by Cari Quinn
Deacon led them to a small table at the edge of the dance floor. The stage was set up to oversee the dance floor. Either it would be a general admission crowd or a laid back drinks and dancing set up. He wasn’t sure which one.
A waitress glided over to them, her smile bright and polite, then slid immediately into recognition. “Oh, God, you’re—”
Deacon held up a finger to his lips. “My wife and I are just looking to enjoy some music tonight.”
“Sure.” The petite redhead in all black looked over her shoulder then back to their table. She flipped over her order booklet. “Do you think I could have your autograph?”
Deacon smiled. “Absolutely.” She was totally going to tell the entire staff. Ah well. Maybe they’d leave them alone after the initial hit up for pictures and signatures. Deacon scrawled his name across the back of her pad and returned it.
She sucked on her bottom lip for a few seconds then leaned in. “Do you think you could sign it to Becky?”
Deacon’s smile widened. Look at that, a signature not going on eBay after her shift. He took it back and wrote her name carefully and legibly, then drew a devil tail for the y.
“Oh my God, my boyfriend is going to shit.”
He sat back and slid his arm along the back of Harper’s chair. She instinctively turned into him, giving their waitress a polite nod. Harper was used to people interrupting them and never made a fuss. Even better, she always made the fan feel welcome. Even the rude ones that treated her with contempt.
This had to be the first time she didn’t react at all.
He brushed his lips along her temple. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Nothing with tequila, that’s for sure.”
Deacon grinned then looked up at the girl. “Do you have flavored seltzer?”
Harper rested her hand on his thigh absently and he finally relaxed a bit. At least she was actually touching him, finally. They were out of sync, and he hated it.
Becky nodded. “Raspberry, peach, and lime.”
Harper lifted her shoulder. “Raspberry.”
“And I’ll have whatever dark beer you have.”
Becky nodded and slipped her pad into her pocket, ruffled around in another pocket, coming out with a well used one. She scribbled down their order and disappeared.
“Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Hmm?” Harper clicked back in, leaning on his shoulder.
“I figured you’d be babbling about the decor. It’s something you’d normally be taking pictures of.”
She glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Again she shrugged. “A bit too busy for my taste, but it’s definitely rocking the multi-genre music vibe.”
“It’s like Jazz opened her notebook and it exploded all over the wall.”
“Our manic pixie would definitely be all over this place,” she said.
He bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “We’d find her in the corner, cross legged with a box of markers, drawing on the wall.”
“Right.” She rested her elbow on the table, tucking her chin on her hand. Again, conversation fell away.
It wasn’t like he needed constant chatter. He and Harper had never been the types to fill every silence, but he’d never sat next to her and felt like she was in the next room either.
The band started unloading. Microphones, guitars, keyboard, and brass were set up in a semi-circle. When he noticed the electric violin, he sat up straight. That had been one of the additions to “The Becoming”, their biggest song to date.
Maybe they needed to hit on that sound again. It brought a symphonic flavor to their music that he liked playing with. So close to the guitar and yet, so totally different.
Another layer.
He pulled his phone out and made a note and caught Harper shredding a slim, braided bracelet on her right wrist. Her rings flashed in the low light and she stopped, tucking her thumb under her ring finger to straighten her diamond. Then she curled her fingers into a fist and put it under the table.
Deacon frowned and chased her hand under the table, linking their fingers. Startled, she swung her gaze to his. The flash of something in her eyes made him lay his phone down.
It looked like…hurt.
God, had he done something? He opened his mouth to ask her again if something was wrong, but the waitress came back with their drinks and the drum tech picked then to test the skins. Harper’s sudden stiff posture shut him up as well.
Instead, he gently swiped his fingertips down the smooth skin of her back, paying special attention to the dip of her spine. He kept his strokes light and soothing, but rather than calming her like it usually did, she seemed to tighten up all the more.
“I’ll be right back.”
Deacon sat back in his chair. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom. Is that allowed?”
He frowned and held up his hands. “Sorry.”
She shook her hair back and grabbed her purse. Her ankle length dress flowed around her as she melted into the crowd. As she practically ran away from him.
What in the holy fuck?
He lifted his beer and downed half of it in long pulls. Harper had never been the type of woman to get in shitty moods for no reason. Especially when they’d been nothing but close for the last few days and nights. Ever since she’d disappeared that afternoon, everything had gone to shit.
Letting the music distract him, he realized it had been well over fifteen minutes since she’d gone to the ladies room. He stood, using his height advantage to scan the crowd for her.
Finally he spotted her along the side wall, her face lit up by her cell phone. Who the heck was she talking to? Neither of them had even looked at their cell phones since they’d gotten to Galveston and now that was twice she’d been distracted by it. He dug his phone out of his pocket to see if she’d texted him, but nothing.
She must have felt his eyes on her, because she suddenly looked up, shoved her phone in her bag, and headed back across the room to him. Had Annie contacted her? He got the impression that Annie was going on a family vacation for the holiday since they didn’t have any jobs lined up for their catering business.
When she was closer he realized he’d crossed his arms over his chest. Her shoulders were stiff and thrown back. He forced himself to relax and lifted his beer. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone for a while.”
“Sorry. I was bored.”
Deacon snapped his beer down on the table. “We didn’t have to come tonight. I told you I was more than happy staying at the cottage with you.”
“You know, we can do more than fuck like rabbits on our honeymoon.”
He raised his brows at her biting tone. “I’m not sure if you remember who’s been attacking who.”
“What, are you complaining?”
His fingers curled tighter around the bottle. “No. Jesus, Lawless. What the hell? You’ve been stiff and defensive since you got out of the shower.”
“I told you I was out of sorts.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“What, is that not allowed either?”
Deacon leaned into her, his voice low. “Who were you talking to?”
“I was just checking email. Afraid I’m talking to another guy?”
Baffled, he wiped his hand down his face. “No. That didn’t even occur to me. Why the hell are you trying to pick a fight?”
“I’m not.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
She huffed out a breath and took a sip from her glass. She turned to him and brought her hand up to his face. Smoothing her thumb along his beard, she closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck.
Not sure what to do, Deacon slid his hand around her back. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong. I know something’s up.”
“We’ve got a celebrity in the crowd tonight.”
Deacon’s back stiffened as a spotlight hit the table.
Crap.
“I know we�
�re kinda putting you on the spot, but we’d love if you came up for a song. For those of you that don’t know who this is, Deacon McCoy from Oblivion is here.”
Deacon waved off the light. He raised his voice to be heard. “Nah, man. I’m just here to enjoy the music.”
“C’mon, just one song.” The guy was probably a decade older than him, but he was utterly shameless. He hopped off the stage and headed their way.
“Shit.”
“Go on. You know you want to.”
Deacon frowned at Harper. “We—”
“Go on. You gotta be missing your bass.” She leaned into him, her eyes sad, but a little more present. “I love watching you play.” She lifted her finger to the space between his eyebrows. “Quit frowning. Play me some Bad Company. You know how it twists my panties.”
He almost believed her. She was smiling, but it seemed forced.
The lead singer to Burning Branch stood before him. “We can play nearly anything.”
“The wife requests a little Bad Company, man.”
Without missing a beat, the keyboardist started the opening strains of Bad Company’s title song. Deacon shook his head and stood. Like any good bar band, the guy knew how to extend an intro.
He slapped hands to those that held them out as he walked through the tables and followed the singer to the stairs. He was pretty sure the dude’s name was Rich, but he didn’t want to fuck it up.
Once they got on stage, Deacon flipped his hair back. He accepted the guitar from one of the guys on stage. Instead of trying to make the strap work—he had to have custom straps made—he sat on the stool off to the side and settled the guitar into his lap.
He automatically fell into rhythm guitar, following the lead guitarist in the band. Someone from the side of the stage flew out with a mic on an adjustable stand.
The words poured out of him as natural as if he were with his own band. And when the solos became a jam and the violin came in with another richer layer, Deacon nodded in approval. It felt good to play again. Harper was right about that. Everything had become about the studio and writing and figuring shit out for the new album.
How long had it been since he’d actually just let himself play for the pure joy of it? All the things that pulled at him to create bubbled up. As if he’d simply been corked. It came out in the long drag of fingers down the fret board. On the feel of the strings under his fingertips.
These were the songs he fell back on. The ones that echoed and resonated in his chest and his gut. Pieces of him that had been drawn to the guitar and the bass from the very beginning.
One song flowed into another as “Simple Man” drifted out on the quiet crowd. He found her in the wash of faces. A magnet quick click of souls. They’d been like that from the start as well. Her name had been on the tip of his tongue for years, never knowing it was going to be Harper.
The moment he’d heard her name and felt it curl around his mouth he’d known it would be branded on his heart. They may have fought it for a while. Both of them wondering if this was supposed to work. Miles of road and infinite heartbeats later, he’d finally found what he’d never imagined to look for.
His other half.
She was exactly what he’d needed. Exactly what he’d been longing for before he’d even known what it was like to love.
Her eyes were riveted to his, but as he got a bigger picture of her in the shadows, he took in the way her shoulders slumped forward over her drink. Like she was protecting herself. He blew out a breath. His instinct was to dump the guitar and get out there. Back to her.
Why wouldn’t she tell him what was wrong?
Was this what fighting with your spouse was like? He figured cranky arguments would feel different. He knew about being with people too much and how that could make you want to snarl. But everything about this felt wrong.
And when she lowered her eyes to look at her lap, breaking the contact, he felt it like a slap.
As the song wrapped up, he made his apologies when they tried to convince him to do another song. The boos were well meaning, and he gave a surprised start with the crowd clapped in thanks. Not just a polite smattering of applause, but genuine enjoyment. He couldn’t even take that moment to enjoy it.
Not when he saw Harper shrink back into her chair then get up and go for the door. Rushing down the stairs, he caught Becky at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m sorry. Is she mad at me? I had to tell my best friend and Rich heard me in the kitchen. I swear I didn’t mean for anyone to know you were here.”
“No.” Deacon patted her shoulder. He dug into his pocket and came out with money, pressing it into her hand. “It’s fine. It’s not you. She’s just not feeling great, and I think the crowd was too much for her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He didn’t have one fucking clue, but he knew that whatever was going on with Harper had nothing to do with the impromptu set that he’d played.
Somehow it had everything to do with him.
Nine
Hard Truths
“Harper!”
She didn’t slow. Couldn’t slow down. His face, full of love, and wonder and that pure heart-on-his-sleeve passion he had for his music tore at her.
All of the things that were true and honest and important to him, and she was going to blast every single one out of orbit. They were still so new. Still finding their footing as a married couple, for God’s sake.
She lifted her dress to step over the short cement divider that sectioned off the road to the access path to the beach. Cool sand sifted under her strappy sandals, spilling over her toes. She reached down and flipped off her shoes, grabbing them as she headed further down the packed sand to the water.
She needed to be away from people, from the noise and chatter of happy voices. How could everyone be so happy around her when she was so very confused?
Moonlight spilled over the sand, highlighting the tracks of seaweed and shells, stones, and the ever relentless pull of the tide as it eroded everything. Foam crisscrossed the larger rippling fingers of lapping water thanks to the stone pier and the battering ram of high tide.
She followed the moonlit path to that pier. Lonely and solitary, it made a focal point to attain.
He called her name again, gaining on her. Those damn long legs.
She couldn’t ask for him to leave her alone again. She had to tell him. It wasn’t right to keep the information inside her.
You don’t have to tell Deacon if you don’t want to.
Tears blurred her vision as she climbed the rocky pier. Sharp stones cut at her feet, her palms, her knee as she stumbled. Then his hands were there. His arms hauling her up onto the flat part of the pier where pedestrians walked.
He dragged her into his arms and the tears she’d been choking down rolled out in a torrent. She hooked her arms under his and held onto his shoulders as her nose found his chest. He smelled of ocean tinged cedar. The ever present heat of his core body temperature combating the sea spray kicking up around them, soaking her maxi dress.
He crouched down to her, pressing his nose into her shoulder, and just held her. As usual Deacon knew what she needed. Always seemed to know just what to do.
She never knew how to handle stuff. He was the problem solver. Even when he didn’t know all the answers, he knew what to do.
He crushed her harder to his chest the more she sobbed.
Hormones? This wasn’t the end of the world. This could be a wonderful thing, couldn’t it?
Then why did it feel like such a big thing?
Why did it feel like the end of…something. Something she couldn’t quite define.
She moved her arms to wrap around his neck, to press her face into the warmth that was Deacon, to find his mouth with hers. Their lips tasted of salt spray and desperation. She tasted baffled man and uncertain passion.
She tore her mouth away and rested her forehead against his. He was practically bent in half to reach down to her
and the darkness put him in silhouette.
But she didn’t need visuals. Earnest and bewildered Deacon would be staring down at her. But maybe it was better that the darkness cloaked them.
She wasn’t sure she could take the look on his face.
Would it be wonder and excitement or would it be confused chaos?
She understood the chaos. It had been churning inside of her since that afternoon.
He cupped her face, breaking the stranglehold she had on his shoulders and arms. “Harper, you are scaring the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m not doing this right.”
“Can we go back to the cottage and talk? You’re shivering.”
“I’m okay. I need to tell you something.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”
He swiped his thumbs over her cheeks, and more tears tumbled with each pass. She took a deep breath.
Say it, Harper Lee.
Stop being such a fucking drama queen.
Say it.
Say it.
“Harper, please.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“What?” His hands fell away from her face and cupped her shoulders. “What did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Deacon. I swear, I don’t even know how it happened.”
The silhouette of his shoulders heaved once and his grip tightened on her shoulders. “A baby?” His hand dropped to the curve of her waist and across the front of her belly.
She covered his hand with hers. “I don’t know what to do,” she said on a whisper that barely rose above the crash of the waves behind him. “We’re so not ready for this.”
“This is what has you so…today. What made you so distant?”
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand flat to her middle. “I was lying there with you this morning and all I could think about was how crazy the last few days had been.”
His fingertips widened as he splayed his entire hand along the slight indent of her belly.
“Food has tasted off for days. I just thought it was me. Strawberries were out of season. That’s why they tasted like…nothing. No taste at all. Then we went and had all that greasy food. You know I love smothered fries. How many times have we gone to the diner near the new house?”