Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) Page 19

  Maybe he hadn’t been. But that hadn’t stopped my interest then, and it didn’t scare me as much as it should now.

  He rolled his head toward me, and I looked into his beautiful hazel eyes.

  “My parents’ divorce fucked me up. I stayed in a really bad relationship because of it. Out of guilt.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “If I’d woken up in time, maybe Olivia would still be here. Maybe Jessica would be healthy and sober.”

  I took his face between my palms and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “You aren’t anything like your dad, Asher. You didn’t destroy your relationship or hurt your child. At least not intentionally. Were you the one who brought Olivia into your bed?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. They had cribs. Upstairs. Jessica didn’t want the babies sleeping with her.”

  “Then how did Olivia get there?”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t bring her down. At least I don’t remember doing that.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I just want to be done. I tried really fucking hard to make it work, but she wants to drag me down into that user hell with her, and I don’t want to go there again. I don’t think I’ll crawl back out.”

  I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

  “Briar has pictures of Jessica with her lover.”

  “Who’s Briar?”

  “My sister. She’s the editor-in-chief of the San Juan paper.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Asher said. “Think I could get the photos?”

  “Yes. She already offered. Will they help?”

  “I need enough leverage to get Jessica to back off. And to keep her mouth shut so our pasts don’t hurt Mason later,” Asher said, exhaustion clear in his voice.

  “You shouldn’t have to pay her with your future.”

  “If she’d leave quietly, it’d be worth it. But the guys said no. They’re worried she’ll have a voting share, and they won’t work with her. The band’ll fold. And I love those guys. After all we’ve been through, they deserve better than that. So I have to come up with another option.”

  I shouldn’t ask, but I had to know the answer. “You haven’t been intimate with her in years?”

  Asher sat up and looked at me like I was insane. Though my chest ached, I couldn’t help but giggle at his expression. “Yeah, it’s been a long time for me, too. There are days I feel like I’m going to explode.”

  “I could help with that.”

  “I’m sure you could.” I narrowed my eyes. “So the whole bad-boy image is just that? I have to admit I’m a little disappointed. I always wanted you to pull me over to the wild side.”

  The mood now lighter, he threw his head back and laughed so hard he clutched his stomach. “Oh, that hurts. You surprise me, Dahlia. I love that about you.”

  I stilled, staring at him. He didn’t seem aware of what he’d said. So I smiled, but it was shaky.

  “My image was very well deserved for a while.” His voice was dry.

  “The image is what the fans expect, though. A portion of the truth.”

  “Pretty much.” He wrapped his hand around my waist and pulled me onto his chest. “We keep this up, and I’ll never find out if your guest bed is comfortable.”

  “It is,” I assured him.

  We didn’t get up. I traced small circles on his chest. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. He tightened his arms around me. “I wish I’d ended my marriage then. After Olivia died. I wanted to. Hell, I never should’ve married her in the first place. But I have to think about what Mason needs. And now I have you and Abbi.”

  I built up my courage and met his eyes. Sincerity shone from them, easing the panic that had been building in my chest. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  24

  Asher

  We made it to our respective beds that night. A smart move, but I missed Dahlia. I woke up clutching a pillow, which I shoved back against the headboard in disgust.

  I rose, stretched, and headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed the luxury of hot water and a good night’s sleep. After I dressed, I checked in on Mason. He was laid out on the bed, spread-eagle, feet dangling off the side. Tire him out with horses and a sing-along, and the kid slept forever.

  Abbi’s excited voice floated up the stairs. “They’re doing a show next month in Seattle.”

  I raised my eyebrow. I wondered if she was talking about my band.

  “That’s great. Coffee, you need to get in my cup. Right now,” Dahlia practically growled. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, surprised by her surliness. Maybe she’d missed me as much as I’d missed her.

  Dahlia turned, and my breath froze in my chest. She was beautiful even with damp hair. She wore glasses with streamlined green frames that I wanted to pull off while I kissed my way along her jaw. The swelling of her cheek was gone now, and her face was once again symmetrical.

  Dahlia’s beauty was quieter than Jessica’s compact vivaciousness. My stomach twisted when I realized how much I yearned for a future with Dahlia, Abbi, and Mason.

  “So we’re going, right? Luke’ll love it.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t presume Asher wants us there . . . . And I have a book to finish.”

  “Which you worked on until the early morning hours,” Abbi said.

  She had? Must have been after I went to bed.

  “Then there’s the miniseries to help produce. And the sound track to collaborate on.”

  “Pfft. You’ll get all that done in, like, a week, the way you’re going. You’ve been amazing, Mom. Though you really should sleep sometime. What did you say? You wrote, like, over a hundred pages this week. More last night. Bev’s texting you for additional pages already this morning. So you know they’re good. I can book a couple of hotel rooms right now.”

  “Abigail. You have me at a disadvantage. I haven’t had any coffee.”

  Abbi laughed. She saw me standing near the kitchen archway. “Be sure to pour Asher a cup.” Abbi bounced over and kissed my cheek. She leaned in and said, “Mom’s having a mini freak-out.”

  “Why?”

  “Lots of reasons, but mainly because of you.” With a sly glance at Dahlia, who was pulling a mug from a cabinet, she said louder, “She always gets like this when the ideas are flowing, but it’ll pass.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks,” I whispered back.

  Dahlia’s expression finally settled somewhere between longing and happiness. Her need to observe, to think hard about a situation before she reacted, was polar opposite to my performer personality. But I’d take her angst as long as I continued to spend time with her. As far as addictions went, Dahlia was my best one ever. And I planned to keep it that way.

  “Should we give her some time to calm down?”

  Abbi scrunched her nose. “Nah. Maybe let her jot some thoughts in her notebook while she drinks her coffee.”

  Dahlia hadn’t mentioned her books since our last text message exchange. Maybe Mason and me coming here had added too much stress, cutting into her workflow. “Has she let you read her work in progress?”

  Abbi leaned in closer, an impish smile on her lips as she looked back at her mom. “Bits and pieces. The hero is ah-mazing. I’m waiting to meet him in real life,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  I liked talking to Abbi. Still filled with the optimism and naive belief everything would work out, she was a bubblier version of Dahlia. I’d do a lot to make sure that everything did work out for her. Abbi could never replace Olivia, nor the deep scar my daughter left, but she could add something special to my life.

  “Play nice, Mom. I wanna go to Seattle.”

  “Abigail.”

  Dahlia sipped from the coffee in her mug and handed me a freshly filled cup. Our fingers met and tingled with heat from our at
traction. I leaned in and wrapped my arm around her shoulders in a friendly embrace. She huffed into my chest and then wrapped her arms around me, fitting her head just right on my shoulder.

  Abbi looked sad for a moment before she realized I was watching her. She smiled at me, gave me a double thumbs-up, and strode up the steps.

  “She likes you,” Dahlia said.

  She sipped more of her coffee but didn’t step back. I pulled her tighter to my chest, reveling in the moment.

  “I like her, too. She’s a great kid.”

  “I didn’t realize how much she’d missed a father figure. Abbi hasn’t had a dad since she was eight, regardless of what the death certificate says.”

  I pulled back and looked into her deep gray eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Dahlia smiled at me. “I know you are.” She paused, doing some kind of internal check. She blew out a breath. “I am, too, for Abbi’s sake. She deserves more. Mind if I jot down some notes?”

  “Not at all. I’ll grab my guitar and my notebook from upstairs. Unless that’s going to distract you?”

  Dahlia shook her head. “I’m pretty sure whatever you do will help, actually. I like having you here, Asher.”

  I pressed a kiss to her temple and eased back. I’d dumped a lot on her last night. We both needed time to process that.

  In the past, I’d worked hard to ground myself, to be the father my son deserved. As soon as I managed to extract myself from my mistakes, I knew what direction I wanted to go. I just hoped like hell Dahlia could see the difference in me.

  “Be right back,” I said.

  We spent an hour working on our separate projects, Dahlia on her book, me on the new Supernaturals album. I’d thrown out half the songs I’d worked on during our tour last year. After reconnecting with Dahlia, I’d written a stack of new songs, but I wasn’t sure the guys were going to go for any of them.

  They were more atavistic than our normal high-energy anthems. Like “Sweet Solace” or “Moonshine Eyes,” these songs dealt with loss and grief and second chances. These songs felt right. I reread the top one, hoping Bill would get back to me with his take. I’d sent this one and a few others to him last week. I hadn’t heard from him since our talk about Jessica the other night. Bill was flying into Seattle tonight and we’d talked then. Carl and Johnny were arriving tomorrow morning and planned to meet us at the studio. We were all looking forward to getting back to recording.

  Dahlia came over to sit on the opposite end of the couch, another cup of coffee cradled in her hands. Her eyes were alight with excitement as she watched me pick out chords and make notes in my notebook.

  “I’ve always wondered how you created a song,” she said when I took a break.

  “The same way you write a book, I bet. It starts with a seed, either a bit of the tune or a phrase that keeps repeating in my head until I figure out how it fits in the bigger piece.”

  Dahlia nodded. “Play that for me, that last bit. I really liked it.”

  I smirked at her. “You should. It’s the start of the theme song for your Gardiner series.”

  She beamed. “Really?”

  I played it and sang the words we’d jotted down together yesterday, plus another few lines that seemed to fit. Dahlia’s eyes darkened, and her cheeks flushed. She snatched up my notebook and wrote with quick, efficient strokes of her pen.

  She handed it back to me, and I read her chorus, my head bobbing. A cello would add a richness, fill out the melody.

  “That’s fantastic,” I said, smiling. “You’re good at this.”

  Mason slammed onto the couch, almost oversetting Dahlia’s coffee cup she’d just picked back up. I closed my eyes, waiting for Dahlia’s pissed response. Mason acted like an animal half the time, but I was pretty sure he’d outgrow it with time. I had as a boy. Mostly.

  “Wow, Mason. You jumped at least ten feet. Next time let me set my coffee down first. Maybe I can catch you.”

  My eyes popped open, and I think I was gaping like an idiot as I stared at Dahlia. Mason beamed up at her, pressed into her side.

  “’Kay. Morning. Did the Easter Bunny come?” he asked, eyes alight. I wasn’t sure if he still believed in such silliness, but he was burning with hope at the idea of presents. I hadn’t even considered this part of the weekend until now, and I was a total douche for putting Dahlia in such an awkward position.

  Her eyes were open wide as she stared down at my son. My heart raced as I tried to figure out what I could say to smooth over the situation.

  “Hey, Mason. Why don’t we go upstairs and get dressed?”

  “Dad! I gotta get my Easter basket first,” he said, his jaw jutting in that stubborn way mine did when I’d set my mind on something. Shit. I was so screwed. Mason was going to be in a bad mood the whole rest of the day.

  “Mason,” Abbi called from the dining room on the other side of the kitchen, nearest the porch. “Can you come here?”

  He hopped off the couch and sprinted toward Abbi’s voice. I sat my guitar down and let my head fall into my hands. “I’m sorry, Dahlia. I didn’t think about it being Easter this weekend. I just thought it’d be good because we’d have more time here.”

  She smiled, her eyes sparkling as Mason squealed. She stood and held out her hand to me. I took it, my confusion spiking.

  “Look what the Easter Bunny brought me!” Mason shot into the room, a blur of little-boy excitement, shaking a video-game box in the air. “It’s got new buildings and swords and stuff. And there’s a whole basket of chocolates, and you and Dahlia and Abbi all have baskets, too.”

  He shivered with delight as he clutched the game. I looked at Dahlia, overcome with gratitude and pleasure as Mason ran back into the dining room. I could hear Abbi laughing at whatever Mason was squealing about.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “I talked to Ella about what Jeremiah liked. Then I used two-day shipping,” Dahlia said, a smirk forming on those petal-soft lips.

  I wrapped my arm around her so I could kiss her. This was a thank-you, and I hoped she understood what I was trying to say. “You’re fucking amazing.”

  She grinned against my mouth before she pulled away, laughing. “Let’s see what the Easter Bunny brought you.”

  25

  Dahlia

  I’d made an Easter basket for Abbi every year until she was nine. That year, Doug was in the hospital for some complications. The following year, because of how surly Doug had become, I hadn’t had the energy for anything more than my obligatory writing time. I’d become the sole earner for our family by then, which just added to Doug’s antagonism.

  Somehow, I’d fallen out of the habit of celebrating these little occasions, and now I realized just how important they were, not just for Abbi, but for me, too.

  “Man, the Easter Bunny even knows what guitar pick I like best.” He flashed me a smile before muttering, “That’s pretty good stalking.”

  I beamed, pleased I’d found something he’d use. I’d also packed guitar strings and some of my favorite coffee. He lingered over the last item in his basket, which I’d added on a whim this morning while he was working. It was the poem I’d written about our night on the beach. It was only ten lines but was the catalyst for my current story, the first lines I’d felt good about in years.

  He cleared his throat twice as he tapped out a rhythm on his thigh. “This is about us?”

  “Yes.”

  “From our walk?” He read the words again, his face softening. He had to wipe the corner of his eye.

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  He pulled me into his arms, his breath soft against my hairline. “I love it. Thank you.” He pressed a kiss to my temple, and I melted into his embrace. Much as I wanted to snuggle against him and watch the kids’ enjoyment, I eased back, tugging my hair away from my face. We weren’t a couple. We were . . . complicated.

  His hands splayed on my back, and I paused. Bracing myself, I met his hazel eyes. His lashes brushed his
thick brows.

  “Promise me something.” His voice was pitched low, a caress. I shivered and he rubbed my arms.

  “What?”

  “The poem—can it be just mine?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m serious, Dahlia. I want to carry it around with me and know we’re the only two who’ve read it.”

  The idea of him carrying my words, words I’d written for him, was surprisingly intimate. I couldn’t deny him, not with his eyes so bright with need.

  There it was again: that fear of wanting Asher, wanting him forever, so very much.

  I knew musicians. I knew all too well the temptations thrown at them with such consistency. Doug hadn’t cared for me enough to resist. The thought of Asher cheating . . .

  An ache settled deep in my chest. “It’s the seed for my newest book.”

  “These words.” His fingers caressed the paper, and I bit my lip. I wanted him to touch me like that. “When I read your book, I’ll know why you told that story. Our story.”

  “Ours,” I agreed. Fear and pleasure bubbled through me.

  He smiled as he tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin there at my jawline. “Thank you.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. He slid the piece of paper into his wallet, and I drew a deep, shuddering breath. He pulled out another couple pieces of paper. Catching my gaze, he winked.

  “Come see this!” Mason said. He showed me the dragon he’d built with the pack of Legos I’d gotten him. Chocolate coated his mouth as he lay on his stomach, making robot noises as he walked his Lego creation across the plastic grass he’d taken out of his basket. Abbi and I laughed.

  Abbi nibbled on a chocolate-covered peanut butter bunny and doodled with her phone.

  Asher helped me to my feet. “What’s in your basket?” Asher asked.

  “A notebook that fits in my purse and a gift card to the wine shop,” I said, shrugging.

  “No chocolate?” Asher teased.

  “I don’t eat it much.”