Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3)

  Hold You Close

  The Seattle Sound Series

  Alexa Padgett

  Sidecar Press, LLC

  Contents

  Hold You Close

  Copyright

  1. Mila

  2. Murphy

  3. Mila

  4. Murphy

  5. Mila

  6. Murphy

  7. Mila

  8. Murphy

  9. Mila

  10. Murphy

  11. Mila

  12. Murphy

  13. Mila

  14. Murphy

  15. Mila

  16. Murphy

  17. Mila

  18. Murphy

  19. Mila

  20. Murphy

  21. Mila

  22. Murphy

  23. Mila

  24. Murphy

  25. Mila

  26. Murphy

  27. Mila

  28. Murphy

  29. Murphy

  30. Mila

  Thank You!

  Acknowledgments

  Also By Alexa Padgett

  MANY SOUNDS OF SILENCE sneak peek!

  Hold You Close

  The Seattle Sound Series

  Book 3

  Alexa Padgett

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the material in this book.

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted or stored in whole in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Hold You Close © 2016 by Alexa Padgett

  Edited by Bev Katz Rosenbaum and Nicole Pomeroy

  Cover Art by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs

  1

  Mila

  Fourteen months ago, I tossed away my entire life. For him. Murphy. He didn’t know any of it, and, finally, I was coming to terms with the fact he probably never would.

  He didn’t want to see me, never would again. His song, “She’s So Bad,” reinforced my opinion—hard.

  I walked down the narrow, hard-packed dirt path, ducking under the thick limb of a gnarled tree. The last few days proved more difficult than I anticipated—wasn’t the first year supposed to be the hardest?—but the visit to Me-Kwa-Mooks Park was nonnegotiable. I needed the soft sound of water to ground me, give me a reason to move forward. Problem was, water, the beach, reminded me of Murphy. Even this gray Seattle version, so different from our Sydney favorite with its soft, white sand and surfers dotting the water.

  I settled in on the narrow strip of sand, gazing out over the tumbled gray boulders and the fog-riddled green-gray water. I patted my other pocket. Thank goodness for my trusty little bottle of Xanax, the only reason I’d get through these next few days.

  Pulling out the ticket, I read the date. He’d be here in Seattle tomorrow, performing sold-out shows at Key Arena and the more intimate Tractor Tavern. That’s the ticket I held now. Probably a complete waste of the $80, but I needed to see him.

  My phone range.

  “Mila!”

  Mum’s voice sent me back into a tailspin. I might love my mother, but that didn’t mean I trusted her. She’d let me down too many times. She was part of the reason I’d moved.

  “I’m thinking of coming for a visit. I’ve never been to America.”

  And my stomach tanked even further. “That’s okay, mum. I’ll get out to visit you.” Lie, lie, lie. I’d never set foot in Australia again. I’d made that promise on my last trip to the cemetery to visit my son.

  She made a disgruntled sound. “You’ve said that for the last year. And last time we Skyped, you were so thin! It’s those crazy hours you work.”

  “I like my job,” I said, standing. No point in sitting here enjoying a view when my mum’s criticism had already destroyed the moment. “Sure, I work a lot but that’s because I have to go through a second residency to be licensed in the States.” I’d completed the certification but still had more than two years left on my accredited residency. The good news was I was able to work in my preferred field.

  “I don’t know how you could. You haven’t been home for a visit in ages. I barely know what you do.”

  “Because you’re not interested.”

  “Of course I am. Jordan asks me all the time.”

  At the sound of his name, I stumbled. The phone slid from my fingers but I managed to catch it before it hit the dirt.

  “You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”

  “Now, why would you worry about that?” Her voice was all innocent. She’d blinked her eyes, I’d bet. I hated that expression because it meant she’d done something royally stupid. Or insane. Like the time she’d married a man fifteen years older than she was. The bloke was a rancher with a cattle station out in the Western Territory. Their affair lasted long enough for us to travel to his godforsaken stretch of red, dusty land before my mum dug in her heels, insisting he take us back to “civilization.” He’d dropped us in Sydney, disgust shining from his eyes.

  That summed up my childhood—one flighty mistake after another. At least the mistakes didn’t hurt anyone. Until Jordan. But he wasn’t my mum’s mistake. More like her mum’s.

  “Mum,” I said. I backed away, planning to dart back into my car and . . . what? Hyperventilate? Call the police because I was scared?

  “Don’t be like that, Mila.” Impatience laced her tone. Her mouth must be puckering in that annoyed moue she tried hard not to let settle over her still-perfect skin. “Jordan loves you. And anyway, why would he care about your boring old doctor job in the Pacific Northwest?”

  “You told him I live here?” My voice went from too loud to too quiet. I couldn’t breathe. I clutched my keys and purse like they could hold me erect.

  Allowing my mum to visit was the worst idea. Danger smeared this situation. At least she only knew I was in the Northwest, not the name of my hospital, and I refused to have my photo taken for the website and used my initials for my bio, intentionally sounding as masculine as possible in any and all professional documentation. I’d never given my mother my precise location, fearing she’d rat me out. I glanced around the deserted Seattle beach. My private sanctuary destroyed with fears of being accosted. Dragged from the safety of my life. I’d already lost my boyfriend, my baby, my future because my mother didn’t believe me.

  “It’s been years since you made up those silly accusations, Mila. Nothing came of it and Jordan’s forgiven you. Let it go.”

  Fourteen months and four days since I left her house for good. Twelve months and twenty-one days since my last run-in with Jordan Jones when he mowed me down on that bicycle. I dropped a small pill into my open mouth and swallowed. Thirty-one minutes and the relief would begin to trickle through my system. I closed my eyes.

  “See? A lifetime. I’ll make the flight arrangements today. Should I fly into Seattle or Spokane? Vancouver? Portland?”

  Sweat burst across my skin. Subtlety wasn’t my mother’s strong suit. It was obvious Jordan had asked her to fish for more information. I grabbed a tree branch as I passed by, holding it tight in my hand as my knees weakened.

  “Oops! I’m late for my next appointment. I’ll touch base with you soon.” I hung up the phone before my mum co
uld respond. I’d turn it off completely but I needed the reassurance of being able to call 911 in under five seconds. My legs gave out completely and I plopped onto the ground, my breathing ragged and my eyes stinging with the tears I wouldn’t shed.

  My mum hadn’t believed me then. Not when I was eighteen and scared. Not when I was twenty-one and jaded. And definitely not when I was twenty-seven and so broken, I never would have been able to put myself back together if my best friend, Noelle, hadn’t collected my sorry self and forced me onto that airplane.

  That my mother would actively help Jordan seek me out again, even after I’d moved halfway around the world, told me how little she’d ever cared for me.

  But she didn’t know where I lived, and I wasn’t about to tell her.

  Anyway, I was being silly. Jordan was in Sydney. I kept tabs on him through social media. Well, actually, Noelle was the face of the accounts. I couldn’t be that close to him, not even via the binary code of computers.

  I released a shaking breath and forced my legs under me. No way my mum would bring him here. I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. My legs were stiff, but I managed to stand and walk to the car. I settled into the supple leather seat. Immediately, I locked the doors and slid the key into the ignition. Shoving the car into reverse, I refused to acknowledge that my hands trembled or my breath came in shallow pants.

  I was safe. Thousands of miles away from Jordan Jones. There was no reason to panic. No reason to worry.

  I pulled over onto a side street and let the shivers take hold of my body. Finally, the medication kicked in and I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes as I forced my tensed muscles to relax.

  My mum’s phone call brought it all back. All the ugliness I’d been trying so hard to put behind me.

  I’d wanted to go back to Perth for the first anniversary, but I couldn’t gather enough courage. Plus, I’d reasoned, Murphy was touring through the American Northeast at the time. Not much chance of me running into him in Perth if he was in the States. And that’s what I needed: a chance meeting.

  To tell him the truth.

  To apologize for killing his child.

  I parked in my normal spot behind the hospital, gaze flicking faster than a startled bird. My mum’s call shattered my peaceful life. Even so, even with the added protection of my security system and the anonymity that came with eschewing social media, the old memories slithered out of the box I locked them in, gripping me by the throat long before I could push them aside.

  “Mila, love. Roll down the window. There’s a doll.”

  I shook my head, pulse racing. Jordan tried the car door, slammed his palm into the glass separating us when he found it locked. I always locked my doors. My windows, too. I knew what would stalk in if I didn’t. I had the nightmares to prove it. When Jordan’s hand slammed the glass for a second time, I flinched but managed to get the car into reverse.

  “Jordan, what are you doing? Mila, where are you going?” Mum raised her voice.

  I pulled out of the drive, trying to contain my shivers. Didn’t work. Where to go? I had no one here who believed me. I was so alone.

  I huddled deeper into my sweater, half-expecting to see his face, florid with anger and lust, mere inches from mine. No, that incident occurred almost a decade ago—when I was twenty. Half the world away, too. But for weeks thereafter, I lived on the streets until I finally found a place to stay near my university. Even then, I wasn’t safe enough to stay in one place long.

  Because I knew Jordan wasn’t going to stop harassing me until he got what he wanted. He’d changed his tactics now, using my mum as the intermediary. Not surprising, really, because Mum loved Jordan.

  “He takes such good care of me,” Mum would singsong into the phone. Like the time he’d bought her a new car right after I graduated from high school. Or the time he brought her favorite meat pies before she left for work, and she told him to stay, get comfortable. He took that to mean kiss and cuddle me, willingness be damned. I shuddered hard, hating the memory, hating him. Jordan used money and gifts as a form of manipulation, but my mother refused to see that. Didn’t want to see my low-life scum of a step-relative for what he truly was.

  He lived with her now, she’d said. After the incident in Perth that cost me my child and almost my life, she’d let him into her house, my old bedroom. That’s when I decided to leave the country for good.

  I clicked my phone on and pulled up Noelle’s number. Anything to keep myself from reaching into my pocket and pulling out the bottle of pills.

  Want to go for drinks tonight?

  I forced my hand to open and withdrew it from my pocket.

  I wasn’t going to give in. I wasn’t going to abuse my pills anymore.

  Sure. I’ll text Maura. Noelle responded A moment later my text app beeped again. You up for a girls’ night?

  Noelle knew all about Jordan and his sick obsession. She knew about my mother’s disbelief. She’d been the one to get me the position here after I’d called her to tell her I’d lost my baby. Noelle was my best friend, the woman who saved me from myself—as I would for her if she ever needed me to.

  Much as I wanted to, I’d never told Noelle about Murphy. I wasn’t willing to share my stupid fantasy where Murphy slid his pointer finger down my nose and over my lips like he used to. Even after his lyrics, his womanizing, I wanted nothing more than to be tucked into his side in his bed. We’d rarely shared a bed because our moments together were few and much further between than either of us would have liked.

  What was wrong with me?

  Heading into the building, I took deep, even breaths. Time to let him go. He’d moved on—I had to, too.

  I blinked back the building headache and swallowed down the tension-relieving and refreshing herbal tea in one suffering gulp. I double-checked my larger tote, which held my work ID, my wallet, and a variety of other important details, including my lunch, my passport, and the ring Murphy gave me just days before our relationship ended.

  I pulled the slim silver band out and slid it on my finger. It wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was delicate and beautiful. Murphy had seen it from a shop window while we were strolling through Darling Harbor one of those long-summer afternoons.

  He’d popped in and dashed back out, sliding the platinum band on my ring finger as he kissed me.

  “It’ll feel even better when I do that officially.”

  “What?” I’d breathed against his lips.

  “You’re mine, love.” He’d raised my hand and kissed the ring and someone snapped a picture of us, there, so happy.

  The picture changed my life forever.

  I sighed, my throat convulsing as I tried to keep the memory fresh, hold on to the warmth in his eyes just another moment. Whatever. Time to move on.

  Maura’s text back to both Noelle and me was immediate: If you’re buying, I’m drinking. Like a fish.

  She would, too. Maura’s break from her last boyfriend a few weeks before still made me wince. She’d hoped to get married and he’d decided to move out and onward with an older woman. Not the stuff fairy tales were made of. Unless they were the original Grimm stories. I’d always hated those.

  The day passed smoothly. I ate at my desk, as was my habit. I spent the afternoon eyeballs-deep in patients. It’s one of the things I loved best about my job, the ability to focus on their problems, their ailments, and block out all the messy emotions trying to pour over me. I jerked when Siggie, another resident in my program, told me he was leaving.

  “What time is it?” I asked, blinking at the computer screen where I’d been finishing up some notes.

  “Crap! It’s after seven. Gotta go, Siggie. See you tomorrow.”

  I saved my work and grabbed my bag, sprinting from the building. I sped down the sidewalk, weaving in between late-evening commuters. One man tried to engage me in conversation for all of the four seconds it took to shove my earbuds into my ears. Greatest invention ever.

  If
the earbuds didn’t work, I’d fish out Murphy’s ring again. The band surrounding my finger was comforting, a lightweight tether. No—a bridge between this reality and my previous one.

  I wasn’t sure how Murphy came up with the money for it. Cash was always short in those days, and I’d loved him most for his willingness to work hard and do without some of the youthful fun so that his mum was secure. He’d shared a tiny flat with his brother Jake, who was often sitting on the small, sagging couch, fiddling with some new bass beat.

  Because both Murphy and I valued privacy, we’d spent hours walking on the beach. Our best dates included a visit to a small diner to share fish and chips. He’d talked about taking me out some place fancy. Like that mattered more than the attention he gave me. After growing up as I did, spending more time taking care of my mother than the other way around, I cherished Murphy’s desire to coddle me. He made me feel special, safe. I missed that.

  I didn’t bother to turn on my music or even plug the earbuds into my phone as I hurried down the sidewalk. The point: getting people to ignore me so I could continue to ignore them. The man’s eyes lingered on my face before shifting down to my figure, trying to take my measurements through my sweater and long skirt.

  Noelle wouldn’t let me dress in anything too baggy or form-concealing, stating my need for professional attire even at the hospital—though I did prefer a size-too-large scrubs and a knee-length lab coat over anything formfitting. She always frowned, pointing out I deserved to wear clothes that gave me confidence. She was both right and wrong.

  I reached the door to the bar, my mind spinning, when someone called my name. A man. My heart began to pound and my hands shook. I turned my head in cautious increments, the need to be sure outweighing my desire to flee. I glanced up and down the street, quickly sifting through the men to find one with a similar build to Jordan, but didn’t see anyone I knew.