Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) Page 10

  I turned to the girl. “I’m fine.”

  My phone started ringing again.

  “Mom, you have to answer this time.”

  I peered at Abbi before picking up the phone with a shaky hand. “Hello?”

  “Dahlia. I’ve been worrying about you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “But I do. I thought either our walk meant more to me than to you, or Simon talked you out of continued contact with me. I’m glad I was wrong. I hope on both counts.”

  “Asher, I—”

  “What I said in the elevator? I know the timing is terrible. I know you’re nervous. But, dammit, Dahlia. This may be my one chance to get this right.”

  “This?”

  “Don’t give up on me. Please.”

  His voice, so filled with emotion, slithered through my defenses. If I was smart, I would step back, push him away. I’d been with a musician before. I looked over into Abbi’s eyes, saw her hope reflecting my own. Stupid though it was.

  “I’m here,” I whispered. My heart pounded slow and sure in my chest.

  “I want you to meet Mason. I want to meet your daughter.”

  “I have commitments, Asher. This project. I need it to work out. I know you want it nearly as badly as I do.” The uncertainty built, pushing away the pleasure and peace I’d just derived from his words.

  “Just write. It’ll start out rusty and horrible, but push through. I have faith in you. Can I read it when it’s done? I know it’s going to be worth reading, Dahlia Moore Dorsey.”

  That was the problem. I no longer had faith in myself. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “I’ll always tell you the truth. That’s my promise.”

  “Bye, Asher.”

  “Think about what I said.”

  I chewed my lip. “I haven’t stopped,” I blurted out.

  “Dahlia? You’re not just an ideal.”

  I hung up and set my phone on the table. I ignored the fact that my hand was still shaking.

  “I’m no longer going to feel so lame when I’m dying for Luke to call me. Not if Asher’s doing it with you.”

  “Abbi. Stop. Please.”

  Abbi ate the rest of her salad and most of the onion rings while I nibbled and thought. I mourned the end of Asher’s marriage, just as I had my own.

  “I’m going out with one of the guys from the dating site.” I snagged a cold onion ring and munched.

  “What? Asher Smith likes you, and you think there’s some other guy that’s better for you?” She picked up her phone and texted someone, completely ignoring me as I ate another onion ring.

  My phone rang, and I groaned when Ella’s number popped up on my screen. I glared at Abbi, who glared back, her chin tilted forward just like Doug used to do.

  “Don’t you dare start with me, El.”

  “Lovely greeting, darling. I can see where your daughter gets her charming personality. I want you to post a pic of your new haircut, love. Abbi says it’s gorgeous.”

  “Abbi already took pictures and posted them to her page.”

  “But I want to ooh and ah on your page. Do it now. We’ll talk about how you’re trying to sabotage your life later.”

  I scowled at my phone. After uploading the new picture, I pulled out my credit card and tossed it on the check tray. “We’re going home. I’m so done with your shenanigans.”

  Abbi smirked. “That’s an old lady word.”

  My phone chirped. I flipped it over, and there, on the screen, was a text from Asher. You look beautiful. I smiled, my heart warming more than my cheeks.

  Abbi’d been playing with her phone, but she grabbed mine from my hand. She let out a little squeal and fanned herself. “I’m so excited he’s texting you, I’m not even going to make fun of you for saying ‘shenanigans.’”

  My cheeks flamed again. So that was Ella’s game. I was bad at this dating thing.

  My experience was limited to Doug and Patrick Johnson, who’d, in the seventh grade, wanted to shove his tongue down my throat. Seriously the worst kiss ever, and he’d had the gall to tell people how hot I was for him. Ruined the rest of my junior-high experience, not that it’d been that stellar before.

  But this . . . Ella was taking advantage of my naïveté. While her intentions were sweet, I was annoyed I’d fallen for such an obvious ploy. Why did he have to like my haircut on Facebook? I’m sure Ella thought linking our names would scare off other potential date options. For me. Not him. As many men did, he’d remained a sex symbol even after getting married eight years ago. Some women took a wedding ring as a challenge, one they’d then flaunt in the wife’s face.

  My phone rang, and I huffed out the breath I’d been holding. I rolled my eyes as I answered. “Hey, Briar.”

  “Hey yourself, sis. How come I didn’t know you’d hooked up with your favorite lead singer? You know I was always jealous you hung out with him years ago.”

  “He told her she was beautiful,” Abbi practically yelled into the phone.

  I pulled back and frowned at her, but she was bouncing with excitement.

  “I don’t hang out or hook up with anyone. And you were in junior high last time I met Asher. He was so wild.” In that sexy bad-boy way I’d written about. I frowned as I mentally flipped through the heroes in the Gardiner series. Any of them could be Asher’s twin. Why hadn’t I realized that before?

  “He seems to have toned down the wild. More’s the pity. I bet he was all kinds of fun. You were mesmerized by him then.”

  “Stop it. I’m already annoyed with my meddlesome daughter.”

  “Aw, Abbi’s a cutie. She’s just worried about you, like the rest of us. So what’s the scoop with you and the Supernaturals lead man? He likes you under his own name. Tristan. I got a shiver saying it.”

  I grunted because I knew what she meant. Thinking of him as Tristan, so distinct from his stage name, was intimate.

  “So he’s, like, a real friend?”

  I signed my name to the bill with a flourish and stood. I didn’t bother to look back. I knew Abbi would follow because she wanted to hear as much of the conversation with my sister as possible.

  “I saw him a couple weeks ago at Simon’s show. He’s taller than I remembered. Broader. His forearms are amazing, probably from the guitar playing. He wore Converse.”

  “Omigod. His forearms?” Briar’s giggled. “That’s what you want to bring up?”

  “We talked. That’s all.”

  “That’s not what Ella said.”

  “We may work together on the sound track for the miniseries. He sent a friend request. That’s about it. So I told Abbi I’m going to start dating. I have a dating profile on Ranch Singles.”

  “Erm . . .”

  “Isn’t that what you’ve all wanted me to do? Meet a nice, solid guy?”

  “Yes, but Ranch Singles? What the hell is that?”

  “It’s the dating website for Idaho. I’m thinking about only dating guys my age or younger. You know, in case I get attached. Men die so much younger than women, on average. That’s what you told me after your last symposium.”

  Briar was quiet for a long time. “I have no idea who you are.” She hung up on a laugh.

  Sad thing was I didn’t know either.

  Abbi helped me narrow my choices to five guys from the dating site she’d chosen once she realized I was serious. It wasn’t actually called Ranch Singles, a name I’d made up to annoy Briar. Abbi pouted the whole time, making the process even more harrowing than I’d anticipated. Like I was begging for a prom date. I could almost hear the popular cheerleader girls at every high school in the country laughing at me.

  “You want me to date Asher Smith so you can go to free rock shows. It’s not as glamorous as it seems.”

  Abbi’s brow furled. “I thought he made you happy.”

  Shame burned up my chest, flushing my neck and cheeks. “I’m sorry, Abbi.”

  “Write your own date request.” Abbi stormed out of the
room. I sucked my lip between my teeth. She was so angry, she hadn’t even stopped to collect her bags of new clothes.

  I opened my e-mail, which I’d been avoiding since I posted that picture to my Facebook page earlier today. As expected, I had a flood of e-mails, nearly all of them asking how long I’d known Asher Smith and when I was going to do my supposed friends the favor of introducing them to Asher. All he’d done was like my picture; he hadn’t even written anything.

  I made a new file titled Not Friends and crammed all the e-mails into it.

  A new message from Briar caught my eye. She rarely e-mailed me, preferring the faster method of text or phone calls.

  Hey, sis. Since our conversation earlier, I’ve gotten no less than 25 e-mails asking me when you hooked up with Asher Smith. There’ve been rumors of trouble in his paradise for years, but I just confirmed that his wife filed for legal separation months ago—the divorce is proceeding and was in the entertainment news in the Seattle paper a few days ago. Wasn’t sure if you knew.

  Call me if you need to talk—completely off record. But you should already know I would never sell you out. Hugs.”

  I called her. “Thank you for realizing I would never get involved with another musician.”

  “I don’t think I said that,” she said, amusement lacing her voice. “Doug played guitar in a glorified garage band, but Asher Smith is a freaking rock star. Who doesn’t need to live at least one lurid fantasy in her life? Especially if you write romance.”

  “I don’t do lurid. Not in real life, anyway.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Not you, too, Briar. Abbi’s angry with me because I don’t want to pursue something with Asher.”

  The timing of his return to my life was so wrong. He was in the process of dissolving his marriage, and I . . . I tugged at the ends of my hair. He would hurt me like Doug had.

  “Look, for what it’s worth, Jessica Smith’s up here in the San Juan Islands with another man right now. The two of them have been seen together off and on for a couple of years.”

  “Years?” I dropped my head into my palm. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep. I could forward you the pictures one of our people took yesterday. Others are stored at the paper’s servers from their previous visits, but I could pull them out, if you need them.”

  “Why would I need them? Why didn’t you print them?”

  Briar was the editor-in-chief, the youngest for the San Juan Tribune, and one of the younger women newspaper chiefs in the country.

  “Nothing super juicy, or I’d never be able to hold them back. I don’t know how to get in touch with Asher Smith directly but it seems like something he should know about.”

  My chest tightened, my lungs compressed. “Why?”

  “She brought her son up here,” Briar said. “Those pics bothered me, but I’m not running the freaking Tattler.”

  I did not want to know. “What did she do to Mason?”

  “It’s what she didn’t do. She left him alone at a cabin while she was off with her boyfriend. Who, by the way, does not compare to Asher.”

  “Focus, Bri. The pictures.”

  “Right. The time-lapse says a couple hours.”

  “She left him alone?” Censure filled my voice, and the pressure in my chest increased. I rubbed, trying to ease the building pain. “I don’t think Asher knows Jessica’s been cheating that long.”

  “My guess is no if the divorce is just now coming about,” Briar said. “I’ll forward the pics to you if you think they’d help.”

  “Do. Asher wants custody of Mason.”

  “So you two are friends?”

  “I don’t know him that well,” I said. “I should go.” I held the phone away, hoping Briar couldn’t hear my choppy breathing.

  “Stop hedging. What’s your problem? Why don’t you just go for it?”

  I squeezed my eyes closed. “He’s a musician, Briar.”

  “So?”

  “Like Doug,” I whispered. “You said it. Asher’s more famous. More messed up. And I need to go.”

  “No. Tell me why you’d pass on the one man we know you want.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Asher,” I said.

  “You’d rather talk about Doug?”

  “He lied to me.”

  “Doug?” Briar asked.

  Yes. My husband. That grievous place in me cracked open all the way. My breathing hitched again as I tried to force it down.

  “You can’t still miss him.” Exasperation laced her words. She knew. She was the only one who knew how bad it had gotten.

  “He promised to love me,” I managed to gasp. “But he didn’t. He didn’t.” Not like I needed him to.

  “You’re crying.”

  I was. They were big, ugly tears. I slid from my chair to the floor. I heard Briar call my name, but I didn’t respond.

  The sobs worsened, and I pulled my knees up to my chest. I didn’t believe that love trumped all. Doug took that belief from me, and I was as angry and hurt about that as I was about his death. Maybe more so.

  I’d held the trust we’d had in each other early in our relationship close, nourished it for years. Until he shattered my every illusion.

  “Some days, I hate him,” I whispered. The words fell between my tears, heavy with the truth I’d held inside for way too long.

  “Ouch!” I groaned as a few eyelashes popped out of my lids. My lashes had fused together either during my hours-long cry-fest or in my sleep. I needed to get to the bathroom before I tried opening my eyes again. Problem was, I couldn’t see.

  I flopped over and hit something hard, maybe a knee or elbow. I squealed, dragging the covers up to my chin.

  “Need a washcloth to get the gunk out?” Abbi asked.

  “Thank God, it’s you. Yes, please.”

  “Who else would it be?” She opened a door. A moment later she laid a warm, wet cloth over my eyes. The heat and moisture soothed my swollen tissue.

  “Did you sleep in here?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I got you into bed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “Guess I still had some sadness to get out,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

  “I hope so,” Abbi said, her voice sharp. “I never saw you cry after Dad died. You seemed so . . . unaffected by everything. Aunt Ella and Aunt Briar told me it was your coping mechanism, what you did when Grandpa died.”

  I pulled the cloth from my eyes, thankful I could open them now. I looked at my daughter. “I loved your dad. I loved your grandfather, too.”

  “You kept way too much bottled up for too long. You’re the one who should’ve gone to counseling, you know.”

  “I thought it would help you work through your feelings,” I said. I brought the cloth back to my eyes and rubbed away the remnants of my tears.

  Her eyes were too dark, her lips flattened. She tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m worried about you, Mom.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to be worrying.”

  “I have healthy emotional relationships. Just ask my counselor.”

  “Enough sarcasm, Abs. I’m dealing as best I can.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you finally going to let Dad’s death go? I need to know that by the time I go to college, you’ll be healthy enough for me to leave. Better yet, you need a man who spoils you rotten so you don’t even miss me.”

  I gripped the back of Abbi’s hand, desperate for the connection. “I’ll miss you no matter what. Have I neglected you? Been too distant?”

  Abbi shook her head. “Nah. You’ve been awesome, which sucks. Because now I have to live up to your strength, and that’s not going to be possible.”

  “I’m not strong, honey. I was hiding. I knew it was going to hurt, getting it out finally. I . . . I was angry.”

  “So was I. But he was going to die anyway. With Huntington’s, it’s just a matter of how horrible it gets before the end. I think it would’ve been a relief for us
. Eventually.”

  I hugged her. “He didn’t want us to see him deteriorate.” But that wasn’t the only reason.

  “Did you ever consider leaving once you found out Dad had it?”

  “No, never.” Not by then. I was pregnant. There was no way I could take Abbi from Doug.

  “What if I had it? Huntington’s.”

  “I’m thankful you don’t, but if you did, I would do everything I could to make your life the best it could be.”

  “I’m glad you and Dad had me, in spite of what could’ve happened.”

  “Me, too, Abigail.”

  We lay there together. I breathed deeply, cataloguing the shards around my heart. They weren’t as sharp. Maybe I’d finally let the bitterness go.

  “I wish you’d hang out with Asher again. He made you happy. For moments at least, which is more than I’ve seen in years. And he’s so cool.”

  “First off, he’s older than your dad,” I said.

  “Oh, please. By like a year or something. Not a good reason,” Abbi flopped back against the pillows. “Do you think Asher Smith is cute? I heard you tell Aunt Bri about his forearms. Luke has great arms, but I’m partial to his butt.”

  “Yes. And you’re going on the pill if I hear one more word about some guy’s body parts.”

  Abbi propped her chin on her folded palms. “Only if you go back on it, too. We can go to the doctor together. Then have lunch and giggle about our crushes.”

  I slid out of the bed. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that with you just yet.” I pulled on my robe. “Just promise me you won’t treat sex as lightly as a lot of your peers do. It should mean something.”

  “I’d offer to wait until you were ready to date again so we could swap stories, but if I did that, I’d die a virgin.”

  “Abigail Rose Dorsey!”

  “Puh-lease, Mom. You won’t even answer my question about the hottie rock star you spent half the night with a week ago. It’s called repression.”

  “I did answer you. I’m getting coffee, brat.” I shut the door behind me and huffed.

  I opened the door and stuck my head back in. Abbi was splayed across the bed. She was a beautiful young woman. Her long, sleek legs and narrow hips were encased in her sleeping pants. Her tank had ridden up, showing off the fragile, pale skin of her waist. She’d been cursed with the same narrow chest as most of the women in my family had, but she’d managed to fill out a B-cup. I bit my lip, realizing I’d been her age when I started my sexual relationship with her father.