Behave,” he moaned.

I laughed, and then gave a throaty growl when his tongue twined with my own. I was tugging at his shirt, ready to rip the damn thing off when he shook his head and grabbed hold of my waist.

“Stop, Eskelde, stop. We should not do this.”

I was breathing so heavy my pulse was jumping in the back of my throat. “Yes, yes we should. We don’t have to have sex, we can just…”

“No.” He grabbed the corners of my face, planted a hard, bruising kiss and then shook his head again. “No. The baby. Your body.”

I knew he was suffering, the evidence of his arousal was poking me sharply in the behind, making me so antsy and hungry for so much more than this R-rated petting session. I wiggled my bum, grinning when I elicited a groan from him.

“Jamie,” he warned.

I nibbled the bottom of my lip. “I can at least help you.”

He chuckled, petting my left breast. It was so cute, too; I didn’t even think he realized where he was petting me. He just kept moving his hand up and down and shaking his head staring at the wall behind me with glassy-eyed determination.

“Yes, maybe you can. But not right now. We have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Boo.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I don’t like that answer. Give me a different one.”

He chuckled. “Gods, woman, you’ll be the death of me.”

I’m not gonna lie, knowing I wielded that kind of power over a living, breathing sex god like Tor filled me with a thrill unlike any I’d ever known before.

“Fine. Fine. I’ll play fair, but in all seriousness.”

“Hmm.” He turned to me, giving me his full attention.

It was both unnerving and exhilarating to be looked at like that. Like I was all he saw, all he wanted to see. I found myself being so damn grateful that I was at the club that night, that Tor for one of the rare few times in his life put away his natural tendency toward being gentlemanly and had forced me to stop and see him.

To never know this kind of happiness, it would have been a true shame.

“Just like that?” I snapped my fingers, referring to his yes to moving in.

He must have understood, because with lifted brow he nodded and murmured, “Just like that, love.” Grabbing my hand, he kissed the tips of my fingers.

I shivered in response and then smiled.

An hour later I was lying on the table and together he and I listened to the first heartbeats of our child.

And for just one moment, it was all so perfect.

Chapter Fifteen

Four months (Second Trimester)

Tor

It’d taken me about three weeks to move completely into Jamie’s tiny and cramped studio. I’d had to put most of my things in storage, but thankfully my lease had been coming up for renewal two weeks after she’d asked me to move in. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Though, knowing her, she’d been aware of that.

To the outside world Jamie might seem flighty. Like a beautiful blonde ditz. But she wasn’t at all. Yes, she cracked ribald jokes. And yes, there were times that she’d do or say something to reinforce the stereotype of the dumb blonde.

But every bit of it was done on purpose. My girl was brilliant and smart, and so damn sexy. Even with her potbelly fully on display.

The buzzing of my needle filled the tattoo parlor as I worked the last bit of color into the redheaded woman’s upper shoulder.

“So you got a girlfriend?” she asked in a muffled voice, mostly because of the way she was lying on the table with her cheek pressed on top of her folded arms.

She was getting a tramp stamp of shamrocks surrounding an old Irish proverb.

“Yes, he does, sugar toots,” Zoe piped in from the workstation beside me. She was working on a Chinese Koi design in a yin-yang pattern.

Wiping at the drops of blood forming on the guy’s back with a white piece of gauze, she glared at my client.

The woman, Eve, chuckled. “Okay then. Just a question. Jeez, don’t get your panties all up in a wad.”

Zoe just rolled her eyes and turned back to her work. I chuckled.

“That’s her best friend,” I said by way of explanation.

“Well.” Eve shrugged as I finished up the last bit of green shading. “I just wondered.”

“Stop wondering,” Zoe interjected again, but didn’t turn around this time.

“My god, is she for real?” Eve laughed.

And when I saw Zoe’s spine stiffen, I chuckled. “She is.”

Rolling her eyes as I went to set my gun aside, Eve sat up on one elbow.

“Let me put some ointment on that first, and then you can go check it out in the mirror, see what you think.”

She nodded, still glaring at Zoe, who was now chatting with her client, a very tanned, very pretty brunette.

The redhead and the brunette had come in together, and I could only imagine the tales Zoe was telling.

Grabbing the ink goo, I smeared it all over Eve’s back and then pointed to the full-length mirror hanging in the station beside mine.

We’d finally hired not one, but two new artists. So far they seemed like they’d make a good fit, they had skills. Jeremiah was working three stations over while Candy was busily chatting him up about something to do with nail polish.

Or at least that’s what it sounded like from here.

Eve twirled, lifted up her shirt, and stared at her back. “Yeah, looks good.”

I personally wasn’t a fan of tramp stamps; they were about as sexy as the barbed wire/thorns arm bands of the nineties. But I wasn’t paid for my opinions, I was just happy she liked it.

Nodding, I grabbed some gauze and tap and motioned her back to me so I could wrap her up and get her out. She was my final client of the day and I needed to go check on Jamie. She was beginning to become extremely clumsy. Twice now she’d very nearly tripped down the set of stairs leading out of her apartment. I worried about her.

“You know,” Eve whispered, placing her hand on my shoulder, “I don’t know how serious your thing is, but if it’s not really, I work at the cabaret club every weekend—you should stop by if you ever get the chance.”

Patting the gauze in place, I shook my head. “Thanks, but no. I’m really happy where I’m at.”

I wasn’t aiming to bruise her ego, but I also wanted her to understand in no uncertain terms I wasn’t shackled against my will.

“No ring.” She glanced at my finger, licking her lip. “Must not be all that serious.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Trust me there would be one if I thought for a moment she’d say yes. We’re getting ready to have a baby in five months. Want to see a picture?” I made as if to reach into my back pocket for my wallet.

She scrunched her nose and held up her hand. Her pretty green eyes no longer sparkled. “No, that’s fine. I’ll just go pay and wait for my friend in the waiting area.”

I hadn’t really had a picture, but she’d been just pushy enough that I’d gotten a little more creative in letting her know it wasn’t going to happen.

Fifteen minutes later, with both girls gone and me cleaning up my workstation, Zoe walked over to me and gave me a big hug. Squeezing me hard.

“What’s that for?” I asked, patting her on the shoulder.

Her smile was huge. The enormous red bloom in her wavy shoulder-length hair made her look more exotic than normal. “Because I’m just so happy for you guys. But mostly I’m happy for Jamie. Angel really screwed her up.”

“I’m not Angel, Zo.”

She nodded. Wiping at her eye, she was wearing a brass knuckle ring. “I know that. I think she does too. She asked you to move in. Do you realize, Tor, she never even offered that to Angel?”

I shrugged. “Well, I am the father of her child.”

Slapping my chest, she glowered at me. “You both are so freaking similar it’s disgusting. Stop.”

“What?” I shook my head, rubbing at my chest.

“Stop wondering what the other one is actually feeling. Gah, you were both made for each other. And I know what you had with Ida.”

My jaw clenched. Talking about my former lover was easier now, but still never fun.

Zoe brushed my jaw. “I’m just saying, Viking, you got a second chance. Both of you. And this time, it’s gonna work. I know it.”

My cell phone rang. Grabbing it, I picked it up only to read a panicked text from Jamie.

“Jamie: Come home now!!”

Immediately a million different thoughts burrowed through my mind. Heart clenching in my chest, I showed Zoe the text.

“Go.” She shoved me. “I got this.”

Nodding, I didn’t even bother to tell Ryko I was gone. “Clock me out, Zoe,” I called over my shoulder and ran for my motorcycle, dialing Jamie as soon as I was out.

She picked up immediately.

“Jamie?” I barked into the phone. “Are you bleeding? What’s wrong?” My fingers felt numb as I unlocked my helmet from the back of the bike.

“Tor, I need a hug.”

I could tell from the scratchy quality of her voice that she’d been crying.

More nervous than ever, I drove my fingers through my hair. “What’s the matter, love? What happened? Do I need to call 911?”

She sniffed. “Nooo.”

Her voice shook so hard I knew she was still crying.

“Babe, you have to talk to me. What’s going on—is it Angel?”

Her breathing stuttered and I could almost picture her shaking her head. “I took a nap and…ugh.” I heard her wipe her nose. “I feel stupid.”

Heart rate returning back to normal, I exhaled a deep breath. The thought of anything happening to either one of them had almost given me a panic attack. My mouth was dry, my hands shaking, and I slumped against the bike seat.

“Bad dream?”

“Tor, I’m sorry. I woke up and it felt so real and I…I…”

Relieved but still wanting to get to her, I nodded. “I’m coming, Eskelde. It’s work traffic, so it might take me a minute, but I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

I was about to hang up when she said, “Can you pick me up some brownie ice cream, too?”

Laughing, I nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“And Tor?”

The silence on the phone was so heavy I had the sudden impression there was something she wanted to say.

“Yes?”

“I…”

I held my breath. “Yes?”

“Thank…thanks.”

Blowing out a disappointed breath, I twisted my lips. “Anytime.”

When I finally walked through the door forty minutes later I found her lying on our bed, cuddled with my body pillow. She’d asked me to spray some of my cologne on it earlier this morning, and her nose was buried in it, her mouth slightly parted as she dreamed once again.

To try and describe the pang in my chest any time I saw her would be impossible. The empty pieces of me that’d formed when Ida had died. The heaviness I’d felt knowing I would never find someone else like her again, the knowledge that I’d be alone because Ida had been all things to me.

Only now to be given this gift again. To have Jamie see me, want me, need me… Quietly I tiptoed back into the kitchen, placed her pint of ice cream into the freezer and then returned to her.

She was barefoot, wearing only one of my gray workout shirts that fell past her knees on her. Her blonde hair was splayed out like a golden wave along the teal blue pillowcases. Her baby bump barely noticeable. My body burned for hers.

The ache I felt whenever I looked at Jamie grew more and more each day. Zoe hadn’t need to warn Eve off in the tattoo parlor, because no one could even come close to what I felt for my Eskelde.

She must have finally sensed my presence, because her eyes fluttered open. Then a lazy smile stole across her full pink lips.

“Hey,” she whispered.

I kicked off my shoes, unbuttoned my jeans, and pushed them down. Until I was in nothing but my boxers and shirt. It was barely six in the evening, I wasn’t tired, but I did want to hold her. Crawling into the bed, I cradled her into my body. Fitting us together until there wasn’t an inch of space between us.

Finally she released the pillow and clung to my arms like a woman drowning.

“Charming,” she said, then pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

Desperate to fit her against me in anyway possible, I wrapped my leg around hers until she was forced to tuck her feet against my calves. “It’s okay. I was done for the day anyway. Want to tell me what exactly happened, though?”

She snorted. “I feel so stupid now. I think I had a freaking panic attack.” Her fingers played on my knuckles.

The walls in the bedroom were still white. I frowned. Realizing I wanted to do more for her than what she currently had. Now that I lived here, I needed to make this place feel more like home to her. Not a hotel or an apartment, but home. A place where, if she woke up from a nightmare, she’d feel safe, warm.

I rubbed her head. She moaned and leaned into my touch.

“You just about gave me one too.”

Groaning, she buried her face against my hands. “I feel so stupid. But I woke up dreaming that the baby had died and then I realized that that’s basically what we all do. We’re born and then it’s just a slow progression toward death, and it all seems so effing pointless sometimes.”

I would laugh, but I could sense it was hard for her to share. “Babe.”

I shifted her around just a little so that I could begin massaging her shoulders. I’d heard somewhere once that pregnant women ached in their backs throughout pregnancy.

She shuddered and moaned as I rubbed deep circles into her.

“God, that feels good,” she moaned.

“Don’t worry about the child. You’ve not bled any more. The baby is safe, and while yes, we are born to die.” I kissed the back of her neck, excited when she shivered with goose bumps, “We have now to enjoy each other. And that’s all we can do. You cannot worry about what will happen because then it will just drive you mad.”

She got very quiet after that. Jamie tapped my arm to let me know she wished to roll over, I reluctantly let her go so that she could. Her gaze was sad and intense.

“What are you thinking, Eskelde?”

She touched my jaw, scratching at my whiskers. A habit she seemed to love doing and one I’d never deny her. I loved when she touched me.

Nibbling the corner of her lip she shrugged. “I worry that maybe we’re not enough, Tor.”

“Enough?” I thinned my eyes.

“For you. You.” She swallowed hard. “You lost someone you seemed to love so much and…and what if I’m, we’re just a—”

“Is that what this is about?” I rubbed her bicep up and down.

She sighed, staring over my shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Jamie.” I grabbed her chin, forcing her to stare back at me, and waited two heartbeats before speaking. “I love you. I love my child.” I framed her stomach. “I did love Ida, and I will never forget her, but you are my future. And Angel, what about him? Do miss him?”

Her silence was deafening. “No. Not really.”

That not really pricked me like a needle. Four months we’d been together, four months with barely any Angel in the picture, I’d figured, hoped at this point that any lingering attachment had died.

“I see.” I turned onto my back, staring up at the tacky popcorn ceiling, wondering how much time I’d need to scrape it off and get rid of it before the baby came.

“No, no you don’t.” She scooted toward me, tossing her leg over mine and turning my jaw until I looked at her. “I’m deliriously happy without Angel in my life. And you can take that to the bank. But I worry, Tor. Because once upon a time what I had with Angel had been pretty darn near fairytale. I know how quickly, how easily everything can change and it terrifies me to think it could happen with us.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I knew there was no way I could prove myself to Jamie with just words. That only time and patience would be the way to make her understand. As frustrating as it was to think that four months wasn’t long enough to have convinced her already, I also knew I was in this for the long haul.

There was no choice anyway; I was going to be there for my child one way or another.

“If you let those demons in, Jamie, they will live in you forever. It is a fact that our lives are not guaranteed. I love you more than my own breath. That is all I can honestly tell you.”

Her lip trembled. “You’re too good to me.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the direction this conversation was going. Clenching my jaw, I nodded. “Did you work today?”

It was time to switch it up, I didn’t want to linger on this “you’re too good to me” bullshit; next thing she’d say was you’re too good for me. Jamie was only too keen on self-flagellating, and I wasn’t going to let her over think this.

She sighed. “A little. But I have two edits due this month and it’s practically over, so I really need to focus. It’s just so hard to focus on much of anything lately.”

Rubbing her shoulder, I nodded. “I’ll go make dinner. Ice cream is in the freezer. How about I bring it to you, you do some work, and I go cook?”

Nodding, she bit her lower lip. Her eyes were tearing up again. It tore me apart when she did it, mostly because I felt so damned helpless. I wanted to make her life perfect, but sometimes it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, it was never going to be enough to convince her.

“Thank you.” Her reply was meek and soft.

“Babe.” I kissed her forehead, aching that I couldn’t fix this.

She nodded. “I’ll be fine, Tor. I promise. I dunno.” She chuckled. “It’s these damned pregnancy hormones, they’re making me crazy.”

Wiping at the fat tears spilling from her eyes with my thumbs, I couldn’t ease the gnawing worry in my gut that Jamie was the balloon and I was the string, and if I even let go for a second she’d float so far away from me I’d never have a chance of reaching her again.

Chapter Sixteen

Month Five

Jamie

I clung to Zoe’s hand when Dr. Gold turned the lights down in the examination room. Today was the day I’d been waiting months for. I was so sad that Tor couldn’t be here for this. He’d wanted to so bad, but he’d promised Ryko to pick up double shifts today and I didn’t want him to always have to back out of things at work because of me.

“Are we ready to find out the sex of the baby?” Dr. Gold waggled her bushy blonde brows.

Zoe squealed. Today she looked almost normal, not wearing any of her rockabilly clothes, she’d worn regular jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt that read: “I’m with stupid.” And an arrow pointing directly at me.

The wench had done it on purpose. I felt like a freaking whale. I was now wearing maternity clothes, as I could no longer button up any of my old clothes. Even dressed down she looked sexier than me.

I was hating being pregnant so much.

“Okay, here we go.” Doc placed a different kind of device on me this time. Instead of inserting the dildo-looking wand into me, it was a flat, round object that she was able to roll over my belly.

Immediately the screen flashed to life and within a second I saw my baby.

“Oh my god,” Zoe inhaled, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. “It’s so ugly.”

“Hey!” I smacked her arm, which made her laugh.

“I’m just kidding. Awww.” She gave the screen puppy dog eyes. “Look at it, that big head, and,” she laughed, “did it just yawn?”

“Yes!” Dr. Gold nodded excitedly. “So did you want to know the sex?”

She looked at me with a secret smile and it was my turn to have my eyes widen. I couldn’t even speak; I just nodded.

“Well…” Dr. Gold rotated the wand until I could see my child’s cute, little nubby legs kicking out. “Active little booger. So can you tell?”

I cocked my head, looking for a penis because I was so sure it was a boy. I don’t know why, just a hunch. I saw a long-looking snake thing and grinned. “A boy.” I pointed at the screen.

“No.” She laughed. “That’s the umbilical cord. You’re having a little princess.”

Zoe screeched and began clapping her hands. “He is gonna flip, Tor is gonna flip. And ohmygod.” She placed her hand on her cheek.

“What?” I gasped, having a hard time even picturing a new baby girl in our lives. A girl.

Girl.

Pink dresses.

Bows in her golden hair.

Blue eyes. Cause we both had blue eyes. So she’d have to.

A little girl.

My heart thumped and a slow smile spread like sun-warmed honey across my face. I could so totally picture it that I was starting to get goosebumps.

“Those poor boys, Tor is gonna go ape shit on them if they even try to mess around with his daughter,” Zoe giggled.

I laughed and nodded.

Dr. Gold’s smile was huge. “There’s also one other bit of good news for you, my dear. The placenta has shifted. Which means…”

She whisked the wand off my belly and for a moment I wanted to cry out, beg her to put it back on just so I could keep looking at the little miracle growing inside of me.

“You can have sex again!” Zoe squealed even louder.

“What? What?” My brows lowered. “Sex again?” I glared at Zoe, ready to lay into her for talking about that in front of Doc, when it suddenly dawned on me that she was totally right. I had no idea how she knew about our no sex ban, or maybe I told her, my memory was shit now, but I smiled big.

“Seriously?” I whipped around to face Doc.

She nodded. “Seriously. And pregnant sex, well, let’s just say it’s some of the best stuff out there. “ She winked and I chortled.

We were walking out of the clinic when Zoe nudged me with her shoulder. “So you gonna get your bow chica wow wow on tonight or what?”

“Zo,” I said, rolling my eyes, “stop. But I am gonna plan something epic. I think I might bake him a pink cake and then maybe I’ll—”

“Yes. Yes. A pink cake sounds all well and good, but I think this calls for some sexy, lacy stuff.” She flicked at my frilly maternity top.

“I’m pregnant!” I slapped her hand away. “I don’t feel sexy at all. Like at all.” I waved my hands as we finally reached my jeep.

Unlocking it, Zoe slipped inside the driver’s seat.

“Shut up. We’re going,” she said as soon as I got inside and locked myself in.

“Where?”

“To a sexy sex shop. You’re getting gussied up tonight, honey.”

“Oh geez. I’m pretty sure just the fact that we can have sex now will be good enough for him. Besides, I look ugly.”

“You look pregnant. That’s totally different.”

Pulling out of the parking lot, she headed for the strip mall in town and I knew Zo enough to know there’d be no deterring her. Growling, I punched on the radio and slunk down into my seat.

Nothing said I’d have to wear it. Whatever the heck she made me get.

***

I was in the kitchen, testing the firmness of the cake in the oven when my phone rang later that night. Picking it up, I answered it absentmindedly. “Hello?”

After three seconds of no answer I hung it up with a shrug and shoved the cake pan back in. It still needed about five more minutes.

Barely a minute later my phone rang again. This time I picked it up, but not before looking at the number.

My screen showed an out of state number I didn’t recognize. Frowning, I murmured another hello, but this time a little more grumpy. I hated telemarketers.

But again, no answer. The third time it happened, I shut my phone off.

It was late by the time Tor got home that night. The house smelled of rich spice cake and I’d lit candles everywhere.

I’d debated off and on all day whether I should wear the stupid thing Zoe had made me buy. Fifty dollars’ worth of lace and sheer royal pink fabric. Because, as she’d said, the pink would be the way to tell him.

But since I was more into baking than sexing him the color, I figured I’d bake the cake anyway. I’d bathed, shaved, put on a ton of perfume, and here I was sitting on the sofa not really sure what I was watching on TV and wearing the sheer, baby doll-length nightie wondering if I had enough time to run back there and take it off.

I felt stupid.

My stomach was full of nerves. We’d only had sex once. So it was sort of like the first time. I rubbed my belly. Though not really.

What if he was too tired? Or didn’t want to?

“Oh my god, what if he doesn’t want to?” I was jumping off the couch, ready to march back to the room to change when the door opened and my sexy Viking stole my breath as he always did.

His smile was huge but tired as he came into the room. I tugged self-consciously on my robe belt. An oversized, blue polka dotted monstrosity of a robe that covered me from head to toe and made me look lumpy to boot.

“So tell me.” He smiled, causing faint laugh lines around his eyes to crinkle.

We’d made a deal that I’d wait to give him the news in person.

“I know, but are you sure you want to?” I winked.

Chuckling, he tugged on the edge of my robe pulling me into his arms and sniffed. “Apartment smells like cake.”

I shrugged. “You know I like to bake when I get nervous. In fact…” I flicked his nose and dashed toward the kitchen, causing him to turn and follow. “I think you’ll like this cake.”

I’d pulled out all the stops to make this one. Italian buttercream sandwiched between layers of dyed pink spice cake. I’d dumped hot pink magenta food coloring I’d found at a specialty foods store all throughout the golden yellow batter. It wasn’t exactly pink, but it wasn’t red either. It was a kind of weird pinkish purple that was pretty but might not be totally obvious to him.

Pulling the cake stand toward me, I lifted the lid with trembling fingers, wondering what he’d think about the words I’d written on the cake.

“‘Hello, Daddy,’” he drawled.

I peeked at him.

I wasn’t sure if it would be possible for him to wear a bigger smile than he was now. Brushing strands of my hair off my neck, he kissed the base of my neck, making me break out in a wash of goosebumps.

“What is it?” he asked, fingers working their magic on the tight knots in my spine.

“Mm.” I leaned my head forward. He had such magical hands. “Cut into it and see.”

Handing him the cake knife, I waited expectantly for him to take it.

In one deft move he sliced into the cake and it was amazing to me to see how he glowed. There was an epiphany happening inside of me. A strange truth I kept trying so hard to deny to myself.

Also an obvious one.

I loved him. Totally. Completely. Absolutely.

Here he was, this big, beautiful, sexy man and he was glowing. About me. About us. About our child.

He sliced into the other side, ready to extract the wedge that would reveal all.

As if he knew exactly what I was thinking he looked at me. “You know whatever he or she is, I’m going to love him or her. And their mother. Right?”

I could barely see him for the tears blurring my vision. Why was I waiting for him to hurt me? Waiting for this to end?

He kept telling me to enjoy this moment and I was really going to try.

This time I wanted things to work, really work. More than anything I’d ever wanted with Angel. Angel had been my first love, but I was beginning to suspect that Tor might be my true love.

He pulled the slice away from the rest of the cake and I nibbled on my lip, wondering if he’d be able to understand that the purple meant a girl.

Tor stared at that slice of cake for what felt like an eternity.

Unable to stand the anticipation of his reaction one second longer I clamped my hand onto his wrist. “It’s a—”

“Girl.” He shook his head and then pulled me tight into his arms. “Eskelde,” he crooned in my ear, his voice quivering just slightly and I felt safe.

I felt home.

Like I always did when he was around.

Back in college I’d read a word.

Sensucht.

The word encompassed an idea that was so profound even the word itself couldn’t quite do it justice. Because it was a profundity of desire, an all encompassing yearning in the human heart for something we couldn’t describe or really comprehend, but desperately wanted all the same. Sometimes it related to longing for home, but other times for love. The word could mean so many different things, and yet encapsulated them all.

At the time I’d been so struck by the term, and had superimposed Angel’s image onto it. My desire that he and I reconcile, become the family we should have been. For years I clung to that hope, that dream, refusing to let it die because I wasn’t the type who could fall in love easily.

I was loyal, clinging even when I knew I shouldn’t. When I had no right to, desperate because I wanted someone to choose to stay with me.

My parents hadn’t.

Angel hadn’t.

I’d felt so alone.

“I love you.” The words slipped so easily, so surely from my lips, like they’d been there all along, just waiting for me to recognize it was okay to breathe them to life.

I pulled out of his arms and fumbled with the knot of my belt, letting the robe puddle at my feet, standing as tall and proud before him as I possibly could.

Unashamed of my curves, or the fact that I was short and had stubby legs. That my breasts weren’t very big, or that I had a clearly visible pregnant belly.

“Dr. Gold told me it was okay to—”

Tor blinked, and then like someone flicked a light switch on, he scooped me up. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck as he took ten very big steps to our room and kicked the door shut behind us.

He didn’t speak as he laid me down on the bed. His eyes never turned from mine as he kicked his shoes off, then unbuttoned and slowly worked his pants off his legs. From the corner of my eye I could see his boxers were tented and my heart pounded almost violently in my chest.

The memories of our one night came flooding back. The way he’d moved, how he’d felt. I hungered for it. Needed it.

Butterflies with razor-tipped wings sliced at my insides, my toes curled into the faux-mink comforter. The one I always complained was too hot for Texas, but that I always curled into at night anyway.

The one he teased me for being too girly with all its pink floating hearts everywhere, but that he knew I loved because it was the last gift my father had given to me before they’d left to Nigeria and so he never asked to switch it out for another less feminine one.

Finally he broke eye contact, but only because he’d had to yank his shirt over his head. The movement caused the knot of hair he kept his hair in to slip down.

He looked like my Viking god come down from Valhalla to slay me.

“You are so beautiful, Tor,” I murmured, knowing it was what I always said to him, but it was true.

His lips twitched. “I should be the one saying that to you.”

The heated cadence of his words made my blood hot. Liquid heat crashed between my thighs as my center tingled with a fierce rush of longing. All I had on was a thin scrap of dental floss.

I might have felt silly if it weren’t for the fact that his gaze was eating me all up.

“Jamie, I wish to worship you this night.”

Gulp.

What exactly is a girl supposed to say to that? Then my lips curled and I exposed the length of my throat as I tipped my head back. “Yes, please.”

Laughing, he shucked his boxers off, causing his cock to spring free of its confines. Bobbing at me thick, and hard, and all mine. I licked my lips.

He crawled over to me on the bed, gliding his big palm up my calf, over my knee, and up my thigh, stopping only an inch before hitting the juncture between my legs.

Biting onto his bottom lip with his strong, white teeth he gave me an evil grin. “Have I ever mentioned to you how damn sexy I think you are?”

“Oh.” My cheeks heated. “Do you find me sexy, God of Thunder?”

He laughed. “Very. You make me a very desperate man.”

“Did you know,” I said as I slid my hands up his biceps, which flexed under my touch. Man, he was a big boy. “That I have a superhero fetish?”

“Mmm,” he rumbled, tracing his finger along the inside of my thigh, flirting dangerously close with my apex, making me moan and shiver beneath his sexual torture. “Do you now? And who is your favorite?”

I dragged my claws into his arms when he finally slipped a finger beneath the pathetic excuse for fabric called my thong. The sensitive nerve endings pulsed, making me want to keen and scream out because it’d been too damn long.

“I always had a thing,” I panted and then groaned long and deep when he pinched my clitoris, “for that sexy God of Thunder. Tor!” I nearly jumped out of my skin when he inserted a digit into my hot channel, moving it softly in and out.

“Gods, you feel good,” he moaned, rubbing his nose in my hair.

Words abandoned me as I become a creature incapable of reasoning beyond the pleasure of his touch, the feel of him as he inserted another finger inside me. Filling me, stretching my almost virginal passage once again.

I clamped my teeth onto his shoulder, not biting hard enough to break skin. But it was no girlie bite, either.

He mumbled something I could not even hope to understand and then he said something I did.

“I need to have you in every way, Eskelde.”

His warm, mint tinted breath scraped my nerves raw. And when he pulled out of me I cried out, wanting him back.

But then he was moving down my body and my eyes went wide because I knew what he was about to do. Something Angel never did. Something no one had ever done for me.

“Tor, I don’t think—”

He pushed a finger against my lips, the one he’d just had inside me and I should be so grossed out to smell myself on him, but I wasn’t. I almost feel like I’d been branded, but that I’d also branded him.

My man was claiming me, and I wanted him to.

“Don’t think,” he murmured before planting a quick kiss on my belly button. “Just feel.”

And then his trail of kisses moved lower and lower and lower, until I was quivering from the ache, from the unbearable anticipation of where his next one would be.

The thong Zoe bought me tied up on either side, and with one quick flick he’d undone them and exposed me. Cool air rushed against my heated core and I shivered. But the cold didn’t last long. I clenched my eyes shut so hard that stars exploded behind them the moment his lips clamped tight to my nub.

I jerked beneath him when his teeth joined in on the attack, sucking and nibbling, and then his fingers were back inside me as he manually worked on me and I knew he’d done this to others. He had to have, he was too good at it. And for a second I was so freaking jealous, so angry that anyone else has gotten to experience this with him.

But Tor was mine now, and the anger, the jealously, it didn’t last. It couldn’t last, because this was so damn perfect.

I was writhing, clutching at his head, pushing him in deeper. Being completely wanton, overtaken by my lust, by my need as I wiggled on him. Moaning and crying out because there was no way I could survive this.

The pleasure that was carved in pain, the fire racing through me. The building, surging, gathering heat spiraling tighter and tighter within me like a helix contracting so hard in on itself that an implosion was inevitable.

I was a bomb seconds away from detonation.

“Yes,” I moaned. I was surprised I was even still capable of thought. Although I wasn’t by much, because yes seemed to be the only word I could say.

Then his tongue swirled and sucked and his fingers moved in so hard I couldn’t stay together. I was fracturing, becoming splinters of myself and crying out as the pleasure rolled in on itself, over and over, and I was sure I was dying.

But Tor was chuckling and he was holding me, wrapping me up in his big, warm arms and he was kissing my neck, my face and I loved him so much.

“I love you. I love you.” I whispered it to him, lost in this moment, in the pleasure.

His lashes fluttered. “I could go all the days of my life never growing tired of hearing you say those three words to me.”

“I thought you were going to kill me.” I laughed and so did he.

But then I felt something thick and hard nudge against me and I knew he wasn’t done, but neither was I. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I opened my legs so that he could fit between them, but he shook his head.

“You’re pregnant. I don’t want to squish the baby.”

I automatically rubbed my stomach. “So we can have sex, but I still can’t have sex.” I pouted.

“Actually,” his eyes lit up, “I’ve been reading in that book I gave you and there’s a position we should be able to try.”

“A position, huh?” I teased, nipping at his sexy jaw. “Do tell.”

“Turn your back to me.”

“Ohh, kinky.” I giggled when he flicked my bum. “Fine. Fine.” I maneuvered my big old self onto my side, filled with excitement at just what we were about to do. I’d read that part of the book too and it’d looked uncomfortable to me, but then again it wouldn’t hurt to try.

He tapped my leg. “Put your leg on mine.”

I lifted it up until my foot was resting on his thigh, opening myself wide to him. Certain this wouldn’t work. But then he scooted behind me, putting us flush with one another and I gasped as his cock stroked my still-wet center.

“It’s gonna work,” I breathed and then shivered when his warm breath caressed my nude shoulder blade.

He placed a gentle kiss there and said, “No condom this time.”

“Not that it worked the first time,” I gasped when he slid in. Pushing in smoothly, and the position was snug, tight, but not uncomfortable.

“Gods, you feel good,” he groaned and then began a slow, easy glide in and out of me.

I’d already orgasmed once, but feeling him push in from behind me, having his arm band around me tight and his fingers lightly flick at my nipple like he was strumming his guitar, the desire and heat spread again.

Tor was tender and gentle and I could feel his restraint. Knew he wanted to shove into me hard, I felt it in the trembles of his muscles, the way his breathing hitched, but he kept the pace slow and steady and even.

“Have you been masturbating?” I groaned when the tip of his cock pushed higher within me.

“What?” He chuckled. “You ask the strangest questions, Eskelde.”

I moaned, head growing fuzzy and dizzy with the building orgasm. “It’s just that you’ve got too much stamina for a man who’s been without all these months.”

He palmed my breast, kneading and rubbing it gently and wow that felt good. Those puppies had been so sore and off limits for the first three months, and now I wanted him to touch them all the time.

Opening my eyes, I glanced around the room. Listening to the sounds of our mating, watching the dying rays of sunlight play along the bronze hue of his tanned skin, inhaled the scent of our union along with the soap and cologne of his body.

I was building a memory, a picture of this. I was going into it this time with my eyes wide open, because I never wanted to forget it. I wanted this as a permanent snapshot in our lives. Hopefully the beginning of many more.

“I may have done it a time or a hundred,” he finally whispered before planting kisses along my shoulder.

Pushing down on his thigh for support, I lifted myself up so that he could go even deeper. He hissed and so did I as he stoked the fire inside me to a fever pitch.

“No more, Tor.” I shook my head and swallowed hard. “Okay? No more. If you need me, I’m here.”

His arm banded around me and then he was grunting hard, and I felt the warmth of his ejaculation flowing through me.

“Come on, babe,” he murmured, still pulsing inside of me.

I wasn’t sure I’d be able to come again, but then his hand slipped between my legs and his fingers found my sensitive nub and that was all it took for me to climax for the second time.

When I could finally breathe properly I rolled over. “Pregnant sex rocks.”

He chuckled and I nuzzled into his chest. He stroked my hair a few times before finally rolling out of bed.

“Where are you going?” I pouted as he headed to the bathroom.

“I’m going to get a rag to clean you up.” He winked at me and then disappeared behind the door.

I smiled, luxuriating in the feeling of having had my mind blown twice in one day. He’d worked me like a master violinist, making me sing for him. Crossing my arms behind my head, I grinned when he returned to my side, taking the time to lovingly tend to me.

Finished, he was getting ready to crawl back onto the bed, when I twined my fingers together. “Charming, since I told you I love you and you found out you’re the proud pappa of a little girl who in all likelihood is gonna be just as good looking as her mamma—”

He snorted. “What do you want, woman?” His blue eyes twinkled.

I was pretty sure it was impossible for me to ever get tired of him.

“Cake?” I gave him a sheepish grin.

Shaking his head, he shoveled his fingers through his hair and mock-glowered. “Pregnant women. You will be the death of me.”

“But you love it, right?”

The humor left him. “Always.”

If I hadn’t just come twice, I might have come from that look alone. That sort of caveman, alpha marking of his territory glance that made my toes and head tingle with a sudden rush of blood.

He returned moments later with a plate full of cake and a large glass of water.

Tor ate like an athlete, which was to say he rarely indulged in anything high-calorie. Especially cake. He held it out to me. Scooting up on the bed until my back was pressed against the wall, I took it from him as he sat next to me.

“Wanna try it?” I asked him from the corner of my eye.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I do wish to try my daughter’s cake.”

Deliriously happy, I cut into it with my fork. “Guess what I figured out I can do today?”

“What?” he asked as I lifted the bite of cake to his lips.

He took it between his teeth and I sat the plate onto my stomach, balancing it perfectly on the soccer ball-sized belly I now sported.

Chuckling, he swallowed his bite. “That is very impressive. And that cake is delicious.”

I was just about to say thanks when the plate toppled off my belly from a powerful kick that had not come from him. Dropping the fork, I gasped and grabbed my belly, not caring about the frosting staining my sheets.

“Oh my god,” I breathed.

“What?” His eyes grew worried. He covered my hands. “Did I hurt you? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

I laughed. “She kicked!”

Grabbing his hand, I moved my own and placed his where mine had been. But the little snot decided not to give an encore performance.

He frowned. “I missed it.”

“She kicked me hard enough to make that plate fall off.”

He chuckled. “She’s got the Viking blood in her.”

I sniffed. “It’s called Texas thunder, Charming. Let’s not confuse the two.”

We laughed for a minute and then I grew serious. “Names. Crib. Clothes. Oh my god, Tor, we are so far behind on everything.”

“We’ll start. I’ll get us name books tomorrow.”

I played with my thumbnail. “My parents come in two months and I still haven’t told them about this. I just don’t even know how.”

“Don’t be worried, Jamie, they’ll love her.”

I shook my head. “I’m not worried about that. It’s just that my parents aren’t really a part of my life. They have their own. I know they love me, but I’m kinda a Cliff Note in their world. I think if they do that to her it would really hurt me.”

“No matter what happens, love, we’re in this together.”

I smiled, but it didn’t ease any of the worry. I’ve often found that when life gets good, bad things are just around the corner waiting to drag you down.

Chapter Seventeen

Six Months

Jamie

The phone rang.

Where before I’d only felt like a whale, now I was coming to resemble one. Walking while constantly bumping into things was pretty much the norm at this point. Tor had already left to go to work for the day and I was home alone trying to catch up on edits.

I couldn’t wait to be done with this pregnancy. I was so over the swollen sausage toes and fingers in the morning.

“Hold on,” I griped at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter as I hauled my big butt up off the couch, waddling slowly as I tried to work through the morning aches.

My parents were coming next month, so it was probably mom ringing with some last-minute details about something or other.

“Hello?” I said as perkily as I could manage.

“Jamie.”

I froze for a second as the deep tenor of a voice I hadn’t heard in months filtered down the line. “Angel?” I squeaked out.

How much did it suck that I hadn’t even given the man much if any thought in my head these past few months?

Clearing my throat, I shook my head. Plopping onto the stool. “Hey, how are you? How’s the rehab going?” I cringed; he was probably done by now.

Gah, I hated this anxious, nervous feeling I got talking to him. All the old hurts and pains and fears came flooding back hearing his voice.

“Good. I finished the rehab last month. I can walk pretty good now, need a cane sometimes when my knee feels weak, but otherwise I’m pretty good.”

“Good.” I grimaced. Lost for what else to say.

The seconds ticked by.

“So…ah…”

“Yeah.” I laughed, rubbing my belly. “This is only a little weird.”

“A little weird, yeah, that works.”

I tapped my fingers on the kitchen counter. “So what’s up?”

“I wanted to see you,” he said it softly.

“Angel, I don’t think that’s such a—”

“Only for a few minutes. Look, Mama forced me into counseling. She was determined that this time I actually straighten the hell up.”

“Yeah, that’s good of her, I’m glad she finally made you.”

“I know. I know,” he grumped.

I sighed, missing his mother more than I cared to admit. No, it hadn’t been cool for her to ask me to keep the pregnancy a secret from Angel, but on the other hand had I been in her shoes I might have felt the exact same way if my child were going through rehab.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I realized you and I left things off really bad and I thought that maybe if we talked we could move past—”

“I’m pregnant.” I blurted it out. Wincing the moment I said it because there were so many other ways I could have tactfully done that.

When he didn’t speak after ten long seconds I squeaked out his name. “Angel?”

“I’m here.”

“Did you hear me?”

Again there was silence. My gaze drifted toward the vineyard scene that Tor had painted on the kitchen walls.

He was like a man possessed lately, asking me what I wanted to see on the walls, and no matter how far out there, like the snowstorm in the bathroom, he did it. My heart warmed to think of him.

“I heard you,” he mumbled.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I stuttered, not sure why I was apologizing. But I always felt like I needed to whenever Angel was around. Like I was screwing up and disappointing him all the time.

“Yeah, it’s, whatever.” He chuckled. “Are you happy?”

I thinned my lips, feeling weird talking to him about Tor. “Yes.”

“Do you mind if I ask how far along you are?”

My stomach fluttered with nerves. That was really none of his business. He and I weren’t dating, hadn’t even been dating when I’d gotten pregnant. But if I told him how far along, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out it’d happened right around the time of his crash.

“Your silence is deafening.” He snorted, but it wasn’t a happy sound.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Angel. I’m not sure telling you that will make things any better.”

“How. Long. Jamie? That’s all I want to know.”

“I’m several months along,” I whispered.

“What the fuck!” he snapped and I jumped as if he were in the room with me. Then just as suddenly the line went dead and there was nothing but a loud, grating beeping in my ear.

Aware that the front door was unlocked, I put my phone down and marched over, locking it, dead bolting it, and even putting on the chain for good measure. Don’t ask me why I did it, or even whether it was a sixth sense, intrinsically understanding that what’d just happened was only the beginning, but less than five minutes later I heard a key being inserted into my front door and the knob was wiggling, then the deadbolt turned over.

My door jerked open, but the chain held and didn’t open far enough for the intruder to poke his head in.

“Jamie, open the hell up!” It was Angel and he sounded way beyond pissed.

I sat on my couch, hugging the pillow to my chest, having no idea what Angel might do but knowing his tempers could be ferocious when he got into a mood.

Usually it wouldn’t bother me; he’d never hurt me. But I was pregnant now, and the thought of him doing anything to even accidentally hurt the baby kept me petrified. “Go away!” I yelled back at him as he again tried to open the door. I wasn’t sure how much strain a chain could handle.

I debated whether to call the cops, or Tor, but discarded both ideas instantly. The cops didn’t need to be involved in this and Tor would go ape shit.

“I want to talk to you,” he growled.

“Angel, there is nothing to talk about and I forgot that I ever gave you my keys. You need to slide those back to me now and go.”

“Open the door!” he yelled and kicked at the bottom of it.

I jumped. Because he’d never, never once acted like this before. Hugging my arms to my chest, I got up and went toward the phone, knowing I had no choice but to call the cops if he kept this up.

“Angel, either you leave or I will call the police. I’ve got neighbors, by the way. Big frat boy neighbors.”

“Jamie, why?” His voice cracked and immediately I sensed that the danger of just seconds ago was gone. “I’m…I’m…damn, Jams, I’m sorry.” This time his voice broke and I knew he was crying.

Heartbeat finally coming down to normal, healthy levels, I slowly put the phone back onto the counter.

“I screwed up big. That’s what I wanted to tell you. What I needed to tell you. I’ve got my life right. I got a good job, I’m functioning, but I’m not right without you. This sobriety shit is hard on me, Jamie, the night terrors are worse and I miss you so damn bad I can hardly breathe.”

I heard a rustle of movement, like he was slowly sliding down my door.

Just how close had Angel been when he’d called me? Because there was no way in hell he should have gotten here so quick. My mind instantly flashed to the weird phone calls I’d been getting lately from out of state. Calls that’d continued for weeks now with no one answering when I said hello. I’d shrugged it off as just really aggressive telemarketing, but what if it wasn’t?

“I’m sorry, Jamie.” He whispered it over and over, sounding broken and like he was hurting.

Clutching at my chest, my own heart aching because this had never been the way things were supposed to end. “Angel, you need…” I inhaled deeply, “You need to go.”

“Jamie, you can’t leave me.”

It was mortifying that anyone and everyone could hear this conversation if they walked past. Tor was not going to like this at all if he found out.

Not like I’d invited Angel here, but I could only imagine how pissed he’d be if he learned of this.

“Angel, I swear to you I’m not trying to hurt you. But you really do need to go. I…we can’t do this right now.”

I thought he might do more, say something else to try and convince me to open the door. But there was a scraping sound and then I saw the keys being pushed through the opening of the door.

“I’ll see you around, Jams,” he said softly and I waited until the echo of his shuffling footsteps walking down the hall disappeared.

I felt frozen on my seat long after I knew he was probably gone. But what if he was still out there? Just waiting for me to open the door? To make sure that he was gone? Would he grab me? Hurt me?

In my head I kept saying there was no way, that wasn’t how Angel was. But I didn’t really have a clue who he was anymore. I hadn’t for years.

I couldn’t sit here frozen with indecision forever.

Eventually I worked my nerve up enough to tiptoe over to the door. My heart was pounding in my throat. I counted to sixty in my head before poking my head around the opening and was able to breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when all that I saw was an empty hallway.

Just as I was about to close it, my frat boy neighbor peeked his around the corner. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed, as if he’d just woken up from an all-night bender, which he probably had.

Barefoot and wearing gray workout pants. The kind Rocky had worn in his workout montage, his black and red lumberjack shirt was only buttoned up part of the way, and one end was tucked into the waistband of his pants. In short, he looked a wreck, but when he gave me a grin and shoved a lock of thick curly brown hair out of his eyes, I wondered if maybe I’d also short-changed this guy.

It was a habit of mine that I wasn’t very proud of.

“You okay?” he asked in an alcohol-roughened voice.

I gripped the edge of the door so hard some of my knuckles popped. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It dawned on me that I’d never even learned his name.

“Carter.” He dipped his head and touched his chest as if he could hear my thoughts. “And you’re Jamie.”

I frowned. “How did you know—”

He scratched at his dark whiskers. “Hottest girl on the floor, I pay attention to things like that. Anyway, I heard the commotion, just wanted to make sure you were good.”

The nerves that’d wound me tight while Angel was here began to ease, like a tide rolling gently over sand. “Yeah, I’m good. I was just—”

Tor suddenly appeared in the stairwell looking between the two of us with a startled expression.

“Hey, can you hold on, stay right there so I can open the door.” I held up a finger to Carter and then shut the door, quickly undoing the chain lock so I could open it fully.

When I did, it was to see Tor shaking hands with Carter and smiling broadly. My heart did that stupid pitter-patter thing in my chest again. Because Angel had just been here, it was easy to make the comparisons between the two.

Whenever Angel and I were “on,” he never liked me to look at or even speak with another guy; he’d grow instantly suspicious of anyone I did it with. Didn’t matter to him that he was constantly screwing around on me, I was never allowed the same privileges. Not that I would have taken them, mind you—we may not have been married, but I was now and had always been a one man kind of woman.

Tor didn’t even act suspicious. He looked curious but not angry. He introduced himself to my neighbor.

“I’m Jamie’s boyfriend,” he said and then looked between us. “You okay?”

“Yeah, um, I was just coming over to check that out for myself.” Carter flipped his wrist over, showing his palm as he pointed at me. “Heard a guy screaming at her, kicking on the door, I knew she was pregnant, just thought I’d check it out.”

My lower jaw jutted out the moment he said it, knowing Tor would figure it out.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” He clapped Carter on the back in such a way as to let him know he’d take care of it now. When he turned to look at me, I felt the pressure of his stare like a dead weight and grimaced.

Tor walked inside and shut the door behind him. “Babe.”

He was asking, but not really. That brilliant mind of his had put two and two together. Sighing, I waddled over to the couch. “I’m fine. Angel paid me an unexpected visit.”

“He was kicking our door?” I could practically see the steam swirling from his ears as he sat beside me, wrapping his big arm around my shoulders and tugging me into his side. “Did you call the cops?”

“No,” I whispered.

His eyes grew stormy. “You didn’t call me.”

“Look, I didn’t want it to escalate. I had the door locked—he wasn’t getting in. Aren’t you proud of me?” I rubbed his chest.

He was so tense and not even looking at me as his breathing grew hard and heavy. I’d never seen Tor this pissed, and boy, was he ever; there could be no doubt about that.

“Tor?”

Holding up his hand, he closed his eyes. “I should beat his ass.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t do that. He’s gone, okay? And I got the keys back from him, so it’s over. Really, really over.”

“He had our keys? Goddammit.” His molars ground together as he glared at the mural of flowers he’d painted for me months ago.

I didn’t like seeing him this angry or this worked up. “Baby, he’s gone. I’m sorry.”

Finally, his shoulders slumped a little and he looked at me. “I’m not mad at you, Jamie. But I am fucking furious with him. We’re getting those locks changed today. I don’t want him anywhere around you again.”

“I understand how you feel.” I nodded. “I do. Angel was wrong to do what he did, but I know how to handle him. I’ve been handling him for over—”

“No, Jamie.” He shifted so that his body was completely open to mine. “No, you don’t know how I feel, okay? You, the baby—those are precious to me. I’ve lost before; I won’t lose again. I can’t. I know you think you can save Angel, but you can’t. He needs help. More help than you can give. You’re a crutch for him. You’re only going to make him worse, not better. What you need is to cut him out of your life completely.”

Feeling as though I’d been slapped, I gaped at him. “What? You can’t be serious. I’ve been honest and faithful to you ever since we got together, and now you’re making demands of me?”

He jumped to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of me.

My pulse was racing so hard I swear I could taste the adrenaline on the back of my tongue. This was the first time I wasn’t okay with Tor, and I was pissed. So fucking furious I was shaking all over.

“It’s like you don’t even have a clue how much of a hold on you he still has.” He shoved his hand at the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I shrieked, balling my hands into fists. “I don’t call him. I don’t go to him. I cut him out of my life completely. For you. For us. So give me some fucking credit here.”

Stopping his pacing, he turned on me, with his chest heaving in and out and his blond hair loose he looked like some berserker ready to do battle.

“I came home because I forgot something. I’m going to go before I can say anything else I’ll regret.” And then, clenching his teeth, he stomped to the bedroom, yanked open a drawer, and then a second later slammed it shut.

He didn’t say anything as he walked back out. But he did kiss me on the top of the head. It was hard and not so tender as he normally would, but I was so pissed I felt like spitting. Or saying something really, really awful to him.

I didn’t return the kiss. In fact, I jerked my face away. He looked at me as if silently demanding to know why I’d do it. I locked my feelings away when his eyes gleamed with worry, and turned my back on him when he walked out the door, hugging my arms to my chest.

And when he left, I sat on the couch and it took a minute, but once the tears started to fall it took hours for them to stop.

Tor was gone for so long that day. And at first I welcomed his absence, alternating between cussing him out and being so pissed that he couldn’t understand I hadn’t asked for Angel to come over and do what he’d done.

I channeled my anger into finishing up the final edits on a novel that was due back tomorrow. Normally in a situation like this I’d drink.

It wasn’t often that I did it. Only when one of Angel’s antics really got me low could I hold my liquor like nobody’s business, which was why I rarely kept any of it in the house. The temptation was just too great when I felt like this.

But now I was pregnant, and that wouldn’t work either. So in a manic fit of righteous anger I cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, even going so far as to clean out the grout in the bathroom tile with an old toothbrush from the medicine cabinet.

By the time I finished I knew the day was over half over and I’d not eaten a thing. My lower back and my stomach were also hurting. Exhausted, I dropped onto the bed and covered my eyes with my hand.

That’s when the anger flipped and I started to see my part in this scenario. No, it wasn’t my fault that Angel had come over and no it wasn’t even my fault that he’d acted like such an idiot that Carter had noticed.

But I should have called the cops, and if not them, at least Tor.

Pulling up my shirt I rubbed my belly like a Buddha statue, feeling as our baby moved and danced inside of me.

There was another life to consider.

One that mattered more than Angel, more than Tor, more even than myself. I also couldn’t deny that Angel had freaked me out a lot today. I was used to his temper tantrums, but never this level of violence before.

My phone rang.

Jerked from my thoughts, I snatched my phone up and this time did check the caller ID. It was Tor.

“Hello?” I whispered.

He exhaled heavily before replying, “I don’t like fighting.”

I gave a soft whimper of relief. “Me either.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

I snorted. “The house is clean.”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, Eskelde. I just worry for you, and…”

Tor let the words trail off but I knew what he was thinking. He didn’t trust Angel, didn’t think I should still trust him.

I really didn’t. Not anymore. But it was complicated. As much as he’d scared me today, I still didn’t feel like he’d have done something horrible to me either. Or the baby.

Swallowing hard, I squeezed back the lump in my throat and nodded even though I knew he couldn’t see me.

“I know, babe.”

“I bought you ice cream.”

Laughing through the tears, I said, “Come home. Today sucked ass and I really miss you.”

He told me he loved me and even though my heart always fluttered when he said it, I couldn’t help feeling like we were still tiptoeing around our big issue, namely Angel and what I planned to do about him.

The problem was, I didn’t have a clue.

Chapter Eighteen

Seven Months (Third Trimester)

Tor

Today was the final day the Sullivans would be here. I was grateful. To say that I could not begin to comprehend how such a warm and loving daughter had come from two straight-laced people who didn’t seem to have a single humorous bone in them would be an understatement.

Though there was no denying the physical similarities. Jenna, Jamie’s mother, was as short as her daughter and had the same slenderness of frame. But while Jenna had a riot of curly brown hair and rich brown eyes, there were enough hints of sameness that it shot a hole in my theory of adoption.

“Mom, I can still do the dishes.” Jamie tugged at the plate her mother was trying to snatch out of her hands.

Jamie had taken an effort during the week to really dress up for her parents. Before they’d come she’d been so uncomfortable in any kind of clothes at this stage in her pregnancy that she was mostly walking around in bras and panties, a trend I’d grown rather fond of and couldn’t wait to see her bring back.

Today she wore a floral-patterned day dress that ended at her knees and had curled her much longer hair, and she’d even put on a little makeup.

Jenna’s lips thinned. “No, let me. Dad and I need some privacy anyway. We have things we need to discuss.”

Jamie’s spine stiffened at the obviously dismissive tone.

Slipping my arm around my woman’s shoulder, I rubbed her bicep, petting her like she was a startled, angry kitten until her muscles began to relax.

“Let’s go to the movie,” I suggested in her ear. “I’m sure there’s something you want to see there, right?”

Nibbling on the corner of her lip, she looked up at me and I had no problem reading the heavy anguish in her eyes. She looked so fresh-faced today and the makeup she’d worn was youthful and subtle; it panged my heart how much effort she’d put into gaining her parents’ approval and the fact that it didn’t seem to matter much to them bothered me more than I’d let on with her.

We both knew what her parents needed to discuss: the fact that they didn’t approve of much that their daughter was doing. To include the baby or myself, for that matter. But we couldn’t talk about it here.

Finally she nodded. “Mom, is that okay?”

“Yes.” Her mother never even paused in cleaning the dishes.

Jenna had made a roast of beef and carrots and potatoes. It might have been delicious, except for the fact that the tension in the room had run so thick I could barely taste it. This entire week had been fairly stressful for me and if it’d not been for Jamie, I’d not have put myself through it.

The bathroom toilet flushed a second later and then her father stepped out, shutting the door behind him.

Jamie got her looks from her father, Carl. Tall and athletic with a head of super blond hair and startling blue eyes, he reminded me a lot of my Uncle Gunnar on my pappa’s side. Contemplative and broody and not someone I wished to be around often simply because I did not feel we had much of anything in common other than my love for his daughter.

“Sir.” I nodded when he walked over to join his wife at the sink.

His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. I didn’t feel quite the same level of resentment directed at me as I had from Jenna.

I tapped Jamie’s arm to snap her out of her trancelike state because she’d been standing there staring at her silent parents unblinkingly. She jerked as if I’d startled her and then nodded. “Let me get a sweater.”

She had the cutest little walk now, like a penguin waddle. Her stomach was so big we’d wondered that maybe we were having twins, but Dr. Gold kept assuring us that wasn’t to be the case.

As Jamie came back from the room she paused at the window and glared outside for a good three seconds.

“What?” I asked as I reached for my wallet, tucking it into my back pocket.

“Oh.” She shook her head quickly. “Nothing. Thought I saw something. Anyway.” She gave me a tired smile. “You ready?”

At least her parents waved as we walked out.

“What was outside?” I asked the moment we stepped into the hallway.

Rubbing her brow, she looked suddenly so deflated and tired. “Nothing. I thought for a second I might have seen Angel.”

“What?” I growled as adrenaline flooded my bloodstream, making me want to rush outside and find the man himself. For the past week in a half Jamie had begun receiving mysterious phone calls from an unidentified number. Only after I’d noticed how frequently it was happening had she confessed that she’d been getting them for months now and she couldn’t prove it was Angel but she suspected it could be. I wasn’t mad at her for keeping that one; there was no proof and I understood that she didn’t want me getting upset. But my gut told me her suspicions were correct.

I was sure it was Angel, because the moment she answered it the caller would always hang up. Finally, after five days of the same shit, I’d grabbed the phone and sworn a blue streak at him, threatening to call the cops if he harassed her again.

For the past two nights the phone had been silent.

She grabbed my hand. “It wasn’t him. I saw the guy’s face. Just looked like him.”

“You sure? You’re not just trying to tell me that to make me feel—”

“No, Tor.” Her blue eyes were earnest. “I promised you I’d be totally honest. That wasn’t him. But I don’t want to talk about Angel anymore.”

I opened the door for her that led out into the heart of Austin.

Twining our fingers together, she inhaled deeply. “Let’s just walk, okay? I just want to stay out for a while.”

“Eskelde, what’s the matter?” I trailed a finger along her jaw, forcing her to look at me.

Shoulders slumping, she sighed. “They hate me.”

“No.” I stopped, tugging her into my arms. “Your parents don’t hate you.”

Resting her cheek against my heart, she muttered, “They’re not very happy.”

I hated to play devil’s advocate, as they hadn’t exactly tried to make either of us feel at ease, but these were her parents and I wouldn’t allow her to think badly of them. “You shocked them, Jamie. That is all. They were not expecting to see you so pregnant.”

Chuckling softly, she wiped at her eyes and then nose before turning to me. “I’m an idiot. I just didn’t know how to tell them. I mean, my parents are pretty liberal and open minded, or so I thought, but I’m not really sure if it was the shock of seeing me pregnant or us living together that’s totally ticked them off.”

Tugging on her gently to get her moving again, I shrugged. “Probably more that you hadn’t told them, they come here to see you pregnant and living with a barbarian.” I hugged her gently. “They leave tomorrow. In the end does it matter? They will come to understand us, to love our daughter. It will happen. Just give them time.”

“You think that’s really all they need? Time?”

Kissing the tip of my finger, I pressed it against her slightly upturned nose. “Of course I think that is all they need. They’re still your parents and still want what’s best for you.”

The grand marquee theater sign came into view when we turned the corner. “Now, there is one matter we desperately need to discuss, and very soon,” I said softly.

“Yeah?” She smiled. “And what’s that?”

“Just what we’re going to name our little engel.” I palmed her belly as we drew closer to the line of theatergoers.

Laughing, she swatted at me. “I told you, I’m not sure yet. I think I’ve narrowed the list down to seventy.”

I rolled my eyes and mock shuddered. “Our poor girl.”

***

Jamie

The movie was good. A silly romantic comedy about an aging rock star and the groupie who’d loved him from afar for over fifteen years. Just exactly what I’d needed to get my mind off the fact that my parents had been cold and distant this past week. They only got to come to visit once every two years.

They could come home more, but they’d always felt like the need was too great to step away for long.

I was hanging outside of the men’s bathroom waiting for Tor to come back out when I saw a face that made my blood freeze cold.

“Angel,” I hissed, glancing wide-eyed left to right as he suddenly appeared from around a thick screen of guys heading toward an action flick down the hall. I recognized a few of the faces as being friends of his.

His hot gaze was on my belly and all he did was stare at it for what felt like an eternity before he finally looked at me. He was clean-shaven, the bruises were completely gone, and apart from a scar right above his brow, you’d never be able to tell he’d been to hell and back just a few short months ago.

Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt with his naturally wavy hair styled back, he looked sleek and handsome as he always had. But while he was nice to look at, there was no longer a flutter of nerves or any trace of desire beating within me.

His nostrils were flared and he was blinking rapidly, his throat was working too. I could tell he was stunned, mentally processing what he was seeing adding it all up and more than likely realizing I’d been with someone while he’d been in a coma.

Then a second later Marianna, wearing a blue jean skirt and bright red tank top, walked up to us wearing a huge smile on her face, but it wasn’t enough to hide the flash of worry in her eyes.

“Jamie,” she squealed. “It’s so good to see you here.”

Angel still didn’t speak. He was now staring at the floor and flexing his fingers. I cocked my head.

“Is it?” I asked with a hint of hurt in there, wondering if the face I’d thought I’d seen in the parking lot really had been Angel’s after all.

Wrapping me up in a vanilla-scented hug, Marianna nodded. “Of course it is. Actually,” she said, looking at Angel, “why don’t you go catch up with the guys so I can just say something to Jamie real quick, okay?”

His eyes flicked briefly to me before he walked off, seeming like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. The second he disappeared around the corner, I turned and stared at Marianna wide-eyed, silently demanding an explanation.

“Did you guys know I was going to be here?” I rubbed my belly, wanting Tor with me in a very bad way.

I’d not been scared when Angel had been standing just a few inches away from me, but I was pretty sure I damn well should have been. Was he stalking me? Just the idea of it made my stomach twist violently.

“No.” She flicked her eyes down to my belly and then back up to my face again. “Or at least I didn’t.” She exhaled a heavy breath. “Jamie, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a couple of weeks now but I can’t seem to keep my nerve up long enough.”

“What? Why?”

Closing her eyes briefly, she toyed with the end of her curly hair. “Because I’m really worried about Angel.”

I leaned against the wall, wondering what was taking Tor so long. “Marianna, I’m sorry, but I just can’t be there for him anymore. I don’t know if you know, but last month he came to my apartment and he got really violent.”

She nodded softly. “I do know. Because he told me.”

“I also think he’s been calling me last week. Calling and then hanging up—”

She shook her head. “No, that was me.” Puffing out a harsh breath, she flicked her fingernail along the top of her tooth. “That’s kind of what I’m talking about, though. We’ve had him in therapy and he was doing so good, Jams, so good. I mean Mom and I felt like he was really getting his act together and then I—”

She bit her bottom lip.

“What? Then you what?”

Cringing, she spread her arms wide. “Then I told him to call you. Mama had said that you’d talked with her before that day when you broke things off and that you’d told her it was just temporary, just to give him his space to heal and rest and—”

“No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t. I told her that I was done. Look, I’m sorry things went down the way they did. I’m sure I could have handled things a hell of a lot better than I did. But I told your mom I was pregnant, told her I was dating someone else. I’m sorry I hurt your brother, but I had to stop.”

Flipping the braid over her shoulder, she nodded. “I know. I was so mad at you that day, but I understood eventually. I knew there was something going on with you and that blond guy, but I didn’t think it was anything serious because you and Angel just seemed destined. Even when I knew he’d never get his act together, I still always believed in the back of my mind that you wouldn’t be the one to leave for good.” She shrugged.

I sighed. “We were toxic. And that relationship was killing him and me. But you have to know, not only am I pregnant, Marianna, I think I’m completely in love with the man who did this to me. So there really is no chance of me getting back with your brother.”

She rubbed her eyes, slumping against the wall. I finally got a good look at her. Nice as she was dressed, there was no hiding the thick bags under her eyes or the dull hue of her skin. She looked dead on her feet and I felt a pang of sympathy for her.

“He’s not in a good place,” she whispered. “Things are bad again. He’s having his night terrors and screaming, crying. I’ve never seen him this bad. The other day I caught him in his room just shaking back and forth.”

I closed my eyes. As much as I didn’t want any part of this, that didn’t mean I liked hearing what was happening either.

“Are you saying it’s because of me?” I looked her directly in the eyes.

Just then a big strong hand palmed my lower back and immediately a sense of calm washed over me. I leaned into Tor’s touch and rested my head gently against his chest.

“Marianna, this is Tor; Tor, Marianna.” I introduced them again. Even though I’d done it once before, I wasn’t sure they’d remember one another.

Marianna’s eyes widened as she nodded at him. “Same guy, huh?”

Tor’s brows dipped and passing me a confused glance, he nodded. “Good to see you, I remember you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed dispassionately and then turned back to me. “Anyway, that was all I wanted to say. It’s good seeing you again, Jamie. Even though it was very”—her gaze rolled to my stomach—“shocking.”

Then, brushing her hand against my arm, she moved to whatever part of the theater Angel had disappeared off to.

“That was Angel’s sister, wasn’t it?” Tor stared at her as she walked off.

I nodded. “Yup.”

“Are you okay? What did she want?”

I grabbed his hand. My stomach growled. “I honestly don’t know, and I really don’t care right now. I’m starving.”

“Again?” he chuckled. “We just ate dinner.”

“Yes, I ate dinner for me. Now I need to eat dinner for the bottomless pit.” I patted my stomach.

“Your wish is my command.” He bowed, and then gestured for me to lead the way. Laughing, I felt the stress and tension of seeing Angel slip off of me.

For a split second the desire to save him had reared its ugly head, but as selfish as it made me, I just didn’t have it in me anymore. From here on out, Angel would have to figure out how to save himself.

Chapter Nineteen

Eight Months

Tor

Jamie’s parents had left the next day and it’d been a weepy goodbye on both sides. It made me feel good that at the very end at least they’d told Jamie they loved her. And while they were far from friendly with me, they were cordial.

I had hope for the future. Especially considering that I planned to make their daughter my wife. For the past five months I’d been saving money for a ring.

The ring I now had nestled in a little black box in my pocket.

Unlocking the apartment door, I walked in only to find Jamie padding around the apartment wearing nothing but a pair of sexy red underwear and black spandex tank top.

Wearing ear buds and holding tight to a small iPod, she was bopping her head as she swept out a section of our small dining room. Because she’d had very little furniture to begin with, I hadn’t had to do much to rearrange things so that there was now a dedicated space for the baby’s crib.

I chuckled, closing the door gently behind me before leaning back on it. “Mind telling me what you are doing, Eskelde?”

Screaming, she dropped the broom and whirled on me. The past month her breasts had grown so that they’d gone from being apple-sized to small cantaloupes. Just seeing the nipples poking against the fabric of her top made my mouth water.

Her cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes wide and startled-looking as she grabbed at her chest. “You scared me,” she said as she jerked the buds out of her ears. Chuckling and rolling her eyes, she pointed behind her. “I’m cleaning it so we can set up the crib.”

Jamie was unhappy that she was gaining water weight, as she said; her cheeks were a little fuller than before and in the mornings her fingers and toes were like swollen little sausages, and even her lips looked bee-stung. All of which only made her look more adorable to me.

I found that I was quite enjoying the sight of my woman pregnant with our child. There was something erotically sensual about her softer, curvier self.

“You do know the babyen will likely be sleeping in our room for the first few months at least. We can wait on this, love.”

Hanging her head, she wrapped her arms around her belly. “I’m so tired of being pregnant. Every inch of me aches all the time and I’m just so ready to hatch this thing.”

Pushing off the door, I walked over and grabbed her by the hand, leading her back to our room. Just last week I’d painted a sunny spring meadow against the left-hand wall, the one we’d be pushing the cradle against. There wasn’t much room in this place to dedicate an assigned baby room to, but I had plans to eventually move us into a single-family dwelling down in the suburbs.

I needed to save a little bit more to do it. Between the two of us I hoped that in another year or so we’d be able to get out of here.

“Lie down on your side and take off your top.” I pointed at the bed.

Smiling gratefully, she whisked off her top and tossed it to the floor before crawling onto the bed and flopping onto her side with a soft moan. The sun had long since set hours ago. Because I was trying to save, I’d increased my work hours. I didn’t like it, but there wasn’t any other option.

“How was your day?” she asked as she tucked a body pillow between her legs.

Whipping my jeans and shirt off, I quickly joined her on the bed. “Fine. Boring. Same old stuff.” Grabbing the eucalyptus-scented lotion off our night table, I squirted out a palm full and then I began to knead it into her flesh.

She moaned, leaning into my touch. She moved like a kitten when I did this for her. Flexing her spine and sighing when I’d hit a knot of muscle.

“Gods, you have a sexy back,” I whispered before planting a kiss on the almost heart-shaped birthmark at the base of her neck.

Wrapping her arm over my neck, her fingers drummed against my skin, making me break out in a wash of goosebumps.

“Tell me more,” she whispered in a husky, sexy drawl.

Slipping my hand over her ribcage slowly, I palmed her much heavier breasts and she trembled beneath me.

Blood rushed to my cock, that it was now nestled against the curve of her ass, pushing almost arrogantly into her. Nudging my hips forward, I nipped her shoulder with my teeth as I played with her tender nipple.

I’d learned that since being pregnant her breasts had become erogenous zones, in a way they hadn’t been before.

Her breathing grew heavy. “I’m soaking wet, Charming,” she murmured, then, grabbing my hand, she drew my thumb toward her lips.

I was still coated in lotion, but she didn’t suck on it as she normally would; instead she brushed it against her bottom lip. Grunting, I used my free hand to work my boxer briefs down my legs until I was free.

Our bodies were attuned to the other’s needs after months of pregnant sex, I knew what she liked. How she liked it. Her foot slid up my thigh so that she’d be fully exposed to me.

“I love you, my beauty. My heart. You’re so perfect for me. So perfect,” I mumbled in her ear as I palmed her soaked and heated underwear.

“Yes.” She tilted her head back, until she was cradled against my shoulder.

Slipping two fingers beneath her underwear, I dipped them into her tight channel.

“Tor. My god,” she moaned and wiggled down on me as I pumped into her.

It was the best kind of torture as I brought out her pleasure, waiting on my own. Sex was always great, but sex with someone I loved, it brought out the gentleman in me. Made me want to give first, made me want to show her that she was so special to me that I was willing to wait on her.

The scent of her musk filled my head. Jamie was sweet and sensual. Almost purring in the back of her throat. I couldn’t help but rock my cock against her. I was painfully hard and ready to explode, but I knew if I entered her now I wouldn’t last long.

I rubbed her extremely swollen clit. The pregnancy had turned Jamie into a ticking sex bomb, she craved it almost more than I did. Although that was far from a bad problem to have. It just meant I got laid every night, and what man wouldn’t want that?

Gasping, she dug her tiny nails into my forearm and then a sound between a screech and a growl tugged from her and I knew the instant she’d fractured because she was nodding and grunting, “Inside me now.”

I slipped into her tight, wet sheath and had to force back a howl as she gripped me hard. I wished I could see her face. She was jerking, spasming on me as her orgasm took her completely, and that was enough to set me off.

Dropping my head to her flowery-scented shoulder blade, I breathed her in as I pumped my seed into her.

We lay that way for a minute, and I might not have moved if I hadn’t felt something hard and powerful kick me.

Jerking, I backed out of her and she laughed. Rolling over onto her back, she covered her eyes with her hand. Her breasts bounced deliciously as she gave in to her joy.

“The baby says hi.” She peeked from between her fingers at me.

“Is that what that was?” My eyes widened and then, trying to be careful, I placed my ear against her stomach.

The mixture of Jamie’s fingers running through my hair as I felt the quickening of my daughter upon my cheek could have lulled me to sleep.

“She’s getting strong,” I breathed in awe as another little thump pressed against my brow.

Nodding, Jamie sighed. “She moves less, but when she does it’s almost uncomfortable.”

“Pappa loves you, baby.” I kissed Jamie’s bellybutton, which made her giggle again.

It amazed me how differently our relationship was now from where it’d started. My woman was always laughing, always happy. Unlike the sad, quiet little thing she’d been when we’d first begun. I didn’t know if it was the baby or me, but I hoped it was a mix of the two, because all I knew was that she was my world.

“Tor?” she said after another moment.

“Hmm?” I looked up at her, moving off the bed so I could go clean us up. Taking care of myself first in the bathroom, I returned a minute later to wash her up.

She was languid as I brushed the towel between her legs.

“What’s the matter, Eskelde?” I asked a second later, tossing the rag into the hamper and rejoining her, pulling her back into my arms, but this time so that she faced me. Never wanting to let her go.

“I don’t know what to name her,” she pouted.

Tracing my thumb over her eyebrow. “We still have time. I say we wait to name her until she arrives. Because how can we know who she is until we see her, right? We could name her Agnes but she’s a Vivienne instead.”

Her fingertips were cold when she framed my jaw with them. “I was kind of thinking we should go with something from your country.”

It warmed my heart that she would even consider that an option. “We could. But our names can sometimes be difficult to pronounce for Americans, not to mention she could be teased. I am fine if you want to go with something more—”

She scoffed. “That girl is gonna be proud of her Norwegian heritage if I have anything to say about it. Besides, her dad is so big and tough that no one would dare make fun of her.”

“That’s right,” I growled, digging my fingers into her ribs right at the spot I knew would tickle and make her laugh.

“Cut it out,” she glowered, slapping at me and wiggling out of my arms. “Or I’ll smack you.”

“I am terrified.”

Her eyes widened. “You are such a jerk.”

But she didn’t mean it. I tickled her again and she did slap me, which mostly just turned me on. Our play fighting eventually turned into more kissing and caressing and before I knew it I was going down on her, making her orgasm yet again as fingernails clawed at the back of my skull.

Once she’d come for the second time, I scooted up her body. Pressing my lips with her scent still on them to her own. She inhaled me in, and though neither one of us was ready to have sex again, we kissed and suckled and explored.

Her hands were soft and comforting and I breathed her in. Feeling more at peace and content than I had in so long.

“Jamie,” I murmured later once she’d curled back into my arms again. “I want to tell you something.”

“What?” She traced the bridge of my nose.

Pulling back, so that I could capture her gaze with my own, once I knew she was fully focused on me I said, “You healed me. I didn’t think it would be possible for me to ever feel this again, but I have. I do. Ida left such a gaping hole in my soul.”

Her blue eyes turned to the side. I knew speaking of Ida wasn’t easy for her. She tried to understand and in her own way, I think she did. But I needed to make her understand something.

Titling her face back to me, I smiled grimly. “I could have married her and been happy, I would have been happy—I know it.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Tor, I’m sorry you lost her.”

“No.” I shook my head. “That is not why I tell you this. I tell you this because I’ve come to the realization that while I loved Ida, you, this child”—I palmed her stomach—“you both are truly the other half of me. I went to some dark places, but not only did you bring me back and make me whole. You’ve both made me even better and I love you with all that is inside me. I am sad that Ida died, and though I shouldn’t say this, I am grateful to have found you.”

She sobbed.

“I would have missed out on so much if I hadn’t, my Eskelde.”

“Oh, Tor.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and dragged me in for another soul shattering kiss. One that spoke more deeply than words about how she felt for me.

I didn’t often hear the words from her mouth, but from the very beat of her heart. Her touch, her actions—they told me what she truly felt.

“I made you something, and I want to show it to you.” I traced the line of her collarbone.

“You didn’t need to.” She shook her head.

“I know I didn’t need to. But I wanted to.” Getting off the bed, I walked over to the acoustic guitar in the corner and brought it back. Crossing my legs, I began strumming the opening chords, and then I sang.

“…I am an artist, breathing and creating new life.”

Her lips wobbled.

“Jamie, she thinks she is invisible. But I disagree. Her eyes full of such wonder…”

The nerves in my stomach eased as I could tell she was enjoying my song. And the longer I sang, the more her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. I wrapped it up with one final chorus.

“I feel myself falling, fast and hard. She is all I want…”

When it was over and there were no more words left, I set the guitar aside.

It seemed this was a night for making my girl cry, but so long as they were happy tears, I was okay with it.

“What’s it called?” she asked quietly.

“‘Jamie’s Song.’” I thinned my lips with the slightest amount of embarrassment, not sure whether this gesture would be considered romantic or corny.

She grinned. “I love you so much, Tor.”

Chapter Twenty

Nine Months

Jamie

I was on the phone with Zoe, sighing in between bites of scrambled eggs. It was about the only thing I wanted to eat right now. Everything else tasted disgusting and gross.

“What do you mean he’s acting weird?”

I grimaced and swallowed. “Well, I guess not weird exactly, but weird.”

“J, like, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zoe sighed. “You’re gonna have to explain that better.”

Growling, I stood and slowly made my way to the sink, dropping the empty plate into it. “Like, I know he’s hiding something. Maybe he thinks I’m ugly,” I whined, splashing some water on the plate before walking back to my couch.

I was so damn sick and tired of waiting on this baby to come. I was a week away from my due date and I was so over being pregnant. I’d begun spotting again, which the doctor told me was perfectly normal at this stage, so I wasn’t too worried about it, but I really needed to get out of the house. Doc said walking could help to naturally induce the baby.

To top it off my blood pressure had begun spiking the last few weeks. To the point that I was having horrible dizzy spells and at one point I’d even gotten a bloody nose. It was pregnancy-induced high blood pressure, so I wasn’t terribly worried, but Doc promised if my body didn’t get it under control soon she’d have no choice but to induce me.

Which I was one hundred percent fine with. I’d tried to get her to schedule my inducement for this week, but she insisted it was important I at least try to make it to week forty.

Every night Tor was giving me orgasm after orgasm to try and help out. Not that it wasn’t fun, but the Braxton Hicks were starting to really get on my nerves and even slightly painful. First time I’d had them I’d sworn I was going into labor. But we’d timed them and even though the suckers didn’t feel good they’d been over fifteen minutes apart, and because I was warned not to even think about going to the hospital until they were at least five minutes apart or less, I’d waited and waited until finally the little bastards had gone away on their own.

“Pah-leeze.” I could practically see her rolling her eyes. “If you think he’s tired of you, then you don’t know my man at all. That Viking is so sprung over you it’s slightly disgusting.”

I giggled, because once upon a time I’d felt the very same way about her and Alex.

“Well, he is hiding something.”

“Yeah, like maybe he’s working his ass off to save enough money to move you guys out of that broom closet. That’s probably all this is. I bet he’s got like some big news waiting to spring on you when the little meme comes. By the way, what is that poor girl’s name? I hate that I just keep calling her Miss Piggy.”

“You do not!” I glared at my phone.

Her laughter sounded teeny and full of static. I sighed. “My phone is about to die again.”

“You need to get that thing switched out.”

“I know, I know.” I plopped onto the couch. “But I’m too fat to drive anywhere. Any time I sit I feel like something is pushing up into my throat and laying down just makes me hurt and, ugh, I’m so over this.”

She laughed and again the line crackled.

I growled. “Maybe I’ll ask Tor to get me a new one. But he doesn’t get home till late tonight. I miss him so bad. What’s up with those new artists? How come they’re not picking up the slack?”

I knew I was probably sounding like a whiny shrew, and I understood that Tor was trying to save money. I was too. It’s why I’d almost doubled my workload, but I at least could work from home while doing it. He was at the shop tattooing all these sexy, silly young things, getting to see their naked asses and breasts because apparently ass and breast stamps were the new cool.

“The artists are great, but girl, you know that’s not why he’s here. Look, I’ll send him home early today, okay? Let him know his little Barbie doll is going crazy without him there.”

I blew out a raspberry. “Shush. I’m not going crazy, I’m just—”

“Going nucking futz, yeah, I get it.”

“Oh jeez, and that doesn’t even make sense.” I rolled my eyes. “I think you meant to say fu—”

“I meant exactly what I said, now you need to go take a bath and tell Miss Piggy to hurry up ‘cause Auntie Zoe is growing impatient.”

I laughed. “Stop calling her that. And I think I’m going to take a walk. Dr. Gold says that can help sometimes.”

“Fine, but be—”

The call cut off with a shrill beep beep beep in my ear. Growling, I tossed the stupid thing onto the couch cushion beside me.

I really did need to get a new one. What if I needed to text Tor with the “It’s Time” message? Disgruntled, and very annoyed because all I could keep picturing was Tor’s hands on some skanky little slut, I heaved my fat ass off the couch and shuffled to the closet to fetch my purse with the bottle of pepper spray inside of it.

Tor was just a teensy bit obsessed with my personal safety. He probably wouldn’t be happy to know I was about to go out at dusk, but I lived in a safe area that was heavily populated with tourists and, as a consequence, cops. I felt perfectly safe to walk a few blocks on my own.

Grabbing my broke-ass phone, I was about to shove it into my purse when it rang. Frowning, I flipped it over. It was Marianna.

I had about a second internal debate as to whether or not I should pick it up, but ultimately I knew I didn’t have a choice.

“Hey,” I drawled.

“Ja—. He is—. Not—. H—”

I winced as the static pierced my eardrums. “I can’t hear you. Marianna? Hello? I can’t hear you,” I repeated again when the static again filled my line.

“You—”

And then the line went dead.

My internal worry button went screwy. Something about that phone call felt very, very wrong. Knowing I didn’t have a choice but to call back, I decided to walk outside and call her there. Sometimes the reception was a little better when I wasn’t in my apartment.

Needing that walk more than ever, I quickly locked my front door and headed out of my apartment building. The second I stepped outside I called, but the call dropped almost immediately.

I was too close to the building still. Moving away from it until I was closer to the parking lot where it was more open, I tried again.

This time it went through.

The connection wasn’t much better, but at least I could hear her. She was shrill, screaming the same words over and over. “Jamie. Angel just left. He’s in his car and is threatening to kill himself.”

“What?” My heart hammered in my throat, eyes going wide. “What do you mean, he’s going to kill himself?”

“He is not doing good,” she sobbed, voice choking and breaking. “We can’t find him. We’ve been looking for hours, but I have this gut feeling that says he might try to go see you before he does.”

My eyes shot to the street beside me, watching car after car drive by. There was no sign of Angel anywhere.

“Mama and Papa are freaking out.”

Disbelieving what I was hearing, I shook my head. “Why? Why would he come here? He must hate me by now.”

“Jamie,” she sobbed, “he never hated you. Angel just didn’t know how to appreciate you. But now that you’re really gone, it’s done something to him. I’m so scared.”

“But he’s not here, Marianna. He hasn’t come.”

“Oh God. Oh God,” she muttered over and over. “If he does come, can you call us, please?”

“I will, but I don’t think he’ll—”

“He will,” she stated with conviction. “I know he will. I’m really scared this time, Jamie.”

The call dropped again, but I didn’t need to call her back. Staring at the brick wall in front of me, I had a terrible, sick feeling that Angel might really do it this time.

Might really try to end himself. It made me ill, made me question if cutting him out of my life the way I had was the right decision after all.

Angel had been unstable for years, but not because he was going to commit suicide, mostly just with taking risks.

His face that night at the theater wormed itself into my mind’s eye. Not sure what I should do, I stood frozen with indecision. I couldn’t call—my phone was crap. I couldn’t go over there—trying to drive right now wasn’t happening.

All I really could do was hope and pray that they’d find him before he did it. But something inside of me, some tiny little voice in my head, made me look closer at the cars parked in the lot of my apartment building.

I saw many of my neighbors’ cars and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when my stomach took a leaping nosedive. Parked just ten yards away from me and slightly obscured by Carter’s black Dodge Ram sitting on a lift kit was a green minivan. Narrowing my eyes, I was pretty sure there was no Angel inside, and that creeped me out worse than anything.

Glancing over my shoulder as a sudden prickling of unease slid down my spine, I wondered where he could be.

I dialed Marianna’s number as I began a slow backpedal for the safety of my apartment. She picked up immediately.

“Hello?” she asked in a breathless rush.

“Marianna, he’s here somewhere. I see your van in my parking lot, but I don’t know—”

Something hard and sharp pressed into my lower back.

“Hang up the phone now and follow me.”

***

Tor

Stretching my arms above my head, I looked over at Zoe as the she-cat walked her way to me. Her eyes were intense and serious. Hopping onto the edge of my desk, she gave me a tight smile.

“Go home,” she said without preamble.

I chuckled. “One more customer and then I will.”

Shaking her head, she gripped my shoulders and jerked. “The Barbie is sorta going nutso. I don’t know a whole lot about pregnancy, but I’m thinking she’s going slightly insane cooped up.”

Popping a piece of cinnamon gum in my mouth, I had no problem imagining my Jamie pacing the length of our tiny living room. “I’ll take her for a walk when I get home.”

“Too late—she’s out walking the block.” She huffed on her nails, then buffed it on her tagging inspired black crop top with neon lettering on it.

Sighing, I cracked my neck from side to side. I’d been bent over more than nine hours today. I ached and only wanted to be home with my woman, but I wasn’t going to bail again. I’d been doing too much of that lately. We needed the money and I’d made a promise that when I hit ten thousand in savings, I’d ask her to marry me.

With tips tonight, I was now at nine thousand nine hundred and seventy-five dollars. Even if I didn’t make that last twenty-five, I was going to ask her when I got home. The money was a surprise, a down payment for our future home.

A bigger loft, a townhouse, even a single-family dwelling. It didn’t matter to me so long as she and I were together. I just wanted to take us someplace bigger and a little safer than downtown Austin, not to mention away from where Angel would know where to look for her.

Not that he’d been much of a problem lately, but there was no such thing as being too cautious, either.

“That woman,” I sighed, “too independent by half.”

Zoe chuckled. “Yeah, but you love her for it.”

Nodding, I scrubbed a hand across the whiskers of my face. The baby would be coming any day now. I was filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “I do,” I murmured and then smiled at her. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Ohhh, secret.” Candy came sidling over to us. In the past three months she’d been trained by Zoe to be the replacement piercer. Now that Zoe was gaining a clientele for her tattooing, she didn’t feel able to juggle both.

It’d been a lot of fun listening to those two constantly bickering.

Her purple contact lenses almost glowed beneath the bright florescent lights Ryko had installed last week. Candy was going through a Goth phase lately, forgoing her bubblegum-pink hair color for something much darker. Her hair was a shade of black so deep it rivaled Zoe’s natural raven hue.

She and Ryko had split, so far as I could tell, and she and Zander had been spotted hanging out more frequently. Not that it was any concern of mine, but I didn’t hate Candy, and Zander was definitely not the loyal type.

But if she was happy, then who was I to argue?

Leaning against the back of my chair, the latex body-hugging suit she wore made her breasts seem like they’d pop free with one heavy inhalation of breath.

“Do share.”

Zoe just rolled her eyes. “Candy, it’s really impossible to hate you when you just don’t seem to get the hint that I don’t like you.”

Candy laughed. “Ah, c’mon, Zo. You’re happy with your cowboy. I’m not dating that douche Ryko anymore, so what’s the problem?”

Zoe just sighed then looked at me and waved her hand. Maybe the forced time spent together had softened Zoe to Candy after all. If those two could eventually learn to get along, then I had hope for Jamie and myself.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the velvet black box.

“Oh shit,” Candy breathed.

Zoe didn’t say anything. Just snatched the box from my hand and flipped it open, staring at the humble ring inside. I’d not been able to afford what I’d really wanted to get her; it was just a simple quarter-carat diamond nestled inside my mother’s sapphire-encrusted band.

I’d promised myself after my mother passed that this ring would only go onto the hand of the one I knew deep down was it for me.

And Jamie was that.

I rolled my wrists, waiting to hear their verdict.

Candy whistled as the bell above the door jingled, heralding the arrival of another customer. “That’s one lucky broad, Tor.” She winked, and then sidled off to go make friends with whoever had entered.

“Well?” I broke the silence, shaking my head as the anxiety tore me in two.

Zoe’s smile began as a mere flicker and then spread into something brilliant and wide. “She’s going to love it. I can’t believe she’s going to get married before me. I’m almost jealous. Almost.”

Feeling a deep sense of satisfaction, I took the box back from her. “She’s not said yes yet.”

“Do you doubt she will?”

Another client entered.

We weren’t able to talk much after that, as my final customer of the day finally came in. Thankfully the tattoo was small, just a quarter-sized butterfly on her left shoulder blade. I’d be done in thirty minutes and then I’d be home.

I’d sink into Jamie’s wet body and after she came, I’d propose.

I couldn’t wait to begin the second chapter of my new life. Father, lover, husband…

Life was good.

Chapter Twenty-one

Jamie

Angel had shoved me into the passenger’s seat of the car, keeping his gun trained on me as he’d walked around to the driver’s side and gotten in. My worst fear was that he’d drive us off someplace that no one would know where to look for me.

I could only hope that Marianna had heard her brother’s words before I’d been forced to hang up. Covering my belly with my arms, I sucked in a sharp breath. “Angel, what in the hell are you doing?” My words trembled, my pulse was speeding out of control, and the contents of my stomach were heaving.

He still wouldn’t look at me and I wanted to cry for being so stupid. So trusting, for thinking I could ever fix this man. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible I reached for the door handle, wanting nothing more than to run far away.

“You shouldn’t have come outside, Jamie. You should have stayed in your apartment, stayed away from me. I was going to leave you alone.”

Those words gave me chills, filled my blood with threads of black ice that made me feel like I couldn’t take a proper breath.

“Don’t hurt me,” I whispered.

He snarled and finally turned to me. His eyes were bloodshot and glassy.

“You’re fucking high again!” I screeched and instantly regretted it, but my fear was turning to fury. Because this was all so stupid. So pointless. I was finally happy, finally in a good place—this couldn’t be how things ended.

Realizing I had to keep my shit together, I took a deep, calming breath and tried again. “Angel, why?” I pleaded with him when he refused to answer. Still grabbing for the door.

“No,” he growled, glancing at my hand. “You’re not getting out now. You’re going to watch this. You wanted to walk away, leave me alone, this is what’s happened. This is what I’ve become. Are you happy now, Jamie? Does that bastard make you happy? Huh? Is that why you left me? I did the math—you look like a fucking whale. You were screwing him while I was lying in that bed fighting for my life.”

My mouth was hanging open, an anger like I’ve never known flooding me. I’m not a violent person, but if that gun were in my hands I’d shoot him. I hated Angel in a way I never had before. He’d been the one screwing around on me the entire time we’d been together. For years I tried. For years, sacrificing what I needed, what I wanted to try and keep him from sinking into his demons, from drowning in them. Tor had been right all along.

And I’d been such an idiot.

My voice cracked when I asked him what he meant to do to me.

“I don’t know.” His jaw clenched and then his eyes squeezed and for a second I was tempted to grab the door and run out of there, but I couldn’t run.

I could barely walk without tripping over my feet.

My poor baby. What had I done?

Choking back a sob, I hugged my belly, feeling a fluttering between my legs and the stirrings of cramps gripping my insides tight.

Oh God.

Not now.

Not yet.

Licking my lips, I forced myself to calm. Tucking my shaking hands beneath my butt so that Angel wouldn’t see it. Losing my head would not end well; I didn’t know what he was high on. Not meth—he’d be tweaking and jerking in the seat. Maybe crank, but he wasn’t jittery.

A loud banging on the rolled-up window made me scream and Angel flinched, automatically bringing up his pistol and aiming it at the scared face of his father gazing wide-eyed between the two of us.

Just seeing the anxious eyes of Mr. Romero made my own burn with relief and self-revulsion, because for a second I was happy that the gun wasn’t aimed at Tor. Any second now he’d come back home. He knew the van color, he’d know. I just knew he would know, and if Angel saw him, then what?

I might be able to walk away from this, but I didn’t think my Viking would.

Dizzy, ears ringing, and smelling the mineral scent of blood, I knew my blood pressure was spiking. My lower back was aching. This wasn’t good.

For me. For the baby.

“Angel, open the door!” Mr. Romero cried out. “You don’t want to do this, son.”

“Get the fuck away from us, Dad!” Angel brandished the gun around and I knew enough about guns to be able to tell the safety wasn’t on.

My lower lip trembled.

“I want to talk. It’s all we’re doing. Talking, okay?” Angel shook his head; he wasn’t saying it loud enough for his father to hear, more just muttering it to himself, which was even more terrifying.

“Jamie.” Mr. Romero’s voice cracked as his gaze turned to me. “Mija, are you okay?”

There was a stain of something dark on Mr. Romero’s tan collar, and his upper lip looked cracked. Had he and Angel gotten into a fight earlier?

“Tell him you’re okay, Jamie!” Angel turned the gun on me and I cried out.

Raising my hands, I nodded quickly. “I’m okay. I’m okay, Mr. Romero. We’re fine. Just talking. Just…talking.” I dared to reach out and brush my arm down Angel’s bicep.

He was unnaturally calm, allowing me to pet him, and I realized that maybe my touch was actually soothing him.

Giving his dad a watery grin, I nodded, but prayed in my head that someone somewhere had already called the cops.

“Papa!” Marianna’s voice cut through the night and I winced, ready for Angel to lose his shit all over again as his sister rushed to the door, but he didn’t.

I continued to stroke his arm and he was so unbelievably still under my touch. I didn’t know what to do.

I had this horrible vision of me trying climbing out of the still-unlocked car and getting shot in the back. I couldn’t even roll out of the way.

Never in my life had I thought this might happen. Never. Not with Angel, my high school sweetheart. The love of my high school life.

The man I’d sworn would be my white knight, the one I’d built such dreams and hopes with. College, kids, a perfect life. Full of laughter and love, with maybe an occasional bump in the road because that was life, never without its pain, but so long as someone was there to help me weather the storm, we’d be okay.

Happy.

I’d held on to that fantasy for so long that I’d failed myself, failed the Romeros, and failed Angel. Because I’d never allowed him to learn how to move on. I’d always been there, ready to take whatever scraps of kindness he’d hand out because I just knew that the nightmare, his new reality, was temporary.

But it hadn’t been at all.

“Angel, please, hermano.” Marianna pushed her face against the window, tapping on it with her long nail. “Please don’t do this, she is pregnant—”

Those were the wrong words.

Immediately his eyes sprang open and the hand holding the gun aimed right at my stomach. I screamed, huddling into myself, praying that God would let me die instead.

The powerful, instinctual need to preserve the life of my little flower driving me to expose my neck to him.

“Don’t hurt me, Angel.”

“Get back, Marianna, or so help me I’ll fucking blow her brains out!” Angel’s hand shook violently.

Even as messed up as he was on the drugs, he was hesitating. If he really wanted to kill me he’d have done it already—it was the only shred of hope I still had left in me.

“Angel, don’t. I swear to God you’ll regret this.” Marianna’s voice warbled as her eyes frantically moved between the two of us. “Mama’s already called the cops, you have to let her go, please, God, let her go.”

“I loved you, Jamie,” he said, his voice shaking, “I know that now and I could make this work, I could. I could have fixed myself this time. You have to let me, you have to let me make this right. You have to.”

He was crying, sobbing uncontrollably now and I wondered why I’d been so stupid, refusing to see reason, refusing to listen to Zoe when she’d warned me years ago to drop him.

Looking up at Angel while scooting as far aside as possible so that my stomach wasn’t in direct line with a bullet, I wept.

My heart was shattering at the painful truths. I was the world’s biggest idiot.

“I handled everything wrong, Angel. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help you.”

In the distance I heard the tiny wail of sirens. Just a little bit longer. I only had to hold out a little bit longer and then the cops would get here and they’d save me.

“Hug me, Jamie, tell me this will be all right.”

I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want to hold him. I wanted to hurt him. To kill him, my anger was so visceral, but I wrapped my arms around his neck and yanked him in. Rubbing his back and murmuring words I could not define. Staring at the faces of his family watching in horror on the outside.

His nose dragged along my head and he inhaled me deeply. “I’ve always loved how you smell. Love you so much, Jams. So sorry. So, so sorry.”

And I wanted to puke. Inside I was dying, withering at his touch. Wishing I could do nothing more than shrink away, escape, disappear. He kissed my neck and my tears fell hard.

Then Marianna yanked the door open. I didn’t know what she thought to do. Save me, maybe.

Angel twirled, aiming the gun directly at her heart, and if I hadn’t been frozen in shock, I might have tried to do something heroic. Like punch him in the back of the head, in the temple. Incapacitate him and save the day.

But I wasn’t some secret government spy and this wasn’t a movie. I was just a terrified woman praying to God that this wasn’t the way it would end.

“I love you, Marianna,” Angel uttered through clenched teeth, “but I will kill you. Back the fuck up.”

The commotion was starting to bring people out of the apartment building. I saw terrified faces peering from doorways, from the parking lot.

Most of them with phones out, likely calling 911.

Yanking the door shut, this time Angel did lock it. But instead of grabbing me up again, he leaned his head against the headrest and sighed. “I’m so tired, Jams. I just want to die. I’m so fucking tired.”

Then, still holding the gun on his lap, he closed his eyes.

Time was running out for my child and me. I had a horrible feeling that even though I heard the sirens drawing closer, one of us wasn’t going to walk away from this alive.

And in that moment of clarity I knew I’d have no choice but to fight back.

I’d probably die, but if I made sure that he aimed at my heart or head, my baby might still live. They’d just have to get my body to the hospital in time to cut her out.

I tried not to think about everything I would miss. The birthdays. The prom. First dates. First kisses.

All the things I’d taken for granted being so afraid to become a mom. Now I wanted them more than ever and I’d never know them.

But it was her only chance to survive this. If I made enough of a scuffle, the distraction might be long enough for someone to wrestle Angel off me.

My back was aching something terrible.

I knew this was real labor—the cramps were constant and different than the ones I’d been having for the past few days.

Fluttering my fingers over my belly, telling my little flower goodbye, I tensed, ready to jump and claw at Angel when the glass shattered violently.

Pinging against us both and making us cry out.

I felt the warmth of blood ooze from the nicks on my face and hands I’d used to shield myself with and when I looked up, I was stunned, because there was a gaping hole in the window and Angel was being dragged through it violently.

“You fucking bastard!” Tor roared, his face was a mask of pure fury.

My bring, strong Viking had Angel gripped in a chokehold and his arm was flexing as he wrestled Angel to the ground.

The sirens were here, rushing through the lot, just a few yards away now.

I jumped out of the car, racing around to the other side. They were rolling and grunting, trading blows, but Tor was much more powerful and he mounted Angel, squeezing his throat in his giant, strong hands, and it was over.

And for a second I could take a breath—all the dreams I’d let go of were now back and they were mine and so was Tor; we would have our happily ever after and things would be perfect once again.

But it was yet another lie, because Angel’s hand was moving and I saw it happening. I saw the gun just inches away from them lying on the asphalt. Tor had forgotten. Angel had not.

“Tor!” I screamed, covering my mouth a second before I heard an ear-piercing blast.

Then there was blood everywhere.

Chapter Twenty-two

Jamie

I couldn’t reach him. I was screaming and crying with snot running down my face, but I was being pushed back by Austin police. An ambulance screeched to a stop just a minute later.

At first I thought for sure my Tor, my big, beautiful Viking, had managed to twist the gun out of Angel’s hand, that my cries had alerted him to the danger.

But my Prince Charming had crumpled to the ground with barely a grunt. The rose-colored spread of blood blossomed and then gushed from a wound in his chest.

The cops had Angel pinned to the ground and he was sobbing, screaming that it wasn’t his fault. That he wasn’t going to hurt me, screaming at me to tell them that. That he wasn’t a murderer.

Murder.

I stopped fighting, in a daze as the medics strapped my hero onto a gurney, and then slid him inside and locked the doors.

“They never asked me to come,” I muttered.

“Ma’am, we need a statement,” a cop said, but I couldn’t focus. I was watching the ambulance race off, watching my lover leave me.

What had just happened?

My back was hurting so bad.

“Is there a medic?” the young black cop cried out, holding on to my arm with a steady grip. “She’s going into shock. Ma’am, how far along are you?”

I couldn’t breathe. It was so hot. “I’m so dizzy. I don’t feel good.” I grabbed my stomach as a powerful, rippling cramp tore through my middle.

Crying out, I collapsed into the cop’s arms. Weakly I reached out for Tor. But he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there to hold me. To love me.

To tell me he’d never leave me.

I’d never shown him how much I cared. He needed to know and now he might be dead.

There were so many arms grabbing me. My head was pounding, aching so hard, throbbing with bolts of lightning.

“She’s bleeding,” someone cried.

I shook my head no. “Not bleeding. Tor…” I gasped, because I couldn’t say the rest. He’d saved me. My man had saved me.

How had he survived the loss of Ida?

How could I survive the loss of him?

It was so damn hot.

My head spun with a flash of vertigo and I moaned.

“Hemorrhaging bad,” the medic in blue said to somebody, but I couldn’t focus, my vision was so horribly blurry. “Lie down, Jamie. Just lie down.”

He kept repeating it to me. How did he know my name?

Straps were being wrapped tight around me and I cried. I couldn’t help it. Everything was so terrifying.

“Young female. Nine months pregnant. In labor.”

“Nooooo.” I shook my head, denying it. I wasn’t in labor. Because Tor was going to be there, Tor was going to hold my hand and help me breathe and rub my back and whisper how much he loved me.

“Love,” I hiccupped, and then, like someone had touched a cattle prod to my brain, I screamed as a pain I’d never felt in my life cleaved me in half.

I was shoved into the back of the ambulance and then everything went dark.

***

Tor

I wasn’t sure where I was when I woke up. There were bright lights above my head and a breathing tube in my nose.

A woman with salt-and-pepper gray hair smiled down at me. “Tor Boler, you gave us quite the scare, young man. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Immediately everything came back like a flash of brilliant Technicolor.

I’d been walking home. Humming to myself when I’d spied a disturbance in the parking lot. A sixth sense had me racing to the green minivan only to see Angel inside with a gun in his lap and my Eskelde sobbing in terror.

I’d heard the cries of others telling me he had a gun, but my thought had been only for my woman and our child.

I flexed my right fist, hissing from the action and then nearly jumped out of my skin when my sudden movement caused the wound in my shoulder to stretch with fire, breaking me out in a wash of sweat and nausea.

The nurse patted me gently. “You’ll need to relax and rest, hun. You’ve been through quite an ordeal.”

“Jamie. I need to—” Panic gripped me so tight that for a moment I felt no pain, only the desperation of a man to get to his woman.

“Yes, Romeo and Juliet. The two of you have had all the nurses buzzing. It was so touch and go for a while there.”

“How is she? Where is she?”

Her green eyes were kind as she smiled. “She’s had the baby.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I know we’re not technically supposed to share these things, but your friends Zoe and Alex and many others have been here for the past two days demanding we tell you the moment you woke up what happened.”

Two days?

I couldn’t believe it. I blinked. Grimacing as I rubbed at my shoulder and ripping out the oxygen breather from my nose. “Is she still here?”

She nodded, patting my shoulder when the door opened and a man in white walked in. “Ah, Mr. Boler, I’m Dr. Miller, and I’m damn glad to see you awake.”

“I’ll take you to see her in just a little bit,” the kindly nurse smiled and stepped to the side so that I could be poked and prodded by the doctor.

The hours it took between waking up and actually getting to see Jamie felt like an eternity. The nurse, who I found out was named Lisa, finally got me a wheelchair and the moment I was wheeled into the maternity ward I saw four pairs of worried eyes I immediately recognized.

Not only Zoe and Alex, but Candy and even Ryko had come.

“How is she?” I asked without even a hello.

Zoe jumped to her feet. She looked god-awful, wearing some peach-colored sweatpants and a mismatched yellow top. Her hair was wound in a bun on her head and she wore no makeup. There were large bags under her eyes and I wondered if she’d even once left the hospital. Alex looked exhausted himself and he walked beside her, rubbing her shoulder.

Ryko looked as he always did, slightly grungy and wearing his tattered clothes. I couldn’t tell if he looked exhausted because he’d been here all night or if he’d been out binge drinking. Candy, on the other hand, didn’t even look like herself. She was wearing a frothy pink pair of sleeping pants covered in white hearts and a loose-flowing white top. Without the makeup on she looked much younger and more innocent than usual.

When they got to my side, Alex shook my hand. “Hey, man, hell of a past few days. Good to see you made it out all right.”

His voice was scratchy, as though he’d not used it for several hours. Eyes red-rimmed and skin waxy, I had no doubt Zoe had made him stay by her side the entire two days Jamie and I had been here.

“Oh God.” Zoe squeezed her fingers, and there were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Candy and Ryko eventually tapped my shoulder as if in greeting. That hurt like a mother, but I didn’t let on. Neither one said anything.

Nurse Lisa was getting ready to get off shift, she’d told me a few minutes ago, and she cleared her throat impatiently. “Let’s wheel you to see your lady love, big boy. Sorry guys, he’ll be back in a few, I’m sure.”

There was no more talking after that, and as much as I appreciated them being here, my thoughts were solely for Jamie.

Drumming my fingers on the armrest, nerves strung tight and heart trapped in my throat, my gaze homed in on my woman the second Lisa wheeled me through.

She was sleeping with the baby cradled beside her. My daughter was suckling on her breast.

I blinked several times, fighting the tears that threatened.

Lisa bent over my shoulder and smiled as she whispered, “I’ll push you to their bed and leave you. I’ll let your friends know. Do you want them to come in for a bit?”

Licking my lips, I swallowed the lump and said, “No. Give me a minute with my family please.”

“You got it, hun.” She patted my uninjured shoulder and did as promised, pushing me up to the bed and then exiting the room so quietly that even the door didn’t thud behind her as the heavy things usually did.

I took a moment just gazing at the two of them.

Jamie was incredibly pale. There were tubes and wires coming out of her hands and arms, and a baggie of IV fluids was being pumped into her.

The baby yawned and no matter how hard I fought the tears, they came the second my daughter blinked open her big steel-blue eyes.

She didn’t look at me, her gaze was unfocused and I could see her squirming, her mouth working as if she meant to start crying. Reaching out with my good arm, I patted her little butt and chuckled when she burped.

Jamie woke up then, jerking like she’d been startled. Our eyes locked.

“Tor?” My name dropped like a benediction from her rosebud lips.

“Eskelde.”

And then we were both crying, because we knew we’d managed to walk away from something that could have easily gone the other way. She scooted over until she could wrap her tiny arm around my neck and the movement made me clench my teeth, but I didn’t move because the pain was nothing compared to the joy of seeing my family alive.

I bunched her gown in my fist. It took several long minutes for us to be able to speak again.

“What happened to you?” I finally asked.

Shuddering, she pulled back just an inch. Just enough to be able to look me in the eyes. But her fingers had a death grip on my hospital gown and I would not tell her to let go. I needed the comfort of her touch just as much as she needed mine.

“The doctors said,” she whispered as she patted our daughter’s bottom to quiet her tiny mewlings, “the stress of the fight, coupled with my high blood pressure caused my labor to come on. I lost so much blood.” She nibbled on her lip and I brushed the hair out of her eyes. “They had to shock my heart. Apparently I died.” She gave a bitter laugh.

Breath sawed out of my lungs. I knew it’d been close, but I’d had no idea that I’d been that close to losing her.

The grief of what might have been tore through me, making me ignore the fiery bolt of pain ripping down my shoulder and arm as I leaned forward to forcefully press a kiss to her lips.

She took me in greedily and we might have remained like that for longer if our daughter didn’t take that moment to scream her displeasure at being squished.

Chuckling at the same time, I watched with a proud heart as Jamie nuzzled and crooned to her. Rucking up her hospital gown, she exposed her nipple to the babe, whose greedy little suckles and slurps made us both snort with laughter.

“She’s a hungry little thing,” I whispered, trailing a finger along the impossible velvety smoothness of my daughter’s round cheek.

The babe had hair, though not a lot and a much darker shade than either of ours.

“You have no idea,” Jamie grumped, but there was no actual bite to her words. “My nipples are so sore, she just wants to stay latched on all the time.”

I rubbed the side of her breast, but not in a sexual way. “Should I be jealous that I’ve lost my place to this bottomless pit?”

“Hey,” she glowered at me, “don’t call my baby a bottomless pit. She’s adorable.”

“Yes,” I agreed, and kissed the sweet-smelling top of my daughter’s head, “and so is her mamma.”

Jamie’s smile lit me up from the inside. I had my family back, they were safe, and I was so grateful for this second chance.

“Have we decided on a name?” I grinned.

She nodded. “There’s one I like, especially once I saw her. But I’m not sure what you’d think.”

“Tell me.”

Her fingers danced along the baby’s behind. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get tired of looking at my woman and my daughter snuggled this way.

It made a man’s heart proud. I may not have had much in this life, but I had them. I counted myself a rich man indeed because of it.

“Poppy Ida Boler.”

My breath caught.

She nibbled her lip. “Poppy for the mural you first painted me. And Ida because,” she said, touching my cheek, “I felt she should be honored. I am so sorry you lost her, Tor, but I am so grateful I found you, and maybe in some small way Ida’s memory can be preserved and turned back from something painful to something beautiful again.”

“I do not know if you knew this, but in Norway it is the male who takes on the woman’s name in marriage, as do the children. So she would actually be Poppy Ida Sullivan.”

She chuckled. “I do love your strange customs. But here in the states and especially in Texas, that girl’s getting her pappa’s name. Besides, Boler is ten times more sexy than Sullivan.”

Winking, she lightly flicked at the tip of my nose.

Closing my eyes, fighting the unmanly tears, I took a second to get myself controlled enough not to have my voice crack on me. It took another four times of throat clearing before I trusted myself to speak.

“I think it is beautiful. Are you sure about her having my name, I do not mind?”

“Of course.” Her smile was sure and proud. “She has the best pappa in the world.”

“Then how would you feel about having my name too, Eskelde?”

My soft question must have stunned her, because her brilliant blue eyes grew wide and her mouth parted just slightly. And then she was laughing, giggling, which our daughter did not like and she began grunting because her mamma’s nipple had once more popped out of her mouth.

Readjusting the little piglet, Jamie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, oh my God, yes. A thousand times yes! I love you so much, Tor Boler.”

And then she was peppering my jaw with kisses and Poppy was grunting all over again, but just this once it was okay for her to wait her turn.

“You own me heart and soul, Jamie Sullivan. Forever and always…”

And I sealed that vow with a kiss.

Epilogue

Jamie

Dealing with the aftermath of what Angel had done changed us all. In the end we’d reached a deal with the Romeros. We would not charge him with attempted murder, or stalking, or any other of the countless charges we could have drummed up against him.

Even Tor admitted that what Angel needed was more help than what his family could give him. So in return to our agreeing not to force jail time on him, which I had no doubt would only make him worse in the long run, we decided that he had to be involuntarily committed for at least one year.

Where he would go through forced drug rehab and would be in an environment meant to deal with his mental limitations that would teach him new ways to cope.

Of course I worried immediately that we’d made the wrong decision. He’d tried to kill Tor; had that bullet gone just one inch more to the right, Poppy wouldn’t have a father.

I tried not to dwell on that day much, but every once in a while we’d both still suffer nightmares from it.

The judge had been stunned and warned that the state might still try to overturn our decision, but that if we weren’t intending to press charges then he’d honor our choice. Immediately after, the judge had sentenced Angel to not just one year of involuntary confinement but also three years of probation wearing a tracker.

Once the trial was over, Tor and I had packed up our tiny apartment and bought a home in the suburbs.

I’d hugged the Romeros goodbye, knowing I’d never give them my new number or address.

Marianna had cried and apologized over and over, as had Mr. and Mrs. Romero, but everyone understood it was for the best. Angel would be under surveillance for many years and my only hope was that by the time he was released on his own, his obsession with me would finally be at an end.

It’d been rough the first six months, retraining ourselves not to shop for groceries at the same place or go to the same movie theaters. We’d even gone so far as to drive an hour out of the city limits to shop at malls, but eventually it became no big deal and we got used to it.

Tor and I will get married in two months. Once Alex graduates. He’s asked Zoe to marry him and she and I decided there’d be nothing cooler than for the two of us to share the same anniversary.

Of course the guys had laughed at us, but they’d been more than willing to comply if it meant keeping their ladies happy.

What can I say about Tor that I haven’t already a million different times?

I love him so much it’s almost painful. I thought I knew what love was when I’d met Angel, when I’d been determined to save him from his own demons.

But that’d been a drop in the bucket compared to what I felt for my Charming. To be loved by a man who looked at you as though you were the sun and the moon of his solar system, who’d laugh with you when you laughed, or who’d hold you and whisper just how much you were loved when the nightmares of that night returned—there was really no way to adequately express what he meant to me.

We may not be technically married yet, but in my heart he owns me. A piece of paper and a ring are technicalities that signify nothing. They’re just there to tell the world that I am his and he is mine, but in our hearts, the deed has long since been done.

I’ve found the man I plan to spend the rest of my life with and while neither one of us are perfect and he irritates the hell out of me sometimes when he leaves the toilet seat up or drops a pair of boxers beside the hamper and not in it, I would trade none of it.

Every night before bed I kiss the puckered scar on his shoulder and whisper a heated thank you, and every night he holds me. Some nights we make love, other nights we talk and connect and that’s just as good.

Our Poppy is the apple of her pappa’s eye. I get a huge chuckle every time I see my tattooed giant playing with her at the park. Pushing her down the baby slides and holding her while they would swing back and forth. She adores him. Sometimes I think she only likes me because I’m her milk truck, but there’s no denying that even at six months her tiny blue eyes light up when Daddy comes home from work. Her chubby little fists push up in the air and she squirms and grunts until he picks her up and swings her around and around.

The other children in the park are always in awe of the gentle giant laughing with the tiny fair-haired beauty who looks so much like her daddy it makes my heart ache.

I love my family.

Will we ever have more kids? I don’t know. I’m pretty content with just the one. Poppy was an accident, one I’d never intended to have happen, but I am grateful every day for the little miracle that forced her father and I to finally stop and smell the roses.

When I think back to all the wasted years I spent pining away for Angel when I could have had this, it makes me so angry.

But then again, maybe I needed to go through that darkness. Needed to know what it was like to be neglected and ignored so that when my eyes finally opened I could appreciate just how good and sweet and sexy and perfect my Tor was and continues to be.

There is a legend I read about back in college from Plato’s The Symposium.

“According to Greek Mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.”

Tor and I, we found our other half and life…well, life is good…

Love my books? Want to know the latest happenings in my worlds? Then make sure to sign up for my newsletter! Keep reading for a sneak peek of my newest contemporary romance, The Wright Brother!

Author’s Note

Last year I ran a contest on my blog to have readers submit songs, of their own creation, to me to use in This Time. Specifically a song that Tor would write for Jamie. I received an email from a lady named Julie Gutierrez and I fell in love with the honesty of her creation. But because using an entire song would have definitely slowed the pacing of the story I only used bits and pieces of it. However, she went to so much trouble to write it that I wanted to honor her win by showcasing her entire song here. She titled it, Jamie:

No one knows the life of a Viking,
The stormy seas,
Or the risk and adventure,
That comes with this lifestyle.

Been working since I was ten,
Have three jobs,
One is full of ink and mystique.

I am an artist,
Breathing and creating new life,
It is thrilling,
And I enjoy it.

Lass named Jamie thinks she is invisible.
I disagree,
She is a bombshell,
Her eyes full of such wonder and insight.

I feel myself falling,
Fast and hard,
Like a teenage boy does for his crush.

She is everything I want,
And more.

My Moments Series has now come to an end, but not my contemporary romances. I have plans for future books that I think will be awesome. I’ll be announcing those plans later on in the year, so make sure to check back at either my blog or sign up for my newsletter!

About the Author

Marie Hall is a NY Times and USA Today Bestselling Author who loves books that make you think, or feel something. Preferably both. And while she’s a total girly girl and loves glitter and rainbows, she’s just as happy when she’s writing about the dark underbelly of society. Well, if things like zombies, and vampires, and werewolves, and mermaids existed. (Although she has it on good authority that mermaids do in fact exist, because the internet told her so.)

She’s married to the love of her life, a sexy beast of a caveman who likes to refer to himself as Big Hunk. She has two awesome kids, lives in Hawaii, loves cooking and occasionally has been known to crochet. She also really loves talking about herself in the third person.

If you want to see what new creations she’s got up her sleeves check out her blog. Or contact her personally at mariehallwrites@gmail.com

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Other Books by Marie Hall

Kingdom Series

Her Mad Hatter, (FREE EVERYWHERE Book 1 based on Alice in Wonderland)

Gerard’s Beauty, (Book 2 based on Beauty and the Beast)

Red and Her Wolf, (Book 3 based on Little Red Riding Hood)

Kingdom Collection 1-3

Jinni’s Wish, (Book 4 based on Arabian Nights)

Hook’s Pan, (Book based on Peter Pan)

Kingdom Collection 4&5

Danika’s Surprise (Book 5.5, novelette and first introduction to the upcoming Dark Princess Series)

Moon’s Flower, (Book 6 based on the legend of The Man in the Moon)

Huntsman’s Prey, (Book 7 spinoff Dark Princess Series)

Rumpel’s Prize, (Book 8 loosely based on the legend of Rumpelstiltskin and Beauty and the Beast)

Hood’s Obsession, (Book 9 based on Little Red Riding Hood’s Daughter)

Her One Wish, (Book 10 coming in October of 2014!)

Moments Series (NA Contemporary Romance)

A Moment, Book 1 (Ryan and Liliana’s Story)

Right Now, Book 2 (Alex and Zoe’s Story)

This Time, Book 3 (Tor and Jamie’s Story)

Contemporary Romance

The Wright Brother (Elisa and Julian’s Story)

Night Series (Urban Fantasy)

Crimson Night, Book 1

All Hallows Night, Book 2

Howler’s Night, Book 3

Red Rain, Book 4 Coming Soon!

Chaos Time Serial

Sable

Slayde

Synnergy

Eternal Lover’s Series

Death’s Lover (Book 1) From Grand Central—Forever Yours—Publishing

Previously published under the title The Witching Hour

Death’s Redemption, book 2 from Grand Central!

Turn the page to read a sneak peek of Marie Hall’s latest contemporary romance, The Wright Brother:

From the moment I opened my eyes I could only see the world in shades of gray. There was no noise, no sound, nothing. Deaf and colorblind, I was a freak. My world was bleak, silent and empty, until her. Until I met my neighbor, Elisa Jane Adrian. I want her. I need her. The fractured part of me feels whole when she’s around. Like the world isn’t so dark, isn’t so bleak, and so still. I know it’s impossible, but when I look at Elisa I swear I can see color, can hear the gentle inhalations of her breath. I know she feels it too, this magic, this desperate desire...

I first saw him when I was three. Julian Wright was different than any other guy I’d ever known. He sees the world in a way I know I never will. But he intrigues me. The way he looks at me with his sea green eyes, how he hypnotizes me with his smile.

It’s dangerous these feelings I have for him. Reckless and stupid. I’m so much older than him, I know better. And I’ll fight these desires, no one will ever know how I feel. I’ll even pretend to myself that I’m not as hooked on him as he is on me.

I’ll move away to college, and I’ll forget him, but that’s the thing about the Wright’s, they have a way of getting under your skin, into your soul, and no matter the time or distance, once a Wright sets their eyes on you, there’s no going back...ever.

The Wright Brother, Sneak Peek

First thing Elisa noticed when they entered Julian’s room was the gentle hum and swishing sound of medical equipment.

Steeling her nerves, she finally looked at him.

Julian didn’t look as bad as she’d feared. Which immediately helped to ease the worst of the adrenaline rush. She’d seen pictures of victims in car accidents and had expected to see his face swollen to twice its size and crusted over with blood.

His face wasn’t swollen, and apart from a vertical scratch that went from the bottom of his left eye to his mouth, there wasn’t a mark on him. His injuries were obvious though.

His right leg was propped up in a black brace and looked like it belonged on Frankenstein and not him. There were bolts and wires everywhere. His toes were a hideous shade of mottled purple, almost black in some spots. The brace extended from his foot all the way up to his thigh.

She covered her mouth. “Oh my God.”

Lori shook her head. “That asshole almost ripped his leg off. From what the medic said Julian was dragged under the back of the van for about a minute before being released.”

Just the thought of it brought tears to her eyes. That he wouldn’t have been able to scream, to tell the person to stop. That he’d been trapped and caught like a freakin’ caged animal, enraged her. “What kind of monster would do something like this?”

A laugh that sounded more like a sob escaped Loribelle before she shuddered and knuckled a tear from her eye. “That boy is gonna be the death of me.”

Placing a hand on Lori’s shoulder, Elisa patted her gently. “Go get some coffee or something, I’ll stay here with him.”

She nodded and then opened her mouth and Elisa could have sworn there was something she wanted to say, but instead she simply turned on her heel and walked back out.

With a heavy heart, Elisa studied Julian.

They had placed a cannula in his nose, and apart from a few minor scratches, his face was pretty much as it’d always been. His skin tone was a little paler than she remembered, but that could just be because of the fact that it was now winter.

“Oh, Jules, what’s happening to you?” Walking over, she sat on the chair beside his bed and grabbed onto his hand, tracing the thick veins that extended down from his knuckles.

His right thumb had an angry red burn on it, and there were rashes on both palms, but the wounds were superficial and would definitely heal in time. She shuddered in relief. These hands were his only means of communication. What if it had been his hands and not his leg that’d been chewed up?

What then? What would he have done?

Jaw trembling as she fought back the tears, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed it with all her heart. Then turned it over, opened it up, and brought his palm to her cheek.

Quivering under his touch, even though she was the one forcing him to touch her.

She’d been so happy to be at college, so happy to get away from the things Julian made her feel, if she’d lost him she would never have forgiven herself.

“Julian, if I lost you again. I don’t know—” Her nostrils flared and the words died on her tongue as the sobs came harder.

He was her family, would always be her family, and it was stupid to think that a little time and distance could ever dull that. She was just so relieved that he was going to be okay.

Moving the chair even closer, she lowered the side panel on Julian’s bed and pressed the pedal to bring the motorized bed low enough that she could lay her head on his lap. Just for a minute.

She only meant to close her eyes for a second, just long enough to gather herself, but the sleepless night, coupled with the anxious drive, suddenly overwhelmed her and before she knew it she’d fallen asleep.

She moaned when the soft glide of fingers moving through her hair woke her up. Confused about where she was, she was slow to blink her eyes open, only to realize that it wasn’t Thomas rubbing her head, but Jules.

His familiar sea green gaze hypnotized her. Now, with his eyes open, and alert, she could see what she hadn’t seen before.

Julian was becoming a man.

He’d lost a lot of the softness in his face. His lower lip was pierced, and just like Roman, he had whiskers. His hair still hung longer than normal in that familiar skater style that she’d always secretly adored.

Feeling suddenly hot, she cleared her throat, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, hoping she hadn’t drooled on him.

“How long have you been here?” Julian signed.

“Umm.” She turned to glance over her shoulder at the clock mounted on the wall. Elisa rubbed at her stiff neck. “About an hour,” she said, and then remembered that she’d neither signed it or looked at him while saying it.

Turning back around she signed it quickly. “Jules, what happened? Why were you on your bike in December?”

His jaw clenched then, and he glanced down at his leg. She noted the lines shading the corners of his eyes and mouth and the faint sheen of sweat dotting his forehead.

He was obviously still in a lot of pain.

She tapped him, only talking once he looked up. “More medicine?”

Shaking his head, he said, “No.”

But she refused to give up. Anytime he’d so much as move he’d wince. “You’re in pain. You need medicine.”

“Can’t.” His teeth clenched.

“Why not?”

“Because then I’ll fall asleep.”

She sighed. “That’s good. You need sleep. You’ll get better quicker.”

Brushing her fingers away, he shook his head harder. “No, because then I won’t be able to talk to you.”

Oh.

She sat back on her chair as her heart beat a galloping rhythm in her chest.

He looked away after he said it, glaring down at his leg and then signed. “Not my fault. Dumbass came out of nowhere. I looked three times before I crossed that intersection. Cops said he was speeding.”

She grabbed his fingers and brought them to her lips, wanting to touch him even though she knew she had no right to do so. His mouth opened just slightly and his breathing hitched when she kissed him.

Then trying something she’d seen done in a movie a few weeks ago, she placed his open palm against her throat and said, “You scared me.”

“El…e.” He didn’t sign that, he spoke it.

And she cried to hear that broken sound because she knew it’d come from the very bottom of his heart.

For just a moment she allowed herself to forget that she was nineteen going on twenty in another five months and he basically seventeen, or that she had a boyfriend that she was wild about, because this was her Julian and he was safe and the world was a better place because of it.

Placing a knee on the side of the bed, she tried to be as careful as possible when she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her ear to his heart.

The steady beat soothed her frazzled nerves. But his grunt of pain made her pull quickly away.

His face was shiny with sweat as he signed, “Don’t pull back.”

“God, what am I doing?” She didn’t sign it or speak it to him, because she needed to remember that she did have a boyfriend and Julian was like a brother to her. Not to mention how much younger he was. “What the hell am I doing?”

But she must not have been careful the second time around, because he signed furiously at her. “Don’t leave me, smile girl.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I’m here for Christmas break, Jules, and then I have to go back.”

***

The Wright Brother releases Sept. 19 of 2014!

Forever Ours

Music is an important part of this series. Some chapters in this eBook begin with a musical note. The musical note links to a YouTube video of a song that pertains to or is mentioned in that chapter. Most of these links are mobile-friendly and work on internet-ready devices such as smart phones, tablets, and computers. These links will not work on all e-readers. If you are reading Forever Ours on an incompatible e-reader, feel free to open the playlist on a compatible device and listen as you read.

The playlist is available on YouTube at:

http://bit.ly/foplaylist

The playlist is available on Spotify at:

http://bit.ly/foplaylists

Chapter One

Claire
Forever Invisible

April 2009

When I was six, my mom told me that fish can breathe under water because they don’t have lungs. And she left it at that. What she didn’t tell me is that, not only do fish never drown, but they also feel no pain. As I lie down on the filthy concrete behind the grocery store, all I can think is that I want to be a fish.

I wish I could say that I’m homeless through no fault of my own, but that’s not true. I’m not homeless. I’m a runaway. There is a slight difference, though the sleeping accom-modations are basically the same.

I adjust the pillow under my head as I attempt to get comfortable. It’s not really a pillow. I pulled a cereal box from the dumpster and emptied it out, then I stuffed it with a bunch of discarded plastic grocery bags. I turn my face toward the pillow to smell the box. I never thought I’d actually want a pillow that smells like corn flakes, but it’s better than the smell of the dumpster that’s standing ten feet away.

It’s dark out here. It’s 1:30 a.m. If there’s anyone left in the grocery store, it’s just a couple of employees. I’ve been coming out here for the past seven nights to sleep. I let myself have a two-hour nap, then I leave. I wander the streets of Raleigh, trying not to feel sorry for myself. I’m a runaway. This is my choice. Then I think of what happened seven days ago—my last day at the Walkers’ house.

***

“Aaron wants to know if you’re a virgin.”

Lyle grins when he says this. He knows it’s going to piss me off. I’ve been at the Walker residence with Mr. and Mrs. Walker, fourteen-year-old Lyle, and his older sister Stephanie for three days. Three days may actually be a record for me. I think one week is the shortest amount of time it took me to get kicked out of a foster home before this. Lyle’s parents must have said something to him about my history, because he seems to think this comment is very amusing.

Aaron is another foster kid who’s supposed to be leaving in a couple of days. The Walkers are getting tired of him hanging out in the bedroom all day with his door locked. I don’t blame Aaron. And I highly doubt he’s the one who wants to know if I’m a virgin.

“You should tell Aaron that if he wants to know if I’m a virgin, he should sleep with his door unlocked.”

Lyle’s eyes widen. “Whoa… You’re gonna have sex with him? Just like that?”

“I never said I was going to have sex with him. What I have in mind is much more fun for me than it is for him.”

“You’re a fucking psycho. No wonder your mom killed herself.”

“She didn’t kill herself. She OD’d.”

“She should have killed herself.”

***

When Lyle’s mom finally managed to pull me off of him, he had a bloody nose, swollen cheek, and sore crotch. I had a bloody lip, a bump on the head, and a reason to run.

Here I am now, trying to melt into the background of a grocery store. Trying to become invisible. But it’s difficult to fade into the scenery when your stomach is growling and your bones ache from sleeping on the hard concrete for seven days. Every movement makes me feel as if my hipbones and ribs are slicing through my delicate skin.

I’ve lost at least five pounds this week. I can feel it in my clothing. And I didn’t really have much weight to spare. One of the consequences of moving from one foster home to the next is that you never really feel comfortable eating. You’re always adjusting to someone else’s mealtimes and food preferences. I’ve been underweight for years.

In fact, I’m so underweight right now, I’m convinced this is the only thing that’s kept me from being hassled by the cops ever since I left the Walker house. I’m so thin I’m practically invisible. I’m used to being invisible. I actually prefer it. It’s the homes where people try to get you to talk about your feelings, or the other kids try to get friendly, that make me want to split.

I’m going to have to find a place to stay soon. When I checked weather.com in the library today, I discovered it’s supposed to rain in Raleigh tomorrow. It’s the last week of April. Can’t we leave the April showers behind us already?

The corner of the cereal box starts digging into my cheek and I lift my head so I can adjust it. That’s when I see the police car cruising by. Shit!

My heart pounds as I try to force myself to think fast. What am I going to do? I can’t run. They’ll see me if I try to hide behind the dumpster. Maybe if I just lie still they won’t notice me.

The police car stops and the one driving shines his spotlight on me. I cover my eyes with my forearm and he quickly points it a few feet to my left. The car door opens and the tears come instantly as I sit up. They’re going to put me in another home with another shitty family that doesn’t care if I starve or if their son is a perverted jerk.

“Whatcha doin’ back here?” the officer asks as he approaches.

I look up at him for a moment then cover my face to hide the tears. “I’m lost.”

Chapter Two

Chris
Forever Waiting

Time stood still the first time I held a guitar in my hands. It was a kind of love that surpassed anything I’d ever felt. I don’t know if this means I’m screwed up or just that something broke inside me the day my dad left; and music was the only thing that seemed to fill the empty space. But nothing compares to how I feel when I’m lost in a melody. Even when I’m struggling with lyrics or time signatures, it always feels like I’m exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I was created to do.

This is why I get really fucking annoyed when Tristan shows up late to practice. I know he doesn’t have the best home-life, but I’m eager to get this first set practiced so we can start trying to book gigs. I’m not sure who, if anyone, will take a band of unknown teenagers seriously. All I know is that I won’t stop until someone does. Until then, I’ll keep waiting for Tristan and hoping for our big break.

“Don’t you think this song should be a little more up-tempo?” Jake asks as he sits on a stool behind his drum set, reading the notes I gave him for “Hunger,” a song I wrote about one of the foster kids my mom took in last year.

I still remember that kid’s name: Justin. His mom was addicted to meth and in an abusive relationship. Justin was six years old when they brought him here, and he was skinny as a leaf. His mom kept forgetting to feed him while she was high. These are the kinds of stories I hear all the time ever since my mom started taking in foster children a few years ago. I remember getting so pissed off just thinking about that kid lying in bed, his stomach growling, while his mom was off somewhere getting high or fighting with her boyfriend. I got so angry with my mom for allowing social services to take Justin back to his mom after she got a job and completed her mandatory drug counseling and parenting classes. That’s when my mom told me I had to learn to see the situation from the kid’s point of view.

All the kids that come through our house love their parents. No matter how shitty their parents treat them. And that taught me a little about love and forgiveness. If a kid can forgive a parent who nearly starves them to death, then I can forgive my father who abandoned me when I was six. Even if he doesn’t know I’ve forgiven him.

“We already have three up-tempo songs. This song is about starving. Not exactly an up-tempo topic.” I plug my electric-acoustic guitar into the amp and sit on the barstool I stole from the breakfast bar in the kitchen. “Where’s Rachel?”

“She’s at her sister’s soccer game.”

“I thought she hated her sister.”

Jake taps his foot on the bass drum pedal as he continues to leaf through my notes. “Her parents made her go. It’s some fucking state championship thing.”

“I didn’t know she played at that level. No wonder she’s hot as fuck.” I grab my digital tuner off the coffee table and set it down on my knee so I can tune the guitar. “Is Rachel still gonna play on this one?”

“Yeah, yeah. I already talked to her about it.”

The doorbell rings and I’m confused for about four seconds before I remember the call I got from my mom this morning. We’re getting another foster kid today. We haven’t had any kids for over a month and, truthfully, I’ve enjoyed the peace. I like being able to practice whenever I want without having to worry if I’m waking up a napping toddler. But they weren’t supposed to bring today’s kid until four p.m. They’re two hours early.

I open the door, prepared to greet the social worker with the usual, My mom will be here any minute, but when I open the door Tristan is standing there with Freddy Zimmerman from auto shop class.

“You’re late. And why the fuck are you ringing the doorbell?”

Tristan enters ahead of Freddy and they both head straight to the living room with their instruments. Freddy started practicing with us a couple of months ago when I casually mentioned to Rachel that she should play piano on “Hunger.” Tristan hates Rachel, so he took it upon himself to invite Freddy over to practice the piano part on his keyboard. I warned Tristan that I didn’t want this guy playing that fucking keyboard on any of my songs. His response was to remind me that they’re not just my songs.

Tristan sets his bass down on the recliner and his amp on the floor, then he pounds fists with Jake. “I rang the doorbell to make you get your sorry ass up.”

“I thought you were a fucking foster kid,” I reply, closing the door.

“I thought you guys didn’t have any kids right now.”

“Nah, we’re getting a new one today. A runaway.”

“Girl or guy?” Tristan asks, slinging the strap of his bass over his shoulder.

“Girl. I think her name is Claire.”

“Maybe they’ll send one your age this time,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Nah, an older girl would be better. They know what they’re doing,” Freddy says, plugging in his keyboard.

I shake my head. No matter how many times I tell them that I’m not allowed to even say anything inappropriate to a foster kid, Tristan still always suggests it.

“You know I can’t do that. And you can’t talk like that when she gets here or my mom can get cited.”

“Whatever. You need to get laid. How long has it been since… what was her name?”

I set the tuner back on the coffee table and settle the guitar in my lap. “Erin. And that was only two months ago.”

We run through the song a few times before Tristan decides he’s going to try to get the neighbor to buy us some beer. He takes off and I decide to start playing something else. I don’t want to give Freddy the impression that Jake and I want him there or that he’s part of the band. Rachel’s playing the piano on this song no matter how many times Tristan brings this asshole over here.

I grab my electric guitar and plug it in so I can play “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix. Jake and Freddy look on as I transition right out of the opening solo into “Stairway to Heaven.” About thirty minutes pass before the doorbell rings again, right when I’m in the middle of playing “I Want You” by the Beatles. It’s probably Tristan being a dick again.

“Come in!” I shout at the door from where I’m now sitting on the carpet next to the coffee table.

The doorknob jiggles a little then it slowly begins to turn. I knew it was Tristan.

I go back to playing and I’m nearly at the end when I hear the thud of something dropping on the floor behind me. I turn around and a skinny girl with stringy blonde hair and wide blue eyes is staring at us like she just walked in on a fucking murder scene.

Chapter Three

Claire
Forever Asleep

I’m dead on my feet. I’m so tired I can barely drag myself out of Carol’s SUV. I just want to go to sleep and wakeup in August when I’m sixteen and I can get a work permit; or in two years and four months when I’ll be eighteen—when I age out of the system—and I can say goodbye to foster homes forever.

A woman with short brown hair and round hips comes out of a white van labeled Wickedly Sweet Bakery. She slides the side door open and grabs a pink box off the seat, then she turns on her heel and makes her way toward Carol and me. The smile on her face vanishes the instant she sees me.

“Oh, my goodness,” she says with a slight Carolina accent. “You’re bone-thin, darling.”

I turn away and pretend to adjust my backpack on my shoulder so I don’t have to respond to this.

“She hasn’t slept all night. I know you just got home from work, but is her room ready?”

“Oh, yes, yes. Everything’s all set. Honey, you go on ahead and Chris will show you to your room while I talk to Carol. Here, I’ll take that backpack for you.”

“I don’t need help,” I say, backing up as she holds her hand out for me to give her my bag. “I’ll just go inside.”

I carry my backpack up the front walk of the two-story house in West Raleigh. At least this place is a little nicer than most of the homes I’ve stayed in. A lot of foster parents are just in it for the money, and the money’s not even that great. But I guess to some people, it’s better than sitting in an office all day for a little more than minimum wage. One of the foster families I stayed with was pretty nice, until they couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to hang out and watch Disney movies with their kids all day long. People are inherently greedy. If they take you into their home, it doesn’t matter to them that they’re getting paid. They want you to get down on your knees and thank them for taking you in. They question why you don’t want to eat their shitty meals. Or why you wake up screaming in the middle of the night with the image of your dead mother’s body half-hanging off the sofa. There’s no privacy. I’m just tired of feeling like an unwanted guest. I want my own home with my own food, my own bed, my own shower.

But I’d give all that up to have my mom back.

I hesitate for a moment before I press the button for the doorbell. Immediately, I hear a male voice shout for me to come in. His mom probably told him to expect me, but he could at least answer the fucking door. I shake my head as turn the doorknob and slowly push the door open.

My caseworker, Carol, flat out told me that this would be my last placement. If I screw this one up, I’ll be sent to a halfway house until I turn sixteen in August. The moment I step into the living room, I know I’ll be seeing the inside of that halfway house soon.

Three guys sit around a coffee table, two of them on the sofa and one cross-legged on the floor with a guitar in his lap. The one with the guitar wears a gray beanie and his dark hair falls around his face in jagged wisps. He’s humming a tune I recognize as a Beatles song my mom used to play: “I Want You.”

The thud of my backpack hitting the floor gets his attention and he looks straight into my eyes. “Are you Claire?” he asks. His voice is smooth with just a hint of a rasp.

I nod and he sets his guitar down on the floor in front of him. My body tenses as he walks toward me. My mom taught me never to trust men or boys. She was so candid with me about the ways she was violated by her uncle from the time she was nine until she was fourteen. I followed my mom’s advice for eight years and I haven’t been so much as hugged the wrong way. I’ve kept myself safe, but only by getting myself kicked out of every foster home at the slightest hint that someone might see me as prey. This guy in the beanie doesn’t look like a predator, but looks can be deceiving.

He grabs the handle of my backpack and nods toward the stairs. “I’m Chris. I’ll take you to your room.”

I follow him up the stairs and down a hallway to the last door, which stands open, waiting for me. The house smells like a mixture of lavender and cupcakes. It’s kind of comforting, but I don’t want to get too comfortable here. Chris sets my backpack down on the floor in a plain bedroom with a teddy bear wallpaper border. I’m accustomed to sleeping in bedrooms decorated like a toddler’s playroom, so this is nothing new.

“My mom wouldn’t let me take that stupid border down,” he says, lifting his chin toward the ceiling as he digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He’s apologizing to me over a wallpaper border? Great. I can already tell this guy is going to get too friendly with me.

As he looks up at the wallpaper, I see a thin nose ring dangling from his septum.

“I don’t care about the wallpaper. I just want to go to sleep.”

His lip quirks up in confusion. “It’s three o’clock.”

“I haven’t slept. I got kicked out last night and I spent the night at the police station. I refuse to sleep in the presence of strangers.” It was no surprise to me when the cops took me back to the Walkers’ house and they didn’t want anything to do with me.

“Afraid someone will shank you in your sleep?” He smiles, so amused with himself, and I notice another piercing in his tongue. This guy thinks he’s so fucking cool.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I declare, crossing my arms over my chest—not that there’s much to hide.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I see the way you’re looking at me.”

“Yeah, all right. I guess I’ll let you sleep and maybe when you wake up you’ll chill the fuck out and realize that just because someone’s nice to you it doesn’t mean they want to fuck you.”

My eyes widen at these words. I want to tell him to get the fuck out, but I’m dumbfounded.

He sees my shock and his face softens. “Or you can come downstairs and hang out and maybe I’ll play you a song.”

Chapter Four

Chris
Forever Practicing

She doesn’t say anything, but I can see that she’s interested. She’s probably never had anyone offer to play a song for her. Something about her is strange. As I step aside for her to leave the room ahead of me, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen her somewhere. Maybe we went to the same school at some point.

“Do you go to ADHS?” I ask as she descends the stairs.

“I went there for a couple months last year until I got moved to a home in Durham.”

Her voice sounds a little scratchy, like she’s been screaming at a concert or sporting event all day long. She’s probably just thirsty, or hungry judging by the way her T-shirt and jeans hang loosely.

“You want something to drink. We’ve got orange juice, Capri-Sun, milk, and water. And coffee, if you’re into that.” She steps down into the foyer and Tristan is back with a six-pack of Bud Light. “Put that away. My mom’s outside.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, tucking the six-pack behind one of the throw pillows on the blue sofa. “Who’s this?”

“Hey, everyone, this is Claire.” I look to her and she looks so uncomfortable. She’s looking everywhere but at my friends. “We should probably finish up tomorrow. My mom will be here in a minute.”

“Are you kicking us out?” Tristan says, the left side of his mouth turning up. He probably thinks I’m telling them to leave so I can try to hook up with Claire.

“Yeah, get the fuck out. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow. But Rachel will be here, so don’t get any ideas.”

Tristan rolls his eyes and I lead Claire into the kitchen while they pack up their shit.

“You can grab anything you want. There’s nothing off limits.” She stands next to the breakfast bar staring at the fruit bowl on the counter. “My mom will probably ask you to make a list of stuff you need from the store; food, shampoo, all that girl stuff.”

She looks almost as surprised as she did when I told her I didn’t want to get in her panties.

“Anything I want?”

“Yeah, I guess. I mean, I don’t think you can put ponies on layaway at Wal-Mart, but I’m sure she’d try if you put that on your list.” This gets a faint smile out of her. “My mom will be in here soon and she’ll probably want to cook something for you.”

Something about this makes her hang her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Look, no offense, but you look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

“No offense?” She looks up at me. “Telling someone they look like they’re starving probably doesn’t sound that offensive, but it is.”

“Sorry. I just… Well, you don’t have to eat, but my mom makes dinner every day whether you want to eat it or not.”

“Just a typical American family, huh?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” I open up the refrigerator and reach into the box of Capri-Sun to pullout a pouch for her. Shit. It’s the last one. “Here” I place the drink on the breakfast bar in front of her. “We can hang out in the living room while my mom cooks. Unless you want to go to bed.”

“I thought you were going to play your guitar or something.”

I smile even though she looks dead serious. “Yeah, we’ll wait until these assholes leave.”

Jake is waiting just inside the front door as Tristan and Freddy haul their equipment across the living room. “See you later, man,” Jake says with a nod. “I’ll give Rachel that sheet music.”

“And the notes,” I reply and he nods. “See you tomorrow.”

“Peace out,” Freddy says and I nod at him and Tristan as they all leave.

I grab my guitar off the carpet and nod toward the sofa. “You can sit down. My mom will be in here soon.” I feel the need to keep reminding her of this so she doesn’t think I’m going to try anything. As much as my friends suggest this to me, I’m sure she’s encountered enough creeps in the foster homes she’s been in before this one.

She sits on the side of the sofa where Tristan tucked the six-pack of beer behind the pillow. I hope he took it in one of his cases. I don’t want to have to sneak that shit into the garbage.

I take a seat on the recliner and lay the guitar in my lap. “What do you want to hear?”

She shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Do you mind if I play something I’ve been trying to practice? It will probably sound like shit.”

“By all means, play your shitty song.”

I laugh and she smiles; a tight-lipped smile, like she’s trying not to. “Now I don’t want to play it because it’s definitely not a shitty song. I just haven’t learned to play it well yet.”

“Just play the song.”

The way she says this makes my heart race, and suddenly I’m nervous. I’m never nervous about performing a song unless it’s an audition, which I’ve only been on two of those. Crap. I’m going to fuck up this song. I know it.

I draw in a deep breath and position the guitar in my lap. Curling my fingers around the fret board, I decide to play this one without a guitar pick.

As soon as I begin plucking the strings, the nerves subside and I give myself up to the song. I’ve been practicing “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel since last week. Every time I’ve played it up to now, I’ve messed up on the bridge. I’m notorious for messing up the bridge of every new song I play. But this time I don’t mess up and I find myself grinning uncontrollably as I sing the last line.

I hold my hand down on the strings to stop the lingering reverberation and I finally look up from the guitar. My mom is standing next to the sofa where Claire is seated and they’re both staring at me, unblinking. I wait a moment for one of them to say something and I’m not surprised when it’s my mom who speaks first.

“Didn’t you just start playing that last week?”

I nod and look back down at my guitar as that nervous feeling returns. I sense an embarrassing comment coming from my mom about how proud she is of me or how talented I am. I don’t want to look up and see Claire’s reaction to this comment.

“That was beautiful,” my mom continues, and I sigh with relief. “What do you two want for dinner?”

I look at Claire and I’m surprised to find she’s crying. “Are you okay?”

My mom looks down at her and covers her mouth. “Oh, honey. I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask you how you’re feeling.”

Claire shakes her head as she hides her face. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re just tired. That’s all. You can have dinner with us or you can go straight to bed. Whatever you want to do. The bedroom’s all ready for you.” She turns to me with a severe look. “It’s ready, isn’t it, Chris?”

I nod as I get up from the recliner and set down the guitar. “I got it ready this morning as soon as you called.”

My mom kneels down next to the sofa and gently lays her hand on Claire’s knee. “Sweetie. You don’t have to stay down here if you feel more comfortable upstairs. I can bring your dinner up there later.”

Claire pulls her hands away from her face and wipes at the tears that are still streaming. “It’s okay. I’ll eat down here. Thank you.”

“For what?”

Claire looks taken aback by this question, then she shrugs. “For being nice.”

Chapter Five

Claire
Forever Awkward

My first week with Jackie and Chris Knight is the least awkward first week I’ve ever had in a foster home. Jackie and I spent Sunday, the day after I arrived, running all over town to make sure I have everything I need. Then she took me to Athens Drive High School on Monday to get me registered and I began classes on Tuesday.

Walking into a new school is always nerve wracking, but walking through those front gates with Chris on Tuesday morning made everything less awkward. He has so many friends and most of them are just as nice as he is. They greeted me like I was one of them. Which is why I didn’t hesitate when Chris asked if I wanted to sit with them in the cafeteria for lunch.

Rachel and I are the only girls in the group, but she didn’t look too relieved to have another girl join them. But Chris was pretty good at diffusing the awkward questions that are inevitable in my situation. When his friend Tristan asked if I was going back to my parents soon, Chris answered for me. “She’s going to be with us for a while.”

A couple of days later, when Rachel asked if I had any siblings, Chris’s reply made me blush. It was just a simple no, but the way he looked so uncomfortable with her question gave me butterflies. I may be totally wrong, but I feel as if his response was meant for me.

And the way they talk about music, especially Chris, is awe-inspiring. I’ve never heard kids my age talk about the future the way they do. I’ve heard some of my foster siblings talk about college and getting jobs, but the way they talk about music is not at all like that. It’s like a calling for all of them—even Tristan who seems to have fallen into playing the bass sort of by accident.

The only thing I didn’t like about hanging out with Chris and his friends this week was how temporary it all felt. Jake and Rachel are graduating in three weeks. And I’m getting a strong feeling that Chris wants to drop out of high school after this school year ends. If I manage not to get myself kicked out of the Knight house by the end of the summer, will his friends still consider me “one of them” if he’s gone?

When I come down from my bedroom on Saturday morning, Jackie has gone to work at the bakery, as usual. She usually leaves for work around four a.m. and returns sometime between four and seven p.m. Chris and I take the bus to school every morning, though he claims he’s going to get a motorcycle on his birthday in four weeks so we can get around while his mom is gone. The thought of being that close to him, straddling a motorcycle and wrapping my arms around his waist, makes me nervous. But it seems like no big deal to him.

Chris is sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of something yellow that may be scrambled eggs and a glass of something white. Mr. Miyagi, his ten-year-old Shiba Inu, is sitting at his feet panting as he waits patiently for Chris to slip him a treat. Chris grimaces as he brings a spoonful of the yellow food to his mouth.

“What are you eating?” I ask, wondering if maybe Jackie left us some breakfast to heat up before she left. She does that often.

He swallows the food and shakes his head at me. “The worst scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. They taste like ass.”

“You know what ass tastes like?” My eyes widen as I realize what I just said and he laughs. “I mean, did you make them?”

“Yeah, I tried to make them the way I saw my mom make them, but I think I might have forgotten a step.”

I step closer to the table to peer down into his bowl and I try not to laugh. “I think you forgot the step where you cook the eggs. Those scrambled eggs are practically raw. That’s disgusting.”

He narrows his eyes at me, looking slightly offended. “Can you make better scrambled eggs than this?” I don’t answer right away and he answers for me. “I didn’t think so.”

I chuckle as I grab his bowl of eggs. “I’ll make you some real scrambled eggs. It’s one of the few things I know how to make. What are you drinking?”

He grabs his glass off the table and follows me into the kitchen. “It’s a banana protein shake. It’s not so bad.”

I place his bowl in the sink then head for the refrigerator to get the carton of eggs. “A protein shake and eggs? Are you trying to build muscle?”

He’s silent for a moment. When I look at him, he looks like he’s calculating a response. “Why? Do you think I need to build muscle?”

I laugh as I set the carton of eggs on the counter and reach into the cupboard beneath the counter for a large bowl. “No, I’m just curious. That looks like a body builder’s breakfast.”

“You know a lot of body builders?”

“No, but I’ve had some foster siblings who were into that.”

He stands next to me as I crack the eggs into the bowl, taking each discarded shell and tossing it into the garbage for me. His arm and hand keeps brushing against mine and I have to keep taking deep breaths every time he turns away to calm my nerves.

“Have you ever…?” He shakes his head as he seems to decide not to finish this question.

“Have I ever what?”

“Nothing. Do you need the salt or something?”

I don’t press him for an answer. I finish making us some scrambled eggs and we eat in relative silence until he asks me something that catches me totally off-guard.

“Do you miss your mom?” I clench my jaw and stare into my bowl as I try to think of an appropriate response. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I just… My dad left when I was six and… Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Just forget I asked.”

I nod my head and when I look up from the bowl he’s looking straight at me. “Yeah. I miss my mom.”

He smiles at this answer, but something about his smile makes me feel like I’ve shared too much with him. I quickly wipe at the tears that begin to fall, then I bolt up from the table to take my bowl to the sink.

“I have to clean up.”

He quickly stands up after me and follows me into the kitchen. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll clean up. You cooked.”

He catches up to me at the sink and squeezes in next to me so he can do the dishes. As soon as his arm grazes mine, the tears come faster.

“Hey,” he says, grabbing my elbows so he can turn me toward him. “My mom always says that the easiest, cheapest gift you can give someone is a hug.” He holds out his arms and beckons me. “Come here.”

I stare at him for a moment, then I let out a deep sigh and allow him to take me into his arms. My arms feel awkward at my sides, so I slowly raise them and wrap them around his waist. I feel him let out a breath, as if he were waiting for that, then I cry. I cry on his shoulder for so long, I know he must think there’s something deeply wrong with me. But he doesn’t mention it. In fact, he just encourages me, telling me every so often to let it go and that it’s okay to feel this way.

And I believe him.

Chapter Six

Chris
Forever Curious

Normally, Tristan accompanies me to all my tattoo sessions. This time, I decide to take Claire. Tristan would have to ask his grandma to drop him off here first. My tattoo artist, Shayla, lives just half a mile away from our house. It’s 1:30 p.m. Today was an early day at school and they let us out at 12:45. Claire and I can walk the mile to her house and be back in time before my mom gets home from work tonight. I hope we’ll be back by then.

“Your mom won’t be mad about you getting a tattoo?” Claire asks as we set off away from the house toward the main road.

“She won’t be mad if she doesn’t find out.”

The fourth Wednesday of May is warm and sunny with the occasional breeze that blows Claire’s blonde ponytail into her eyes every so often. I find myself stealing glances at the spot on her neck where her hairline melts into her nape. It looks so soft. And the way the sun radiates off of every inch of her makes me wish I could touch her glowing skin.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

“I only have four tattoos, so far, but each one is special to me.” I push up the sleeve on my left arm to show her the electric guitar that’s wrapped in a bar of music from one of my favorite songs, “Little Wing” by Jimi Hendrix. Then I hold out my left forearm for her to see the antique stopwatch tattoo with the hands stopped at 3:15 p.m., the time it was when my father left. “You’ve already seen this one. Then there’s this one on the back of my neck.” I show her the Chinese characters on the back of my neck that spell out, What we think, we become. “I have one more on my chest.”

I don’t ask her if she wants to see it, but I watch her face for her reaction. She glances at the cars passing by on Avent Ferry Road, then she looks back at me. I can see she’s contemplating whether or not she wants to see it.

“What kind of tattoo is it?”

“It’s stupid.”

She smiles. “What do you mean? All those other tattoos were really cool. I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

“No, really. It’s probably the stupidest tattoo I’ve ever seen on anyone. This is the tattoo that got me in trouble. I got it while Tristan and I were super drunk a couple of months ago and my mom flipped when she saw it. Then she made fun of me for weeks.”

“Okay, now I have to see it.”

I smile and shake my head. “Nope. I’m getting it covered up soon and you’ll never know what it was.”

“Aw, come on. That’s not fair.”

“Why?”

She shrugs and turns her gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of us. “I don’t know. Tristan got to see it.”

My heart races at this reply, which implies she wants to be as worthy as my best friend. “All right. I’ll let you see it when we get to Shayla’s.”

“Shayla? Your tattoo artist is a girl?”

“Is that a problem?”

She shakes her head, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead. “Nope. Just assumed it was a guy.” She clears her throat and digs her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans. “So why are you getting a tattoo today?”

“It’s my birthday today.”

She whips her head toward me. “It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything at lunch?”

“I didn’t expect anybody to remember. Tristan and Jake are the only ones who know my birthday, but it’s not like I made them set reminders on their calendars or anything. It’s just a birthday. It’s not a big deal.”

She looks disappointed with this response. “So, you’re sixteen now?”

“Yep. Sweet sixteen.” I wink at her and she blushes as she turns her attention back to the street. “Can I ask you a question?”

She sighs as if she already knows what I’m going to ask. “You can ask whatever you want. I can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

“Fair enough.” I pause for a moment as I work up the courage, then I spit it out quickly. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“One. When I was twelve.”

“Twelve?”

“We were only together for, like, four days.”

“What was his name?”

“Why do you want to know?” She’s still looking straight ahead, but she’s wearing a whisper of a smile.

“Because I want to know everything about you.”

Chapter Seven

Claire
Forever Envious

We arrive at 424 Helms at that moment and I gladly accept the momentary distraction to catch my breath as Chris bounds up the porch steps to ring the doorbell. Oh, God. Even the way he rings the doorbell looks cute. How he glances at me over his shoulder, his face beaming with excitement over some new ink. Like a kid on Halloween waiting for someone to answer the door and dump candy into his bucket.

I turn away quickly before he can catch me swooning. Looking out at the two-story houses on Helms Avenue, I’m reminded of a house I lived in last year, just a few streets away from here. I was there for four months during the summer and the end of my eighth grade year. My birthday came and went that year without anyone noticing, even after I’d lived with the Grohl family for a few months. It wasn’t as if this was the first time my birthday was forgotten. It was that I had promised myself that I would have the courage to say something this time. And I didn’t.

I really hope it doesn’t happen again this year. I don’t think I could handle another forgotten birthday. Not in the Knight house.

“Claire!”

I turn around at the sound of Chris’s voice. My stomach clenches as he nods toward the open door where a beautiful girl who can’t be more than twenty years old stands. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for me to join them.

Chris moves aside so I can enter before him. “Claire, this is Shayla. Shayla, this is Claire.”

“This your girlfriend?” Shayla asks in a bored voice.

Her pink hair is short and spiky, but her skin and makeup are flawless. Her tank top shows off her smooth tattooed arms. And her skinny black jeans are riding so low, I can see the waistband of her lacy panties.

I take a seat on the sofa as Chris and Shayla make their way a bit further into the room so Chris can sit on a chair. The mint-green vinyl chair sits in the middle of a wood floor in what should be a dining area, and looks like it was stolen out of a dentist’s office. The far wall behind the chair is mirrored from floor to ceiling and the wall on the right is lined with shelves holding disinfectant, inks, and various supplies.

Without any warning or prompting, Chris peels off his T-shirt. His chest and ab muscles flex as he sits on the chair. He glances at me as he lies back and smiles when he catches me staring at him. But, mercifully, he doesn’t call me out on it.

I watch silently as Shayla grabs stuff off the shelves and begins setting up the machine. But I can feel Chris watching me. Finally, I look at him and he smiles as he beckons me with his finger.

My stomach flips and I take deep breaths as I stand from the sofa and walk to him. Trying not to focus too much on whether or not I have an awkward walk or if my hair looks windblown. Or how much prettier Shayla looks when she walks.

“I told you I’d show you my sorry ass tattoo before I get it covered up,” he says when I’m almost next to him.

I stop a few feet away, trying to look anywhere but his chest, but he beckons me closer.

“Come here.”

I step forward until I’m right next to the chair. He points at the right side of his chest as Shayla sits down and rolls her chair over the wood floor until she’s next to me. When I see the tattoo, I laugh out loud. Uproarious, gut-busting laughter. Right over his left pectoral muscle, spelled out in a drunken scrawl, is his name, Chris.

“You don’t have to laugh that hard,” he says, though he can’t hide his grin.

“I’m sorry.” I cover my mouth and try to catch my breath. “Were you afraid you’d forget your name?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny. I was drunk. And I did forget my name for a moment. So Tristan said, ‘I bet you wouldn’t forget it if it was tattooed on you like every other fucking thing you want to remember.’” I shake my head as he looks up at me with the most adorable look of embarrassment. “And I was drunk,” he adds again, in case I forgot.

“Maybe you should have just tattooed ‘I was drunk’ on there,” I reply and his eyes light up.

“Shit! Why didn’t I think of that?”

I scoot out of the way so Shayla can roll her stool closer to Chris. My heart pounds with roaring jealousy as she wipes the left side of his chest with antiseptic. Finally, I tear my gaze away and head back to the sofa.

When it’s over, Chris shows me the tattoo of a monkey sitting down with its eyes closed and legs crossed and wearing a red cape. Chris explains that he has a thing for Japanese culture and the monkey was revered in depictions of Shinto Buddhist mythology.

“Why the red cape?” I ask, as we walk back home.

“Why not?”

I smile and we’re silent for quite a while before I clear my throat to speak. “His name was Wade.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My boyfriend. The one you asked me about earlier.”

“Wade?” He looks incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a terrible name.”

“It is not.”

“Yes, it is. Claire and Wade? That’s just wrong.” He smiles and I quickly face forward so he can’t see the effect it has on me. “Chris and Claire… Now that’s the sound of destiny.”

“Wade was very cute.” I glance at him sideways to see his reaction and he’s looking straight at me, smiling as if he knows I’m trying to make him jealous.

“You want me to help you write a song for Wade?”

“Shut up.”

“Wade would never write you a song, but I’ve already written you three.”

I can hardly breathe as my heart pounds crazy fast inside my chest. I glance at him again and his smile has softened.

“If you don’t tell my mom about this tattoo, I’ll play one of your songs for you.”

“I’m not going to tell your mom,” I reply quickly.

I want to hear those songs. Now.

He chuckles as we approach the house. “She can be very convincing.”

I smile as I think, Just like you.

Chapter Eight

Claire
Forever Blue

I wake the morning of June 7th feeling heavy. It’s a familiar feeling. It happens once in a while without warning, but it always happens on June 7th. Like a trusty friend who always visits on a special anniversary. My heart is always heaviest on the anniversary of my mother’s death.

That’s why I always try to do something that makes me happy on June 7th. Wallowing in my room only makes the heaviness worse. I need something light to pick me up.

Last year, I walked to the local movie theater by myself and watched a comedy. Then I stopped and got myself some frozen yogurt on the way back. Mrs. Grohl slipped me a twenty-dollar bill and a look of immense pity when I told her why I wanted to go to the movies.

I wonder if Chris is busy today.

I head downstairs to the kitchen after I’ve showered and dressed. I’ve been applying a bit of makeup the past couple of weeks since our trip to Shayla’s house. Not that I think Chris prefers Shayla’s thick black eyeliner and perfectly pink pout to my natural look. My reason for putting on makeup is even more pathetic than that.

I’ve convinced myself that by wearing makeup when I’m around Chris, he’ll know that I care about what I look like around him. And that, one day, he’ll tell me how beautiful I am without makeup. Pathetic. I know.

It’s almost three in the afternoon now. I woke up late today and decided to read in bed for a while before I took a shower. A while turned into three hours. So this is the first time I’ve been downstairs all day. I’m starving.

I immediately head for the fridge to make myself sandwich, when I notice Chris in the backyard, playing with Mr. Miyagi. That poor dog is ten years old and Chris refuses to believe that he doesn’t have the same amount of energy as he did when he was a puppy. But watching them through the window, Chris lying on the grass with Mr. Miyagi jumping and barking at him, it makes my stomach swirl with happiness.

Maybe I don’t have to go anywhere today.

I grab all the stuff for my a sandwich, then I peek my head out the sliding glass door into the back yard. “Do you want a sandwich?”

Chris tackles Mr. Miyagi and proceeds to rub his belly. He looks up at me with a huge smile, tongue practically wagging, then he nods.

I fix us both a sandwich and head outside with our plates. It’s a beautiful summer day. So different than it was eight years ago.

I set the plates down on the wrought iron patio table, then I pull out a chair and sit down to eat. Chris heads over to join me and I get a strange feeling in the pit of my belly as I imagine him leaning over to kiss me to thank me for the sandwich. But he doesn’t do that. He just sits down and smiles at the sandwich, then he looks up at me.

“Thanks. Did you just wake up?”

I wait for him to take a bite of his sandwich first. “No. I’ve been reading.”

“What are you reading?” he asks through a mouthful of food.

“Just a book. How’s the sandwich?”

“Delicious.”

I take a bite and realize I forgot the mustard. We eat in silence for a few minutes before I work up the courage to ask him what I wanted to ask.

“Are you going to Tristan’s today?”

“Nah, they’re coming over here. Why? You want to go to Tristan’s?”

I chuckle weakly. He knows I don’t get along with Tristan very well.

“I’m kidding,” he says, putting his sandwich down. “Do you want to hang out?”

I wait a moment so I don’t seem too eager, then I nod. “Yeah. Sure. I mean, today’s… the anniversary of the day my mom died, so I usually do something.”

He seems torn between being excited about doing something and pitying me the way Mrs. Grohl did.

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” I continue. “I just thought maybe you’d want to hang out or something. If not, that’s totally cool.”

“I’d love to hang out. Can I take you somewhere on my bike?”

“No,” I reply quickly and he laughs. “Sorry, but that thing scares me.”

“All right. We’ll stay in.” He stares at me across the table. Finally, he smiles. “I know what we’re going to do. And we’ll do it right here.”

Something about the way he says that sounds a little naughty, but I try not to blush. Instead, I take our plates inside and wash the dishes while he gives Mr. Miyagi a bath in the upstairs bathroom. We watch TV for a while as the dog naps on the sofa between us. As requested, Chris doesn’t say anything to his mom about today being the anniversary of my mom’s death. Just before nine, Jackie goes upstairs to take a bath and go to bed so she can get up at four a.m. for work the next morning.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she says as she heads up the stairs.

Chris and I don’t usually stay up too late. It makes me nervous being alone with him when I’m sleepy. Like I’m going to say something stupid.

“Let’s go,” Chris says, nodding toward the backyard.

Mr. Miyagi leaps off the sofa at Chris’s command and I follow after him. “What’s outside?”

He opens the sliding glass door and waits for me to exit before him. “Just wait right here and I’ll be right back.”

He heads back inside the house, then he returns a few minutes later carrying a patchwork blanket and a couple of pillows. And a guitar. He lays the blanket and pillows down on the grass and motions with his hand for me to sit down.

I take a seat on the edge of the blanket and hug my knees to my chest. He sits next to me and smiles as he pulls the guitar into his lap. He plucks the strings a bit as he tunes the guitar, then he looks up with a soft gleam in his eyes.

“I’m going to sing one of the songs I wrote for you. It’s called ‘Blue Fields’.”

I hug my knees tighter as I lay my cheek on my knee and watch him play. The song is actually pretty upbeat and I wouldn’t know it was about me if he hadn’t told me. The lyrics are metaphorical. And his voice, that soft rasp, is like the ribbon that ties it all together.

But even though the lyrics aren’t literal, I’m pretty sure the song is about loving someone as much as you love the sky.

When the song is over, he looks a little embarrassed, so he quickly lies down. “Come on,” he says, patting the blanket behind me. “You have to lie down to look at the stars.”

I take a deep breath and lay back until my head lands softly on the pillow. Chris’s arm is pressed against mine and I find myself wishing there were more parts of him touching me. Then I find myself wishing that I could do this every June 7th for the rest of my life.

“Thank you,” I whisper, just loud enough for him to hear.

His arm moves a little, then he grabs my hand and squeezes. “Any time.”

When we wake up on the grass at six a.m. the following morning, all I can think is that we’re lucky Mr. Miyagi is lying between to us instead of begging to be let out into the backyard. And Jackie isn’t the type to check on us in the morning before she leaves to work. So we’re safe.

My arms are wrapped around Chris’s right arm like a boa constrictor, the dog snuggled between our legs. Chris smiles at me, then we head inside to have breakfast.

Chapter Nine

Claire
Forever Holding On

August 9, 2009

There are moments in life that you know will be burned into your memory forever. Chris calls these “movie screen moments” —where everything slows down and you know that something important is about to happen that will change the course of the story. He says that the best songs are written about movie screen moments. I don’t know if this is true. All I know is that this is one of those moments.

I can feel it in the air. And I know that when I look back, I’ll remember everything about this moment in time; the smells, the tastes, the sounds, and the touch. The touch.

Chris and I are both sitting on the carpet with our backs leaned against the sofa, our fingers woven together as MTV plays in the background. This is something we’ve done every day for the past eight weeks, ever since the night we fell asleep in the backyard. As soon as Jackie leaves for work in the morning, we both get up and have breakfast together. He usually makes me a bowl of cereal or I make us both some scrambled eggs. Then we hang out in the living room for a few hours until his friends come over. Sometimes, Chris plays his guitar for me. Sometimes, we sit here and pretend to watch MTV, holding hands while Mr. Miyagi lays out across both of our laps, begging to be petted. Well, I don’t know if Chris is pretending to watch MTV, but I know I am.

All I can seem to think about when I’m near Chris is whether or not this will last or if he will be just another person I have to lose. But this doesn’t stop me from enjoying these hours spent together. I’ve never been happier in all my life. Not even when my mom was alive.

I’ll admit. I was sort of hoping today would be different than all the other mornings Chris and I have hung out. Not that I don’t like this small moment of closeness we share every day. But today’s August 9th. My sixteenth birthday.

I guess I figured that would make today even more special for us. I was kind of hoping I might get my first kiss.

“Tristan’s coming over in half an hour and we’re going to the mall. You want to come?”

My heart sinks a little. Chris knows that Tristan and I don’t get along very well. He hasn’t even wished me a happy birthday and now he’s leaving to hang out with Tristan.

I try to let go of his hand and he tightens his grip. “What’s wrong?”

I attempt to pull my hand away again and this time he lets go. “I don’t want to go to the mall.”

“Are you okay?”

I stand up and he immediately stands with me. “I’m just tired. I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

I take a few steps, but he grabs my hand to stop me. When I look over my shoulder at him, he’s wearing a crooked smile. “Can you take Mr. Miyagi upstairs with you?”

My shoulders slump as I turn toward Mr. Miyagi where he’s lounging on the sofa.

Chris chuckles. “I’m only kidding. I’m not going anywhere with Tristan today. I’m taking you for a ride.”

“What?”

“On my bike.”

“I’m not going on that thing.”

Chris got his motorcycle license the week after he turned sixteen less than three months ago. He’s been trying to get me to ride with him on his crappy racing bike ever since the first time I let him hold my hand.

“Come on,” he pleads. “I have something I want to show you, but I want to do it alone. I don’t want to ask Tristan to take us. Please?”

I stare into his eyes for a moment and he tilts his head. His brown hair always looks calculatedly messy, the way it’s just long enough to cover his ears yet still sticks out in all the right places. His skin is so smooth; I often find myself wishing I could press my lips to his cheek just to feel the softness of his skin. And don’t even get me started on the metal stud in his tongue. The way he plays with it when he’s tuning his guitar makes the butterflies in my stomach cry tears of joy. I don’t know what Chris sees in me other than the way my hand seems to fit so perfectly in his.

He pulls me a little closer and lifts my hand to his mouth. My heart races as he lays a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Claire, it’s your birthday. And I know you probably haven’t had a whole lot of birthdays you want to remember for the rest of your life, but I want this birthday to be the one you never forget. Let me take you for a ride.”

I stare at his lips as he says these words and that’s when it happens. This is that moment; the moment where everything slows down and nothing is ever the same.

Chapter Ten

Claire
Forever Floating

Chris pulls the motorcycle out of the garage and onto the street in front of the driveway because I’m afraid we’ll fall if he goes down the driveway with both of us on the bike. It’s a regular old racing bike that he picked up from a neighbor’s house on his birthday; the day I went with him to Shayla’s house.

The body is lime-green with a black racing stripe that’s peeling off. He claims he’s already saving up for a new bike. And if he can just score a few well-paying gigs this year, he’ll get it for his next birthday.

“Come on.”

He nods toward the back of the bike as he squeezes the handlebar and revs the engine. The exhaust pipe coughs out a small cloud of gray smoke that smells like gasoline. He pats the seat behind him and smiles.

I double-check the strap on the helmet Chris bought for me a couple of weeks ago, then I grab his waist and swing my leg over the back of the bike. My stomach vaults when my body is pressed against his back.

“Hold on tight!” he shouts so he can be heard over the sound of the engine and through both of our helmets.

I lean closer to him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He reaches back and slides his hand down the side of my thigh until his hand is behind my knee. Then he pulls my leg up to prop my foot on the spoke. He does the same with my other leg and I can hardly breathe from the embarrassment as something pulses between my legs. It’s the engine. It has to be rumble of the engine.

He grabs both my hands and pulls them tighter around him, then he gives me a thumbs-up. Now we’re all set. Great.

I close my eyes and lean the side of my helmet against the back of his right shoulder. I let out a soft scream when he takes off, but I’m quiet the rest of the way. He takes it easy on me the whole way there; going extra slow on the turns and easy on the acceleration. But I’m still ecstatic when he arrives at Moore Square in downtown Raleigh.

My thighs are still humming from the vibration of the motorcycle engine as I stand next to the bike, waiting for Chris to remove his helmet. He hangs his helmet from a hook inside a compartment hidden beneath the seat cushion. Then he turns to me and smiles as he reaches for the strap on my helmet. The tips of his fingers are a bit calloused, probably from playing the guitar without a pick. He hates using guitar picks when he’s practicing.

Goosebumps sprout over my arms and I try not to look at his face as he finally gets my helmet strap unhooked. He gently lifts the helmet off my head and I can feel him staring at me. I bite my lip and try to regulate my breathing. This is it. He’s going to kiss me.

I muster the courage to look up into his eyes and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You did good. I think I only heard you scream once,” he says, and I let out the breath I was holding as he turns around and hangs my helmet on the same hook where he hung his.

He locks up the seat compartment, then he grabs my hand and nods toward the park area where dozens of white tents are set up for some type of blues music festival. Closer to Blount Street, there are some animal petting zoos set up with billy goats and lambs. The grassy smell of hay hangs thick in the humid summer air as we pass the animal pens.

“You want to ride a pony for your birthday?” he asks.

“I think I stopped qualifying for pony rides when I stopped dotting my I’s with hearts.”

He laughs and lifts my hand to his mouth to plant a kiss on the backs of my knuckles. “I—That’s why I like you.”

Suddenly, he looks nervous. As if he almost blurted out something he thought he’d regret.

I squeeze his hand twice before he looks at me. “I like you, too.”

He chuckles as he shakes his head. He knows I know what words almost slipped off his tongue. That perfect pierced tongue. And now he knows that I feel the same way.

Oh, God. Please let him kiss me today.

We get to the booths and that’s when the fun begins. Chris chats up the vendors at each booth and we learn all about the various types of blues music, from bluegrass and acid blues to R&B and Canadian blues. I never realized how many different genres of blues music there were. The vendors play their music, some of them have musicians in their tents playing. Chris buys me the CDs he thinks I like, or that I should like. He’s a little pushy when it comes to introducing me to new music. Then we sit on the grass and watch a few bands play on the big stage.

Around six p.m., when Jackie normally gets home from work, Chris’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his back pocket. But it doesn’t look like his usual phone. It’s a brand new smartphone.

He answers the call, then he passes the phone to me. “It’s for you.”

I’m a little hesitant as I take the phone. “Hello?”

“Happy birthday, sweetie!”

It’s Jackie. Something about hearing her voice today gets me all emotional.

“Thank you.”

“How do you like your new phone? I hope it’s a nice one. Chris wouldn’t let me pay for it.”

I stare at Chris, then I hold the phone a few inches from my face to get another look at it. “This is mine?”

“Of course! He didn’t tell you. Oh, Chris. Always trying to be so sneaky.”

I smile at Chris and blink a few times so I don’t cry. I’ve never had a cell phone. And I haven’t gotten a birthday present in a few years.

“Thank you,” I whisper again because I don’t know what else to say.

“You’re welcome, sweetie. I’ll see you two tonight. Don’t be home too late. I have a beautiful cake for you.”

I press the red icon to end the call, then I hold the phone in my lap. “I thought you were saving for another bike.”

“I’ll still get my bike. I’ve just gotta do a few more gigs. No problem.”

His smile is so soft and his brown eyes are so hopeful. I can see that all he wants to know is that this gift made me happy.

“Thank you… This has been the best birthday… I’ve ever had.”

He reaches up and brushes away the tear that’s about to fall from my eye. “You deserve the best.”

I smile and take a deep breath, then I hold out the phone to him. “Can you autograph it for me? So it will still be worth something when you’re rich and famous.”

He smiles as he reaches up and softly places his index finger on my lips. “I’d rather put my signature here.”

My heart pounds as he leans toward me. This is it.

His lips land softly over mine and I breathe in the cinnamon scent of the churros we ate earlier. His lips linger there for a moment and I have to remind myself to breathe. Then he kisses me again, parting his lips just a little bit this time. With each kiss, he opens his mouth just a little wider. Until, finally, he slips his tongue into my mouth.

The first thing I taste is sugar, then cinnamon, then the soft metallic flavor of the metal stud in his tongue. That’s when I know this is real.

His tongue brushes against mine and I try to mimic everything he does. And I think I’m doing pretty well when he lets out a soft moan. This spurs me on and I reach up to hold the back of his neck.

We kiss like this, just sitting on the grass under the oak trees, for a while. But it’s not long enough. When he finally pulls away and lays a soft kiss on my nose, I think my lips are a bit numb.

“Happy birthday, Claire.” He plants another kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I love you.”

My entire body feels so light and warm, like a hot-air balloon ready to take flight.

I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Eleven

Chris
Forever Addicted

I tumble out of bed and drag myself out of my bedroom and into the hallway. When I push open the bathroom door, my eyes widen at what I’ve stumbled upon. Claire is standing next to the toilet, holding her new cell phone over the toilet bowl. Her lips are pressed together in a hard line across her delicate face.

“What the fuck?” is the first thing that slips out of my mouth.

“I don’t want this thing anymore.”

“Please don’t drop it in the toilet.”

“What is the point of having a cell phone if you never answer it?”

Oh, shit. She’s had this phone two months and it’s turned her into a crazy person. I don’t dare say this out loud, but I’m beginning to wish I’d gotten her something else for her birthday.

If I don’t call her back within a few minutes, she accuses me of playing games. If she doesn’t call me back right away, it’s because she was busy. I don’t think she even realizes how insane this sounds.

“What do you want me to do? Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.” I inch closer to her and she smiles when she realizes she has my attention. “You want me to promise I’ll never wait more than five minutes to call you back? Would that make you happy?”

She loses the smile and purses her lips. “This phone has turned me into an addict. I look at it every two minutes to check for missed calls and texts from you. It’s sick!”

I reach for her wrist and slowly move my hand down until the phone is in my hand. I place it gently on the bathroom counter, then I look her in the eyes.

“Babe, you’re not addicted to your phone. You’re addicted to me.”

“Shut up!” she smacks my chest and I try not to laugh too loud.

I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against me. She’s breathing hard as my lips hover over hers. “Don’t you have to get ready for school?”

“It’s a late day. I don’t have to be at school for two and a half hours.”

I smile. It actually makes me happy that I can’t remember what day is a late day anymore since I quit school. The only regret I have about quitting school is that Claire is alone now. With Jake and Rachel graduated, and Tristan hanging out with his new girlfriend, Ashley, Claire says she spends most of her time outside of class reading.

“Good, ‘cause I have plans for you… I’m gonna text you for two hours straight.”

“You’re such a jerk!”

She tries to push me away and I lean in to kiss her. At first she closes her mouth, but she laughs when I plant a loud kiss on her cheek. And I seize the opportunity to kiss her hard.

Seconds later, we’re lying on my bed, the sheets bunched up beneath her and my hand easing down her waist to her hip. She grabs my hand to stop me and I smile as I move my hand up. I trail my lips over her smooth jaw and plant a soft kiss on her neck. I hear a sniffing noise and I quickly pull my head back, afraid she’s crying.

“Oh, my God. You smell so good,” she says, leaning forward so she can sniff my shoulder.

“Really?”

She grabs fistfuls of my T-shirt and brings them to her nose as she inhales. “Yes! Is that some kind of cologne or something?”

“No, it’s laundry soap and you use the same one.”

“No, it has to be something else.”

I reach up and lightly drag my fingertip across her jawline. “Yeah, it’s laundry soap and my pheromones, which you obviously can’t get enough of. Addict.”

“Shut up.”

“What? There’s nothing wrong with that. I can’t get enough of your scent either.” I bury my face in the crook of her neck and she lets out a soft gasp when I lick her skin. “You smell sweet and salty at the same time, like raspberries with a hint of the beach. It’s fucking intoxicating.”

“Really?” she breathes. “That’s what I smell like to you?”

I nuzzle my nose against the sensitive spot behind her ear and she giggles softly. “See what you do to me? I can’t get enough of you.”

I kiss her neck and her skin is so soft, I want to devour her. But I respect her boundaries. So minutes later, we’re on my bike on the way to drop her off at school. As usual, she plants a kiss on the front of my helmet, leaving a kiss mark on the glass. Then she bats my hand away when I try to grab her ass as she walks away.

Something about this feels too perfect. I keep waiting for my mom to tell me that Claire’s being moved to another foster home. Or that my mom will find out about us and Claire’s caseworker will have her removed from our home.

Something bad is coming. It could be next week or next year. All I know is that this can’t continue the way it has. It’s too perfect. Nothing in my life has ever been this good or easy.

Chapter Twelve

Claire
Forever Thankful

December 25, 2009

Christmas at the Knight house is quiet and warm; just the way I remember it being with my mom. My mom used to put on the TV to whatever channel was playing the black and white movie marathon. Then we’d decorate the little tabletop tree she set up on the kitchen table with the sound of It’s A Wonderful Life playing in the background. The only gifts I ever remember getting from my mother on Christmas were a book about the Milky Way and a puzzle of the solar system. I wish I still had that book.

After a huge feast of roast chicken, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and mashed potatoes, I feel as if I might burst. But I can’t let Jackie do the dishes after cooking such a huge spread.

“I can do that,” I say, scooting in next to her at the kitchen sink.

Chris sandwiches her on the other side and we gently scoot her back. “Go sit down. We’ll do this.”

Chris washes while I dry the dishes and put them away. Occasionally, his hand will linger on mine when he passes me a plate or a cup and I have to shoot him a severe look to get him to let go. Jackie doesn’t know anything about Chris and me, and we have to keep it that way. I don’t know what I’d do if she found out about us and I were placed in another home.

When we’re done with the dishes, Chris and I join Jackie in the living room to open presents. Chris gets an expensive motorcycle jacket and a gift card to his favorite music store from Jackie. Chris and I give Jackie a silver bracelet with three emeralds, which makes her cry for some reason. And Jackie gives me a gift card to my favorite book store and a new winter coat.

When it comes time for Chris and I to exchange gifts, my stomach is in knots. I know Chris wouldn’t give me anything too expensive or personal. He doesn’t want his mom to know about us anymore than I do. But I’m nervous about what he’ll think of my gift to him.

“You go first,” he says, and I shrug like it’s no big deal.

I tear open the wrapping paper on the small box and my heart races. Lifting the lid on the white box, I find another smaller box inside. I open that box and find a small envelope. When I open the envelope, I find a picture of me and my mom.

My mother’s sitting on the same sofa where she died. I’m sitting in her lap, my head nestled in the crook of her neck as she kisses my forehead. The picture is too fuzzy to see the track-marks on her arms. We look like a normal mother and daughter.

“How did you get this?” I whisper through the painful lump in my throat.

“I asked my mom to talk to your caseworker and she contacted the lady you used to live next door to when you lived with your mom. This was the only picture she had. Are you upset?”

I shake my head. “Thank you.”

“It’s a beautiful picture of you two,” Jackie adds with a gentle smile that actually makes me feel worse.

Chris begins tearing the wrapping paper away from his gift and I’m grateful for the distraction. When he lifts the lid on the box, he lets out a soft chuckle. He lifts the T-shirt out of the box and holds it up for us to see.

I had to skip lunch at school for a couple of weeks to save up enough money for the shirt, but it was totally worth it. The black T-shirt has a white silhouette of a guy playing the guitar on the front, and the letters CK on the bottom right. The back of the shirt reads, “Music is my religion.” A quote from his idol, Jimi Hendrix.

“You made this?”

“Some guy in my English class designed the image on the front,” I reply.

“Some guy in your English class?”

I swallow hard when I realize he’s jealous, but this is not the right place for him to be jealous.

“Just some guy… Anyway, I took the design to that T-shirt shop in the mall and they put it on there. Do you like it?”

He looks conflicted, like he wants to address the issue about the guy in English class who designed a shirt for me, but he knows he can’t do it with Jackie here. Something about this makes me want to laugh.

“Yeah, I like it.”

“Oh, please, Chris,” Jackie remarks. “Show a little more gratitude. I think it’s a very thoughtful gift.”

“It is,” he adds, looking me in the eye. “I love it.”

He puts emphasis on the word love and it makes my stomach flip.

Chris and I stay downstairs to watch a movie while Jackie heads to bed early after a long day of cooking. We always wait at least an hour after she goes up before we let down our guards. When that hour is up, I look at Chris and he’s already staring at me from the other end of the sofa.

“So who’s this guy in your English class?”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling, but it’s too hard.

“You think it’s funny?”

“Oh, come on. It’s just some guy who sits next to me in English. I noticed him drawing some comics and asked if he could draw something for me.”

“What did you offer him in exchange for the drawing?”

“What do you think I offered him?”

He’s silent as he waits for me to answer the question.

“I offered him five bucks.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it. Can we change the subject now?”

He pats the cushion next to him. “Come here.” I let out a huge sigh, then I scoot over until I’m next to him. “It drives me crazy knowing you have this whole other life at school.”

“You have a whole other life at home. You didn’t even pick me up from school all last week because you were doing God knows what with Jake and Rachel.”

“Doing God knows what?” he replies incredulously. “We were looking for a cheap sound studio to record a demo. We need some digital files if we’re going to book gigs.”

“Whatever. The point is that I’m the one who should be jealous. I heard Tristan talking about taking you with him to the ice rink where he met that new girl a couple of weeks ago. I’m not stupid. I know what that means.”

“You think I want to hang out with Tristan at a fucking ice rink?”

“I don’t know. He’s always asking you to go places with him and he always looks annoyed when you bring me. That’s why I haven’t been going anywhere with you guys lately.”

“Fuck Tristan. Don’t let his shitty attitude keep you from hanging out. If I ask you to come, it’s because I want you with me. And I don’t give a shit what Tristan wants.”

“But he’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”

He doesn’t blink after he says this. He just waits for my reaction.

I let out a huge sigh of relief, then I climb into his lap and rest my head on his shoulder.

Chapter Thirteen

Christ
Forever Dreaming

March 2010

Dreams do come true.

I get the call from John Garrety at one in the afternoon. By two-thirty, I’ve packed the blue suitcase my mom keeps in the garage and stopped by my mom’s bakery to give her the good news.

“Eighteen days!” she cries, slamming down a block of cold butter onto the steel workstation.

The warm, sugary smell of the bakery always reminds me of when I was seven and my mom first bought this place. She used to bring me here after school until I was ten and I insisted I could stay home alone for a few hours after school. I’d sit at a steel table in the corner of the kitchen and do my homework while watching my mom shape bread loaves and pipe frosting onto cupcakes.

My mom’s always been a workaholic and a bit of a perfectionist. Which is probably where I get my work ethic. I may have dropped out of school, but that’s only because I have bigger things planned for my life than sitting in a classroom and listening to someone drone on about coefficients and revolutionary wars.

My work ethic is what got me, Tristan, and Jake our first mini-tour as the Blue Knights. John Garrety is a promoter for some local blues clubs and a couple of local indie bands. He liked our demo so much, and the fact that we’re so young, that he booked us a few shows in Florida and Tennessee. Even without a manager.

I grab the block of butter out of my mom’s hand before she can hit me with it. “It’s just two weeks and a few days. I’ll be back before you know it.” She narrows her eyes at me. “And I’ll be with Jake and Rachel. You know they won’t let me get into trouble.”

She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what I’m suggesting. “Eighteen days is a long time. What about Claire?”

“What do you mean? She always takes the bus to and from school when I can’t take her.”

She raises her eyebrows. She wasn’t referring to how Claire was going to get to and from school.

“She’ll be fine,” I assure her.

Her shoulders slump. “Oh, fine. But you’d better call us every morning and night.”

“I will.” I give her a big hug and some of the powdered sugar on her apron sticks to my T-shirt. “I gotta go. I have to pick up Claire. See you later.”

By the time I get Claire home, my stomach is wound so tight I can hardly breathe. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her that I’m leaving for eighteen days.

She lays all her books and notes out on the kitchen table to start her homework. I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge for her and place it on the table next to her math book.

“Thanks.” She guzzles almost half the bottle in one sip. “What did you do today?”

“I ran around town a little. Actually, I have something I want to show you. Upstairs.”

She scrunches her eyebrows together. “Why don’t you just bring it down here?”

“I can’t. Can you just come up with me for a sec?”

She shrugs and stands from the table. Then she follows me up the stairs to my bedroom. When I open the door, she sees the blue suitcase lying on my bed.

She looks confused and her eyes immediately get watery. “Is that for me?”

“No! Shit! I didn’t think this through. No, it’s not for you. It’s for me.”

She clutches her chest and lets out a sigh of relief. “Jesus. You scared the shit out of me. Wait. What do you mean, it’s for you? Where are you going?”

I turn to her and grab both her hands. “I’m going to Florida and Tennessee to do a few shows.”

Her eyes widen. “Are you serious? Did someone pick up the demo? That’s amazing!”

“No, no. Don’t get excited yet. It hasn’t been picked up, but it did score us a few paid gigs. That promoter I was telling you about a couple of weeks ago set it up.”

“So you’re just going to play some shows, then you’re coming back, right?”

I nod vigorously. “Yes, I’ll be back in eighteen days.”

“Eighteen days!”

I take her face in my hands and she glares at me. “Claire, it will be over before you know it. You’ll probably be glad to have some time away from me.” I kiss the corner of her mouth and she shakes her head.

“Why? Are you going to be glad to have some time away from me?”

I keep one hand clasped around the back of her neck as my other hand drops to her waist, then I lay a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m gonna miss the fuck out of you.”

Her lips part as I slide my tongue into her mouth. I tease her a little, sucking on her tongue and her top lip until she lets out a soft, involuntary whimper. I move my hand up the side of her waist and over her ribs until it’s brushing up against the bottom of her breast.

“Chris,” she whispers into my mouth. “I… We can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

I kiss her jaw and the quickened sound of her breathing is getting me excited. I walk slowly backward, pulling her along with me. Then I ease her down onto the bed.

She’s trembling.

I tilt my head back so I can look at her face. “Are you okay?” She’s staring at my shirt, so I tilt her chin up. “Talk to me.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

I brush my thumb over her cheekbone and she smiles. “I’d rather you miss me than forget me.”

“Forget you? In eighteen days?” she replies with a chuckle.

I swallow hard and gaze into her eyes for a moment, then I lean in to kiss her. She sucks in a sharp breath as if she’s surprised and I slide my hand under her shirt to touch her skin.

“Chris?”

“I want you… I want to leave you something to think about while I’m gone.”

She repeats my name as a soft plea, but her arms tighten around my neck as I kiss her ear.

“I want to invade the space all around you until everywhere you look all you see is me.” I trace my tongue along the delicate curves of her ear and she sighs. “I want to occupy the space inside you until you don’t know the difference between my heartbeat and yours. I want to be your everything.”

I slide my leg between hers and she grabs the sides of my face to push my head back.

“How do you do that?” she asks, her hungry gaze focused on my lips.

“What?”

“How do you always know the right thing to say?”

“I’ve been practicing that for days.”

“You’re such a jerk!” She pushes me away and sits up on the bed.

I laugh as I sit up next to her. “I was only practicing because I wanted to get it right. I meant every word.” She shakes her head as I lean in to whisper in her ear. “You’re my everything. I want to be your everything, too.”

She turns to me and her expression is stony. “What about all the girls that are going to want to be your everything once they see you on that stage?”

I look into her blue eyes and I can’t help but smile. “There’s no room in my heart for anyone else but you… my Claire-bear.”

She rolls her eyes. “There’s no room in your heart, but is there any room left in your pants?”

“No right now.” She glares at me and I laugh as she tries not to look at my crotch. “Sorry, but you asked.”

She shakes her head and stands from the bed. I stand up after her and she stares at the blue suitcase where it lies on the foot of the bed.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, though she doesn’t look happy at all.

“For us,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Be happy for us. This is just the first step.”

“The first step away from me.”

“We’ll always be together. Even when we’re apart. You know it’s true.”

This elicits a faint smile. “Don’t forget me.”

“Forget you? In eighteen days?” Her smile widens, so I take her into my arms and kiss her forehead. “It would take at least nineteen days for me to forget you.”

Chapter Fourteen

Claire
Forever Alone

The worst part of the last eighteen days has been spending my entire Spring vacation alone. Jackie took a day off during my week off for us to get manicures and pedicures, but I only went so she wouldn’t feel bad. I don’t want a mani-pedi. I want Chris.

I feel so stupid admitting that, but it’s true. I miss him so much. Even now, as I sit in my English class, he’s all I can think of. He’s supposed to be back tonight around eleven p.m. or later. I don’t care how late he gets home, I’m staying up.

Mrs. Ainsley writes the page numbers of the homework on the whiteboard and I quickly jot it down in the upper right-hand corner of my notebook. Then I slam the notebook shut so I can start packing my backpack. But the moment I twist in my chair to reach for my bag, someone taps my shoulder.

I look up and the sight of Chris’s face takes my breath away. “Oh, my God.”

“Hey,” he says softly, and the sound of his voice, not heard through the static of a cell phone, makes me tear up.

I shoot out of my chair and throw my arms around his neck. “I missed you so much,” I say, my voice muffled by the hood of his sweater as I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

He lifts me off the floor and hugs me so tight I can’t breathe. “I missed you so much more than that. Next time, you’re coming with me.”

“Get a room!” someone shouts from behind me and I don’t care.

I don’t care what anyone thinks or says. All I care is that I have Chris back. His smell, his touch, his voice, his arms. He’s back.

He walks me to my locker to get the rest of my books, greeting a few people who’ve missed him since he dropped out. Then we hop on his bike and I hold on tight as we ride home.

Home.

It’s not home without Chris.

As soon as we get to the house, we fall onto the sofa, a tangle of arms and legs. Kissing, hugging, touching, breathing each other in.

“I’ve missed your lips,” he murmurs.

And for the first time, I find myself wrapping my legs around his hips. He grinds his pelvis into mine and I moan when I feel the hot friction between my legs. Holding his face, I kiss him deeply. Hoping that he can feel just how much I missed him.

Then I feel it.

His erection grows solid beneath his jeans and my heart races. “Chris?”

“I want you so bad.” He reaches for the button on my jeans and I grab his hand to stop him.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

He looks down at me, confused by words. I shake my head and he lets out a soft sigh as he sits up. He knows I want to wait until I’m eighteen. It’s an irrational self-imposed rule, but I promised myself I wouldn’t have sex until I’m eighteen. Even if we’re careful, I don’t want to end up like my mom, saddled with a kid when I’m just seventeen. Chris knows about my rule. And as I sit up, he winks at me. A small gesture to show he respects it.

“I can wait to have sex with you. But can we do something else? You can leave all your clothes on.”

I glare at him because this sounds dubious. “Do what?”

He leans over and whispers in my ear, even though there’s no one else around to hear him.

“You want to lick my tongue?” I say out loud. “Isn’t that the same as kissing?”

“I guess we’ll find out.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Just get it over with.”

“Don’t move. Close your eyes and stick your tongue out.”

A smile curls the corners of my lips as I let my jaw drop open just enough to stick out my tongue.

“Remember: You can’t move, even if you get the urge to touch me. You have to stay still.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, just do it already.”

“Okay, stick your tongue out,” he whispers so softly it sends a shiver over my skin.

His voice is closer. I can’t see anything, but I can feel his breath on the tip of my nose. I stick my tongue out again, a little farther this time, my heart racing as I anticipate the moment of contact. Then I feel it. The tip of his tongue is wet and firm on the tip of mine. A flash of pleasure pulses between my legs as he slowly traces his tongue over mine from the tip to the center. As if his tongue is touching places I’ve never been touched.

I push him away as I attempt to catch my breath.

“How did that feel?” he asks eagerly.

“Where did you learn that? Were you with someone else while you were gone?”

“What? No! Of course not. I saw it in a movie.”

“You went to the movies?”

“It was a movie we saw in the hotel.”

“What kind of movies were you guys watching?”

“It was just some teen movie from the 80s. I can’t remember the name.”

The pulsing between my legs slowly dies down, but I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have him touch me there right now. Or lick me. Oh, God.

“I have to go…”

“Where?” he says, standing up after me.

“To the bathroom.”

He smiles then licks his lips. “I’ve missed the taste of your mouth. Hurry up. I want to taste you again.”

Chapter Fifteen

Chris
Forever Jealous

April 2011

When I pull my bike next to the curb in front of my old high school, the last thing I expect to see is Claire rolling around on the grass with another guy. I feel as if my insides might explode with rage as I watch them untangle themselves from each other and scramble to their feet. He brushes some grass off her back and she laughs and they both reach for something on the grass at the same time. A piece of paper.

Claire takes the paper from his hand and gazes at it for a moment with a huge grin on her face. Then she appears to thank him and he nods bashfully. She turns around and her eyes widen when she spots me.

She snatches her backpack off the grass and jogs toward me. My heart is pounding as a million thoughts race through my mind. But the most prominent thought is how naïve I was. I never thought Claire was the type to even flirt with other guys. And here she is rolling around on the fucking grass.

“What the fuck?” The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“What’s wrong?” she asks innocently as she stuffs the piece of paper into her backpack.

She slides her arms through the straps then waits for me to answer her question, or at least get off the bike so we can unlock her helmet.

“What the fuck was that?”

I nod toward the grassy area where she came from.

She glances over her shoulder then turns back to me. “That was just Jason. He gave me a stupid drawing of Sailor Moon ‘cause he saw the sticker on my notebook. Can you get up so I can get the helmet?”

“I’m not talking about the drawing. What the fuck were you two doing on the grass?”

“Oh,” she laughs. “He was chasing after me to give me the drawing and when he called my name I stopped suddenly. He ran into me and we fell on the grass.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you mad because we fell on the grass?”

“Does he know you have a boyfriend? Why the fuck he is drawing pictures for you?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“Answer the fucking question. Does he know you have a boyfriend?”

She glares at me, her nostrils flaring. “You’re not allowed to talk to me like that.”

She turns on her heel and starts walking toward the bus loading zone.

“Claire, come here.” I hop off the bike and quickly catch up to her. “It was a simple question. Why can’t you answer it?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Come on, Claire. You’re not taking the bus over this. Just get on the bike.”

I reach for her hand and she smacks my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

She climbs the steps onto the bus and I watch as she marches toward the back and plops down on a seat. All the while refusing to look out the window at me.

Fine.

She can get pissy if she wants. It was just a simple fucking question.

I speed home on my bike, then I sit idling in the driveway for a moment, contemplating whether I should go to the bus stop around the corner to pick her up. Then the image of her and Jason on the grass flashes in my mind. Her laughter. Her smile. The things I thought were only mine.

I rev the engine loudly to drown out the harsh pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

I pull the bike away from the house, but I don’t head to the bus stop. I go to Tristan’s instead.

Chapter Sixteen

Claire
Forever Forgiven

By the time I step inside the house, I’m sweating profusely from the insane humidity. I close the door then stand completely still for a moment, listening for the sound of a TV or guitar or some type of music. Nothing. The house is cool and silent. Chris is gone.

My stomach aches as I think of the way he spoke to me and where he could possibly be. Probably somewhere with Tristan. He wouldn’t cheat on me, would he?

I drop my backpack on the kitchen table and sit down in a chair. I allow myself ten minutes of hyperventilating and worried thoughts, then I pull my books out of my bag and start on my homework. Three hours later, Jackie gets home from work as I’m putting away the last textbook back into my backpack.

“Hey, sweetie. Where’s Chris?”

I shrug as I lift my backpack onto my shoulder and head for the stairs.

“You okay, Claire?” she calls after me.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

I race up the last few steps and close my bedroom door softly behind me. Collapsing onto my bed, I stare up at the blank ceiling and allow the first tears to fall. I can call or text him, but, for the first time in the two years we’ve been together, I don’t think he’ll respond.

I slide my phone out of my pocket and stare at the screen. I’m about to check for missed calls and texts, when the phone starts ringing. It’s Chris.

“Hello?”

I can hear movement, but he doesn’t answer.

“Chris?”

More movement, then I hear Tristan laughing.

He dialed my number on mistake.

I should hang up, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I listen for a few more seconds and Chris’s voice makes my stomach ache again.

“She can sit with me.”

“Aw… Is that your new girlfriend now that you’re kicking Claire to the curb?”

“Fuck—” There’s a loud rustling then the line goes dead.

I throw the phone across the room and the battery pops off when it hits the wall. Turning over onto my side, I curl up and close my eyes. Jackie will probably come up in a few minutes to call me down for dinner. But she’ll leave me alone if she thinks I’m asleep. Then, when Chris comes home later, she’ll tell him not to disturb me.

Just a few minutes later, Jackie knocks on the door. Then I hear the door squeak as she peeks inside. She softly closes the door and I let out the breath I was holding.

So Chris and Tristan are out with some girls and I’m lying here hiding from him and Jackie. What is wrong with me? I’m not going to lie back and take this.

I sit up and turn on the lamp on my bedside table. I retrieve my phone from the other side of the room, then I dial Chris’s number. The call is immediately routed to voicemail, but I don’t bother leaving a message. I consider texting him, but decide against it. He probably turned his phone off when he realized he had accidentally called me.

I turn my phone off and drop it into the top drawer of my bedside table. Then I turn off the lamp, roll over and go to sleep.

I wake to the sound of Chris’s voice. “Claire.”

Opening my eyes, the room is pitch black, but the soft silver glow of the streetlights illuminates the left side of Chris’s face as he kneels next to my bed.

“Go away.”

“Claire, we need to talk.”

“Why? So you can ‘kick me to the curb’?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Get out!”

“Babe, just calm down.”

I slide out of bed and he stands up. Immediately, I begin pushing him toward the door. “Get out. I don’t want to hear what you have to say. I don’t want to look at you. Just get out!”

“What the fuck! You’re the one who couldn’t answer one fucking question and you’re pushing me out?”

“It was a stupid question!”

“You think it’s stupid that I want to know about your relationships with other guys?”

“I don’t have relationships with other guys!”

I keep pushing him until his back hits the inside of my closed bedroom door.

“Keep your voice down or my mom’s gonna hear us.”

“I don’t care if she hears us arguing. I hope she does. And I hope they send me somewhere else where I don’t have to hear your stupid voice.”

He glares at me through the murky darkness and I can feel the rage building inside him with every heaving breath he takes. “That’s what you want? You want to throw this all away without letting me explain a fucking thing? Fine. Have it your way.”

He opens the door and slips out of my bedroom without another sound.

A jolt of blinding pain lights up my chest and I cover my face as I sink to my knees and double over. What have we done?

I look up at the door, half hoping it will open at any moment and Chris will appear to make this right. Instead, all I see is my backpack lying on the floor a few feet away. I crawl to it and hastily slide open the zipper. Then I yank out the crumpled drawing Jason gave me and I rip it up into at least twenty pieces and throw it in the trash.

three weeks later

I step onto the bus and trudge down the aisle to the usual seat in the back. Halfway down the aisle, I look up and my heart stops at the sight of Chris sitting in my usual row of seats. All the pain and misery of the past three weeks floods my veins at once and my breath hitches in my chest. I drag my feet forward until I reach his row and he hands me a folded piece of paper before he scoots over to make room for me.

I take the piece of paper from his hand and sit down next to him, positioning my backpack between us on the seat. I unfold the paper, which has clearly been taped together, and I’m not surprised to see the drawing I threw away in my bedroom three weeks ago. Chris has taped a post-it note with a word bubble saying, “I’m sorry,” to the front of the picture.

But it’s what’s wrapped inside the drawing that makes me want to cry in the middle of a crowded bus. Two tickets to prom.

I didn’t expect Chris to take me to my senior prom now that he’s dropped out. But when we broke up three weeks ago, I knew that there was definitely no chance it would happen. I actually cried to Rachel about it last week when she asked me if Chris and I had gotten back together yet. I didn’t expect her to tell Chris that I was sad about the prom.

And I didn’t expect her to tell me the truth about what happened when Chris accidentally called me three weeks ago. Apparently, the girl he was going to sit with was Tristan’s little sister Molly. And they were sitting together in Tristan’s truck on the way to get frozen yogurt. Yes, I felt stupid. But that was six days ago and I still haven’t figured out how to approach Chris.

He leans over to whisper something in my ear, but I honestly don’t care what he has to say. I turn my face toward him and surprise him with a kiss on the cheek. His hands instantly reach up to cradle my face and I let out a deep sigh. How I’ve missed those hands.

I nuzzle my cheek into his palm and he smiles. I don’t care if there are dozens of eyes on us right now.

He leans his forehead against mine. “Let’s never break up again, okay?”

I nod and end up banging my forehead on his.

He laughs. “You don’t have to get violent on me. I know I fucked up.”

“We both did.” I fold up the paper and the tickets and tuck them into my backpack.

“Don’t lose those tickets,” he warns me. “Or I’ll have to go to the prom with Joanie Tipton.”

“Ugh. Don’t even joke about that.”

“She was standing in line behind me when I went to buy these right now. Somehow she knew we were broken up and she offered to take me to the prom if you said no.”

“Oh, my God. I hate her.”

He rests his hand on my knee as the bus pulls out of the loading zone. “So do I.”

I slide my hand under his palm, then I lace my fingers through his. And just like that, all is forgiven. Just like that, the world is turned right side up again.

Chapter Seventeen

Chris
Forever Happy

Tristan arrives at our house on the morning of Claire’s senior prom in his shitty Ford pickup truck. Claire and I climb into the front seat with Tristan, with Claire between us. She leans her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes as the truck bumps along down the beltline. She’s still tired from staying up late studying for finals.

We have to pick up Claire’s dress and my outfit at the mall. This is totally last minute. Claire didn’t want to pick up her dress on my bike, and Tristan’s been putting this off every day for the last four days I’ve been asking him to take us. Claire’s been too busy studying to care about Tristan blowing us off.

“What’s the theme for the prom? White Trash Love?” Tristan remarks when he sees what I’m wearing to the prom.

I pay the girl at the cash register for my black Rolling Stones T-shirt and the new pair of jeans. The girl stares at my new Mohawk hairdo and smiles. Claire hooks her arm around mine, staking her claim.

“You’re just jealous you won’t get to fly your white trash flag today,” Claire says to Tristan.

“Yeah, not really. I wouldn’t go to the prom if you paid me in white trash love.”

“Hey,” I reply, issuing a warning before Tristan and Claire start sniping at each other.

Ever since Tristan and Ashley broke up in the beginning of the school year, he’s been an even bigger prick. He doesn’t say stupid stuff that often, but when he does, it’s usually something that’s meant to make me jealous and hurt Claire at the same time.

I know he’s just fucked up over Ashley, but it’s been almost a year since they broke up and they were only together a year. And he still refuses to tell me why they broke up. He keeps giving me some lame story about how he broke up with her because he didn’t have time to visit her after she went off to college. She’s a year older than Tristan. I have a feeling Ashley’s the one who broke up with him, and he still hasn’t gotten over it. But he’ll never admit that.

We leave the store and head for the department store where Claire had her dress altered. The center of the corridor in the mall is lined with craggily trees covered in blinking golden lights. Claire jumps up to touch one of the branches as we pass.

“These remind me of something,” she says, looking back at the tree she just touched with a childlike smile lighting up her beautiful face.

“What do they remind you of?” I ask, grabbing her hand to get her attention.

“When I was a kid, before my mom died, we had this giant tree on our property. Sometimes, when my mom was really out of it, I’d go outside and climb the tree. I’d stay up there for hours sometimes, just looking up at the stars.”

She continues to smile as she recalls this memory. And immediately my brain starts conjuring up ways to bring that kind of happiness to her every single day.

“Do you really think Jackie thinks you and Claire are just friends? Or even worse, like siblings? Ew!” Rachel has come over to help Claire with her hair and makeup. At least, that’s the story Rachel and I are going with.

Claire can’t respond with Rachel drawing a line around her lips, so I respond for both of us. “I don’t know if she knows about us, but I doubt she’d say anything about it at this point. It’s been… how long have we been together, babe?”

Claire pushes Rachel’s hand away. “Almost two years!” She glares at me as if I should know this off the top of my head. “Anyway, she probably already knows, but we’re still not going to officially tell her until I’m eighteen. Just to be safe.”

Rachel grabs Claire’s jaw so she can finish applying her makeup. “Well, you two better use protection tonight. Your mom’s not stupid. I’m pretty sure your mom knows how to count up to nine months.”

Claire doesn’t correct Rachel or say anything about waiting until she’s eighteen. It’s nobody’s business. Besides, her eighteenth birthday is only a few months away. Then I’m going to ravage her.

But tonight isn’t about having sex. It’s about giving Claire one memorable high school experience. An experience she thought she wouldn’t get to have until I surprised her with some prom tickets two weeks ago. I guess I can bear a few hours with my old classmates if it will make Claire happy.

We leave the house just before six p.m. and Claire looks surprised, almost a little nervous, when she sees that Rachel is staying.

“I’m just gonna hang with Jackie for a while. She’s teaching me to make protein bars for Jake,” Rachel says, then she turns to me. “Hey, maybe I should leave some protein bars for you.”

She tries to pinch my bicep and I step out of her reach. “Not funny.”

My mom shakes her head. “Be nice to him, Rachel. Even if he does look like a juvenile delinquent tonight.”

I smile as I run my hand over my Mohawk, savoring the tickle of the spikes on my skin. “Don’t give me that look. Claire’s the one who made me dress like this.”

“I did not! Stop lying!” Claire pushes me and I laugh.

“Oh, you two.” My mom kisses Claire on the cheek, then she turns to me with a look of disgust and pats my arm. “Have fun, but don’t come home too late. And no drunk driving!”

“I’ll be drunk texting you later.” I kiss her cheek and she rolls her eyes at me.

The black blazer I’m wearing over my Rolling Stones T-shirt gets us into the dance hall at the hotel, but I quickly peel it off once we’re inside. I manage to make it through four and a half hours of pop music and corny ballads without puking. All I can think of as I dance with Claire or even as we’re taking our prom pictures, is the surprise I have waiting for her at home.

Chapter Eighteen

Claire
Forever Surprised

Despite all the small hitches, prom night turns out to be even more magical than I imagined it would be. I don’t care that Chris painted the tips of his Mohawk blue. I don’t care that he wore a T-shirt and jeans when all the other guys wore their dorky suits and tuxedos. I actually love that he looks so different than all these clones.

He’s crazy, sexy, and beautiful. And he’s all mine.

Shortly after we take our very memorable prom pictures, Chris and I decide it’s time to go home. I’m exhausted from not having slept much this week. And I’m not a high-heels kind of girl. My feet are killing me.

Chris kills the engine on his motorcycle a couple of houses away from our house. Then he rolls the bike down the street, up the driveway, and into the garage while I walk next to him, carrying my heels in my hand.

“Thank you for making this one of the best nights of my life,” I whisper as soon as we enter the house.

He smiles as he closes the front door and locks the deadbolt. “The night isn’t over yet. I have a surprise for you in your room. Come on.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. I pull the front of the blazer tightly closed when I get a chill. Chris made me wear his coat on the bike for the ride home. But it smells so much like him, I don’t want to take it off. I don’t want this night to end.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers when we get to my bedroom door, which is closed. I never leave my door shut unless I’m sleeping.

I close my eyes and bite my lip as I hear the soft click of the door opening and Chris pulls me inside.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

I open my eyes and the room is completely dark. I’m confused, until Chris hits the light switch and the room is illuminated with a warm amber glow. On the wall next to my bed, strings of a few hundred, or even a thousand, lights have been pinned to the wall forming the brilliant, glowing silhouette of a craggily tree.

One tiny story about a tree and this is what Chris turns it into. Magic.

I coil my arms around his waist and lay my cheek against his shoulder. “It’s so beautiful.”

He kisses the top of my head. “There are some stars on the ceiling too, but they’re glow-in-the-dark. You have to expose them to light for a while, then turn off the lights and they’ll glow. And you can watch the stars any time you want.”

“I don’t know how you even thought to do this and how much you had to pay Rachel to go along with it, but you are… you’re my knight in shining armor. I mean, this is like a damn fairy tale.”

He grabs my face and tips my head back so he can look me in the eye. “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

I clutch the front of his T-shirt as he plants a soft kiss on my lips.

“You know what would make me very happy right now?”

He kisses the tip of my nose and smiles. “What?”

“If you slept with me in my bed tonight.”

He gazes into my eyes, not blinking or smiling. I know he’s thinking of what will happen if Jackie catches us sleeping in my room, but I don’t care.

“Please. You know I haven’t slept much this week. I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep after a night like this. Not without you next to me.”

Finally, he smiles. “I’ll sing you to sleep.”

I let him watch as I change into my pajamas, even though I can see his chest heaving. I know I’m testing our boundaries, but it just feels right tonight. Chris, on the other hand, removes his T-shirt but refuses to get out of his jeans. He doesn’t trust himself.

I scoot in under the covers of my twin bed until I’m up against the wall with the glowing tree next to me. Chris scoots in next to me and I immediately lay my head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around me.

“What do you want me to sing?”

“Whatever you want to sing.”

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath before he begins singing a song I’ve never heard before, but it’s beautiful. It must be one of those classic rock songs he loves. I only remember a few of them from the rare times when my mom was sober and she’d turn on the radio to clean the house.

When he starts singing the chorus it sounds a little more familiar, but I still can’t put my finger on it. As if he can sense my confusion, he stops singing.

“Do you know what song this is?”

“No… Sorry.”

“You’ve never heard ‘Your Song’ by Elton John?”

I shrug. “I don’t think so.”

He sighs so loudly it’s almost a groan. “I’ll teach you this song. It’s one of his best songs. You have to learn it.”

“Why do I have to learn it?”

“Because you love me and I want you to sing it with me.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t sing. That’s your job.”

“I’ll have you singing like an angel in no time.”

He sings the song again from the beginning, as I rest my hand on his bare chest. Halfway through the song, he grabs my hand and laces his fingers through mine. I glance over my shoulder once more at the twinkling tree on the wall behind me. Then I close my eyes and drift off.

Chapter Nineteen

Chris
Forever Frustrated

August 9, 2011

I toss the empty Capri-Sun pouch into the waste bin under the kitchen sink, then I gaze at Claire across the breakfast bar. She’s sitting cross-legged on the barstool. Claire is the only person I’ve ever known who sits cross-legged on barstools. It’s one of the quirks I love most about her.

“What are you grinning at?” she says as she looks up from the magazine she’s reading.

“Why do you read that shit? None of those girls are as beautiful as you.”

“I read it for the articles.”

I round the breakfast bar and wrap my arms around her waist. “I know a few articles I’d like to get rid of today,” I say, burying my face in her neck. “Happy birthday, babe.”

“What if your mom walks in?” She pries my arms off her and pushes me back.

“She just left to the shop. She won’t be back for at least three hours. Come upstairs with me.” I spin the barstool around so she’s facing me. “I want to give you your birthday present.”

She narrows her eyes at me, but she can’t hide the smile that curls the corners of her perfect lips. Grabbing the front of my shirt, she pulls me toward her.

Her lips hover over mine. “Only if you promise not to sing the birthday song.”

I laugh as I plant a quick kiss on her lips. “Asking me not to sing to you on your birthday is like asking me not to breathe.” I grab her hand and pull her off the stool. “Come on.”

She follows me upstairs to her bedroom. When we get there, she starts tidying up, putting away clothes and straightening the pictures of us she has tucked in the frame of her mirror. I come up behind her and press my body against hers as I reach for a picture of us. I slip the picture out of the mirror frame and hold it in front of her face.

It’s a picture of us in front of a hot dog stand at the blues festival where Claire and I had our first kiss. I asked the hot dog vendor to take the picture with her new phone. It was so hot that summer, and she was wearing these tiny cutoff shorts. It was so hard not to touch her as the guys took the picture, but I knew we couldn’t have any photographic evidence of our relationship. All the secrecy ends today.

I hold the picture up in front of her face as I kiss the back of her neck. “This was one of my favorite days. Because this is the day you told me you loved me.”

She spins around in my arms and flashes me a warm smile. “Yeah, but I loved you long before that.”

I toss the picture onto the floor and grab the back of her neck as I slowly bring my lips to hers. I kiss her slowly as she clutches the front of my shirt for support. Her tongue brushes against mine and I instantly get hard.

“Fuck,” I whisper, pulling her toward the bed to lay her down.

She wraps her arms around my neck and she’s still smiling as I gently lie down on top of her. Placing one of my legs between hers, I slowly slide her legs open. Then I slip my hand under her shirt and her skin prickles with goose bumps.

She’s so fucking soft. I slide my hand farther up and her body goes rigid.

“I love you,” I whisper against her lips and she immediately pushes me off.

I sigh and try not to curse as I lie back next to her.

“I’m sorry,” she says, staring at the ceiling. “I’m just scared that it’s going to hurt and then I’ll feel different about you. I don’t want to feel like you’ve hurt me.”

I flip onto my side and nuzzle my nose in her hair, inhaling the floral scent of her shampoo. She smells like a warm summer breeze. Her breathing quickens when my lips graze her ear. I lay a soft kiss on her cheekbone and slip my hand under her shirt again, eager to feel her skin.

I’m pretty good at knowing what Claire likes. And just how far I can go with her. Her body will tell me if she’s ready.

I trace my finger around her navel and she smiles as she arches her back a little.

“I could never hurt you… But I can’t fucking lie. I want to be inside you so bad.” I continue tracing a light circle, imagining my fingers between her legs and this erection is getting unbearable. “I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” I lift her shirt a few inches and lay a soft kiss on her belly. Her skin is warm against my lips. I want her so bad. “But I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

She brushes my hair out of my face as my lips hover over her navel. “I love you,” she whispers.

This is it. Today is the day.

I scoot up and plant a quick kiss on her temple before I spring off the bed. “I’ll be right back, babe.” Then I leave to get my guitar.

Chapter Twenty

Claire
Forever Yours

Chris’s lips smell and taste like the berry Capri-Sun he was just sipping and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re too young to be alone in my room. But it feels so right as his fingers lightly graze my ribs sending chills through every part of my body. I’m eighteen today. Eighteen is a perfectly fine age to lose your virginity; especially if it’s with the boyfriend you’ve been with for more than two years, who also happens to be the most amazing, patient boyfriend a girl could ask for.

His hand slides farther up and I flinch when his fingers hit the wire of my bra. “I love you.”

He whispers these words he’s uttered a million times. Words that always seem to soothe me. Today, they have the opposite effect. Instead of putting me at ease, I feel completely on edge. My entire body buzzing with nerves.

I push him off and he sighs as he lies back. “I’m sorry,” I mutter, totally aware that I shouldn’t have to apologize about not feeling ready.

But I have to take into account how patient Chris has been the past two years. And I’m not an idiot. I start college next week and he’s going to be playing a lot more gigs now that the band has a legit manager. He’s going to have girls screaming his name; ready and willing to spread their legs for him whenever he wants. I know it’s up to Chris to resist temptation, but how can I expect him to resist if I keep rejecting him.

“I’m just scared that it’s going to hurt and then I’ll feel different about you. I don’t want to feel like you’ve hurt me.”

He turns onto his side and buries his nose in my hair, breathing in the scent of the shampoo he loves so much. The sensation of his face in my hair gives me the chills. I want him. I do. I just wish I wasn’t so scared.

He kisses my cheek, then he slips his hand under my T-shirt and traces circles around my belly button. “I could never hurt you… But I can’t fucking lie. I want to be inside you so bad… I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.” He plants a soft kiss on my belly and I shiver. “But I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

I run my fingers through his hair as I brush it out of his face. “I love you.”

He plants a quick kiss on my temple before he springs off the bed, leaving me feeling a little used up. “I’ll be right back, babe.”

I swallow hard as I look up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. I glance at the strings of lights on the wall next to me in the shape of a tree. I think of my mom.

I don’t know how she got pregnant or who my father was—is. All I know is that my mom was alone for the brief time I spent with her. She didn’t trust men, which makes me wonder if she even knew my father.

What I do know is that Chris is not the type to leave if things should get complicated. I know no birth control is one hundred percent effective. But I have nothing to worry about. If I were to get pregnant, I know Chris would be there for me every step of the way.

Chris comes back a minute later with his acoustic guitar and closes the bedroom door behind him. No one else is home. Jackie and her new boyfriend Tim are baking a cake at the shop and running errands before we meet them tonight for a birthday dinner. Which is where Chris and I will finally confess the truth about our relationship.

This simple gesture of Chris closing the bedroom door makes me feel safe, like he knows exactly what I need. He always has.

I scoot back so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to me. He settles down with his guitar in his lap and strums a haphazard melody as he tunes the guitar by ear. I sigh as I watch his lips playing with the ball piercing in his tongue.

He presses the tip of his tongue against the back of his bottom teeth and pushes the piercing forward just far enough to catch it between his teeth. Then the tip of his tongue flicks up to touch the ball just as it retreats. He does this over and over and I’m convinced that he knows how erotic it looks, though he claims it’s unintentional.

“I wrote this for you,” he begins, looking more than a bit nervous. “It’s about the day we met. It’s called ‘Sleepyhead’.”

I smile as I remember how tired I was the day we met. I hadn’t slept at all the night before at the police station, but somehow he still convinced me to go downstairs and listen to him play. Chris has always had a way of making me feel comfortable while doing something completely out of my comfort zone.

He begins plucking the guitar strings and the melody that flows out is both haunting and sweet. I’m already on the verge of tears from the memory of the day we met when he begins to sing.

“Feels so wrong to want this. You look so broken there. A flicker in the mist, as tired as the air.” He looks up at me and my breath hitches. He holds my gaze the entire time he’s singing, except when he closes his eyes and belts out the chorus. “So frightened of the dark. You’re my sleepyhead. Hiding with the stars. Put your dreams to bed, my sleepyhead.”

I grab his face and kiss him hard. He slides the guitar off his lap and onto the floor, then he climbs on top of me. I wrap my legs around him and he moans as I grind my hips into him.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs into my mouth.

I nod as I wrap my arms tighter around his solid shoulders and mash my lips to his. His hand slips under my shirt and I suck in a sharp breath as it travels up to my breast. Chris and I have gone much further than this, hundreds of times, but this feels different. I want him to see all of me.

I push his shoulders back a little so I can reach down and lift my shirt over my head. He smiles and does the same. I sit up so he can get a better look at me.

His eyes are glued to my breasts for a moment. Then he looks up and the devilish smile on his face could set this house on fire. I reach forward and lightly drag my fingertips down the center of his chest until I reach the button of his jeans. His nostrils flare as his chest heaves with anticipation.

I unbutton his jeans and slowly slide the zipper down. His erection is ready to burst out, and suddenly I’m dying to see it.

I swallow hard as I look up into his eyes. “I want to see it.”

He chuckles, then he slides off the bed and slowly strips off his jeans and boxers so he’s completely naked. He’s so beautiful. This is what I’ve been missing out on.

I stand from the bed and shrug out of my shorts and panties. Then I turn my back to him so he can undo my bra. His fingers work gently, undoing the clasp, then he slowly slides the straps down my arms and we let it fall to the floor.

I turn around to face him and he looks stunned, as if he didn’t think he’d ever get here. I take his face in my hands and try not to giggle when his erection prods my belly.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Did that hurt?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No. Definitely not.”

His gaze keeps falling to my breasts. I lay myself down on the bed and grab his hand to pull him down next to me.

“I just want to kiss you… everywhere,” he says, his hand reaching for my waist.

He pulls my body flush against his, and this time his erection slides between my legs. He leans in to kiss me and I drape my leg over his hips. My body gets warm and pliable as he moves his hips slowly, rubbing himself against me.

But he quickly stops and lifts my leg off of him. “We can’t do that or I’m gonna blow.”

He reaches over the side of the bed and lifts his jeans off the floor. He pulls out a condom from his wallet and I watch as he pinches the reservoir and slides it over his erection. Just the way we learned how to do it in sex-ed class. I try not to picture him doing that with the girls he was with before me.

He lies next to me, propped up on one elbow as his gaze slides over every inch of my skin. “I am so fucking fascinated by your body.” He traces his finger lightly over the inside of my thigh until he reaches my center. I gasp as his finger easily slides over my flesh, finding the most sensitive spot. “I just want to look at you for a while. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper, breathless with anticipation.

He removes his hand from between my legs and lays it flat on my belly. Then he slowly slides his hand up to my breast, at the same time pushing me onto my back. He cups my breast in his hand and watches my face as he gently rolls my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I smile as both my nipples perk up and the pulsing sensation between my legs returns.

He leans over, his eyes locked on mine, as he flicks my nipple with his tongue. Each time, it sends a rush of excitement coursing through me. Then he closes his eyes as he takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks gently.

I let out a soft whimper and draw in a deep breath. He releases my nipple and lays a cool trail of kisses down my stomach, stopping when he gets to my navel. I glance down to see what he’s doing and he’s just staring at me. I open my mouth to say something, but he plants a soft kiss on the inside of my thigh.

With one hand, he parts my flesh and I gasp as he uses the fingers of his other hand to softly caress me. He uses two fingers, rubbing me in a gentle up-and-down motion. My stomach muscles contract and I can hardly breathe.

“Oh, my God.”

He leans over and plants a tender kiss on me, holding his mouth there so I can feel his breath on my bare skin. Then his tongue makes contact with my clit. It’s just a soft lick, but I feel as if I might burst.

“You taste so fucking good,” he murmurs against my skin.

Then he licks me again and again.

I grab fistfuls of the comforter and arch my back. “Oh, God!”

He takes my clit into his mouth and sucks gently until my body begins to convulse uncontrollably. Oh, my God. This is so embarrassing. But he doesn’t seem to care. He continues to devour me until I let out a wild scream. Then I grab his hair and yank him up so I can catch my breath.

He smiles as he hovers above me, his elbows resting on the pillow on either side of my head. “Was that good?” I nod because I still can’t speak. “Are you ready or do you need a minute?”

I nod again. “I’m ready.”

He kisses my forehead and I take a few deep breaths. His hand slides down between us and I spread my legs a little wider. Then I hold my breath and brace myself.

The tip of his erection glides between my flesh as he searches for entry. I jump a little when he hits my sensitive clit. Then he finds what he’s looking for and I dig my fingernails into his shoulders as he slowly slides into me just an inch.

He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “God damn.”

“Are you okay?”

He nods emphatically. “Oh, yeah. I’m very okay.”

He opens his eyes and leans down to kiss me as he attempts to slide in farther. I can taste myself on his lips and it makes me smile. Then he tries to slide in farther and I yelp.

“Shit! Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, no! It’s okay.” I grab his face and kiss him again. “Just go slow. Please.”

I suck on his top lip and he groans as he slides just a bit farther in with each stroke. I can feel my muscles and flesh stretching with every movement of his hips. He bobs slowly up and down, back and forth, grinding against me in a circular motion, then resting so he can kiss me deeply. It feels like it goes on for an hour, but in reality it’s more like ten minutes before he lets go inside the condom and collapses on top of me.

I lay a soft kiss on his sweaty forehead as I brush the hair out of his face. I can feel him softening inside me, then he reaches down and carefully pulls himself out.

“I’ll be right back.”

When he returns from the bathroom, he’s still naked and that makes me smile. He slides in under the covers with me and we just lie facing each other without saying anything for a while. He strokes the backs of his fingers over my cheekbone and plants a tender kiss on my nose.

“I love you so much, Claire.” He brushes his thumb across my lips. “I want you to be with me forever.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and gaze into his eyes. “Forever yours.”

He rests his hand over my heart. “Forever mine.”

I place my hand on his chest. “Forever ours.”

Chapter Twenty-one

Claire
Forever Starting Over

I open my desk drawer and consider taking my old hairbrush, so I’ll have two: the new one and the old one. But then I have a sobering thought. Going off to college is a new experience. It shouldn’t be encumbered by old things. Right?

Chris pulls my hand away from the desk and pushes the drawer closed. “That’s enough. You’ve checked all your drawers four times. I think it’s safe to say you didn’t forget anything.”

The butterflies in my stomach spread over my entire body, until I feel as if my skin is humming with nervous energy.

He turns me around to face him and takes my hands in his. “Are you ready?”

I shake my head. “I’m so nervous.”

“It will be fine. And you can call me if it gets really bad. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I take a deep breath as I look around the room. It looks almost exactly the same as it did before I packed. I didn’t want to bring too many things with me to the dorm. I want this room to still feel like home whenever I visit.

“Are you still playing that gig tonight?” I ask, hoping he’ll tell me it was canceled.

He nods his head. “Couldn’t get out of it. Xander said this guy has a lot of pull with Arista Records. If I play a few more shows there, and they do well, he might pull some strings for me.”

“That’s good.”

I don’t mention how this means I can’t call him if I get really homesick tonight. I can only call him on the nights when he doesn’t have a show.

Jackie walks in and lets out a deep sigh as she tilts her head. “It won’t be the same without you here.”

“Stop pretending, Mom. You were just telling me how happy you’ll be when Claire is gone so you can finally win Dance Dance Revolution.”

“Stop it, Christopher. That’s not funny,” she chides him, but I try not to laugh.

I let go of Chris’s hands and turn to Jackie so I can give her a hug. She squeezes me so tight. I’m almost afraid to pull away. I’m afraid she’s crying. I’ve never seen Jackie cry. I don’t think I’d be able to handle that.

When we finally let go of each other, her eyes are pink and watery, but she blinks a few times and the moment is gone. She wipes a few tears from my jaw and smiles.

“I fully expect you to spend at least one weekend here every month. Chris will pick you up. You’re only forty minutes away.”

“I’ll try my hardest.”

“I know.” She kisses my forehead and gives me another quick hug. “Get out of here before I start crying. Go.”

Chris and I chuckle as we leave Jackie in my bedroom.

“Go. Get out of here,” Chris says, tapping my butt to push me toward the stairs.

“Stop!” I laugh, smacking his hand away.

Chris drives me to the dorm in Jackie’s car. I spend most of the drive there hugging my knees to my chest to comfort myself. When he pulls into the parking lot at Spencer Hall, I get even more nervous as I wonder who I’m rooming with.

Chris parks in the loading zone and grabs my two boxes out of the trunk while I take my purse and my suitcase. I have my card-key, but a girl with curly hair and square glasses is nice enough to hold the door open for us to enter.

“Thanks,” I say.

I hope my roommate is someone like that. Please let me get a nice roommate.

We get off the elevator on the second floor and head for room 207. Chris sets the boxes down next to the door and I knock. I can hear footsteps on the other side of the door. My roommate is already here.

The door opens and a tall girl with beautiful dark hair and golden skin flashes me a tight smile. “Hi,” she says softly.

“Hi. I’m Claire. I think you’re my roommate.” I grab the piece of paper that’s folded and tucked in my back pocket, which shows my dorm assignment.

Before I can unfold the paper, she opens the door wide for us. Chris and I come in with my stuff and I see she’s already taken the bed on the left, closest to the door. Her bed is covered in a gray and lavender comforter. But, other than a few bottles of lotion and hairspray, the desk on her side of the room is pretty bare. No dozens of pictures of friends and family.

Chris places my boxes on my new bed and looks around. “This place could use a little love.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I shake my head as I turn to my new roommate. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I got your name.”

“Senia,” she replies, plopping down on her bed. “Short for Yesenia.”

“That’s pretty.” I look at Chris and he raises his eyebrows. This girl obviously is not in the mood to talk.

“You want me to help you unpack,” he asks, grabbing my hand to pull me against him.

I press my hands against his chest, unsure whether we should be affectionate in front of Senia. It might make her uncomfortable. He smiles when he notices what I’m doing, then he leans in to try and kiss me.

“Stop,” I whisper, but he just laughs. “I can unpack by myself. Are you leaving now?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

I try to transmit the answer to that question telepathically, so Senia can’t hear how desperately I don’t want him to leave yet.

“I have to go move the car and get ready for the show,” he says. I guess he didn’t receive my telepathic message. “Do you need anything before I go?”

I shake my head. “Call me before the show… to say goodnight.” I whisper the last three words so my new roommate can’t hear how needy I’m feeling right now.

He smiles and kisses my forehead. “I will. I love you, babe.”

“I love you.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and breathe in as much of his scent as I can before he leaves. I close the door behind him and Senia is looking at me when I turn around.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce you two. His name is Chris.” I move the boxes off my bed and onto the floor.

“Is he some kind of actor or something? He said he had to get ready for a show.”

I laugh as I lift the suitcase onto my bed. “No, he’s a musician. He has a band. They’re playing a show tonight.”

“Oh.” She keeps playing with her phone for a moment, then she looks up from the screen with a sober expression on her face. “My dad wouldn’t let me date anyone when I was in high school.”

“Sorry,” I reply, unsure what else to say to that.

She shrugs and flashes me a smile. “It’s okay. I think this year is going to be different. You know?”

I let out an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah, I do.”

Chapter Twenty-two

Chris
Forever Promised

After we had sex two months ago, I knew I had to do something to show my commitment to Claire. Something to keep me in her mind when all those sex-starved college guys are trying to get a piece of her.

We’re too young to get married—at least, according to Claire we are. But I hope this promise ring will serve as a little reminder of who she belongs to.

She swears that she hasn’t had a lot of guys hitting on her, but she doesn’t understand her own appeal. Claire doesn’t ooze sex appeal until you know her. Before you know her, she exudes this closed-off, innocent vibe that begs to be explored. You can’t help but want to get close to her; know more about her.

I’ll admit that this aspect of her personality was a huge turn-on for me when she first walked into our living room four years ago. Now, it’s just scary. I don’t want anyone to take Claire away from me. But, most of all, I don’t want anyone to hurt her.

I worry about her every day.

Claire sits down on the grass under a large oak tree in Moore Square. I sit next to her and lay my guitar on the grass next to me. She crosses her legs and sits up straight, like she’s about to start meditating. We look around for a while at the groups of people enjoying a Saturday in the park on a long Columbus Day weekend. Forty feet away, a father is kneeling on the grass, playing catch with his toddler son and it gives me an idea.

“We’re gonna have kids someday, right?”

She laughs. “Not for at least five or six years. But, yeah, I guess.”

“We can’t do it when we’re old. I don’t want to be one of those old parents who doesn’t have energy to go to the park.”

“Twenty-five is not that old.”

“So… if we’re having kids in five or six years, when are we getting married?”

She’s silent for a moment, then she turns to me with a question in her eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“Nothing. Just talking.”

She scrunches her eyebrows together as if she doesn’t believe me. “I don’t know. After I graduate?”

“Why do we have to wait till then? I mean, it’s not like we haven’t already lived together. We could get married before you graduate, then move in together right after graduation.”

“What are you saying? You want to get married now?”

“No, not now. Maybe your senior year or something.” I shrug, suddenly regretting I brought this up. “Anyway, it’s not a big deal. We can get married whenever. Or not. We don’t have to ever get married.”

“Now you don’t want to get married?”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean that we don’t have to ever get married if you don’t want to. We could be one of those progressive couples that stays together forever but never gets married because we’re too cool for that.”

“Sounds like an excuse not to get married,” she says, leaning back on her hands and closing her eyes as she leans her head back.

I take the opportunity to take the promise ring out of my pocket. Then I lay the ring on her knee. She opens her eyes and stares at the ring for a while.

“What is that?”

“It’s a ring.” She glares at me and I laugh. “It’s a promise ring.”

She picks it up and examines it. “What kind of promise are we making?”

“I’m promising to love you forever. You can decide what kind of promise you want to make.”

She smiles and looks me in the eye. Then she hands the ring back. “Aren’t you supposed to put it on me?”

I take the ring from her, then I take her left hand in mine and slide it onto her middle finger. I lay a soft kiss on the back of her hand and look her in the eye.

“I promise to love you forever. Even when I’m lying in my grave, all dusty and cobwebbed. I’ll be whispering your name inside my coffin.”

“That is so creepy.”

“Creepy and romantic.”

She shakes her head and holds up her hand to look at the ring. Finally, she turns to me and places her hand on my cheek. “I promise to love you forever, and—”

“There’s an and?”

“And… I promise to make sure they bury me next to you so you can still sing me to sleep when we’re dead.”

“Now that is romantic.”

She smiles, looking very impressed with herself. I lean over to plant a kiss on her cheek and she throws her arms around my neck. I lose my balance and fall backward. She lands on top of me and plants a kiss on my mouth. I grab her face before she can sit up again and lick her cheek.

“Ew!” She pushes off me and I laugh as we both sit up.

She straightens her shirt as she sits up straight and I lean in to whisper in her ear. “I’ll settle for your cheek, but I’d rather lick you in other places.”

She shakes her head, but I can see her brain working. Probably trying to think of a way to cut this outing short so we can go back to her bedroom or her dorm and lick each other. Not that I would object.

But first, I have a song I want to sing. What can I say? It’s the performer in me.

I grab the guitar and begin playing an upbeat sort of bubble-gum pop song I’ve been working on since the day Claire first gave herself to me. I don’t normally write that type of music, but I was on a bit of a high after that day. It seemed appropriate.

Claire spins around on the grass so she’s facing me and I begin the first verse.

“Sun in your hair, ignites my insides,

Glow of your skin, lights me up right,

Touch of your hand, I’m on my knees here,

Begging please, baby just stay near,

Yeah, right here.

‘Cause we don’t have to go nowhere,

This place is ours, it’s everywhere,

Yeah, we can stay,

Stay forever.

Ours.

It’ll stay forever ours.”

I’m about to start the second verse when she gasps. “Forever Ours? Is that the name of the song?”

I place my hand over the strings of my guitar to stop the resonant sound. “Yeah, why?”

Her eyes widen as she smiles. “I got you something. This is so funny.”

She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out a smooth glass heart about half the size of my palm. She hands it to me and waits impatiently as I read the words engraved on the heart: Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.

“I got it at a little stationery shop off campus.”

I chuckle as I realize what I said to her two months ago stuck in her head, too. “Thank you,” I say, then I kiss the corner of her mouth. “It’s perfect.”

She smiles and taps my guitar. “Sorry, I interrupted you. Can you finish the song now?”

I start the song from the beginning again, and by the second verse, a crowd of about six people have gathered around to listen. When the song is over, the crowd has grown to at least a dozen. They clap loudly and one man asks if I have a change bucket, but I tell him that’s not necessary.

“Another one,” Claire insists and the crowd joins in her plea.

I get the feeling I always get when I step onto a stage; that mixture of nervousness and excitement. That rush that I can’t get enough of. And I slip right into another upbeat song.

After four songs, I have to quit. The crowd is getting too thick and I don’t have a stage here to separate us. The last thing I need is for Claire and I to get crushed on the day I promise to love her until the day I die.

I give my appreciation to the crowd and say my goodbyes. A few people ask for my name so they can look for my album, but I have to tell them I’m not signed yet. Still feels good to be asked.

“Where are we going?” I ask as Claire and I walk back to my bike.

“I don’t care. Wherever you go, I go.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Claire
Forever Studying

Senia and I went to our first college party last week. And she met a boy. A very handsome, very strong football player. Tar-Heel running back Justin Neely. I think the only way to get Senia to come out of her shell may be to ply her with alcohol.

Of course, I don’t drink. I never have. After losing my mother to a heroin overdose, I swore I’d never drink or do drugs. And I really have no desire to break that promise to myself.

But I must admit that it was fun to see Senia finally let loose a little. I wasn’t aware just how shy she was until she opened up to me the second week of school. I had just asked her if she wanted to go get something to eat at the campus café and she rejected me.

I didn’t think anything of it; though I was a bit disappointed. I’ve never really had any girlfriends, unless you count Rachel. But we only attended high school together for three weeks before she graduated. She’s always seemed a little annoyed by my immaturity.

I thought Senia would finally be my chance at having a normal female friendship, but she didn’t seem interested. So I grabbed some cash out of my wallet and I was all set to go to the café alone. Then Senia stopped me.

She opened up to me about how she only had a couple of friends in high school, but they went to a different school. And they weren’t even good friends because her dad refused to let her go out partying or even to the mall or the movies. By the end of our discussion, I was beginning to think I had it good as a foster child.

So I gave her some time to loosen up a little, then we went to our first party last week. Neither of us are huge partiers, so we kept to ourselves most of the night. Until handsome Justin Neely approached shy little Senia and offered her a bottle of beer.

If it had been a cup, I would have made her reject the drink. But Justin opened the bottle right there in front of us, as if he knows the rules of staying safe at a college party. Never accept a drink from a stranger. Unless it’s an unopened beverage.

One beer led to two tequila shots. Which led to another beer. Which led to me practically carrying her back to the dorm. And she’s been babbling about Justin for eight days straight.

“He’s taking me to meet his sister today,” Senia says while brushing her dark, luxurious hair.

“Wow. Sounds serious. Do you mind if I make your bed?”

“Go ahead. Is Chris coming over?”

I smile in response. It’s really all I can do. I haven’t seen Chris in six days, but it seems like an eternity. I’m giddy with excitement.

Today, Chris and I aren’t going to stay in the dorm and have sex for hours. Not that I object to that. But I was thinking we could get out for a change.

I know we’re way past the dating phase of our relationship, but four months of weekends filled with almost nothing but sex and breakfast food feels almost wrong. Almost. I mean, we went to Moore Square a couple of months ago and that was beautiful.

And it’s so cold outside. I thought we’d go get some coffee. Or something that normal couples do.

Then again, Chris is the only guy I’ve ever really been with. I’m not sure I know what normal couples do. They’d probably envy us.

Senia twists her hair and pins up one side of her hair. “How do I look?”

She’s wearing a killer red dress she ordered online from an independent designer, accentuated by red lipstick.

“You look stunning.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She sighs with relief. “Oh, my God, Claire. I think I’m in love.”

“After one week?”

“Is that stupid?”

I smile, but I shake my head. “Not at all. I think I fell in love with Chris the moment I saw him.”

Her phone rings and she grabs it off the desk. “Hello? … I’ll be right out.” She turns to me as she tucks the phone into her purse, looking slightly panicked. “He’s here. I’ll see you later. What time is a good time to come back?”

“Anytime you want. Chris and I are going out tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

She looks a little conflicted. “Is it a special occasion?”

“Nope. Just trying something different for a change.”

She still looks confused. “But you guys stay in because you hardly ever see each other,” she says, as if I don’t know this. “If I were with him, I’d be staying in every night.”

“What?”

“Oops. I’m not supposed to say stuff like that, am I? Sorry.”

I laugh as I finish making my bed. “Good luck meeting the family.”

“Thanks.”

Twenty minutes later, I hear a knock at the door and I jump up from the bed. I grab my purse off the nightstand and drop my phone in. Then I open the door.

Chris is standing with his hands behind his back, looking down at me with that half-smile he flashes when he’s on stage. His crowd smile. It’s ridiculously hot and I hate that he’s using it on me.

“Wanna study?” he asks in his sexiest voice.

Study is Chris’s code word for oral sex. Chris may not be in school, but he’s been doing a lot of studying lately. And it’s as if my body has been conditioned to respond to this word. Whenever anyone mentions the word study, I get an ache between my legs.

Oh, who am I kidding. Senia is right. Chris and I only see each other on weekends; most of the time. There have been a few weekends where we didn’t see each other at all because I was too busy studying or he was doing a show. Next week, I’ll be studying for finals, so I won’t see him until I go home for the winter holidays the following week.

I have no willpower.

I open the door and yank him inside. I throw my purse onto Senia’s bed and throw my arms around him. He laughs when I try to kiss him. Then he starts pushing me away.

“What are you doing?” I whine.

“Hold on, babe. I had something a bit slower planned for us tonight.”

He brings his hand forward from behind his back and I smile. He’s holding a jar of honey and I can only imagine what he has planned for us.

“I’m gonna turn around and close my eyes. You’re going to get naked and hide a dab of this somewhere on your body. Then we’re going to turn off the lights and I’m going to try to find it with my mouth.”

He hands me the jar and smiles as he turns around. I set the jar on my bed and quickly undress. The obvious place to hide a dab of honey is between my legs, but I think I’ll make him work for it.

Once I’m done, I place the jar of honey on the nightstand, still open in case we need more later. Then I lie down on my bed.

“I’m ready.”

He turns around and ogles me for a bit, before he reaches under the lampshade and turns off the light. The room isn’t completely dark, so I have a nice view as Chris undresses next to the bed. Then he reaches down and traces his finger from my ankle to my center, but he doesn’t shove his fingers inside me or caress my clit the way he normally does. He just pulls his hand away, leaving me aching for more.

He sits on the foot of the bed and grabs my ankle. Bringing my ankle to his mouth, I hold my breath as he licks underneath the arch of my foot. I feel it right in between my legs, as if his mouth is on my aching nub instead.

Then he traces his tongue up to my ankle and lifts my leg straight up in the air. He kisses his way down the back of my leg and I try to remember to breathe. When he reaches the place where the back of my thigh melts into my cheek, he moves to the side and nuzzles his nose against my slit. As if he doesn’t want to place his mouth there, to save that spot for later.

He tastes his way up and down my other leg, then he flips me over onto my stomach. He lies on top of me, his erection prodding my backside as he brushes my hair over my shoulder and tastes the back of my neck. He’s going to find the honey soon.

He kisses every inch of my neck and shoulders, his hand reaching under me to massage my breast as his erection grinds softly between the outer region of my cheeks. Then he moves down, laying a trail of kisses down my spine until he reaches my lower back. His mouth lingers just above my ass, where I left the dab of honey.

He licks me clean, then he turns me onto my side as he positions himself behind me. His hand reaches forward and quickly finds my clit as he whispers in my ear. “Good job, babe.”

I whimper as he continues to massage my pleasure spot. Then he grabs my thigh and spreads my legs so he can enter from behind.

“How about we skip the spooning and get straight to forking?”

I gasp and laugh at the same time as the tip of his erection hits my cervix. His fingers strum my clit as his other hand slides up and pinches my nipple. He buries his face in my neck and bites me softly.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans.

“Oh, Chris,” I cry, as my body begins to tremble. “Don’t stop.”

He sucks on my earlobe and his breath in my ear sends shiver down my neck. “I love you.”

As soon as he murmurs this into my ear, I realize he’s not using a condom. I squeeze my eyes shut and and grab his hand to push it back down between my legs. It’s too late now.

“I love you,” I breathe.

He pulls his hand out from between my legs. “Patience, babe. I’m gonna finish you with my mouth.”

We roll over so I’m on all fours and he pounds me from behind. And I try not to worry when he finishes inside me. I just finished my period three days ago. It will be fine.

After he lets go, he immediately flips me onto my back and, through the blue darkness, I can see the grin on his face as he dives between my legs.

“Oh, God.”

He parts my flesh with his fingers and licks my clit, softly at first.

He chuckles when he tastes the honey. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”

“Can you blame me?”

He doesn’t answer. He continues to lick away every last bit of honey on my clit—and I put quite a bit—until I scream his name. As usual, he plants a goodbye kiss on the inside of my thigh before he comes up. He lies on top of me and I’m not at all surprised when he enters me again.

I wrap my legs around his hips and squeeze, coaxing him farther inside. He kisses me and I can still taste a hint of honey on his lips. His tongue dances around mine and I feel as if I could do this all night. I’m not at all tired.

His lips move down to the my jaw and then my neck. Then he pushes himself up on his hands so he can look down at me. I run my fingernails up and down his muscular arms as he moves inside me, slowly this time.

“That was fun. We should do that honey thing more often.”

He smiles and kisses my forehead. “I could do that with you all day long. I never get tired of licking your skin.”

He slides his hand behind my knee and lifts my leg. I whimper as he drives deeper into me, hitting my core. But this position always drives him crazy. And soon he lets go inside me. Again.

After a few more rounds, I dress in my pajamas and he gets dressed in his hoodie and jeans. I hide the honey under my bed, for next time when I get to search for the honey on Chris. Then I walk him to the door.

“I’ll be back in the afternoon so we can go to brunch,” he says, planting a kiss on my temple.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?”

He laughs. “I wish. I’d go through that whole jar with you tonight, if I could.”

Chris has to ride his motorcycle to Durham tonight to pick up a microphone from some guy I’ve never heard of. Then he has an eight a.m. meeting with Xander, his manager. Not sure why Xander insists on meeting with him on a Sunday morning. But that’s Chris’s life. It’s becoming less and less familiar to me, just like mine is becoming less familiar to him.

Chapter Twenty-four

Chris
Forever Troubled

May, 2012

Claire and Senia are all dressed up and ready to party when I arrive at the dorm. Claire has her hair pulled up into a ponytail. My favorite hairstyle on her. It gives me easy access to her neck.

It seems fitting that she would be dressed up and looking so enticing on a night where I’m more confused about us than I’ve ever been.

I find myself wanting to touch her. And I try not to think that this is my subconscious fears acting through me. The fear of losing Claire has never been this strong. But it’s funny how fear works. It keeps you from doing the one thing that may ease your fear. I can’t bring myself to talk to her about this.

She stands next to her desk, digging through the drawer for her lip balm. I sneak up behind her and grab the sides of her waist and she laughs as I press my hips against her.

“Stop it,” she protests, pushing my hand off her waist.

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Senia says from somewhere behind me. “Just give me a sec so I can make some popcorn.”

I take a painful step back, away from Claire. I want to tell her that we should stay in and talk, but I need to give myself some time to think. Besides, she’s been looking forward to this party for a while.

“Hey, this show isn’t free,” I say to Senia as a knock comes at the door.

Senia’s sitting on her bed, fastening the strap on her heels. “Can you get that, Chris?”

I open the door and greet six-foot-four Kevin Brown with a nod. “What’s up, man?”

Kevin enters and we each lean against a desk on opposite sides of the room while we wait for Claire and Senia to finish getting ready. Senia has been through at least four boyfriends since Christmas. Kevin is her latest victim, though Claire would kill me if I said that aloud. Senia has set her drunk self loose on the male population of the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, and she’s quickly conquering them one by one. But I must admit that it makes for good weekend entertainment.

We walk to Lambda Chi Alpha house on Pickard and Franklin, and we’re not surprised to find there’s no parking on Pickard or in the parking lot behind the house. The place is crawling with drunk college guys and a few girls here and there. This isn’t my crowd. Neither Tristan, Jake, nor I went to college after high school. I try not to let it intimidate me, but it’s hard. Especially on a night like this when I’ve got so much on my mind.

“What’s wrong? You’re so quiet tonight,” Claire says as we climb the porch steps to the front door of the blue two-story house.

“Got some stuff on my mind. Just band stuff. No big deal.”

She looks a little worried, but she lets it go and we head inside. Claire knows that the band has been having trouble lately ever since Xander had the bright idea of dropping the band name. Now he books all our shows under Chris Knight instead of Blue Knights. Tristan missed his first show last week and Jake and I had to play without a bassist. He’s testing his worth.

But that’s the least of my problems right now.

Senia and I have the same idea and we head straight for the booze. Kevin runs into one of his basketball teammates and they talk basketball while Claire tries to keep Senia and me from getting too shitfaced. But she’s doing a poor job.

We down our fifth shot of cherry whiskey—Senia’s new favorite drink—and she stares at me for a moment. I’m afraid she’s going to puke in my face, so I take a step back and get Kevin’s attention. He looks at me questioningly and I nod at Senia. He shakes his head and puts his hand on the small of her back to lead her out of the kitchen.

“Wait! There’s still a little left in the bottle.”

“There ain’t nothing left in that bottle, girl. You’re seeing things.” She looks over her shoulder, a deep longing in her eyes as she looks at the bottles on the counter. “Come on, baby. You can sit on my lap and take it easy for a little while.”

“Ooh. On your lap?”

Their voices fade away the farther they get, until we can’t hear or see them anymore. Claire turns to me and she looks pissed. She’s probably angry because she knows I have a higher tolerance for alcohol. I should have stopped Senia from trying to keep up with me.

“Why are you drinking so much?”

My face is getting numb and I’m feeling very loose, but I manage to pull out another lie. “I’m just trying to keep up with Senia. I’ll stop drinking if you want me to.”

She looks disappointed in this response. “I have to go check on her.”

I grab her hand before she can leave, then I pull her close to me and whisper in her ear. “I’m sorry.”

She turns to me looking utterly confused by my behavior and I feel awful.

“I have to piss. I’ll meet you in there.” I let her go and she sets off for the other room where Senia and Kevin went.

I head for the hallway and squeeze my way past a group of bodies in the corridor. Then I find the line for the restroom. I ignore the girls who smile at me as they pass. When I come out of the restroom twenty-five minutes later, I’m in no mood to see Joanie Tipton waiting for me.

She stands with her arms crossed over chest and her head tilted, as if she’s disappointed that I haven’t attempted to say hi to her sooner. Her chubby cheeks don’t match her rail-thin body and her pinched eyes just creep me the fuck out.

“Hey, Joanie,” I say, nodding as I attempt to get past her.

She steps to the side to block me. “That’s it? I haven’t seen you in almost a year! How have you been?”

I get a strange urge to tell her I’m not doing well, but I know that’s the alcohol. “I’m fine. I gotta go. Claire’s waiting for me.”

I try to step to the other side, but she mirrors me. “You and Claire are still together? Wow… I didn’t expect that to last.”

“What?”

“Oh, I just mean that you probably have girls coming at you from all sides. It must be so hard to stay faithful.”

I glare at her for a moment before I realize she’s right. “Claire and I are fine.”

“Chris?”

I whip my head to the left at the sound of Claire’s voice. Claire looks pissed as hell. She doesn’t know I had to wait in a long line for the restroom.

“Babe,” I call to her, pushing my way past Joanie. “There was a long ass line for the restroom.”

She looks at Joanie then back at me. “You didn’t look like you were in a hurry.” I open my mouth to respond and she cuts me off. “Senia just pissed in Kevin’s lap. They broke up and now she’s crying on the fucking sofa. We have to leave, but I need you to help me carry her home. Now.”

We run into someone else who’s leaving at the same time and they agree to give us a ride back to Spencer Hall. Claire and I get Senia into her bed just after midnight. Then we sit on Claire’s bed in silence.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” she whispers. “Is the band breaking up?”

I shake my head, then I grab her hand and hold it against my lips. “I don’t know.”

She coils her arms around my neck and we hold each other for a while. Then we slip beneath the covers to go to sleep. But even with all the alcohol in my body, rest doesn’t come easy. I have a feeling nothing is going to come easy after tonight.

Chapter Twenty-five

Claire
Forever Blindsided

June 7, 2012

This is the third year Chris and I have spent the anniversary of my mother’s death stargazing, and the second year we’ve done it while camping in Poplar Point. Just like last year, Chris and I made the thirty-minute ride there on his bike.

So what’s changed since last year? Chris has a nicer bike now. A blue racing bike that screams sex. I’m no longer a virgin, which means we’ll be able to explore each other in addition to exploring the campsite. And, for the first time in about ten months, Chris and I can spend time together without the pressure of homework and music gigs hanging over our heads.

Chris hasn’t played a gig in over a month. He’s been recording a demo at a local studio up until last week. My freshman year at UNC ended just over a week ago, so I haven’t been able to go to the studio with him. Normally, this wouldn’t bother me. But I’ve been getting a weird vibe from Chris whenever he talks about this demo and his trips to the studio. I don’t think Chris would lie to me, but I don’t know what else to think.

All that matters today is that he’s here with me. We’re back in a familiar place, physically and mentally. And I have a strong feeling that, by the end of this trip, we’ll be back to the way we were emotionally.

We get to the campsite around seven p.m. and Chris quickly sets up our tent, then we skip stones on the lake for a bit while we talk. Chris has tried teaching me to skip stones plenty of times, but I can’t seem to get the angle or the right amount of spin on it. I think my record is three skips, while Chris’s record is probably a thousand. His rocks dance across the surface of the water as if his touch has embedded them with music.

“I’m going to visit Senia next week. She’s picking me up since she’s just a couple of miles away.”

He smiles as he tosses another stone that skips four times before it sinks into the water. “Why don’t you just drive there?”

“I can’t drive your mom’s car. I don’t have a license.”

“So get a license and drive your own car.”

I laugh as I toss another stone that immediately sinks below the surface. “Great idea! I’ll go get a driver’s license next week. Then I’ll hop in my imaginary car and go to Senia’s.”

He turns to me with a sly smile curling his lips. Something about the way the setting sun makes the flecks in his brown eyes turn bright gold takes my breath away.

“I wanted to save this surprise for when we get home, but I might as well tell you now. I got you a car.”

“You what?”

“I got you a car. Nothing fancy or new, but it will get you to and from home and school on the weekends next year.”

“Why do I need a car for that? I already have Chauffeur Chris.”

He chuckles, but it’s brief. His face gets very serious all the sudden and I get a pain in my stomach.

“Chris? Why do I need a car?”

He forces his face into a smile, then he grabs my waist and pulls me against him. “I considered getting myself a car so I could go back and forth from the dorm during the rain and snow without freezing my ass off. But then I thought I’d just buy the car for you and I’ll keep using my bike.”

He buries his face in my neck and I get lost in the sensation of his lips on my skin. I don’t question his response.

Chris builds a fire and we eat some roasted hot dogs for a late-night dinner. Then we unzip one of the sleeping bags and lie down in the middle of the campsite to watch the stars. Though Chris says all the right things and he holds me when I get a little emotional about my mom, something feels different. I can’t seem to get rid of this knot of pain in the pit of my stomach. This feeling that our opportunity to be Chris and Claire, the way we were before I went to UNC, has passed.

The next morning, we go for a quick swim in the lake. But, by the time we get back to the campsite, my backpack with all our clothes is gone. Luckily, Chris brought his wallet with us to the lake, but now we don’t have any clothes to change into for the ride home.

Chris knows how much I hate getting on the bike without jeans. If he takes a turn too fast, and I’m wearing shorts or a skirt, sometimes I’ll burn my leg on the muffler. Nothing serious, but enough for me to be leery of climbing on his bike in a red bikini.

He smiles as he nods over his shoulder and I climb on behind him. “I’ll go extra slow and I’ll be extra careful,” he assures me.

Something about his words, and the feeling of my half-naked breasts pressed against his wet skin…

I reach forward and slide my hand into the front of his shorts. He laughs, but he instantly hardens in my hand. I kiss his back as I close my fist around his erection and slide it back and forth. He’s still wet from the lake, making it a little hard for my hand to glide smoothly over his skin. So I move my hand to the head and massage the sensitive place just beneath the tip.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “Get off the bike.”

I slide off and land with a crunch on the dirt floor. Immediately, he reaches over and I laugh as he lifts me up onto the seat so I’m facing him. He takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard while I reach between us and push the front of his shorts down to release his erection. Then he slides his hand between my legs, pushes my bikini to the side, and slides into me.

“Oh, God,” I cry.

He leans forward and grabs the handlebars of his bike and keeps his feet firmly planted on the ground as he drives into me. I wrap my legs around him and rock my hips in unison with his.

“How do you do this to me?” he growls against my skin as he kisses my neck. “You drive me insane.”

I lean my head back and he sucks on the hollow of my throat. I dig my nails into his damp skin as he dives farther into the depths of me. He slides his hand between us and his touch is urgent, a bit rough, as he massages me, but it feels just right. And I come shortly after him.

He holds me tightly in his arms so I don’t collapse over the side of the bike. Kissing my shoulders and neck as he softens and slowly slides out of me. He kisses the corner of my lips, then he begins kissing me again; tenderly this time.

I chuckle as I push his shoulders back. “I think once is enough. We should head home.”

He looks disappointed. “I…” He lets out a long sigh. “Claire, I got offered a deal.”

For a moment, I’m confused, until I realize he’s referring to a record deal. Goosebumps sprout all over my body as I’m filled with euphoria.

“That’s so amazing! Oh, my God. I’m so happy for you!”

I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. But he doesn’t return my embrace with as much enthusiasm.

“Aren’t you excited?”

“Yeah. It’s great.”

I release him so I can see his face, but he doesn’t look at all excited. “Chris, what’s wrong?”

He looks me in the eye for a moment, then he drops his gaze and hangs his head. “They want me to go to L.A. for a few months to record the album.”

Though the mention of a few months apart sends a shock of pain through my insides, I still don’t understand why he looks so upset.

“It’s just a few months,” I say, lifting his chin so I can see his face. “It will hurt, but we’ll get through it. Maybe I can even go with you. It’s the summer!”

He flashes me the weakest, most phony smile I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I know something is very wrong.

“It’s not just a few months. I’d be leaving on tour pretty soon after that… for eight months.”

My limbs get weak and my hands fall from his neck, landing between us. He grabs both my hands and we stay like this for a while, not speaking or looking at each other.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m thinking about Chris on tour, by himself, with thousands of girls screaming his name, throwing their bras onto the stage, offering themselves to him. While I’m bored out of my mind in a lecture hall or toiling away on a term paper in the dorm. And that’s when I know.

This is the end of us.

Chapter Twenty-six

Claire
Forever Broken

July 14, 2012

Somewhere around eight-thirty, I gather the courage to wake Chris. We’ve been lying in his bed all night, his arms wrapped around my waist and his head resting on my chest. He dozed off around five a.m., but I’ve been up all night.

He lifts his head from my chest and squints at me through the hazy morning light. Reaching up, brushes my hair away from my face then tucks it behind my ear.

“Good morning, babe.”

I close my eyes and try to burn the sound of him saying good morning into my memory. When I open my eyes, his eyes are closed. Then he lays his head on my chest again and lets out a soft sigh.

“I don’t want to get up.”

“You have to,” I whisper, running my fingers through his dark hair. “Your mom wants to say goodbye to you.”

My voice comes out strangled on the last few words, and Chris notices. He lifts his chin off my chest to look at me, shaking his head when he sees me trying to blink back the tears. He sits up suddenly and leaves the room. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

I wipe my face clean and pull my messy bed hair into a ponytail. Then I head out of Chris’s room. I wait in the corridor for a moment until he comes out of the restroom. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of ragged pajama pants and his hair is sticking out in all directions, but he’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He presses his lips to my cheekbone then whispers in my ear. “You’ve broken me.”

I turn on my heel and disappear into my room, closing the door quietly behind me so Jackie doesn’t know I’m upset. Then I lie in bed and cry for the millionth time in the last six days, since Chris and I—mostly I—decided we should break up. I don’t think I could have imagined a worse way to spend this summer.

When I head downstairs twenty minutes later, I see Jackie has made Chris’s favorite breakfast: Denver omelet, bacon, and hash browns. Chris looks up from his plate when I enter the kitchen.

“You’d think I was on death row,” he remarks as he stabs his fork into a piece of omelet, but he doesn’t bring it to his mouth.

Jackie has her back to us as she washes dishes at the sink. I go to her and tap her shoulder. “I’ll do those.” She shakes her head, but she doesn’t speak. “Jackie, are you okay?”

That’s when she sniffs loudly and I know she’s crying. I wrap my arms around her waist and lay my cheek against her shoulder blade. Her shoulders slump as she stops pretending to be strong.

Finally, she turns around and kisses my forehead. “I have to get going. I know you two want to be alone today.”

I nod and try not to cry as I think of the implications behind her words. Jackie’s leaving to spend the day at Carolina Beach. She’s staying the night at an inn on the coast, then returning tomorrow afternoon. Chris will be gone by then. She’s leaving so Chris and I can spend our last day together alone. At home.

Jackie and Chris say their goodbyes outside. When he comes back inside, the sober look on his face is something I’ll never get used to. I’m used to seeing Chris with that charming crooked smile. The mischief in his eyes. This dark, dull look is not the Chris I’m used to. Maybe I have broken him.

We shower separately and he lies on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, while I brush and blow-dry my hair. When I’m done, we take Mr. Miyagi for a long walk around the neighborhood. I have to stop myself from wondering if this is the kind of thing we’d still be doing when we’re in our seventies.

We spend the first five or six hours of our last day together in silence. There’s really nothing more to say. We’ve spent the last month talking, screaming, crying, cursing. There’s only one thing left to say, and I’m not sure either of us has the courage to say it.

I sit on the sofa for a while, watching Chris as he tries to play with the dog on the rug. But Mr. Miyagi is either too tired from the long walk or he can sense that Chris is trying to say goodbye. He’s not interested. This is too much for Chris.

He stares at the dog for a while, lost in thought. “Why are you making this so hard?”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the dog, so I don’t respond.

“Say something, Claire. Anything. Just fucking say something.”

I cover my face with my hands and gulp large breaths, trying not to completely fall apart. The sofa cushion tilts as he sits next to me and gravity pulls me into his arms. He holds me so tight it hurts. But it’s not enough to drown out the pain in my heart.

I don’t know how long we sit like this, but sometime just before the sundown we head upstairs to my room. This is it.

“You know we’re both going to regret this,” he says as he cradles my face in his hands.

“I know, but I don’t care.”

He kisses me and my entire body relaxes as I lie back on my bed. This is what Chris and I are meant for and I need it just one more time before it’s over. I need to feel him moving inside me. I need to feel the weight of him on top of me. I need to feel safe with him one last time.

He lays his palms flat on either side of my head then runs his tongue over my top lip. A chill passes through me and pulses between my legs.

He pulls his head back and looks me in the eye. “I love you, Claire. I’ll never stop loving you.”

I grab the back of his neck and pull him to me. I wrap my legs around his waist and he grinds against me. There are too many layers of clothing between us. I reach for the button on his jeans and he moves my hand away as he kisses my neck.

“Slow down. We have all night.”

His hand slides under my shirt as he gently sucks on my earlobe. I lift my back so he can undo my bra. I hastily peel off my tank top and bra then toss them aside. His fingers move lightly over my stomach until he reaches my breast. I draw in a sharp breath as his mouth covers my nipple. He licks me slowly and torturously, moving from one breast to the other as his hands unbutton my shorts. I lift my hips so he can pull them off, but he leaves my panties on. He takes his shirt and jeans off and tosses them onto the floor before he settles himself between my thighs again.

I can feel him stiff between my legs as his bare chest slides over my breasts. He kisses me and I gasp as his tongue parts my lips and thrusts inside my mouth. I clutch handfuls of his hair to keep his head still. I don’t want him to move. I don’t want to ever stop kissing him.

He grinds himself against me and my panties are soaked with my need for him. “Please, Chris,” I whisper against his lips.

He kisses my neck as his lips travel down to the hollow of my throat. His tongue traces a line straight down my center until his face is between my thighs. He pulls my panties off and pauses for a moment. I look down to see what he’s doing and he’s staring at me.

“I’m going to miss this,” he says, before he kisses me so lightly I can barely feel it.

His fingers part my flesh and he kisses me tenderly, teasing me with feather soft licks. The pleasure builds inside me and I grip the blanket underneath me to keep from writhing.

“Oh, Chris,” I moan.

His tongue flicks and torments me into a frenzy and soon I find my release as my body convulses with ecstasy. He lays a soft trail of kisses over my belly and kisses each of my breasts before his mouth is on mine again. He kisses me tenderly as the tears slide down my temples and into my hair.

He pulls his head back and looks down. His boxer briefs are gone and we both watch as he enters me slowly, my mouth opening wide in a silent gasp. I wrap my legs around his waist, beckoning him farther inside.

He takes his time, sinking in and out of me with the ease of a boat bobbing on a calm sea. That’s what I am right now. I am a calm sea because the storm hasn’t arrived yet. I know everything will be different when Chris leaves, but right now I want to enjoy this small sliver of peace.

He kisses the tears as they slide down my temples. I tighten my arms around his shoulders and crush my lips against his as we both let go… forever?

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chris
Forever Lost

“Are you calling me from a pay phone?”

Claire’s voice sounds like a beautiful symphony on the other end of this staticky pay phone.

“I lost my phone at the airport, but I had to call you as soon as I got here.” I look around my new L.A. neighborhood. A hot, simmering concrete jungle; lifeless and loveless. “I miss you so fucking much.”

“You’ve been gone ten hours.”

“Worst ten hours of my life.”

She’s silent for a while, then she lets out a soft, forced chuckle. “Hey, want to hear a funny story? Your mom came home this morning with a sunburn. A bad sunburn. So I went to the drugstore to get her some aloe vera and the clerk—”

“Claire, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Be without you.”

Silence again. I’m getting so fucking tired of silence.

“I don’t think we should be talking about this,” she says, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. “I think you need to give yourself some time to adjust first. Then we can talk about it. You can’t throw away all those years of hard work.”

It’s hard to argue with Claire when she’s right. But I still fucking hate that she’s right. I want to throw it all away.

“I love you.”

“I should go. I have to take the dog for a walk.”

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

“Are you still wearing your ring?”

She lets out a soft sigh. “I can’t do this, Chris. It hurts too much. Goodbye.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Claire
Forever Torn

August 20, 2012

My phone vibrates on the nightstand and I know it’s going to be him. I haven’t heard from Chris since the semester began last week. He’s been spending fourteen hours a day in the studio. Or so he says.

I slide the phone off the nightstand and stare at Chris’s name flashing on the screen. Then I take a deep breath and touch the green button.

“Chris.”

“Were you asleep?”

“No, I’m just studying.” Lie number one.

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Not really. I’m trying to finish a paper.” Lie number two.

“You don’t have ten minutes to talk? I want to hear about your week.”

I pause for a moment, trying to gather the courage to say what needs to be said. Then I realize I will probably never have the courage. So I might as well just say it.

“Chris, you have to stop calling me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s too hard.”

“But we agreed to stay friends.”

“Friends,” I repeat this word with a level of disgust that surprises even me.

“You don’t want to be friends with me?”

“That’s not what I meant.” I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it’s useless. “I don’t think that’s possible for us. Friends tell each other things, Chris. And… I don’t want to know what you’re doing.”

There’s a long, heavy silence where I begin to believe he may have hung up. Then, “Claire?”

“Chris, please. I’m sorry. It just hurts too much. And I want you to do what you want. I don’t want to worry about who you’re fucking or—”

“—I’m not going to—”

“—Chris, stop.”

“I’m coming home.”

“Stop! Stop calling me… Please!”

“Claire.”

“Stop saying my name. I have to go.”

I end the call and throw the phone at the wall so he can’t call me back. Then I pull the covers over my head and allow myself to cry. I tell myself that this will be my last day to let myself remember Chris. My last day to revel in the memories and soak my pillow with the tears. This will be the last day.

Tomorrow, we will no longer be Chris and Claire, past, present, or future. Tomorrow, the process of forgetting begins. I don’t know how I’ll forget the most amazing years of my life. But there’s no other way.

I can’t let Chris throw away everything he’s worked so hard to achieve. Not for me… or anyone.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chris
Forever Shattered

I stare at the phone in my hand, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. I mean, I knew this was coming. I could hear it in her voice. She’s not the same. Neither am I. The distance has killed who we were.

I set the phone down on the kitchen counter in my shitty L.A. apartment. Then I back away from it, as if it’s a ticking time bomb. I bump against the oven behind me and that’s when I feel it. In my back pocket.

I slide my hand into my pocket and retrieve the glass heart Claire gave me last year. I’ve carried it with me every day since the day she handed it to me in Moore Square. I read the words engraved on the surface: ever thine, ever mine, ever ours.

She wants nothing more to do with me. She probably stopped wearing my ring the day I left.

Fine. If that’s the way she wants it.

I hurl the heart across the room and it hits the wall and shatters on the floor in front of the refrigerator.

I came to L.A. because I wanted to follow through on everything I’ve been working toward since I picked up my first guitar twelve years ago. I never would have quit school and worked my ass off the past three years if I thought this would never happen. But… I would have thrown it all away for her. For us.

Now I see that she won’t let me. Maybe this is easier for her than it is for me. Maybe I was just weighing her down. Taking up her time when she could have been studying or partying. Maybe she’s been wanting to breakup for a while.

Staring at the shattered heart, I get a sick thought. Would Claire and I still be together if I had given her an engagement ring instead of a promise ring?

I shake my head at this craziness.

Claire promised to love me forever. I knew forever was too good to be true.

Chapter Thirty

Claire
Forever Aching

Senia’s three-year-old sister, Sophie, has become very good at working the TV remote. Watching her flipping through the channels, her chubby finger pressed on the “plus” button, all I can do is smile. She’ll find some cartoon show eventually. Or she’ll get tired of holding down the button and give me the remote so I can find the cartoons.

A few seconds later, my prediction comes true. In the worst way possible. She gets tired of pressing the button and she drops the remote into my lap.

“Cartoons,” Sophie pleads.

But I can’t move. My eyes are glued to the images on the screen. A celebrity gossip show.

“Rocker Chris Knight has been spotted around town with Nicole Priestly, star of this season’s blockbuster, Alive. Rumors are flying that they were spotted making out in a booth at Triple X, a swanky new restaurant-slash-strip club in West Hollywood where all the young celebrities are hanging out these days. Knight’s publicist denies the two are anything more than friends. Hmmm… I don’t remember the last time I tasted the inside of my buddy’s mouth.”

God, I’m such an idiot!

“Cartoons!”

I’ve spent the last five months basically lying in bed feeling sorry for both of us. Feeling like we’ve both suffered with the most difficult decision I ever made; a decision I know I’ll always regret. And there he is, shoving his tongue into someone else’s mouth. Probably shoving other things in other places, as well. I wouldn’t call that suffering.

I knew Chris would move on eventually, but seeing it happen right before my eyes is something else. Now, this nameless girl I imagined him screwing has a face. A very famous face. Imagining his hands on her. His lips on her. His… Ugh! It makes me sick.

“Claire! Cartoons!”

I can’t watch TV anymore. That’s the only way to avoid this torture.

I pick up the remote and change the channel as Senia walks in with two ice cream sundaes; one for me and one for her.

I shake my head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Claire, you have to eat. It’s the holidays.”

“Ice cream!” Sophie screams.

“This isn’t for you,” Senia says, and Sophie’s bottom lips juts out. Senia rolls her eyes and sets the sundae down on the coffee table in front of Sophie. “You can have a few bites.”

Sophie digs into her ice cream and I watch in complete wonderment. How could something as simple as ice cream turn a bad day into a good one for a child? What would turn my bad day into a good one?

Don’t answer that question, I chide myself.

Chapter Thirty-one

Chris
Forever Restless

The buzzing noise seeps into my dream and it takes a moment for me to realize it’s my phone. I snatch the phone off the bedside table, squinting at the bright screen, and groan when I see the phone number.

“Yeah. I’m awake.”

“I should hope so. It’s past noon.”

I pull the phone away from my ear to look at the time: 12:34 p.m.

“What’s up?”

“We need you to come in tonight around seven to re-record some vocals on ‘Firefly’.” I can tell by the almost bored exasperation in his voice that Gene Hadley is getting tired of re-recording vocals because I was too parched and hung-over on the initial recording. “Get some rest and drink plenty of water.”

He hangs up and I stare at the screen for a moment as the calls disappears. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and the first thing I see is a black bra on the floor. With great trepidation, I turn my head and peer over my shoulder. I wish I could say I’m surprised to find a thin brunette tangled in my bed sheets. Her left breast is exposed and her pouty lips are slightly parted as she sleeps.

I don’t remember what time I got in last night, but I do remember bits and pieces of the party in Tristan’s hotel room. Despite the problems with recording, I managed to convince Gene to allow Tristan and Jake to play bass and drums on the tour that kicks off at the end of this month. Tristan and Jake flew out a few days ago and we celebrated having the band back together last night.

It looks like I got a suite in the same hotel for me and… What’s her name again? Laura? Lara? Lorena? I can’t fucking remember.

I rise from the bed slowly and she begins to stir. I freeze for a moment, but she settles down quickly and continues to sleep. I tiptoe out of the bedroom and into the sitting area. Grabbing a bottle of water out of the minibar, I sit down at a glossy mahogany writing desk.

How can it be that it’s been five months since I last saw Claire and hers is still the first face I see in my mind when I get the urge to write a song? My memories of Claire are relentless. And no amount of alcohol or sex can erase her.

Picking up the hotel pen and pad of paper, I close my eyes and allow myself to remember. The first thing I see is Claire sitting in the shade of a giant oak tree in Moore Square, smiling as I sing to her. I press the pen to the paper and write the first lines: We kissed under the trees, and talked about missing things. I wish I could have held you in; held in the heat of your breath; held onto you and I at our best.

Chapter Thirty-two

Claire
Forever Ours

May 27, 2013

It’s hard not to think about Chris on his twenty-first birthday. But I’m going to try my hardest not to. I know wherever he is today, he’s probably having lots of fun. Drinking lots of booze. Screwing lots of girls. He’s living. So that’s what I’m going to do today. I’m going to live my life without thinking about Chris.

Senia is moving in next week and we’re going to have a great summer. My new apartment in Wrightsville Beach is kind of old and some of the doors and cabinets are swollen with humidity, but it smells like fresh paint. And it’s mine.

Dropping out of UNC just may turn out to be the smartest decision I’ve ever made.

Chris dropped out and look at him now.

Nope! Stop thinking about Chris.

I grab a bottle of water out of the tiny refrigerator that came with the apartment, then I head out the door. I walk through the small parking lot and toward my new workplace: Beachcombers Café. But I don’t go inside. I continue down Lumina to the surf shop next door.

A bell jingles as I enter the shop and I’m reminded of the movie It’s A Wonderful Life. “Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings.” This reminds me of Christmases with my mom and I realize that I didn’t just come here to forget Chris. I came here to forget my mother.

Today, a new Claire emerges from the ashes of the fire that burned down every good thing in my life.

The walls of the shop are covered in surf apparel: wet suits, rash guards, board shorts, T-shirts. The floor displays are stacked with everything from surf wax and leashes to energy gum and tourist gifts. The surfboards are all standing up like soldiers behind the counter.

“Can I help you?” asks a young blonde girl with dreadlocks.

“I’m looking for Fallon.”

My voice is a bit shaky, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Her face lights up when she smiles. She slides off her stool and rounds the counter.

She holds out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Fallon.”

Her voice is kind of husky, but it’s comforting. I take her hand and shake it lightly. Her skin is a bit rough, but that makes me trust her. Fallon works until her fingers are calloused. Living with Jackie and Chris, seeing the long hours Jackie worked at the bakery and the endless hours of practice Chris would endure to get a song right, I’ve come to appreciate a strong work ethic as a very desirable quality.

Must stop thinking about Chris.

“Great!” I reply, letting go of Fallon’s hand. “I was just wondering… Well, someone told me that you give… Um, I was told that you’re a guru or something. I mean, I don’t know what to call it. I just… I want to learn to meditate.”

She continues to smile serenely as if I’m the millionth person who’s walked in here stammering like an idiot and she knows just how to fix it. “I can help you, but are you sure you’re ready?”

“What do you mean?”

She tilts her head as her gaze wanders over my face and to the empty space above my hair. “Do you think you’re ready to let go of all this?” She waves her hands around my ears as if she can see all my negative thoughts floating around my head. “All this stuff you’re carrying, it’s heavy. Real heavy.”

I can smell smoke on her breath and I’m wondering if maybe I made the wrong decision. She’s obviously smoking some good stuff. But maybe that’s what I need. Not to smoke some good stuff. But maybe I need someone who’s willing to do what I’m not willing to do. Maybe she can teach me how to do what I’ve been unable to do on my own. Maybe she can teach me to forget.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” I reply. “But I know I’m desperate. That counts for something, right?”

She purses her lips, which are a bit too pink for her golden skin. “We’ll see. Meet me at the shore tomorrow at six a.m. I always start with a surf lesson to get to know you before we attempt meditation.”

I search my mind for my work schedule and realize I work at nine a.m. tomorrow. Linda won’t mind if I’m late to work. In fact, I’ll stop by the café right now and see if I can get someone else to cover my shift. This is too important.

I thank Fallon and leave the shop feeling lighter than I’ve felt in months. She’s right. I was carrying some heavy stuff around. But I already feel it being lifted away.

Now I know what people mean when they say today is the first day of the rest of my life. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Today, on Chris’s twenty-first birthday, my life without Chris finally begins.

“Cover Your Tracks” by A Boy and His Kite

“Like Home” by Nicky Romero and Nervo

“Are We There Yet?” by Ingrid Michaelson

“Little Wing” by The Jimi Hendrix Experience

“Nicest Thing” by Kate Nash

“Firefly” by Ed Sheeran

“Fools” by Lauren Aquilina

“Alive” by Krewella

“Home” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes

“Take Your Time” (Acoustic) by Fun.

“My Kind of Love” by Emeli Sandé

“Lilo” by Lauren Aquilina

“Your Song” by Ellie Goulding

“The Only Exception” by Paramore

“Waiting Game” by Banks

“Say Goodbye (I Won’t Even)” by Adaline

“Autumn Leaves” by Ed Sheeran

“Say Something” by A Great Big World

“Let Her Go (feat. Hannah Trigwell)” by Boyce Avenue and Hannah Trigwell

“Till I Fall Asleep” by Jayme Dee

“Sweetheart, What Have You Done to Us” by Keaton Henson

“I Almost Do” by Taylor Swift

“She’s Long Gone” by The Black Keys

“1000 Sundowns” by Emma Louise

“All I Want” by Kodaline

The playlist is available on YouTube at:

http://bit.ly/foplaylist

The playlist is available on Spotify at:

http://bit.ly/foplaylists

Forever Ours

Bonus Scene
Cassia Leo
cassialeo.com

Copyright © 2014 by Cassia Leo
All rights reserved.

Forever Ours
Bonus Scene

Chris
Forever Playing

September 30, 2011

The text I just received from Claire says that she and Senia just got here to The Pinhook club in Durham. I text her back to let her know we’re still setting up, then I slide my phone into my back pocket. Tristan is helping Jake set up the drums while I do a quick sound check on my guitar. The floor is already packed with so many people, I can hardly hear myself think. My eyes scan the crowd, searching for Claire’s blonde hair as I test each guitar string. Everywhere I look I see Duke, UNC, and NC State T-shirts. Reminders of all the studying that’s been keeping me from Claire for the past five weeks since she moved into the dorm.

A few minutes later, I’m adjusting the mic stand when I spot Claire’s blonde ponytail bouncing across the front of the club near the bar. I finish setting up the microphone, then I tap the head. The chatter in the crowd is suddenly replaced by screaming and a few wolf whistles. I flash one of the whistlers near the stage my crowd smile and she blows me a kiss.

I wet my lips, then I look out across floor to where Claire is making her way toward the stage. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The collective roar of two hundred people shouting two hundred different answers to that question is ridiculous, but it gets me pumped. I love playing to an enthusiastic crowd. My eyes lock on Claire as she tries to squeeze past a guy in a newsboy cap. He gives her an angry look, like she’s crazy if she thinks she’s getting past him.

“Hey, you,” I say, pointing at the guy in the cap. “Let the girl through. She’s a special guest.”

The guy rolls his eyes as he lets Claire and Senia to scoot past him so they can get right up next to the stage. Claire shakes her head as I wink at her, but Senia’s too busy hugging her drink to her chest to keep it from spilling to acknowledge me.

Tristan is still setting up his bass, so I decide to engage the crowd while we wait. “We may be waiting a while, so I’m gonna tell you all a little story. Do any of you know who Neil Hardaway is?” About two-thirds of the crowd answers affirmatively, which isn’t surprising since he a blues legend in the Carolina music scene. “Well, when I was about eleven, I sent Neil Hardaway a letter asking if he could send me the tabs for his song ‘Greensboro Blues.’ I never received a reply, so I figured he was just too busy to send them to me himself. So I sent another letter to the same address, but this letter was addressed to ‘Neil Hardaway’s Assistant.’ I was certain that one would get a response.” Claire smiles and shakes her head. She’s heard this story before. “Well, I didn’t get a response to that letter either. So a couple of years later, I had a brilliant idea, and I decided I’d try again. This time, I addressed the letter to Neil Hardaway and I included a picture of me dressed up as Neil, in a blue suit and black tie, electric guitar slung across my chest, a cigarette hanging out the corner of my mouth. And I signed the letter ‘Future Neil Hardaway. If you don’t send me the tabs, I can’t go back in time to 1991 and write this song.’ I got the tabs in the mail four days later.”

After a brief moment of laughter, I glance at Tristan and he nods. I count to three and we go right into a hard-hitting rendition of one of our earliest tracks, “Justified.” During the first song, Senia convinces a guy standing behind her to get her a few drinks. I can see Claire trying to talk some sense into her as Senia places her three drinks on the floor next to her feet, but Senia is not hearing it. She’s hell-bent on getting shit-faced tonight.

When the second song is over, I decide to have a little fun and play the first few notes of a song Tristan and I made up a few months ago called “Easy Fuck.” It’s not something we would ever play for a crowd, but just plucking out the first few notes makes Tristan roar with laughter as he watches Senia pick up a glass from the floor and chug it. Having made my point, we continue onto the third song of the night.

Halfway through the set, Senia is crossing her legs and fidgeting as if she has to piss. But she never goes to the restroom. She just keeps staring at Tristan with a dreamy look on her face. There’s no way this is going to end well.

“We’re gonna slow it down a little for the last song of the night. This is called ‘First I Saw You.’” When the song is over, I thank everyone for coming and the frenzied cheers from the crowd are exactly what I came for. I take a bow while Tristan comes up behind me and pretends to grab my hips. I roll my eyes back and moan like I’m having an orgasm. Then we all take another bow and say goodnight.

Claire’s eyes are narrowed at me as I hop off the stage into the crowd. But all is forgiven when I grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her. Her lips taste like iced tea. The flavor combined with the sound of the girls around us mumbling their disappointment gets me hot. I slide my tongue into her mouth and she whimpers as she grabs fistfuls of my T-shirt.

I move down to kiss her neck and she pushes me back. “Okay, okay. That’s enough.”

I laugh as I plant a kiss on her cheek. “It’s never enough.”

Contemporary Romance

Forever Ours (Shattered Hearts #0.5)

Relentless (Shattered Hearts #1)

Pieces of You (Shattered Hearts #2)

Bring Me Home (Shattered Hearts #3)

Abandon (Shattered Hearts #3.5)

Black Box (stand-alone novel)

Paranormal Romance

Parallel Spirits (Carrier Spirits #1)

Erotic Romance

KNOX Series

LUKE Series

CHASE Series

UNMASKED Series

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time watching old reruns of Friends and Sex and the City. When she’s not watching reruns, she’s usually enjoying the California sunshine or reading—sometimes both.

A Seductive Melody

The Kelly Brothers, Book 5

Crista McHugh

Chapter One

“We admitted that we were powerless over our addiction, that our lives had become unmanageable.”

No fucking shit.

Ethan Kelly read the rest of the Twelve Steps of Narcotics Anonymous and folded the single sheet of paper in half as the meeting was called to order. The two weeks’ worth of stubble on his head felt foreign under his hand as he rubbed at it and glanced around the room. He’d shaved off his long black hair when he’d entered detox, a symbolic gesture of cutting off ties with his old life, but he still worried someone would recognize him and call him out. He wasn’t there to put on a show for the media. He was there because he needed to stay clean, and this was one of the tools that had been recommended to him.

The inside of his left arm burned under his sleeve, and he rubbed the spot of his latest tattoo. Even though the flesh had healed, the pain behind it was still as raw as the day he’d gotten it.

The day he’d lost his best friend to heroin.

It was the wake-up call he’d both needed and been dreading. He’d watched Tyler slip deeper and deeper into his addiction, but he’d been too scared to say something. Then it was too late to say anything. Two days after getting the tattoo, he checked himself into detox. He only wished he’d been able to do it with Ty. Instead, his best friend was now ashes in an urn, and Ethan was left trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered life alone.

The craving to say “fuck it all” and shoot up ambushed him. It would be so easy to get high and forget about the pain, to go back to the euphoric place where his muse reigned supreme and he didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself and his music. He balled his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. I can do this. I have to do this. No more escaping reality.

He drew in several deep cleansing breaths like they’d taught him to do during detox, and the craving subsided.

For now.

He opened his eyes just as a woman was sneaking into the chair across from him. She shrugged off her knee-length leather coat, giving him an ample view of the bare bit of her thigh between her cream-colored boots and mint green sixties-style mini-dress as she crossed her legs. A different craving rose within him, one that shot straight to his crotch. Thank god for the six feet of aisle space between them, or he’d be tempted to find out for himself if her skin was as silky and supple as it looked.

From the corner of her eye, she caught him staring. A flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks as she tugged on the hem of her skirt, but he couldn’t turn away. Everything about her screamed Park Avenue, from her designer handbag to her flawless manicured nails. She looked like she should have been shopping at Neiman Marcus or Bergdorf Goodman, not sitting in a moldy church basement full of recovering addicts.

His attention wandered up from her legs to her face. He couldn’t tell if her eyes were blue or green, but the arched brow above the left eye wordlessly asked him if he was done gawking.

And for the first time in two weeks, his lips rose into a grin. No, he wasn’t done at all. Not as long as she had those legs on display.

She rolled her eyes and draped her coat over her lap, hiding those luscious thighs from his view just as the meeting leader, Gary, asked the new members to introduce themselves to the group.

Shit. This was the part he’d been dreading. Thankfully, he didn’t have to give his last name, and he’d already been warned by Gary that he’d be hugged if he didn’t make it clear from the beginning that he wasn’t up for that. He cleared the lump forming in his throat and stood.

“Hi, I’m Ethan, and I’m not a hugger.”

There. That was all they needed to know. The rest of his inner demons were his own to battle. He slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms, daring any of them to try and touch him.

“Hi, Ethan,” the room replied in unison.

Then Gary opened the meeting up for the members to share.

Ethan stretched out his legs and closed his eyes, only halfway listening to their stories. He was here in this church basement only because his mother and the counselor at detox suggested he try it out. He didn’t need any hand-holding or “Kumbaya” singing to help him avoid using again. He’d already gone through the flu-on-steroids hell of detox. And he had the most powerful deterrent to using again tattooed over his favorite vein.

Tyler Bransford, 1987–2014.

Every time he’d be tempted to shoot up, he’d see the name of his best friend and be reminded of the life and talent that were destroyed by heroin. To him, that was far more effective than a weekly meeting listening to people drone on and on about how hard it was to stay clean.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but when he cracked an eye open, he found the woman across the aisle studying him with a line furrowed above her too-perfect nose. Her lips were pursed as though he was some sort of riddle she was trying to decipher, yet despite the intense focus on her features, she twirled a lock of her dark brown hair around her fingers in a casual manner.

He mimicked the same questioning arched brow she’d given him.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp. She turned away and sat up straighter, her hands falling to her lap and her attention fixed on Gary instead of him.

Some part of him felt a little rush, knowing she’d been checking him out. The other part of him cautioned him to stay far away from Ms. Park Avenue. He already had enough drama going on in his life. He didn’t need to involve what appeared to be a very high-maintenance woman. Not his style, anyway. He doubted she’d ever agree to hop on the back of his bike and zoom through the streets of Manhattan. He liked his women wild and fearless, not uptight and prissy.

Gary then announced it was time to adjourn and asked everyone to gather around in a circle for a quick prayer. Ethan’s stomach recoiled at the idea. He didn’t want any damned prayers or religion to be stuffed down his throat. And yet, he found himself joining the others and standing next to Ms. Park Avenue. She smelled of amber and sandalwood mingled with something soft and floral. Exotic, yet distinctly feminine. The intoxicating scent distracted him long enough to let his anger fizzle out, and by the time the prayer was finished, his gut was no longer in knots.

The circle disbanded, and Gary made his way to him. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Ethan,” he said before pulling Ms. Park Avenue aside. Their hushed conversation made Ethan wonder if he was reprimanding her for showing up late. A couple of minutes later, she nodded, and they both approached him.

“Ethan, I’d like you to meet Rebecca. Usually, we let our newcomers choose a sponsor after spending a few weeks getting to know the group, but I would like to personally recommend her as someone who can help you get settled into the program.”

Why? Because I was checking her out?

“She has graciously agreed to help you until you choose a sponsor, if you’re interested, and probably would understand your situation far better than most of us.”

Ethan’s mouth went dry. He’d already done so much to go underground while dealing with his addiction. Changed his appearance. Moved across the country from LA to New York. Avoided the media at all costs after dealing with the circus that had dogged him until he checked into detox. But he’d made the mistake of confiding his need for confidentiality to Gary, and now, the meeting leader had shared who he was with someone else. He ground his teeth and flexed his fingers. Maybe this had been a mistake after all.

Gary gave Rebecca a genuine smile and a nod, which she returned. “I’ll let you two get better acquainted.”

Ethan didn’t dare move a muscle as the group leader left to talk to someone else, leaving him alone with her. Every nerve in his body stood on edge. If he wanted to keep his privacy, he couldn’t reveal anything personal.

Her smile faltered into a nervous twitch of her lips. “Listen, Ethan, I know you may think this isn’t for you, but please, give it another week or two. The first week is always the hardest. If you give it a chance—”

“What exactly did he say to you about me?”

“Well, he wasn’t praising your sunny personality, that’s for sure.”

Her sarcasm caught him off guard, and despite his better judgment, he took a step toward her. “Then what did he say?”

“He said I of all people would know what you were going through, and he trusted that I would handle you with care until you feel ready to choose a sponsor.”

His insides bristled at the thought of being handled with care. It was bad enough his mother was calling him every night to check on him like a child. “Did he say why?”

She shook her head, her dangling earrings rattling against her jaw. “Nope.”

The whole situation perplexed him, and he took another step toward her, encroaching on her personal space just to see how she’d react. “And who exactly are you?”

She looked up at him, and he finally could see the color of her eyes. Blue on the outside, green toward the center. Striking and clear and unwavering as she held his gaze. “A recovering addict, just like you.”

His chest tightened, trapping the air in his lungs, but he refused to back down.

“In case you missed the memo,” she continued, “the ‘A’ stands for ‘anonymous.’ It’s something we take very seriously here. If you’re still wondering why Gary thinks I’ll be able to help you, I’d be willing to share a bit more about myself over coffee. But you’ll have to wait until next week.”

“Always a catch,” he muttered before turning. But she intrigued him enough that he might come back just to find out who she was and what she was doing here.

“Think of it more as an enticement.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a notepad and pen. “Here’s my number. If you feel the need to shoot up, give me a call first, and I’ll try to talk you down.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” But he took the piece of paper with her number on it anyway. In any other situation, getting a sexy woman’s digits meant he was doing something right. But right now, the fact she was giving him her number was a sign that she was just waiting for him to slip back into his old habits.

“Hey, I’ve been there, remember? I know what it’s like to be new to this and how hard it is to say ‘No’ to the cravings. We all stumble. We all make mistakes. But we’re not in this alone.” She slipped her coat back on, her gaze raking him over from head to toe and back again. “And maybe next week, you’ll have a better idea how I can help you out.”

He could think of a dozen ways she could help him out, but none of them involved this support group. But he stepped aside to let her leave, watching the way her hips swayed as she walked. Yes, he definitely wanted to know Ms. Park Avenue’s story.

He gathered up the booklets and pamphlets Gary had given him before the meeting and shoved them into his backpack. Rebecca’s number, however, was carefully folded and slipped into the inner pocket of his wallet. He doubted he’d ever need it, but just in case…

His Ducati Streetfighter was parked half a block away. He strapped on his helmet and hopped on the bike, revving it up until the vibrating purr of the engine massaged away the tension in his muscles. He’d come back next week, if only to learn more about her. Then he kicked off and sped down the street before his doubts could catch up to him.

***

“Ari, I’m home,” Rebecca called as she kicked the door closed behind her.

Her roommate, Ariela Horowitz, appeared from her bedroom dressed in yoga pants and a cami and took the pizza box from her. “Perfect timing. I’m starving.”

“They charged me four dollars extra for the gluten-free crust.”

“I’ll pay you back.” Ari lifted a slice of warm, gooey, veggie-topped pizza and folded it in half before taking a bite. “This is heaven.”

Rebecca grabbed a plate from the kitchen and handed it to Ari. “Please, use this. I don’t want a huge mess to clean up afterward.”

“Fine.” She took the plate with a huff and plopped down on the sofa. Both of them had grown up in wealthy families that employed several maids, but Ari still acted like they had one to pick up after them in the apartment they shared.

Instead, that job fell to Becca in exchange for living there rent-free.

She placed a slice on a plate for herself and joined her best friend on the sofa. “Why do you always insist on getting everything gluten-free? You’re not allergic to it.”

“I know, but it makes me bloat.” Ari patted a perfectly flat stomach that would make a Victoria’s Secret model envious. Petite, blond, and practically flawless, Ari was the embodiment of what an Upper East Side twenty-something should be.

“Whatever.” Becca bit into the pizza, methodically chewing through the rubbery crust and wishing it was real bread. But since Ari had launched the “gluten is evil” campaign in their apartment, she had noticed her clothes were fitting a bit looser.

After a few minutes, Ari went back into the kitchen for another slice. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

“My mind is elsewhere.” Mainly on that moody, sullen, sexier-than-sin guy I gave my number to and wishing that he would call for non-NA things.

“Work?”

That drew a derisive snort from her. Becca was an editorial assistant at Moderne magazine, a periodical totally devoted to the selfie generation. “Hardly. Instead of giving me the go-ahead for my human trafficking article, they asked me to research the best places to have sex in public.”

“Dressing rooms, first thing in the morning,” Ari replied with a wink. “Then what is it? Something happen at your meeting?”

“You can say that.” She forced herself to swallow the last bite and set her plate on the ottoman. “I got asked to help out this new guy until he can choose a sponsor.”

Ari wrinkled her nose. “Does that mean you’ll have to spend time with some strung-out user?”

Becca drew a sharp breath in through her nostrils and stiffened her spine. “Hello? That was me a few years ago.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Ari had the decency to squirm on her side of the sofa and hugged one of the throw pillows. “It’s just that, even when you were bad, you still functioned. Well, until the night of the Tribeca Ball. But, you know, you still looked normal.”

“And you think I’m an exception to what a ‘normal’ addict should look like?”

“Well, you see all those people on the street begging for money so they can go out and get high…”

Becca got up and took her plate to the kitchen. After giving it a quick rinse in the sink and placing it in the dishwasher, she turned around to find Ari leaning against the wall with her lower lip jutted out in an apologetic pout.

“Sorry, Becca. It’s just that I wish there was some support group you could go to that was filled with people more like us. I’d worry less.”

“I’m not going to get mugged or stabbed or whatever you’re worried about there.” She took Ari’s plate and added it to the dishwasher. “Besides, Gary personally asked me help this guy because he thought I would know best where he was coming from.”

Ari pushed off the wall, her worry changing into curiosity. “What is he? Some kind of Wall Street broker?”

“Not even close.” Everything about Ethan screamed bad boy, from the tattoos peeking out from under his shirtsleeves to the way he tore down the street on his bike. “But I have to trust Gary’s judgment and see where it goes.”

“I saw that look.” Ari flipped the dishwasher closed and moved to within a few inches of her, bumping hips with her. “You think he’s hot.”

Becca’s cheeks heated as she wrapped up the leftover pizza. She remembered all the little details about him with heart-jolting clarity. The heat from his body. The scent that rose from his skin. The air of pure masculinity that surrounded him. “He’s not bad looking.”

“Uh-huh,” Ari drawled, following close behind her. Ari wasn’t going to leave her alone until she’d reported everything she could about Ethan.

Time to call uncle or I’ll never hear the end of it. “What do you want to know?”

“What was he wearing?”

“Worn jeans that clung in all the right places, white T-shirt with an open red button-down shirt over it, black leather boots.”

“Ass?”

The heat from her cheeks flowed lower to the pit of her stomach. “Nice and tight.”

“Eyes?”

“Gray.” And angry, like thunderclouds.

“Hair?”

“It looked black.”

“What do you mean, it looked black? Was he wearing a hat or something?”

Becca shook her head. “It was really short, like he’d just shaved it all off recently.”

“Ew!” Ari wrinkled her nose and backed away. “Is he going bald or something?”

“Not that I could tell.” In fact, she’d wanted to run her hands over the thick, dark stubble.

“Then is he like some G.I. Joe wanna-be?”

“Nope.” She put the pizza in the fridge and walked out of the kitchen, leaving her friend behind.

But Ari wouldn’t let up that easily. “Oh, I see it now. Let me guess. Tattoos?”

“Yep.”

“Piercings?”

“Nope.”

“Motorcycle?”

“Ducati Streetfighter 848.”

Ari’s pale blond ponytail whipped her in the face as she shook her head. “No way, Becca. He’s got ‘stay away’ written all over him.”

“I know, but that’s what makes him so fascinating.” But it was more than the “angry at the world to cover up the pain” vibe she’d seen in his eyes. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him from somewhere.

“Your dad would have a stroke if you brought him home for dinner.”

“Precisely, which is why he’ll remain forbidden fruit as far as the romance department goes. Besides, I’m just going to help initiate him into the program until he has his own sponsor—someone he can call when he’s in a crisis.”

“And what if that crisis is a desperate need for a hookup?”

“Please, I do have some integrity. The guy looks like he’s trying hard just to stay clean, and there’s a reason why relationships are a no-no this early in the recovery process.” But if she’d met him at a club, she’d have no problem hooking up with him. Ethan got her pulse racing in all the right ways. Dark, dangerous, and mysterious. She couldn’t wait to unravel his story.

That is, if he ever trusted her enough to share it.

“Fine, but if he calls, make sure you check in with me so I know where you are.” Ari stretched. “I’d better give Gabe a call before turning in. And speaking of brothers, Jacob called to find out if you were going to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with your parents. He’d come in from New Haven if you were.”

“You both know I’m not.” Part of staying clean involved avoiding situations where she’d be tempted to use again, and dealing with her father always triggered the desire to find the nearest dime bag.

“It’s your life.” Ari gave an indifferent shrug, but the look on her face said she’d be bringing it up again. “You still up for a little jog in the morning?”

Becca fought back a groan. A little jog with Ari equated to three miles of sprinting through Central Park. “Can I take a pass?”

“Sure, and your thighs can get flabbier for it.”

This time, Becca didn’t hold back. A full-blown groan of pain was followed by a whimper when she imagined how her thighs would burn afterward. “Fine, I’ll come.”

“Good choice. We’ll be leaving at five sharp.”

Talk about torture. “Where do you get your energy, and can I borrow some of it?”

“Spend energy to make energy. See you in the morning.” Ari pulled out her phone and was dialing her brother’s number as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Becca plumped the pillows on the sofa before retreating to her own bedroom. Even though she’d severed ties with her family, she still managed to live a very comfortable life. The newly renovated two-bedroom apartment had sleek, modern lines that made them the envy of their peers. The view was spectacular, the security exceptional, and the rent was to die for. The Upper East Side apartment building belonged to Ari’s grandmother, which meant they both got to live there rent-free. Becca’s room was the smaller of the two, but even it had a walk-in closet and an attached bathroom.

She shed the dress she’d gotten at H&M and tossed it in the hamper before slipping into a pair of comfortable boxers and a cami. As she sat in bed with her notebook and pen, trying to come up with some places for the article, her mind kept drifting back to Ethan. Once again, the sense that she knew him hit her, but she had no idea why. He definitely didn’t look like anyone who would’ve run in her circles growing up. But still, there was something about him…

She chucked her notebook across the room and fell back on her pillows. If she wanted to get anything done this next week, she needed to stop obsessing over a guy she just met.

A guy who was trying to stay clean.

A guy who acted like he wanted nothing to do with her.

Time for some mind-cleansing music. She scrolled through the music on her iPod Shuffle until she came to one of her favorite Ravinia’s Rejects songs. Unlike the driving rock beats of their other songs, this one was slow and quiet, the acoustic guitars melding with the perfect harmonies of the two lead singers. During her first days of sobriety, she’d listened to the song over and over until it haunted her dreams. She closed her eyes and let the music wash over her. The chorus came on, and she sang along with it, letting each word soothe her soul.

One day at a time

One wish on every star that makes the heavens shine

One more heartbeat until I know that I’m fine

Just need to take it one day at a time.

When the song ended, she took a cleansing breath and turned off her light.

Just take it one day at a time.

Chapter Two

Ethan strummed his guitar, but the chords formed a dissonant mishmash that resembled anything but music. In the past, when he’d hit a wall, he’d always shoot up and find inspiration in the dreamlike high he’d gotten from the heroin. The notes would dance in front of him like mirages from a muse, and his fingers would glide over the strings as though they were divinely controlled.

So very different from the hours he’d spent that afternoon with a stack of blank sheet music in front of him.

A zing shot up his arm, followed by the familiar craving. He flexed his fingers, trying to shake it, but it wound even tighter around his arm and crawled into his chest. Just one more hit to get the music flowing again.

The ring of his phone jerked him away from the siren song. He checked the number before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Ethan. How are you doing?”

“The same.” No better, no worse.

“Are you going to your meeting tonight?”

Shit. He’d forgotten that the NA meeting was tonight. “Probably.”

“Well, shouldn’t you be on your way now?”

He checked the time. Twenty minutes until it started. Just enough time to hop on his bike and find parking somewhere near the church. It would be faster to take the subway, but the risk of someone spotting him was too great. And taxis were ridiculous in the city. “I guess so.”

“Ethan…” Usually, when his mom drawled out his name, it was a warning. But this time, it was more of a plea. Even though getting and staying clean was his own battle, she wanted to be his ally. She’d flown to LA the minute she’d heard of Ty’s death to help him through his grief and arranged the moving of his stuff to New York while he was in detox. But she also respected his boundaries enough not to nag him.

Still, the plea in her voice was enough of a guilt trip. He stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’m on my way now.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” The hesitation in her voice was something he wasn’t used to. As a former lawyer, his mother had always been one to cut directly to the point. But like Adam and the rest of his brothers, she was treading carefully around him. Probably terrified that one word would send him over the deep end.

Irritation crawled up his spine. They thought he was weak and fragile. But he’d prove them wrong. “Thanks, Mom. I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” The tone of her voice revealed she didn’t quite believe him.

“Got to go, Mom. I don’t want to be late.” He hung up before her doubt infected him.

His loft in Hell’s Kitchen didn’t have a parking garage, but it did have a freight elevator that was big enough to accommodate him and his bike. When he got to the street, he hopped on and wove through the Midtown streets until he came to the old church that housed the meetings. Parking was easier to find tonight, but instead of going inside, he lingered on his bike with his helmet on. The motor rumbled underneath him. The craving to surrender to his muse rather than fight it rebounded in his moment of hesitation. He gripped the throttle, revving it up in tempo to the rising frustration in his gut.

Then someone knocked on his helmet.

He snapped his head around to find Rebecca standing on the sidewalk beside him. She held on to the strap of her messenger bag with both hands, but the unyielding stance of her legs told him she wasn’t leaving until he acknowledged her.

He lifted his visor. “Don’t you know better than to walk up to strangers and assault them?”

“First off, you’re not a stranger. Second, I tried calling your name before I tapped on your helmet. I’d hardly call that assault.”

The craving dissipated along with his anger. He turned off the motor and pulled off his helmet. “What made you so certain it was me?”

“I recognized your bike.” Her gaze drifted over the Ducati in an amorous way that made his dick envious. What he wouldn’t give to have her look at him that way. “A 2014 Ducati Streetfighter 848. A 132-horsepower Testastretta engine. Six-speed transmission.” She bit her bottom lip and sucked in a deep breath through her nose. “Beautiful.”

He grew hard just from listening to her. Did she have any idea how much hearing her recite the technical specs of the bike turned him on?

Her gaze turned back to him. “Are you coming?”

Ms. Park Avenue intrigued him enough to make him nod. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

But when he got inside, he found himself as bored as he was last week. The only thing that kept him glued to his seat was the woman sitting next to him. She listened to every person who shared, her face softening in empathy as they whined about their individual trials and tribulations. What makes an uptown girl like her care about the everyday suffering of recovering addicts?

She was a riddle he longed to solve. Her textured short-sleeved sweater dress screamed designer label, yet the heels of her boots were well worn. The way she unclipped her dark hair and removed the dangling earrings at the start of the meeting seemed to be part of some evening unwinding ritual, much like she would do when she came home from work. Her messenger bag with the laptop inside made her appear to have some sort of professional job, but he had no idea what field. The little details he gleaned from studying her whetted his curiosity and made him wish the meeting would end soon so he could start asking her questions.

When Gary finally called them to form a circle for the closing prayer, a twinge of panic rooted itself in his chest. He curled his fingers in his palm to keep it from spreading. What if she tries to back out on me?

But after they adjourned, she smiled up at him. “So, you made it through your second NA meeting.”

Barely.

“I think I promised you coffee.”

“And information about yourself.”

Rebecca tilted her head to the side, her brows furrowed in a quizzical way. “Sure, if that’s what you want, but if you’d rather talk about how you’re doing—”

“I don’t.”

Both brows rose in response, erasing the lines between them, but she didn’t pry any further. “I know a nice little Viennese café a few blocks from here.”

“Sounds good.” He grabbed his helmet and followed her outside.

Once they’d crossed the first street, she turned and asked, “Have you had dinner?”

“No.” Small talk like this he could handle. He just hoped she wouldn’t take it as an invitation to start asking about his personal life.

“I highly recommend their sandwiches. Or their soups.” She stared down at the sidewalk, her lips twitching in a shy grin. “But the desserts are to die for.”

So, Ms. Park Avenue had a sweet tooth. “Good to know.”

Her eyes widened like a child’s in a toy store when they entered the café. She went straight to the dessert case and licked her lips. “You have the Sacher-torte today.”

“I made it this morning in the hopes you’d come by, Becca,” a middle-aged woman with a slight German accent behind the counter said. “Shall I cut you a slice?”

Rebecca nodded. “And could you give me another slice to go, too, Gitta?”

“Expecting a rough week at work?”

“Horrendous,” she replied with a laugh.

“And I take it you’d like your usual drink?”

Rebecca nodded again. “I’m so predictable.”

So far, she’d seemed to be anything but predictable to him. But he was willing to watch and learn.

Gitta turned to him. “And for your friend?”

“Just coffee,” he replied. Anything more might overwhelm him.

“I’ll bring it to your table in a minute.” Gitta turned to start steaming some milk.

Rebecca took his hand to lead him to a table, but the gentle touch managed to kick the air from his lungs. He’d lived so long in a world where most women begged permission to touch him that her complete indifference to his celebrity status shocked him. But then, maybe that was a good thing. If she didn’t know who he was, he might be able to let his guard down long enough to enjoy coffee with her.

He glanced around the room, but no one was staring at them or whispering to their friends while pointing at him. No flash of a paparazzo’s camera. No cringe-worthy fear that sharing dessert with Rebecca would be tomorrow’s headline on TMZ.

For the first time in years, he felt almost normal.

He placed his helmet in an empty chair and sat down across from her. As much as he wanted to relax, he couldn’t quite let his guard down. “Come here often?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Just slightly.”

She laughed at his dry reply. “You’re really missing out on Gitta’s Sacher-torte. It was her grandmother’s recipe.”

“I haven’t been very hungry lately.”

She nodded, empathy flittering across her features. “Yeah, once you’ve had your guts turned inside out for a week, it takes a while for the appetite to come back.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and lowered his voice. “I still have a hard time believing someone like you understands what I’m going through.”

“Why?”

Her quick reply caught him off guard. He backed away and gestured to her appearance. “Because…”

“Because I don’t look the part?”

Before he could answer, Gitta interrupted them by setting a plate of chocolate cake and two mugs on the table. Steam rose from his mug of black coffee, but a mound of cinnamon-sprinkled whipped cream covered her beverage. “What is that?”

She stirred some of the cream into her drink and licked the spoon. “Cinnamon hazelnut hot chocolate.”

“Someone’s going to have a sugar rush tonight.”

She flashed him a wicked grin before drinking a gulp of her hot chocolate. When she lowered her mug, a dot of whipped cream lay perched on the end of her nose.

Ethan tried to smother the laugh that rose from his throat, but it was no use. Instead, he let it out and reached for a napkin. “You have a little something on your nose.”

“Oh?” But instead of acting mortified and reaching for a mirror like he expected her to do, she laughed with him and wiped her nose with a napkin. “Got it?”

He nodded, once again surprised by her. Here was a refined young woman who wasn’t the least bit concerned with her appearance. Very different from the high-society girls he’d gone to high school with or the models and actresses he’d met through the years.

She took a more cautious sip this time. “I’d promised to be an open book to you, so ask away.”

He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, watching her nibble at the cake. So many things about her intrigued him. Where did he begin? But one question always lingered in the back of his mind. “How long have you been clean?”

“Two years and a hundred and fifty days.” she replied without looking up from her cake. “At least, this time around.”

“You relapsed?” She seemed so calm and collected that he wouldn’t have expected that from her.

“Yep. The first time, I was forced into rehab by my parents. Suboxone and all that mess. It didn’t take me long to figure out how to hide my pills and go back to the good stuff again.”

“So what made you stop?”

“I OD’d and almost died.” She kept eating her cake as though she were talking about a boring day at work instead of a near-death experience. “At a big charity ball, no less. The press had a field day with that one.”

“And why was that?”

That made her pause and look up from her plate. She held his gaze long enough for him to realize her eyes were more green than blue today. “You remember what I said last week about us taking the ‘anonymous’ part seriously.”

“Yes.”

Her chin quivered, and she swallowed hard. “Then let’s leave it at that.”

Another layer of mystery to her. Whoever Rebecca was, she was famous enough to be known by the press. “Fine. Then my next question—what do you do?”

“I’m an assistant at a women’s magazine,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“Not your dream job?”

“Not even close, but it’s a foot in the door.”

“For what? Fashion?”

“No.” She didn’t expand, turning her attention instead on the remaining crumbs of her Sacher-torte as she engaged her fork in a repetitive dance of stab, smash, and scrape. “Next question.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” he blurted out before he realized what he was saying.

The corners of her mouth rose, and she looked up at him through her lashes. “Why do you want to know?”

Shit! Not the way he wanted this conversation to go. It was one thing to stick to safe, NA-related topics, but if he found out she was single, he’d have a hard time keeping his thoughts clean around her. “Um, because I’d like to make sure some jealous boyfriend isn’t going to hunt me down and punch me for calling you in the middle of the night.”

Her smile widened into something both teasing and inviting. “No danger of that.”

No danger why? Because she’s single? Or because she has a really understanding significant other?

Time to steer the conversation back to safe subjects before he gave into temptation and invited her back to his place. “What changed between the first time and the second time?”

“It was my choice.” She pushed her plate aside and leaned forward. “I think that was the most important thing that helped me stay clean. I’m not doing this because I was forced to by my parents or the law or some other external means. I’m doing this for me. Everything I need is in here.” She patted the area over her heart.

An ache formed in the center of his chest. He resisted the urge to mirror her and press the heel of his hand against his ribs to ease the pain. He’d been the one who’d decided to give up heroin, but there was still a voice in the back of his mind telling him he’d end up just like Ty. “And what if that’s not enough?”

“Then you look for little daily victories. For example—not embarrassing your friends or family. Or not wondering where your money went because you basically handed it over to your dealer. Or not waking up next to some stranger you dragged home while you were high.”

He nodded with each example she’d given, knowing firsthand how those situations felt—until she got to the next one.

“Or not having to give up open-toed shoes.”

“Open-toed shoes?” It was so ridiculous, a laugh wedged itself between his words. “What the hell does that have to do with staying clean?”

A blush stole up into her cheeks, and she slid her gaze to the side. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“You said you were an open book, and that I’d understand you better than most.”

“True.” She bit her lip and squirmed in her seat like he’d just asked her to reveal the color of her underwear. “The first time I went into rehab, it was because my stepmother noticed the track marks on my arms. So when I relapsed, I got more creative with where I shot up. You won’t believe how quickly you can get high from shooting up between your toes.”

He nodded, finally seeing what she meant. “So your parents weren’t suspicious because all they saw were flawless arms.”

She glanced up at him through her lashes. “Yeah, it worked for several months until…”

“Until you OD’d,” he finished almost in a whisper. His throat tightened, choking him as he asked, “How close did you come to dying?”

“I had broken ribs from the CPR that was done to keep me alive until the medics arrived with Narcan.”

Her answer was honest, direct, lacking the coyness from earlier. But it didn’t release the invisible rope of guilt squeezing around his neck and chest. How is it she survived when his best friend didn’t? If he’d managed to find Ty sooner—if he’d acted on the signs that Ty was slipping further and further under the spell of heroin and not caring how much he took as long as he got high—would his best friend still be here today? If he’d just watched him closer, taken away his needles, would it have made a difference?

If he’d accepted Ty’s invitation to go back to his apartment that night to get high with him, would things have turned out differently? Would he have been able to call 911 and save him like the medics had done with Rebecca? Or would he have followed his best friend like he’d always done, even into death?

He squeezed his eyes shut to block out all the scenarios racing through his mind, but the guilt didn’t ease. And the only solution he could find was in the seductive voice inside that beckoned him to relapse into his old habits. One hit was all he’d need to quiet the anguish, the doubt, the pain.

Sweat beaded along his hairline as he battled the familiar demons. Panic raced along his veins like an electrical current, setting every nerve on edge. He balled his hands into fists, fighting the growing urge to give in.

And then a cool hand covered his, pulling him from the whirlpool that threatened to drag him under.

He opened his eyes to find Rebecca watching him with worry etched around the corners of her normally smiling mouth. A sober sense of understanding laced her words as she said, “I know it’s hard, but don’t give in to it, Ethan.”

He yanked his hand back. “What the fuck do you know?”

“I’ve been there, remember?” She retreated to her side of the table. “Tell me what just happened, and maybe I can help you through it.”

It rankled his insides that she thought he needed her help. He alone was the one who’d decided to come clean. He’d made it through detox alone. And he’d be able to overcome the craving alone, too. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

He fished a few bills out of his wallet and threw them on the table before grabbing his helmet and stomping out the door. He was done with this crap.

“Stop it right there,” a stern female voice called after him.

He drew to a stop a split second before Rebecca grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “What is your problem?” she asked, her body rigid with anger.

“Maybe you’re my problem.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” She rammed her finger into the center of his chest as she drove each point home, backing him into the alley between the café and its neighbor. “You’re so angry at the world that you’re willing to blame everyone for your problems but yourself.”

He’d been brought up to never strike a woman, but she came pretty damned close to pushing enough of his buttons to make him consider shoving her out of his way. Instead, he drew up every inch of his height so he towered over her and dropped his voice to issue a low, sinister warning. “And that’s where you’re wrong.”

But instead of cowering, she held her ground, her face inches from his. “Then prove it.”

Intimidation wasn’t working with her, and for the wildest second, he fought the urge to kiss her. Maybe that would shock her enough to leave him alone. But he kept his arms at his sides, his eyes locked in the staring match they’d entered. “You first.”

“Fine. I don’t know what your story is because you won’t share it with me, but Gary knew enough about you to think I’d be able to help, and I trust his judgment.”

“You want me to open up, and yet you purposely evaded several of my questions in there. How do you expect me to trust you when you obviously don’t trust me?” He turned on his heel and made it three steps before she called out his name. His mind told him to keep walking, but something else made him halt.

“You’re right,” she said, and his defenses cracked. He’d been so ready to say the hell with this, but with two little words, she’d managed to temper the rage boiling inside him.

She approached him slowly, circling around him at arm’s reach like she expected him to take a swing at her if she got too close. Her face remained wary as she studied him. “Can I trust you?”

He drew a breath into his lungs and held it while he weighed the cost of listening to another word from her. So far, she’d managed to get under his skin more than any other woman he’d ever known—in both good ways and bad ways. And if he opened the door to her, she’d keep invading his personal life until she knew all his secrets.

But if he held one of her secrets, he could use it as leverage for when she got too close.

“You can trust me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the pedestrians on the sidewalk behind them before pushing even further into the alley. The smell of rotting garbage wafted around them, but she seemed oblivious to it. “Have you heard of Shore Hotels?”

“Who hasn’t?” He’d stayed in his fair share of the luxury hotel chain’s rooms when he was touring.

“My great-grandfather started them.”

“You’re Becca Shore?” Her confession set off a chain of recognition that unfolded like a clap of thunder. Images of a blond, tanned, partying heiress who frequently graced the tabloids a few years ago flashed before him. They seemed so at odds with the calm woman in front of him, but when he looked closer, he recognized her face. It was a bit fuller, and she’d traded the bronzed glow for a flawless ivory complexion, but the eyes were the same.

She ran her fingers through her dark hair, one side of her mouth quirking up in a half smile. “Would you like to see my driver’s license?”

“No, I believe you.” And more important, he finally understood why Gary had suggested she help him out until he had a sponsor. If anyone knew about trying to stay clean while under the pressures of fame, it would be her. “So what happened to you?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, her spine stiffening. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I couldn’t open up a gossip rag without reading something about you, and then—bam!—you disappeared. What happened to the army of paparazzi that used to follow you around and catch you with your underwear missing?”

“After I OD’d, I purposely made sure I disappeared for a while so I could get my shit together. I checked into a treatment center. By the time I left there, I started caring less about what others thought of me and more about what I thought of myself. I changed my appearance, finished school, got a job, all while flying under the radar.” She shrugged. “It’s kind of nice to be normal for a change.”

“But you’re still a Shore.”

“Yeah, but I’m so boring now, the press leaves me alone. Besides, I don’t think they’d recognize me. You didn’t.”

But did she recognize him? He searched for any sign of recognition, but saw nothing. Either she was completely clueless or completely unfazed by his celebrity status. It didn’t matter, judging by the way his shoulders unknotted after learning who she was. Even if she did know, he doubted she’d go blabbing to the press about him.

“So does that help you any?” she asked.

“Loads.”

“Then I’ll see you next week?”

“Maybe.” Time to leave before she started prying into his personal life again.

She caught his arm and stopped him. “Please.”

Such a simple word, and yet it was strange to witness a wealthy heiress say it. “Why?”

“Because I want to help you any way I can. But I can’t unless you let me. Even if the meetings aren’t your thing, I’m still here if you need someone to talk to.” She released his arm and took a step back toward the café. “I’d better go retrieve that slice of Sacher-torte before someone else does.”

Part of him longed to follow her back into the café and spill his guts to her over another slice of cake, but both fear and pride held him back. He wasn’t ready to trust her.

Not yet.

But he would be willing to consider taking her out for coffee again next week, if only to hear more about how she managed to dodge the press all these years and move on with her life.

Chapter Three

Becca drummed her pen on her thigh as she stood against the wall in the conference room. It was Monday, the day when the editor-in-chief of Moderne magazine, Elaine Halpern, listened to story ideas from her staff and either approved them or shot them down. As an assistant, Becca was required to take notes and research the articles for the staff writers. She wasn’t allowed to pitch story ideas.

But that didn’t stop her.

“How about a story on how the VA is falling short on women’s health issues?” she asked.

Elaine shook her head. “Too serious for our readers. Next.”

Becca gritted her teeth and zoned out. Everything she suggested was “too dark” or “too serious” for their readers. What kind of demographics were they catering to, anyway? Based on the insipid material she was asked to research each week, she wondered if their readers cared about anything other than fashion and sex.

“That sounds like a great idea, Hilde. Rebecca can look up some info for you.”

Her attention snapped back to the meeting the second she heard Elaine say her name. Too bad she missed what she was supposed to research. She tried to stay focused as the writers tossed out a few more ideas before the meeting ended, her mind growing more numb with each one that was approved. Why couldn’t I have gotten a job with Time or Newsweek? Why Moderne?

Because it was the only place that offered me a job.

Everyone else still saw her as Becca Shore, the strung-out party girl. Just another obstacle to overcome on the way to becoming a respected journalist.

Her morning latte mingled with her bitterness to form an acid that gnawed at the inside of her stomach. She closed her eyes and focused on the positives before the bitterness erupted into a “fuck it all” scene.

I’ve got one foot in the door, which is better than where I was before.

I’m gaining insight into how the magazine publishing world works.

I’m making contacts and building my resume.

I can use this experience to help me later.

A Zen-like sensation surrounded her with each positive thought, followed by a calm acceptance. It was only the sound of her name that pulled her back to reality.

Hilde, one of the staff writers, stood in front of her. She was sleek and sophisticated in her late thirties, her hair perfectly highlighted and never out of place, and her face showed the benefits of her regular Botox injections. The meeting had adjourned, and the other writers were filing out the room. “Sleeping on the job?”

“No, just brainstorming ideas.”

“Good, because I’ll need your help.” Hilde beckoned her to follow her out of the conference room. “By the way, you have some balls pitching story ideas as an assistant.”

“I have to start somewhere,” she replied with a shrug. “It’s not like I’m going to get fired for suggesting something.”

“But it’s not scoring you any points with the other writers.”

Becca glanced around the office and caught a couple of disapproving glares that backed Hilde’s warning. “What are they worried about? It’s not like Elaine ever accepts any of my ideas anyway.”

“Just offering you a piece of friendly advice.” Hilde leaned in and lowered her voice. “Between you and me, though, I find your ideas thought provoking, even if they aren’t right for this magazine. You keep searching for good stories like that, maybe you can end up at a place that appreciates your enthusiasm.”

If only…

“You mean you don’t appreciate me now?” she teased back.

“I’ll appreciate you even more if you can help me research these topics.” She flipped open her notebook. “Article one: How to take the perfect selfie.”

Becca bit back a groan and scribbled the topic down. “I’m on it.”

“Great, and when you’re done with that, you can help me with the article on holiday makeup trends. But first, I’d love a latte from downstairs. You know how I like it.” Hilde walked off without another word.

Becca clenched her shoulder blades together and repeated her positives list from earlier before heading down to the coffee stand.

Once she fetched the venti, double-shot, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte with no foam for Hilde, Becca settled into her cubicle and popped her ear buds in. Music from her iPod Shuffle filled her ears and drowned out the chatter around her. A search of the Internet found tons of tips on taking selfies and plunged her into a world of camera angles, expressions, filters, and cropping techniques.

She was nearing the end of what she hoped would be enough information when the hard, driving beat of one of Ravinia’s Rejects’ songs came on. She sat back and bobbed her head in time with the music and was instantly transported back to the carefree days where she’d dance all night to songs like it at a club, drink in hand, one hit away from bliss.

The familiar craving flared in the back of her mind. No matter how long she’d been clean, she’d always remember how good it felt to get high. She curled her fingers around the armrests of her chair until the craving faded. Thankfully, tonight was her NA meeting. Just knowing it existed helped her push past the memory and move forward.

The song was ending by the time her fingers were back on the keyboard, but instead of continuing to research her article, she entered “Ravinia’s Rejects” into the search field. At the top of the list were articles about the tragic death of the lead guitarist, Tyler Bransford, last month. Most of the news out there speculated that the band had broken up, but there was still talk about them releasing some of the material they’d been recording when he died.

She clicked on one of the articles citing the cause of death as a heroin overdose, and her breath left her in a mournful sigh. Such a waste of talent. She followed it up with a prayer of thanks that she hadn’t suffered the same fate and continued reading.

The article mentioned that Ethan Kelly, the lead singer, had checked into a rehab facility shortly after Ty’s death and hadn’t been seen since. She stared at his picture, noting his long black hair and stormy gray eyes, and was struck by the nagging sensation that he looked familiar. At first, she laughed it off since she’d been a fan of the band since their debut album, but the more she looked at the picture, the stronger the sensation became.

She clicked on the picture to enlarge it. A knot twisted her stomach, and the hair on her arms rose. A few clicks later, she’d loaded the picture into an editing program and removed his hair. Her breath hitched when she saw the man scowling back at her on the screen.

Shit!

No wonder Gary had asked her to be Ethan’s sponsor.

He was Ethan Kelly.

***

Becca hurried down the crowded sidewalk, the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach hours later. It was one thing to know she’d been asked to sponsor a man who needed help. It was another thing when the man was a rock god she’d worshipped since she was a teenager.

Please don’t let me turn into a blathering idiot around him.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t rubbed shoulders with celebrities before. She’d grown up surrounded by actors, designers, models, and musicians. But with a few exceptions, they were mostly her parents’ friends, not hers. And even during her party days, she’d never actually met someone she completely idolized.

Get over it, Becca. You’re not a teenager anymore. Besides, if you fawn all over him like some crazed fan, he’ll run away and relapse.

That stopped her in her tracks. More than anything, she needed to watch what she said and how she acted around him. He’d been so closed off about himself. If he even caught a whiff that she knew who he was, he’d be gone before she could stop him. And if he ended up like his band mate…

Guilt quieted her giddiness and sobered her to the reality of the situation. She’d been in his shoes. She knew what it was like to want to disappear from the press long enough to get herself together. And she would support his decision to do the same.

She resumed the quick pace of her fellow New Yorkers, focusing instead on ways to reassure Ethan his secret was safe with her without bringing it up. When she got to the church where the meetings were held, she turned to go inside without paying any attention to the streets around her.

“Hey, Bec,” a man called from the curb.

She spun around to find Ethan still straddling his motorcycle, even though the engine was off. He pulled off his helmet and approached her. “I was waiting for you.”

“Y–you were?” she stuttered, and a wave of heat rose along the back of her neck. She locked her knees to keep from swooning like some silly fan-girl. Geez, Becca, snap out of it.

The smile he gave her did little to slow the frantic beating of her heart. He’d always seemed dangerous. A little rough around the edges. But that one rare flash of his pearly whites turned her insides to goo. “I don’t dare go in there alone.”

“Oh, yeah.” He was just interested in her as a support system, not as anything more. After the disappointment ebbed, she realized that was probably a good thing. Knowing the boundaries that were in place would keep her from crossing the lines.

But as she got a full view of the way his jeans molded his ass, her thoughts went from responsible sponsor to lust-filled woman. Even if he weren’t a bad-boy rock star, she’d still love to get him out of those jeans. Still, she needed to put that aside. If she could get over heroin, she could certainly keep her desire for Ethan Kelly in check.

“Nice parking spot,” she quipped in an attempt to keep the mood light.

“Lucked out,” he replied without turning back.

And they were back to the minimal responses. Perhaps it was for the best.

The meeting was shorter than usual tonight since Gary had brought in a speaker. Not that she was paying much attention. Ethan was proving to be too much of a distraction. She’d been around some of the sexiest men alive like Ari’s brother, Gabe, but none of them left her on edge like Ethan did.

She sat straighter in her chair, trying to keep her attention on the speaker instead of the man sitting next to her. It’s all because he’s someone you’ve admired for years, and you haven’t gotten laid in four months. Just a bad combination of a crush and a dry spell. Nothing more.

Then she made the mistake of glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with that intense, brooding gaze that made her nipples harden.

But damn, what a fantasy that would be to spend the night with him.

She turned away with an exasperated sigh and did her best to ignore him for the rest of the meeting. By the time Gary got back on the podium to thank the speaker, she’d almost forgotten about Ethan.

Of course, that would be the moment he chose to rush out of the room.

Damn it! She offered an apologetic smile to Gary and chased after Ethan.

He was already on his bike and strapping on his helmet by the time she caught up to him.

“What’s the rush?” she asked.

“I don’t do prayer.” He revved up the engine in an angry growl that added emphasis to the angst underlying his reply.

This she could handle. She’d spent most of the week preparing to handle the angry Ethan, and putting her plan into action was just what she needed to clear out the haze of desire. “Fair enough.”

He released the throttle and tilted his head to the side. “What? No questions? No trying to get me to reveal why?”

She shook her head. Last week had taught her that he’d only volunteer information when he was ready. Questions only made things worse. But now she understood why.

He sat back on his bike, his brows drawing together like she’d just stumped him.

Thirty seconds of uneasy silence passed between them before she proceeded to the next step in her plan. “I’m going to get some cake and coffee. You’re welcome to join me.”

She turned to go toward Gitta’s café when a gloved hand grabbed her wrist.

“I can give you a ride,” he offered. “That is, if you’re not too scared.”

She chuckled. “What makes you think that?”

“I like to go fast.” Behind his challenge lay a hint of flirtation.

A delicious tingle rippled up her spine. “So do I.”

“Prove it.” He reached behind him for the spare helmet and shoved it in her hands.

She chewed her bottom lip while she ran her hands over the smooth fiberglass. Could she keep it together while they whipped through the streets of Manhattan, her arms wrapped around his waist, her thighs gripping his? Talk about the ultimate foreplay, even if it was only for a few blocks.

But on the other hand, if she could get him to join her at the café, then maybe she could also make some headway on his recovery. She slipped the helmet on. “You’re on.”

A minute later, she had secured her messenger bag across her chest and climbed onto the seat behind him. Even through the thick leather of his jacket, she could feel his lean, hard muscles.

“Hold on,” he shouted a split second before pulling out into traffic.

The speed awakened the long-dormant sense of exhilaration she’d buried years ago when she’d given up her wild lifestyle. She resisted the urge to raise her arms in the air and shout with joy. Instead, she kept her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, leaning her body from side to side as they weaved through the lanes. The cool autumn air cut through her clothes as they sped along the street, and she nuzzled closer to him, drawing in the warm scents of cologne and leather. The ride would be over before she wanted it to end, but for those few precious moments, she savored the freedom he offered her.

***

Ethan’s groin throbbed by the time he pulled into a parking spot near the café. What the fuck had he been thinking, inviting Becca for a ride? It was bad enough that she kept ambushing his thoughts as he lay in bed every night. But to feel her body pressed against his, to witness the fearless way she accepted his challenge and rode with him, to hear the excited hitch of her breath with every turn—it all made him harder than a high school kid discovering porn for the first time.

She hopped off his bike and removed her helmet. The ride had tousled her hair so she looked more like a sex kitten, and another jolt of desire shot straight to his dick.

“That was fun,” she said with a grin and handed the spare helmet back to him, “but next time, I’ll drive and you can ride bitch.”

“Like hell you will.” He strapped the spare to the back of his bike, thankful for the few seconds the mindless task gave him to allow the ache in his crotch to lessen. By the time he was done, he could climb off his bike without wincing.

He found Becca drooling in front of the dessert case again when he entered the café. “So many yummy choices,” she murmured.

“But I see they don’t have your Sacher-torte tonight.”

“Doesn’t matter. There’s still plenty to choose from.” She pointed to a tray full of little pink square cakes. “Punschkrapfen.” Then to a cherry strudel. “Weichselstrudel.”

Her obvious love for desserts lifted the dark mood that had seized control of him during the meeting, and he caught himself laughing. “Why do I feel like I need to say gesundheit after each of those things?”

She elbowed him and gave him a wry smile before turning her attention back to the dessert case. “I think I’ll go with the Dobostorte tonight.”

“Very good,” Gitta said from behind the counter. “And anything for you?”

“Just a coffee.”

He joined Becca at a corner table that was hidden from most of the café, noting the way she craned her neck to check out the rest of the room behind him. “Have your whereabouts been discovered?” he teased.

“No, I was more worried about y—” Her mouth snapped shut, but not before he figured out the last word.

The muscles along his back locked. “And why would you be worried about me?”

She bit her lip and combed her fingers through her hair, never meeting his gaze. “You seem pretty protective of your privacy, that’s all. And I want to make sure you can enjoy a cup of coffee without being disturbed.”

The tension rounded his shoulder and spread to his gut. “Is there something I need to know?”

The tone of his voice turned accusing, but if someone had told her who he was, he was done with this NA bullshit.

She finally looked at him with guileless blue-green eyes and slowly shook her head. “You know who I am, and you know how hard I guard my privacy. I just want to do the same for you.”

His stomach unknotted, but he still couldn’t completely relax. Something had changed from last week, and for a moment, he was tempted to ask her if she wanted to get back on his bike and ride until the sun came up. Even with the blue balls it threatened to give him, he preferred that over what hung in the air between them.

Gitta brought their order to their table, and Becca dove into her cake. “You didn’t get anything to eat?”

“I’m not much of a sweets person.”

“I could tell that, but I figured you might be game for the sour cherry strudel.”

“Sour cherry?”

“Um-hmm,” she said before she swallowed a mouth full of her cake. “You seem like the sour type.”

So they were back with the teasing. “Do I? You, on the other hand, are definitely all about the sweet.”

“As you can tell by my ass.”

He leaned over to study the shape of her thighs and how they vanished into a very squeezable ass. “Nothing wrong with it as far as I can tell.”

She choked on her whipped cream–topped hot chocolate. Her face reddened as she struggled to catch her breath. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Are you bothered by it?”

She didn’t answer, but he caught a hint of a smile before she covered her mouth with her coffee mug. “How was your week?”

“It sucked.” He expected her to ask him to elaborate or maybe try to tease out some details why it sucked, but she continued to watch him with the expectant arch of her eyebrows without saying a word.

When the silence stretched into a minute, the heat climbing along the base of his spine forced him to shift in his seat. He turned away before she saw how uneasy he’d become from such a simple question.

Sucked didn’t begin to describe his week. Between struggling to find the music without giving in to his muse and dealing with the constant phone calls from his mother and older brother Adam, he could feel the cracks forming in his thin shell of sobriety. He couldn’t sleep, not without waking up in a cold sweat and wishing he had a bag of Sweet Dreams. Instead, he was left with visions of finding his best friend wide-eyed in death with a needle still in his arm and a craving to make it all go away.

He ran his hand over the tattoo on his left arm and repeated, “It sucked.”

“You’re nearing the one-month mark, right?” After he nodded, she continued, “It’s like a New Year’s resolution, staying clean. Some people succeed, but most of us hit that first speed bump around the one-month mark. You go through the Super Flu and swear you will never touch the stuff that makes you feel so rotten ever again. You come out feeling renewed by this vow and empowered by whatever drove you to come clean. But little by little, the day-to-day pressure of reality begins to wear on you, and your resolve starts to crumble. The void you once filled with heroin becomes larger and larger until it consumes you. And around the one-month mark, you’re faced with the choice of do I give in and get high, or do I find something else to fill the void?”

She had no idea how fucking accurate she was.

“All of us started using to fill that void, and it’s different for each of us. But once you identify it, then you can come up with ways to fill it without getting high.”

“I doubt sweets will do it for me.”

She gave him a soft laugh that deflected the pessimistic sting of his words. “They don’t do it for me, either.”

“Then what does?”

She set her mug down and stared at the plate. Like last week, she engaged in the repetitive motions of stabbing, smashing, and scraping the cake crumbs with her fork. “For me, it was finding some sort of purpose for my life. I wanted to be more than a spoiled, airhead heiress.”

“And are you now?”

“Depends.” She looked across the table at him, the silent plea in her eyes echoing louder in his mind than any words she’d spoken.

Part of him wanted to bolt from the table, but the rest of him took some small comfort in knowing she understood what he was going through. No one else did. Not his friends. Not his family. Not his agent or producers. The only other person he’d reached out to was his younger brother’s assistant, Sarah, and that was only because she knew the best places to go for detox.

But Becca had been there. She’d gone through this hell and seemed to have her shit together now.

Unlike him.

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, and he leaned forward on the table, his eyes lowered. “Where do I start?”

“At the beginning.”

A single note of bitter laughter rose from his throat. “I started using because my best friend did, and I looked up to him.”

He waited for her to mock him for being a lemming, but instead, she said in a choked voice, “And did he inspire you to come clean, too?”

“Yeah.” Finding Ty dead was the cruelest form of wake-up call he’d ever experienced.

He glanced at her to gauge her reaction and found the same patient plea for him to continue.

They say confession is good for the soul….

He took a deep breath and opened his up to her. “I’d always been more of a dabbler, getting high here and there as needed. My best friend was more of a King Kong user, mixing his daily heroin with something else to achieve different highs. Sometimes it was as simple as smoking it with marijuana. Sometimes it was harder stuff like crack or PCP. Whatever was available at the moment. But until the last few weeks of his life, he still functioned. He showed up to work, and he never, ever bailed on me.”

His voice caught as he added, “That is, until the one morning when he didn’t show up.”

He wasn’t used to a woman with nothing to say, but Becca’s silence rattled him to the core. No questions. No sounds of acceptance or judgment. No movement to or away from him. He had no clue how she was reacting to his story, and he refused to look up from the table to read her face. The frustration mounted inside until it finally erupted with a bang of his fist on the table.

“I was so fuckin’ angry at him,” he admitted. “He’d thrown his life away. Wasted the talent he’d been given. Destroyed everything we’d worked so hard for. At first, all I could feel was rage. Then this ache followed, like he’d taken some part of me with him. And God, it hurt.”

He pressed his hand against the center of his chest where the emptiness still lingered. “Once I experienced that pain, that anger, that sense of abandonment…”

He shook his head as though it would clear the dark emotions swirling inside. Visions of his mother and brothers going through the same hell filled his head like they had in the days following Ty’s death. “I never wanted anyone I cared about to go through that.”

“So you found a reason to get clean,” she said at last.

It wasn’t a question, but he still nodded.

“Then keep holding on to that.” She reached into her purse to pull out some bills before rising from her chair.

He reached out to stop her. The second their hands touched, something changed in the air between them. Or maybe it was just him. He’d been trying so hard to push her away that now that she was leaving, he wanted her to stay. But when he looked up at her, he noticed subtle surprise playing out across her features, from the widening of her eyes to the parting of her lips.

She sank back into her chair, her attention never wavering from him.

And more important, she didn’t try to pry his hand away.

He wasn’t ready to admit he needed her or anyone else, but somehow, confessing everything that had been bottled up inside for the last month eased the burden of guilt that had been weighing him down. Just knowing someone who’d been there was willing to listen and not call him weak or stupid or a lost cause made the darkness seem a little less impenetrable. And that gave him hope that he might succeed.

Yet his tongue refused to form the words to express his gratitude. Instead, what came out was, “I can pay.”

The corners of her mouth rose into a smile that held no pity, no disappointment. If anything, she appeared to be proud of him. “You paid last week.”

She slipped her hand out from under his and went to the counter to pay.

Ethan chugged the last of his coffee and tried to pull himself together. Maybe it was a good thing she was ending the night here. If she let him continue, who knew what else might come out of his mouth. As it was, he’d probably revealed too much about himself. It wouldn’t take her long to put two and two together and figure out who he was.

And yet, oddly enough, he was okay with that. After all, she was Becca Shore. Even if she bore little resemblance to the person she’d been a few years ago, she probably still remembered how important privacy was when trying to stay clean.

He grabbed his helmet and followed her outside. A whiff of her perfume floated past him as she put her jacket back on against the cool autumn air. The scent evoked the memories of how well her body molded against his on the ride over, and a wayward twinge of desire stirred through his veins. “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.

She bit her bottom lip, her pupils growing larger under the glow of the streetlights. Her gaze flickered to his motorcycle and then back to him. She inhaled, her body tightening up with excitement. Then her shoulders slumped as she released her breath. She took a step back and shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m going to have to pass. Besides, the subway’s right over there.”

Her rejection doused the heat in his blood. “I suppose I shouldn’t have offered. The anonymous thing and all.”

“No, it’s not that.” She gripped the shoulder strap of her bag, running her hands up and down it as she stared at the sidewalk. “As much as I’d like to, I know I shouldn’t.”

“Meaning?”

She looked up at him through her lashes long enough for him to see the attraction wasn’t one sided. But she continued to back away. “I’ll see you next week?”

His pride stung. She might have been turned on by him, but not enough for her to forget he was a recovering junkie. Thankfully, though, his wounded pride kept him from showing her how battered it really was. He stiffened his spine and got on his bike. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

He refused to let her know how much of a sucker he had grown to be for her company. “Maybe.”

Becca’s lower lip jutted out into a pout that practically invited him to take it between his teeth. However, this wasn’t some simpering trick meant to guilt trip him into saying yes. Based on the deepened furrow above her nose, this was actual bewilderment.

Good. Keep her guessing.

But when she turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, something shifted inside. His confidence fell like a trap door, plunging him into the pit of doubt. It dragged him under, surrounding him like quicksand and smothering the fragile hope he’d only recently discovered. His lungs burned for air, and his slick palms slipped off the throttle. She was leaving him alone with his inner demons. A black tunnel narrowed his vision, closing in on him.

He cried her name out in desperation.

She turned around, only few feet farther than she’d been. Not the miles his panic had imagined her to be. “Yes?” she asked, her voice rising with worry.

His heart rattled so hard a tremble shook his fingers, but the tightness in his chest eased enough to allow him to gulp in a breath of relief. She answered him when he called, just like she said she would. “Does it ever go away?”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Her eyes darkened with regret. “No, but it gets easier with time.”

“But there’s no cure? No way to be completely free of it?”

She shook her head. “But remember what I said about filling the void with something else.”

“And what if there is nothing else?”

Instead of fading in the distance, the click of her heels on the cement came closer. A set of fingers ran along his jaw and forced him to turn his head toward her. “Do you really believe that?”

The doubt grew louder, whispering in the back of his mind that he was nothing without his muse. “Do you?”

“No,” she said in a hushed voice.

He longed to lift her hand to his cheek and press his head against her chest, soaking in all the comfort she could give him. But his pride wouldn’t let him reveal how fucked up he was inside. He jerked his chin in the opposite direction and yanked on his helmet.

“Ethan, I meant what I said about calling me if you need to talk to someone. Don’t give in to the doubt, the despair. It does get easier, and I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

He revved up the engine and rode away before she discovered he was beyond help.

Chapter Four

Ethan placed his fingers on the familiar piano keys and willed them to create a melody. Growing up, he’d always found solace in music. Whenever he’d been frustrated with school or teased by his brothers, he could always sit in front of his mother’s piano and release his angst through the dark and dreamy sonatas of Beethoven to the bright, bouncing beats of Gershwin. As he got older, he traded the classics for his own creations, expanding from the piano to his guitar. Whatever the song, he found peace through playing it.

But that was before music became a double-edged sword. Before playing what made him happy became what the record label would release. Before the pressure was laid on him to continue to write songs people would pay to hear. Before the thing that fed his soul only fed his bank account.

He banged his fist on the keys with a dissonant crash of notes and got up from the piano. It was eleven o’clock, a time when most normal people were getting ready to crawl into bed, but a nervous energy flowed through his blood, making sleep nearly impossible for the last three nights. The seed of doubt that had taken root as he left Becca the other night had bloomed into a dark jungle that threatened to swallow him whole.

He paced along the floor, the heel of his hand pressed against his temple. “Find something to fill the void. Find something to fill the void.”

Once upon a time, that had been music, but now, that had been poisoned by heroin. He hadn’t written any songs over the last three years without getting high. And no matter how hard he tried to go back to the way things had been, the craving proved stronger.

The only way to find peace was to give into his muse.

A snarl of frustration rolled up from the base of his throat, and he punched the brick wall. The pain in his hand dulled the ache in his heart. Now he understood why Ty could never give up his addiction, why his best friend never wanted to get clean and sober. When he was high, nothing mattered but the music, and the music calmed his soul. When he was high, he didn’t hear the doubt. When he was high, he lived in a world of ignorant bliss, never knowing how close he actually was to losing it all.

“Find something to fill the void,” he repeated.

He pulled Becca’s number from the back of his wallet. His hand trembled as he stared at the numbers. All he had to do was call her, to hear her tell him he could get through this. His heart pounded as he imagined what he’d tell her. He was cracking up. Weak. A failure.

I’m not ready for that. I can get through this.

He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and tossed it into the wastebasket filled with the shredded sheets of half-hearted compositions from the last three days.

If he couldn’t play the music himself, then maybe he could find solace in listening to someone else play.

He grabbed his motorcycle and headed downstairs.

***

The Tin Lily hadn’t changed much in the last past five years. It was the venue to play for rising rock groups, and the quivering in his gut as he walked through the front door reminded Ethan of the first time Ravinia’s Rejects had been asked to take the stage. The East Village bar was loud and packed with a crowd that would either dance along with the music if it rocked or physically force the musicians off the stage if they sucked.

When he’d stepped up to the microphone that first time, he wasn’t sure how the set would end for him and his friends, but Ty had given him a cocky grin and a wink before shredding the opening riffs of the song. Between the power of the music and the confidence Ty had instilled in him, he’d been able to open his mouth and give the performance of a lifetime. Two months later, that very song was sitting at the top of the rock charts, and Ravinia’s Rejects was the band everyone was talking about.

Tonight, though, the vibe was much more subdued. A small group of dedicated rockers bobbed their heads up and down to the beat of the music, but the song played by the eighties cover band fell flat for him. He ordered a bottle of water at the bar and hoped the next song would be more inspiring.

But instead of getting lost in the music, he found himself picking it apart. A missed note. A wrong chord. A moment when the band was out of sync. And more than a dozen times when the lead singer was off pitch. No wonder they were just a cover band playing the late show on a Wednesday night.

He finished his water and was about to leave when a burly giant of a man blocked the path to the door. He cracked his knuckles in a way that dared Ethan to challenge him and said, “Someone wants to see you.”

A slew of four-lettered words rolled through Ethan’s mind as the moving mound of muscle led him up the balcony to a lone man leaning on the railing. A spotlight flashed on his face, and Ethan immediately drew to a stop.

Fuck!

If there was ever a time to avoid Ace, it was now.

The man came over to them, a big grin on his brown face. “Ethan Kelly, I thought that was you. I’d never forget that jacket of yours.” Ace pulled him into a chest bump. “Long time no see, bro.”

“Hi, Ace,” he muttered out of mere politeness.

Ace’s grin never faltered as he dismissed his henchman. “So, what brings you in tonight?”

In the past, that question would’ve been answered by asking what the dealer had on hand. Ace was a product of the hodgepodge of the Bronx—part black, part Dominican, and a mix of just about everything else. His global connections meant he had the best shit in Manhattan, and he’d grown rich supplying the rich and famous.

Ethan kept his attention fixed on the stage. “Just came to hear some music.”

“Bad night for that, but you chose a good night to run into me. I just got a load of some awesome brown sugar.”

Sweat prickled along the back of Ethan’s neck. In the past, he would’ve taken Ace up on his offer, taken it back to his hotel room, and let reality slip away for a few hours. But not tonight. He squeezed the railing to keep from giving into the craving. “Sorry, Ace, but I’m not into that anymore.”

A look of shock slackened the dealer’s features, followed by a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I heard about Ty. Sorry he’s gone, man.”

Yeah, I bet you’re sorry. Ty had been one of his biggest clients.

“Then you understand why I’m no longer interested in your goods.” Ethan pushed back from the railing.

“Hold on a minute, bro.” Ace threw his arm around Ethan’s shoulder and pulled him deeper into the balcony’s shadows, his other hand in his pocket. “Let’s talk about this.”

A ripple of fear ran down Ethan’s spine. Despite his friendly demeanor, Ace was not a man to be crossed. And if he was the least bit worried Ethan would rat on him, he wouldn’t even bother with issuing a warning to be silent. He’d personally make sure Ethan wouldn’t say a word to anyone.

But instead of pulling out a knife or a gun, he pulled out a tiny plastic bag with three glassine envelopes in it.

Ethan’s pulse jumped. His brain warned him to leave now before he gave in to temptation, but he was mesmerized by the perfectly portioned hits of heroin.

“Listen, man, I don’t normally do this, but you and Ty have been such good customers that this one can be on the house. And this ain’t some crap, either. This shit is pure enough to sniff, but if you mainline it….” Ace rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and made a mm-mm sound more appropriate for a meal at a four-star restaurant. “Ah, it’s absolute heaven.”

His mouth watered. It sounded so simple, so easy to take Ace up on his offer and use it to get the music flowing again. One hit would be all he needed. One hit wouldn’t put him in danger of an overdose.

But one hit would put him back to square one.

He buried his hands in his pockets to keep from touching it. “Ace, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything, bro. I got you covered.” Ace shoved the bag into Ethan’s back pocket. “And when you need some more, you know how to reach me.”

He wrestled free of the dealer and took a step back toward the stairs. “I won’t need any more.”

Ace laughed again, this time without the nervous vibe. It was hard and mocking. “Say that if it makes you feel better, but you and I both know you’ll be back. Guys like you are nothing without the dope.”

Ace waved him off, and Ethan ran down the stairs and out of the club as quickly as he could. The cool night air bathed the inside of his lungs with every breath he took. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the autumn rain wash away the contamination of the club.

This was his chance to throw away the bag Ace had stuffed into his pocket, but some part of his brain refused to let him. He had it if he absolutely needed it, but he wouldn’t fall back on it. Not yet. He’d give himself a little more time to find the music before surrendering to his dangerous muse.

He rode home, threw the little bag on his coffee table, and stared at it from the sofa until the sky began to lighten.

***

Becca slipped into the empty seat next to Ari at Temple Israel. “Thanks for saving me a seat,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” Ari nodded toward the man and woman seated five rows ahead of them. “Although it might be nice if you sit with your parents.”

“Too late now,” she replied as the rabbi called the congregation together for the start of Rosh Hashanah services.

Becca listened to the prayers and readings she’d grown up hearing every year for as long as she could remember, but this was the third year she’d chosen not to join her family in celebrating the Jewish New Year. Her heart cautioned her about the sin of pride, but there was a reason why she had to cut herself off from her parents. She wasn’t strong enough yet to deal with the void they created inside her. As much as it hurt to avoid them, it was far better than falling back to her old ways of coping with their constant expectations of perfection.

During the silent Amidah, her thoughts wandered to Ethan. She hadn’t heard from him, which was a good thing, but that still didn’t keep her from worrying about him. Before he left Monday night, she could sense the rising desperation in him. Just hearing the pain in his voice when he described the loss of his best friend had her on the brink of tears, and it had taken every inch of willpower not to hold him in her arms and tell him everything would be okay. He was at the point where all recovering addicts were tested, and she offered her own prayer that reminding him of why he quit would be enough to keep him from relapsing.

A chill ran up her arms as she remembered the dark days of her own addiction. She glanced down at the veins in her arm and rubbed them, remembering all the times she’d celebrate finding one large enough to inject. Now they were scarred and shriveled up, a constant reminder of the damage she’d done to herself.

Becca turned her attention to her parents and caught her stepmother looking back at her. Her own mother had died from an overdose when Becca was still an infant, so Claire was the only mother she’d ever known. Her stepmother had spent the last two years trying to repair the gap between Becca and her father, but neither one of them yielded. Their gazes locked, and Becca caught a silent plea for forgiveness. It was so tempting to believe her father wanted to make amends, to make their family whole again. Claire turned away as the rabbi blew the shofar, leaving Becca to mull over the unspoken message. Maybe it would be nice to speak to her parents after services. Maybe they could go to the park afterward for the Tashlich and use it to cast away the pain of the past and begin again.

The idea grew on her as the service continued, but as she was kneeling during the closing prayers, the screen on her phone illuminated with a text message that chased away any thoughts of reconciling with her parents today.

Becca, it’s Ethan. I really need someone to talk to. Now.

She discreetly pulled her phone out of her purse and checked the call log.

Eleven missed calls, all from the same number.

Shit!

She’d had her phone on silent for the prayer services so she wouldn’t be disturbed, but now she risked losing the fragile trust Ethan had given her. She’d said she’d be there for him if he needed her, and she hoped God would understand if she exited Rosh Hashanah services early to help him.

She grabbed her purse and snuck out of the sanctuary, her head lowered until she was out on the street. Then she called him back. “Ethan, it’s Becca.”

“You said you’d answer.” His voice was a growling mix of anger and panic.

She tried to combat it by adding layers of soothing tones to hers. “Yes, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer. I had my phone on silent while I was at the Temple, and I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m here now.”

Silence hung on the line for nearly half a minute, and she prayed that Ethan would forgive her enough to tell her what was wrong.

“I need help,” he said, his voice cracking.

“And I’m willing to do whatever I can to help. Just tell me what you need.”

Another pause, followed by, “Oh, fuck it.”

“No, don’t say that.” She wandered down the familiar sidewalks of 75th Street like a lost tourist, meandering from side to side and trying not to get run over. “Please, just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

A sarcastic snort of laughter answered her. “What about the whole anonymous thing?”

Sure. Throw that back in my face when you need me. The only reason she’d declined a ride back to her place Monday night was because she feared she’d invite him upstairs and totally screw over their relationship by screwing him. “Fine, we can meet in a public place. How about Gitta’s café?”

“Sorry, but I don’t think sweets are going to help me. Face it, Becca, I’m fucked up, and there’s no hope for me.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Ethan.” Anger sharpened her words and made her wish he was standing next to her so she could smack some sense into him. “And don’t you dare believe that, either.”

“You don’t know me, and you certainly don’t know what I’m dealing with.”

“Bullshit. I’ve been there—remember?” When he didn’t reply right away, she remembered the plastic bag full of breadcrumbs in her pocket and formed a new plan. “What part of the city are you in right now?”

“Hell’s Kitchen.”

Of course he’d be there. It was one of the up-and-coming areas of Manhattan with several recording studios nearby. She did a mental check for places along the river where he could join her. “Can you meet me at the end of Pier 84?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s public, and we can talk.” She hailed a taxi. Traffic wasn’t too bad right now, and the last thing she wanted to do was lose the connection to him while in the subway.

“Fine.” He hung up on her just as a taxi pulled up to the curb.

She gave the driver directions, her pulse fluttering in her ears the entire time.

Please let him be there.

And please don’t let me be too late.

Chapter Five

Ethan stared into the Hudson River with a pair of sunglasses on, ignoring the people who milled around him. The rain from last night had dried up, but gray clouds still lingered overhead. They fit his mood.

Sometime after dawn, he’d managed to get a few hours of fitful sleep. He awoke tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, gasping for air and haunted by dark dreams. The craving was stronger than ever. It called to him like a siren’s song that erased any rational thoughts. Not even a cold shower could quiet it.

The bag of heroin remained untouched on his coffee table, seducing him with promises to make everything better. But every time he found himself about to give into temptation, he glanced down at Ty’s name on his arm. The memories of finding Ty dead assaulted him, growing stronger and stronger until he doubled over and let out a scream of frustration.

That was when he broke down, fished out Becca’s number from the trash, and called her. It was better to admit he was weak than to end up like Ty.

But she didn’t answer, and the world dropped out from underneath him.

Now, an hour later, he was standing at the end of Pier 84, wondering if she would stand him up. He’d brought the bag with him. It mocked him from his back pocket while he waited. If she came, he’d ask her to dispose of it so he wouldn’t be tempted any longer.

And if she didn’t show…

He closed his eyes and wondered if taking a hit would ease his sense of abandonment. It would certainly cure his inability to play music. And maybe that would be the best course of action for now.

He spun around and collided with a woman, knocking her to the ground. It took him only a second to recognize her distinctive blue-green eyes. He knelt down to help her up. “Shit, Becca, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said, even though she winced as she limped to the railing. “I’d called out your name, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “My fault for running full speed toward you in high heels, but I was just so worried about you.”

Something inside him did a one-eighty, and the insatiable craving that had plagued him for days retreated to the far corner of his mind.

She’d come.

She cared about him.

She was here to help him, and he wasn’t alone.

And knowing that took him to a level of humble gratitude he’d never known.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

“Of course.” She turned her attention to the river. “So, what happened?”

He pulled the bag out of his pocket and showed it to her.

Horror, panic, and disbelief wash over her features. “Ethan, why?”

The disappointment in her voice rubbed his pride the wrong way and raised his hackles. “I haven’t touched it.”

“But you have it.”

He tucked it back into his pocket. “Just wanted you to know why I called.”

“So I could watch you get high again?”

“How do you know I wasn’t inviting you to join me?” he snapped back, his words laced with sarcasm. “And before you say anything else, I didn’t buy it. I didn’t seek it out. It was given to me last night.”

Her eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t tell if her resentment was directed toward him or the person who’d given it to him. “By whom?”

“You wouldn’t know him.”

“Ace, right?”

His jaw fell slack. “How did you know?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “He always had the good stuff.” She held onto the railing and rocked back on her heels. “Is he still hanging out at the Tin Lily on Wednesdays?”

If he’d ever doubted her past as an addict, her knowledge of Ace’s hangouts confirmed it. “Yeah, he’s still there. I’m surprised the cops haven’t caught him, predictable as he is.”

“That’s because he has too many important people in his pocket.” She let go of the railing and ambled along the waterfront, Ethan following her. “That still doesn’t explain what you were doing there last night.”

“I went to listen to the music.”

“Sure, and men read Playboy for the articles.”

He darted in front of her, stopping her until she looked up at him. “No, really, I went for the music. And maybe to relive a few good memories.”

She pursed her lips like she was trying to assess him on her bullshit-o-meter. “Take off your sunglasses,” she ordered.

“Why?”

“Because I want to look into your eyes when you’re answering me.” When he complied, she asked, “Why did you go there last night?”

“To listen to the music,” he repeated.

She came closer until her face was inches from his. Her hawk-like eyes picked him apart, looking for some sign of a lie, but all he could think about was how bright the green rings around the pupils were today.

She backed down. “You’re going to have to start avoiding those kinds of places.”

“Trust me—lesson learned.” He moved aside so they could continue walking. “Ace caught me in a bad moment and said some things that pushed me to the edge.”

“But not over it.”

He paused and let her assessment sink in. He’d lost count of how many times he almost opened up that bag, but he hadn’t. He’d been strong enough to resist. “Yeah, but not over it.”

It still didn’t change the fact he was caught in limbo as far as his music went.

Becca looped her arm through his and resumed their stroll. “So you mentioned you were at a bad moment. Care to elaborate?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

He looked down to where their arms entwined. And surprisingly, he liked it. He liked the weight of her arm against his. He liked the way her hips brushed against his thigh when she walked. He liked the subtle halo of her perfume that he inhaled every time the breeze caught it. But most important, he liked that she wasn’t afraid to invade his personal space, and she didn’t back down when he tried to push her away. If she’d been anyone else, he would’ve kept pushing. But walking arm in arm with her filled him with a momentary serenity he’d been missing for so many years.

“I’m a musician.”

“I know,” she replied as though he’d said he was something more commonplace, like a schoolteacher.

But did she know who he was? Did it even matter?

After a moment’s hesitation, he decided not to bring his fame up. After all, she’d been famous—or infamous—herself. “I haven’t been able to play since my best friend died.”

“Can’t play, as in you forgot how to strum a guitar?”

“No.” Even though it wasn’t far from the truth based on the clumsy way his fingers had been forming chords lately. He pulled his arm free and turned back to the railing. “I met my best friend at a music camp when I was twelve. He was a year older than me and represented so much of what I wanted to be. Fun. Outgoing. Crazy fucking talented. The guy could touch a guitar and spontaneously compose magic. So naturally, I looked up to him, and it wasn’t long before we were best friends.”

He stared into the murky water of the Hudson River, remembering all the fun they’d had as kids. “One thing led to another, and when he suggested we start a band with a couple of other guys in the neighborhood, I agreed. By the time we’d graduated from high school, we were already playing the local scene and decided to hit the road. Tin Lily was the venue that I always associated with making it to the big time. Once we played there, we became more than just some kids with a garage band. We were somebody.”

“And is that what you meant by reliving some good memories?”

He nodded, but the burning along his left arm reminded him that those memories were now tainted. “But there was a dark side to our success. It didn’t start out that way, you know? We were both just a couple of stupid teenagers who would light up a joint after practice. We weren’t baked the entire time, but when we got high, that’s when we wrote the songs that made us famous. And as our fame grew, so did the pressure to keep writing those kinds of songs.

“He started experimenting with the harder stuff first. A couple of Percocets here, a whiff of coke there. And like a dumbass, I tried whatever he offered me. The night we played Tin Lily was the first night I shot up.”

He expected her to smack him on the back of his head like his mother did when he’d admitted to doing something stupid, but she stood next to him, mirroring his posture as she looked out over the river. “So you always associated getting high with the celebration of that night.”

“Yeah. But later on that night, we composed our best song ever. Then one thing led to another, and before I knew what was happening, I discovered I couldn’t write music without getting high first.”

“Heroin became your muse,” she said matter-of-factly, and a wave of relief flowed through him.

She understood him better than he thought she would.

“Yeah. But when it became my muse, it robbed me of the simple pleasures of playing. Now, every time I pick up a guitar or sit down at the piano, the craving consumes me.”

“And I suppose asking you to stop being a musician is out of the question.”

He tried to picture spending the rest of his life doing something different, but it would be like having the joy robbed from his soul. “No, I love music too much to quit playing.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“Maybe, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t been able to play since he died.”

“Why?”

His stomach churned, and sweat coated his palms. She was treading on delicate ground here and digging up issues he wasn’t ready to face yet. “I’ve already told you why.”

She picked up on his unease and threw it back at him. Gone was the quiet listener from the other night. In her place stood a mirror reflecting the cold, hard truth. “No, you’ve told me that you were able to write music that got you to Tin Lily without ever touching heroin, and that you were a dumbass for trying whatever he offered you.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

“He’s gone because he was a selfish asshole who only thought of himself.”

Her accusation touched a nerve in him, and he curled his fingers into his palms. How many times had he thought the exact same thing over the last month? And yet, he felt obligated to defend Ty. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

“Some best friend. Let me guess—he was the one who gave you wings?”

His spine grew ramrod straight with annoyance. “Shut up, Bec.”

But she didn’t back down. Even though she never touched him, she stripped away his defenses. “Did you get sick to your stomach when he sank the needle into your vein? Did you cry like a baby from the head rush?”

His voice rose to a growl. “Shut. Up.”

“Why did you do it, Ethan? Were you so desperate for his approval that you agreed to do anything he suggested? I bet he laughed his ass off when you were so high you couldn’t even get up to take a piss.”

Each question inched his anger level up a notch not because she was wrong, but because she was right. His temples throbbed with boiling rage that exploded with him shouting, “I said shut the fuck up.”

As soon as he saw people around them staring at him, the blood rushed from his head, leaving a chill of fear behind. Jesus, he was cracking up. He staggered back a few steps before he turned around and headed back toward the city.

“Ethan, wait!” The click of her high heels on the pavers told him she was following him, but he refused to look back. “I’m sorry.”

He drew to a stop and spun around, pointing his finger at her. “You have some nerve.”

“Why? Because you’re too chickenshit to hear the truth?”

His head started pounding again, this time from the storm of emotions raging inside. He squeezed his temples between his palms, willing it to stop, but the chaos grew stronger. Memories mixed with the craving and blurred his idea of reality until he felt like he was falling into a bottomless abyss.

“Let’s sit down,” a calm voice said over the noise in his head, followed by a gentle touch.

His feet stumbled in the direction she steered him, and he didn’t resist when she guided him down to one of the nearby benches. The cool metal soothed him like ice on a bruise, but what finally brought some semblance of peace was the small hand that held his. The world came back into focus.

Becca squatted in front of him, worry tugging down the corners of her mouth. “Did I push you too far?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice still raw from everything she’d unearthed.

“I only did it to help. I had to do something to erase the rosy glow you associated with getting high. I had to make you see the evil side of it, too. Until you come face to face with the truth, you can never move forward.”

He stared at her hand in his, wondering how she could touch him after learning so much about him. And yet the small gesture was a lifeline that was keeping him from drowning in his guilt and anger.

He filed through the past five years, taking each turning point and putting it in perspective. And when he reached the end, he said, “I wish I’d had the balls to tell him no.”

She ran her thumb over the top of his hand, returning once again to the quiet listener.

He pulled up his sleeve to show her the tattoo with Ty’s name. “I wish I’d said something sooner. Looking back, there were so many times I saw things getting out of control, and if I hadn’t been so scared that I’d ruin our friendship and the band by speaking up…”

His eyes burned, and he blinked back the tears. She’d managed to rip him to the core, but he wasn’t ready to cry in front of everyone on the pier. The emptiness gnawed at his chest. “There are just so many things I wish I’d done differently.”

She nodded and cupped his cheek in her other hand.

This time, he allowed himself to savor the comfort she offered. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched. In and out, he matched her meditative breaths. Within a minute, his pulse had returned to normal, and the tension in his muscles unraveled. “Thanks, Bec.”

“I’m not finished.”

His gut clenched, and he pulled back. She’d already managed to send him to his private hell and brought him back. What more did she have in store?

Her grip held firm around his hand as she rose. “Come with me.”

She led him back to the end of the pier, holding his hand the entire time. When they reached the railing, she pulled out a plastic bag of breadcrumbs from her coat pocket. “Here, take some of these.”

Confusion replaced his trepidation. “Are we going to feed the pigeons or something?”

“No, we’re going to have our own little Tashlich.” She poured some of the crumbs into his palm before grabbing a handful for herself. “It’s a Rosh Hashanah tradition. Every year after morning services, we go to a river and sprinkle these crumbs into the water.”

She demonstrated it to him with a pinch of the crumbs. “At the beginning of the new year, we cast off all our sins from the prior year. These crumbs are meant to represent all our faults, our shortcomings, our mistakes. And one by one, we rid ourselves of that burden while asking for forgiveness so we can start over and become better people.”

She emptied out her palm and turned to him. “Now it’s your turn. Let go of the anger, the guilt, the regret so you can move forward.”

At first, he wanted to laugh and tell her that sprinkling bread crumbs into the Hudson wouldn’t cure him of the emptiness inside, but with every pinch, his mood lightened. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t correct his mistakes. And he couldn’t bring Ty back.

But he could move forward.

His palm was empty before he realized it. “Got some more?”

“Absolutely.” She handed over the bag.

“Good, because I have a whole lot of shit to get off my back.” He tipped the bag over and shook it until the very last crumb fell into the water. Then he watched them flow away while holding her hand.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

He rubbed his chest, noting how the hollowness inside seemed smaller than before. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She stepped back from the railing. “Ready to go?”

He nodded, but there was one more thing he needed to do. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the bag of heroin Ace had given him last night. “I don’t need this anymore.”

He hurled it out into the Hudson. The breeze caught it and whipped it into a few dizzying circles before it hit the water and finally sank beneath the waves.

“If we hear reports of a massive number of fish washing up on shore, we know who to blame,” she teased, but the admiration in her eyes replaced the emptiness he’d harbored inside with a warm glow.

He wanted her to always look at him that way. He wanted to be a man she could be proud of.

She took his hand again as though they were on a date rather than a crisis intervention. “So, do you have any plans for the evening?”

“No, not really.”

“Want to come over to my place?” The blood rushed to his dick at her invitation, but his desire was quickly tempered when she continued, “My roommate and I are having a Rosh Hashanah party with our friends.”

As tempting as it sounded, something in him hesitated. She was willing to tear down the shield of anonymity by bringing him into her personal life, and that opened the door to all types of possibilities, both good and bad. “I’m not Jewish.”

“We’ll let that one slide.”

“Listen, Bec, I appreciate the invitation, but—”

She stopped and turned to him. “But what?”

Indecision paralyzed his tongue. He enjoyed Becca’s company. Probably more than he should, considering relationships were discouraged this early in the recovery process. And the attraction was undeniable. But if he took things too far, presumed too much, he risked losing her support. And he didn’t even want to think about what would happen if one of the guests recognized him.

He rubbed the back of his head. “I—”

“It’s just my friends, Ethan. We’re going to dance, play a few games, eat some food, and have a good time. No pressure.” She lowered her voice and added, “And no worries. They respect my privacy, and they’ll respect yours.”

Suspicion snaked down his spine. It wasn’t the first time she’d hinted that she knew who he was. “So I won’t have to worry about ending up on TMZ?”

She grinned and shook her head. “Now, of course, what happens when you leave my place is a different story, but my friends are cool.”

He almost wanted to laugh at how normal it sounded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hung out with regular people his own age. “Maybe just for an hour or two.”

“Brilliant!” She looped her arm through his, pressing up against him. “Did you bring your bike?”

“Yes.”

“Any chance you’d let me drive it?”

He let out an honest, heartfelt laugh. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” She gave him a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll have to ride bitch again.”

He liked the idea of her riding behind him. Maybe he would even throw in some extra speed around the turns so she’d gasp and hold on even tighter to him. He handed her his spare helmet when they got to his motorcycle. “Where to?”

“Park and 75th.”

“Upscale neighborhood.” He donned his gloves and started the engine.

“Of course. Old money and all that.” She climbed on behind him, her dress rising to expose most of her thighs.

His pants grew uncomfortably tight. Maybe he wouldn’t go so fast around those turns if he wanted to be able to walk without an obvious hard-on when they got there.

Just as he was about to strap on his helmet, she tapped his shoulder. “Oh, by the way, we need to stop and pick up some challah.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As they rode through the streets, he reflected on all the new emotions he was experiencing. Trust. Relief. Desire. Hope. So very different than when he’d arrived at the pier an hour before. And he owed it all to Becca.

But as they got closer to her place, a new goal replaced just staying clean. He was making a fresh start, and if he was lucky, maybe she’d begin to see him as something other than a recovering junkie who needed her help.

Maybe she’d begin to see him as a man worthy of her attention.

Chapter Six

Becca hopped off Ethan’s bike and shivered. The ride had left her bare legs cold and numb, but the excitement of holding him as he expertly weaved his way through the traffic more than made up for it. “That was awesome!”

He turned off the engine and removed his helmet. “If you like my Ducati so much, why don’t you just buy one?”

“Um, it’s not that simple.” She didn’t want to explain that when she’d cut her parents out of her life, they’d cut her off financially. Sure, she had a trust fund, but she didn’t have access to it until she was twenty-five, thanks in part to her history of addiction. That meant any future Ducati purchases were on hold for another two years.

“I’ll be happy to give you a ride whenever you’d like, then.”

A flush of heat rose up her neck into her cheeks. After all the crap she put him through, he was still being generous with her. It had been a dangerous move to switch tactics on him, to turn his pity party into a finger-pointing session. He could’ve told her to fuck off and walked away. But when he’d shown her those packets of heroin, she knew drastic measures were needed.

She offered a small prayer of thanks that it had worked.

And the change was remarkable, even after such a short time. The light had returned to his gray eyes, and his mouth curved more readily into a smile than a scowl. In fact, he was downright sexy.

Cool your jets, Becca. You just brought him back from the brink of disaster. Wait until he’s stable before making a move on him.

She pulled the doughnut she’d picked up at the bakery out of her purse and gave it to the doorman. “Shanah Tovah, Stan.”

“And Happy New Year to you, Miss Rebecca.” He held the door open for her and Ethan. “Miss Ariella already has a few guests.”

“Which means I’m a bit late.” She pushed the up button for the elevator. “I’ll probably get dragged to the kitchen as soon as we get up there.”

Ethan’s expression remained unreadable, but the line of his shoulders stiffened. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Maybe. But if you just want to hang out, you can do that, too.”

A flicker of unease flashed in his eyes just before the elevator doors opened.

They got inside, and she looked up at him. “If you’re not ready for this—”

“No, I want to do this.” He gave her a wry smile. “Correction: I need to do this. I’ve been hiding under my shell too much lately.”

She gave his hand a small squeeze. “My friends are fun. You’ll see.”

But a small part of her hoped none of them would figure out who Ethan was and make a big deal about it. After all, they’d hung out with her and Ari’s brother, Gabe, who was a celebrity in his own right. Bringing a rock star to one of their groups shouldn’t cause that much of an uproar.

The aromas of pomegranate glazed chicken and blackberry BBQ beef brisket greeted her when she opened the door. Aaron and Levi had already hooked up the Xbox and were so involved with their first person shooter game that they didn’t even turn around. Ari, however, rounded the corner from the kitchen and stopped short when she saw Ethan. “Who’s this?”

“Ethan.” No need to explain any further.

Ari’s jaw tightened, and she grabbed Becca’s arm in a death grip to drag her back into the kitchen. “Is this that junkie?” she whispered.

“He’s clean, Ari, and I didn’t want him to be alone tonight.”

“But he’s not one of us.”

“So?” She peered into the living room. Aaron and Levi had paused their game long enough to start chatting with him, pointing to his helmet and probably asking about his motorcycle. A few exchanges later, Ethan had shed his jacket and was pushing up the sleeves of his gray thermal shirt, preparing to join them in the game. “He seems to be fitting in with the guys just fine.”

“That’s because they don’t know what he is.”

Becca took a deep breath to keep from telling Ari who he really was. It was one thing if Ethan had revealed his identity to her, but he hadn’t. And until he did, she would respect his privacy.

“I can vouch for him, Ari. He’s a good guy.”

Her roommate’s brown eyes darkened. “Fine, but if he steals any of our stuff to buy drugs, I’m holding you responsible.”

The doorbell rang, and Ari went to answer it.

Becca pressed her forehead against the cold stainless steel of the fridge. She hadn’t expected Ari to be such a snob. At least Aaron and Levi seemed open to letting Ethan join their party.

Female voices filtered into the kitchen, and Becca took another peek into the living room. Morgan and Natalie had arrived. Gabe had always jokingly referred to Ari, Nat, and Morgan as the Bimbo Barbie Brigade, but the description fit. They were all sleek, tanned, blond, and elegant, but superficial at times. Her stomach sank as Natalie made her way over to Ethan and started flirting with him.

Of course she would. He was good-looking. And charming. And had this sexy charisma about him. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to him?

But he smiled and then jerked his head in Becca’s direction. Natalie’s seductive smile fell into a pout, but Becca’s grin widened. He’d just made it very clear he was with her, and her heart skipped a few beats.

She opened the fridge and grabbed the tray of sliced apples she’d prepared first thing that morning. A small bowl of honey went in the center before she carried it out into the room. “Who’s ready for the first course?”

The guys paused their game, and everyone gathered around her to grab an apple slice and dip it in the honey. Ethan was the last one to take a slice. He watched the others before following their example. “It’s good,” he said after the first bite. “I’d always wondered why you serve apples and honey, though.”

Morgan backed away, her perfect nose wrinkling. “You’re a shegetz?”

“Um, maybe?” He turned to Becca for assistance.

“He’s not Jewish,” she told the others, “but he’s still cool.”

“Hey, no one’s perfect,” Levi replied between stuffing more apple slices in his mouth. “Well, except for me.”

The group broke out in chuckles and snickers, and Aaron gave Levi a playful shove. Levi’s narcissism was a common joke among them, but it took the focus off Ethan. They all broke away, leaving him with her.

He closed the space between them, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone that oozed sex. “So I’m cool, huh?”

“Yeah, even though you have a dribble of honey on your chin.” She grabbed it with her finger and wiped it up.

He caught her hand and brought her finger to his lips, removing the honey with a slow, sensual suck that left the place between her legs wet with want. “Pretty sweet stuff.”

If he kept talking to her like that, she’d be dragging him to her bed before the next course was served. Keep it together, Becca. Focus on something other than how much he’s turning you on. “That’s the whole idea behind Rosh Hashanah dinner. A sweet new year.”

“I can live with that.” He continued to stare at her like he wanted to remove honey from other parts of her body until Aaron called him back to the game.

Becca retreated to the kitchen, every inch of her skin flushed with arousal. If she’d had any doubts about taking things to the next level, Ethan had just erased them. But she had to take things slowly or she risked having all this blow up in her face.

Take your time, Becca. You don’t want a quick fuck to jeopardize the trust you’ve built so far.

But one thing was certain. Ethan Kelly knew how to push her buttons in all the right ways.

Chapter Seven

As much as Ethan tried to focus on the game he was playing with Levi and Aaron, the sweet taste of Becca’s finger in his mouth kept ambushing him. Now that was a craving he could easily become addicted to. He’d love to sample other parts of her, starting with her lips. And then, if he worked up his courage, he could invite her back to his place for the main course.

But the moment he thought about her in his bed, his palms grew damp. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made love to a woman sober. Hell, he’d lost his virginity while drunk and stoned at a party. Years of being on the road didn’t leave much time for a long-term relationship, and one-night flings had become his norm. After a few beers or a quick shot of H, he no longer cared that he didn’t have someone special to come home to. He had a warm body for the night, and that was all that had mattered.

Until now.

He was twenty-five. Not quite ready to settle down, but ready to actually give a serious relationship a try. And Becca was a girl worth taking that risk for.

Now, to get over the performance anxiety issues.

One of the blondes—Natalie, he thought—handed him a bottle of hard apple cider. He set it aside, untouched, and continued playing until the front door opened, and a guy shouted, “Shanah Tovah, bitches!”

Levi and Aaron threw down their controllers and went to greet the new arrivals. Four more guys and three more girls poured into the apartment, and the atmosphere changed from a few friends hanging out to a full-on party. Voices filled the room, vying with the ever louder music that pumped in from the built-in surround-sound speakers. Becca’s roommate circled the room with a tray of appletinis, and Becca appeared from the kitchen with a platter of steaming chicken.

“Time for the next course,” she announced over everyone. “Pomegranate chicken.”

Ethan’s mouth watered from the sweet and savory aromas that filled the apartment. He got in line behind the others for a slice of the roasted chicken covered with a tangy red sauce and chunks of fresh pomegranate. “You made this?” he asked.

Becca nodded. “Amazing what an electric roaster can do.”

He ate a bite. It tasted even better than it smelled. “Is this another tradition?”

“Yes. The pomegranate symbolizes a new year full of good deeds.” She looked out at her guests, who were busy chatting and drinking with their friends. “Although I wished we could’ve done the Kiddush before they dived in.”

“This is our party, not our parents’,” her roommate said, grabbing another slice of chicken. “We don’t have to do all the stuffy traditional stuff. If you wanted that, then you should’ve had dinner with your family.”

Becca blinked hard and turned away, but not before he caught a glimpse of pain on her face. Something her roommate said had hurt her, and he found himself reaching to comfort her before he could stop himself.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She flashed a half-hearted smile to him. “You?”

He glanced around the room and nodded. “Yeah, I am, actually.”

“Good.” Her smile warmed, and she handed him a bottle of water. “I need to get back to the kitchen to start the next course.”

“I’ll be here.”

A moment later, Levi was dragging him back into the group and introducing him to the new arrivals. Ethan stood on the fringes, listening and only speaking when asked a question. He nursed his bottle of water instead of guzzling hard cider down like the other guys. And even though his reclusive inner nature recoiled at the idea of a party full of strangers, he found himself warming up to Becca’s friends as quickly as he had to her.

A knock could barely be heard over the noise, but Becca went to answer it. A man carrying two guitars—one strapped to his back and the other in his hand—entered the party and gave her a hug.

The jealousy that flared within Ethan’s gut as they talked surprised him. What if this was her boyfriend? What if he was falling for a girl who was already with someone? Was that why Becca had been hiding out in the kitchen all night? He crossed the room to learn more about the latest guest.

The man was removing the electric guitar strapped to his back when he got there. “Who’s this, Becca?” he asked, eyeing Ethan as more of a curiosity than competition.

“This is my friend Ethan.”

Friend. The word stung harder than a slap in the face. He should be grateful she considered him a friend, but now he wanted more.

The man held out his hand. “Hi, Ethan. I’m David.”

He took his time accepting the hand, the unease pounding through his veins as he studied the latest arrival. David was dressed in a nice button-down shirt and khakis and had a full beard that made his age difficult to guess.

Becca stood with one hand placed on each man’s shoulders, gauging their reactions to each other with a hopeful grin. “David’s a musician, too, Ethan. He’s finishing up his cantorial studies at the HUC.”

Nice to know, but it still didn’t answer the one question that jabbed the corners of his mind like a pissed-off hornet.

“Becca,” Ari called from the kitchen, “the brisket.”

Her face paled. “Oh, no.” She dashed off, leaving him alone with the man who might be her boyfriend.

“So, Ethan, what do you play?”

He was trying to make small talk, but Ethan couldn’t relax. “Guitar, mostly. But I also play piano, drums, trumpet.”

“Nice. Have you ever thought about playing for the Temple?”

“He can’t,” Morgan answered for him, slipping her arm through David’s. “He’s a shegetz.”

David’s smile widened. “Any chance of converting?”

“Not likely.”

“Too bad,” David replied, ignoring Morgan’s attempts to pull him away from the door. “We could use some more musicians.”

The blonde interrupted with a huff and roll of her eyes. “Can’t this wait?”

He soothed her with a kiss on the cheek. “Give me a minute, hon.”

The tightness in Ethan’s forearms eased. From the looks of things, David had his hands full with Morgan.

“But you’ve been gone all day with that thing at the Temple.” She gave him the spoiled rich girl simper.

“Yes, and I’ll be with you in just a minute. I haven’t even taken my coat off.”

Morgan’s pout deepened, but she backed away holding up a single finger. “One minute.”

“Sorry about that,” David said with a sheepish shrug as he slipped off his coat. “She’s upset because I’d promised to play for the afternoon services and couldn’t be here when the party started.”

“Is that why you have two guitars?” Ethan leaned to the side to get a better look at the cases, recognizing the brands. Fender. Martin. Signs of a serious musician.

“Yeah.” He hung up his coat in the closet. “Maybe we can jam later. I have an app that turns my phone into an amp.”

An icy blast of fear paralyzed him. It was one thing to not be able to play when he was alone, but to freeze up in front of Becca’s friends was an entirely different matter. He wasn’t ready to make a fool of himself just yet. “Maybe,” he said in a tight voice.

He was saved by Levi shouting, “Becca’s bringing out the brisket.”

The party guests gathered around the dining room table, where Becca carved up the medium rare slab of beef into thin slices. The outside was covered by a blackened glaze, and a small bowl held what looked like a dark barbecue sauce. Ari added a salad made with baby greens, pomegranate seeds, and apples. The other women poured out of the kitchen with the rest of the sides such as mashed sweet potatoes, candied carrots, round loaves of challah, and green peas. Once everything was set, they loaded up their plates.

As Ethan tasted the dishes, he noted the sweetness of each one and inwardly grinned. Becca’s sweet tooth would be in heaven tonight. Even the salad was tossed in a honey vinaigrette.

After she’d filled her plate, Becca gestured for him to meet her at the dining bar that looked into the kitchen. “Like it so far?”

“Best food I’ve eaten since I came into town.” And he meant that. The takeout he’d been living on was sawdust compared to a home-cooked meal. Once again, her generosity had humbled him. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“I told you my friends were cool.” She gave him a wink and popped a sliced carrot into her mouth. “By the way, I hope you don’t mind me telling David you’re a musician.”

“No, not really.” He was more upset about being introduced as a friend, despite his head telling him “friend” was good enough considering how long they’d known each other.

“I figured since he was a musician, too, he might be able to help you find the music again.”

“Doubt it.” But her suggestion hovered around him like a swarm of gnats for the rest of the meal, never giving him a moment’s peace until he was forced to get up and go out on the balcony to clear his head.

The crisp autumn air cooled his frustration. The setting sun bathed Central Park and the rest of the city in an orange glow. From this height, everything appeared calm and serene, and his soul followed suit. The balcony was more of a large patio that ran the length of the apartment, wide enough to allow two lounge chairs and a bistro set. It would be perfect for summer barbecues, but right now, the openness contrasted with the crowded confines inside. Here, he could see the sky and collect himself.

He didn’t bother turning around when he heard the door open behind him. Becca was the only one who’d dare come out there to join him.

But it was a male voice that said, “Care to have that jam session now?”

Ethan turned around to find David sliding two chairs together next to a pair of acoustic guitars. “What about the rest of the party?”

“It’s too loud in there. Besides, if we start playing, they’ll join us.” He opened one of the cases. “Do you prefer the Martin or the Taylor?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He doubted his fingers would remember the chords.

“You can use Ari’s.” David handed him the practically new Taylor and opened the hard case of the Martin. “Or, if you prefer, I can give up my Martin for a bit.”

“It’s really not necessary.” He tried to hand the guitar back, but David refused to take it. “I haven’t been much in the mood for playing lately anyway.”

“That’s a pity. Music always soothes me.” He strummed the strings and closed his eyes.

Ethan recognized the beginning chords of the Beatles song. His fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar in his hand, moving in time to the transitions, but it took a gulp of courage to run the pick over the strings and join in. David’s clear baritone filled the night with a sharpness that cut away the guilt and doubt imprisoning Ethan’s soul. The chains binding his music broke, leaving behind the weightless joy he remembered from his youth.

By the time David got to the chorus, Ethan joined in. The resulting harmony surprised him. He’d been the lead singer for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to play backup, and yet the hard edge of his voice mingled perfectly with David’s classically trained one. The unadorned quality reminded him he still had a decent voice, and the impromptu jam session was miles away from the glare of the center stage spotlight. Maybe he could make music without Ty, without drugs, without the complex sound engineering provided by the studio.

Becca’s friend gave him an encouraging smile before launching into the next verse. When the chorus rolled around again, his confidence grew, and he carried over the harmony from his voice to his guitar. The challenge was fun and refreshing, and the corners of his mouth started to rise.

He’d rediscovered his love for music.

“You sure you won’t consider converting?” David said as they finished. “I’d love to have you in the Temple band.”

“Thanks, but I just got out of a band, and I’m taking a little time off for me.” He strummed the strings once and resisted the urge to hug the borrowed guitar. “You up for another?”

“Absolutely. You pick.”

Ethan searched his mind for a song that wasn’t a Ravinia’s Rejects tune and went with another classic Extreme song perfect for two voices and acoustic guitars. He set his pick aside and used his fingers to form the opening chords.

“Good one.” David played along, but when it came time for the words, he nodded and said, “This one’s all yours.”

It’s just Becca’s friend on a balcony, not a crowded stadium. You can do this.

The first few notes warbled with a gravelly tone, a result of weeks of inactivity, but he recovered by the second line and lost himself in the music. It wasn’t until they reached the end that he realized they’d gathered an audience.

Heat rose up his neck to the tips of his ears. All this time, he’d been trying to lay low, and now he might have lost his anonymity by opening his mouth. He searched the crowd who’d gathered around, looking to see if any of them recognized him. But the second he saw Becca’s beaming face, all thoughts about protecting his privacy vanished. She seemed so proud of him, he didn’t care what the others thought. Only her opinion mattered.

“That was awesome,” the guy who’d made the loud entrance said, holding up a lighter. “Keep it comin’, bros.”

“Can we move it inside?” Morgan asked as she rubbed her bare arms. “It’s a little chilly out here.”

“No problem.” David rose, carrying his guitar, but Ethan remained in his seat.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been ready to relapse, to surrender to heroin just so he could find the solace it gave him. But all this time, the music was right there for him to grasp. He just had to shed the trappings he’d secured around it and recover the essential core.

I can really do this. I can still play and stay clean.

Now the challenge would be to create new music without relying on his former muse.

“Are you coming, Ethan?” Becca asked softly.

He turned to find her standing beside him with her hand held out.

He took it and stood up, finding the strength to keep moving forward because of her support. “Yeah, I am.”

She leaned in and whispered, “I’m glad you found the music again.”

If he didn’t have an audience on the other side of the glass doors, he would’ve pulled her into a kiss right then. Instead, he settled for tucking a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “Me, too.”

Once inside, he and David took turns playing classic rock songs for the group and entertaining a few of their requests. It was fun until Ari called out one of his band’s songs. Ethan drew in a deep breath and held it. If he catered to the request, he once again risked blowing his cover.

“I don’t know that one very well,” David said. “Do you know it, Ethan?”

He nodded, not trusting his own voice. He searched for Becca, but couldn’t find her. Fear wormed along his gut.

I have to do this alone.

But as his gaze swept the room and he saw David’s encouraging nod, it dawned on him that he wasn’t alone. He strummed the opening chords from memory. The acoustic guitar was softer, slower than the electric guitar he was used to playing for that song, but it allowed him to do the same with the lyrics. A rasp of emotion filled his voice as he sang the opening verse of the song. It was the first Ravinia’s Rejects song he’d sung since Ty had died, and the solemn quality it took on with the acoustic guitars fit his mood. It was a eulogy of sorts, a way for him to say good-bye to the past.

David joined in, but the sound wasn’t the same as when Ty had played harmony. It was different, but in a good way. As the song drew to a close, his fingers itched to play new music, to twist and shape the chords into an expression of conflict raging inside him.

“Whoa,” Ari said, her eyes wide. “That was even better than the original.”

It had better be, considering I was the one who wrote it.

“Thanks,” he mumbled and rose from his chair. He needed to find Becca. “Time for a little break.”

“Same here.” David set his guitar aside and pulled Morgan into his arms.

The loud techno music from earlier blasted through the speakers just as Becca appeared from behind a closed door with a stack of paper. She beckoned him over, and he came, still clutching her roommate’s guitar.

“I heard the new arrangement, and it got me to thinking. Maybe you should make some notes.” She held out a stack of blank sheet music. “I printed these off for you, but if you need more…”

The woman could read him better than he did himself. He took the stack and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Do you have a quiet place I could hang out in?”

“You can use my bedroom.” She opened the door she’d just come out of.

“Thanks.” He held her gaze for a moment to make sure she knew the full extent of his gratitude. She’d helped him overcome a major hurdle to his recovery, and he finally felt like he was moving forward.

Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “You’re welcome.”

Becca’s room was simple and serene, much like her. The blue colors and clean lines quieted his anxiety and sharpened his focus. He sat down on the edge of the bed with Ari’s guitar and jotted down the notes for the new arrangement. His pen halted when he read the line she’d written at the top of each page.

Words and music by Ethan Kelly.

It confirmed that she knew who he was, and yet she treated him as she did the rest of her friends. She didn’t kiss his ass or handle him with kid gloves. He was just another person to her, and that made him trust her all the more with his secrets.

He finished his notes and pulled out a blank sheet. It was time to create something new.

Chapter Eight

The party had taken a drunken turn for the worse by the time Ethan emerged from Becca’s bedroom. Slurred words battled over the pulsating music, and arms and legs flopped around in staggering dance moves.

Ethan made his way around the edge of the living room, looking for Becca and bumping into her roommate instead. She looked up at him with glazed brown eyes and made no effort to untangle herself from him. “You have a sexy voice,” she drawled.

“Where’s Becca?” His words were sharp and forceful, a direct contrast to her languid, liquor-laden one. There was only one woman he wanted pressed up against him, and it wasn’t the petite blonde.

She backed off with a slight pout. “Out on the balcony.”

As before, the wide balcony offered a respite from the chaos inside. He scanned the dimly lit area, starting with the chairs and finally finding her leaning against the wall in a far corner. “Hey,” he said as he came toward her, giving her plenty of time to say she wanted to be alone if needed.

“Hey,” she replied. “How did it go?”

“Good.” He stopped in front of her and braced his elbow against the warm bricks. “Really good, actually. I wrote a new song.”

“Care to sing a few bars for me?”

A self-deprecating laugh broke free from his chest. “Still working on the lyrics.”

“They’ll come to you.” She sighed and looked up at the sky. “Sorry for hiding out on you, but I needed to get away from that environment before I did something I’d regret.”

He leaned in closer, inhaling her perfume. His dick stiffened, and all thoughts of music vanished. “Meaning?”

“I don’t drink because it’s too risky for me. But the rest of them….” She shrugged as though the way the party had eroded explained itself.

“So that was the mistake you were worried about making?” He came close enough to hear her breath catch.

She looked up at him, her eyes darkening with desire. She licked her lips. “Among other things.”

He kept closing in, waiting to see if she would push him away. The next thing he knew, his lips were brushing against hers in a hesitant, feather-light kiss. Warmth flooded his insides from the point of contact, and yet fear tempered his desire. He pulled back a few inches to gauge her reaction.

Her eyes were closed, but a blissful smile gave him permission to continue.

This time, he made his kiss more forceful, more demanding. He wanted to push the boundaries of their relationship and see how far she was comfortable going. She yielded to him and parted her lips. He greedily explored the sweetness of her mouth while his fingers still dug into the grout between the bricks. She tasted so good that if he dared to take her into his arms, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had her in bed.

The slow, sensual kiss seemed go on forever. He never imagined he’d enjoy the simple pleasure of kissing a woman like this, but kissing Becca was far better than the years of hazy hookups he’d experienced. He zeroed in on all her subtle responses, acutely aware of how she responded to him. Her breath quickened, and she reached to touch him. First, it was his chest. Then, his shoulders. Finally, her hands wound around his neck while she deepened the kiss. The last traces of his uncertainty melted. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he allowed himself to thread his fingers through her silky hair.

“Becca,” Ari called from the door.

Ethan tore his lips from hers and jumped back. As much as he wanted to continue, he didn’t want the intimate moment to become a spectacle.

“What?” Becca replied, making no attempt to hide the exasperation in her voice.

“We’re going to Cielo. Want to come with us?”

Becca looked up at him, her pupils wide and her chest still rising and falling rapidly. “I think I’ll stay in tonight.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

She grinned and turned toward her roommate. “Be safe.”

“You, too.” Ari gave him a hard glare before shutting the door.

He waited for her to say anything, but when the silence crept on, he said, “I don’t think she likes me.”

“She’s just being the overprotective best friend. If she knew who you were, she’d act differently.”

“Meaning?” He waited for her to say what he already knew.

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “I think Ari’s an even bigger Ravinia’s Rejects fan than I am.”

“And you didn’t tell her.”

Becca shook her head. “To be honest, it took me a week or two to figure it out myself. But if you’re willing to go to such extreme measures to hide who you are, the least I can do is keep my mouth shut.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Such a tempting mouth, too.”

Even the dim light couldn’t conceal the blush that bloomed in her cheeks. “A simple thank-you would be fine.”

His shoulder blades drew together, and he added some distance between them. “Are you telling me I went too far?”

“No, I—” She grabbed his shirt in her fists and pulled him back into another kiss. This time, she called the shots, controlling the tempo like a maestro conducting an orchestra. It started out with a smooth, slow adagio pace and grew into a lively allegro.

Her passion infiltrated him and tore down the restraints holding his desire in check. He pressed her against the wall, one hand still tangled in her hair while the other cupped the curve of her ass. Every seductive kiss, every flick of her tongue, every delicious moan that rose from her throat made his cock harder. His hips rocked back in forth in the grinding dance he wanted to replicate under the covers.

He wanted her so damned badly.

But he wasn’t prepared to respond when she ended the kiss and asked, “Do you want to take this to my bedroom?”

***

Holy shit! What just came out of my mouth?

Becca hadn’t intended to proposition Ethan tonight, but each kiss continued to whittle away at her common sense until she was so horny, the question slipped out before she had a chance to catch herself.

He stiffened and retreated a few inches, his brows drawing closer together. “Becca, I…”

Her heart sank as he squeezed his eyes shut and took a step back.

Pride kicked in, and she fumbled for words to hide her embarrassment. “Sorry, I just—”

He silenced her by tilting her chin up so she was forced to look him directly in the eyes. “Don’t be.”

“No, I crossed the line, and I’ve obviously made you uncomfortable and—damn it!” She dug her fingers into her palms and turned toward the door. She shouldn’t have asked him. It was still too early in the recovery process for him to jump into a sexual relationship. And yet he’d made such huge strides today, she’d almost forgotten where he’d been that morning. “I knew I’d fuck this up somehow.”

Ethan caught her wrist and spun her back against him. “Do I look like I’m uncomfortable?”

A rock-hard ridge strained against his zipper and pressed against her lower stomach. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I think it’s quite obvious how turned on I am right now.” He gave her a quick kiss, drawing out the end by sucking on her bottom lip. “I know you’re trying to look out for me, and I appreciate that. If you tell me to stop, I will, but if you want to continue…”

The little voice inside her head told her to stop things now, but the desire proved too much. “I do.”

She grabbed his hand and led him inside. Ari and the rest of their friends had already left for the club. The place was wrecked, but she’d deal with that in the morning. Right now, all she cared about was getting Ethan in her bedroom before she lost her nerve.

As soon as the door shut, she pulled him to her again. Their kisses took on a frantic nature as though they were two teenagers who wanted to come before they got caught by their parents. She tugged his shirt off, taking a second to admire the tattoos covering his lean frame before diving into the next breathless kiss.

Ethan fumbled for the zipper of her dress, but when it hit a snag, he broke off the kiss with a growl of frustration. “Turn around.”

A shiver coursed down her spine. In everyday life, she hated men ordering her around. But in the bedroom, it was a different story.

He finally got her dress off, followed by her bra, leaving her to stand in the chilly bedroom with her back to him. He drew back her hair to expose the nape of her neck and pressed his lips against the skin. “How do you like it?”

Her stomach fluttered. Would he be put off by her submissive preferences? “You tell me.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her chest to cup her breasts in his hands. “Are you going to make me guess?”

“No.” She leaned back against him, savoring the heat of his bare chest. “You tell me.”

He froze as her request sank in. Then he tightened his hold on her and tilted her to the side so his warm breath bathed her ear. “I tend to get a little rough.”

To prove his point, he squeezed her nipples as he caught her earlobe between his teeth. The sharpness of the pain made her breath catch and sent a bolt of desire straight to her sex. He followed the brief sting with soothing flicks of his tongue and a gentle massage of her breasts. Just as she was forgetting the rough play, he repeated the action with the same effect on her.

He gave another low chuckle as though he knew exactly how much his teasing was turning her on. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

The next few minutes were a tango of pleasure and pain. For every nip or pinch, he’d take his time soothing the injured flesh, lulling her back into a relaxed state before jolting her arousal again. His mouth explored the back of her neck, her shoulders, her arms, while his hands stayed on her breasts. His erection pressed against her ass the whole time, a constant reminder of what lay in store for her.

The pleasure–pain cycle became faster, more intense, until he finally released her. His voice was raw and panting as he said, “Turn around and take off your panties.”

She complied with the first part of his order and met his gaze. The fiery desire in his eyes and rapid rise and fall of his chest quickened her pulse. He had a dangerous air about him, like he wanted to fuck her senseless. But instead of being frightened by it, it only turned her on even more.

“Take them off,” he ordered again.

She shimmied them off in slow striptease, watching his reaction the entire time. His jaw tightened. His nostrils flared. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. But he stayed right where he was, his eyes never leaving her body.

He didn’t touch her until she bent over to unzip her boots. “Did I say take them off?”

Oh, God, she could’ve come right there. He was turning into a better dom than she’d thought he’d be. “You want me to leave them on?”

“Yes.” The one word came out as a strangled plea, and his body drew even tighter. Another thirty seconds passed with him doing nothing more than stare at her. At last, he unbuttoned his jeans and nodded toward her bed. “Lay down on the edge.”

She did as she was told without breaking eye contact, her knees bent at the edge of the mattress. As his jeans came off, she propped herself up on her elbows to get a better view. A long, thick bulge strained against his boxer briefs, and she unconsciously licked her lips. She couldn’t wait to have him inside her.

He crawled over her, his underwear still on, and captured her mouth in a kiss that revealed the complex emotions brewing between them. Desire was first and foremost, raging and yet controlled. But as the kiss deepened, she discovered subtle hints of both fear and trust. She wound her arms around his neck and slowed things down until the fear vanished.

He lifted his head, his hands and knees still braced around her, and looked down at her in awe. One hand leisurely traced the valley of her breasts and the flat plane of her stomach. “You are so beautiful.”

A warm glow spread over her, driving away any traces of her self-conscious insecurities.

The hand trailed back up to her breasts, then up her neck to her cheek. “Show me what you like.”

The warm glow from before flared into the heat of embarrassment. It was one thing to surrender to his orders. It was another thing to call the shots on the seduction. She withdrew her arms and turned away.

“Touch yourself, Becca. Show me where you want my hands, my mouth. Teach me how you like to be touched.”

Each request became firmer, more demanding, until he hit upon her craving to submit. It would’ve been simple to tell him to just put on a condom and fuck her, but there was something in his eyes that told her he wanted more than that. He wanted to learn the intricacies of what she yearned for. He wanted her to draw the boundaries of her comfort zone. But most important, he wanted to make her come.

With some hesitation, she brushed her fingers over one taut nipple. “I like to be touched here.”

“Show me.”

She tried to squirm away, but his knees locked around her hips in a vise. There was no escaping his demand. She drew tiny circles around the peak, gathering her courage until she grasped it between her fingers and twisted. Her sex clenched, and she drew in a sharp breath from the sting.

“So you like it rough, too?” Without waiting for her answer, he repeated the same motions with her other breast, first with his fingers and then with his mouth.

Sweat beaded along her hairline as each nip grew harder. It was like he was testing her to see how far she was willing to go. The ache in her lower pelvis began to throb, and her body strained against the tight confines of his. When she reached the point where her nipples burned, she cried out, “No more.”

He placed a single kiss between her breasts before lifting his head again. “Where else?”

He wanted more? Wasn’t this foreplay enough? And yet she found herself dragging her fingers lower to the place between her thighs. As she dipped her finger between the folds, she turned away again.

“Look at me as you touch yourself.”

The order was as rough as a drill sergeant’s, and her body jerked to attention. She met his gaze again and started to withdraw her hand.

“No, don’t stop.” Ethan guided her hand back. “Make yourself come.”

Her cheeks burned, and she reached for excuses. Anything but that. “It’s kind of hard to do that with your knees holding my thighs together.”

“Easily remedied.” He shifted his weight and wedged his knees between her lower thighs, spreading them apart. “Now do it.”

Despite his insistence that she look at him, she couldn’t overcome the uncomfortable sensation that paralyzed her. This was taking intimacy to a whole new level. She closed her eyes and found her clit with her fingers. The gentlest touch sent shivers through her body. She rubbed it slowly, working up her courage to let go of all restraint in front of him.

“That’s it, Bec. Show me.”

His words soothed her anxieties, and she pressed harder until her hips started to tighten.

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

Another set of fingers joined hers. Ethan delved into the further recess of her sex with one finger, then two, finding her G-spot with ease. He matched the tempo of his strokes with hers, each one bringing her closer and closer to release.

But just as she stood on the brink of coming, another wave of embarrassment washed over her and held her back. She withdrew her hand.

“No, don’t stop.”

“I can’t,” she admitted in a quiet voice of defeat.

“Then let me finish.” He pressed his thumb against her clit, as rough and demanding as the kiss that claimed her lips. His fingers pumped harder, deeper, until she finally shattered against him.

She’d barely come back down to earth in time to hear him ask, “Where are the condoms?”

“Nightstand.”

He reached over and grabbed one, kicking his underwear off and nearly knocking over the nightstand with his impatience. The rip of the foil packet broke the silence, and he rolled it on over his thick cock. Without waiting for permission or even asking if he should continue, he plunged into her.

But by now, he probably knew she came harder when he called the shots.

Her body trembled from the size of him and the intensity of him stretching her inner walls. He wasted no time building on the lingering aftershocks of her last orgasm. His hips pumped to the same rhythm as his fingers had earlier, but his cock went deeper, stimulating all her sensitive areas.

Her hips rose off the mattress to meet each of his thrusts, the tension coiling tight and tighter inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, wanting more, eager to have him fill her completely. Her impending release ambushed her, and she bit her bottom lip to keep from coming.

“No, Bec, don’t hold back.” His thrusts quickened, and each word came out as a single breath. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are when you come? Now come.”

Her body rebelled against her and responded to his command. The intensity of the orgasm slammed into her with enough force to make her grit her teeth together. She tightened her hold on him with her arms and legs, so scared that if she let go, she’d drown. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsated through her, pulling her so deep into a dream world of bliss that she didn’t even notice that he’d reached his climax until he cried out her name and collapsed on top of her.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she held him through the residual effects. The salty taste of sweat lingered on her lips with each kiss she placed on his damp forehead. Her arms and legs turned as limp as rubber bands from exhaustion, and when Ethan finally lifted his head, she let them fall to the side.

He gave her a crooked grin. “That was…”

“Yeah,” she finished for him. Right now, her brain couldn’t even come up with the right words to describe sex with him. Mind-blowing, awesome, incredible—they all fell short.

He gave her one more tender kiss before rising from the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. The door closed behind him, and a chill bathed her bare skin.

Now came the awkwardness of the aftermath. It would be one thing if this was a cut-and-dry hookup or sex with someone she was in a long-term relationship with, but Ethan fell squarely into that gray area.

And the worst part was, she didn’t want this to be a one-night deal. Sex had only complicated the feelings she was developing for him, and if he didn’t feel the same….

She removed her boots and drew the covers up to her shoulders before rolling over to her side, her back to the bathroom door. It would save her the humiliation of reading too much into this if all he wanted was a quick fuck.

A band of light appeared on the wall in front of her, widening until a shadow filled its center. Then it vanished, plunging the room back into darkness. She held her breath, waiting to see if he would just grab his things and leave.

Instead, the mattress shifted under his weight, and his hard body curled around hers. “Do you mind if I stay a bit longer?” he asked.

She shook her head and smiled. “No.”

“Good, because I don’t want to leave just yet.” He draped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him.

Chapter Nine

Ethan awoke to the scent of Becca’s perfume on the pillows and the sensation of a warm, soft body lying next to him. A faint light filtered in from behind her curtains, announcing the morning’s arrival. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes to make sure this wasn’t a dream. When the image of Becca lying next to him didn’t disappear, his lips curled into a grin.

I could get used to this.

Her breathing was slow and calm, so different from the shaking gasps she’d drawn when he ordered her to touch herself. He still felt a little bad about pushing her like he did, but it was the only thing he could think of to overcome his anxiety about making love to a woman sober. He didn’t want to ruin this chance by coming too soon or doing something she didn’t like. But in the process, he discovered another side to her. The more he told her what to do, the more aroused she’d become, even if it meant pushing her comfort levels.

Definitely something to keep in mind for next time.

He caught himself as soon as the thought materialized. Next time? Jesus, he’d only slept with her once, and he was already planning the next time. But he couldn’t deny the worsening hard-on he was getting from picturing what he’d do to her.

I’ve got to get out of here before I wake her up demanding seconds.

He slipped out of bed with the stealth of a ninja, a skill learned from one too many one-night stands, and found his clothes. But by the time he’d pulled his jeans on, he was second-guessing his decision to sneak out. She deserved better than that, especially after he’d asked her if he could stay.

He paused and ran his fingers over his head. He’d never asked to stay the night with anyone before, and yet, with her, he wanted to. Shit, I’m in over my head.

Coffee. I need coffee.

He didn’t bother putting his shirt on as he went to the kitchen. The apartment was still messy from the party, but an air of still silence hung over it in the early morning hours. After searching the cabinets, he found what he needed to start a pot of coffee, and leaned on the counter while it brewed.

So, how do I handle this?

He liked her. A lot, actually. Enough to even consider staying in town long enough to see where their relationship went. She was pretty, smart, adventurous, sexy…

The throbbing returned to his groin, and he groaned. There was no way he’d be able to get through another one of those NA meetings without remembering how it felt to be buried inside her. It wasn’t something he’d considered when he’d kissed her or accepted her invitation to take things to her bedroom. And he needed to go to those meetings, if only to stay accountable and not relapse.

As his stomach tied itself up in knots, he waited for the familiar craving to hit.

But this time, it wasn’t as intense as before. Instead of being a herculean task, it was something a mere mortal like him could handle.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, the craving passing as he remembered the hurdles he’d overcome last night. Becca had helped him in his moment of weakness. She’d helped him find the music again. And she’d given him the first night of peaceful sleep in over a month. She’d been far more instrumental in his recovery than anything else, and the last thing he wanted to do was mess up things with her.

I’ll just gauge her reaction when she wakes up and go from there.

“God, I could use some coffee now,” a sleepy female voice said from the living room.

Ethan spun around just as Ari came into the kitchen. They both froze and stared at each other. Her eyes widened, her voice full of shock. “I know you.”

He backed away. “Yeah, I’m Becca’s friend.”

“No, I know you.” She pointed to the tattoo of the tiger curling down his right arm. “I’d recognize that tattoo anywhere.”

Sweat prickled the back of his neck. He could’ve sworn he’d never met Becca’s roommate until last night, but who knows how many stupid things he’d done when he was high?

“You’re Ethan Kelly of Ravinia’s Rejects.”

Becca had warned him that Ari was a huge fan, but that didn’t give justice to the awe-like reverence that lit up her face as she continued to point to him. He half expected some pre-pubescent squealing to follow, but she managed to stand quietly where she was with her mouth still forming a perfect circle of surprise.

“Um, yeah.” He dropped his forehead to his shoulder to wipe the perspiration from it. So far, his first encounter with a fan since going into hiding was off to a fucking fantastic start.

She dropped her arm and came closer. “I’m a huge fan.”

“So Becca told me.”

“She is, too. We both are.”

He spied his jacket and helmet by the door and started calculating the best escape route. “Oh, really?”

Ari nodded, her eyes still star-struck. “I know all the words to all your songs.”

“Funny, so do I.”

She blinked several times, and the spell ended. “Oh my God, what am I thinking? I need to get my phone to take a picture with you.”

Shit! The last thing he wanted was her selfie with him plastered all over social media. It would blow his cover.

She ran back to her room, and he made a break for the door. He didn’t care that he was half dressed as he pressed the down button for the elevator half a dozen times. He needed to get away from her camera lens as quickly as possible.

The elevator dinged, and he ducked inside. Just as the doors were closing, Ari appeared in the hallway and turned in his direction.

The elevator started its descent, and he banged his forehead against the wall in frustration. Not the way he wanted the morning to end, but there was no way around it. The familiar craving simmered in his veins and tempted him to dive back into the abyss. He curled his hands into fists and waited for it to pass before pulling his jacket on. He slipped out of the building without any difficulty. His motorcycle was parked where he’d left it down the street, and he sped off for his loft.

He was pulling his bike into the freight elevator when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out, thinking maybe it was Becca calling to ask where he was, but instead, Adam’s number flashed on the screen. Disappointment flowed out with a sigh, and he clicked the answer button. “Hey, Adam.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me. You’ve had us all worried sick.”

“Oh, really?” he asked while unlocking the door of his apartment. His eldest brother sounded way too much like their dad when he was pissed off. “And why is that?”

“Because it’s the first time you’ve bothered to answer any of our calls in the last twenty-four hours.”

Ethan pulled his phone back and checked the call log. Sure enough, there were at least twenty missed calls from his family since yesterday. “Sorry, I had my phone on silent.”

“You need to come up with a better excuse than that. I was about to fly out there to make sure you were still alive.”

“I’m not Ty,” he replied, his voice tight with irritation. “I’m staying clean, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Then why the hell weren’t you answering your phone?”

“I already told you why.” He parked his bike along the wall by the door and hung his helmet on the hook above it.

“Why did you have your phone on silent?”

“Why do you and Mom feel the need to check in on me every few hours? I’m not helpless, you know.”

The anger melted from Adam’s voice, leaving genuine concern in its wake. “It’s just because we’re worried about you.”

“Well, stop worrying so much, okay? I have a great support system here, and she’s wonderful. She’s kind, thoughtful, smart, and has enough nerve to smack me upside the head when I’m being an idiot. She’s already helped me work through so much on the road to staying clean, so you can stop treating me like a child.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment, and Ethan’s stomach sank. When Adam was quiet like that, it meant he was dissecting something that was said.

“So, tell me more about this support system of yours.”

He could just imagine his brother’s response if he told him who Becca was. She still didn’t have the most stellar reputation, even though she’d retired from her party girl ways years ago. She’d tried to protect his privacy, and now it was his chance to return the favor. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“There’s a nine a.m. flight to LaGuardia I can still make,” Adam warned.

“Just cut me some slack. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“No, but you are in a tough place right now.”

“News flash, Adam—Hell’s Kitchen has gone under some serious gentrification, so it’s not the shithole it used to be. You saw how much my loft cost.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

Ethan plopped down on the sofa and massaged his temple. Adam and his mom had no doubt researched narcotic recovery and probably already knew about the one-month speed bump. “Yes, I’m at the one-month mark, and yes, it’s been tough, but if I need any help, I can call on Becca.”

“So her name’s Becca, huh?”

Damn it! Adam had somehow managed to weasel her name from him. “Yeah.”

“And she lives in the city?”

“No, she lives in fuckin’ New Jersey.”

Instead of shutting his brother up, the comment only made Adam laugh. “Ah, the sarcasm’s back in full force. Always a good sign.”

“See? I’m fine. So lay off with the bedtime checks, okay?”

“Fine, and I’ll tell Mom to back off, too, but don’t be surprised if she calls wanting to know more about Becca.”

A lump the size of the Wall Street bull formed in his throat. “Why?”

“Because it’s the first time you’ve mentioned a woman who wasn’t some chick you banged while you were on tour.”

No, but there was last night…

“And from the sound of things,” Adam continued, “you think very highly of her.”

“Yeah, I like her. She’s cool, but there’s no need for Mom to start planning another wedding. In fact, it might be nice if you didn’t mention Becca to her.”

“Don’t want to get her hopes up?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

But the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being linked with Becca, of spending more time with her outside the NA arena, of being called her boyfriend instead of just her friend. He just had to figure out the best way to handle the transition to that point.

“I won’t mention it to Mom if you tell me where you were last night.”

Damn it, his brother never gave up. But that didn’t mean he’d have to tell him everything. “I was celebrating Rosh Hashanah.”

“Rosh Hash—what the fuck?”

“Shanah Tovah, Adam.” He hung up and made sure his phone was still on silent before slipping it back into his pocket.

***

“Becca, you have some serious explaining to do!”

Becca shot up in bed at the sound of her roommate’s irate screech. The first thing she noticed was that she was still naked from last night. The second thing was the still-warm impression next to her from another person. The pleasant ache between her legs reminded her of the previous night’s encounter.

Holy shit! I slept with Ethan Kelly.

Then another more worrisome thought followed. Where is he?

Becca yanked the sheets up over her chest as Ari burst into her bedroom. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

Ari stood at the foot of her bed, arms crossed and cheeks florid. “Oh my God. You fucked him?”

“No, I just suddenly decided to sleep naked next to a sexy man, but managed to keep my hands off of him.”

“Damn it, Becca! You know how long I’ve had a crush on Ethan Kelly.”

Becca rested her forehead in her hand. So the cat was out of the bag. “Funny. You seemed rather pissed off that he was even here last night.”

“That was before I realized who he was.”

“Um, sorry?”

“Don’t bother lying to me.” Ari plopped down on the edge of the bed, her arms still crossed. “Did you know?”

“Of course I knew, but he wanted to fly under the radar, and I respect that.”

“But I’m your best friend. You could’ve at least told me.”

Becca checked the clock. 7:14 a.m. Way too early to be having this conversation on her day off. “Speaking of Ethan, where is he?”

The redness in Ari’s cheeks spread to her ears and neck, and her ramrod straight posture wilted. She turned away, twirling a strand of blond hair around her finger. “Well, um, I think I scared him away.”

Becca jumped to her knees, still clutching the sheet to her chest and ignoring the blast of cool air that bathed her bare ass. “What happened?”

Ari gave her a nervous laugh and moved on to a new segment of her hair to twirl. “Well, I smelled the coffee he was making, found him in the kitchen with his shirt off—by the way, he’s way hotter in person than in any of his photos. No wonder why you wanted to keep him all to yourself.”

“Out with it, Ari.”

She released her hair and threw her hands down in her lap with an exasperated sigh. “I guess I went a little crazy fan-girl on him.”

“And then?”

“He freaked out and bolted.”

“Damn it, Ari! I expected better from you, what with Gabe being a movie star and all.”

“I’m sorry, but he was there—in our kitchen—half naked. I just, you know, lost it.”

Becca wrapped the sheet around her and climbed out of bed, searching for her phone in the mess of clothes on the floor. Once she found it, she dialed his number and counted the rings before it went to voice mail.

Shit!

She hung up without leaving a message and sank back down on her bed. She’d try again later, and if she couldn’t reach him by phone, she hoped she could catch him at the next NA meeting and apologize for her roommate’s behavior.

Ari sat next to her, her head still bowed. “Sorry, Becca. I didn’t mean to scare him off.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get hold of him and explain everything.”

Ari nodded, then asked, “So, how was it?”

Now it was Becca’s turn to blush. “Wow.”

“Wow?”

“Yes, definitely wow.”

Chapter Ten

“Rebecca, may I please have a word with you?”

A dozen pairs of eyes zeroed in on her after Elaine made her request at the end of the weekly staff meeting, all of them wondering why the lowly assistant had been singled out by the editor-in-chief.

Becca wiped her palms on her skirt and nodded. “Sure, Elaine.”

“In my office.” She beckoned her to follow her down the hall to the corner office with breathtaking views of Midtown. “Close the door behind you.”

Becca did as she was told and waited for Elaine to sit down behind her desk before taking a seat across from her. Her mouth was so dry, she doubted she’d be able to respond to anything her boss said, and she wished she’d brought the bottle of water from her cubicle with her to the meeting.

“You’re been here since January, correct?”

“Yes.”

Elaine put on a pair of designer reading glasses and skimmed over some of the papers on her desk while she spoke. “And while I appreciate you speaking up in our meetings with suggestions for articles, I don’t think you’ve firmly grasped who Moderne’s audience is. Our reader is a young, modern female who wants to stay on top of all the trends, be it fashion, beauty, or men. She is not interested in the need to educate schoolgirls in third world countries.”

Oh great, I’m about to get fired.

Becca curled her fingers into the nubby knitted fabric of her skirt. “Yes, Elaine.”

The editor set down her papers and removed her glasses to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I know you would like to write more serious articles, but that’s not what we do here. I’m far more interested in what you can give me through your social connections.”

Becca’s spine stiffened, and her fear morphed into a mixture of outrage and confusion. She struggled to keep her voice calm as she asked, “My connections?”

“Yes, you’re Becca Shore, party girl extraordinaire and heiress to a fortune,” Elaine explained with a flourish. “You know people my readers are eager to learn about. You can provide Moderne with the juicy celebrity gossip that will make issues fly off the newsstand. Why do you think I agreed to take you on?”

A bitter taste filled her mouth, but she kept it closed.

Elaine leaned forward, arms on her desk. “Surely, you must know something we can use.”

How about the fact I screwed Ethan Kelly last week? I bet your readers would love to find out what he’s like in the bedroom.

But she wasn’t the fuck-and-tell type. Not to mention, she was too busy trying to convince him to trust her. He hadn’t made any effort to contact her since he ran out of her apartment Friday morning.

She kept her face blank and shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

Elaine’s face hardened, and she sat back in her chair. “Well, then consider that your assignment, Rebecca. We’re getting into the holiday season, and I expect with your family’s connections, you’ll have your pick of parties to attend. If someone important so much as sneezes, I want to hear about it.”

So, I’m being regulated to being a celebrity spy.

She squeezed her hands into fists to keep from telling Elaine no. As crappy as this job was, it was a job that paid her modest bills, and the last thing she needed was to get canned. If she had no income, she’d be forced to crawl back to her father and concede to his demands. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing your reports.” Elaine turned her attention to her computer and dismissed Becca with a wave of her hand.

Becca retreated to her cubicle, unable to ease the sick feeling in her stomach. The only reason she’d gotten this job was because of who she used to be, and now she was in danger of losing it. Her dream of becoming a respected journalist seemed further away than ever.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Ari’s number. “Can you get away for lunch? I really need someone to talk to.”

“Sure. Want to meet at Le Cirque? I know the maître d’, and he can squeeze us in.”

Becca winced at the thought of the pricy check that would entail, but brushed it off with the excuse that she needed the splurge. “Sure. Meet you there at noon?”

“I’m in a meeting until twelve-thirty, so make it one. See you then.”

***

Later, lunch still sat like a lead brick in the pit of Becca’s stomach as she left work. She’d spent two hours brainstorming with Ari about how she could save her job without becoming a social pariah, and nothing seemed feasible.

Of course, it didn’t help that Ari kept bringing up her relationship with Ethan. It was only when Becca threatened to publish photos of Gabe in braces and headgear that Ari backed off. Some things didn’t need to be made public, and Ethan Kelly was one of them.

She hurried down the street to the nearest subway station. The train was waiting at the track when she reached the stairs leading to the platform. She ran down to catch it, only to feel something crack under her feet. Her ankle rolled, and she stumbled down the last few steps, praying she didn’t make a face plant on the concrete. By the time she caught her balance, the doors had closed.

She glanced down at the broken heel of her shoe and cursed. If they’d been real Jimmy Choos instead of knockoffs, she would’ve made the train. Now she was left with a ruined pair of shoes and would be late for her NA meeting.

She hobbled over to the nearest bench and fished through her bag for the tiny tube of super-glue she kept there for emergencies. There was a time in her life when she would’ve tossed the shoes in the garbage and bought a new pair, but the cost of lunch had set her back far enough on her finances that new shoes were out of the question. For now, she had to patch the heel back on and pray it would last until she got home and could apply some stronger glue.

Her ankle was starting to swell by the time she snuck into the meeting. She didn’t even bother looking for Ethan and opted for the closest open chair. Instead of listening to the other members, her mind whirled around her own predicament. She could either become a rat or end up at the mercy of her father again. Just the idea of living under his constant scrutiny was enough to revive the familiar craving.

When she was high, she didn’t care what he thought about her. His criticism rolled off like splashes on her favorite Burberry rain boots. But if she went back to him, she’d have to admit she was wrong about the choices she’d made, and he’d be completely insufferable.

It’s better to be poor and hungry than be tempted to get high again.

It was a revelation she’d come to two years ago, and it gave her the strength to quiet the craving. If she lost her job at Moderne, she could find something else to do. Bartend. Wait tables. Maybe even see if she could get on at the public relations firm where Ari worked. Besides, if she were broke, she’d think more than twice about dropping twenty dollars every time she wanted to get high.

The meeting drew to a close, and she met Ethan’s gaze across the room. Her breath caught from the intensity of his stare, and she squirmed in her seat from the memories of him ordering her to touch herself. Part of her wanted to flee before he caught her just to avoid the awkward “So, about the other night” conversation, but the predatory heat in his gray eyes almost forbade her to leave without speaking to him first.

And he knew what a sucker she was when he ordered her to do something.

She stayed in her seat and waited for him while the others wandered out of the basement.

He wove this way through the crowd until he stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets. Even dressed in a faded T-shirt and worn jeans, he was sexy. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she repeated, not coming up with anything better to say.

He rocked back and forth on his feet before sitting in the chair next to her. “Becca, I….” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

Her throat tightened. This was where he was going to give her the “Thanks for the other night, but I think we should just be friends” spiel. And she deserved it. After all, she’d been the one to invite him back to her bed when he was still in a precarious position of his recovery.

He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to her. “Can we go to the café and talk?”

“Sure,” she said with an extra dose of false cheer in her voice.

When she stood, though, the throbbing in her ankle roared to life and sent a jolt of pain up her leg. She gasped and lurched forward.

Ethan caught her, his brows drawing together in worry. “What’s wrong?”

“These stupid shoes.” She sat back down and took off the offending shoe. The strong glue had failed, and now the heel dangled by a thin strip of fake leather. “I twisted my ankle on the way over here.”

“Let me take a look.” He knelt in front of her to examine her ankle. “You know, this is the second time I’ve seen you stumble in those heels. You should think about sturdier footwear.”

“And risk not being fashionable? Never!”

His warm hands caressed her calf and slid down to the swollen joint. The sensation awakened her desire and brought back memories of his hands on other parts of her body. And despite the fact that his inspection of her ankle was far from sexual, she grew more and more turned on with every gentle squeeze.

“It doesn’t look broken,” he said and looked back at her. He paused, and as though he read her desire, his mouth curled up in a sexy grin that made her slick with anticipation. “Maybe we should just go back to your place?”

“Are you ready to handle Ari?”

“Good point.” He rose and scooped her up in his arms. “My place it is.”

Her tongue tripped over itself in embarrassment. “You don’t need to carry me.”

“And you don’t need to be walking on that ankle.” He climbed up the stairs with the same brisk pace as he did with empty arms. “Besides, it’ll give me a chance to play knight in shining armor.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“No, but I definitely don’t mind.” He carried her to his motorcycle. “Do you think you’ll be able to ride?”

“I should.”

“Then strap on your helmet.” He handed it to her and put on his own.

She’d been so flustered from his chivalry that she’d forgotten he wanted to go back to his place until he headed west toward Hell’s Kitchen. Warning bells sounded in the back of her mind. If she went back to his place, she risked getting naked with him again. But she rationalized that she could exercise some self-control around Ethan Kelly, and knowing where he lived would be important in case she needed to check in on him.

He pulled up to a renovated warehouse and turned off the engine. “Stay on,” he ordered as he pushed her and the bike inside and onto the freight elevator.

“Don’t trust your neighbors?” she teased.

“Not with this.” The elevator opened at the top floor and he paused to unlock the single door in front of them. “Sorry about the mess.”

Scattered papers covered the furniture and tables, and a collection of empty soda cans gathered on the kitchen counter. But as he carried her across the room, she discovered the papers were sheet music, and each one had notes drawn on the scales.

The loft had the industrial vibe so popular with converted warehouses. Exposed brick lined the walls, and large windows offered her a glimpse of the city lights shimmering off the Hudson River. The kitchen was a sleek combination of black lacquer and stainless steel, and a black metal staircase led to the open bedroom above.

He cleared a space on his sofa and set her down there before gathering the sheet music into neat piles. “I’ve been, um, kind of on a binge lately.”

“What kind of binge?” Her heart pounded, and she checked for track marks along the tattooed vein on his left arm.

He held up his hands and shook his head. “No, no, no—not that kind of a binge.” He gathered a few more stacks of music sheets and placed them on the grand piano in the middle of the room. “A music binge. Ever since I left your place, I’ve had one song after another pop into my mind, and I was trying to write them all down before I lost them.”

“So that’s what you were doing all weekend? Composing new material?”

“Um, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck again and focused on her ankle. “Let me get you some ice.”

He disappeared into the kitchen area of the loft and filled a plastic bag full of crushed ice from the dispenser in his refrigerator door. Then he wrapped it in a dish towel and gently placed it on her ankle. “Too cold?”

“No, it’s fine.” She shifted back on the sofa to make room for him to sit down. “Tell me about these new songs.”

“It’s been crazy, Bec. It was like—bam!—a floodgate opening up. I think I’ve written enough new material to record a whole album. I’ve hardly slept all weekend, and tonight was the first time I’ve stepped out of my apartment since I came home Friday morning.”

Hmm…I wonder what Elaine would say if I told her Ethan Kelly was moving on without the rest of Ravinia’s Rejects.

He flashed her a sheepish grin. “I suppose I ought to apologize for not calling you back, but I….”

So that’s why he didn’t call. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He got up and paced in front of her, his hands jammed into his pockets again. “I should’ve called.” He paused and added, “I wanted to call.”

“Don’t worry, Ethan. I understand. After weeks of writer’s block, I know you didn’t want to disrupt the flow.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to hurt you, either.” He sat back down on the sofa and took her hand in his. “What I mean to say is, I really enjoyed the other night, and I’m hoping I didn’t fuck things up by leaving like I did or not calling.”

“I can understand why you left. Ari can be a little…intense.”

“I was terrified she’d post a photo of me on Facebook or something like that. You of all people know how hard it is to hide once the paparazzi finds out where you are.”

She nodded. Those days seemed like a distant memory, but she remembered what it was like to walk out of the gym to the flash of cameras trying to capture her at her most sweaty. “So what are you saying, Ethan?”

“This.” He leaned forward and kissed her until she forgot about everything but the pressure of his lips against hers. He moved slowly, seeking her permission to continue, and when she granted it, he swept in and deepened the kiss. His arms wrapped around her, and the passion of his embrace aroused her hunger more than a four-course meal at a five-star restaurant.

She kissed him back, her hands reaching for him, exploring everything she could about him. The taste of his tongue as it entwined with hers. The subtle cedar in his cologne mixing with the scent of fabric softener on his shirt. The carved ripples of his abs and biceps. Before she could stop herself, she was falling back on the sofa and pulling him with her.

Thankfully, he was thinking clearly enough to pull back before they both got naked. He leaned over her, his arms like iron bars on either side of her chest, and struggled to catch his breath. “Becca, I want you so badly.”

“Then what’s the holdup?” She reached to pull him back to down into another kiss, but he shook her off.

“No, I mean, I want more than just sex. I like you. You get me.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“You know—the normal dating stuff. Dinner.” He placed a simple peck on the corner of her mouth. “A movie.” Another one on the tip of her nose. “Then maybe dessert.”

He gazed down at her, the hunger in his eyes matched only by the tense, yet hopeful smile.

For a supposedly jaded rocker, his request was refreshingly innocent and sincere. She licked her lips and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You know how much I like dessert.”

“Damn, Bec, when you say it that way….” This time, he didn’t shake her off when she pulled him back into another kiss. Without breaking contact with her mouth, he scooped her up in his arms again and carried her up the metal staircase to the bed.

He laid her down and grinned. “Speaking of dessert, ever since Thursday night, I’ve had a craving for honey.” He leaned in closer and added in a low rumble, “But only if I get to lick it off of you.”

Another shiver of delight coursed down her spine at the thought of his tongue exploring her body. “Do you happen to have any?

“I’ll add it to my shopping list. Right now, you’re sweet enough.”

As they stripped off their clothes, she indulged in the fantasy of how easy it would be to fall in love with Ethan Kelly.

Chapter Eleven

The doorbell interrupted Becca while she was applying her final coat of mascara. She glanced down at the time on her phone.

Shit! He’s early.

She made quick work of her lashes and applied a coat of sheer lip color before checking her reflection in the mirror. Not as perfect as she would’ve liked, but acceptable. The vintage knee-length, fifties-styled ice blue dress made her eyes pop, and the glittering beadwork added just the right sparkle for the occasion.

Ari was opening the front door when Becca exited her bedroom. Her roommate was dressed in a simple red sheath that clung to her petite curves and boasted a revealing slit from ankle to hip. Unlike her, Ari didn’t “rent the runway” or explore secondhand stores for clothes. She owned the designer dress. “Hey, Ethan.”

Becca released the pent-up breath. In the nearly two months she and Ethan had been dating, Ari had overcome her adolescent adoration and saw him simply as Becca’s boyfriend, and Ethan was much more relaxed when he hung out at her apartment.

“Hey, Ari. You look nice.”

He stepped into the apartment, and Becca’s pulse quickened. He’d always been sexy with his rough around the edges, bad-boy air. But dressed in a tux, he’d become downright irresistible. The satin lapels matched his short, slicked-back black hair, and the lines accentuated his broad shoulders and lean waist.

I want to drag him back to the bedroom and muss him up right away.

He turned to her and froze, his mouth slightly ajar. “Wow, Bec. You look great.”

Her cheeks grew warm, and she lowered her eyes with a shy smile. “You clean up pretty nicely yourself.”

“Not all cleaned up.” He lifted his trousers enough to show the polished metal-studded motorcycle boots. “I had to retain some bit of myself.”

“You rebel.” She slipped her arms through his. “So are you telling me that we’re taking your bike to the Museum Gala?”

He laughed, never taking his eyes off of her. “No, I can spring for a taxi.” Then he waved to Ari. “We’ll see you there.”

Ari waved and rushed back to her bathroom to finish getting ready. Her roommate didn’t have a date for the event, and for a moment, Becca thought about inviting her to share a cab with them. That thought flew out of her mind, though, the second Ethan pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

“You look like a sexy snow queen.”

“Are you suggesting I launch into that Idina Menzel song?”

He pulled back, his face scrunched up in horror, and laughed again. “No, don’t. Ty’s sister and her little girl joined us on tour around the time the movie came out, and all I heard for days was that song.”

The mirth faded, and his gaze grew distant, the same way it always did when he spoke of Ty. He rubbed his left forearm over the place where his best friend’s name was tattooed, the way he always did when a craving hit him.

Becca cupped his cheek in one hand and placed a kiss on the other to pull him from his somber mood. “Let’s go before they run out of virgin cocktails.”

The American Museum of Natural History’s annual gala was one of New York City’s hottest social events, and she didn’t want to miss a thing, especially since Elaine was still hounding her for more celebrity gossip. She managed to unearth a few gems during the New Yorker Festival and NYC Food and Wine Week last month, but this would be the first time she’d be surrounded by enough big names to land a good story.

Of course, the breakout story was escorting her to the event. Ethan’s turnaround and comeback never ceased to amaze her. He’d written fourteen songs since Rosh Hashanah and was working with some set musicians to record them for a solo album. All this was being done in secret, but when the news would eventually get out, it would set the music world buzzing.

But no matter how many times she was tempted to be the one to write that story, she refused to betray his trust in her.

The taxi drove across Central Park and dropped them off at the Museum of Natural History. Growing up, she’d heard stories from her parents about the extravagant event that took place under the shadows of the blue whale and the T-rex, but this was her first time attending. And it was all due to Ethan. She’d mentioned wanting to go a few weeks ago when they were touring the exhibits, and he surprised her a few hours later with tickets.

Once inside the rotunda, they found their way to the bar. Ethan ordered her usual club soda with lime and got a Coke for himself. A scan of the room identified dozens of her parents’ friends and the elite of New York society. Celebrities from stage and screen mingled among them, adding extra energy to the excitement in the room.

Becca made her way through the crowd, stopping to chat with people she knew. She introduced Ethan as her boyfriend, using his first name only. Every time she said it, though, a little rush of glee struck her. She still couldn’t believe this charismatic, sexy man was dating her. He could’ve had his pick of any of the actresses or models in the room, but his fingers remained firmly entwined with hers, and his attention never wavered from her.

How did I get so lucky?

She was floating on cloud nine until she heard someone say her name and turned around.

***

Despite his aversion to crowds and large parties, Ethan was glad he’d gotten the tickets for the Gala. Becca lit up the room. It was more than the icicle blue dress that hugged her full breasts and accentuated her curvy hips. It was the way she worked the crowd—smiling, laughing, engaging with complete strangers and making them feel at ease. The Gala awakened the partying side of her that had been dormant for years, but her maturity tempered it with a sophistication he wished he could replicate.

Initially, he’d held her hand to soothe his anxiety about being recognized at such an important event. The craving to get high and forget about his jitters ambushed him several times during the first half hour, but each time, he looked inside himself and found a way to push it aside. As his nerves eased, he held on to her hand as a symbol of pride. He’d caught the admiring glances some of the other men had thrown her way as she weaved through the crowd, and a flame of jealousy roared to life within him. She was his girlfriend, and he wanted to make that very clear to anyone who met them.

All was going well until Becca turned around and came face to face with a tall, elegant older woman.

The color drained from Becca’s face, and it was her turn to squeeze his fingers for support. “Claire.”

His gut knotted with worry, but he resisted the urge to swoop in and rescue her, especially with so many people there to witness them making a scene.

Claire started to reach for her like she wanted to hug her, but then lowered her arms and drew back. “It’s so wonderful running into you here, Becca,” she said, her shaking words mirroring the nervous smile on her face. “And who’s this?”

“My boyfriend, Ethan,” she replied, just as she’d had all evening.

The tension between the two women smothered the joy from earlier. Claire kept looking as though she was waiting for Becca’s permission to continue, but Becca looked like she was a breath away from bolting. She trembled beside him, her grip threatening to cut off the circulation in his hand.

The uneasy silence that stretched between them gave him a chance to study Claire closer. She was tall and lithe, the few lines around her eyes hinting at her age, but the glowing beauty of her skin made it difficult to guess. Her honey-colored hair cascaded over her shoulder in glossy waves, and her strapless evening gown created cleavage that most men probably wouldn’t be able to turn away from. But there was something about her that seemed vaguely familiar.

“Is there any chance you’ve changed your mind about Thanksgiving?” Claire asked. “Jacob told me you had plans, but your father and I would love to have you at the table.”

“Claire, you know I can’t.” Becca’s attention shifted to someone behind Claire, and she stumbled back, her hand slipping from his. “Excuse me. I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

Claire’s face tightened with anguish as Becca fled in the direction of the Asian Mammals Exhibit, but it wasn’t until she spoke that Ethan believed it was genuine. “I’m terribly sorry you had to witness that. Even though she’s as stubborn as her father, I still have hope they can make amends.”

That one sentence made him realize there was a whole side to Becca he didn’t know. They’d been together for almost two months, but during that time, she’d hardly ever mentioned her family. And now that he’d gained a hint as to why, he became determined to unravel the whole story.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said to Claire a moment before an older man with the same blue-green eyes as Becca came up and put his arm around her waist. Ethan nodded in acknowledgment to the man he assumed was Becca’s father, and turned around to find his date.

The music signaling the Gala attendees to make their way downstairs to the dinner tables sounded, and Ethan found himself fighting against the tide of humanity heading in that direction. Once he broke free, he searched for the nearest ladies’ room.

He found Becca leaning against the stone walls outside the restroom, her head tilted up toward the ceiling and her eyes closed. The calm, collected woman he’d always known seemed on the verge of having a panic attack. Her ragged breaths flowed in and out with enough force to shake her body. Her hands clenched and unclenched, and a sheen of perspiration covered her pale face.

He approached her with caution, afraid any sudden movement might send her over the edge. “Talk to me, Bec,” he said when he got close enough to talk in a hushed voice.

Her eyes snapped open, wide with fear. “Ethan, I….” She exhaled with a sigh and closed them again. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but she seemed to pull herself together. Her breathing slowed, and some of the color returned to her cheeks.

He stood in front of her and leaned against the wall. “Funny. Claire said the same thing.”

He waited for her to expound on the encounter, but all she did was crack open one wary eye.

“So, what’s the story?” he asked, determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Becca. I watched you all night long, and something about that woman made you lose your cool.”

“Just drop it, okay?”

“No, I’m not going to let up until you at least tell me who she is.”

She let out another heavy sigh, this one full of exasperation, and opened both eyes. She continued to look up at the ceiling while her body squirmed and the toe of her shoe tapped against the floor. “Claire is my stepmother.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“Nothing at all. I like her. She’s the only mom I’ve ever known, and she’s probably the kindest person you’ll ever meet.”

“Then why did you run away from her?”

The tapping of her toe quickened, and Becca bit her bottom lip. “It wasn’t her I was running away from. It was my father.”

A protective urge rose inside him so quickly, he forgot to breathe. His vision clouded with red vengeance. What had that asshole done to her to make her this terrified? “Why?”

She pushed off the wall, still avoiding his gaze. “Listen, Ethan, it’s complicated, and I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“Too late.” He corralled her back against the wall, his arms fencing her in. “I’m your boyfriend, remember? I’m already involved.”

She finally looked at him, and the tension in her face softened into affection. “I know, Ethan, but—”

“No buts.” He tilted her chin up. “Now, what happened between you and your father?”

She chewed her bottom lip and tried to turn away, but every time she did, he guided her attention back to him. After a minute of trying to avoid his question, she said in a quiet voice, “I avoid my father because he’s my trigger.”

The air whooshed out of his lungs, and the angry rigidity in his arms slackened. “Are you planning on taking a hit?”

Her face drew up in disgust. “Absolutely not! I’ve been clean for too long to relapse just from something like this.”

“Then tell me why he’s your trigger.”

She opened her mouth, everything in her body screaming in protest, but he stopped her by placing his index finger on her lips. “You helped me when I was in a bad place. Now it’s my turn.”

That brief glimpse of gratitude bloomed in her eyes, and he knew he’d done the right thing pressing the issue.

She took a deep breath, her toe still tapping its rapid beat, and then grew still as she exhaled. “My mother was a heroin addict, too. She overdosed when I was a baby, so I have no memory of her. But my father did. And it became apparent at a very early age that I was just like her.”

Becca played with one of the tiny beads on her skirt as she continued. “My father thought that if he controlled everything, if he kept me on the straight and narrow, I wouldn’t end up like my mother. What started out as a gesture of concern became smothering. If I walked in a minute past my ridiculously early curfew, I was punished. If I made a B instead of an A, I never heard the end of it. If I had a hair out of place or gained a couple of pounds, I was lectured on how my appearance reflected negatively on the family. By the time I got to my teen years, I lived in constant fear of him finding some fault in me. And he always found something wrong.

“My relief came through a skiing accident. I broke my ankle and got Percocet for the first time. And oh my god, what an epiphany it was. When I was on the meds, I didn’t care about anything. I could be in my father’s company and not suffer the gut-wrenching panic that I’d do something wrong. It was the release I’d been searching for, and for once in my life, I felt peace.”

Ethan’s heart squeezed a little tighter as he listened, knowing all too well what she was talking about.

“I went through the first bottle, then the second, then the third. My ankle healed, but the craving never went away. I started raiding my parents’ and grandparents’ medicine cabinets for more. I faked a back injury. I found contacts at school who could supply me with more Percocet. But when the cost got too high, I was introduced to the cheaper fix from heroin.”

She gave a rueful laugh. “I’d been using for well over a year before Claire noticed the track marks. Daddy had a shit fit when he found out and forced me into rehab, but we both know what happened next.”

He recalled her story of how she almost died before going clean for good.

“The night I overdosed, I was at a charity event like this with my parents. My father criticized my dress for being too revealing, so I retreated to the bathroom and shot up so I could make it through the rest of the evening.” She drew in another deep breath. “The rest is history.”

Part of Ethan physically ached for her. He’d always wondered why someone as privileged as Becca would turn to drugs, but he’d just assumed it had been out of boredom or to fit in with her fellow partiers. “So that’s why you avoid him?”

She nodded and stared at the toes of her now-still shoes. “I realized during my second stint in rehab that I’d be better off not dealing with the constant pressure he put on me, so I cut myself off from him. I have lunch with Claire once in a while, and I talk to my younger brother, Jacob, at least once a week, but I haven’t spoken to my father in almost two years.”

He couldn’t imagine cutting himself off from his family. Yes, his old man had given him a hard time growing up, but he’d also encouraged Ethan’s love of music and stood behind his decision to forgo college and hit the road with the band. And as much as his mother and brothers annoyed him with their constant need to check on him, he knew it was because they cared. He was thankful to have a large family that gave a damn about him.

Now he just had to help Becca realize her family did, too.

“So what’s this about Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“Jacob called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to join the family at our cabin in the Catskills for Thanksgiving. I tried to tell him no, but he wouldn’t back down until I at least said I’d think about it.”

“Sounds like both he and Claire would like for you to be part of the family again.”

“Yeah, but look what a mess I became when I saw my father across the room. Now imagine what would happen if I was sitting at the table with him for an hour or more.”

He cradled her hand in his own and kissed her knuckles before pressing it against the spot in his chest where his heart beat. “I’ll be there with you.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Really, you don’t have to do that. My family is fucked up, and I’m sure you’d much rather spend Thanksgiving with yours.”

“They’ll understand.” He closed the space between them until their foreheads touched. “Please, Bec, let me help you the way you helped me. I’m not suggesting you have dinner with your father every Friday night, but I think we can get through Thanksgiving dinner together.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, but she managed to blink them back before they fell. She squeezed his hand in return. “Okay, then. Together.”

“Good.” He took a step back and looped her arm through his. “Why don’t we tell Claire she’ll need to set the table for two more guests?”

Becca shook her head and gave him the first smile he’d seen since she’d bumped into her stepmother. “Oh, no. Not tonight. I’ll text her tomorrow. Right now, I just want to forget about my father and enjoy the rest of the evening with you.”

“I can live with that.” They went downstairs and joined Ari at a table, not bringing it up again for the rest of dinner.

Chapter Twelve

“I’m going to be sick.”

“My driving isn’t that horrible,” Ethan teased as he drove the rented Mercedes G-class SUV along the snow-covered country road.

She only wished she could blame it on being in a car for the last two hours. The closer they got to her father’s cabin, the tighter the knots in her stomach squeezed. In a couple of miles, she’d be ready to hurl.

As though he knew what she was worried about, he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. “It’ll be okay, Becca. We can get through this.”

Not her. We. For some strange reason, he was in this for the long haul, and her heart did a little flop. Every other guy she’d dated had been so terrified of her father, they’d take off at the first sign of his presence. But Ethan had not only agreed to come to the Catskills for Thanksgiving dinner, but for the whole weekend. She just hoped that he wouldn’t come to his senses halfway through and say, “Forget this.”

“Let’s find something to distract you,” he suggested.

Yeah, something besides how good it would feel to shoot up and block out this whole weekend.

“Um, how did your last recording session go?”

“Really well.” He grinned, his eyes never leaving the road. The snow fell heavier as the SUV wound up the mountainside.

“Care to expand on that?”

“I played with some new riffs, and it added a whole new level to the song.”

They hit a patch of ice under the snow, and the rear end of the SUV fishtailed. Becca gripped the door handle and clamped her jaw shut, so scared that if she opened her mouth, she’d puke. When her pulse returned to normal, she asked, “How so?”

“It created more depth.” He slowed the car down as the incline grew steeper. “It’s strange doing this solo album. On one hand, I still miss collaborating with Ty and the other guys, but on the other hand, it’s so freeing. I’m finally getting to make music I like, to record the songs that speak to me.”

“Any chance I can hear a demo soon?”

He shook his head, just as he had every other time she’d asked. “Not until it’s ready.”

“And when will that be? When you launch it on iTunes?”

He laughed. “No, Bec, I’ll let you hear it before then. I’m just still trying to sound it out, if you know what I mean. Sort of like how you don’t let your editor see your rough notes for a story. You wait until you think it’s polished before turning it in. I feel the same way about my music.”

The GPS dinged, and he slowed down to a crawl. “Is this where I turn?”

She nodded, the queasiness reviving tenfold.

The car passed the metal gates that marked the beginning of her family’s property and inched up the narrow lane through firs that bowed down under the weight of the snow. She’d almost talked Ethan out of going this morning when the weather report called for a winter storm in the Catskills, but he’d shrugged it off by telling her he grew up in Chicago and could handle the snow. The trees cleared to reveal the sprawling Arts and Crafts style home surrounded by three smaller bungalows.

Ethan let out a low whistle. “I thought you said it was a cabin. Unless, of course, you were referring to one of those smaller ones there.”

She gave him a playful shove and found herself chuckling. “You should see the beach house in the Hamptons.”

“I have no room to talk. You should see my family’s ‘cabin’ on Geneva Lake. It had to accommodate all nine of us growing up.”

“This was actually one of my great-grandfather’s first hotels. When the area fell out of fashion in the seventies, we turned it into a vacation home.”

Ethan parked the SUV behind the other cars and turned to her. “Ready?”

“No,” she whimpered. She doubted she’d ever be ready to deal with her father.

“Come on, Bec, you’re strong enough to get through this. I’ll be on my best behavior and charm the socks off them.”

She wished she could agree with him. She wasn’t sure which one of them her father would attack first. At least Ethan had toned the rocker look down for the weekend. The cream-colored fisherman’s sweater he wore looked like something from an L.L. Bean catalog—perfect for a rustic weekend in the mountains. It covered his tattoos, and even though he hadn’t shaved this morning, his stubble appeared neatly groomed.

But he wore his favorite boots, much to her delight. She was grateful he was willing to fit in with her preppy family, but still retain part of himself.

She gathered her courage along with her weekend bag and nodded. “Let’s go.”

The warm scents of roasted turkey and maple-glazed sweet potatoes greeted her when she opened the front door. She breathed it in and focused on how tasty the meal would be instead of how torturous. “Hello?”

Mrs. Cordero, her parents’ housekeeper, appeared in the foyer with outstretched arms. “Rebecca, you made it.” She pulled her into a vicious hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “How are you, mai?”

Becca unraveled her scarf while she caught her breath. “Good, and you?”

“I can’t complain.” She took Becca’s coat and turned to Ethan. “And who is this? ¡Estás bueno!”

Ethan grinned at the middle-aged Puerto Rican woman batting her eyelashes at him and flirted right back. “You first, bonita.”

Mrs. Cordero’s plump cheeks reddened. She pulled Becca aside and whispered, “I like him already. You should keep him.”

Becca chuckled. “I think I might.”

It was becoming easier and easier to fall in love with Ethan Kelly. She couldn’t help but grin like a goofy, lovestruck teenager whenever she thought of him. He could be moody and reserved at times, but he was always there when she needed him. Thoughtful and intelligent, he knew how to soothe her soul when it was troubled and how to make her body writhe with pleasure. But most important, he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world whenever he looked at her.

“Ethan, this is Mrs. Cordero. She’s been with my family as long as I can remember. Mami, this is my boyfriend, Ethan.”

His chest puffed up when she introduced him. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cordero.”

“Oh, yes, I like him.” She giggled behind her hand before waving for them to follow her. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

Mrs. Cordero ran the vacation home the same way she did her parents’ home in Manhattan—with well-ordered discipline tempered by her jovial mood. It was no surprise at all to find her orchestrating the holiday dinner down to the precise second Becca’s father requested. When they arrived in the oversized dining room, two maids were already placing the appetizers in front of the guests. She left Becca and Ethan to give the maids a few more orders in Spanish before chasing them back into the kitchen ahead of her.

The warm, affectionate welcome of the housekeeper contrasted sharply with the cool, dissecting one she received from her family. Her father sat at the head of the table, his hard blue-green gaze picking her apart before shifting to Ethan. The rest of the family—aunts, uncles, cousins—sat quietly in the seats as though they were waiting for permission to eat.

Claire stood from her place on the opposite end of the table and gave Becca a slight hug. “Becca, I’m so glad you and your boyfriend made it. We were getting worried.”

“Yes, you’re three minutes late, Rebecca,” her father said in a steely voice. “You and your guest are holding up dinner.”

Two faults already, and I haven’t even sat down. She forced a genteel smile on her face and followed Claire to the two empty seats at the table.

Thankfully, Ethan spoke up. “Sorry about that, Mr. Shore. The roads were getting a bit dodgy with all the snow, and I wanted to be extra careful with Becca in the car.”

Claire tilted her head in a silent “Aw,” but her father remained unmoved. He stabbed his fork into the corn fritters, his attention completely fixed on Ethan. “So are you normally a reckless driver when my daughter’s with you?”

Oh, shit! I can just see Daddy losing it when Ethan tells him about his motorcycle.

But Ethan remained unfazed by her father’s accusation. “Not at all. In fact, I don’t even own a car. Don’t need one in the city.”

“So you’re subjecting her to riding in subways?”

Becca curled her fingers around her fork and bit back the snarky response that sat poised on her tongue. If her father hadn’t cut her off, she wouldn’t be riding in subways to begin with.

“If she wants to.” Ethan dug into his fritter and finished chewing before continuing. “I’ve been known to spring for a cab when she doesn’t.”

His nonchalant handling of her father’s interrogation amazed her, but she wondered how much longer he’d be able to keep it up. She’d seen him snap when pushed too far, and she didn’t want that to happen here. “Ethan is every bit a gentleman,” she told her father and prayed that would be the end of it.

But just to be safe, she sent a silent plea to her brother to help her out.

Jacob gave her the slightest of nods. “So, Ethan, how long have you been dating my sister?”

“Since around Rosh Hashanah.” He turned to her, desire flaring in his eyes. “It’s been a great two months.”

Her cheeks grew warm, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Agreed.”

“You’re Jewish?” Jacob continued.

“No, I’m not, but Becca was kind enough to invite me to dinner for the holiday and explain some of the customs to me.”

Her father’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth, but Claire cut him off before he could speak. “And what did you think of them?”

“They were sweet—literally and figuratively.”

His joke made her uncle laugh, and the rest of the dinner guests eased into the meal.

Everyone, that was, except Becca and her father.

She kept her head low, her attention focused on her plate so she wouldn’t make some gaffe at the table. While Claire directed the conversation around what Jacob and her cousins were doing, Becca’s father continued to openly glare at Ethan like he was some gigolo who’d defiled his daughter.

They made it safely through the pear and walnut salad and the butternut squash bisque, but when the main course came out, Ethan pushed up the sleeves of his sweater to reveal his tattooed arms.

Her father’s eyes bugged out. It was just the opportunity he was looking for to resume his interrogation. “So, Ethan, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a musician,” he replied before stuffing a forkful of turkey in his mouth.

Becca closed her eyes and prayed her father would stop, even though she knew better. Ethan’s occupation had rekindled her father’s opinion that she was nothing more than a fuck-up and added fuel to the fire.

“Musician, huh?” Her father arched one brow, his fork still hovering over his plate. “Isn’t that just another term for ‘unemployed’?”

“Daddy!” She’d had enough of this. “Will you just stop?”

Ethan placed his hand over hers, calming her. “It’s okay, Bec. I’m used to people assuming that.” Then he turned to her father. “I was in a band, but we broke up, and I’m pursuing a solo effort now.”

“Which means you’re between jobs.” Her father sliced his meat with more force than necessary. “I bet you think you’re lucky to have found my daughter.”

“I’m thankful for every day I’ve known her,” he replied, giving her a smile that made her insides turn to goo.

Every female at the table appeared to be affected in a similar fashion, but her father continued to massacre his meal, his eyes never looking up from his plate. He gripped the knife like he wanted to stab someone, not cut the tender turkey breast.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” her father grumbled. “But has she told you that she won’t come into her trust fund until she’s twenty-five? And even then, I might have the lawyers change her access to it so she doesn’t blow it all on drugs.”

Her appetite vanished, leaving behind a ball of fire that churned in the pit of her stomach. She was over being scared of her father. Now she was just plain pissed off. She dropped her knife and fork on her plate with a clatter, gaining her father’s attention. “Daddy, that’s enough.”

“I’m only looking out for you, Becca. It’s not like you have the best track record when it comes to making decisions.”

“I know. You never let me forget I’m just like my mother.” She tossed her napkin on her plate and stood up. “But as far as I’m concerned, the worst decision my mother ever made was marrying you.”

The table fell silent, everyone watching the staring match between her and her father, waiting to see which one would yield first.

“Sit down, Rebecca, and quit making a scene,” he ordered.

“I knew this was a mistake.” She kicked her chair back and turned around. “I’m done.”

She made for the front door as quickly as she could without running, never once looking over her shoulder to see if anyone followed. She’d tried to make amends with her father, but it was very clear that she’d never please him.

The quicker she could get back to Manhattan, the better.

***

Ethan observed Becca’s mounting frustration all during the meal, so it was no surprise when she finally blew up. And this time, he didn’t stop her. She needed to stand up to him, to say the things she said, if only to get them out of her system. Once she let go of the anger, it would be easier to move forward.

Her father regarded him with cold, narrowed eyes. “You’d better leave before she drives off without you.”

“Doubt it.” Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys.

“Then let me make this clear,” Becca’s father replied, his voice hard and even. “I know you’re just after her money, and I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’ll never see a cent of it.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that, Mr. Shore.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, a gesture to show that he wasn’t going anywhere. “But just to clarify a few things—I don’t need her money. I have plenty of my own.”

He gulped back his hesitance and ignored the familiar tingle along his left arm. He was about to blow his cover for her. “Becca’s been wonderful about keeping my identity under wraps, but in this instance, I feel it’s necessary to tell you everything about me. My name is Ethan Kelly, and I was the lead singer of Ravinia’s Rejects.”

“No way,” her brother said, his eyes growing wider. “You guys are awesome.”

“Thanks, man.” He gave Jacob a grin before he turned back to her father. “As your son can tell you, we were doing pretty well before we lost our lead guitarist over the summer. Platinum records. World tours. Hell, the licensing alone for a fifteen second clip of one of our songs for a commercial was well into seven figures.”

Her father’s jaw slackened, but Ethan wasn’t finished yet. If he was going to drop a bomb on her family, he might as well make sure it was enough to shake her father up.

“Furthermore, Mr. Shore, I have a trust fund of my own, not that I need it. My father was Sean Kelly of Kelly Properties in Chicago. I’m sure you’ve heard of him, too. He was the one who outbid you for that Michigan Avenue property a few years ago.”

Becca’s father remained statue still, the only perceptible movement being the subtle flare of his nostrils. He was a man who wasn’t used to having his authority challenged, but Ethan wasn’t ready to yield.

Now was the time to hammer the message home. “So you see, I’m not with Becca because of her money. I’m with her because of the amazing person she is. She was there for me when I was coming to grips with the loss of my bandmate and best friend and she helped me get my life back on track. And for that, I’ll be eternally in her debt.”

He stood up, slow and easy, still very much in control of the situation. “Everyone sees Becca as the person she was three years ago, and very few are ready to accept that she’s grown and changed since then. They keep bringing up her past. But the thing is, we all make mistakes. It’s what we learn from them that matters. I’m the one who convinced her to come today, and I hope I didn’t make a mistake there.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on her and see if I can convince her to come back to the table.”

Ethan walked away to silence, but he held his head up a bit higher than usual. After months of hiding and doing everything he could to not be recognized, he’d finally come around to telling strangers who he was and taking credit for his accomplishments. It filled him with a sense of pride he hadn’t had since the early days of his career.

But he’d have time to revel in that discovery later. Right now, he needed to find Becca and convince her to give her father one more chance. It was one thing to avoid personal demons. It was another to completely squash them. He’d learned that with his music and felt freer than ever. Now he needed to help Becca reach that same level of liberation.

He ran into Mrs. Cordero in the foyer. “Where’s Becca?”

“Outside, by the woodpile.” She handed Ethan his coat. “You’re going to need this.”

“Thanks.” He slipped the coat on.

“You are most welcome.” She reached up and pinched his cheek. “I knew I liked you.”

He choked back a laugh. How many guests to the Shore home got a pinch from the housekeeper? But at least one person approved of him dating Becca.

The snow was coming down even harder than before, blurring the world in white. Fat, heavy flakes accumulated on his shoulders, his hair, his eyelashes. A good two inches had fallen since they’d arrived, and with night approaching, returning to Manhattan was out of the question. They were stuck there for the night.

Slow, rhythmic thunks harmonized with feminine grunts on the other side of the house. He followed it until he found Becca chopping wood. She drove the blade of the ax into a log, splitting it within a few blows, and replaced it with a new log.

He came up behind her and grabbed the ax when she lifted it over her shoulder. “Trying to be a lumberjack?”

She let go of the handle and spun around. “You idiot. You could’ve been hurt.”

“From this?” He held the ax like a guitar and pretended to play the blade.

He caught a hint of a smile on her face before she looked down and tried to pry the ax from his hands. “Give it back. I still need to work off some frustration.”

“How about we dance with it?” He twisted the handle and twirled her around so she was pinned against him. The exercise had heightened the scent of her perfume, and he lowered his nose to the place behind her ear to breathe it in. He swayed his hips from side to side, guiding hers to match his movements in a slow foxtrot. “See? This is much nicer than chopping wood.”

She stiffened and snatched the ax from him. “I need to split a few more logs.”

He retreated out of range and leaned against the house with his hands in his pockets while she resumed chopping the wood. “You should come back inside. It’s freezing out here.”

“I’m staying plenty warm from this.” She hefted the blade over her shoulder and brought it down with bone-chilling accuracy.

“But they’ll be serving dessert soon.”

She paused, and he hoped her love of sweets might entice her to return to her family. Then she shook her head. “Nope. If he’s going to be a complete asshole, then I won’t enjoy it.”

“Too bad you didn’t stick around. I think I might have convinced him I wasn’t some loser looking for a piggy bank.”

That made her stop. The ax fell from her hands as she turned to him. “What did you do?”

“I told him who I was.” He came closer until his ice-cold nose was inches from her red one. “And I even threw in a little smackdown of my own thanks to a little tip from my brother.”

“But I thought you didn’t want people to know who you were.”

“I don’t, but in this case, I made an exception.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, tipping her head back so she looked up at him. “You’re worth it.”

Her face lit up just before he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and easy, but it didn’t lack for passion. He grew harder with each passing second, and he was forced to end it before he was tempted to drag her to the nearest bed.

“Ethan, I—” She shivered and snuggled closer to him, tucking her head under his chin. “You’re absolutely wonderful—do you know that?”

“You’re pretty awesome yourself.” And I’m one lucky bastard to have you. “So, how about dessert?”

She pulled back, her eyes clouded with doubt. “Maybe we can take it to go.”

His shoulders slumped in defeat. He couldn’t convince her to return to the table, but he still had all weekend to help her reconcile with her father. “Where?”

“That bungalow over there.” She wriggled against him, sparking his desire in a way that demanded satisfaction. “I asked to stay there so you could fuck me as hard as you wanted, and no one would hear us.”

His mouth went dry as all the blood rushed to his dick. “Why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

He tossed her over his shoulder and ran toward the cabin with Becca laughing the entire time.

***

Becca snuck into the kitchen and closed the back door as silently as she could behind her. The house was bathed in dark shadows and as silent as the falling snow outside. She’d dozed off after Ethan had made her come for the fourth time that evening, but her growling stomach reminded her that she’d missed out on most of Thanksgiving dinner. She was tiptoeing toward the fridge to find some leftovers when the lights came on.

Her heart jumped. She froze and dared to peek over her shoulder at the person who’d caught her.

“Can’t sleep either?” Claire asked. She wrapped her dressing gown around her nightie and tied it closed as she came closer. Even after having Jacob, she’d retained her ready-for-the-runway figure that had helped her grace dozens of magazine covers in the late eighties and early nineties.

“Just hungry.” She opened the fridge and grabbed the container of turkey, followed by the bag of bread. “Can I make you anything?”

“No, but I’ll have a few sips of milk.” She sat down on one of the stools surrounding the giant island in the center of the kitchen.

“Coming right up.” She added the milk carton to her pile and made her way to the other side of the island. She poured a glass for her stepmother. “Sorry about dinner, Claire. I tried. I really did.”

“I know, dear, but you know your father.” She gave a weary sigh and stared at her milk, not touching it. “I give kudos to Ethan for standing up to him like he did. None of your previous boyfriends had the gumption to do that.”

Becca smiled as she fixed her sandwich. “Yeah, he’s a great guy.”

“I didn’t know he was famous until he told us, but once your brother pulled him up on the Internet, I recognized him.” She took a sip of milk. “He looks better with the short hair.”

Becca found herself giggling. “He’s pretty sexy, all right. But he’s more than a hot bod with a dreamy voice. He makes me feel like a million bucks when I’m around him.”

“How did you two meet?”

She hesitated, wondering how Claire would react if she knew the whole truth. “We, um, met at one of my NA meetings.”

Her stepmother raised both brows. “He’s a recovering addict like you?”

Becca nodded, finishing her sandwich and starting on another one for Ethan. “His best friend died of an overdose, and he took that as a sign he needed to get clean before he ended up the same way.”

“But isn’t that dangerous? Aren’t you worried he’ll relapse and tempt you to do the same?”

“Not at all.” She layered slice after slice of turkey on the bread, followed by a leaf of lettuce. “I’m so proud of how far he’s come. And we’re good about supporting each other to avoid that temptation to relapse.” She paused, remembering something he’d said to her months ago. “He gets me.”

“I understand that, Becca, but I’m still worried.”

“Don’t be.” She shook the milk carton. There was enough left for her and Ethan to each have a glass. She tucked it under her arm and grabbed the plate with the sandwiches on it. “Seriously, Claire, you have no idea how good he’s been for me. And every time I’m around him, I find myself discovering one more reason to fall in love with him.”

She started for the door, but Claire dashed in front of her and cut her off. Her stepmother wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “I’m glad to hear that, Becca, but please, don’t run off and elope without first letting me know.”

Becca laughed. “We’ve only been dating two months, Claire. Marriage is way off in the distance.”

“But sometimes you just know.” She twirled the wedding band around her own finger. “Your father and I had only been dating that long when he proposed.”

Yeah, and I still don’t see how someone as wonderful as you has stayed married as long as you have to someone like my father.

She gave her stepmother a tight smile. “Like I said, we’re in no hurry.”

But as she made her way back to the bungalow, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be married to Ethan Kelly.

Chapter Thirteen

Ethan pressed one side of the headphones against his ear and grooved along with the song. “This is fuckin’ awesome,” he told his sound engineer, Damian.

“Thanks, man.” He gave Ethan a fist bump. “But seriously, dude, those are some killer sweet tracks you laid down. Made it easy to mix them into that.”

The song ended, but the grin on his face didn’t fade. The new album was different from anything he’d ever recorded. For the first time in his career, he didn’t have a record label telling him to stick with the hard rock sound that had made Ravinia’s Rejects famous. The rock influences were still there, but he’d mixed in blues and country and electronic beats, depending on the different songs. The result was a compilation that was uniquely him.

And he liked it.

Up until this point, he’d been plagued by fear, doubt, and the ever-persistent cravings. Many nights, he left the studio wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He questioned his talent, his vision, even his sanity. His old muse beckoned him to return, but he fought back by holding on to his newfound freedom and the joy of making music that wasn’t tainted by heroin. As Becca told him months ago, the cravings never completely went away, but they became easier to deal with.

Today, however, was the first day he could listen to his music and not associate it with the past.

He put down the headphones and pointed to the thumb drive on Damian’s laptop. “Can I take that home to show my girlfriend?”

“It’s all yours.” Damian made a few clicks on the keyboard and popped the drive out. “Let me know if you need me to tweak anything else.”

“Will do. And remember, this needs to stay under wraps until I drop the news.”

“No problem, man. I’m cool like that.” He started packing up his gear. “And any time you want to work together, I’m game.”

“Right on.” He tucked the USB drive in his pocket and grabbed his jacket. He couldn’t wait to see what Becca thought of it. “Talk to you soon.”

Ethan got on his motorcycle and zoomed out of the parking garage under the recording studio. The early December air had a definite bite to it as he rode from Hell’s Kitchen to Midtown, but the bright lights and holiday decorations chased away the dreariness of the long nights.

That, and the constant presence of a certain warm body in his bed every night.

He pulled in front of the building where Becca worked and he parked his bike, waiting for the moment where she’d emerge from the revolving door. He didn’t have to wait long.

Becca came running out of the lobby wearing leggings that clung to every delicious line of her legs. She blew him a kiss before putting on her helmet and climbing behind him. “Right on time.”

“Wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.” He revved the engine up and ventured north toward Central Park.

It was Friday afternoon, and he had a fun date planned for the two of them. After a string of high-society events over the last two months, he was looking forward to the opportunity to just be a regular person. As he got closer to the park, he slowed down until he found a place to safely park his bike.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise.” He helped her off his bike and secured the helmet. “Just come with me.”

They strolled through the park arm in arm, talking about their day, but he didn’t tell her about the finished album. The USB drive in his pocket reminded him he still had one more surprise for her after this.

Her eyes lit up in delight when they turned the corner and she saw the Wollman ice skating rink. “Is this what we’re doing?”

“Yeah.” He guided her to the front of the line and pulled out the two advance tickets he’d purchased earlier that week. “I figured Rockefeller would be a little too touristy, but I still wanted to do something to get us in the holiday mood.”

“You do realize that Hanukkah is a minor holiday and still a week and a half away?” she teased before giving her shoe size to the clerk at the skate rental stand.

“I know, and Christmas is even further off, but I don’t care. I wanted to experience the excitement, the thrill of being a kid again and marveling at the twinkling lights.” He handed her the rental skates. “Humor me.”

She playfully rolled her eyes, her grin defying any hint of sarcasm. “I guess I will.”

The skates weren’t like the hockey blades he’d learned to skate on as a child, and when he got onto the ice, he stumbled forward. His arms flailed out in an attempt to catch his balance, smacking Becca in the chest. A sick feeling formed in the pit of his gut, but he couldn’t tell if it was from accidentally hitting her or from making a fool of himself in front of everyone.

Becca’s laughter eased his nerves. She took his hand and led him around the ice. “First time skating?”

“Please. My older brother’s an NHL goalie. We all spent time on the ice growing up.” He pointed to the jagged tip on the blades. “Of course, hockey skates don’t have these on them.”

“It’s called a toe pick.”

“Whatever.” The toe pick caught the ice again, pitching him forward. “Motherfucker!”

Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.

“You’re doing it wrong,” Becca said, still laughing. “It’s meant to be used like this.”

She let go of his hand and glided out toward the center of the ice, picking up speed as she skated. Then she planted the pick into the ice and jumped. Two revolutions later, she landed on one blade and moved into a fast spin, her elegant arms reaching up into the sky.

He watched her, his chest swelling up with pride. She was beautiful, and he still couldn’t believe she was his.

When she skated back to him, he gave her a lighthearted bump with his shoulder. “Show-off.”

“Hey, five years of skating lessons paid off.” She took his hand again. “Are you ready for your lesson, Mr. Kelly?”

“No, I’d rather circle the rink a few times with a gorgeous woman by my side.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “I work at a magazine. I’m sure we could secure a model for you.”

“I don’t need a model, not when I have you.” He brushed his lips against her forehead.

Her blush deepened, and she bit her bottom lip.

God, does she have any idea how much that turns me on? The blood rushed straight to his dick, and he resisted the urge to suck that lip between his own teeth in a kiss that would make the parents at the rink cover their children’s eyes.

She pushed off with her skates, moving them back into the rink’s traffic. “So, what were holidays like with your family?”

“Chaos.” But as he shared stories from his childhood, he grew nostalgic for the times he’d shared with his brothers. Caleb and Frank were usually the ringleaders when it came to getting them in trouble, but Adam was always the one who kept them from burning the house down or getting arrested. In the end, he wouldn’t trade any of those memories.

He grew quiet and looked down at Becca. A thoughtful smile lingered on her lips, and her distant gaze was far beyond the rink. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“That your experience was so different than mine.”

If Thanksgiving was any indication, he could only imagine how stiff and formal her holidays must have been. “No food fights over the dinner table or stuffing your face full of chocolate?”

She shook her head. “Jacob is four years younger than me and could’ve gotten away with it, but my father kept me on a tight leash. I was even limited to only one piece of chocolate gelt a night during Hanukkah. But Claire would always slip me a few more when he wasn’t looking.”

“Are you planning on celebrating Hanukkah with them this year?”

She drew in a sharp breath, her entire body tightening. “Not likely.”

He skated halfway around the rink, gathering up his courage before offering to bring her into his insanity. “Would you consider coming home with me for Christmas?”

She pulled him out the traffic and spun around in front of him. “You’re inviting me to meet your family?”

“Don’t act so surprised. You took me to meet yours.” He cradled her face in his hands, his heart pumping full of an emotion he still was frightened to acknowledge. How could he have fallen in love with her so quickly? And yet as he stared into her bright blue-green eyes, he couldn’t imagine not loving her. “I promise to protect you from Jasper. And Frank.”

She leaned forward, perfectly balanced on those damn toe picks, and kissed him. “I may have to consider your offer.”

“What is there to consider?”

“Meeting your mom, for starters.” She slipped back to his side and merged them back into the throng of skaters, her gaze fixed on the ice. “I know I don’t have the best reputation.”

Guilt nagged at him. Her reputation was one of the reasons why he hadn’t told anyone in his family he was dating her. They would jump to the worst conclusions based on her past behavior. “Maybe, but you’ve changed. Besides, we don’t have to tell them until they get to know you first and see how far you’ve come from your former life.”

“Do you really think they’d be able to?”

“Absolutely,” he said, full of false confidence. Of course, Adam would probably order a background check on her, and her mother would pick her apart like the prosecuting attorney she’d once been. But once they got to know her, they’d see all the wonderful things he did.

He squeezed her hand. “They’ll love you.”

Almost as much as I do.

***

Becca made revolution after revolution around the rink with Ethan, still mulling over his request. He wanted her to meet his family. And if his mother was anything like her prior boyfriends’ moms, she’d instantly assume Becca wasn’t good enough for her son and go about proving it. All it would take was one Google search to bring up the mistakes of her past as evidence.

Of course, it was the next step in a relationship—meeting the other family. Most girls would be thrilled at the idea of having Ethan Kelly take them home to meet his mother, but all she knew was fear. She was falling in love with him. Her estrangement from her father made his disapproval of their relationship easy to ignore, but would Ethan be able to do the same if his family hated her?

Ethan remained silent for several minutes before saying, “Sorry to spring that on you, Bec. I just thought—”

She shushed him with her finger. “It’s fine. I’m more nervous than anything else, that’s all.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled her into his arms, tucking her hand under his beside the place where his heart beat. “If my brother can introduce his pregnant girlfriend to my mom over Thanksgiving and not land in deep shit, I can definitely bring you.” He paused, his brows drawing together. “Unless you’re knocked up and haven’t told me yet.”

“Oh, good grief!” She tried to wriggle out of his arms, but he held on tighter, laughing the entire time. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“Just trying to show you that you have nothing to worry about.” He placed a quick peck on her lips and let go.

As she spun around, a camera flash caught her eye. Normally, she’d expect families to snap photos of their kids on the ice, but she couldn’t shake the chill that crept up her spine from it. She searched the crowd for its source and spied a man holding a camera with a massive zoom lens pointed right at her and Ethan.

“I think we’ve been spotted.” She gave a discreet nod toward the photographer as they continued to skate, noting how he followed their every move.

Ethan watched him out of the corner of his eye, his jaw clenching.

“Want to leave?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He led her to a bench and yanked off his skates. “I fuckin’ hate the paparazzi.”

“Who likes them?” But the tingle along her spine wouldn’t ebb. There was something familiar about that photographer. She’d seen him before, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember where. Her younger years had been a blur of camera flashes, so it wouldn’t be too much to assume she’d seen him then.

Ethan turned in her skates and herded her away from the rink. “Here’s to hoping we can lose him in the park.”

They made it back to his bike without any more camera flashes. Ethan remained tense and silent as he handed her helmet to her, every inch of him hyper-vigilant as though he was expecting a knife-wielding stalker to rush at them at any moment.

“It’s just a photographer,” she said in an attempt to calm him down.

“I know, but I also know how dangerous they can be when they’re pursuing their targets.” He strapped his helmet on. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

But as they rode back to his place, Becca couldn’t help but feel that part of their fairytale romance was coming to an end. It was one thing to just be a normal couple. But when fame entered the equation, it added a whole new level of complications.

“I’m sorry our date had to end on a sour note,” she said once they reached his loft.

“I’m not.” He propped his motorcycle up in its usual spot and hung his jacket on the hooks next to the helmets. “Besides, it gives me a chance to show you this.”

He pulled a thumb drive out of his pocket and plugged it into his laptop.

She peered over his shoulder as he entered in a password to access its contents. “Top secret information you stole from the Russians?”

He chuckled and handed her a pair of Bluetooth headphones. “Not quite.”

She put them on and was immersed in a world of music. Sweet, yet dark and haunting, it made her pulse quicken even while her hips swayed to the beat. Her breath caught as she listened to the familiar voice sing of finding himself in the darkness and coming back into the light. Unshed tears burned her eyes, and she covered her mouth to keep from blubbering like a baby. She’d always loved Ravinia’s Rejects, but Ethan had taken the music to a deeper, more personal level that tugged on her heart and took her on the journey with him.

Ethan hung on her every reaction until the song ended, his eyes lit up with expectation. Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he asked, “It sucked, didn’t it?”

Laughter overtook her tears, and she playfully punched him in the chest. “Oh yeah, it totally sucked.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. “Tell me what you really think, Bec.”

“It’s fuckin’ brilliant, just like you.” She threaded her fingers through his hair and lowered his lips to hers.

“So you like it?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And do I get a thank-you for letting you be the first person to listen to it?” He grabbed her ass, the hard ridge of his erection pressing to the lower part of her stomach and heating the desire in her own blood.

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

“So can I.”

He lifted her up, and her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. One passionate kiss led to another, each more hungry than the last, until he carried her up to his bed and left her completely sated.

Chapter Fourteen

Hilde was waiting at Becca’s cubicle when she arrived at work Monday morning. The weekend had been a blissful haze of passionate lovemaking and music as Ethan slowly unveiled one song at a time to her, but all that came to an end when her alarm bleated that morning.

“I got your text message.” Becca handed Hilde her coffee. “Anything else?”

“Elaine was looking for you.”

Becca glanced at the clock and cursed. She was almost half an hour late. “Was she pissed?”

“When isn’t she?” Hilde took a sip from her cup before continuing. “She made me wait here until you showed up so I could relay her message to you.”

“Which was?”

“She wants to see you in her office. Pronto.” Hilde walked off, drinking her coffee as though there was nothing amiss.

Cold sweat prickled the base of Becca’s spine. Even if Elaine had good news for her, she was not at her desk when she was supposed to be. She stowed her bag, wiped her palms on her skirt, and made her way to the editor’s corner office.

Elaine’s secretary gave her a tight smile. “She’s been expecting you, Rebecca.”

Shit! Not a good sign when the secretary is on alert. Is it too early to start asking for boxes for my things?

She paused at the door, took a deep breath to collect herself, and knocked.

“Come in,” Elaine called from the other side.

Becca swallowed past the lump in her throat and entered. “You asked to see me, Elaine?”

The editor stood at her desk, focused on the papers scattered around it. “Yes, I did. Come here.”

As she approached the desk, her fear multiplied into horror. The papers Elaine was studying were pictures of her and Ethan. Walking through Hell’s Kitchen. At the Wollman rink. At the river. At Gitta’s café. Even of them skiing in the Catskills during Thanksgiving weekend.

Elaine looked up, her sharp eyes boring holes into her. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Becca tried to speak, but her throat tightened, strangling her.

“I asked you to give me celebrity dirt, and all this time, you’ve been sitting on the story of a lifetime.” She held up a picture of Becca kissing Ethan.

Her voice shook as she asked, “You’ve been spying on me?”

“Of course.” She dropped the photograph and went back to her chair. “When your father mentioned that you’d brought Ethan Kelly home for Thanksgiving dinner—”

“My father told you we were dating?” She knew he didn’t like Ethan, but this took it to a whole other level.

“Don’t interrupt.” Elaine’s words were sharper than a samurai’s katana. “And yes, I had lunch with your parents last week, and they told me all about your new boyfriend. I wouldn’t have believed them, but they showed me these pictures.” She tapped the ones of them skiing.

“I knew what a huge story this would be, so I sent Armando to follow you.” She waved her hand over the rest of the photographs. “You’ve been a very busy girl.”

Becca sank into the chair across from Elaine, regretting the bagel she’d downed for breakfast that now churned in her stomach like the Hudson in a nor’easter. “What do you want, Elaine?”

“You’ve been asking to write a story, and now I’m giving you your very own assignment.” The editor steepled her fingers and sat back in her chair. “I want a tell-all exclusive. Ethan Kelly is an enigma, and since the death of his bandmate, he’s gone even further underground. Yet you seem to know him quite intimately.”

The answer formed on her lips before she even had a chance to think about it. “No.”

“Journalism is all about the big story, the one that will captivate the public and sell newspapers and magazines and bring clicks to websites. And I’m sure thousands of women would eagerly buy a copy of Moderne if it contained an exposé of Ethan Kelly. I want details of his battle with addiction, of his new album, of his reaction to his bandmate’s death.”

“I won’t do that to him.”

Elaine made a tsking sound with her tongue. “And that’s why you’ll never succeed at journalism. It can never be personal. It’s always business. You can’t let your emotions interfere with the story.”

She winced at the coldness of Elaine’s comments. If that was what it meant to be a true journalist, she wanted none of it. “But he’s my boyfriend, not some stranger on the street.”

“He’s a public figure readers want to know more about.” Elaine leaned forward on her desk, her expression turning into one of impatient tolerance. “Rebecca, dear, the only reason I’ve kept you here as long as I have is because I’m good friends with your parents. When your father mentioned to me that you wanted to become a serious journalist, I nearly laughed my head off. But since he asked me to help you out, I agreed to offer you a job. So far, you’ve lived up to my expectations.”

Judging from the way Elaine looked down her nose at her, those expectations weren’t set very high to begin with.

But the sting of Elaine’s assessment was nothing compared the harsh humiliation of the truth. The only reason she was there was because of her father. It didn’t matter that she’d worked her tail off to graduate from NYU’s Journalism Institute. To the entire world, she would always be Becca Shore, heiress and fucked-up party girl.

“I’m giving you a chance to prove me wrong, Rebecca.” She held up a photograph from the ice rink. “I want a story on Ethan Kelly in my in-box by Friday afternoon. If you can’t do it, then don’t bother returning to work on Monday.”

She dropped the picture and shooed Becca away. “You have your assignment. Don’t disappoint me.”

Becca’s knees shook as she rose from the chair, but she forced herself to leave in a calm, controlled manner. Somehow, she made it out of the corner office without losing it. The nausea refused to relent, though, and she wound up making a dash to the nearest bathroom to lose her breakfast. Hot tears followed, and she hugged the toilet while her frustration vented.

She needed this job. If she lost it, she’d be forced to become dependent on someone else again, and every fiber of her being recoiled at that idea. But her conscience refused to allow her to keep her job by betraying the man she loved.

There has to be some middle ground. There must be.

Her tears dried up, and she turned her energy to finding it.

***

Ethan stared at the timeline on the white board in front of him, the end of a dry erase marker pressed against the corner of his mouth. In the past, he’d always let someone at his record label handle the details of a new release. Now, he was in charge.

The hard part was over. He’d finished an album he was proud of in record time. But a whole new realm of unfamiliar territory loomed in front of him. When should he announce the new solo album? How? Website? Press release? Should he slip a sample to a local radio station?

And of course, once he went public with the news, the simple life he’d enjoyed while hiding would come to an end. He’d have to make appearances on TV shows and at concerts. People would recognize him on the streets after that, and he’d be faced with more instances like Friday night.

The inside of his wrist burned, flowing up to the back of his neck. A cold sweat prickled his skin. His muscles clenched, and his gut wrenched. The craving blindsided him with enough force to make him stumble back in his chair. Several minutes passed as he concentrated on the air moving in and out of his lungs, thankful for each breath that he drew in. He could beat this, just like he’d had dozens of times before. He just had to remind himself all the other things that filled the void.

A few minutes later, the craving passed, and the world came back into focus. He turned to his computer and did a quick Internet search for his name. No new pictures came up. Whoever the paparazzo was, he hadn’t sold those pictures of him and Becca at the ice rink to any media outlet.

His phone rang, and he answered without looking at the number.

“Hello, sweetie,” his mom said in a honey-thick voice. “How are you doing?”

“I’d be doing a lot better if you’d stop talking to me like I was still five years old, Mom.” He tried to sound stern, but a hint of teasing crept into his words. “Yes, I’m fine. No, I haven’t used any drugs. And yes, I’m back to work. Any other questions?”

“Where did you learn how to be such a smartass?”

Laughter broke free from his chest. “Frank,” he replied.

“I’ll have to talk to that boy when he comes home for Christmas. Speaking of which…”

He set the marker on the table and hopped up on the kitchen counter. “I’m coming home, Mom. Don’t worry about that.”

“Wonderful! I’ll get to have all of my boys home at once. We haven’t been able to do that for three years.”

“It’s not my fault Ben and Frank always have games around the holidays, or that Caleb’s always getting deployed somewhere.”

“Or that you were always on the road with the band.”

“Well, I am kind of busy arranging the release of my first solo effort, but I suppose I can put it off until after the holidays.” He closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying the freedom of controlling his career. It meant he could enjoy a peaceful holiday without dozens of reporters hounding his every move. “Is Dan bringing his girlfriend?”

“Yes, even though poor little Jenny’s going to be massively pregnant by then. Why?”

The peace from moments before was slowly eroded by nerves. “Um, would it be okay if I bring my girlfriend, too?”

He could almost picture his mom’s mouth hanging agape during the silence that followed. “You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell me?”

“Mom, I’m an adult now, remember? I don’t have to tell you every little detail of my life.”

“But you should at least tell me if you’re seeing someone.”

“Not if it’s still early in the relationship. I wanted to make sure she was a keeper before telling anyone.”

“Exactly how long have you been dating her?”

He ran his finger along the neck band of his T-shirt. “About three months. Nowhere near proposal time, Mom, so don’t even bring that up.”

“Fine, I won’t.” Although the exasperated tone revealed her disappointment.

“And don’t go overly religious with the decorations. She’s Jewish.”

“Jewish?”

“I think that’s enough information for now, Mom. Just don’t overwhelm her when you meet her, okay?”

“Can I at least have her name?”

“Becca.” He hung up before his mom could pry any more information from him. Becca was already nervous enough about her past being a strike against her, and he didn’t want to give his mom anything that could make her more uncomfortable. She’d respected his identity when it came to meeting her family, and he could do the same for her.

Besides, they were bound to like her. And once they got to know the real Becca, then he could mention her last name.

He went back to the white board and continued planning his release, scouting out PR firms until his alarm went off to remind him of his weekly NA meeting. He grabbed his helmet and jacket and wondered what specials Gitta would have this week at her café.

***

Ari did a double take when she came into the apartment. “What are you doing home this early, Becca? Don’t you have your meeting to go to?”

Becca curled her knees up to her chest, already dressed in her pajamas on the sofa. “I got sick at work.”

Panic flickered over her roommate’s face. “Stay away from me. I can’t afford to get sick right now. I have a project due before I leave for LA next week.”

“It’s not that kind of sick.”

Panic change to concern. “Uh-oh. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“What the fuck is up with all the pregnancy concerns?” She tossed a pillow at her roommate. “I’ve been taking my pill every day at the same time like I should, thank you very much.”

“Sorry, but you seem a little, um, emotional lately.” Ari lowered her bottom to the edge of the chair and folded her hands in her lap. “What’s wrong?”

“Where do I start?”

“Wherever you want. I’m still your best friend, after all.”

For the first time since her meeting with Elaine that morning, she didn’t feel sick to her stomach. “I mentioned to you that I thought I saw someone taking pictures of me and Ethan at the ice rink Friday. Well, I found out why. Elaine hired him to track me. She has photos of the two of us all over the city.”

Ari’s lips parted in surprise, and her brown eyes grew to twice their normal size. “That fucking bitch.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. She asked me to write an exposé on Ethan. Told me if I didn’t turn it in by Friday, I was as good as fired.”

“Oh my god! The nerve of that woman.”

“And the kicker was that the only reason she hired me was because Daddy called in a favor.” Becca grabbed another pillow and hugged it to her chest. “So now I’m faced with either betraying Ethan or losing the job I only have because of my father.”

“This calls for wine.” Ari rose from her chair and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned a minute later with a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew, and two glasses.

“You know I don’t drink.”

“Yes, but if there was ever a reason to let your rules slide, this is it.” She poured two glasses and handed one to Becca. “So, let’s brainstorm our options.”

Becca held her glass, refusing to sip from it, but gave her roommate a smile. This was what she loved about Ari. Growing up, she’d always found a way to get around rules and restrictions, and Becca hoped her best friend would help her find a way around this.

Ari took a generous drink from her glass. “Okay, let’s start with the extremes. Option one: You tell Elaine to take this job and shove it.”

Becca snorted with laughter as she imagined the editor’s face reacting to that statement. She set her glass down before she spilled the contents. “I so do not have the balls for that.”

“You used to.” Ari took another drink. “Option two: You beg your boyfriend for the story to save your job.”

She squirmed at the thought of that. “I don’t know, Ari. Ethan’s very private, and the kind of things Elaine wants—well, I hate to ask that of him.”

Ari gave her a sympathetic nod. “But if you at least explained your situation to him—”

“No, I can’t.” Becca threw down her pillow and paced in front of the sofa. “After all, I’m the reason the paparazzi found us. If I hadn’t taken him home for Thanksgiving, then my dad wouldn’t have told Elaine about him, and there wouldn’t be any photographs out there of him. Don’t you see—his privacy is being threatened, and it’s all my fault.”

“Maybe, but it’s not like you sold him out. After all, he was the one who wanted to come home with you. He’s the one who told your father who he was.”

“I know, but…” She stopped and pressed her palm to her forehead. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize everything, she still felt like a failure. “I tried so hard to protect him.”

“But he’s a big boy, Becca. He can take care of himself now.”

“Is he? To me, he’s still fragile, still in danger of one blow setting him back on the wrong path again.”

“And you’re not?” Ari stood and came next to her. “Let’s say you do what you consider the ethical thing and quietly refuse to write the story. You’ll lose the only job you’ve ever had, and the market right now isn’t hopping with new ones. As soon as you give your name, people are going to draw their own conclusions about you. We have this place rent-free, but I can only cover so much of the food and utilities.”

“You don’t think I haven’t considered that?”

“So then you’re faced with two other options. One: go crawling back to your father and beg for a monthly allowance.”

Becca wrinkled her nose, every fiber of her being repulsed at the idea. “You know I won’t do that.”

“The other option is that you make Ethan your sugar daddy and move in with him. He certainly has the funds to support you, and you’re practically living there anyway.”

“I’d still be a leech.” She sank back down on the sofa. “The whole idea behind this journalism thing was to be independent, to not have to rely on someone else’s money to get by.”

“Yeah, but people like you and me are always going to have to prove that we’re something more than spoiled little rich girls.”

“You seem to have no trouble with your job.”

“That’s because I’m doing something I love. Press releases, social events, media spotlights—they’re all right up my alley.”

Elaine’s statements about not letting her emotions interfere with her stories came back to haunt her. “I thought I felt the same way about journalism.”

Ari sat down next to her and gave her a hug. “Don’t give up on it, yet. You’ll find a way to do what you love.”

The doorbell rang, and Ari got up to answer it.

Ethan’s voice came in from the doorway. “Ari, Becca wasn’t at the meeting—”

She looked up from the sofa, not caring that she was wearing old flannel PJs and sporting a pair of red-rimmed eyes from crying.

Ethan crossed the room in less than a dozen long-legged strides and crouched down in front of her. “Are you okay?”

She forced a weak smile on her face for him. “I will be.”

“When you weren’t at the meeting, I got worried.”

Her heart flopped, reminding her of all the reasons why she’d never betray him. “I went home sick from work, that’s all.”

“Would this cheer you up?” He pulled a small box bearing the logo from Gitta’s café. “She said it was some kind of holiday cake and that you would like it.”

She stroked his cheek. “Thank you, Ethan. That was very sweet of you.”

His eye flickered over to the glass of wine beside her, and his lips pressed together. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Ari stood behind Ethan, signaling that she should tell him about the situation, but Becca just shook her head. “I just need some time to mend.”

He glanced once more at the wine glass before rising. “Give me a call if you need anything.”

He leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead and said good-bye to Ari before letting himself out.

Her roommate jumped right into the place he’d vacated in front of her. “What is wrong with you, Becca? He wants to help, and you just pushed him away.”

“I can get through this without him.”

“Bullshit.” Ari took a step back. “You know trust is essential to a good relationship.”

“Yes, and he’s entrusted me with his secrets, and I’m not going to exploit them to save my career.”

“But trust is a two-way street, Becca. You have to trust him, too.”

“I—” She couldn’t come up with a good excuse. Ari was right. She needed to trust Ethan with her secrets, too. But she hated the thought of dumping her problems on him. “I’ll sleep on it.”

“Fine, but I hope you get over your reservations, or it’s going to become a big problem between you two.”

Becca retreated to her bedroom and tried to go to sleep, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t quiet her troubled mind. There simply was no easy way out of her predicament. She tossed and turned well after she heard her roommate go to bed and finally got up a little after one. A few seconds later, she was dialing Ethan’s number.

“You up?” he asked when he answered.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice sounded small and meek as she asked, “Is it too late for me to come over?”

“Do you want me to come and get you?”

“No, I can get a cab.” She checked her wallet to make sure she’d have enough cash for the fare. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

She threw on some clothes and hailed a taxi.

Ethan was waiting for her when she arrived and pulled her into his arms. “What’s wrong, Bec?”

“You know that expression, ‘Between a rock and a hard place’? Well, try smashed between the boulder and cliff face.”

He tightened his arms around her and led her up the stairs. “Care to explain it to me?”

“Maybe.” She shook off her jacket and shoes and crawled into bed next to him, her body instinctively curling along his. “It’s a work issue.”

“Tell me about it.” He massaged her scalp while he waited.

Her eyes grew heavy from the fatigue of the day, and she risked falling asleep if she didn’t unburden her soul soon. “My editor gave me an assignment I disagree with.”

“Why?”

She chewed her bottom lip, wondering how much she should reveal to him. “Because people could get hurt if I write it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“I’m fired.”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Tough call.”

“Now you know why I’m torn.”

“Yeah, but I also know you. You’ll listen to your heart and do the right thing.”

“Even if it means the end of my journalism career?”

“Who says it’s the end? You’re a brilliant woman, Bec, and it won’t take you long to find another job, even if it’s freelance writing.” He gave her a playful jostle. “Besides, didn’t you say you hated working there anyway?”

“I do.” She snuggled closer to him, the worries of the day finally slipping away. Ethan believed in her. Now she just had to believe in herself and do the right thing. “Thank you for making me feel better.”

“Any time.” He planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head and held her until she fell asleep.

Chapter Fifteen

Becca strolled into her father’s office Thursday morning, ignoring the protests of his secretary. Two days had passed without a solution to her work problem, but she could at least deal with her father. “Daddy, we need to talk.”

He looked up from his computer screen, one brow arched above his cool blue-green eyes, and dismissed his secretary. “Have a seat, Rebecca.”

She took the chair across from him and crossed her legs, her spine ramrod straight with determination. “First off, I don’t appreciate you telling Elaine about Ethan.”

“We were merely having lunch as old friends, and the conversation turned to you.”

“Yes, but now she’s forcing me to write a story about his personal life or I risk losing my job. A job, I found out, that I only have because of you.”

“You were running into dead ends with this ridiculous pursuit of a journalism career, and I opened a door for you.”

“But it’s not ridiculous to me. This is what I want to do with my life.”

“Oh, please. You can’t stay clean long enough to hold down a responsible job. And dating another addict like that rock star is only going to drag you down further.”

She jumped to her feet, her skin burning with rage. “First off, I’ve been clean for almost three years, and it stopped being an issue once I cut myself free from your controlling and manipulating ways. Second, Ethan is a recovering addict, just like me. We help each other stay clean.”

“Or you can pull each other back into that cesspool of heroin, just like what happened to your mother.”

She drew in a deep breath before she launched a series of four-lettered words at her father. “I have no memory of my mother, so I can’t say if I’m like her or not. But I do know that the reason I started using was because of you.”

Surprise flickered across his face, shocking the muscles lax for a brief second before the controlled mask of composure settled back into place. “Don’t try to point the finger at me. We both know that addiction has a genetic component.”

“Maybe, but the way you always demanded perfection from me didn’t help. Do you have any idea how fucking great it was to not care what you thought of me? To be comfortable in my own skin without being reminded of the hundreds of things you found wrong with me?”

He settled back in his chair, his fingers splayed against his mouth in a pensive gesture.

“I know I’ve always been a disappointment to you. I know you don’t expect me to be much more than some loser addict with a trust fund. But you’re wrong. I found something I wanted to do. I wanted to tell stories that invoked change. I wanted to champion the wronged and make others aware of the difficult situations all around us. I wanted to write articles that would eventually make someone’s life better. And no one believed in me except for Ari.”

She pressed her hands against the immaculate glass top of his desk and leaned forward. “I know why you told Elaine about me and Ethan, and I’m here to tell you that although your stunt may end up costing me my job, I’m not giving up on my dream, and I’m not giving him up, either.”

She turned around on her high heels and left without another word.

After spending the last three days feeling like her world was crumbling, she finally felt like she was back in control. Telling her father off got one monkey off her back, and by the time she reached the ground-floor lobby of his office tower, she had an idea about what to do with Elaine.

***

Ethan played a few notes on his piano and wrote them down with a grin. Even though he was still trying to set up the release of a new album, the music kept coming. At the rate he was going, he’d have another album’s worth of material ready to record by spring.

He only wished things could be this easy for Becca. The last couple of nights, she’d tossed and turned beside him, only sleeping after he made love to her in the wee hours of the morning. She hadn’t gone back to her office, choosing to chew up half a dozen of his pencils while she scribbled idea after idea only to toss her notes into the shredder a few minutes later. This morning was the first time she’d woken up with a determined look in her eye and it gave him hope that she’d found a solution to her problem.

She left before dawn to go back to her apartment, and he hadn’t heard from her since then. He hoped that her silence was a good sign.

He worked out a few more bars of music before his phone rang with her number on the display. “Hey, beautiful, how you doing?”

“Much better. I turned in a story to Elaine, and I’m looking at flights to the Caribbean. There’s one leaving for Barbados tomorrow morning at six. Want to make a quick little getaway with me?”

He glanced outside at the snow piling up on his windowsill. “Some sunshine and warm sand sound great to me.”

“Awesome. Booking the flight right now. It leaves out of JFK, so why don’t we meet at my place before heading over there?”

“Done.” He ended the call with a bigger grin than before. Becca was back to her usual fearless self, and he couldn’t wait to see what kind of fun they could have in the tropics. It was just the sort of vacation he needed before he put himself back in the public spotlight again.

And it would provide the perfect opportunity to convince her to come home with him for Christmas.

***

Becca’s knee wouldn’t stop twitching as the plane zoomed down the runway for takeoff. What was I thinking, getting on a plane? I hate flying. But it was a spur of the moment thing. She needed to get away, and Claire had been kind enough to slip her a credit card number for emergencies months ago.

And turning in a story that would probably cost her the only job she’d ever had counted as an emergency.

Ethan steadied her by placing his hand on her thigh. “Should I ask the flight attendant for a barf bag?”

She shook her head. “First time I’ve flown in a while, that’s all.”

She didn’t have to add it was the first time she’d flown sober. Ethan nodded, the understanding in his gray eyes telling her he understood exactly what she meant. “At least it’s first class.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a splurge.” She looked out the window at the sun rising over the city below. “But I figured it’s now or never.”

“Why Barbados?”

“My family has a little beach house there. I haven’t been there in years, but it’s private enough for the two of us.” Complete with an iron fence and an infinity pool with a fabulous view of the water. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.” He paused, his head tilted to the side. “So what happened at work? You said you turned in your story, but I know you were having a hard time writing it.”

The sick feeling in her stomach now had nothing to do with the flight. “I came up with something different. It’s not what she wanted, which means I’ll probably come home to a termination email, but at least my conscience is at ease.”

“You never told me what she wanted you to write.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. She hadn’t caved to the pressure because he mattered more to her than her job. “I did what I felt was right, and now I’m looking forward to a few days in the sun with you.”

“Same here.” He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes.

Becca chewed her bottom lip and checked the time on her phone. Five hours until they landed. Just enough time to turn her stomach into knots.

Because even though she hadn’t turned in an exposé on Ethan, her story could place her back in the center of controversy once again if it was published.

Chapter Sixteen

Ethan dove into the infinity pool and swam the length of it, stopping at the wall that overlooked the Caribbean. The sun was setting over the water like a fiery red ball that blazed bright before surrendering to the night’s long shadows.

Another perfect day in paradise.

“How’s the water?” Becca asked behind him.

“Warm.” He turned around, and his jaw dropped.

Becca stood by the pool wearing absolutely nothing. She dropped the towel in her hand and descended into the water with a sexy sway in her hips. Her eyes locked with his, seductively intense. By the time she reached him, he was fully hard and aching to be inside her.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked, his voice raw with want.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, her body fitting against his like she was specifically made for just him. “It’s nice having a private beach house like this, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.” He lowered his lips to hers in a kiss that only increased his desire. The weekend had the ideal mix of fun and sex, from the outdoor activities like sailing and snorkeling to the long, languid lovemaking sessions in the bedroom. No TV. No Internet. No interruptions. And based on the way she was responding to his touch, she craved more.

He turned her around so her back was pressed against the wall of the pool. The sunset ignited the red highlights in her hair to form a glowing crown around her head. The subtle taste of mangos lingered on her lips from earlier. Her wet skin slipped and slid against his, every movement teasing and tempting him. The sweet scent of the tropical flowers filled the air around them, mingling with the coconut shampoo she’d used earlier that day. Everything culminated in the embodiment of something from a fantasy.

And yet it was all real. This sexy, intelligent, generous woman was in his arms, making him the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.

His swim trunks started to fall, and he kicked them off. He grabbed her ass, hoisting her out of the water and to the well-cushioned outdoor sofa beside the pool. “Should I go inside and grab a condom?”

“If you want, but I did remember to take my pill today.”

He hesitated, the tip of his cock hovering over the opening to her sex. “Are you saying you trust me?”

She nodded. “Do you trust me?”

He’d witnessed her take her morning pill like clockwork enough to know she wasn’t trying to trap him with a pregnancy. And even if the pill failed, he wouldn’t mind. He wanted a future with her. One that might even include kids someday.

But right now, he couldn’t think past how wonderful she felt as he eased into her. The tight, slick heat. The way her inner walls clenched around him. The way her lips parted in a gasp when he first entered and then released a moan as he began to move inside her.

He took his time, drawing out each exquisite stroke. This may be a one-time deal or it might be the first of many, but he was determined to savor every moment of this experience. Her body rose to meet his like the waves on the shore. He laced his fingers through hers while his mouth devoured hers in one passionate kiss after another. And when he took her over the edge, he held her tightly as he followed.

When the world came back into focus, night had fallen. Solar lights illuminated the paths through the garden leading back to the house, and the quarter moon overhead provided just enough light for him to see her face. Her beauty nearly took his breath away, but the glow in her eyes made his heart skip a beat.

She gave him a shy smile as she reached up to stroke his face, trailing her fingers along his jaw. “I love you,” she whispered.

Time seemed to freeze, but instead of being terrified, he welcomed it. This was a moment he wanted to last forever, to commit to his memory. Once he’d memorized every detail, he brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead and said, “I love you, too, Becca.”

Her smile widened, and she pulled him down to another kiss.

And he couldn’t think that his life could be more perfect than right now.

***

Ethan’s phone rang, pulling him from the last blissful remnants of sleep. He saw Adam’s name on the screen and hurried out of the bedroom before the call woke Becca.

“Hi, Adam,” he answered while throwing on a bathrobe. “How are you this morning?”

“A little annoyed. Why didn’t you tell me you were dating Becca Shore?”

It looked like it was shaping up to be another gorgeous day in paradise, but the coldness in Adam’s voice carried over the phone and raised gooseflesh on Ethan’s arms. “Because I knew you’d have a shit fit like this.”

He could hear his older brother seething on the other end as he struggled to get his anger in check. “So you knew she’d be trouble.”

“Trouble? No way.” He hopped up on the counter and reached for a glass of water. “If anything, she’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then you haven’t seen the news yet.”

His mouth went dry. “What are you talking about?”

“Turn on the TV.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because there isn’t one in this house.” His heart started pounding, and his mind leapt in a hundred different directions, none of them good. “Tell me what’s going on, Adam.”

“She sold you out.”

The glass started to slip from his hand, and he set it down before he dropped it and the crash woke her up. “What are you talking about?”

“Just that. Apparently, she sold an exclusive story to some women’s magazine called Moderne about you, and the media’s been buzzing about it. The issue will be out tomorrow, but the editor, Elaine Halpern, leaked some photos of the two of you looking rather cozy together while ice skating.”

“Fuck!” Ethan jumped off the counter and paced the room, raking his fingers through his hair. “How did she get those?”

“From your girlfriend, obviously. She probably set you up.”

“Becca’s not like that.” And yet that little niggle of doubt refused to disappear. Too many things didn’t add up. Her secrecy about the story she had to turn in. The sudden funds to fly them first class to Barbados. The beach house that was completely cut off from all media.

“Okay, let’s forget her father still probably bears a grudge against us for the Michigan Avenue property—which I should’ve picked up on when you were asking about him. Let’s forget she doesn’t have the most stellar reputation, either, and is probably jumping at the chance to make headlines again. Can you imagine how much she’s getting paid to dish out the dirt on you?”

“And I’m telling you, Becca’s not like that.”

“Really? You don’t sound so convinced.” The clicking sounds on a keyboard followed. “It says here that the story will reveal details about your addiction, your recovery, and your upcoming solo project. If she didn’t provide those details, who did?”

His head swam, and he sank down onto the sofa before his knees refused to hold him up any longer. There was no other explanation. Becca had betrayed him. The fucking bitch had lured him there, told him she loved him, and made him admit he loved her, too, all while trying to keep him from learning the truth.

“Where are you now?” Adam asked, his voice devoid of the anger from earlier.

“Barbados.”

“Want me to book you on the next flight out?”

His gut recoiled at the pity in his brother’s voice, at the idea of Adam having to bail him out once again, but part of him was glad to have someone looking out for him. “Please.”

A few more clicks on a keyboard followed. “There’s one leaving in two and a half hours.”

“I can make it.” He’d take the Jeep they’d rented, even if it meant leaving her stranded. After all, she’d probably made enough money from selling him out to afford a taxi back to the airport.

“Got you booked.”

“Thanks, Adam.” He hung up, his hands shaking. For the first time in months, he was more than tempted to shoot up and just forget about the world, but he refused to relapse because of a two-timing woman. He knew he needed to confront her, to tell her it was over, but the center of his chest ached over the prospect of doing it.

He still loved her.

Which made her betrayal that much harder to bear.

But I have to do this.

He banged the bedroom door open, his hands clenched into determined fists.

Becca jumped up, her eyes wide with fear. “Ethan, what’s wrong?”

“I know what you did.” He tried to sound hard and furious, yet the moment his eyes raked down her naked curves, he found his resolve crumbling.

Damn it, I still want her.

He grabbed his bag and started stuffing his things into it to keep from touching her and losing all self-control.

“What are you talking about?”

“Congratulations, Becca. You finally had your big break. Your story about me is all over the news.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She gathered the sheet around her and moved toward him, but he snatched his bag out of her way and went into the bathroom to grab the rest of his things.

“No wonder you were all closed off about that story your editor wanted you to turn in. You were figuring out the best way to betray me.” He came back in and pulled on a pair of jeans. “And I’m sure you probably paid that photographer at Wollman Rink to take photos of us, too, just to seal the deal.”

“Ethan, no.” Her mouth hung open in disbelief. “I didn’t do any of that.”

“But you knew, didn’t you? How else did your editor get those photos?”

She crossed her arms around her stomach and looked as though she was about to puke. A confession of guilt if he’d ever saw one.

“All this talk about protecting me, about respecting my privacy.” He yanked on a T-shirt and grabbed the keys on the nightstand. “It was all a pack of lies to gain my trust so you could sell me out the moment you had the highest bidder.”

Tears filled her blue-green eyes, and her chin trembled. “You really think that of me?”

He paused, and for a split second, he wondered if he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. “What else am I to think when the magazine you work at is coming out tomorrow with an exclusive story all about me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, releasing one lone tear in the process. But she clenched her teeth, and when she opened her eyes again, they were hard and cold. “This whole time, after I’ve gone out of my way to keep your identity a secret, you think I would stage photos and blab all your secrets to Elaine? What happened to you trusting me to do the right thing?”

“Obviously, I was wrong about you.”

She shook, but more from rage than sadness this time. Her finger pointed toward the door. “Get out!”

“Gladly.” He turned around and left before his gut checked him and made him look back. Maybe once he got home, he could sulk over his broken heart and beat himself up for being such an idiot.

But right now, he had a plane to catch.

***

Becca waited for the rumbling of the Jeep’s engine to fade before she let the sob choking her throat escape. No matter what she did, it was doomed to blow up in her face.

She’d turned in an article exposing her own story of addiction and recovery, and yet Elaine had chosen to weave her version about Ethan, no doubt fed by info from Daddy and Claire. And what was worse, Ethan had chosen to believe she’d sold him out.

The sobs intensified, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle them. When she reached the point where she couldn’t cry any more, she crawled out of bed and into the shower. The hot water washed away the salt of her tears and eased the pain of her breaking heart.

Her flight didn’t leave until Wednesday morning. That gave her two days to come up with a plan to exact revenge against Elaine and her parents. But there was no hope getting Ethan back. As much as she loved him, he didn’t trust her when it mattered the most. And without trust, they had no future together.

Chapter Seventeen

Becca came out of the terminal at JFK with her hat pulled low and her eyes downcast. She’d gotten a glimpse of the cover of the latest issue of Moderne on the airport’s newsstands, and she didn’t want anyone to recognize her as she made her way to baggage claim to grab her suitcase.

A sharp whistle made her stop short and look up.

Jacob stood in line with the drivers holding cards with people’s names on them. He wore a silly grin on his face and held his own sign that said “Big Sis” in bright blue sloppy letters.

She made her way over to him. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m here to give you a ride home.” He leaned over and whispered, “By the way, if you want to keep your travel plans a secret, don’t use Dad’s credit card. The minute he saw the charge, he knew what flight you’d be on and sent me to fetch you.”

“So I’m being kidnapped and brought before him to answer for my actions?”

“Ouch! Lighten up, Becca. It’s the first night of Hanukkah, after all.” He took her carry-on bag and moved them toward baggage claim. “Although I do kind of like the idea of being a bounty hunter.”

“I have nothing to say to him, you know.”

“Maybe it will be different this time.” He grabbed her suitcase from the carousel. “By the way, where’s Ethan?”

“He broke up with me and flew home two days ago. Accused me of blabbing all his secrets to the highest bidder.”

Jacob winced. “That sucks. I actually liked him.”

“Me, too. But you know how Daddy can be when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Are you suggesting he did something to break you two up?” Jacob led her outside to where he’d parked his Mini Cooper.

“Of course I am. After all, he and Claire were the ones who told Elaine we were dating.” She climbed into the passenger seat and waited while her brother threw her bags into the back.

Jacob got behind the wheel, but didn’t start the engine right away. “Listen, Becca, I don’t know all the details, but Dad sent me to pick you up because he wanted to talk to you about something, and I think you should at least hear him out before you tell him to fuck off again.”

“I doubt he has anything to say that will make amends for what he’s done, but whatever.”

As Jacob drove back into the city, Becca asked how things were going at Yale, how his classes were going, if he was dating anyone. The distraction soothed her sullen mood until they got to her parents’ house. She climbed out the car, dreading every step that brought her closer to confronting her father for the second time in less than a week.

The smell of frying latkes greeted her when she opened the front door. Claire appeared from the living room with her arms outstretched, pulling her into a hug. “Happy Hanukkah, Becca.”

She stayed stiff and aloof, not returning her stepmother’s affection. After all, she was a member of the party who’d fed information to Elaine. “Hi, Claire.”

Claire stepped back, a frown creating the slightest of wrinkles in her otherwise flawless Botoxed face. She looked to Jacob for an explanation, but he simply shrugged. The awkward tension continued to grow until she clasped her hands together and said politely, “Your father wishes to speak to you in his study.”

“Let’s get this over with so I can get home and start prepping my résumé.” She didn’t even bother taking her coat off before making her way to the room in the back of the house with the imposing polished walnut shelves housing rare first editions of classic works of literature mixed in with photographs of some of Shore Hotels’ more extravagant resorts. This would be a short visit.

The door was open, and her father sat behind his desk, reading something on his computer. He didn’t even look up until she cleared her throat. “Rebecca, close the door and have a seat.”

“No, Daddy, let’s keep this short, shall we? Congratulations. You not only managed to cost me my job—which you got me in the first place—but you also cost me a relationship with a great guy. So I hope you’re happy.”

She turned to leave, but the stern tone of her father’s voice stopped her. “I said close the door and have a seat.”

She shut the door and plopped down in the leather armchair he was pointing to, unbuttoning her coat in the process. “Whatever you have to say—”

“I will say it, and you will keep your mouth shut until I’m finished.” He came around his desk and sat down in the matching armchair on the other side of the small round end table. “I had another interesting luncheon with Elaine on Friday.”

“Where you probably told her everything else you could about Ethan so she could publish her exposé.”

“I said, let me finish.” He crossed his arms and squinted one eye as he studied her. “She said she’d given you that assignment, and you’d refused to do it. Why?”

“Because he was my boyfriend. We’d both worked so hard to keep our relationship out of the media spotlight. And more important, it was wrong. It was a violation of trust. But thanks to you and Elaine, he thinks I did it anyway.”

“I never thought she’d take what I told her over lunch to such extremes.” Her father looked down and away, sliding one hand down his cheek to his chin. “So I assume that the feature in Moderne caused some tension between you two.”

“He dumped me in Barbados, just like you wanted.”

“I never said I wanted that.” His voice stayed calm and steady, but anger flashed in his eyes.

“No, you didn’t, but based on the way you treated him at Thanksgiving, you don’t like him either. I bet you’ll do a little happy dance after I leave.”

“Rebecca.” He said her name as a warning and shifted in his chair. “Elaine, however, did forward me a copy of the article you turned in.”

She braced for the lecture on how her story of addiction and recovery would be a smear on the Shore family name, but her father remained quiet and pensive as though he was choosing his next words carefully.

“It was a very powerful piece.”

All the air fled her lungs. He was actually giving her praise. “Did I hear you correctly?”

He gave her one slow nod. “It got me thinking about what you said in my office last week about wanting to bring about change and raise awareness. At first, I thought you were suffering from some kind of delusion, but once I read that story….”

His mouth started twitching, and he pressed his finger against his lips to still them. “You are actually a very gifted writer, Rebecca.”

Her head swam. That was the second time he’d said something positive about her in the last five minutes. Any more praise, and the world might start spinning in the opposite direction. “Um, thank you.”

“It made me realize how far you’ve come and that maybe I should give you another chance. Furthermore, once I read that article, I told Elaine your talents were being wasted at a trashy magazine like hers and were better suited for more serious publications.”

She bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing at the shocked expression Elaine must have worn when he said that.

“And the funny thing is, she agreed with me.” Her father leaned forward, scooting his chair toward her. “She mentioned some of the topics you’d brought up at the staff meetings. It seems you have quite the drive for social justice and awareness.”

“I want to be something more than just some spoiled little rich girl.”

“And I’m beginning to see that you are.” He sat back on the chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests. “It seems you aren’t the only member of the family who wanted to make the world a better place. Before your grandfather died, he set up the Shore Foundation as a charitable trust. I’ve been too busy running the business to pay much attention to it, and I’m afraid the foundation has fallen to the wayside. Perhaps it’s time I placed someone in charge of it who could put it to good use.”

He paused and stared directly at her.

Her heart fluttered as the implications of his offer sank in. “You want me to take over the foundation?”

He gave another single, slow nod. “You seem to have the drive for it, and if you can continue to write passionate, persuasive articles like the one you turned into Elaine, I have a feeling you might just make the world a better place.”

“And you don’t think I’ll screw it up or pilfer funds to buy drugs?”

This time, he shook his head. “No, I think you’ve shown you can be trusted.”

Her hands trembled, and her voice shook as she said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Understandable. Of course, I haven’t disclosed the complete terms of this position. You will receive a small stipend for compensation, as well as any necessary travel expenses to set up projects you deem important. It will come with the standard Shore Hotels corporate benefits, and—”

She silenced him by throwing her arms around him in a hug. “I accept the job, Daddy.”

He balked at first, then very slowly wrapped his arms around her and returned the hug. “I’m very proud of you.”

Her throat choked up, and despite her best efforts to stop them, a few renegade tears slipped out. Her whole life, she’d felt like she’d always be a disappointment to her father. She never dreamed she’d hear him say he was proud of her. She pulled back and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I bet you’ve never had an employee break down in tears over being offered a job.”

“True, but then, I’ve never hired my daughter before, either. I know I’ve been hard on you in the past, but I truly believe the foundation will be in good hands now.” He patted her on the arm and gave her an apologetic smile. “Why don’t we join Claire and Jacob for some latkes?”

“Sounds fabulous.” She slipped off her coat and hung it up by the door before joining her family in the dining room.

The sun had set well over an hour ago, but the two candles in the Hanukkah menorah still cheerfully burned in the window overlooking Central Park. As soon as she sat down at the table, Mrs. Cordero appeared from the kitchen and set a plate of steaming hot latkes in front of her. Jacob passed her the sour cream and applesauce, and she shared her good news with the rest of the family.

But despite the excitement of celebrating the holiday with her family, part of her still mourned the end of her relationship with Ethan. Claire seemed to pick up on it first and asked about him.

“He didn’t believe me when I told him I hadn’t leaked the details of his personal life to Elaine,” Becca replied with a shrug, even though his accusations still stung. “If he doesn’t trust me, then what hope do we have for a solid relationship?”

Her father and Claire held hands and looked at each other before her stepmother said, “We’re the ones who told Elaine about him, and if there’s anything we can do to help make amends—”

“Don’t bother.” The flavorful latkes turned to dry mush in her mouth, and she pushed her plate away. “What’s done is done.”

“Then I guess your feelings for him must have been lukewarm at best,” her father replied, “if you’re not willing to fight to get him back.”

She curled her fingers into her palms, her heart still aching for him. “What do you suggest I do, Daddy? He didn’t believe me. He thought the worst of me when it mattered the most, and….” She drew in a deep breath to regain her composure. “I won’t grovel and ask for forgiveness when I did nothing wrong.”

“Then maybe you should give your side of the story.”

“I’m not going to the news station and airing my dirty laundry for the entire world, Daddy. I’ve caused enough scandal as it is.”

“Understandable. The question is,” her father continued, “do you want us to interfere in your personal life?”

She chewed her bottom lip and considered his offer. The last three years, she’d done everything she could to break off ties to her family and be independent, but this might be the one time when she gracefully accepted their assistance. “What’s your plan?”

Her father gave her a shrewd smile. “Wait and see. In the meantime, you need your own platform for the stories you want to tell.” Her father turned to Jacob. “Maybe you can help your sister create one of those blog things to get her message across for the Shore Foundation.”

“I’d love to,” her brother said with a grin.

Chapter Eighteen

Ethan shivered at the end of Pier 84 and stared into the choppy waters of the Hudson. A storm was rolling in, and the usually busy park was deserted. During the ten minutes he’d been there, he hadn’t stumbled across a single soul. The last time he’d come here, Becca had saved him from falling back to his former muse. But since he’d left her in Barbados a week ago, he’d felt more lost than ever. The music had dried up, and his dreams at night were haunted by the hurt on her face when he’d walked out on her. And he didn’t want to think about the desire to fall back on his old addictions.

He’d picked up an issue of the magazine and found the details on the story it contained to be superficial at best. Definitely not the tell-all it promised to be, which made him wonder if Becca wasn’t the leak after all. There were enough photos of them together, but they all dated back to Thanksgiving. Nothing before then.

Then he’d heard the news that she’d been appointed to head up the Shore Foundation and read the first two articles she’d posted on the foundation’s blog. The first one was about reshaping the foundation’s direction, and the second one was a gritty, unapologetic piece about addiction and how it defied stereotypes. In footnotes, she mentioned that the article had originally been submitted to Moderne magazine, but it was rejected because it was deemed unsuitable for the magazine’s readership.

But it spoke to him and filled in the missing pieces of the puzzle. It was the article she’d turned in to take the place of the tell-all her editor wanted.

He pulled out his phone and found her number. Seconds ticked by as he stared at it, but he couldn’t bring himself to call her. His stomach churned like the river in front of him, and a different sort of craving filled him—one for her.

He called Adam instead. “Talk me off a ledge.”

“Why?” Worry laced his older brother’s voice. “Are you thinking of using again?”

“No. I’m thinking about calling her.”

“Becca Shore?”

“No, Marilyn Monroe. Of course I’m talking about Becca.”

“Why?”

He shuffled his feet and kicked the railing. “I miss her.”

“Even after the article?”

“Yeah.” He paused and added, “The funny thing is, I don’t think she was the one who sold me out. I mean, the things in that article could’ve come from anyone at the Thanksgiving table. She has a lot more dirt on me than that.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think I made a huge mistake.”

He waited for Adam to tear into him like he did last week, but instead, his brother said, “I had a nice long conversation with her father today about a business proposition, and when the conversation turned to her, some very interesting information turned up and made me realize that maybe I misjudged her, too.”

“Whoa! Did I just hear you admit that you were wrong? Mr. ‘I Know It All and Never Make A Bad Decision’?”

Adam chuckled. “Yeah, being married has taught me some humility.”

“Any chance you could pass some of those lessons on to me?”

“Are you saying you want her back?”

“More than anything. She steadies me. She inspires me. She keeps me going when I feel like I can’t. She’s my muse, and without her, I feel like there’s a part of me missing.” Ethan held his breath and rubbed at the hollow feeling that lingered in the center of his chest. “I still love her.”

“Then maybe you should turn around and tell me that,” a woman said behind him.

He turned around to find Becca standing a few feet away. “I’ll call you back later,” he murmured before hanging up on Adam. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” She stayed where she was, her hands in the pockets of her jacket. The wind whipped her dark hair around her face. “I was just outside your place, actually, when you rode off. Thankfully, the cab driver was willing to follow you.”

Hope flared within him. Maybe she’d been missing him as much as he missed her. “Why were you coming to my place?”

She looked down at the ground. “It’s Monday, and I was just coming over to make sure you’d be at the NA meeting tonight. I’m still here for you, Ethan. At least, until you decide on an official sponsor.”

“How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough.” He expected her to close the gap between them, but she remained as still as a statue.

The message was loud and clear. She wanted him to take the first step.

His tongue felt twice its normal size as he stumbled over the words he knew she needed to hear. “I’m sorry, Becca. I shouldn’t have accused you of selling me out.”

“But you did.”

“And I was an idiot to think that of you.” He took that first step, waiting to see if she’d bolt before taking another. “I should’ve listened to my heart. I should’ve believed in you.”

Her face remained unreadable as he closed the gap between them and cupped her icy, windblown cheeks in his hands, lifted her chin up so he could see into her blue-green eyes. They glittered with tears, and her bottom lip trembled, but still, she said nothing.

“Please, give me another chance, Bec.”

“If we don’t have trust…”

“I do trust you.” He covered her lips with his own in a pleading kiss that begged her to believe him. “You know my heart, my soul, better than anyone else, and there’s no one I would rather share my secrets with.” His voice broke as he added, “Without you, I’m lost.”

She pressed her forehead against his and released a heavy sigh. “Say it, Ethan. I need to hear you say it.”

“I love you, Becca.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. “You get me.”

She tucked her head under his chin and held on to him. “I love you, too.”

And in that moment, he’d found the one thing that filled the void inside him.

Chapter Nineteen

Nothing had prepared Becca for Christmas Eve with the Kelly family. Ethan had warned her that he had six brothers, but when they arrived at his mother’s home in Chicago, she was ambushed by a massive white dog that knocked her into one of the snow drifts lining the driveway and started licking her face.

“That means he likes you,” a silver-haired woman shouted from the front door.

“No, Jasper’s just a menace.” Ethan shooed the dog away and helped her up, brushing the snow off her before leading her up the stairs. “Mom, this is Becca.”

His mother threw her arms around her in a hug. “So glad to finally meet you.”

The last of the jitters faded away. After all the hoopla last week, she’d expected his family to give her the cold shoulder, but as Ethan introduced her to each of his brothers, they all greeted her with the same warmth as their mother.

The crowded house was filled with boisterous conversations as each brother tried to talk over the others. The smells of fir trees and gingerbread permeated the rooms, so different from the scent of fried foods she was accustomed to at this time of the year. Before she knew what was happening, she’d been recruited to help out in the kitchen. Adam’s wife, Lia, assigned her to add the finishing touches to the mashed potatoes that would go with the massive prime rib she was carving.

By the time dinner was done, she’d felt like she was already part of the family. Ben and his wife teased for her being a Rangers fan while Frank heckled her for rooting for the Giants. She found out that Gideon’s next project would be a movie with Ari’s brother, and she warned him about Gabe’s habit of playing practical jokes on the set. She admired photos of the car Caleb and his wife, Alex, were restoring and sighed over the way Dan fawned over his pregnant girlfriend, Jenny.

The family retreated to the living room after dinner, but Ethan pulled her aside and pointed to the branch of mistletoe hanging above them.

“I don’t think that’s a Hanukkah tradition,” she teased.

“Humor me.” He tilted her face up and kissed her until she was breathless.

“Get a room, you two,” Frank teased, bumping into Ethan as he passed them.

Ethan gave the massive linebacker a playful shove, which evolved into playful roughhousing until their mother broke it up with a sharp “Boys!”

Mrs. Kelly then looped her arm through Becca’s, saying, “They never grow up.”

“We’ve got to keep you on your toes, Mom,” Ethan said, placing a kiss on his mother’s cheek before stealing Becca back. “We’ll join you in a moment.”

He led her back into the dining room and pulled out the distinctive little blue and white box that could only come from Tiffany’s. “I know Hanukkah ended today, but better late than never, right?”

Her pulse quickened as she untied the ribbon. The box was the perfect size for a ring, even though her mind told her it was still too early for that. After all, they’d just admitted they loved each other a little over a week ago.

She opened the lid to find a diamond and platinum key pendant instead and released the breath she’d been holding.

“Expecting something different?” he asked, his gray eyes filled with mirth.

“More like relieved.” She pulled the necklace out and admired the way it sparkled. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Just like you.” He took the necklace and fastened it around her neck. “I’m trusting you with the key to my heart.”

“And I promise not to break it.”

“I know.” He pressed lips to hers before whispering in her ear, “But if it had been a ring?”

“I might’ve said yes,” she teased. “After all, you get me.”

He laughed before giving her a passionate kiss that made her heart sing and promised her a future of many more in the days to come.

Other Books by Crista McHugh

The Kelly Brothers Series

The Sweetest Seduction, Book 1

Breakaway Hearts, Book 2

Falling for the Wingman, Book 3

The Heart’s Game, Book 4

A Seductive Melody, Book 5

In the Red Zone, Book 6, (February 2015)

Sign up for Crista’s Newsletter to be the first to know when In the Red Zone is available.

A Note to Readers

Thank you for reading A Seductive Melody. I hope you enjoyed it!

· Would you like to know when my next book is available? You can sign up for my new release newsletter at www.cristamchugh.com, follow me on twitter at @crista_mchugh, or like my Facebook page at http://facebook.com/cristamchugh.

· Reviews help other readers find books. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.

· This book is lendable through Amazon’s lending program. Share it with a friend!

· You’ve just read the fifth full-length book in The Kelly Brothers series. The other books in the series are The Sweetest Seduction, Breakaway Hearts, Falling for the Wingman, The Heart’s Game, In the Red Zone (Feb. 2015), and Here All Along (May 2015). I hope you enjoy them all!

And, just for this series, I have a special website featuring more information on the Kelly Brothers, playlists, recipes, and other extras just for readers. Please check it out at www.thekellybrothers.cristamchugh.com.

--Crista

About the Author

Growing up in small town Alabama, Crista relied on story-telling as a natural way for her to pass the time and keep her two younger sisters entertained.

She currently lives in the Audi-filled suburbs of Seattle with her husband and two children, maintaining her alter ego of mild-mannered physician by day while she continues to pursue writing on nights and weekends.

Just for laughs, here are some of the jobs she’s had in the past to pay the bills: barista, bartender, sommelier, stagehand, actress, morgue attendant, and autopsy assistant.

And she’s also a recovering LARPer. (She blames it on her crazy college days)

For the latest updates, deleted scenes, and answers to any burning questions you have, please check out her webpage, www.CristaMcHugh.com.

Find Crista online at:

Twitter: www.twitter.com/crista_mchugh

Facebook: www.facebook.com/CristaMcHugh

Step

S&M Book 1

Roxie Rivera

Chapter One

STEPAN

Pussy.

One word. Five letters.

The sweet pink currency that fueled the backstage hookup market.

And right now I wanted some.

I wanted it bad. I wanted to be buried balls-deep in two or three of the hottest fucking groupies I could find. I wanted to get up to some real deviant shit tonight. Hot, filthy, sheet-ripping, bed-breaking fucking. I planned to ring in my birthday with a night I would never forget.

Slick with sweat from an extended set, I reached up to rake my fingers through my long hair but encountered the short bristles of my new haircut. It threw me off for a moment. The modified Mohawk with the sides buzzed short and top trimmed low had been a spur of the moment decision I had made in a fit of frustration a few mornings ago. My constantly cracking voice and aching throat were getting on my last damned nerve.

I scratched my fingernails along my scalp. I didn’t exactly regret the move to hack off a decade’s worth of hair growth, but I was still getting used to the strange, light feeling up top. At least my voice had performed well tonight. I had gotten through the entire set without a single wobble or crack. Hell, maybe that overpaid specialist of mine knew what the hell he was talking about after all.

Now, if I could just tackle that other embarrassing problem of mine, I would be fucking golden.

I headed down the steps leading away from the stage and down into the pit-like backstage of The Slaughterhouse. I owned the notorious club that catered to the goth and metal heads of Houston. We had just played an exclusive show to give our fans a taste of the new album we would be launching with a worldwide tour at the beginning of next year. The crowd had gone fucking crazy for the new songs.

Throat sore and dry, I snatched a beer from a passing waitress and took a long pull of the cold, bitter brew. It soothed the ache in my raw throat. In the back of my head, I could hear my otolaryngologist screaming at me to put the fucking alcohol down and pick up a bottle of water. Being a hard-headed asshole, I took another even longer drink of the icy beer.

Glancing back, I found my bandmates hot on my heels. Dom Rivera, Sinister Mayhem’s bassist, grabbed a towel from a roadie and wiped the beading sweat from his shaved head. Tres, his younger brother and our band’s head of security, kept a well-trained eye on the throng of groupies and entertainment media reps pushing forward. With one stern look, the former Marine sent them all scuttling back.

After grinding on taut strings for nearly two hours, Leif Hansson stretched his cramping fingers before gathering his blond hair into a low ponytail at the back of his neck. His younger brother, Tor, stormed by him with drumsticks still clenched in his fists. Like a damned Viking on a rampage, he shoved his way through the crowd and disappeared into one of the private halls of the labyrinthine backstage area.

I wasn’t sure what the fuck was up with Tor lately, but he had been a serious bastard to everyone. I met Leif’s concerned gaze across the crowd and frowned at him. Leif shrugged his tattooed shoulders and then turned away from me and into the adoring arms of two female fans with some of the best damned ink I had ever seen. I stepped to the side for a better look at the artwork adorning their skin. In those tiny leather skirts and skimpy tops, they both flashed a great deal of beautifully decorated flesh. My approving gaze landed on our band’s logo stamped on their left shoulders.

“Step!” An excited and familiar female voice cut through the background noise. “Happy Birthday!”

I turned just in time to catch Hadley Rivera, Tres and Dom’s little sister, as she launched herself at me. I didn’t miss the grim set to her boyfriend’s mouth at the sight of his girlfriend leaping onto me. I bit back the urge to make a show of giving her a big, noisy kiss because the guy was a highly decorated sniper who had been a fucking legend in the Marine Corps. I didn’t want to be on the bad side of a dude who probably knew fifty different and extremely painful ways to end me.

Hadley loudly kissed my cheek. “Happy birthday, my big, Russian, tattooed almost-brother!”

With a bark of laughter, I hugged her tight but tried not to squeeze too hard. It had only been six weeks or so since her heart surgery, and I worried I might accidentally harm her still healing chest. Carefully setting her down, I ignored the jealous onlookers who were wondering who the hell this spunky dark-haired girl with startling gray eyes was to me. I placed my hands on her shoulders and examined her from head to toe. She seemed thinner but looked healthy and happy. “Shit, it’s good to see you, Hadley! How are you feeling?”

“Good.” She assured me before reaching back to grasp her boyfriend’s hand. With a quick tug, she silently beckoned him to join us. “The warden here gave me a pass for good behavior.”

I glanced at Finn Connolly and held out my hand. “It’s good to see you again, Finn.”

“Step.” He had a strong handshake and offered a clipped nod. “That was a hell of a show.”

“Thanks, man.” I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Knowing what I did of Finn, the last concert this guy had attended had probably been one of Toby Keith’s USO shows. The doom metal scene was an entirely different world. As if to prove my point, four luscious and scantily clad exotic dancers crossed the backstage area and head toward the VIP lounge up on the second floor of the converted trucking warehouse. I caught Finn frowning at the sight of them and decided to needle him a little. “You guys want to come up for the after-party?”

Cracking like a gunshot, Finn’s answer came half of a heartbeat later. “No.”

I squashed the amused smile that tugged at the corners of my mouth. “You guys sure? Once the alcohol starts flowing, those girls are going to be up on the tables. It’s a show you don’t want to miss.” I grinned at Hadley and leaned down to tease her. “Maybe I’ll finally convince you to let your hair down, sweetness.”

“Our baby sister lets down one strand of her hair, and Tres and I are going to make a show of kicking your ass from one end of this club to the other,” Dom growled as he butted into the conversation. He jammed his shoulder against mine with enough force that I lurched forward. “When we’re done with you, Finn gets his turn.”

“Shit, Dom!” I rubbed at my stinging arm. “It was just a joke.”

Ignoring me, Dom reached out and gave Hadley’s hair a playful tug. “Munchie, what were you doing out in the crowd? You could have been crushed.”

She rolled her eyes at her older brother’s overprotectiveness. “Tres and the rest of the bouncers formed a bubble around me. I couldn’t even see the stage unless Finn picked me up!”

Dom grunted. “You drinking enough water, Munchie? It’s hot as hell back here. You’re still on the Lasix, right?”

“Yes, and yes.” She sighed dramatically and gestured toward Finn. “My bodyguard has been monitoring my water intake and making sure I’m taking my meds. I’m fine. Really.”

“She’s been a model patient and has more than earned this night out.” Finn draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

The tender moment between the couple caused a strange pang right in the center of my chest. I ignored the unwanted sensation and suppressed the troubling thoughts it kicked off by turning my attention to that thick, fine ass of the dark-haired looker who had just strolled by us. I decided to keep tabs on that one. She had just made my short-list of hookup possibilities.

“No, I think we’re going to call it a night and head back to the penthouse,” Hadley was saying when my attention reverted to the conversation.

Dom’s expression turned squeamish when he jumped to the obvious conclusion about why his little sister and her boyfriend were leaving early. Apparently, Hadley’s doc had given her the all-clear to get horizontal with that Marine of hers. I wanted to laugh at the look on Dom’s face, but my arm still stung from the muscled bassist’s last punch so I bit back the urge to be a jackass.

“Will you make sure Coby gets home safe?” Hadley tapped her brother’s forearm, her fingers dancing over the intricate sleeve-work he sported. “She told me not to worry about her but…”

Dom glanced back at the pixie-sized DJ who was chatting with Slaughterhouse’s events manager and gesturing animatedly toward the front of the house. He frowned. “That girl needs to get her driver’s license. As flush as she is now, there’s no reason for her not to buy a car or hire a damned driver and bodyguard.”

Professional jealousy reared its ugly head when I considered how much cash Coby had hauled in with her outrageously popular dance remixes and that latest trap album. She had agreed to DJ tonight’s party for free because we all ran in the same circle of Houston musicians, but our manager had let it slip that she was pocketing six figures a night for private parties. Six fucking figures, man! Doom metal made my blood run hot and my heart pound with excitement—but shit. I wouldn’t say no to some lucrative deals like those.

“I will make sure she gets home safely.” Dom gestured toward their brother. “Come on. Tres will want to see you two before you disappear.”

Hadley glanced back and waved at me as her older brother led them away. The hard partying crowd tried to swallow me up, but I needed a few moments alone in the dressing room. I managed to weave my way out of the crowd and into the private hallway that two bouncers guarded. I slipped inside my dressing room and dropped into a chair.

Head in my hands, I exhaled a long and slow breath. I hated to be ungrateful for all the success we had achieved, but sometimes it was too much. As the face of our band, I was expected to constantly interact with fans. I couldn’t storm off and be a dickhead like Tor or scare people off with a glare like Dom. I didn’t get to fuck everything that walked on two legs like Leif. No, I had to be the mostly responsible one.

But right now? Tonight? I wanted to run the fuck away. I wanted to close myself off in my quiet downtown penthouse apartment, have a couple of drinks and get some much needed sleep.

But I couldn’t do that. No, the lead singer version of me was expected to ring in his third decade on this earth with pure debauchery. I was expected to tear up a hotel suite, fuck a string of hot, wild groupies and wake up naked in a swimming pool.

The only problem with that scenario? The years of partying hard and treating my body like shit were starting to catch up with me. After the laryngitis scare earlier in the year, I had lost some of my usual confidence and swagger.

And my ability to get hard.

Fuck, even admitting it to myself was humiliating! How the hell did that happen? How did I go from being a champion in the bedroom to relying on that bottle of blue pills in my bag? I was surrounded by hot, tight, juicy fan pussy but my cock wasn’t in it.

Not tonight, I thought with a clenched jaw. Tonight? Tonight I was going to reclaim my inner porn star. I was going to take that blue pill, find a strong, wild woman to take back to my hotel suite and fuck dirty and hot until sunrise.

My mind made up, I shoved out of my chair and strode to my bag on the vanity counter. I found the bottle of pills prescribed to an alias and shook one out onto my palm. I knocked it back with a drink from my water bottle and returned to my party.

By now, Coby—or DJ Cobalt as she was known when spinning—had the crowd pumped. Not surprisingly, she had created a special set for Slaughterhouse, mixing trap and electronic with goth and metal. How she managed to make it sound so damned good perplexed me. That girl had a gift, and I was in awe of it.

After an hour of fan photos and autographs and knocking back the endless stream of drinks that were offered to me, I was dragged up to the VIP lounge where an obscene birthday cake waited for me. Dom and Coby led the crowd in singing Happy Birthday, and I made a big show of making my wish and blowing out my candles. I ate the obligatory piece, downed another drink, made the rounds and then decided I had had enough.

Ready to make my escape for a private party of my own, I scanned the throng of groupies panting for a chance to get their greedy little fingers inside my leather pants. Like a kid surrounded by gifts on Christmas morning, I didn’t know where to start. Suddenly my plan to find one gorgeous, fun woman altered drastically. One for each decade sounded much better.

There were vamps in fetish wear, their bodies beautifully displayed in corsets and leather. Two cyber punks with neon green hair and kickass T-shirts stood close to the bar and tossed back blood red shots. A trio of gothic Lolitas in pinafores twirled black lace umbrellas and chatted with the drummer and bassist from the band who had opened the night’s show.

Among the usual jet-black locks, I spotted blondes, brunettes and redheads. A flash of hot pink caught my eye. The black lace corset and too-short blood-red leather skirt set off a fire within me. Smiling wickedly, I crooked a finger in her direction. Pink’s eyes widened, and she practically pranced toward me. Damn, but she was cute.

My gaze drifted back to the two vamps. I beckoned them to join me and Pink. They practically ran to my side. The trio smiled and shook hands. I didn’t have to sweet talk them too much. These women knew what they wanted, and they were hell-bent on getting it.

On the way out of the club, I caught Tres dealing with a couple of kids who looked to be underage. The tall, lanky white kid with dyed black hair looked like he was going to piss his pants if Tres kept up his drill sergeant routine. The other kid, the one with impressive dreadlocks, piercings and warm brown skin, didn’t seem even the least bit bothered by it. When dreadlocks spotted me in the hallway, he grinned and slapped his friend on the arm.

“What’s the problem, Tres?”

“Two underage kids snuck into Slaughterhouse. I caught them snooping around backstage.”

Remembering the days when I had done crazy shit like this with Dom, I motioned for the two kids to come closer. “Do you know that I own this place?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

“Do you know what happens if TABC comes in here and finds underage kids running around?”

Now they both looked down at their feet. “Yes.”

I couldn’t blame them for wanting to meet their favorite musicians. Hell, Dom and I had run away from Texas and worked our way to Sweden to find our musical idols. Dom hadn’t been much older than these two.

With a sigh, I held out my hand. “Show me what you have for me to sign.”

They instantly started buzzing with excitement and whipped out the memorabilia they wanted signed. The kid with dreadlocks offered me a permanent marker, and I made quick work of signing their things. After handing them back, I glanced at Tres. “Get them both shirts. Put them in a cab. Send them home.”

“Got it.”

I touched the chest of the kid with dreadlocks. “Don’t do this shit again. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“You wait until you’re eighteen to come back here.”

“We will.”

Certain they would stay away from my club, I nodded at them and slung my arms around the three women. We slowly made our way to the SUV and driver waiting for me out back. The girls wanted to start the party on the drive to the hotel suite, and I couldn’t think of a good reason to stop them. By the time we reached the VIP entrance at the rear of the establishment, the girls were panting and my lips were swollen from all the kissing.

But I wasn’t even the slightest bit stiff.

Trying not to dwell on the party that wasn’t starting in my leather pants, I guided the girls into the private elevator and up to the luxury suite on hotel’s top floor. My dates wasted no time turning on some music, ordering room service and hitting the bar. I dropped down on a couch and watched them dance for me. It didn’t take long for the clothes to start flying.

I had to tear myself away from the enticing sight of the two vamps grinding together on the makeshift dance floor to answer the door and sign for the room service order. While the girls were busy picking through the order, I ducked into the bathroom and dug the extra pill I had tucked into my pocket out of my pants. I tossed it back with a long pull from a vodka bottle and gave my dick a pep talk.

“Come on, you bastard. We have three sexy, wild girls waiting for us out there. Get hard—or else those girls will find a way to get what they want without you.”

My pep talk given, I returned to the dining room of the suite. The food play had already started. Pink was smearing whipped cream on the nipples of one of the vamps. I decided to join in the fun. “I think you might be sweeter than my birthday cake…”

But all the nipple sucking and deep French kissing in the world wasn’t making me hard. Two blue pills, three hot girls and all that vodka? I should have been relaxed and hard as a bat by now.

If the girls noticed, they didn’t say anything. Eventually we were all naked. The party moved into the bedroom—and things took an erotic turn fast. The two dark-haired vamps fell onto the bed with Pink and began attacking her pussy. Soon, they were all thrusting fingers and licking and squealing atop the bed.

Head pounding and heart racing, I stroked my semi-hard shaft with one hand and gripped a tequila bottle in the other. There were men who give their left nuts to be standing in my spot, but I couldn’t get into it. It just wasn’t as exciting as it used to be.

Every single fuck had to be more depraved and wilder. It was like a competition to outdo myself. One girl. Two girls. Three girls. Sex toys. Kink. What the hell happened to slow and easy? What happened to simple lovemaking? Why the hell couldn’t I find a woman who cared about me? About the real me? About the Step who existed behind the lead singer?

Listen to you! You’re getting soft, old man.

I was getting soft in more ways than one. My cock wouldn’t cooperate, and my frustration level started to rise. I took three long gulps of the tequila and hissed as it burned its way down my throat. When I lowered the bottle, I noticed I was swaying on my feet. The scene in front of me—the three women writhing with ecstasy—blurred, and I blinked rapidly.

I tried to shake it off, but this wasn’t going away. I swallowed anxiously and felt my knees start to shake. Shit. Maybe the warning about mixing the dick pills with alcohol was right.

Desperate to sit down, I took one step toward the bed—and fell forward in a dead faint.

Chapter Two

Jemima

Rubbing at my tired eyes, I yawned loudly and reached into the refrigerator for a cold soda. I cracked the tab and took a long drink before setting it aside and putting together my brown bag lunch. When I pulled out the plastic container where I stowed deli meat and cheese, I realized we were running low. I hastily calculated the days between now and my next paycheck and closed the box without making a sandwich. Today an extra apple and some peanut butter would have to round out my carrots and whole wheat crackers.

With my lunch packed, I returned to my bedroom and slipped into the perky pink uniform provided by the five star hotel where I worked as a maid. I pulled on a pair of low cut socks and the ugly but comfortable white shoes I had polished last night before going to bed. I styled my hair into a tightly coiled French twist—one of the three hairstyles permitted within the new strict dress code—and turned to the side to check my reflection.

I slid my hand down the front of the dress and made sure there were no wrinkles in the highly starched outfit. Our housekeeping manager was forgiving, but the new hotel manager was a real hard ass about our appearances. He was the one who had insisted we switch from the more comfortable tunics and slacks to these dresses. Apparently some hotel guests found our old uniforms frumpy and unappealing. Why we needed to look cute and perky to scrub toilets and bathtubs I would never understand!

Glancing at my watch, I snatched up my starched white apron and left my bedroom. I stopped in front of my younger brother’s door and rapped my knuckles against it. “Benji? Are you up?” When I heard nothing, I knocked harder. “Benji! Come on, bro. You need to get into the shower and get moving. Benji!”

Bracing myself for the inevitable smell of dirty socks and that nose-wrinkling teenage boy bouquet of hormones and angst that seemed to linger in his room, I opened the door and poked my head inside his room. “Benji? Are you listening to me?”

My gaze landed on his empty bed. A long stream of cuss words left my mouth as I realized he had sneaked out of the house sometime after I had crashed out with exhaustion. Before I could even process how pissed off I truly was, I heard the unmistakable squeal of the back door’s hinges. I let the bedroom door slipped closed behind me and strode down the narrow hallway of the single wide mobile home.

When I reached the living room, I caught Benji tiptoeing across the kitchen. He froze at the sight of me. Taking in his nearly all black outfit, I didn’t have to guess where he had been. The dark eyeliner smudged under his eyes? The studded leather cuffs circling his wrists? The band tee stamped with the S&M logo? He had been at the Sinister Mayhem show down at Slaughterhouse that I had expressly forbidden him to attend.

Exhaling roughly, I put a hand on my hip and waited for him to speak first. He ran his fingers along one of his dreds and nervously flicked his lip ring with his tongue. “I’m not going to stand here and bullshit you about being sorry, Jem. Because I’m not sorry about going.” He flashed that mischievous grin of his. “But I am sorry I got caught.”

“This isn’t funny, Benji. What if you had gotten into a wreck? Or been injured in a mosh pit? What if you had been arrested for being underage in a Twenty-One-or-Over club?”

“It was Eighteen-and-Up tonight.”

“And you’re fifteen!”

“Sixteen next week!”

“If you live that long.”

“Come on, Jem. Don’t be like that.”

“Don’t!” I shook my head and rubbed my tired face between my hands. Feeling so much older than my twenty-one years, I fought the stressed out tears that pricked at my eyes. “Benji, we are two months into the school year, and the office has already called me three times for your unexcused absences. I get that you think this is some big fucking joke, but the school district is going to slap me with truancy charges and fines. How the hell do you expect me to pay for that?”

Not letting him answer that, I barreled on, “We are in a precarious position here with DFPS. A few more strikes, and they’ll take you away from me and toss you in foster care or a group home.”

Benji’s expression turned serious. He gulped and glanced at his feet. “I’m sorry, Jem.”

“Don’t be sorry, Benji. Just do better. Okay? You’ve got to help me out here.” I closed the distance between us and grasped his hand. He glanced up at me, and I could see the regret darkening his eyes. I reminded myself that he was still young and dumb and prone to making really boneheaded decisions. “Listen, I love you. You’re my brother, and I would do freaking anything for you. Anything, Benji. But I need you to meet me halfway, bro.”

He surprised me by unexpectedly embracing me. Crushed in his arms, I realized just how damned big he was getting. He was closing in on six feet, and I could tell where all the groceries were going. He was filling out and turning hard with muscle. Gone was the slightly chubby thirteen-year-old boy I had petitioned and fought the state to gain guardianship over. Here stood a young man on the cusp of adulthood—and I was scared to death I was going to screw him up. I struggled so hard to find the balance of firm disciplinarian to loving sister that he required. I wanted him to be a good man. I wanted him to make something of his life. I wanted Benji to get out of this trailer park and away from the cycle of drugs and violence that had put our mother.

“I didn’t mean to upset you like this, Jem. I just—I really wanted to go to this show.” He released me slowly and stepped back. “I won’t do something this stupid again.”

I touched his cheek and smiled up at him. “You probably will.”

He snorted. “Yeah. Probably.”

I flicked the silver hoop dangling from his lip. “Take that shit out before you go to school, all right? And those too.” I pointed at the spider bite piercings on the left side of his mouth and then the barbell in his eyebrow. “You know the school rules.” He attended a magnet school for gifted students, and they had a more relaxed policy when it came to their dress code. And thank God! Because he loved pushing the line. “One nose stud and two earrings. That’s it, Benji.”

“Yeah, I know.” His tongue piercing knocked against his teeth. “Principal Nguyen gave me a pass on this one.” He flashed the barbell between his lips. “But I won’t push it with these.”

“Thank you.” I shook my head at the mess of makeup on his face. “There are some makeup remover wipes in my bathroom cabinet. You better attack your eyes and cheeks with those first.” I picked up his hand again and clicked my teeth at his nail polish. “There’s some acetone in that same cabinet. Get those clean.” I wrinkled my nose. “And take a shower! You stink of pot and beer and sweat and God only knows what else!”

“I stink of fun!” He reared back and started furiously grinding on an air guitar. “Man, Jem, you should have seen Leif! He was awesome! And Step? His voice was full-on last night. He’s totally recovered from that surgery he had earlier this year.”

“I hope you grabbed some video on your phone to keep you amused because your behind isn’t leaving this house for two weeks.” I waited for him to whine and wheedle, but he showed a bit of my maturity by simply nodding.

“Yeah. Okay, Jem.”

“Go on.” I gestured toward the back of our trailer. “Get cleaned up and get ready for school. You need to eat before you grab the bus. Don’t forget to make your lunch. Pack your inhaler, too.”

“I didn’t smoke last night. I swear, Jem.” He drew a little “X” over his heart. “I’m not stupid enough to put myself back in the hospital.”

The last time he had lit up with a couple of friends over the summer, he had ended up in the hospital for three days after an asthma attack from hell. I was still paying off that nightmare and probably would be making payments to the hospital until late next year.

“You light up anything again, and I swear I’m going to pull a Mrs. Rodriguez and go after your behind with a sandal.”

The mention of our neighborhood’s matriarch and her penchant for whacking bottoms with that thick-soled chancla of hers made Benji smile. “I’d like to see you try and catch me.”

“I might not be able to catch you, but I bet Mrs. Rodriguez’s boys can. Then I’ll let her apply that sandal to your backside.”

“Fair enough.” He said with a laugh and started across the living room. He paused at the small loveseat that was piled high with neatly tied stacks of cleaned, pressed and folded clothing. “Jem! Did you get up early to do these? Because they weren’t here when I snuck out last night.”

“They had to be done.” I didn’t mention that we needed the extra cash I earned by doing laundry for the single oilfield workers who lived in our trailer park. His magnet school was free, but all of the activities and trips and school projects he worked on were expensive. Now that our health insurance rates had gone up, our budget was even tighter than normal. Plus Christmas was right around the corner.

“At four in the morning, Jem?” He glanced back at the stacks of clothing. “I’ll deliver them when I get home. Friday is early release, and there’s no robotics lab today.”

“Thank you.” It was one less errand I had to tackle when I got home.

“I don’t like the way those guys look at you anyway. I’ll start doing the drop-offs from now on,” he decided.

I didn’t argue with him. Frankly, I was relieved. Getting invitations for private turn-down service from skeevy businessmen was bad enough, but having guys who lived down the street trying to pat my ass and making dirty remarks about their underwear was just too much. “They’re all labeled. Everyone has paid up except for Jerry down on Twilight Ave. He has a balance on his receipt, but he’s good for it.”

“I’ll take care of it. Do you want me to make dinner?”

“Sure.” I glanced at my watch again and grabbed my sack lunch. “I’m going to try to pick up an extra shift at the hotel.”

“Don’t be too late,” he warned. “We’re going to see Mom tomorrow, remember?”

“I remember,” I assured him. Visiting our mother up at the Henley State Jail wasn’t something I was likely to forget. We tried to get up there to see her once a month, but with Benji’s birthday, I had decided to take him twice this month. “Make sure you have a nice outfit. Something the duty warden will approve.”

“I will,” he promised. “I’ll roll some change tonight.”

Visitors were allowed to bring rolls of quarters to weekend visitation. Mom and Benji could burn through twenty-five dollars at those vending machines faster than any two people I had ever seen. When we had a little extra, we took it with us and gave it to other families waiting to visit their loved ones. It was hard enough for Benji to see Mom locked up in the pen. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for the really little kids who had to be searched and swiped with metal detector wands before visiting their mamas. Sometimes a cold soda and a candy bar meant more than just a sugar rush.

Lunch and apron in hand, I swiped my purse from the cheap bookcase near the front door. “Be good today, Benji.”

“I will.”

“Try to stay awake in class.”

“I will.”

“Come straight home after class.”

“I will, Jem.” Exasperation filled his voice. “Will you just go to work already?”

To really rile him up, I leaned over and pecked his cheek. He reacted with the expected disgust. “Man, Jem! That’s gross.”

Laughing, I left the house and carefully descended the rickety front steps. The sun was just starting to rise and turn the horizon a soft pink. Across the street, I spotted Shay Sandoval pulling into her driveway. Like me, she worked ridiculous hours and too many jobs. Unlike me, she had managed to stay in college. Right now, she was part of a cleaning crew that tackled businesses after-hours and also waitressed third shift at a diner near some of the oil refineries. How she had the energy to do it all perplexed me.

The roar of a motorcycle drew my attention. I recognized the rider as Spider, the man who owned the trailer park. He was also the VP for the Calaveras outlaw motorcycle club and not a man I ever wanted to cross. Of course, he had only ever been kind to me.

So, when he pulled up in front of our house and motioned for me to come talk to him, I didn’t dally. “Morning, Spider.”

“Good morning, Jem. How’s Benji?”

“He’s good.”

“He’s staying out of trouble?”

“Mostly.”

Spider laughed. “He’s a teenager. That’s probably the best you can hope for.”

“I think you’re probably right.”

He toyed with his helmet strap. “Listen, I don’t want to keep you. I know you’ve got to get to work.”

“I do.”

“I heard that Jackie is back in town.”

I blinked at that piece of news. Benji’s father and my stepfather had skipped town not long after our mother had gone to prison.

“He’s in trouble, Jem.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“He robbed a house where they were cooking some meth. I guess he stole a bunch of product. Needless to say, he’s on a lot of shit lists today.”

“Great.”

“You two need to be careful, okay? I doubt anyone is stupid enough to try to make a move on my property, but you never know with these crack heads and tweakers.”

“We’ll be careful.” I smiled at him. “Thank you for the heads-up.”

“If you need anything…”

“I know where to find you.” I stepped back and watched him ride away from the house before sliding behind the wheel of my vehicle. I hastily typed out a text to Benji, telling him the details about his bio-dad and urging him to be careful.

We’ll be fine. Jackie isn’t going to come anywhere near us.

It wasn’t Jackie that had me worried.

Seated behind the wheel of my rundown minivan, I prayed the damn thing would start and not act crazy every time I accelerated or the gears shifted. I needed to get it into the shop but that meant I had to have the money to pay for a mechanic and parts. Please start. Just get me to work. Please.

The old beast started up without a fuss, and I relaxed in the lumpy seat. I had bought the minivan on one of those fly-by-night car lots. It was closing in on two hundred thousand miles, and I didn’t know how many more it could handle.

Because the air conditioner was shot in the car, I rolled down the windows as I pulled out of the driveway. Fall hadn’t brought much of a reprieve from the heat, and this warm, muggy October morning was no different. I peeked at the lightening skyline as I drove away from the park and worried my lower lip. The higher the sun climbed, the more storm clouds I could see. I reached over and switched on the radio. It took a few twists of the knob to find a station giving a weather report.

“…hot and muggy today. Tropical Storm Leo made that slight left turn we had been expecting and the forecast track has shifted. We’re showing a direct hit from this storm and expect landfall late Sunday afternoon. This storm has the potential to produce high, damaging winds and flash flooding…”

I grimaced and turned the radio to my favorite channel. I needed the upbeat pop music to get me through the construction traffic on I-45. As I crawled along the interstate, I ran through my mental checklist for the coming storm. We had been spared hurricanes and big storms the last few years, but it seemed that luck was about to change.

I shuddered at the memories of Tropical Storm Allison. We had lived in a different mobile home then, a really nice double wide in a different area of Houston, but Allison’s storm waters had flooded and uprooted it. Mom and Jackie had been high out of their minds at a friend’s house when the storm hit. Benji and I had nearly drowned.

That had been the first time DFPS was all up in our business. Not long after our parents got us out of foster care, we had done a series of midnight moves and ended up in progressively worse rent houses and apartments. Mom and Jackie had gotten dragged into the local meth trade—and—well…

But I really didn’t want to think about any of that right now.

Already tired and so hungry, I pulled into my usual parking spot in the employee lot and headed into the hotel. After clocking in, dropping off my purse and lunch in my locker and tying my apron at the small of my back, I made my way into the employee dining room for our free continental breakfast and morning meeting. I grabbed some bacon, cold cereal, milk and a banana and went to the back table where my friends congregated.

Raucous laughter and hastily spoken Spanish fired back and forth across the table. I was welcomed with smiles and a gentle, fatherly pat on the back from Miguel, a maintenance supervisor. I tucked into my breakfast and listened to the chit-chat. Even though neither of my parents were Latino, I spoke Spanish like a natural and was soon talking to Lupe about her son who went to the same magnet school as Benji.

“Oye, Jem, did they tell you about the goth strippers last night?” Diego, one of the security guys who was close to my age, dropped down in the empty seat next to me and poked a straw through the foil lid on his small carton of orange juice.

“No.” I finished off the last of my cereal and started peeling my banana. “What happened?”

Diego kicked back in his chair. “So I’m doing my rounds last night. It’s late. You know, like, two in the morning. I’m doing my usual hooker check, right? Bouncing those girls who snuck by the front desk,” he said and sipped his juice. “I’m up on sixteen dealing with a noise complaint when I get a call on my radio from Jake that there are some vampire hookers going crazy in the pool.”

“Vampire hookers?” It sounded like the name of a bad straight-to-DVD movie.

“Crazy, huh?” He laughed. “So I have to see this shit with my own two eyes, right? I get down there—and no joke. These ladies are in their chonies in the pool. I mean—red thongs and black bras and tattoos.”

As many years as I had worked at the hotel, I didn’t have a hard time imagining that scene. “Were they drunk?”

“You kidding me? They were sweating tequila. They had broken into the pool bar and were raiding the cabinets for liquor. It was straight-up Girls Gone Wild down there!”

“So what did you do?”

“I helped Jake get them back into their clothes and into cabs. One of them went all Dracula on me and bit me!”

“What? No way!”

“Look.” He pulled down his collar and showed me the nasty bite.

“Did you get that treated?”

He nodded. “I went to the ER and they gave me some antibiotics and sent me back to work. I’m on a double, and I need the hours so I didn’t argue.”

I understood that only too well. “Where did those women come from?”

“Hell if I know,” he said with a shrug. “They probably came in the VIP entrance with one of the biggies upstairs. I’m letting the day shift sort that mess out.”

Before I could ask more questions, Richard, the hotel manager, came into the canteen area to make some quick announcements. I didn’t miss the sight of Amanda, one of the newer maids who had joined us from a rival upscale downtown hotel, following a few steps behind him. Diego elbowed me and lifted his chin their direction as if to confirm the rumors about the pair.

Richard rudely quieted us in that grating way he had and then explained the hotel’s plans for the storm and the changes to some of the upcoming weekend functions. When he was done, we scattered from the employee lounge and got to work.

I joined my fellow maids in our supply room-slash-headquarters and waited for my floor assignments. Juanita, our supervisor, gave out our rooms while she stood in front of the whiteboard and jotted down the number of guests in the hotel this morning and the number of checkouts. We weren’t at full capacity but we were dang close. More than half of the rooms were checkouts that needed to be flipped and ready for new guests by three.

It was going to be a long effing day.

“Jemima?”

“Yes, ma’am?” I adjusted my lanyard and carefully crossed the bustling room. With their assignments in hand, my fellow maids were hurrying to get up to their floors and get started on their rooms.

Juanita, a motherly older woman who hailed from Honduras, smiled down at me. “I want you to take Presidential-North, Presidential-South and the Ambassador suite this morning. As soon as you’re finished with those three, go down to ten and clean as many rooms as you can before your shift ends. If you want some extra hours, I need help on the second shift, probably down on five, seven and nine.”

“I’m on it.” I didn’t hesitate. The mega-luxury suites took three times as long to clean as the smaller rooms, but there were always big, fat tips. The chance at a second shift was exactly what I needed. Something told me Juanita was fully aware of my precarious money situation. Maybe I could finally get the van into the shop.

“Wait a second!” Amanda butted into the conversation. “Why is she getting three suites? What about the rest of us?”

Juanita cocked her head to the side and gave Amanda a withering stare. “Jemima gets three suites because I know I can count on her to get them done and get them done right. She’s been with this hotel for three years, and I trust her work.” Juanita took a step forward. “She gave up her chance at the suites last month to help out another maid who needed the hours and the tips. Now it’s her turn to get some of that good karma back. Me entiendes?”

Amanda didn’t answer. She haughtily turned on her heel and headed for the employee elevators. I watched her leave, a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. I had heard a few unsavory things about her from other maids who used to work with her at the other hotel. I hadn’t missed the way she took every chance possible to ingratiate herself with Richard, the hotel manager. My internal radar went crazy. That girl was going to be serious trouble for me.

“Don’t worry about her,” Juanita said. “She’ll learn her place here, or she can hit the unemployment line. Now, listen. You’ve got a banker in from Hong Kong in the south suite, and some big-time rock star in the north. Take the rock star’s room first. Those guys are such pigs. They always trash the rooms.” She shook her head with disgust. “Go on. Get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I made my way upstairs to the top floor and into the locked and cleverly concealed supply closet where I stocked a cart with all the cleaning supplies, toiletries, linens and towels I would need to tackle the first suite. Before pushing my cart into the hallway, I scanned my ID card on the digital reader connected to the small screen attached to the cart.

Our supervisors and managers were able to keep track of us using the high-tech system. By logging the preferences of frequent guests into the system, we were better able to anticipate their needs on subsequent visits. This morning, I would log in all sorts of useful information like the number of towels used, the snacks and drinks consumed and whether the guest had used a firm or soft pillow.

I glanced at the screen and read the name of the guest in the presidential suite. S. Vasiliev. It didn’t sound like the name of a rock star, but a lot of VIPs checked in under their legal names or under the names of their managers to avoid paparazzi or crazed fans. For all I knew, S. Vasiliev was this guy’s accountant.

Standing outside the door, I rang the doorbell and waited for an answer. I rang again and nothing. Using my keycard to unlock the door, I knocked on it as I opened it a few inches and poked my head inside. Instantly, I heard the low thump of music coming from the bedroom at the rear of the suite. “Hello? Mr. Vasiliev? This is housekeeping. May I come inside?”

I pushed the door open a few more inches and stepped into the entryway. My gaze flitted around the parlor, and my heart sank. Trashed was an understatement. There were liquor bottles, soda cans and glasses on every flat surface I could see. A red vase had been broken. Glass shards, flowers and water left a mess on the travertine tile. The drapes on the other side of the parlor had been ripped down, and the door that led out to the balcony overlooking downtown Houston was wide open.

Certain the rest of the two-bedroom suite was in even worse shape, I lifted my voice and called out, “Mr. Vasiliev? Sir? This is housekeeping.”

Again there was no answer. Cautious and expecting a drunken rock star to come staggering out of the master bedroom at any moment, I carefully crept into the suite. When I got a better view of the dining room, I wanted to cry. It looked like a food fight had taken place in there. Whipped cream dripped down the walls. Raspberries and blueberries had been smashed on the floor. Half a steak was sitting on a chair. Sweet potato fries were all over the counter.

What. The. Fuck.

I couldn’t understand these people. Did they think it was funny to leave a mess like this? No, it was even worse than that. To most hotel guests, the maids and support staff were invisible. We existed to serve. We weren’t supposed to have feelings. We didn’t matter. We were just minimum wage losers.

“Mr. Vasiliev?” I left the dining room and headed toward the master bedroom. The music playing on the other side of the door was loud and heavy on the bass. I segued to the balcony and shut the French doors. I spotted the burned out stubs of blunts littering the ground and railing.

“Really?” I muttered angrily. Rolling my eyes, I walked toward the master bedroom and knocked on the door. “Mr. Vasiliev? Sir? This is housekeeping. Would you like me to clean the room now or come back later?”

Company protocol said I could go ahead and open the door, but I hesitated. I didn’t like invading personal spaces, and I really, really didn’t want a run-in with an angry, hungover rocker.

But there was something off about this situation. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach. This whole scene had a weird feeling to it. I suddenly remembered what Diego had said about the vampire girls down at the pool. Had their wild night started here?

Imagining the very worst, I knocked twice and twisted the handle. The moment the door opened, I caught a whiff of something terrible. Oh, God. Don’t let him be dead.

Gulping anxiously, I pushed the door all the way open and stepped into the room. The music in here, something electronic and moody, thumped eve more loudly. I quickly spotted the biggest man I had ever seen in my entire life face-down near the bed. He was bare-ass naked and had tattoos covering every inch of skin I could see.

A bottle of tequila had fallen on its side next to his head. All of that expensive top-shelf liquor had spilled out onto the floor and mixed with a pool of vomit. Bloody streaks floated in the tequila. Whether he had cut himself on the glass or in the fall, I couldn’t tell.

“Oh my God! Mr. Vasiliev!” I ran across the room and dropped down next to him. “Sir?”

I put a shaking hand on his neck and felt for a pulse. His skin was warm but sweaty. I detected the strong beat of his pulse and breathed a little easier. “Sir? Mr. Vasiliev? Are you okay?”

A low, growling noise rumbled out of his throat. He started to move but groaned with pain and held still. A massive hand with tattooed knuckles and callused fingers slapped at my hip. He grumbled something in a language I didn’t understand. It sounded like Russian. The hotel encouraged us to learn as many greetings as possible in different languages, but I didn’t think telling him good morning was going to help much.

“Mr. Vasiliev? Sir? I think we need to call an ambulance.”

He grumbled again and yanked on my hip, almost as if he was trying to get me to snuggle in close to him. Eyes wide, I fell to the side and ended up on my bottom. A moment later, he shocked me by lifting his head and dropping it right on my lap. He wrapped both arms around my waist and nuzzled into my belly. He murmured something else in a low, dark voice, his tongue rolling over the Russian syllables, and then began to pet my lower back.

One of his hands moved to my thigh and snaked under my skirt. Shocked by the feel of his hot fingers gliding along my bare skin, I didn’t react immediately. It wasn’t until he started to move closer to my panties that I flipped out and tried to get free.

But he was so strong! The arm curved around my waist dragged me in tighter and those big fingers of his gripped my inner thigh. A spark of something inappropriate snapped in my lower belly. Ashamed of my response to his manhandling, I grabbed his shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Sir! You need to wake up!”

And stop trying to molest me in your sleep!

That seemed to finally get his attention. His head popped up, and he blinked up at me with confusion. One eye closed and the other narrowed as he tried to focus on my face. He had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. All that smeared stage makeup and blood hid a face that I was certain would be handsome in a rugged sort of way.

As if startled by what he had discovered, he reared back and shook his head. His steadier gaze settled on my face, and he gruffly demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

I was wrong. There was nothing handsome under that stage makeup. This guy was a Grade-A asshole.

Chapter Three

Step

Blyad.

Fuck.

Head pounding and body aching, I glanced around the destroyed bedroom of the penthouse suite and cringed. What the fuck have I done now?

Snatches of memories flashed before me. The concert. A hug from Hadley. Soaking myself in vodka. The birthday cake. The tequila. All that hot Goth pussy. My pathetic, stupid dick. The pills. The tequila. The floor.

Shit. Shit.

Too late, I realized what I was doing to this poor girl. I had an arm wrapped around her waist and my filthy head in her lap. And my hand? Fuck. My hand was on her soft thigh, just inches away from her panties. When I shifted my weight and tried to push up on the hand that had fallen away from her back, I slipped forward and my fingertips brushed her underwear.

Fuck. Cotton, of course. Simple. Sweet. Just like her. One look at those warm brown eyes and full pink lips and dark hair, and I pegged her as the innocent type. This girl hadn’t spent much time bruising up her knees to suck rock star cock. She probably hadn’t ever slapped at the walls of a bathroom stall as she came hard and loud backstage at a show.

Nyet. Judging by the bright red flush creeping along her neck and into her cheeks, this girl was horrified to have me pawing all over her. Not that I blamed her, of course. Jesus, I must have seemed like a total pig to her.

But that bastard inside me whispered hotly about how much he’d love to corrupt a sweet, young thing like her. I suspected there was a sex kitten just scratching to be set free beneath that innocent exterior.

Not that I would ever find out.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” I grumbled and shoved into a kneeling position next to her. My head throbbed violently, and I tried not to lose the last of the tequila swirling around in the pit of my stomach. A soft, cool hand touched my cheek. Startled by her touch, I flinched but didn’t move away. Her gentle fingertips prodded a sore spot on my temple. I hissed, and she made an apologetic face.

“Sorry, but you have a nasty cut right here.” She bit that pouty lower lip of hers, and I found myself wanting to replace her teeth with mine. “I don’t think it needs stitches, but I really think you should see a doctor.”

“No doctor,” I gruffly replied and pushed her hand away from my face. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Vasiliev. You must have hit the floor pretty hard to knock yourself out.”

“Step,” I corrected her. “Everybody calls me Step.”

“Wait. Are you—?” She tilted her head and studied my face. Her mouth dropped. “You cut your hair! That’s why I didn’t recognize you. You’re Step from S&M.”

I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed that she had figured out my identity. “You listen to a lot of doom metal, baby girl?”

She snorted. “Not by choice, I assure you.”

The remark made something primal in me clench with jealousy. “Your boyfriend a fan?”

“No, my little brother.” She slowly stood up, shut off the music and walked into the bathroom. She returned with a towel over one shoulder and then extended her small hands. I realized she wanted to help me stand and almost laughed. She was a tiny little thing with thick curves and a plump ass, but there was no way she had the strength to haul me to my feet.

Even so, I found myself slapping my hand against hers. I shoved off the ground and managed to get into an upright position. I swayed precariously, and she instantly put a hand on my stomach and braced my chest with her shoulder. My head dipped as the world spun around me, and I inhaled the fresh, clean scent of her hair. Was that coconut?

Unable to help myself, I leaned down and breathed in her smell as she quickly tied the towel around my waist. Fuck. If her hair smelled that good, what about the rest of her? A vision of this shy girl on the bed, her maid uniform shoved up around her waist and my face buried between her thighs tormented me. I bet she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

An unexpected throb started in my groin. My dick pulsed to life beneath the towel. For a moment, I couldn’t believe what was happening. All those months of fighting with my cock and now this? I swallowed hard and cursed my bad luck. Like this woman wanted anything to do with me! I was a broken, pathetic, passed out drunk.

“Come on,” she urged gently. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

Her kindness unsettled me so I reacted with humor. “You planning on joining me?”

She laughed. “Not a chance.”

“You sure? Don’t you guys promise a five-star experience?”

“You have ten fingers and two hands.” She pushed open the bathroom door. “I’m sure you can create your own five-star experience.”

That brought a chuckle out of me. “Funny, sweetheart.”

“Lean against the counter,” she ordered, and I got the feeling she had done this sort of thing for someone much too often. Not hotel guests, though. She had the practiced movements of a young woman who had been helping an alcoholic or addict parent. I watched her unwrap the provided toiletries and start the shower. “Brush your teeth. It will help you feel better. I’ll be back with some first aid supplies and water. You need to hydrate.”

I found myself nodding silently and doing exactly as instructed. The first glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, and I winced. My stage makeup had smeared down my cheeks and across my forehead. I turned to the side and examined the cut on my head. It wasn’t very deep or too long, but it must have been a bleeder if the amount of dried blood flaking in my short hair was any indication.

I brushed my teeth twice and rinsed three times with mouthwash to get the awful taste of my debauched night off my tongue. Hands on the counter, I stared at my reflection and experienced the most intense wave of shame and regret. Thirty years old, and I was acting like a goddamned teenager!

You could have died last night, asshole. You could have been robbed or killed or worse. You could have hurt someone.

Instead of the best birthday ever, I had had the worst and most embarrassing one. As I stumbled toward the toilet to relieve my aching bladder, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I could just imagine the stories those three chicks were circulating about my limp dick and the nose-dive I’d taken onto the bedroom floor. The fact that they hadn’t stuck around to make sure I was alive hurt in a way I would never admit to anyone. To know that they hadn’t even cared about whether or not they had left a corpse on the bedroom floor wasn’t a good feeling.

“Mr. Vasiliev? Sir?” She knocked on the door. “Are you decent?”

I laughed harshly. “Hardly, sweetness.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes.”

She entered the bathroom and placed a small first aid kit on the counter along with bottles of sports drink and water. “When you’re finished showering, I’ll help you bandage your cut.” She glanced back toward the bedroom. “Where are you clothes?”

I scratched at the heavy, raspy shadow of a beard on my chin. “I think I lost my shirt somewhere in the living room and my pants in the dining room.”

She dropped her gaze. “Oh. Well. I’ll go get them for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I didn’t know why, but the idea of her hunting down my clothes and finding the evidence of all the crazy shit I had been up to made me feel really bad.

She shrugged. “It’s my job.”

Guilt crashed onto my shoulders like an anvil dropped from the top of a high-rise. I thought of the absolute mess we had made of the suite. This one girl had to clean it all up. How many other maids had I tormented and fucked over with my bad behavior? Shit, I was not proud of that at all. One more check for the rotten bastard column.

Not liking myself very much, I unwrapped the towel and stepped into the walk-in shower. The blast of steam and heat sent a wave of unexpected dizziness through me, and I leaned to the left. In an instant, she was there. She swooped in under my arm and caught me around the waist. I found my balance and staggered back under the spray of hot water, dragging her with me.

She squealed and tried to disentangle herself as the water soaked right through her uniform. That sound she made sent a shockwave of want and need straight down to my cock. Her lush breasts pressed against my body, and I wanted to cup them in my hands, to feel the weight of all that soft flesh on my bare palms.

She wiggled to get free and my arms instinctively tightened around her. She gazed up at me with confusion. Little beads of water rode her jawline and the bridge of her nose. I didn’t know what it was about this girl but that one simple look had ensnared me. She was like a damned siren, and I wanted to hear her sing.

I captured her mouth before she could protest. Her hands flew to my chest, first to push me away, but then I stabbed my tongue between her lips and she whimpered. Her fingers curled against my pecs and then her hands slid to my biceps. She held on tight as I cupped the back of her head and plundered her mouth.

I battled the urge to pick her up, shove her thighs apart and sink into her soft, slick pink. I managed to ease off the throttle and slow my sensual attack. She gulped and panted against my chest, her face just inches above my navel. This close, I was reminded of how short she was. An uncomfortable thought hit me. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

I breathed easier knowing the age difference wasn’t as big as I had feared.

“Why?”

I cupped her face and bent down. “Because now I don’t have to worry about doing this again.”

This time she didn’t fight my kiss. She melted into me and let me have my way—but not for too long. Just when the kiss was starting to get really interesting, she tugged free and shook her head. “We have to stop.”

“Why?” My voice was thick with desire.

“Because I’m getting all wet.”

I laughed darkly. “Baby, that’s the idea.”

Her face turned bright red, and I almost felt bad about teasing her. Almost. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Jem,” she said. “My name is Jem.”

“Jem.” I liked the sound of that. “Short for?”

“Jemima.”

I smiled and bent down to kiss her again. “Come here, Jemima Puddleduck.” I didn’t think it was possible, but she turned even redder at my joke about the children’s book. “What is it?”

“That’s, um, actually what inspired my mom to name me Jemima,” she admitted a bit bashfully. “My little brother is Benjamin.”

I couldn’t decide if naming two kids after Beatrix Potter characters was the sweetest thing I had ever heard or the weirdest. “That’s…interesting.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes before playfully shoving me away from her. “Interesting is a good way to describe my family.”

I wanted to grab her and drag her right back into the shower, but I let her go. When she hid behind the door, she unknowingly touched off a primitive chase response. Like a wolf who had caught the scent of a deer, I wasn’t about to stop chasing now. I could still see her reflection in the mirror, but she didn’t know that.

While I soaped up, I watched her peel out of the pink uniform dress. She wore simple pink panties and a white bra. After having sexually confident and scantily clad women throwing themselves at me and chasing their fantasies of being fucked by a rock star, it was strange to see a woman behaving so modestly and wearing something so plain. All these years, I had thought that I wanted a woman who could match or beat me in the bedroom department, but maybe I had been wrong. Considering the way my body was responding to Jem, I seemed to have swung to the opposite end of the spectrum. There was something alluring about shy, kind Jemima the Maid.

She wrung out the excess water from her dress into the sink and then ducked behind the door again. I watched her blast the damp fabric with the hair dryer. When I stepped out of the shower, I grabbed a clean towel, dabbed at my wet skin and wrapped it around my waist. I snatched the plush robe from the back of the door and thrust it at her. “Wear this.”

She shot me a grateful look, and I realized that she wouldn’t have taken the robe if I hadn’t offered it to her. She would have stood there, soaking wet in her undies, rather than break some inane rule about using the hotel’s guest amenities. I shook out the robe and draped it around her shoulders. Even though I really wanted to see her naked, I decided not to push her, not yet. I turned my back. “I won’t peek.”

“Thank you.” Her voice seemed smaller now and uncertain.

Fast and rushed was my speed, but I got the feeling Jem liked to take things slow and easy. Not wanting her to pull away from me now, I hurried to reassure her about what had just happened. “I plan to kiss you again today and take you to dinner and then kiss you again.”

“Oh.” She seemed surprised. “I thought maybe…”

“Maybe I drag all hotel maids into the shower with me and kiss them like that?”

“Well…”

“I get around, sweetheart, but I’m not that bad.” I glanced over my shoulder to find her hugging the robe tightly to her chest and staring at me as if she couldn’t quite figure me out. There was something about her that had grabbed hold of me and wouldn’t let go.

I was suddenly dragged back to my childhood, to a late night when my dad had drunkenly told me about the day he had met my mother. Like a lightning bolt to the head. That’s how he had described it. I hadn’t understood it then, but I sure as hell did now. All these years of looking all around the world for the woman who would shake me up and make my heart race—and she had been right here in Houston the entire time!

“I’m flattered, Mr. Vas—Step, but I can’t have dinner with you.” She draped her damp panties and bra on the towel bar.

A flutter of panic invaded my chest. “You have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

I glanced at her left hand. “A husband?”

She let loose an amused laugh. “No.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m working a double shift today.”

I started to say that wasn’t a problem, that we could just go out later, but then I realized how tired she would be after sixteen hours of backbreaking work scrubbing floors, cleaning bathrooms and making beds. “I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I have plans.”

Now I was getting frustrated. “Cancel them.”

“They can’t be canceled.”

I let out an irritated huff. “I want to see you. Properly,” I added. “I want to take you out.”

“I want you to take me out.” Her eyes widened slightly, and I could tell she hadn’t meant to admit that. I wanted to smirk triumphantly but didn’t. “Look,” she said with a little sigh, “my family life is really complicated. That kiss in the shower? It was fun, but it can’t happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Why?”

“Step, you don’t want to get involved in my crazy, hot mess of a life. We’re not compatible. Let’s just chalk up that kiss to your hangover and let it go.”

“No.” I strode toward her and boxed her in with my larger body. I planted my hands on the wall just above her head and bent down until we were nearly eye to eye. She licked her lips and stared up at me with apprehension. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“So why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I think you’re going to get me into trouble,” she admitted quietly.

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “I have no doubt.”

“Step…”

“Jem,” I cut in before she could come up with a million reasons why this wouldn’t work. “I’m asking for one date. Say yes.”

“I…”

I nuzzled her neck and nipped at her jaw before teasing my mouth against hers. “Say yes.”

“Yes.” Her breathy answer made my balls ache. I wanted to hear her whispering yes like that when she was pinned beneath me on a bed. “One date.”

“Tomorrow,” I decided. “I’ll pick you up.”

“Not too early,” she said. “Benji and I have to drive up to Dayton in the morning to visit our mom. It will probably be an all-day thing.”

“You and your brother live together?” It didn’t surprise me. She struck me as the kind of woman who took care of her own. Hell, she had just dragged me out of my tequila-and-Viagra-induced coma into the shower. If she would do that for a stranger, I could only imagine the lengths she would go to when it came to protecting and caring for her family.

I liked her more and more.

“Yes, we live together. He’s still in high school.”

That didn’t quite make sense to me. “Your mother is back home in Dayton while you two are here in Houston?”

She hesitated before reluctantly admitting, “Mom is locked up in Henley doing a twenty year bid.”

Twenty years? Jesus Christ! What had that woman done?

As if reading my mind, Jem explained, “She was picked up during a drug raid at our old house where they were cooking meth. My little brother was in the house so she got hit with a list of charges a mile long.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know if that was the right thing to say, but I wasn’t sure what else was appropriate.

“Don’t be. She got what she deserved for putting him at risk like that. She did stupid, selfish things that hurt us, and now she’s paying the price.”

She didn’t speak with malice or anger in her voice. I heard only resignation. “What about your father? He let her keep your brother in a house like that?”

“My father is dead. Benji’s dad was locked up in the county jail on a DUI charge. By the time he got out, I had custody of Benji, and he split.”

I decided not touch the stepdad in county lockup part. “Custody? How old is your brother?”

“He’ll be sixteen in a few days. I took custody of him almost three years ago.”

I hastily did the math and found myself in awe of her. How many other eighteen-year-olds would have gone to that trouble to save a younger sibling from foster care? What else had she given up to take on the role of parent at eighteen? College? Her dreams?

I thought of how selfish I had been at that age and the stupid shit I had gotten tangled up in at an even earlier age. Semyon, my older brother, had saved my ass on more than one occasion. He had gotten me through high school graduation before giving me the speech about being a man and making a life for myself. He had chosen to join the Navy, and I had chosen to run away to Los Angeles with Dom. Eventually, we had ended up in Oslo, of all the cold fucking places, and bumped into Tor and Leif. The rest was metal history.

“Like I said,” she whispered, “my family is a hot mess of crazy.”

I realized she had misinterpreted my silence as disapproval. I brushed my knuckles down her cheek. “You’re a good person. You love your brother. That’s all that matters.”

“To you, maybe.” She dropped her gaze, and my damned chest ached, my heart slamming into my ribcage at the realization that she had spent so many years having people look down on her for family’s bad choices that she automatically expected everyone to call her trash or worse.

I slid my fingers under her chin and tipped her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Right now, my opinion is the only one that matters. You’ve shown me that you’re a good person, Jemima. I believe what people show me.”

Not wanting her to feel badly about anything she had just told me, I confessed, “When I was a kid, I used to run pickups for an Albanian bookie. I got it into my head that I could start running my own book on the side. Let’s just say that didn’t go over well, and I damn near got clipped one night. If it hadn’t been for my brother and Ten, my cousin, I would have ended up in a cement foundation or tossed off a boat somewhere off the coast of Galveston.”

“When I was a little girl, my dad got into some trouble with the cartel. He took something he shouldn’t have.” She drew a slow finger across her throat. “No one was ever arrested for it, but we knew.”

“I’m sorry, Jem.” I couldn’t even imagine the horrors she had probably witnessed as a child. The urge to protect her flared hot and steady. I wanted to wrap her up in my arms and run away with her, take her back to my apartment and keep her safe there.

Too fast. You’re moving too fast. Get a grip. You just met this girl.

But as I gazed down at her, I knew. I fucking knew that she was the one. Fifty years from now, I was going to tell our grandkids about the day I had embarrassed myself in front of their grandmother by letting her find me passed out drunk in a trashed hotel room—and the way she had treated me kindly. I would tell them that was the moment I had decided she was the one I had been waiting for all these years.

So fuck it. Fast and hard had always served me well. Today? I was going after Jemima—and nothing would stop me.

Chapter Four

Jem

Weirdest. Day. Ever.

I glanced to my left and couldn’t believe that Step was down on his hands and knees scrubbing the dirty dining room floor with a microfiber cloth. When I had tried to clean up the mess in the bedroom, he had flipped out and ordered me into the parlor area to tackle the mess in there. At first, I had been bewildered by his reaction, but then I had recognized the shame darkening his green eyes.

Cleaning the suite in a bathrobe had felt weird at first, but the work had to be done so I had learned to deal with it. Not that Step fit the part of housekeeper any better! He looked utterly ridiculous rocking black leather pants while he attacked that stain and yet somehow also intensely sexy.

As if sensing my stare, he glanced at me and flashed a sinful smile. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, I turned my attention to the dining table I was resetting with replacement china from the supply cupboard. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and a throbbing pulse centered between my thighs. I had been kissed plenty of times in my twenty-one years but that kiss in the shower? That one single kiss had obliterated every other kiss from my memory.

I couldn’t even imagine what he was like in bed. If one kiss made my knees knock together and my stomach wobble, sex would probably kill me. My sexual experience was meager compared to his. One boyfriend and two attempts at sex had been enough for me to swear it off. Then I had taken custody of Benji and all hopes for a social life had been demolished. Trying to raise a teenager while I was a teenager took every single ounce of energy I had.

But as I started pushing a microfiber mop around the vast swaths of marble and hardwood, I found myself craving some real adult interaction. Step’s kisses and his touch had relit the passionate fire that had been snuffed out by a hard life and hard work. He made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling.

And yet I couldn’t quite trust him.

I had discovered him naked and face-down in a puddle of his own mess after spending the night with a trio of hard-partying girls. Judging by the looks of the suite and the antics Diego had described, those girls had had more fun than Step. I almost felt bad that he had spent his thirtieth birthday passed out on the floor.

Almost.

“What are you thinking about that has you so quiet?” Step used his uncommon height to easily fix the drapes. “Are you rethinking our date?”

“No.” From this vantage point, I had the perfect view of his unbelievably hot body. He had outrageously muscled arms and a well-defined chest. My gaze travelled along his tattooed stomach to the dangerous dip in the front of his pants. There was no mistaking the outline of his cock tucked to the left. Panicked visions of that monstrous thing trying to impale me sent a quiver of fear through my belly.

“Good.” He adjusted the folds of the fabric and thankfully seemed oblivious to me ogling him. He unlocked the French doors leading out to the balcony and began collecting the trash out there. When he returned with the whole mess of cans and bottles and other refuse in his arms, he shot me a concerned look. “Is it okay for me to toss all of this in the trash?”

I understood what he was asking. “Dude, hiding a handful of burnt out blunts in a garbage bag is probably the least worst thing I’ve had to toss in one these rooms.”

He didn’t seem to find that amusing. “Some people are dicks.” My eyebrows arched, and he looked suddenly chagrined. “Yes, present company included,” he amended. Then, more seriously, he said, “Jemima, I wasn’t smoking dope last night. I did a lot of stupid things, but I wasn’t on drugs.”

That was some small consolation. “So that whole mess in there?” I gestured to the master bedroom as he dumped his load of trash into the garbage can attached to my cart. “Are you a binge-drinker?”

“No, I’m just incredibly dumb.” He moved around the cart and took the mop out of my hand. “I enjoy a drink now and then, but last night was the first time in years that I’ve gotten wasted like that.” His jaw hardened. “I’m not my father.”

That got my attention. “What does that mean?”

“He was an alcoholic.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged in a nonchalant way that I instantly recognized as a defensive maneuver. “He was weak.”

“He was human,” I corrected. “We all make mistakes, Step.” I pointed to the bedroom where I had discovered him passed out on the floor. “Even you.”

“And you?” He studied me for an unnerving moment. “What was the last mistake you made?”

Not liking the intense turn this discussion had taken, I joked, “Taking this room assignment.”

Step stunned me by slipping his arm around my waist and hauling me close. He dipped his head and smiled. “Give me a little more time. I’ll change your mind.”

His lips were on mine again, and I clutched at his arms. He didn’t need more time to change my mind. In fact, I was thanking my lucky stars that Juanita had given me this suite. I didn’t know what was happening between us but I liked it. The illicit thrill of what I was doing rocked me to the very core. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the girl who did crazy things like this but I couldn’t find a single good reason to stop him, not yet.

He took his time loving my mouth, flicking his tongue against mine and then sucking gently on the tip. I would have dropped to the floor if Step hadn’t been holding me up. Those powerful arms of his easily supported my body. I shivered when his lips moved along my jawline. He pushed aside the lapels of the robe and skimmed his lips down the curve of my throat.

When he tried to kiss my breast, I gently pushed his head to the side and closed my robe. “No.”

He stopped instantly. Though he seemed to be one of those alpha dominant types who enjoyed running the show, he respected my boundaries. Our gazes clashed as we exchanged heated breaths. “Did I—?”

“I’m at work,” I interjected quickly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

I could tell he wasn’t thrilled with that answer, but he nodded and stood up straight. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

I bravely reached for his hand. “It’s just the wrong time.”

Step smiled and lifted my fingers for a sweet kiss. “I can wait for the right one.”

“Well,” I gently tugged my hand free, “you may be waiting a long time. I have two more suites and probably a dozen more rooms to clean before the end of my shifts.”

“Jesus, Jem,” he said with shock in his voice. “That’s a lot of work for one little woman.”

I bristled at that remark. “I’m not that little.”

“What are you? Five flat?”

“Five-two,” I replied. “Thank you very much.”

He crossed his arms and laughed. “No wonder my neck is aching. I’m a full foot and three inches taller than you.”

“Well, yeah, because you’ve got all that Russian DNA running through your veins.”

He chuckled. “We aren’t all big and tall.” He paused. “Well, okay, in my family, we are.”

“Do you have a large family here?” I asked as I headed for the bathroom to change back into my hopefully dry uniform.

“No. It’s just me and my brother and our cousin.” Step followed me into the neat and tidy bedroom but no farther. “We have a lot of friends here. The Russian community is pretty tight.”

I slipped behind the door but left it cracked so we could talk. “How old were you when you came to this country?”

“Seven,” he said, his voice taking on a faraway quality. “Talk about a culture shock!”

I didn’t know enough about Russian politics or history to really understand what that meant. I had a vague idea of what it would have been like. “Did you speak English?”

“Only a very little,” he said. “I got lucky and met Dom that first day of school. He was a big, rough bastard even back then. After he laid out the first kid who made fun of me, we were inseparable.”

“He sounds like a good friend.”

“He’s the very best.” His voice sounded louder, as if he had moved closer to the door. I glanced at the mirror and caught him peeking at me as I fastened the hooks of my bra. I held my breath when he pushed the door open and stepped into the bathroom. What was he up to now?

Step took down my uniform from the hook on the back of the door and rubbed the fabric between his hands. Satisfied it was dry, he walked toward me and carefully helped me into the dress. His huge hands looked so strange handling the tiny white buttons lining the front, but he showed a tremendous amount of finesse in the way he deftly slipped them into place. He fixed the collar and trailed a finger down my neck. “I wish you could feel how much I want to rip this off of you and throw you down onto the bed we just made.”

I gulped at his frank admission.

“Would you like that?” Step slid his hand along the back of my neck and caressed my skin with slow swipes of his thumb.

“Yes,” I admitted softly, “but I sure would hate to have to change those sheets again. Those tucked corners are a bitch to get right on these king size beds.”

He chuckled low and rough and then captured my mouth in a long, slow kiss. “You’re driving me fucking crazy, rybka.” He nuzzled our noses together. “You’ve got me cleaning floors and making beds and fixing drapes—and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed spending this much time with a woman.”

I smiled up at him. “We’ve set the bar pretty low for our first date.”

“You’re right. I’ll cancel my plans to take you to Samovar. We’ll hit up a drive-thru on the way to a round of miniature golf.”

He was teasing me, and I loved it. “You’re not the way I thought you would be.”

“What do you mean?” His thumb swept along the curve of my lower lip.

“I’ve been listening to your songs for years, and I’ve sort of followed your career through Benji. I had this idea of what type of person you would be. Then I found you on the floor this morning, and you were kind of a jerk to me, and I was sure you were going to be an asshole.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I deserve that.”

“Maybe,” I said uncertainly, suddenly doubting my judgment of him. I had no doubt that he had done some really jerky things in his life, but I could see that there was a core of goodness in him. “I’m glad I gave you a chance.”

“Give me one more chance tomorrow, and I’ll prove that I’m not as awful as my reputation would have you believe.” He nipped at my lower lip before kissing me insistently. His big hands glided down my back and cupped my bottom.

A frisson of wild delight coursed through me, and it took every ounce of my willpower to push him away. “I need to go. I’m running behind, and I have a lot of work to get done.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” He was absolutely sincere in his offer. “It’s my fault you’re late.” He caressed my backside. “I can help you catch up.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t risk it. My supervisor would write me up, and the hotel manager would have my ass.”

“I’ll break his arm if he gets anywhere near my ass.” He gave my bottom a possessive squeeze that sent the most incredibly powerful and confusing thrill right through me. Was I really getting excited by this? The pulsing ache between my thighs confirmed that, yes, I was.

I closed my eyes as Step kissed my cheeks and throat. He kneaded my bottom and then gave it a soft swat. “You better get out of here while you can. I’m about five seconds away from throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you to bed.”

I heeded his warning and scurried out of the bathroom. I could hear him moving around the bedroom while I finished packing up my cart. He emerged as I was pushing it toward the front door and trailed close behind. I had only taken three steps into the hall when he suddenly grabbed and spun me around before claiming another kiss, this one heated and frenzied.

I felt his hand tucking something into my pocket as he ended our explosive kiss. When I glanced down, I caught the sight of crisply folded hundred dollar bills and a business card. I grasped his wrist to stop him. “What are you doing?”

“It’s your tip.”

“Step—”

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “This room was a disaster, and you took care of me.” He gestured to his bandaged cut. “I want you to have it.”

I wanted to argue with him, but I could tell this was a fight I wouldn’t win. Thoughts of the groceries I could buy and the nice birthday gift I could get Benji ran through my head. “Thank you.”

He touched my lips with his finger. “You don’t need to do that.” He kissed my forehead. “The business card has my private number on it. Call me tonight when you get off work.”

A soft, disbelieving voice in the back of my head wondered how many other girls had been slipped that phone number. I thought of all the stories I heard around the locker room from some of the maids who let the wealthy businessmen who frequented the hotel enjoy their company. How was this any different?

You’re not special. Don’t get your hopes up. He’ll probably cancel the date once he realizes the mistake he’s made.

“Don’t do that, Jem.” He frowned down at me.

“Do what?”

“I can practically hear your thoughts.” He brushed a few wisps of hair that had escaped my twist behind my ear. “You’re thinking that I do this with all the hotel maids, but you’re wrong. There are only three women who have that private number—and I haven’t dated any of them. Two of them are like little sisters to me and the third is like my mother. Do you understand, rybka?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” He patted my bottom. “You better go.”

“Yes, I really should.”

“Call me. Tonight. As soon as you get home,” he called after me as I pushed my cart away from his door and toward the south penthouse suite on the opposite end of the floor.

“I will.” I waved back at him and then kept moving forward. Still a bit dazed and bewildered by my strange morning with Step, I entered the empty suite and got to work. This set of rooms looked as if it had barely been touched so it didn’t take me long to leave it gleaming and squeaky clean. After locking away the cart for that floor, I hopped onto the employee elevator and rode down a couple of floors to the next big suite I had been assigned.

When I stepped off the elevator, I found Richard and Amanda talking quietly near the supply room. I wasn’t sure what she was doing on this floor since she had been assigned rooms on the lower floors, but I wasn’t about to get involved in her nonsense. I checked out a cart from that floor’s closet and stocked it with all the necessary items.

“You’re running behind this morning,” Richard said as he checked his watch. “Is there a reason for that?”

“One of the suites was in pretty bad shape.” There was no reason to lie to him. Maybe I had a thing going with Step and maybe I didn’t, but that didn’t change the facts. He and his guests had caused a significant amount of damage to the hotel’s property. There wasn’t any way he was getting out of that. “Presidential-North,” I clarified.

“Turn in your report before the end of your shift. I need to bill the guest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Richard stood there for a moment longer. “Is there a reason your hair is damp?”

I reached up and self-consciously touched my hair. “I had an accident while cleaning the shower.”

“I see.” Richard narrowed his eyes. “Your uniform is wrinkled. You know my policy.”

“Yes, sir.” I smoothed out the new folds and creases. “I’ll make sure that my uniform is perfect when I come to work on Sunday.”

He nodded stiffly. “See that it is—or else I’ll dock your pay.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir.” I swallowed nervously and pushed my cart toward the Ambassador suite. I glanced back and discovered the manager studying me intently. Something told me I hadn’t seen the last of him today.

Chapter Five

Step

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I paced the suite like a caged lion and tormented myself with memories of our kisses. My palms fucking burned with the feeling of her plump ass filling them. I was in absolute hell.

Jemima had demolished the mental block that had prevented me from getting hard. My cock had been stiff for hours, and my balls ached. I needed some relief. I considered going into the bathroom to take the edge off, but I wanted her. I wanted to feel her hands on my shaft. I wanted her warm lips wrapped around my dick and her soft, pink tongue flicking at my cockhead.

Jem. Jem. Jem. I wanted Jem.

A knock at the door interrupted my manic pacing. “Mr. Vasiliev? This is Richard Horton, the general manager of the hotel. May I speak with you for a moment?”

Shit. I should have checked out an hour ago, but the thought of retreating to my lonely penthouse a few blocks over hadn’t been very appealing. For one, it was empty. For another, she wasn’t there.

I crossed the suite and opened the door to find a shorter, slightly pudgy man standing there. He didn’t smile at me, and he had a security officer behind him. “Yes?”

“May we come inside, Mr. Vasiliev?”

I stepped aside and waved them into the parlor. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m Richard Horton, the manager, and I think we need to have an uncomfortable conversation, Mr. Vasiliev.”

I laughed at that. “Look, if this is about the girls who were with me last night, I’ll pay for the damages they caused.”

“That wasn’t up for negotiation,” Richard replied. “Your final bill is already being prepared, and we have papers you’ll need to sign that say you won’t trespass on the hotel property again.”

“Fine.” I didn’t fault the guy for being a dick about it. He was responsible for the property, after all. “I’m happy to settle up when I checkout.”

“And when will that be?”

I glanced at the security officer who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here. “Considering you brought the hotel’s hired muscle with you, I’m guessing I’ll be checking out soon.”

“Yes, I think that’s best.”

“Fine.”

Richard stepped forward and sneered at me. “We run a clean hotel here.”

I frowned at him. “I’m sure you do.”

“Diego?” He addressed the security guard without taking his eyes off of me. “Please escort Mr. Vasiliev down to the lobby and out of the hotel.”

“Yes, sir.”

Richard strode out of the suite, and I stared after him, trying to figure out what the hell his problem was. The security guard, a much shorter Latino guy, gestured toward the bedroom. “Should I call for bell service?”

“I don’t have any bags.”

“Then we should get moving.” Diego headed for the door. “Because if he gets to Jem before we do—”

“What?” I clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and spun him around. “What are you talking about?”

“That dick thinks Jem was in here blowing you for money, man. He’s about to go fire her.”

“What?” Anger burned through me with the fury of a thousand suns. “Why the fuck would he think—” I stopped as I thought of the way I had kissed her and slipped that tip into her pocket. “Blyad.” I scratched my nails against my scalp. “That wasn’t what happened. I was tipping her.”

“And kissing her,” Diego retorted, his mouth slanted with disapproval. “Richard has his nose so far up Amanda’s ass he’ll believe anything she tells him, but I’ve known Jem for years. She isn’t like that. I don’t know why the hell she was kissing a guy like you, but she isn’t one of those cochinas who flops on her backs for the VIP guests.”

“A guy like me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Really, dude? I was the one who had to chase your groupies from one fucking end of this hotel to the other last night. I got slapped in the face and bit!” He yanked down the collar of his uniform shirt to show a dark bruise in the shape of teeth. “I know your type. I know what happens to nice girls like Jem when they get involved with pricks like you.”

“You don’t know shit about me.” I stormed for the door. “You can either help me find Jem or I’ll tear this hotel up floor by floor until I find her.”

Diego raced after me. “She’s down on five. Hey! Man! This way. We’ll take the employee elevator. It will be faster.”

Irritated with the fucked up way a harmless kiss had spiraled out of control, I joined Diego in the employee elevator. The security guard said nothing as we dropped more than a dozen floors. When we stepped off the elevator, I spotted a maid leaning out a door and listening intently. She had a worried look on her face. A heartbeat later, I understood why.

“That is not what happened!” Jem’s raised voice came out of a hotel room with a door that had been propped open by a triangular wooden block. A cleaning cart sat in the hallway. “I got wet helping him get cleaned up after I found him sick in his room.”

“We have you on camera! You can lie all you’d like, but I know what I saw and I know what I can prove with our security footage.”

“And what, exactly, can you prove?”

“Empty your pockets.”

“What?”

“Empty. Your. Pockets.”

“No!’

“Why not? Are you afraid that I’ll see the wad of bills he paid you for sucking his dick? Huh? What’s the going rate for Houston hookers these days?”

My heart jumped into my throat, and I saw red. Like a raging bull, I raced down the hall and into the hotel room where Richard had Jem cornered and backed up against a bed. The sight of the bigger, taller man forcing her into a position like that infuriated me. The expression of humiliation on Jem’s face at being accused of selling her body was too much for me to handle.

I gripped Richard’s shoulder and jerked him around before grabbing two handfuls of his suit jacket and lifting him up off the floor. I slammed him into the wall and got into his face. “Don’t you ever talk to her like that again! You so much as frown in her direction, and I’ll break your fucking knees.”

Eyes wide, Richard sputtered. “You can’t—”

“Try me.” I gave him a shake. “If you want to accuse someone of doing something illegal, you bring that shit to me. You don’t go behind my back and attack her.”

“I didn’t—”

“The hell you didn’t,” I snarled. “I don’t like bullies, and I really don’t fucking like you.”

“Step.” Jem quietly urged me to let him go by placing her hand on my arm.

Still glaring at Richard, I released my clenched hold on his suit and let him fall to the floor. Diego chose that moment to finally come into the hotel room. Red-faced, Richard shouted, “Get them both out of the hotel. Now!” He pointed a finger at Jem. “You’re fired. Get your stuff out of the locker room, turn in your lanyard and get off this property.”

Now I really wanted to plant my fist in this fucker’s face. First, he had accused Jem of being a whore, and now he was firing her? “You son of a—”

“No.” Jem put a hand on my chest, stopping my forward advancement. “He’s not worth the trouble.”

Her petting hand soothed my raw burst of explosion. She managed to calm me unlike anyone else ever had. I glanced down at the small hand on my chest and clasped it tightly with my fingers. I turned toward the exit and gave her hand a tug. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” she asked as she hurried to keep up with me.

“Home.”

“Home? My house?”

“No.” I pulled her into the elevator and smacked the button for the lobby. “Mine.”

“Step!” She shouted my name loudly enough that it echoed in the small metal box. “I can’t just go home with you.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I can’t. I have to start sending out resumes and go home to look over my checking account and figure out whether or not I can file for unemployment or try to get my job back.”

The thought of Jem having to work with that asshole again sickened me. “You are not coming back here.”

“Whoa.” She poked my chest twice. “I appreciate you coming in there to defend me, but you do not get to tell me where I can or cannot work.”

Shit. I realized too late what a psycho, possessive jerk I must have sounded like with that decree. “I didn’t mean it like that.” I still held tight to her hand and rubbed my thumb across her knuckles. “You are too good to come back here and work for someone who would accuse you of something like that.”

Her irritated expression softened. “I know.”

“But?”

“But I need the money,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have bills to pay and medication to buy and—”

“Come work for me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Did I really just say that? Was I losing my mind?

Yes.

I was losing it for this wildly beautiful young woman who had ensnared me with her sweet smile and gentle touch.

“I can’t work for you.”

“Yes, you can.” I slid my hand to the back of her neck and peered down at her face. “I have a big apartment a few blocks from here. Come be my personal housekeeper.” With a bit of a sly smile, I added, “But I get to pick your uniform.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked my arm. “Not happening.”

I laughed. “Fine. Lady’s choice on the uniform. Come work for me. Let me help you out because this is my fault.”

“I said you were going to get me into trouble, didn’t I?’

“Yes, you did.” I kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Jem. I didn’t mean to crash into your life and ruin everything.” I caressed her cheek. “What do you say? Yes?”

She blew out a long, slow breath. “I’ll work for you—but just until I get back on my feet.”

I had no intention of letting her walk away to another job, but she didn’t need to know that. The elevator doors opened, and there were already two security guards waiting for us. One of them had a box that I assumed contained her personal items from her locker. Fucking bastards! Throwing her out like that? I silently cursed myself for not decking Richard when I had the chance.

Taking the box from the security guard, I held her hand and kept my head high as we walked side by side across the opulent hotel lobby and out to the valet station. I remembered that I had taken a cab and turned to Jem. “Do you have a car?”

She gave my hand a tug. “This way.”

I trailed her around the side of the hotel, down a side street and onto the open air parking lot where employees parked their vehicles. She led to me a beat-up minivan that probably should have been sold for parts and scrap metal about fifty thousand miles ago. It hardly looked safe to drive. “Give me your keys.”

“Why?”

“I’ll drive.” I didn’t want her behind the wheel of this old beast if it decided to die on us.

She fished her keys out of the box I held but didn’t relinquish them just yet. “Are you insured?”

I smiled at how careful she was about everything. The guilt weighing down my shoulder grew heavier. I couldn’t even imagine what she was feeling after I had just totally fucked up her life by getting her fired. “Yes, and my license is valid. I haven’t had so much as a parking ticket in six or seven years.”

“All right.” She handed over the keys, and we stowed her box in one of the backseats. “The air conditioner doesn’t work,” she said as we buckled our seatbelts.

“We aren’t going that far.” I tried not to make a face at the awful pop music blaring from the speakers, but she must have seen my grimace. She laughed, the sound so light and airy, and reached out to change the channel. I touched her hand and shook my head. “Leave it. This is your car.”

Before I even got us out of the parking lot, her phone was ringing. She dug it out of her purse and answered the call. When she started speaking perfect Spanish, I glanced at her with surprise. I had picked up quite a bit just being around Dom’s family as a kid, but Jem spoke as if she had been bilingual since birth.

From the bits and pieces I could understand, I gathered it was her supervisor. The woman seemed to be encouraging Jem to file a complaint about the way she had been fired. Texas was an at-will state so I didn’t know how that was going to work out for Jem, but if she had a paper trail, it would be easier for her to get the unemployment benefits she had earned and deserved.

Of course, one whiff of this to the gossip rag vultures and Jem would be dragged through the mud. We both knew what had happened back in that hotel room was mostly innocent, but no one would ever believe us. I had fucked that up by giving her that tip out in the hallway. What the hell were you thinking?

I wasn’t thinking. That was the problem. Jem had blitzed my brain so badly that I hadn’t employed the usual caution that kept me out of trouble. Instead of hurting myself, I had hurt her. That was something I couldn’t forgive or forget. I had to be more careful with her.

Everything Diego had said about me was true. I was a prick, and a nice girl like Jem had no business being anywhere near me.

But I couldn’t stop what I felt for her. This connection between us? It was instant and real. This wasn’t just lust. It was something else entirely.

And I wasn’t giving up on the chance to keep Jem in my life without a fight.

Chapter Six

Jem

When we reached his building near Discovery Green Park, I felt embarrassed by the state of my sad minivan with its peeling paint and broken air conditioner. Step didn’t seem to care one bit. He drove up to the valet station as if he were behind the wheel of a Hummer, handed over the keys to the valet there and gave instructions for parking it.

With his hand between my shoulder blades, Step guided me into his luxury high-rise and headed for the elevators at the rear of the lobby. He retrieved a keycard from his wallet and his cell phone from the super tight pocket of his leather pants. After using the keycard to activate the private elevator, he dialed a number and made a quick phone call. As he spoke a language I couldn’t understand, he rubbed slow circles on my upper back.

“A friend of mine is going to pick up your van,” he said after tucking his phone back into his pocket.

I panicked. “I can’t afford to—”

“It’s my treat. It’s the least I can do after getting you fired.”

“Step—”

“Let me do this.” He swooped down and kissed the protest right out of me. I didn’t know how to react to this whirlwind—well—whatever this was between us. Relationship? Tryst? I didn’t even know to call this thing.

While I was still trying to figure out what we were doing, Step took my hand and led me out of the elevator and into his incredible apartment. The far wall was floor to ceiling windows with an incredible view of downtown Houston. I wanted to press my nose up against the glass and try to pick out all the interesting spots. I quelled that urge and followed Step into the kitchen. Everything was upscale and luxurious, from the professional grade appliances to gleaming quartz countertops and hand-scraped hardwood floors.

“Have you had lunch?” He asked as he opened the refrigerator and peered inside.

“No.” I placed my phone and purse on the counter. “I was running behind schedule so I skipped my usual lunch break and dove right into my second shift.”

He shot me a look of consternation. “It’s after three o’clock. You shouldn’t go that far between meals.”

I decided not to tell him there days near the end of the month where I sometimes skipped lunch entirely, but he must have guessed.

With one hand on the door of the stainless steel fridge, he held me in place with his piercing gaze. “You were going to eat eventually, right?”

“Yes. I had a lunch packed.”

“Everyday?”

I squirmed uncomfortably. “Usually.”

“Usually?” He slashed his hand through the air. “That shit stops right here, Jem. If you won’t take care of yourself, I’ll start packing your lunches and making sure you’re getting three square meals a day.”

That protective streak of his flared hot and bright. I didn’t know why it made my chest feel warm and tight, but it did. When was the last time anyone other than Benji had cared whether I was eating or getting enough sleep or feeling well?

Needing to push back, just so he understood I wasn’t going to let him run roughshod over me, I asked, “How do you intend to do that when you’re on tour?”

“Something tells me your little brother would love to earn a cool grand a month keeping tabs on you,” he replied quickly. “A thousand dollars is a lot of money to a sixteen-year-old.”

“A thousand dollars is a lot of money to a twenty-one-year-old,” I grumbled.

He smiled and then ducked back into the refrigerator. “I don’t have anything fancy in here. We’ve been traveling a lot and working in the studio so I’ve got the basics. How about pancakes?”

He could have offered me a frozen pizza, and I would have been just as touched. No one other than Benji had ever cooked for me. “Pancakes sound great. Do you want me to help?”

“No.” He set out the ingredients he needed from the refrigerator onto the counter and then strode toward me. Using the toe of his black leather boot, he pushed a barstool away from the counter and then picked me up like a naughty child and deposited me right onto the low-backed seat. “I want you to sit here and rest. Would you like something to drink? Tea? Soda?”

“Soda, please.”

He kissed the top of my head, grabbed a soda from a cabinet and a glass from a cabinet that he filled with ice. He brought them back to me and then got to work making us a late lunch. Feeling awkward just sitting there while he cooked, I sipped my soda and then asked, “Have you lived here long?”

“I bought this place about two years ago?” He whisked batter in a bowl. “I don’t get to spend as much time here as I had expected I would. We were on tour all last year, and then I had that throat thing in the spring. We’ve been recording in Tor and Leif’s studio in Sweden the last few months. The plan is to go on tour again right after the New Year.”

“That’s a hectic pace.”

“Yes.” He moved to the griddle he had been heating on the stovetop and began to drop dollops of batter on the hot surface. “We’ve been incredibly lucky that our fan base has continued to grow. Every time we think about slowing down, we hit a new surge of popularity. It’s hard to say no to tours when your fans want to see you so badly.”

“I bet.” I ran my finger around the rim of the glass.

“It’s a lonely life.” He smacked the spatula against his bicep as he stood in front of the stove with arms folded. “I realize how crazy that sounds because we are constantly surrounded by people when we’re on tour, but it’s not the same as being surrounded by people who love and care about you.”

“Like your brother and cousin?”

He nodded. “My brother is a SEAL so we don’t get to see each other as much as we would like. When we do cross paths, it’s for a day or two at most.” He flipped the first three pancakes. “Our cousin was locked up on an aggravated robbery charge until earlier this summer. I came to visit him every six or seven weeks. One time, I flew from Tokyo to Houston and then right back to Sydney a day later to make sure that I got to visit him on his birthday. The jet lag nearly killed me.”

“You must really care about him.”

“Yes.” His voice had grown softer so I didn’t push. He plated the pancakes and brought butter and real maple syrup to the island. I hadn’t ever tasted the real stuff, but I kept that fact to myself. In our house, the cheapest pancake syrup available sat on our kitchen table during a pancake breakfast.

Step sat next to me, his thigh touching mine, and dug into the tall stack of fluffy pancakes on his plate. I followed his lead. In between bites, he asked me about Benji. “Which high school does he go to?”

“He attends a magnet school with a STEM focus. He wants to be an engineer or a video game designer.”

“Yeah?” Step took a drink of his ice water. “A friend of mine designs video games. She owns a studio here in town. They started out on a shoestring budget, but she’s gotten massively popular over the last few years. Maisie Fernandez. You might know her name.”

“Wait. Is she the one who has that zombie video game? The one with soldiers and cyborgs and crazy red-eyes zombies?”

He nodded. “That’s the one.”

I made a face. “It’s gross. Benji always tries to drag me into his games, but I can’t handle them.”

“Benji sounds like my kind of people.”

“He definitely is your people. He was at your concert last night.”

Step’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said he’s underage.”

“He is.”

His expression turned pensive and then he seemed curious. “Your brother doesn’t have the same father as you, right?”

“Right.” I took another bite of pancakes. “People always asked if we were adopted when we were younger because I’m, like, as white as they come, and he’s half black. It used to upset him so much when he was little.”

“People are assholes.”

“Yes, they are.”

Step sat back. “Does your brother have dreadlocks and a labret? Another piercing on his eyebrow?”

I lowered my fork. “Yes. Why?”

Step shook his head slowly and laughed. “I met him last night.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. We had a run-in at Slaughterhouse. I was leaving with those—I was leaving, and he had gotten himself into some trouble with our security officer. I made sure he got his autograph and a free shirt and then told them to put him and his friend in a cab.” Step drummed his fingers on the island. “Small world, huh?”

“Yes.” I almost couldn’t believe how our lives had started to intersect even before we met.

“Did he get home safely?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Step drummed his fingers a little faster. “It’s really not safe for him to be out that late.”

I shot him a warning look, and Step held up both hands. “I’m not criticizing your parenting. I’m just saying.”

“He knows that he did something stupid, and he knows that he’s grounded now.”

Step tilted his head and reached out to run his fingers down my cheek. “It must be hard to play the role of sister and parent.”

I poked at the small bits of pancake left on my plate. “Some days are easier than others.”

“Speaking as a little brother who made his older brother’s life a living hell, I can tell you with certainty that Benji appreciates everything you’ve done for him, and he loves you for it. But he’s young. And young guys? They do stupid shit. The best you can do is try to give him good guidance and be there to prop him up when he stumbles.”

“I try.” Not wanting to talk about the reality of raising a younger sibling anymore, I changed the subject. “So, if you have this amazing place, why did you rent that hotel suite?”

“I don’t bring women here.”

His statement confused me. “Um…”

His hand settled over mine, and he drew my gaze. His bright green eyes searched mind. “Do you understand what that means, Jem?”

I gulped nervously. “I think I do.”

“You think?” He flashed that devilishly mischievous smile of his and leaned forward. “I’m not doing a very good job if you only think you understand.”

I whimpered and clutched at his shoulders when he captured my mouth in a decadently erotic kiss. He tasted sweet and hot, the sugar rush of maple syrup making my head spin. Our kiss grew frenzied and needful. No longer constrained by my fears of being discovered at work, I surrendered to the sensual wantonness he had awakened in me.

“Step!” I cried out in surprise when he slid his arms around me and hefted me right up out of the chair. He used his arm to shove his plate and glass out of the way. Silverware clattered when it hit the floor. The glass tipped over and began to spill water onto the floor. Neither of us gave a damn in that moment.

He deposited me right in front of him on the counter and forced my thighs open. After insinuating his body between my spread legs, he cupped the back of my head and ravenously claimed my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but hold on tight for the ride as his tongue darted against mine and his fingers flicked through the buttons on the front of my uniform. He bared my cheap Walmart bra to his hungry gaze and then nuzzled his face between my breasts.

My head dropped back as he dotted feverish kisses on my cleavage and then along the sensitive curve of my throat. I had never experienced anything like this. My body trembled wildly, and I felt that slick, pulsing heat throbbing between my thighs. I clung to his shoulders and tried to slow it down, even if just for a few minutes.

“Wait,” I panted in between frantic kisses. “Step.”

“What?” He teethed my earlobe, and I nearly slid off the counter and right onto the floor. The sharp little bite of pain traveled right to my pulsing clitoris. I hadn’t felt a jolt like that even when touching and exploring myself late at night.

“I’ve been working all day.” I feebly searched for an excuse.

“And?” His lips were on the swell of my breast again. “God, you have gorgeous tits. I have to get you out of this bra…”

“Wait.” I grasped his wrist. “I—”

He held still and waited for me to give him a reason why we had to stop.

I swallowed and licked my lips. “Um…I’m all sweaty?”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Hell, that’s easy enough to fix.”

Without another second of warning, he stood up, collected me in his arms and tossed me over his shoulder like a freaking caveman. “Step!”

“You’re the one who wanted a shower,” he reminded me, amusement filling his voice.

Dangling upside down, I whacked his taut backside with both hands. “Put me down!”

He laughed and kept on walking. The floor in my bouncing vision soon changed from hardwood to marble. He carefully lowered me to my feet and stepped away just long enough to turn on the walk-in shower. I only had a few seconds to marvel at his gorgeous bathroom before he was standing in front of me and tugging at my clothing. His wicked kisses made my head pound—and before I knew it, I was stark naked in front of him.

Step breathed hard as he gazed at my body. He looked at me as if I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. “That’s it. From now on, I shop for myself on my birthday because you are the prettiest fucking gift I have ever unwrapped.”

I blushed hotly, but he tipped my head back with his fingers beneath my chin. “Don’t be embarrassed, Jem. You are gorgeous.”

“I…”

“You.” He kissed my mouth. “Are.” His lips danced across my breasts. “Beautiful.” He suckled my nipple and released it with a noisy pop. “You are beautiful.”

He lifted his head and gazed into my eyes, and I felt all my inhibitions flee. I reached for his shirt and started to lift it up his chest. I was too short to pull it off of him so he took over and let me concentrate on his pants. Pushing aside my hands, he quickly peeled out of them and threw them across the bathroom. Naked and flushed, we stared at each other for a moment, both of us smiling nervously.

“Come here, rybka.” He reached for my hand and dragged me into the shower. I closed my eyes and let him run his big hands all over my body. Pulling me back against his chest, he pointed at the tile in front of me. “Put your hands there.”

I did as instructed, mainly because I didn’t know if could stand up straight without the help. Behind me, he lathered up his palms and spread soap along my curves. I tried not to hyperventilate when he cupped my bare sex with his sudsy hand and bit down on the curve of my neck. His fingers traced the seam of my pussy. “I can’t wait to get my tongue right here.”

I nearly passed out when he said that. It was the dirtiest, most exciting thing a man had ever said to me—but he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m going to bury my face in your cunt until you come and come and beg me to stop.” His fingers swirled around my swollen clitoris, and I clawed at the wet tile, my fingers squealing against the marble. “Then I’ll let you ride my cock. I want to watch you bouncing on my lap while I enjoy these.” He cupped both of my breasts and then pinched my nipples.

I cried out and tried to catch my breath. My body was on fire now. I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. Was this moving too fast? Did I need to put the brakes on? Maybe we needed a time-out. “We have to stop.”

“You’re right.” Step dragged me under the water spray and rinsed away the soap clinging to my skin. “This floor is way too slippery.”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

Step silenced me with a kiss. Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. The reasons we shouldn’t do this fled. All I could think about were reasons why I should.

After hastily drying off, we practically ran to the spacious master suite. It was sparsely furnished with only a huge bed, a dresser and a chair. The place hardly looked lived in, and it made me sad.

“What’s that look, baby girl?” He plucked the pins from my hair and set my long dark locks free.

“I was just thinking that you have this amazing life and all this success but—”

“But I have no one to share it with,” he finished for me. Combing his fingers through my hair, he bent down and kissed me tenderly. “I’m working on changing that.”

A tremble of something so powerful and hopeful rippled through my stomach. The idea that maybe I had finally found someone who wanted the same things I wanted was so incredibly seductive. But it was so early in our relationship, and I wasn’t about to get swept away with what-ifs.

Centered in the here and now, I embraced the moment and let him guide me down to the bed. Step explored my body at a leisurely pace. I gripped the sheets beneath me as his mouth and hands discovered all the sensitive spots that made me gasp and shudder. His mouth trailed down my belly, and I swallowed hard. I thought of all the things he had described in the shower.

When he parted my thighs with his huge hands and gazed hungrily at my pussy, I turned bright red and tried to shut them. He applied enough pressure to stop me. “Let me look at you, Jem.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to die of embarrassment as he used those big fingers of his to hold open the dewy petals of my sex to get a better look. I suddenly felt uncertain and shy. Considering I hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school or even attempted sex since then, I hadn’t exactly gone for a full Brazilian down south. I thought of the pretty, confident women he had been with last night. They probably knew all sorts of amazing bedroom tricks. Me? I hadn’t picked up a copy of Cosmo in years.

“Don’t be shy with me, Jem.” He dotted ticklish kisses on my inner thighs. “You can tell me what you like and what to do. I want to know how to make you feel good.”

Lifting my head, I opened my eyes and found him staring expectantly at me. Did he want me to tell him how I liked oral sex? “Step, I haven’t ever…you know.”

He seemed surprised. “Never?”

“I’ve had sex. Sort of,” I amended and glanced away with embarrassment.

“Sort of?”

“I tried. Twice. It wasn’t very good or very long.”

“It wasn’t very long? You mean his cock?”

My cheeks burned. “He was average, I guess. I meant the actual sex. The first time didn’t last a minute. The second was a little longer.” I shrugged. “I just sort of wanted it to be over so I didn’t mind.”

“Jemima.” The gruff way he spoke my name surprised me. “Look at me.”

I did. “What?”

“Do you want to be here with me?”

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate because it was true. I wanted to be here with him.

“Do you want me to make love to you?”

“Yes.”

Reassured that I wanted him and wanted this, he stroked his hands up and down my belly. “Relax, milaya moya. Relax and let me show you how good it can be.”

Loving the way he called me sweet names in his mother tongue, I nodded and fell back to the bed. He growled something in Russian, his voice deep and low, and then he swiped the length of my slit with his tongue. My hips shot off the bed, and he grasped my waist to hold me down. His tongue probed my lips, gliding between them slowly and flicking gently at my clit. He suckled that little nub with a few long tugs and then returned to circling it.

I fisted the sheets and tried to catch my breath. Oh, God. Why didn’t I know? Why hadn’t anyone told me it could feel like this?

“Step!” I reached down and touched his hair as his tongue did so many wicked, naughty things to me. He probed my entrance, using it to penetrate me, and then swirled it around my clit until I was panting and aching and hovering right on the edge of something amazing. One of his hands slid along my front and covered my breast. He found my nipple and pinched the stiff peak. The little twist of pain sent me into the stratosphere.

With a burst of pure bliss, I shouted his name and started to buck my hips. He was so much stronger than me that he easily held me down and kept right on flicking and fluttering his tongue. He slid a finger into me, curving it just a little, and stroked inside my slick channel until I was shaking with need. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Please.”

He growled against my pussy, and I came hard, even harder than the first time. Even with my eyes clenched shut, I saw brilliant starbursts as the powerful shockwaves rattled through me. Awash with ecstasy, I shuddered atop the bed and moaned as Step’s tongue lapped at my clit. He pulled the tiny nub between his lips and sucked on it a few times. My legs started to wobble, and I thought I might be having a heart attack.

Showing some mercy on my poor, wrung out body, Step abandoned my pussy and kissed his way up my body. He spent some time fondling and nipping at my breasts before capturing my mouth. It was strangely heady to share something so intimate after he had been using that skilled mouth of his to make me scream.

Step trapped one of my thighs between his legs and pushed a second finger into me. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, and he eased off the force of his thrusting digits. Pulling back, he gazed down at me and searched for permission to continue. I nodded and reached down between our bodies to grasp his cock. The hard, hot shaft required both hands, but there was still more I couldn’t cover.

He shuddered as I stroked him with both hands. The slippery drops of pre-cum dripping from the head of his cock eased the way. I watched his face for guidance and squeezed him tighter as I stroked up and down his shaft. Step’s fingers kept working me, thrusting in and out at the same pace that my hands glided up and down his steely length.

When I slid a hand down to cup his balls, Step cursed loudly and crashed his mouth to mine. I took that as a good sign and kept right on stroking and fondling him. His fingers faltered, and I knew he was close. Thinking of the way he had used a little pain to heighten my pleasure, I bit his lower lip—and he jerked hard against me.

Hot bursts of ropy cum landed on my belly. I stroked him through his orgasm, rubbing my hand up and down his cock until every last drop had been milked onto my skin. He dropped down beside me like a fallen tree and buried his face in the curve of my neck. Wrapping his arms around me, he slung a heavy leg across mine and held me close.

We were cuddling contentedly when I heard my cell phone ring in another part of the apartment. Beside me, Step grunted. “Leave it.”

“I can’t.” I pushed at the muscled arm embracing me. “It’s my brother. He never calls unless it’s important.”

Step grumbled but loosened up his hold on me. “Come right back when you’re finished.”

“I will.”

Even after everything we had done, I was too shy to run around his apartment naked. I yanked the top sheet off the bed and wrapped it around my body before fleeing the bedroom to find my phone. By the time I reached the kitchen and my purse, my cell phone alerted me to a voicemail. I swiped my finger across the screen and tapped in the unlock code.

When I got to the voicemail screen, I tapped the new message from Benji and waited for it to play. How was he going to react when he found out I was dating Step? Would he be excited for me? Would he approve?

“Jem!” Benji’s voice came across panicked and frightened. “Jem, they’re here! They’re looking for Dad. Call me back. Now.”

I did. I hit the button and gripped the counter. My quick run-in with Spider came to the forefront of my mind.

“Jem!”

“Benji! Are you okay?” In the background, I could hear someone beating on a door or a wall. “Benji! Hide! Go hide!”

“I can’t. They’re—”

A loud crash rattled my ear.

“Shit! Jem! They’re in the house. Jem. JEM!”

Benji screamed—and the line went dead.

“Benji? BENJI!”

Chapter Seven

Step

Wearing a dopey fucking grin, I stared up at the ceiling and enjoyed the post-sex haze of happiness. This was the first time since I had lost my voice that I felt complete and whole. Jem had given me my hope back. She made me feel as if I could slay a fucking dragon.

I was thinking of all the ways I could woo her old-school style and convince her that I wanted to pursue something real and lasting with her when I heard her panicked scream. I shot out of bed like a damned rocket and ran across the apartment. I found her in the kitchen frantically dialing her phone and starting to sob hysterically.

“Rybka!” I grasped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Look at me! What’s wrong?”

“They took him!”

“What? Who?” I glanced at her phone. “They took your brother?”

“Yes.”

I slid an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. She was shaking like a leaf. “Angel moy. Calm down. Okay? Who took him?”

“The meth dealers Jackie crossed,” she said with a loud sob. “The guy who owns our trailer park? His name is Spider, and he’s the VP of the Calaveras MC.”

“Yeah?” I didn’t like where this was going. I hadn’t been part of the Houston underworld since high school, but I still knew the major players. Spider and his men were allied very closely with Romero Valero, the man who had staged a coup against his old cartel boss only weeks earlier.

“Spider stopped me this morning when I was headed to work and told me that he had heard that Jackie was back in town and that he had robbed some meth dealers. He warned me that they might come looking for Jackie at our house. I warned Benji to be careful—but I should have been there! I should have been there to protect him!”

The thought of Jem being grabbed by a bunch of loser meth heads and drug dealers chilled me right to the bone. Her brother would be safe so long as he cooperated, but her? Oh, God. She was just so damned sweet and tempting. Men like the monsters who had taken her brother couldn’t be trusted around any woman, let alone one as innocent and gentle as her. They would have hurt her badly.

Realizing she needed me to be strong, I kissed her tenderly and then cupped her face. “I will get your brother back.”

“How? Step, these people are dangerous.”

“So are my people.” I kissed her again. “We need to get dressed.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

“To see my cousin.”

Half an hour later, I glanced at Jem who sat stoically but teary-eyed in the passenger seat as I navigated the stately streets of Houston’s oldest and wealthiest enclave in my matte black ‘60 Coupe de Ville. The estates here were owned by the most powerful people in the city, but I only cared about one of them—Nikolai Kalasnikov, the unacknowledged Russian mob boss and the most dangerous man in the city’s underworld. If anyone could help us right now, it was Nikolai.

Luckily for me, Ten was working for the boss as a bodyguard for Vivian Kalasnikov, Nikolai’s beloved wife. When we pulled up in front of the house and parked, Jem glanced at me with such anxiety. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do? What about the police?”

“The police are the last people you want to involve.” I could see that she understood that, but she was so desperate to save her brother that she would try anything.

Gripping the door handle, she asked, “What is he going to want for payment?”

I leaned over and kissed her temple. “Let me worry about that.”

“Step,” she said quickly. “You can’t get yourself into debt for me.”

“I can, and I will.”

“Why?” She seemed bewildered by my decision to help her.

Now I was the one feeling anxious. “You know why.”

The fear in her eyes faded, and she covered my hand with hers. “Yes, I do.”

I interlaced our fingers. “Let me do the talking. This will be a tricky situation to navigate.”

She nodded dutifully. “I understand.”

Hand in hand, we made our way up the cobblestone sidewalk that led to a beautiful front porch and ornately carved wooden doors. The historic home had been carefully restored and was the jewel of the neighborhood. I had heard that Nikolai had even more beautiful gardens out back, but I wasn’t close enough to his inner circle to have ever gotten an invitation. Right now, I was breaking a big rule coming to his house, but I didn’t have any other choice.

Someone had decorated the porch for fall and Halloween with pumpkin displays and planters overflowing with burgundy and orange mums. A whimsical wreath featuring black ravens and what appeared to be pages from Poe’s book adorned the grand door. I rang the doorbell and stepped back, making sure I was clearly visible through the glass. I doubted very many people were stupid or brave enough to walk up to this front door and knock.

The door opened a short time later, and I found myself staring down into the strikingly beautiful face of an obviously pregnant woman. With her dark hair in a high ponytail, Vivian Kalsnikov wore a simple dress in a color that reminded me of grapefruit. As expected of a perfect little mob wife, she looked primped and ready for a day of shopping or running errands. I couldn’t imagine the weight of all the responsibilities and expectations resting on her slim shoulders.

I greeted her in Russian, and she returned it with a smile. I started to tell her my name, but she waved her hand and addressed me in English.

“You’re Stepan, Ten’s cousin. The big rock star,” she added with a grin. “And who is this?” Her smile faded when she noticed Jem’s red eyes and the obvious signs of crying. “Oh my goodness! What’s wrong?”

“We need to speak with your husband.”

“Of course,” Vivian said and gestured for us to come inside. She shut the door and rubbed Jem’s back. “I don’t know what’s happened, but if there is any way for my husband to help you, he will.” She motioned for us to follow. “This way, please. Kolya and Ten are in the library.”

So lost in her fear and worry for her brother, Jem seemed oblivious to the bodyguards eyeing us from the shadows of the house. I spotted a man younger than Jem and a man closer to my age lurking in doorways and following our every move. I tried not to let it bother me. The sort of danger that lurked outside the Kalasnikov’s front door wasn’t anything I could ever understand.

Vivian knocked on the door of the library and poked her head inside. She spoke softly to her husband in Russian, but it was Ten who yanked the door open and greeted us first. My cousin wrapped me up in his massive arms and lifted me off the ground in a bear hug that squeezed the air right out of my lungs.

“Why didn’t you call me? You should have told me you were coming over. I would have been waiting for you.” Ten gripped the back of my neck and grinned at me. His gaze slid to my left and settled on Jem’s petite form. “And who is this?”

“This is my girlfriend, Jem.” I stepped forward and lowered my voice. “We need your help.”

Ten’s pleased grin collapsed. He glanced from me to Jem and back to me. “I see.”

“Jem?” Vivian stepped in and took charge. “Why don’t you come with me? We’ll have a cup of tea while they sort this out, okay?”

Jem shot me a questioning glance, and I nodded at her. She reluctantly let go of my hand and followed Vivian away from the library. Assured that she was safe here, I trailed Ten into the library. The door was shut behind me, and I found myself face-to-face with the man who held Benji’s life in his hands.

Though not as tall or muscular as Ten, Nikolai presented an imposing picture. With his arms crossed, he leaned back against his desk and exuded an air of pure danger. This wasn’t a man to be crossed. Whatever he asked of me, I had to be sure I could repay the debt—or else he would find a way to collect that I would not enjoy.

“Nikolai Nikolayevich,” I greeted with respect. Though the man was known to be an orphan, it was assumed by everyone that his father had shared his same first name.

“Stepan,” he said stiffly. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes.”

The mob boss studied me intently. “You typically come pay your respects at Samovar. If you’re coming to my front door…”

“I’m sorry. There was no time to do it properly.”

Nikolai exhaled roughly. “What’s happened?”

“My girlfriend’s brother was just kidnapped by a bunch of meth heads. He’s just a kid. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Nikolai stiffened. “Have you called the police?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“What’s your girlfriend’s connection to this mess?” Nikolai narrowed his eyes. “Is she a user?”

I shook my head. “It’s her stepfather. He’s not in the picture. She has custody of her little brother. The dad split town years ago, after the mom went to prison, but he’s back now. She said that her landlord stopped her this morning to give her a heads-up that her stepfather was up to no good. Apparently, he robbed a bunch of meth heads.”

“Who is her landlord?”

“Spider.”

“I see.” Nikolai’s mouth settled into a tight line. “What is the stepfather’s name?”

“Jackie.”

Nikolai shrugged. “I don’t know him.” He glanced at Ten who shook his head. “Get Ilya. He knows everyone.”

Ten left the room, and Nikolai stared at me for an uncomfortably long moment. “This girl of yours?”

“Yes?”

“You care about her?”

“I do.”

“Does she know how to keep quiet? Because you know how I feel about loose ends,” the boss warned.

Mouth dry, I nodded. “I do.”

The door opened and Ten returned with Ilya. Once it was closed, Nikolai asked, “Jackie? A meth head? Dealer?”

Ilya nodded. “Yeah, he’s from the Bloody Nick. He used to run product for Nickel Jackson, but he’s been out of that crew for years. He has no protection. He has no backup. He’s a freelancer and small time.”

Nikolai nodded. “That’s one less complication.”

“Boss?” Ilya said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“Stepan’s girl? This Jemima?”

“What about her?” Nikolai asked, and my stomach clenched painfully as I waited to hear what would be said. Maybe coming here was a mistake. If she had some history with the family that I didn’t know about…

“Her father was Crazy Kenny Coates.”

Nikolai’s face slackened. “Is Boychenko with Vivian?”

Ilya nodded. “I told him to stay close, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” The fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck rose on end. “Are you threatening Jem?”

“No.” Nikolai spread his hands out in front of him. His calmness terrified me. This was a man who could shake your hand and smile—all while knowing a hit had been greenlit on your ass. “Your girl is safe in my home and in my city.”

“But?” I knew there was more to this story, and I wanted the details now.

“Has she told you anything about her father?”

“She said he was killed by the cartel. She said that no one was ever arrested. There were no suspects.”

Nikolai dragged a finger across his throat in the same way Jemima had done earlier in the day. “There’s only one man who used that as his calling card when he was enforcing for the cartel.”

The way Nikolai phrased his reply made my heart skip a beat. “Romero Valero? Vivian’s father?”

He nodded. “So you understand why I’m concerned about my pregnant wife sitting down for a cup of tea with the daughter of a man killed by her father, yes?”

“Yes.”

Nikolai straightened up and walked behind his desk. “What I’ve just told you? It stays between us. Nothing good will come from telling our women that truth. It’s old and dead and buried. Let’s leave it where it belongs—six feet underground.”

I didn’t like it, but I knew what would happen if I ever revealed what I had learned here. Not even my connection to Ten could save me or Jem then.

Nikolai picked pulled a burner phone from a bottom drawer of his desk, powered it up and made a single phone call. I expected him to call Kostya, the notorious cleaner who handled the family’s dirty business, but he didn’t.

“Mueller,” he said with the hint of a smile. “I think we need to meet. I have a proposition for you, and I think you’ll find it’s something you’ve wanted for a while now.”

I had no idea who this Mueller person was, but I had a bad feeling I was about to find out. The promise I had sworn to my older brother Semyon about staying out of the underworld had just gone up in flames. For Jem, for her brother, I had no other choice but to suck it up and wade back into those murky, dangerous waters.

Chapter Eight

Step

“This shit brings back memories, huh?” Ten asked as we sat in the front seats of a black SUV with darkly tinted windows.

“Not all good ones,” I murmured, thinking of the stupid, risky things I had done when I was the same age as Benji. “Who is this Mueller guy?”

Ten pointed to the real estate sign in the front windows of the empty strip mall. “He’s a hotshot real estate guy from Dallas, but he has a growing branch down here.”

“What does a real estate guy have to do with your world?”

Ten reached for the water bottle in his cup holder and unscrewed the cap. “He likes to keep his white sheets on his bed, but he’s the most racist motherfucker you’ll ever meet. He runs the skinhead action in Houston now. He’s quiet and all about business—and that makes him incredibly dangerous.”

Fully aware that Ten’s ideal woman was a big, bold black girl, I had an idea of how much he hated working with Mueller. Thinking of Benji, I said, “Jem’s brother is half-black.”

“And?” Ten shrugged and took a long drink.

“And your boss is asking Mr. White Supremacist to save him?”

“Like I said,” Ten replied, “Mueller will do this because Nikolai will offer him exactly what he wants as payment.”

“And what is that?”

“The green light to go after the meth trade,” Ten explained. “It’s the Wild West, but Mueller and his guys want to control it. The boss doesn’t want blood in the streets, but this is a controlled way for Mueller and his boys to make a statement. They can get this kid and clean out the rat’s nest of dealers and cookers who kidnapped him.” He dropped his water bottle into the cup holder. “Everybody wins.”

“And a lot of people die!”

Ten shot me a strange look. “Bratan, what the fuck did you think was going to happen when you asked a pakhan for help?”

He had a point, but it still bothered me. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“You wanted to save your girlfriend’s brother. That’s what you’re doing. Focus on that. Everything else? Push it out of your head.”

Knowing what Ten had done in service to the family, I wondered how many times he had given himself a version of that advice. There wasn’t any other way he could stomach the things he had done without some sort of mental footlocker where he stowed all those troubling images and memories.

Ten perked up and gestured toward the building with his chin. “Here we go.”

I watched Nikolai and Mueller come out of the empty building with two of their heavies standing escort. Kostya paid little attention to the conversation between his boss and Mueller. He scanned the area around us, probably searching for cartel snipers or worse.

It was twilight out, and I could barely make out the shapes and shadows in the parking lot, but I had no doubt that Kostya could see everything. The rumors that swirled around the man suspected of being a former Russian spy claimed that he had all sorts of crazy cyborg-style implants in his brains and eyes. He was no James Bond, but the man was dangerous and ruthless.

“Looks like it’s on,” Ten said as he put his SUV in drive but kept his foot on the brake. He glanced at me while he waited for the small convoy to move out of the lot. “Whatever happens, you stay close to me. Semyon will gut me if anything happens to you.”

He wasn’t kidding about my big brother’s overprotective streak. It was a trait that had always made me scoff, but now I considered what I was doing for Jem and her brother. Semyon didn’t seem so crazy to me anymore.

Mueller and his men pulled out of the lot first. One of Nikolai’s other captains followed close behind. Ten and I brought up the rear behind the boss and the cleaner. I didn’t ask where we were going. I stayed silent and let Ten get his head straight. This was his world, and I was just the interloper. I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, especially not my own family, so I decided not to get in the way, even if that meant keeping silent when I really wanted answers.

A long time later, we turned down a winding country road in the eastern part of Montgomery County. It was a rural area not far from Houston where ramshackle houses and rundown trailers with foil-covered windows were the norm. The abject and cyclical poverty in this area crushed the hopes and dreams of too many. It saddened me. I thought of the abusive, drunken father and the life I had escaped and the life I had created for myself. I thought of how damned hard Jem had probably worked to save her brother and give him a chance at making something successful out of his life. I hoped he understood the sacrifices she had made to give him a chance.

Headlights were cut, and we were plunged into darkness. The caravan of SUVs crept down the bumpy, unpaved road. Thick piney forests surrounded us. Apprehension gripped my gut. I wasn’t used to this sort of life anymore. I had gotten soft and couldn’t hang with these hard men.

The SUVs slowed to a stop. One by one, men climbed out of them and started arming themselves for what looked like a fucking war. Ten slapped my arm and indicated that it was time for me to join them. I hadn’t fired a gun in years and hoped they didn’t expect me to try to use one tonight. I would be a liability they didn’t need.

The man named Mueller had shed his expensive bespoke suit jacket and silk tie. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. In the bright moonlight, I spotted the dark and ugly swastika marking his forearms. He had more tattoos on his elbows and swirling up under his shirt. One of his men handed him a pump action shotgun. He rested the barrel against his shoulder and glanced around the group of men waiting to join him. “Are we ready?”

After a round of nods, Mueller led the men into the woods. Nikolai clasped my shoulder to keep me from following. “We stay here with Ten.”

My stomach churned violently. I breathed as quietly and slowly as possible and strained to hear every noise. The woods were alive with insects and animals. My heartbeat ticked up a notch with every passing minute. What was happening? Was Benji all right? I thought of how scared he must be right now and how terrified Jem was back at the Kalasnikov estate. I swore then and there that those two would never know fear like this again. Not on my fucking watch.

The blast of a shotgun tore through the stillness of the night and startled me. I noticed that neither of my companions showed even the tiniest hint of being surprised. I could hear Ten working a piece of gum between his teeth as he stood beside me with his arms crossed. Nikolai had positioned himself a few steps in front of us. He seemed to be watching and waiting for something.

Two more shotgun blasts ripped through the night air. I swallowed and waited, straining to hear anything that might let me know if Benji had been recovered and if he was unhurt. I flexed my fingers at my side and tried not to fidget too much. How long had it been since the last gunshots? Five minutes? Ten?

And then, faintly but growing louder, I heard the unmistakable crunch of approaching footsteps. Kostya and Three-Fingered Arty emerged from the woods with a hooded and cuffed figure between them. He was thrust at me, and I realized it was Benji. The moonlight overhead illuminated Kostya’s shirt just long enough for me to catch the glimpse of blood spatter on his clothing.

I started to reach for the hood covering Benji’s head but Kostya stopped me. He wagged a finger and pointed at the SUV. I understood his instruction. Benji had to stay covered and bound until we were away from here. No eyewitness accounts. No loose ends.

I silently helped Benji into the backseat of the SUV and got into the front passenger seat. I waited for Ten to join us. I wanted to ask him what had happened back at the house, but I didn’t. Sometimes it was safer to know nothing. Sometimes it was safer to stay silent.

Not a word was spoken until we had almost reached Houston. Ten pulled over on an isolated strip of road, and I climbed into the backseat with Benji. I carefully untied his hood and pulled the fabric gag out of his mouth. He had a bloodied, bruised lip and busted nose. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Benji shook his head. His eyes narrowed and then widened. “Holy shit! Stepan Vasiliev? What the hell? I mean—dude. Why are you rescuing me?”

I accepted the frighteningly sharp knife Ten had offered me and slit the duct tape binding Benji’s wrists together. “It’s a long story, kid.”

“Well, I think I want to hear it.”

“Probably not all of it,” Ten replied with a smirk as he took back the knife and folded it closed. “I doubt you want to hear the parts about your idol climbing into bed with your sister.”

“Ten! Jesus!” I punched my cousin’s arm, but he just laughed.

“Wait. Wait. You and my sister? You and Jem?” Benji reached up and touched his head.

“Are you hurt?” Concerned, I leaned closer to examine him.

“No, man, but I’m wondering if maybe I have a concussion and am hallucinating this. Because you and my sister? That isn’t possible. She hates your music.”

Ten snorted in the front seat, and I whacked him again. Turning back to Benji, I explained, “I don’t need another fan of my music. I just need her.”

“But how? How in the hell did you meet my sister?”

“It’s a long story, kid.”

“Yeah, well, leave out the gross parts, okay? I don’t need to know all my sister’s business.”

“Fair enough.”

“We need to get moving,” Ten said, his gaze drifting to the rearview mirror. “What’s your address, kid?”

Benji rattled off the number, and Ten eased back onto the highway. I stayed in the rear seats with Benji and gave him the PG version of my day with Jem. He wasn’t happy about her losing her job, and he made damned sure I knew it. When I explained that she would be working for me, he seemed lukewarm about the idea. It didn’t take me long to figure out that he was intensely protective of his big sister. I had gone from the rocker he had sneaked into a club to meet to the man who wasn’t good enough for his sister in the blink of an eye.

When we reached the home he shared with Jem, Benji led me inside to pack some bags for them while Ten stood guard. We didn’t have much time so I had to let Benji help me pack up the necessities for Jem. Though their house was tiny and old, the two of them kept it immaculately clean and had made it into a real home. I envied the coziness and their happiness together.

As I stared at some photos of the brother and sister on a camping trip, Benji came to stand beside me. “You two look happy in these.”

“We’ve had some rough patches the last three years, but it’s been mostly good.” Benji adjusted one of the frames. “Jem is an amazing person.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Benji scrutinized me. “My sister is the sweetest, kindest person you will ever meet. She gave up a lot for me. She gave up college and her dreams of having a real career. She works two and three jobs at a time to make sure that I can go to my magnet school and pay for my trips and clubs and project fees. And she, like, never complains about it. Never. She goes to bed at midnight and gets up at four to start the cycle all over again.”

“I want to take care of her, Benji.” I touched his shoulder. “I’ll take care of both of you, if you’ll let me.”

“I don’t think Jem wants someone to play sugar daddy. I think she wants someone who will be her partner and help her achieve her goals.”

“I can be that person.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“If you hurt her—”

“I’m sure I’ll make mistakes, Benji. I’m sure that we’ll fight and argue about all sorts of things, but I will never hurt her. I won’t hurt her physically or emotionally.”

“If you do, I’ll fucking end you, brah.”

“I know you will.” This kid would be a full-grown man soon, and I had no doubt that he would carry through with that threat.

“You two done with the heartfelt chat?” Ten poked his head through the front door. “Your nosy neighbor is making me nervous. If she calls the cops, I’m fucking out of here, and you two are on your own. My P.O. will bust my ass for breaking curfew.”

“We’re good.” Benji grabbed his backpack and Jem’s small suitcase and followed Ten out of the house. I turned off the lights and joined them at the SUV.

When we walked into the Kalasnikov house a short time later, Jem raced across the kitchen and flung herself at Benji. He caught his sister and hugged her tight. As she embraced her brother, she held out her hand and smiled at me. Feeling like a hero, I gripped her small hand in mine.

I didn’t know what our future held in store for us, but I believed it would filled with happy moments like these.

Chapter Nine

Jem

Needing to reassure myself that Benji was okay, I peeked into the guest room he had claimed and made sure that he was sleeping peacefully. I tiptoed quietly into the room and placed his inhaler on the bedside table before carefully retreating and shutting the door. After the stress of his ordeal, I feared his asthma would bother him tonight.

I tracked Step down in his bedroom. Barefoot and bare-chested, he wore only a low-slung pair of pajama bottoms as he sat on the edge of his bed and strummed an acoustic guitar. There were sheets of staff paper and a notepad covered in scribbled next on the bright white comforter. He glanced up as I entered the room, and I froze. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you while you’re working. I can come back later.”

He set aside his guitar and held out his hand. “Come here, rybka.”

“Vivian told me what that means.” I crossed the room and let him pull me between his open legs. “Little fishy? Really?”

He laughed and placed a noisy kiss on my neck. “It loses a little something in the translation.” He kissed my cheek and then my mouth. “I could call you zaichik moy.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Do I even want to know what one means?”

“You’ll have to Google it.”

I pinched him. “You aren’t playing fair.”

“I know, and I love it.” His hands slipped under the hem of my nightgown. They glided along the backs of my thighs and didn’t stop until he was cupping my backside. “Are we still driving out to Dayton in the morning?”

“We?” His question surprised me.

“Your van is in the shop. You need a driver.”

“Oh. Right.” In the chaos of the evening, I had completely forgotten. “If you don’t mind…”

“I don’t mind.” He dotted soft kisses on my collarbone. “I’ll probably just sit out in the car and work on some new lyrics.” His mouth skimmed my neck again. “We may have to postpone our big date tomorrow night. I caught the tail end of the news. They said that tropical storm is probably going to hit earlier than expected. Apparently it’s picking up steam.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised.

Holding his handsome face in my hands, I gazed into his eyes. “After what you did for us today? You don’t have anything to make up for, Step.” I kissed him lovingly and ran my thumbs along his cheeks. “I’m the one who owes you.”

His mouth slanted with a sexy grin. “I can think of one or two ways you can pay me back.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but first…” He shifted me aside and gathered up his music and guitar. When the bed was clear, he dragged me close again and whisked the nightgown off my body. He tugged my panties down my hips and thighs and then shucked his pajama bottoms.

We moved onto the bed and began to kiss leisurely. Step’s hands roamed my curves, cupping by bottom and squeezing my breasts. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hauled me tight against his chest, dragging me right on top of him. Our bodies aligned in the most deliciously tempting way. His cock stabbed between my thighs, and for the briefest moment, I seriously considered just sliding down a few inches and sheathing his shaft in my slick heat.

“We can’t,” Step whispered against my mouth. “I want to,” he said with a groan. “I want to feel your wet pussy squeezing my bare cock—but I won’t put you at risk.”

“Have you ever…?”

He shook his head. “Never. I’ve always gloved up, but I still want to be careful with you. Besides,” he swept aside my hair and bared my neck to his seeking lips. “You aren’t on the pill are you?”

“No.”

“Then we have to be careful,” he repeated. Step ravished my throat, scraping his teeth over my skin and biting down gently on my jugular. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it would leave a mark.

“Step!” I gripped his shoulders and bucked against him. We kissed again, and Step smoothed his hands over my body. Gripping my bottom, he flipped me onto my back and shoved my thighs open. I was still dazed by the sudden move when he started lapping at my core. His tongue zeroed in on the rhythm and pace that had driven me crazy earlier. He flicked at my clit until I was scratching at his arms and swiveling my hips. I came with a soft cry and pushed my pussy against his mouth, desperate to wring out every last drop of pleasure possible.

Even after I had climaxed, he kept his mouth on me. His tongue probed my entrance and swirled around my clitoris. He suckled my pink pearl and fluttered his tongue over it until my toes were digging into the mattress and I felt close to another climax. Strung tight and panting, I clutched at Step eagerly anticipated another powerful orgasm.

But I whimpered in protest when he abandoned my sopping wet sex and crawled over me. He lingered on my belly and breasts, caressing and kissing and teasing my nipples until they were bright pink and puckered. I didn’t have a lot of sensitivity there, but he seemed to have found a way to enhance the pleasure I did feel by tweaking and suckling me.

Wanting to make him feel good, I pushed on his shoulders and silently urged him onto his back. Emboldened by the way he looked at me and that hungry glint in his eye, I clasped his hands and claimed his mouth in an insistent kiss. He rolled his hips beneath me, and his thick, heavy cock smacked against my bottom. I could tell he was seeking stimulation. I decided to give him exactly what he wanted.

I slowly kissed my way down his body and settled between his spread legs. I didn’t have much experience giving head, but I didn’t think he would hold it against me. With one enthusiastic swipe of my tongue, I drew a low, rumbling groan from his throat. When I wrapped my lips around his crown and rolled my tongue around it, he pawed at the bedding and unleashed a string of Russian that sounded suspiciously like curse words.

He was so big that I couldn’t take all of him. I bobbed up and down on the top half of his thick shaft and stroked the bottom half with my hand. Step moaned as I sucked the blunt head into my mouth and lavished attention on it. I cupped his balls and rolled them between my fingers. My tongue glided along the underside of his prick.

Step started to pump his hips and reached down to tangle his fingers in my hair. I let him take control as he sought more stimulation and depth. I relaxed my jaw and let him fuck my mouth. He didn’t take it too far. I could tell he wanted to go deeper and harder, but he held back. He wasn’t going to push me or hurt me. His cock plunged in and out of my mouth until he finally jerked free and shuddered.

“Milaya moya.” He grasped my arms and flipped me onto my back. “I need you.”

“I want you.” I did. I wanted this so badly. “Please, Step.”

He retrieved a condom he had hidden under the pillow and quickly sheathed himself. Holding the base of his cock, he ran the fat head of it between my slick nether lips and gently probed my opening. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I wrapped my legs around his waist and dug my heels into his bottom. My pussy pulsed almost painfully now. “I’m aching for you, Step. Please.”

He didn’t thrust into me but carefully and slowly pushed inside. He gave me time to relax and grow accustomed to him. Stretched and filled by his cock, I gasped when he was finally buried to the hilt. I closed my eyes and surrendered to his erotic kisses. He flexed his hips and fucked into me with short, easy strokes. Our tongues moved together at the same pace, and I clutched at his shoulders.

Step shifted his weight to one hand and reached between our bodies. He framed my clitoris between two fingers and rubbed tight, fast circles while speeding up his thrusts. He drove into me deeper and harder now. My mouth fell open as I cried out with sheer bliss. Everything was amplified. Everything felt so damned good. Hot and shuddering, I clung to Step and tried to hold off on my climax. I didn’t want it to happen yet. I didn’t want this wondrous sensation vibrating through me to end.

When I came, when I tossed my head back and undulated wildly beneath him, Step let loose. He fisted his fingers in my hair and captured my mouth in a punishing kiss while thrusting into me hard and fast. “Jem!” With a growl, he climaxed. “Rybka,” he murmured. “Baby. Baby.”

Our bodies slammed together in a wicked dance that left us both panting and shaking. He slumped next to me and took care of the condom before curling around my body and holding me close. I ran my fingers over the tattoos on his chest and smiled happily as he caressed my arm and kissed my forehead.

“What did Vivian say to you when she hugged you right before we left their house?”

The memory of Vivian’s kindness filled me with warmth. “She welcomed me to this big, crazy, overprotective family. She told me that we always take care of our own.”

Step smiled. “That was nice of her.”

“I thought so.” I drew my initials on his chest. Not wanting to get into a deep conversation this late at night, but needing to know something, I asked, “Step?”

“Yes?”

“What happens now? I mean, Jackie is still out there somewhere. You’re going on tour in a few weeks.”

“Honestly?” He trailed his fingers down my back. “I have no fucking idea how it will work, Jem, but I believe it will. I think we have something special.”

Calmed and reassured by his response, I lifted up and kissed him tenderly. “Maybe we just take it one day at a time.”

Step traced my lower lip and smiled down at me. “One day at a time, rybka.”

Author’s Note

You can catch up with Step and Jem, Dom, Tor and Leif in 2015 when I launch the full S&M series. Until then, check out my bestselling Her Russian Protector series or the Fighting Connollys trilogy if you want to know more about Ten, Nikolai and Vivian, or Finn and Hadley.

To receive notification of the next release in the Her Russian Protector series and for chances to grab ARCs and other goodies, join my mailing list.

About the Author

I am a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author. When I’m not chasing after my wild preschooler, I like to write super sexy romances and scorching hot erotica. I live in Texas with a husband who could easily snag a job as an extra on the History Channel’s new Viking series and a sweet, rowdy and always entertaining special needs daughter.

I also have another dirty-book writing alter ego, Lolita Lopez, who writes deliciously steamy scifi and paranormal erotic romance tales for Ellora’s Cave, Forever Yours/Grand Central, Mischief/Harper Collins UK, Siren Publishing and Cleis Press. Lo was named of LATINA magazines Eight Erotic Authors to Watch in 2013.

You can find me online at www.roxierivera.com.

Roxie’s Backlist

Her Russian Protector Series

Ivan (Her Russian Protector #1)

Dimitri (Her Russian Protector #2)

Yuri (Her Russian Protector #3)

A Very Russian Christmas (Her Russian Protector #3.5)

Nikolai (Her Russian Protector #4)

Sergei (Her Russian Protector #5)

Sergei, Volume 2 (Her Russian Protector #5.5)

Nikolai, Volume 2 (Her Russian Protector #6)

Kostya (Her Russian Protector #7)—Coming Soon

Alexei (Her Russian Protector #8)—Coming Soon

Danila (Her Russian Protector #9)—Coming Soon

The Fighting Connollys Series

In Kelly’s Corner (Fighting Connollys #1)

In Jack’s Arms (Fighting Connollys #2)

In Finn’s Heart (Fighting Connollys #3)

Debt Collection

Collateral (Debt Collection #1)

Collateral 2 (Debt Collection #2)

Past Due (Debt Collection #3)—Coming Soon

Paid in Full (Debt Collection #4)—Coming Soon

Her SEAL Protector

Close Quarters

Seduced By…

Seduced by the Loan Shark

Seduced by the Loan Shark 2—Coming Soon!

Seduced by the Congressman

Seduced by the Congressman 2

Erotica

Chance’s Bad, Bad Girl

Halftime With Craig

Tease

Eddie’s Cuffs 1

Eddie’s Cuffs 2

Eddie’s Cuffs 3

Disturbing the Peace

Quid Pro Quo

Search and Seizure

Table of Contents

- About the Books

- Rockers After Dark

- Contents

- Defining Destiny

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author

- Still Life with Strings

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author

- This Time

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author

- Forever Ours

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author

- A Seductive Melody

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author

- Step

- Beginning
- Midpoint
- About the Author