Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five Page 4

  “He would’ve died much more slowly, and it would’ve been painful for you and Abbi to see that decline,” Simon said.

  I fisted my hands so hard my short nails bit into my palms. “So it’s fine that he went skydiving and didn’t open his parachute?”

  Simon came around the island and gripped my arm. “You remember how he acted when he couldn’t play his guitar anymore?”

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “That’s not a day I’m going to forget.”

  “He shouldn’t have taken that out on you, Lia.”

  “There were lots of things he shouldn’t have done,” I snapped. I sucked my lip in. I’d kept Doug’s—my—secrets this long. I walked to the coffeepot and refilled my cup, pleased to see how steady my hands were despite my rapid heartbeat.

  “I know he was upset, but the insurance company accepted it was an accident. Maybe you could, too,” Simon said.

  “I still haven’t gotten all the money from them,” I said, pressing my lips together hard to keep them from trembling. I hated feeling this raw. I hated talking about Doug with Simon, the only one who could understand his brother’s needs and mine, too.

  Simon turned and dumped his coffee in the sink. “Lia, you can say it: he was a coward.”

  I stared at Simon. We’d worked hard to hold it together, to build a relationship based on more than anger and grief.

  “I don’t want to be angry any more.”

  Simon touched my tense shoulder. “You’ve been angry since Doug got sick and started acting out, and you deserve to feel that way. I’m still angry, too.” He glanced at the clock. “I need to go get El and the kids.”

  I grabbed the sponge and wiped the counters. “I’m coming. Be ready in ten,” I promised.

  Abbi stood next to a boy about her age, twirling her hair the way she did when she was interested in pursuing whatever she’d started. I thrilled. She was so perfect. Her eyes were bright, her hair glossy.

  She was healthy. According to the predictive genetic test, Abbi had been spared the indignity of Huntington’s, and I should be more thankful for that. My daughter was worth all the pain of losing Doug, first to the anger of the disease and then to his “accident.”

  Abbi laughed. The boy leaned in and wrapped her in a hug. Seeing her smile, I sighed, knowing she was going to be quiet and withdrawn the whole trip back to Rathdrum. Unless she decided to once again lament her forced existence in middle-of-nowheresville.

  Sixteen wasn’t the age to explain concerns about crime statistics and traffic congestion so prevalent in big cities. I wasn’t sure if Abbi was upset with living in a small town or if she was angry we hadn’t moved closer to our family after her dad’s death.

  I never wanted Abbi to live with the anonymity of moving every year, or every two if I was really, really lucky, like I had done as a teenager until ending up in Seattle. An introvert unable to open up quickly, I’d found my family’s moves hard even though it meant we’d seen parts of the world most other Americans merely dreamed of.

  I hugged Ella. “Hey, how was the trip?”

  Ella squeezed me tight before stepping back and sliding her hand into Simon’s back pocket. A piece of her flaxen hair drifted across her pixie face. “Nineteen teenagers and a seven-year-old. Just about what you’d expect. My four parent chaperones were a godsend.” She winked one of those bright green eyes at me, and I was charmed, as always, by my sister-in-law’s Britishness.

  “Perhaps next time you can offer your time along with your daughter,” she pressed.

  “I’m nowhere near as good with the kids as you are, Ella. Abbi and I get along because we’ve grown up together. I’m going to go say hi and meet her latest crush. That way Simon can tattle on me like he’s dying to do.”

  As I walked over to my daughter, my phone rang. Bev’s name popped up on the screen. Crap. “Hey, Bev. I don’t have another book. Nothing new to report at all, actually. I’m your most pathetic client, and I don’t know if I can actually bear you saying the words to me.”

  We’d had the same conversation a few times over the last few months. I figured the least I could do was spare her the pain of asking. I wasn’t sure why she kept me around. My sales had plummeted in the last year. She and I both knew I needed to do something, like write another bestseller, if we wanted to see any real income.

  “I can’t call because I like talking to you?”

  “Um, no. Wait, who is this? What did you do with my tough New York agent, scary-nice person?”

  “You’re still a pain in the ass. Good to know some things don’t change. Fine, we won’t chat. I’ve got news, Lia. Great news. HBO wants to buy the rights to your Gardiner series.”

  I stopped walking. “No.”

  “Yeah. Garcia Jones wants to produce it. Garcia Jones!” Bev screamed in my ear.

  “Ouch. My ear’s bleeding. Wow. You know how to surprise a girl.”

  “This is amazing. Why aren’t you more excited? We sold your books to HB-freaking-O!”

  “Yeah, I heard you. Cool. So now some young producer and a hungry director rip apart my stories and make them a better fit for the screen, meaning you make a ton of money, and I can’t ever watch HBO again without feeling sick.”

  “You writers are all so emotional,” Bev muttered. “Let’s think about the nice fat check this is going to bring both of us for a moment, hmm? Garcia happens to love your books and wants you to collaborate on the project. He said, and I quote, ‘you’re a romance genius.’ Take that, romance queen!”

  “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, you say yes and sign the docs. Because you won’t get a better deal than this one. I nearly swallowed my tongue when the offer came through.”

  “Good?” I asked.

  Abbi walked toward me, concern filling her dark blue eyes. I smiled at her and opened my arm for a hug. She stepped in, and I was shocked, once again, to find my daughter at eye level. She’d grown so much in just a couple years, both emotionally and physically. We’d always been close, but there was a relaxation in our relationship that hadn’t been there before. I was thankful for this new level of companionship.

  I smoothed her hair from her face, and she pointed at the phone. Her eyes lit up when I mouthed “Bev.”

  Abbi turned and walked over to her aunt and uncle. She bent down to help her seven-year-old cousin, Jeremiah, with his sleeping bag.

  “. . . thousand, plus creative input for the screenplay, and a big fat option for the conclusion of the series.”

  “I haven’t written the series ending,” I reminded her, not too worried about the cash amount she’d spouted and I’d missed. If Bev said it was good, it was.

  “Well, get your ass on it because HBO wants it. In fact, the deal’s contingent on you finishing it.”

  Anxiety crawled over my skin, tiny spiders of doubt and insecurity weaving a web I hadn’t been able to break out of for years. “We’ll see. E-mail me the details, and I’ll look it over while Abbi and I drive home.”

  “No driving home. You’re flying to Lala-land in the morning, and you’re meeting with Garcia Jones and Paul Loomis, the director on the project.”

  My heart pounded, too heavy and fast. “No flying.”

  “Dahlia Moore Dorsey, do not make me come out there and hit you. I will. You know I will. And I’ll bill you for the ticket and the time it takes me to find you and give you a bruise.”

  “I’m not flying. I can’t, Bev.” I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. Flying, even the thought of flying, was a major trigger for me, reminding me of Doug’s choice. I relived the look on Abbi’s face when I had to tell her Doug was dead.

  I took a deep breath and reminded myself I was safe. My eyes sought Abbi, ensuring she was well, too. The vise in my chest loosened by increments, and I drew a breath.

  I’d focus on my choices, make the best one. I couldn’t simply turn down this opportunity. That would be stupid, and I couldn’t let Doug’s death continue to have su
ch a hold over me.

  “I’ll drive,” I said, trying to sound firm. “So set the meeting up for this Monday.” I bit my lip, realizing I had to get Abbi home for school. “Actually next Monday would be better.”

  “I’m sorry, Lia.” Bev sounded contrite. “I forgot about your flying thing.”

  “If that’s the only way, then I just can’t.” I hated to give up the money, but if this deal was contingent on the fourth book . . . well, I doubted that would ever happen. My ability to write died a long time ago. I’d barely finished the last manuscript.

  Bev grumbled. “Can you stick around Seattle a couple more days? Garcia said they were planning to scout the area for places to film. I guess they plan to do this right: on location and everything.”

  My knees softened with relief. “Yes, okay. Sure.” Maybe I could figure this out. I wanted to.

  “Give me a few to set it up.”

  “You’re amazing, Bev. I hope they go for meeting me here. That’d be perfect.”

  “It’s not just you. They want to talk to some people in the indie music scene there, too. For the sound track, I guess. At least that’s what Garcia said.”

  “Oh. Well. That’d be really fun. E-mail me the details. I’ll let Ella and Simon know they aren’t getting rid of me today after all.”

  “Good girl. And Lia, I hope you know this is a second chance most writers don’t get. They’re catering to you. Don’t mess this up. And write the last damn book.”

  The phone screen blanked. I stared at it for another minute, bemused. Still shell-shocked, I met my daughter’s worried gaze.

  Simon wandered over. “Ready to go? Everything’s in the car. Abbi said your agent was on the phone.”

  I nodded.

  “Good news?”

  I lifted my eyes to his. “HBO wants to buy the rights to one of my series. Mind if Abbi and I stay another night or two so I can go to a meeting? I’ll cook.”

  Simon smiled. “Magic words. If you’re cooking, you can stay another week.”

  “I can’t. Abbi’s already missed two days of school. We have to get back before Monday. And it’s already Friday.”

  “We told you you were welcome for as long as you need, Lia. We meant it.”

  Though Ella was an amazing mom, calm in the face of just about every problem from a broken collarbone to Jeremiah’s biting problem when he was two, neither she nor Simon could do more in the kitchen than warm up food. Their music teacher salaries didn’t allow for many meals out. Whenever Abbi and I stayed at their four-bedroom bungalow near the beach, I always stacked the freezer full of meals.

  I loved our arrangement. The kitchen was one of the few places I was still happy. I insisted on going to the market to ensure freshness of ingredients so that I could enjoy the process more.

  As I’d told Simon, I wasn’t big on hotels, not after moving around so often during the first fourteen years of my life. The sterility reminded me of the apartments of my early childhood. I was thankful I could stay with Simon and Ella as opposed to some random, poorly cleaned room, and I was more than happy to buy groceries in exchange for the homey experience.

  Not that I’d ever tell them, but I also enjoyed looking after Simon and Ella a little. To them, I was useful. Needed. Not just Abbi’s mom.

  Abbi’s mom—that title wasn’t going to work for much longer. My daughter only had one more year of high school left.

  I should find a partner, someone I could cuddle next to on the couch. Laugh with. Maybe I could start living in this century and enjoy a man’s company without a deep emotional attachment. I deserved . . . something more than my current barren love life.

  I’d set up that dating profile everyone was hounding me about, go on a few dates. See what was out there.

  Thirty-five was too young to be this incomplete.

  4

  Asher

  I pulled up in front of the clapboard farmhouse Jessica and I had bought in Mount Vernon, about an hour north of Seattle. All the lights were on, spilling warmth onto the porch. Dread stiffened my shoulders, causing my head to ache.

  I toured and recorded, successive rounds, one after the other, to keep a steady flow of income for Jessica’s desires and to cover Mason’s needs. But I wanted more than four days with my son each month. I wanted Mason to remember me as an involved father.

  Right now, I wanted to tousle Mason’s hair and hold his solid body close to my own. That’s why I was here, a day earlier than I’d expected. Problem was, I didn’t want to see Jessica. Part of me felt like I’d cheated. I’d shared more of myself with Dahlia last night than I ever had with my wife. But Jessica was the one who’d chosen to dissolve our life. Now, after seeing Dahlia, I was glad. Relieved, even.

  I climbed out of the car and walked into my house, my heart slamming a harsh beat within my chest.

  Mason sat on the couch, the Wii controller in his hand. Jessica was right. I’d bought the stupid gaming system out of guilt. Gifts didn’t assuage my shitty parenting abilities, but Mason liked the thing.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said.

  He glanced up, his mouth in a sour line. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, good to see you, too.” I sat next to him on the couch. He didn’t lean into me like he used to.

  “Mom was going to let me spend the night with Bryan Hornsacker.”

  “Well, if those are the plans, I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

  Mason’s faced softened. “Really?”

  “Mason, I love you. I want you to be happy.”

  He sat the controller down and slid his arms around my neck. I hugged him hard, regret biting at my heart, burrowing deep. His legs were lanky, like a colt’s. Before we started using Skype, I was shocked by his growth between my visits home. I kissed his cheek, and he let me. This, here, was the best thing I’d done with my life.

  “I’m glad you’re home,” Mason said, his voice muffled into my neck. “Wanna play with me?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Building. See?”

  “An entire city,” I said. “That’s amazing.”

  “You should add something cool.”

  “Sure, let me just tell your mom I’m home.”

  Mason’s eyes shifted to mine, his mouth turning back down. “She’s next door.”

  “You’re here by yourself?” I asked, keeping my voice controlled. Our next-door neighbor was a half-mile away. If a problem arose, no one would hear Mason’s cries.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does she do that often—leave you here alone?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I get to play my game while she’s gone.”

  Anger welled up, overriding the guilt and regret I’d felt moments before. “Well, let’s build the heck out of this city and then we’ll grab some dinner. You hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wanna eat first?”

  Mason turned those bright hazel eyes toward me. “Yeah.”

  I gripped him around his middle, hauling him into the kitchen like he was a football “Let’s see what you got.”

  I was able to get in a few hours of time with Mason before Jessica dropped her nuclear bomb into my skull.

  I ended up driving Mason over to his friend’s house for his sleepover. I gave Bryan’s mom my cell, asking her to call me if she needed anything. Confusion filled her eyes, but I ignored it, bending down to hug Mason. He was too excited for more than a quick pat, running and shouting out some scene from a show he and Bryan liked.

  Jessica’s car was in the garage when I got back to the house. Great. Now we could talk.

  “You took Mason to his sleepover?” she asked from where she stood in the kitchen.

  “Wish I’d known he was going to be gone tonight. Maybe I would’ve stayed in Seattle. I had a meeting request I turned down so I could hang out with him.”

  “No one begged you to show up tonight.” Her eyes were bright, really bright, like she was on something. Much as I wa
nted to ask, that would only make the situation worse.

  “I noticed. Why was Mason here by himself, Jessica? He’s just a little boy.”

  “I left probably two minutes before you got here. It wouldn’t have been a problem if Mrs. Knowles wasn’t sick. She wouldn’t come stay with him.”

  “He’s barely eight, Jessica.”

  “I have better things to do with my life than sit around and wait for you to drop by,” she said. “Mason was fine. He was playing that stupid game you got him.”

  Neither of us mentioned that our neighbor, who Jessica had been “visiting” instead of watching our son, was a forty-something single man with an easy smile. He was fit, a runner.

  I bit my tongue, refusing to point out that I’d cut back on my travel schedule years ago because I wanted to spend more time with them. After a year and a half of long weekends and extended weeks home between gigs, Jessica demanded I go back on tour. She wanted to put Mason in private school and she wanted a new car.

  I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Not the kind I liked, but it’d do.

  “Come with me on the next leg this summer,” I said. Not because I wanted Jessica with me. I really didn’t, especially since I got her list of requirements from her lawyer. I’d told Pete to hold off until Monday to forward over my counteroffer. I still had time to pull some of the demands if Jessica let Mason come with me. And I’d even put up with her to get more time with my son.

  “It’s easy, up and down the coast. Lots of beaches for Mason to play at and for you to relax on. What’s the name of the fashion designer you like? Doesn’t he have a store in LA?”

  Jessica crossed her arms over her breasts. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra under her thin, green camisole. She probably hadn’t worn it to see if I’d get angry. I took a large gulp of my beer and wished I hadn’t given up the harder stuff.

  “I don’t want to travel with you, watching women throw themselves at you. How many do you plan to screw while I’m in the hotel room with Mason, waiting for you to come in after the show?”