Between Breaths (The Seattle Sound Series Book 2) Page 4

  “Sure. Great.”

  Her lips pulled down in concern. I stood quickly.

  “She’s asleep,” I said, motioning toward my mother. She appeared so small in the bed. Wasted. I scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to get my bearings. “I need to talk to the director.”

  “He’s not in right now.”

  “How do you know? I have to set up arrangements.”

  Briar’s hand was soft on my bare forearm. We both froze, staring at her pale hand on my tanned skin. The potency of her touch was overwhelming. Awareness flickered between us, building.

  Holy hell. I wanted this woman.

  “Most of the staff is at lunch. They’ll be back in about an hour,” she said. “I’m Briar Moore, by the way.”

  “Okay.” I drew out the word, not sure what to do with my desire or her interest. This was a weird place to meet someone, in a building shrouded in illness and death. Getting away from the pretty, dark-haired woman was less important than leaving my mum, but just as necessary. I was on a short time frame to handle my mum’s arrangements.

  “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch,” she said.

  Did Briar expect more from me? I couldn’t quite gauge her.

  “I didn’t really think about fans and media when I made my travel plans. How crazy going out anywhere would be. I’ll talk to the director and her—my mum’s—doctor and leave. Go back to my band.” I glanced around, looking for inspiration.

  She dropped her hand away and chuckled. “You forgot you were famous? You sound like Asher. All wide-eyed when the fans mob him. Like he hasn’t dealt with fame for nearly twenty years.”

  I paused, trying to retilt my world back on its axis. “Asher Smith?”

  Briar exited the room. “My sister’s boyfriend,” she murmured over her shoulder. “He’s mentioned you, especially with your band’s new album. I’ve heard so much about you, in some ways I assumed I knew you.”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to hide my surprise. “Asher’s great.”

  “He’s perfect for Lia, that’s for sure.”

  “Is he in town?” Maybe I could salvage tonight with something more interesting than the self-flaying I was planning on doing.

  “No. He’s staying with Lia right now. In Idaho.”

  “Ah. Right. We heard about his new relationship with your sister. The divorce. Ugly business.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Bet I do. That’s why I need to get out of here fast. Before the journos figure out where I am and how to turn my mum’s dying into a circus.” I liked the easy banter we fell into. Not that I planned to share my life history or anything. But if Asher liked Briar, she must be okay. Some of the tension in my shoulders and back eased.

  She peeked at me from the corner of her eye. “Marination Station.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Food. Let’s go eat at Marination Station. But you need a cap. Sunglasses.”

  “See this? It’s raining. Like it does pretty much all the time in this godforsaken place. Why the hell would I put on sunglasses?”

  Briar rolled her eyes. “This is barely a drizzle. You people from sunny places are so water allergic. And the glasses and cap are to make sure you can eat without being recognized. It works. Most of the time.”

  “Maybe I’m overreacting and people won’t recognize me?” I opened the door leading outside for her, and inhaled her shampoo as she walked past me. Sweet, but with undertones of spice. Just as I hoped she’d be.

  Behind us, Ginny called, “Bye, Hayden.”

  Briar raised an eyebrow, showing off the amusement in those big blues. I blew out a breath.

  “I have sunnies in the car. Would you prefer to ride with me or in your own car?”

  “If you want, we can take mine. I plan to come back and sit with Rosie again this afternoon. You can get your car then.”

  “She’s a relative? Rosie?”

  She shook her head, causing her pretty mink-brown hair to slide across her shoulders. Teasing me. I wanted to touch both her pale skin and the silkiness of her hair.

  “A friend. I met her through an ex.”

  “Kind of you, to find her again.”

  “You’d think that,” she said as we stopped at my dull, gray compact. I’d hoped the car would bring me some anonymity. “My ex told me about her earlier this week. He offered to trade oncology treatment for sex. Maybe a child and marriage.” Her words trailed off as she seemed to realize the weight of what she’d said. “Wow. His actions sound even worse out loud than rolling around in my head.”

  I pulled my head out of the little car, one of my hands resting on the car’s cool metal roof, the other, now holding the sunglasses, on the door. Briar was tall, her skin fresh and smooth in that healthy, outdoorsy way. Beautiful. Real. I couldn’t say that about any of the women in my life except Cynthia, and she belonged to Flip.

  “Your ex is a wanker.”

  “I don’t know what that means, exactly, but yeah, I think he is.”

  She pointed to a red Audi two rows over. “That’s me.”

  “Cute.”

  “A gift.”

  “From the wanker?”

  “Yes. Before I knew just how devious he was.”

  I shook my head, unhappy that she drove a car gifted her by the doctor-ex. How stupid was that? Jealous over a woman I’d just met.

  I glanced back at the building where my mum lay, dying. She was so frail. Nothing like the photo I’d kept of her—her young face beaming at the camera as her hands cradled her large belly. Before I was born and destroyed her life.

  So far, my first trip back to America wasn’t going as I’d expected.

  Chapter 6

  Briar

  He insisted on opening my door, something Ken always did, too. But unlike Ken’s need to keep up appearances, Hayden’s gesture seemed genuine. Maybe. How would I know?

  This whole being more open thing might have been a bad idea. I mean, I’d already blurted out details about my life that made me cringe. For Hayden to know them was hide-under-the-covers embarrassing. If he hadn’t been so unsure and unhappy when he walked into the hospice center, I would’ve ignored my desire to help.

  Once I settled in my seat, he strolled around to the passenger’s side and climbed in. He reached down, fumbling for the release under his seat. Finding it, he pushed the seat back to give his long, jeans-clad legs more room.

  “So this restaurant. What do they serve?”

  “It’s a food truck. To give you the full-on Seattle experience.”

  “Food truck?”

  “Come on—you have to have them in Sydney. Marination Station serves fusion. That’s a Northwest thing. Hawaiian Korean. I like the miso chicken.”

  “Miso and chicken I’m familiar with. Hawaii and Korea not so much.”

  I drove in silence. The truck wasn’t far, and we would arrive at the mobile restaurant after the normal lunch rush. I circled past where the truck was stationed and found a parking space a couple of blocks away.

  “This okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Hayden put on his dark sunglasses and the Seattle ball cap I tossed him before jumping out of the car. It was a good look for him. The cap covered all his sun-kissed hair, and the glasses left only his straight nose and firm, square jawline covered in a couple days’ worth of stubble visible. Why did musicians dislike razors?

  I’d always liked my men clean-shaven. Put together. A man in a well-fitted suit and wingtips revved my engine better than any half-naked guy. Especially if that suit included a power tie and cuff links. I loved cuff links.

  Just thinking about Hayden in a suit made my mouth water. Right now, he was scruffy in that I-slept-in-my-clothes look some men had; his faded Rolling Stones T-shirt was rumpled and his jeans must have been ten years old. He even had a stainless-steel chain against his left hip to complete the look. He wore scuffed brown leather boots that were probably as ridiculously e
xpensive as they were sexy.

  Must have been my visit with Ken, who was all buttoned-up and arrogant, this week. Because right now, I preferred Hayden with his bad-boy, casual vibe—a first for me. I finished putting another quarter in the meter, and we turned in tandem, meandering down the sidewalk.

  “I’d forgotten how big Seattle is.” Hayden said, glancing around. “It’s a bit like Sydney, but not.”

  “Is that good?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I can see why Aussies like the Pacific Northwest. Colder and grayer, but similar.”

  I quirked my lips up. “Better music scene.”

  He hip-checked me. “Careful, love. Those’re fighting words. We have our fair share of talent.”

  “I’ve heard of Kylie Minogue. She remade an American song.”

  “I’m appalled. We export greatness. Lenka, Gotye, Hugh Jackman, Nicole Kidman. And I bet you have a thing for the Hemsworth brothers.”

  “Most of the people you listed aren’t singers.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at me and I sucked in a breath. My lips tingled and my nipples perked up. Lia talked about lust at first sight in her books, but I’d never experienced anything this raw, visceral. I stepped back, afraid of what Hayden Crewe was doing to my body. I needed to get a grip on these thoughts.

  I’d already compared him to Ken and found Hayden better, proving I had a serious case of rebound syndrome. Any man seemed a step up from my ex—because just about any man was. I sighed, wishing I’d left Ken sooner.

  I’d thought about it, but I loved Rosie too much to risk not seeing her anymore.

  “Admit it, you love Aussies. Want to know everything about us.”

  “Nope. I don’t need to even guess.”

  “Sure you do. C’mon. You know you want to.”

  I stared at him, meeting what I expected were his eyes through his dark lenses. “Guess about you? Besides the instruments you play and that your band’s called Jackaroo. Fine.”

  “Yep. What else do you know?” he waggled his brows again, and I’d bet his eyes were shining with humor.

  I didn’t have to think long. “You’re staying at The Edgewater, in one of the Beatles’ suites.”

  His lips curled up in a smile. “The Beatles came to Oz, too. I wasn’t born yet so I didn’t get to see the concert live.”

  I tapped my lips. “You’ve already Googled the band list at The Showbox and The Crocodile. You’re hoping to hear a new up-and-coming group of the same caliber as Nirvana or Death Cab for Cutie.”

  “If I’m on hiatus, the least I can do is support and listen to the local talent. No surprises in your guessing, love.”

  I shrugged. “Asher likes to pop in at the singer-songwriter shows when he’s in town. That’s how he and Lia met. Well, met again.”

  “She’s a music aficionado like you?”

  I snorted out a little chuckle and began to walk toward the food truck. “Lia actually understands the music and stuff. I just listen and sing along. I’m having the kimchi fried rice bowl.”

  “A particular favorite?” At my nod, he leaned against the counter. “The lady and I’ll have the kimchi rice.” He raised a thick golden brow at me before he said, “Hers with chicken, mine with kalbi beef. Thanks.” Another pang built. Ken never ordered for me. I was a strong, independent woman. But Hayden remembered my comment about the miso chicken, made sure to order it with my meal.

  I resisted the urge to rub my hand against the painful squeeze in my chest. I liked this man. Liked that he wasn’t afraid to take care of me. He glanced back at me, and I stood straighter.

  “Water,” I said, my voice sort of strangled from my throat.

  “And two waters.”

  Hayden paid and we stepped back, letting the other lunch stragglers order.

  “I told you I’d get lunch.”

  “You drove. No worries.”

  “You’re good with the American money.”

  He checked, a scowl building. “My mum’s American,” he reminded me.

  A sore spot—his relationship with his mother. I searched for something else to bring back the lightness we’d shared before, but he beat me to it.

  “So music’s not really your thing?” he asked.

  “I love it. Just never got much of an education in it.”

  “Aren’t all American kids forced to play some instrument? A form of torture for teachers and parents.”

  I shook my head. “I wasn’t. We moved to Seattle when I was ten. My school before, near the army base, didn’t have a real music program. Most of the kids here were already all set in choir or band, and I struggled enough to fit in. I refused to even try. Stupid, I know, but in my defense, my dad had just died.” I shook my head. “God. I said all that aloud, didn’t I? I’m officially embarrassed.”

  “No need for embarrassment. I’ve been told sharing is cleansing.” He paused, clearly pondering something. “My dad died a few years back. I miss him.”

  Something else we shared. I picked at my water label, head down. My feelings toward Hayden built into more than a case of lust.

  “I miss mine, too. So.” I said, flailing and failing to pick a safe topic.

  Hayden linked his fingers, his elbows on his knees. “Before you ask—and because I know you’re interested—my mum has pancreatic cancer. I didn’t find out until a couple of days ago. Her nurse called my record label. Took time for her information to get routed to me.”

  Something in his voice caused me to pause, consider what I could see of his face behind the glasses and the deep shadow cast by the cap. The woman in the truck called out our order. Hayden hopped up from the rough bench we’d commandeered. Holding the bags, he followed me as I turned toward the park a block or so to the east. We found a spot near the fountain with a view of the Space Needle.

  Opening my bag, I started eating. Skipping breakfast was a bad idea. One of these days I’d actually remember to eat it.

  Hayden followed suit, making humming noises in the back of his throat as he sampled the various items in his bowl. We ate in silence for a few minutes, comfortable in the quiet between us. I finished and set my empty container back in the sack and relaxed into the bench, tilting my face up toward the watery sun.

  Hayden packed up his trash. His arm rested on the back of the bench, inches from my hair. Tension pulled at his mouth, firming his jaw and neck. His glasses faced the Space Needle. He was thinking, hard. He took off his sunglasses, tucking them into the pocket of his T-shirt.

  “I didn’t want to come here. I plan to head back to the band tonight. After I talk to her doctor, square away the finances with the director.”

  “You said you and your mother have a rocky relationship?”

  “That’s a polite way of stating it.”

  His eyes narrowed as if he considered something but discarded the idea, and I mourned the loss of his openness. It was obvious Hayden wasn’t emotionally cold like Ken—he felt deeply, but he kept that part of himself behind a wall. I’d bet his emotional repression started with his mother.

  “My mum left when I was little. My dad took me back to Melbourne, where he’d grown up. She never called or wrote.”

  I sucked in a breath. We were more alike than I’d realized. I didn’t think about it, just leaned into his side and gripped his hand, trying to offer what little support I could.

  An immediate and desperate craving to get even closer speared through me. Either he didn’t feel the attraction or he was lost in his thoughts, because he squeezed my fingers with gentle pressure.

  He met my gaze, confusion and sadness mingling in his eyes. “I’m leaving as soon as she dies, maybe before. This is duty.”

  “I get that,” my voice regretful. Like mine, his mother had been selfish, thinking of her own happiness. Never mind her child’s suffering.

  He shrugged, as if trying to brush off the pain that never quite left. “I keep thinking about how she chose to leave me. I can’t imagine making the same choice.” />
  He turned back to look at the fountain. So him being here wasn’t just duty. He’d been thrust into an untenable situation and was floundering, both with his feelings for his mother and how to proceed as an orphan.

  “My mom left my dad when I was six. My dad was active-duty military and she hated the moving.”

  “Sounds tough.”

  “Got worse when she started a new family here in Seattle.”

  “And that was that? For you and your sister?” Hayden’s voice sharpened.

  My turn to turn away from his all-too-knowing stare. “Until my dad died and she was forced to take us in. Yeah.”

  I peeked up at Hayden from under my lashes. The sadness was still there, shadowing his lovely brown eyes.

  I’d been numb for so long, it’s what I knew, how I kept my sanity. But this man somehow wormed through my long-standing ice wall and was already in my head. No way I was going to forget his sad eyes. Ever.

  “I just wanted you to know I get it,” I said, my voice cracking. “And I’m really, really sorry.”

  Chapter 7

  Hayden

  I’d tried to warn her I was leaving. Soon. I had to be honest, no matter the awareness sparking between us.

  All I could do, I guess. Didn’t feel like enough. Not when we shared the same lost look. I recognized it from my own broody eyes whenever I looked in the mirror to shave. The same hitch in her smile I’d developed since I found out my mother had stage-four cancer.

  I didn’t want to lose my mum. She hadn’t been there for me since I was ten, but with her death, I’d have no one left. No one to ask about family history or an amusing anecdote from holidays long past. No one to remember my first step, my first word, my first piano recital.

  The idea of walking through the rest of my life solo was depressing. Fear crept up behind the sadness. Thanks to years of distancing myself, I didn’t really know how to not be isolated, even in a group of people.

  Briar’s head settled more firmly against my upper arm. Not an embrace because neither of us was ready for that. Not even with the heat between us building faster than a bonfire. I liked her, though I didn’t want to enjoy her company as much as I did. She could easily become my crutch while I was here. Leaning on her was unfair to us both. I was leaving. My life, my career was based on traveling the world. And even if that weren’t the case, I lived in Sydney—almost eight thousand miles away.