Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) Page 6

  Dahlia

  “How’d the meeting go?” Ella asked when I opened the door.

  “Good. I think it’s going to work out well. As long as I can figure out an ending they’ll like for the series.” I tried to stretch out my neck, but it was too tight to find relief. Great, I’d probably end up with a killer headache soon. “Where’s Abbi?”

  “She and Jeremiah walked up to the corner market for ice-cream cones. That’s okay, right?” Ella asked, worry filling her eyes when she caught a glimpse of my face.

  “Yeah, fine.” But the familiar anxious flutter beat its way upward from my stomach at the thought of Abbi walking through the city unsupervised. I took a deep breath and remembered the feel of Asher’s hands on my cheek, his long, lean body pressed to mine.

  Until he’d talked me through those moments, I hadn’t realized how anxious I was all the time. When I thought about him and his whiskey-roughened voice, my pulse slowed and my muscles unclenched enough for me to function.

  “She’s careful. More careful than any other sixteen-year-old I know,” Ella said.

  I closed my eyes. “That’s because she knows one bad decision can cause death.”

  “I’m sorry, Lia. I didn’t think it was a big deal. They were bored, and it’s just to the corner. We walk up there with Jeremiah most weekends. And Abbi’s old enough to drive.”

  I smiled, but it felt forced, like a fake attempt at happiness.

  “It’ll be fine,” I said. This time I made my voice firm. “I’m glad Jeremiah wanted to hang out with his cousin another day.”

  “Are you kidding? He loves Abbi. He cries whenever you leave.”

  I needed to change the subject and distract myself. I dropped my bag in my room before heading toward the kitchen. “So Paul, the director, likes Simon’s music. He asked about him specifically for the sound track.”

  “Really? That’s bloody brilliant!” Ella hugged me before stepping back. She jumped up and down a few times, her hands clasped under her chin.

  I smiled as I opened the fridge. “What did you want for dinner tonight? Anything in particular?”

  “Whatever you feel like making, we’ll gladly eat. You know that. Tell me more about the meeting. It went on for hours. How cool is it that you met with HBO execs?”

  “They’re planning to make an entire season’s worth of episodes. Well, if I can give them an ending.” I delved deeper into the fridge, needing a moment to settle the emotions twisting in my chest. “I guess that’s abnormal to put so much money into a production at the get-go. But they’re shooting it like a movie. I don’t really understand. Paul, he’s an indie rock geek, wants Asher Smith to do the sound track. Garcia said Asher’s songs complement my writing.”

  I pulled out a bunch of packages, set them on the counter.

  “Interesting,” Ella said. She hopped onto the island and swung her short legs back and forth. She looked like a teenager sitting there, cheeks flushed with excitement. “You and Asher Smith complementing each other. Simon told me about your night out while we were gone.”

  “I knew he’d tattle. Nothing happened.”

  “That’s too bad. Asher Smith is scorching.”

  “Ella!” I squealed.

  “What? He’s always been GQ cover material. I’d let him in my knickers.”

  “I don’t know what part of that to address. Did you just say knickers?”

  “I’m British, darling. Not even your lovely family can change that.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, giggling.

  “I’ll open a bottle of that gorgeous Rioja you bought, and you can tell me all about how Asher Smith brought you back to the land of the living. I owe that man a debt of gratitude. I haven’t seen you this animated in years.”

  “Yes to the Rioja. Paul and Garcia have some fabulous ideas for the series. I’m really excited.” I bit my lip. As long as I didn’t think about the writing. I shook my head. I wanted this—for my career, yes, but also to help Asher. He deserved to be happy, and I’d do what I could to ensure that.

  “But?”

  “There’s no but.”

  Ella made a skeptical sound.

  “Asher was at part of the meeting.”

  “What? And you’re just getting to this now?”

  “Look, there aren’t any details to share. This is business. He wants the project so he can have stable work hours for his son.”

  I turned away, unable to face Ella’s all-too-knowing eyes. Asher’s words still swirled through my head, just as they had since he’d said them an hour ago. I always—always—wanted you.

  Something more beautiful than panic fluttered through my chest. He didn’t really mean them. He couldn’t. Not when I wanted him to. So badly.

  “What about your walk on the beach?” Ella asked.

  “We talked. He’s easy to talk to. I’d forgotten that.” I tugged at the ends of my hair. “I told him he should work things out with his wife,” I said in a rush, fighting the familiar anxiety.

  Ella slammed the corkscrew down on the counter and turned back toward me, her creamy cheeks cresting with furious color. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  She’d used her teacher’s voice. The one that made an entire room of high schoolers sit up and listen. I was in so much trouble. “No. Why wouldn’t I tell him to work things out with his wife?”

  “Because you had the perfect opportunity to burn up the sand with him. And we both know you’ve been at least half in love with him for years.”

  I always—always—wanted you. I tossed my hair back, glowering. “You’re insane.”

  “No, I’m telling you the truth.” She thrust her finger at my chest. “One you don’t want to hear.”

  “I’m not in love with Asher.”

  “Yet.” Ella’s smirk was triumphant.

  Why did he have to tell me he’d wanted me for years? Seeing him the other night brought back all those yearnings I’d tamped down. Knowing now he’d felt the same . . . I mashed my lips together, hard, to keep from saying something stupid.

  My life could’ve been so different.

  “He’s the first man since Doug died to make you realize you’re missing life,” Ella continued.

  “That’s not true.” I feared, however, Ella was right.

  I’d forced down my interest in Asher for years, just as I’d done again the other night. I pressed a hand to my queasy stomach.

  “Bollocks. You’re sex-starved. It can’t be good for your brain, let alone other important body parts. At the very least, you could have reestablished a connection with the great O.

  “You—I can’t believe you.”

  “When was the last time you had sex?” Ella asked.

  I pulled out pans I didn’t need. “I’m not answering that.”

  “The last time you even mentioned sex was over six years ago, Lia.”

  “Doug was sick,” I whispered. But there was more than that. I ran my hands up and down my chilled arms.

  “You weren’t, darling. That’s my point.”

  “We had good years.”

  I hated that I always came back to that. Hated more that the words were a smoke screen to cover up the disaster our relationship had become.

  “You loved Doug the way a man can only dream of being loved, better than most women could have. But I’ve seen the look on your face when you’re listening to Asher sing. Why do you think Doug hated him so much?”

  “That’s crazy,” I breathed.

  But it wasn’t, not after what Asher told me today. Doug had known of Asher’s attraction. He’d known I’d shared it, and he’d used my guilt to keep me pinned in our relationship. If not for Abbi . . .

  Ella narrowed her eyes. “I hear how your voice vibrates with passion when you talk about him. You had the opportunity, and you passed on it? I am so angry with you, Lia Dorsey!”

  “What’s going on?” Simon asked. He walked over to the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He glanced back and forth between us,
taking in his wife’s ruddy cheeks and firm jaw.

  “Ah. You’re discussing Lia’s rock-star boyfriend.”

  I gasped. “Simon! He’s a friend. And your wife”—I pointed a finger at her—“is upset I didn’t have sex with him.”

  “Course she is. I was worried you would. So, naturally, she’s upset you didn’t.”

  I flapped my hand in front of my face in an ineffectual effort to cool my now-burning cheeks. “You two are getting too personal.”

  “By pointing out you have feelings for him? Even I have to admit, he’s super cool. A lot mellower than I’d expected him to be,” Simon said.

  “He exudes that melancholic sex appeal you favor,” Ella added.

  I downed my wine, unwilling to lie. I had feelings for Asher. Strong ones that I’d been trying to hide, both from him and myself.

  Now, on top of the fantasies I’d already created, Simon and Ella had stuffed more in my head. Hot flesh, soft lips, and deep release.

  I picked up the pepper mill. “Sorry to disappoint you both, but Doug is still the only man I’ve ever slept with.”

  “Drink the wine, darling.” Ella refilled my glass. “No need to take your frustrations out on the pepper grinder or that gorgeous steak. We’ll think of something to relieve the tension,” she added, her voice sly.

  “Who says I’m tense?” I asked.

  Simon and Ella exchanged a glance.

  “Lia, even I think it’s time you started dating,” Simon said. He sipped his wine, his gaze steady. “You deserve more than . . . than . . . widowhood. You’re beautiful, funny, smart, and successful. Men are idiots if they don’t see what a catch you are.”

  “Date a few,” Ella said. “That doesn’t mean you have to fall in love again. You don’t have to get married.”

  “Are you ganging up on me on purpose?” I grumbled.

  “Yes,” Ella chirped. “Because we want you to have one of those happy endings you used to write about.”

  “There’s a reason I write, Ella. Well, used to write. It’s fiction. Make-believe. In real life, there’s no guarantee for anything other than an ending. I’ve learned they’re rarely happy and most often painful.”

  Simon leaned back against the counter and considered me over the rim of his wineglass. “So Lia Moore’s been reduced to bitterness. You know, losing Doug hurt us all.”

  “We didn’t lose him,” I interrupted, my voice low and vicious as some of that poisonous anger spilled into my chest. “He can’t come back because he isn’t lost. He died. He went skydiving and didn’t open his parachute. He didn’t tell me where he was going, didn’t tell Abbi good-bye. He left me alone to raise a broken teenager.”

  I bit my lip before more venom spewed out. I turned away. I needed to go. Ella placed her hand on my shoulder. Grief and anger tangled with the panic pounding through my chest. I wanted Asher’s arms around me, his voice whispering in my hair. I wanted what I couldn’t have.

  When would I learn?

  “You should be angry, Lia. We’ve been waiting for it. Grieve what you lost. Please.”

  My shoulders fell inward as the fight went out of me. “Doug took the choice from me, so why should I mourn him?”

  “Be angry with him,” Simon said. “I am, too. For hurting you and Abbi, for not talking to any of us about how he was doing. But, totally separate from Doug’s death, you deserve to find someone to share your life with.”

  “I don’t see the point of trying again. Most loves don’t last. They might not end as dramatically as mine, but they end—in divorce or a car accident or cancer or cirrhosis of the liver.”

  “You love because it’s worth the risk,” Ella said. “You know that better than anyone.”

  “Don’t quit believing in something beautiful just because Doug fucked it up.” Simon set his glass on the counter. He held my stare. “He fucked up, Lia. Bad.”

  He had. Worse than Simon knew.

  Simon leaned over to peck Ella’s cheek. “I’ll walk up and see what’s keeping the kids.”

  I stared at his back, so similar to Doug’s, and the piece of me that had broken through the bubble when I took Asher’s hand at the bar shattered. I leaned forward, struggling to get enough air. No good. The grief and anger weren’t contained any longer. They spread through my chest, outward to my limbs, up to my brain.

  And then the image I’d buried deep bubbled up: Doug looking down at baby Abbi, his smile so proud on his young face. “I’m going to love her better than any other man ever could, so she’ll keep feeling it even after I’m gone. Like I love you.”

  I missed what we’d had then, during the good years before unwarranted jealousy and sickness broke us. I missed feeling wanted.

  Hands pressed to my mouth, I tried to breathe myself back to safety. I wasn’t doing this.

  The Doug who’d killed himself hadn’t been the Doug who’d loved Abbi and me.

  “What is it?” Ella asked, gripping my hand.

  I shook her off. “Just tired.”

  I turned on my heel and walked quickly to the bedroom. I fell onto the bed and struggled to contain my breathing. Bad idea. I needed to get up and keep going or let the anger pull me all the way under.

  No way was I giving Doug the satisfaction of knowing I was still broken. Even if he was dead . . . No, he hadn’t broken me. Not completely.

  So I got up. Cooked dinner. Drank too much wine.

  Later, I struggled to stop the few silent tears that slid past my tightly shut eyes when I finally went to bed. And I hated my weakness nearly as much as I hated what Doug had turned me into.

  8

  Asher

  “Lift your back elbow more,” I said. I lobbed another baseball toward Mason. His swing was jerky, but the crack of the ball hitting the wooden bat told me he’d finally gotten what I’d been trying to explain about using the middle lane.

  Mason whooped, jumping up and down as he watched the ball arc over the apple trees toward the house.

  “Home run!” he shouted, running in a circle like a flustered chicken.

  I chuckled at his enthusiasm. He didn’t know he was about to be in the middle of the next battleground between Jessica and me, the only fight I really cared about.

  I took off my ball cap and slapped it against my leg while I waited for Mason to quit celebrating. I resisted the urge to check my phone again to see if my lawyers had reached a settlement with Jessica about the house, our joint retirement accounts, all those messy details detangling lives that no longer meshed.

  I didn’t care about the money or the house. I never had, not like Jessica did. I wanted to make music and I wanted my son. No way Jessica was letting some asshole in pleated pants gain custody. When I’d made the mistake of telling her that, she set off higher than a firework on Fourth of July.

  I was still pissed she expected a percentage of future record sales. She was leaving me now, so I figured any judge had to consider what a well-regarded musician had to offer. I was more than happy to give her the paid-off house, a new car, and split time with the child we’d had the good sense to create. But Mason was my son, and he’d know I loved him.

  Even if she stopped the custody nonsense, I didn’t want to give Jessica sole custody of Mason because she would always have an excuse to keep me from my son. Especially if she found out I wanted to see Dahlia again. Jessica would assume I’d been having an affair, which would make these painful proceedings downright nasty.

  Didn’t matter that I’d worked hard not to look at other women for years because I’d determined at the age of eleven that I wasn’t going to be a cheating asshole like my dad.

  I’d read enough websites to realize judges liked continuity, and Jessica had been Mason’s main guardian for years. I wondered, not for the first time, if she’d pushed me to go back to recording and touring for this eventuality.

  I hoped like hell I was wrong because that made her even more calculating than I’d thought. And I knew she’d fucked around with the band, tryi
ng to break us apart or no longer trust each other. The guys and I, we’d worked through those issues years ago. We were in a good place now. I wanted it to stay that way.

  But if the media dug into Olivia’s death again . . . I couldn’t imagine what that story would do to my son. He grinned and I counted the freckles on his nose. Damn, I loved this boy. I’d throw in the whole of my retirement account and all our cash as long as I got equal time with Mason.

  “Mom’s home,” Mason said, looking over my shoulder.

  I turned. Jessica’s mouth was set in a thin line, her hands on her hips.

  “She’s mad,” Mason said. He scooted closer to me.

  “At me, I bet.” I ran my hand over Mason’s sweat-dampened head.

  He glanced up, his brows furrowed. “Why is she so mean to you?”

  Shit. Not a question I wanted to answer. “Because I’m sure I did something to make her angry.”

  “I don’t like it,” Mason muttered, sliding his small hand into mine.

  I rested my other hand on his shoulder and hugged him tighter to my side. I’d missed this. I needed more time with my kid.

  “Mason,” I said. “Why don’t you go get a drink?”

  He scampered into the house without responding. I wished I could follow, but instead I braced myself.

  Jessica crossed the yard in quick, jerky strides. Pissed didn’t cover the look on her face. Awesome. This ought to be fun.

  Jessica had a pretty smile, all dimples and straight white teeth. I’d loved to see her turn those brown eyes toward me in the beginning. I’d written songs about her and for her. I’d kissed her eyelids and rubbed her expanding belly. I’d held her as she wept.

  “Were you going to tell me about your new sound track project?”

  “I don’t have a new project,” I said. “I have an inquiry for a new project, and I really don’t see how that’s your business.”

  Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “I’m your wife.”

  “Correction, you were my wife. We’re legally separated, which means anything I do in the future has no bearing on you, especially now that I have the newest settlement agreement in writing as of this morning.”