Muses and Melodies (Hush Note Book 3)

by Rebecca Yarros

  “Have you even been to sleep yet?” I walked to his seat and plucked the glasses off his face, and the sight of his glassy eyes made me cringe. “Nix—”

  “Shush.” He took the sunglasses from my hand and returned them to his face. “After nap time.”

  I frowned and plopped into the seat across the aisle. His partying was getting out of hand.

  The attendant emerged from the galley with a Bloody Mary. “Here you go, Nix.”

  First-name basis already? This one wasn’t wasting any time.

  “I want an orange juice,” I ordered, drawing her attention. “And a glass of water, no ice. And a cup of coffee.”

  “Anything else I can get you?” she asked, her question aimed at Nixon, not me.

  He waved her off with a grin.

  “Do not get any ideas of taking her to the bedroom,” I said after she was out of earshot. “She’s probably already poked holes in a condom.”

  Nixon chuckled. “So cynical this morning.”

  “Helpful, not cynical. Think of how many skanks I’ve chased off with my prickly attitude. Think of how many ‘accidental’ pregnancies I’ve help you avoid. You could say you’re welcome.”

  He laughed, sipping his drink. “So where are we going?”

  “I assumed Ethan told you since you’re sitting here.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. Why are we going to Montana? You never go home.”

  I stared out the window, watching the ground crew motioning to our pilots. “Nan died.”

  Voicing the words was like a hammer to my chest, and every ounce of my strength went to keeping the tears at bay.

  “Fuck.” Nixon’s hand stretched across the aisle, and his fingers closed over my forearm. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I’m so, so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything? We could have canceled last night’s show.”

  “I needed it.” Of all people, Nix would understand the need to disappear into something for an hour to avoid reality.

  “What can I do?”

  “Don’t fuck the attendant until after you drop me off.”

  He chuckled. “Done. Anything else?”

  “Help me write a song for her. For Nan,” I whispered.

  “You got it.” His hand tightened on my arm, then fell away as the attendant returned with my drinks. She set them on a table, leaving us to relax in the plush leather seats as the pilot came back to greet us and confirm our flight schedule.

  When he disappeared into the cockpit, I put on my headphones and closed my eyes, listening to nothing as we prepared to depart. Nixon saw it as my signal that I didn’t want to talk and settled deeper into his chair. He was snoring before we were wheels up, soaring above the clouds.

  And I was flying home, dreading the return I’d put off for nearly a decade.

  The last time I’d seen Nan, or any of my family members, had been nine years ago. I’d left home at eighteen, ready to break free and chase my dreams. The first year had been the hardest, but then I’d found Jonas and Nixon and our band had become my makeshift family. With every passing year, it had been easier and easier to stay away from Montana. It had been easier to avoid the past.

  Except the easy way out had also been the coward’s path. I’d missed the chance to tell Nan goodbye.

  She wouldn’t call me on Mondays anymore. There would be no more cards in the mail on my birthday, stuffed with a twenty-dollar bill. Nan wouldn’t boast to her water aerobics class that her famous granddaughter had won a People’s Choice Award, then call to tell me exactly what she’d bragged.

  Tears welled as the sunlight streamed through my window. I blinked them away, refusing to cry with the flight attendant checking on us constantly, waiting for Nixon to wake up. I turned on my music and cranked the volume so loud the sound was nearly painful. Then I tapped my foot, matching the tempo. My fingers drummed on the armrests of my chair.

  I lost myself in the rhythm, like I had last night, only this was someone else’s beat.

  My own seemed fragile at the moment, like a pane of glass that would shatter if I hit it too hard. I was tiptoeing around my own talent, avoiding it, because lately I’d been questioning my ability to craft something new.

  This creative block was crushing me.

  Nixon’s deepening love affair with cocaine, alcohol and whatever other substances he was putting into his body had hindered his creative prowess as of late too.

  Our record label had been hounding us for months to get going on the next album. Jonas was flying home to Maine to write new lyrics. Since he’d found Kira this past year—his muse—most of his recent songs were fluffier than we’d recorded on previous albums. Nixon and I had both vetoed a couple of his drafts, but some of it had great potential.

  If we could match them to a tune.

  That’s where Nixon and I came in. Jonas had a gift with words. Nixon and I wielded the notes.

  Jonas’s recent lyrics needed the right amount of love in the melody. They needed a hint of angst to keep them interesting and an edge to be rock and roll. Explaining what I wanted in each song was simple. Stringing together something tangible was proving to be a challenge.

  Things had been so much simpler when he’d only written about sex.

  Now that we had a break in our schedule, I was anxious to get home to Seattle, where I could hole up in my apartment and sit behind my piano until it clicked.

  But first I’d spend a week in Montana saying goodbye.

  I loathed goodbyes, so I avoided them.

  Not this time.

  The knot in my stomach tightened with every passing hour. When the pilot announced we were beginning our descent, I shot out of my seat, raced to the bathroom and puked.

  “You okay?” Nixon asked, handing me a piece of gum as I emerged and took my seat.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Sure?”

  “Just nerves.”

  Hell, I hadn’t been this nervous since Hush Note’s early days. I didn’t get keyed up before shows anymore, not after years and years of practice. Besides, the moments on stage were the best part of this life. Playing for thousands of people live or playing for millions of people on television, my hands never shook. My stomach was rock solid.

  But this? Returning home to my family. Returning home for a funeral. Returning home to him.

  I was terrified.

  Nixon’s hand closed over my forearm once more, and he didn’t let go until the plane touched down.

  “I don’t want to be here,” I confessed as we taxied across the runway.

  “Want me to stay?” His eyes, clearer after his nap, were full of tenderness.

  He’d stay if I said yes. He’d be miserable and bored, but he’d stay. A part of me wanted to use him as a buffer between me and my family, but his presence and fame would only make things harder.

  My face wasn’t as recognizable on the street as his, and I didn’t get half of his attention because I wasn’t one of the guys. I wasn’t the lead on stage, singing into a microphone as I played a guitar. Nixon had been People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive three years ago. This year’s reigning man was Jonas.

  The last thing we needed this week were swooning fans wanting autographs.

  I wanted to get in and out of Montana without much fuss. I was here to pay my respects to Nan and then I was going home.

  Alone.

  “No, but thanks.” The plane stopped and the pilot came out to open the door as I collected my things. “Where will you go? Home to Seattle?”

  “Nah. I’m feeling somewhere tropical. Hawaii’s close.”

  “Please don’t drink so many dirty bananas that you forget to pick me up. Next Monday. Should I write it down?”

  “No, but you’d better make sure Ethan has that in his calendar.”

  “I will.” I laughed, bending to kiss his stubbled cheek. “Thanks for flying with me.”

  “Welcome.”

  “You’re a good guy, Nix.”

  He put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.
It’s easier to get women into bed when they think you’re the bad boy.”

  “Annnd you’re also a pig.” I frowned as the attendant came over, batting her eyelashes as she handed Nixon a cocktail. When had he even ordered that drink? Maybe I should make him stay with me and force him to be sober for a week. “Don’t go crazy. Are you going to be okay?”

  “I’m a rock star, baby.” He flashed me a smile, the devilish one he saved for his fans and women. It was the stage smile that masked his demons. “I’m fucking awesome.”

  Lies. He was far from awesome, but I wasn’t sure how to help him. Not when he was on a mission to lose himself in sex and booze and drugs like he did every summer.

  “Thanks again.” I waved. “Enjoy your flight attendant.”

  “Enjoy your time home.”

  My stomach pitched at his parting words. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed toward the door. At the base of the jet’s stairs, my suitcase was waiting with the pilot.

  I nodded a farewell and fished a pair of sunglasses from my bag, sliding them on before crossing the tarmac. The path from the private runway to the terminal was marked by yellow arrows on the charcoal asphalt.

  The sunshine blazed hot on my shoulders as I pulled the hood on my black jacket over my blond hair. It was the best way to keep from being recognized, and with the mood I was in, it would do no good to be spotted by a fan today.

  The summer breeze blew across my face, bringing that clean mountain air to my nose. We’d spent too many days breathing recycled air in buses and planes and hotels. I might have traded my country upbringing for a life in the city and preferred it as such, but this fresh, pure air was unbeatable.

  Montana had a wholly unique smell of mountains and majesty.

  I reached the terminal door too soon and stepped into the air conditioning. Ethan had reserved a rental car and a hotel suite for me, and as soon as I was checked into my room, I was planning on a long, hot shower. Then I’d unpack and go through the hotel move-in routine I’d perfected over the years.

  My toiletries would be lined up beside the bathroom sink. I’d put my clothes in drawers and stow my suitcase in the closet. Then I’d search for a TV channel in a foreign language. I didn’t speak a foreign language, but I liked the background noise to drown out any sounds from the hallway.

  It was a trick I’d learned in Berlin on our first European tour. These days, I couldn’t sleep in a hotel room without the TV blaring some drama in Spanish, French or German.

  If it was loud enough, I’d be able to cry without fear someone would overhear.

  I spotted the rental car desk, but before I could aim my feet in that direction, a familiar face caught my eye.

  The world blurred.

  Standing in the lobby of the airport was the boy I’d left behind.

  Graham Hayes.

  Except he wasn’t a boy anymore. He’d grown into a man. A handsome, breathtaking man who belonged on the cover of People beside Jonas and Nix.

  He stood motionless with his eyes locked on me. The airport had been remodeled since I’d left, but the spot where he stood was almost exactly the place where I’d left him nine years ago. He’d been standing at the base of a staircase, watching me walk away.

  I wouldn’t fool myself into thinking he’d been waiting here for my return.

  What the hell was Graham doing here? I wasn’t ready to face him yet. I wasn’t ready to face any of them yet, but especially Graham.

  He broke out of his stare and unglued his feet. His strides were easy and confident as he walked my way. His square jaw was covered in a well-trimmed beard, the shade matching the brown of his hair. It was longer than how he’d worn it as a teenager. Sexier. The man he’d become was beyond any version that I’d imagined during many lonely hotel nights.

  I gulped as he neared. My heart raced.

  This was not the plan. I was supposed to rent a car, go to my hotel and regroup. I needed time to regroup, damn it, and time to prepare.

  Graham’s long legs in dark jeans ate up the distance between us. The sound of his boots on the floor pounded with the same thud of my heart.

  Before I was ready, he stood in front of me.

  “Quinn.” His voice was smooth and deep, lower than I remembered. He used to say my name with a smile, but there wasn’t a hint of one on his face.

  “Hi, Graham.”

  He wore a Hayes-Montgomery Construction T-shirt. My mother had sent me one of the same for Christmas two years ago.

  He was the Hayes.

  My brother, Walker, was the Montgomery.

  The black cotton stretched across his broad chest. I’d spent many nights with my ear against that chest, but it hadn’t been as muscled back then. It had held promise, though, of the man he’d become.

  The man he had become.

  Everything about Graham seemed to have changed, even those golden-brown eyes. The vibrant color was the same as I saw in my dreams, but they were colder now. Distant. A change I couldn’t blame on time.

  No, that one was on me.

  “Let’s go.” He ripped the handle of my suitcase from my grip.

  “I have a car reserved.” I pointed to the rental kiosk, but Graham turned and walked toward the doors. “Graham, I have a car.”

  “Cancel it,” he clipped over a shoulder. “Your mom asked me to pick you up.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, yanking my phone from my pocket. Texting Ethan while keeping up with Graham’s punishing pace was difficult, and I looked up just in time to stop myself from crashing into a wall.

  Oh, hell. It wasn’t just a wall. It was a wall holding a framed Hush Note poster, and there I was, in the center. My hair was thrown back as I pounded on the drums. Jonas was singing into a microphone while Nixon riffed on his guitar.

  It was the poster our label had made for tour promo last year, and the airport had embellished it with a banner strung over the top.

  Welcome to Bozeman.

  Home of Quinn Montgomery, Hush Note’s Grammy Award-Winning Drummer.

  Graham paused and looked back, likely wondering what was taking me so long. When he spotted the poster, he shot it a glare that might have incinerated the paper had it not been protected behind glass. Then he marched through the door, his strides even faster.

  I jogged to keep up but was too far away to stop him from throwing my suitcase into the bed of a truck—an actual throw far more damaging than I’d ever seen from airline personnel.

  “Get in.” He jerked his chin to the passenger door.

  “Okay.” I bit my tongue.

  Since my rental car was out, my new plan was to survive this ride to the hotel. Graham was upset, and I’d let it blow over. Ten minutes, fifteen tops, and we’d go our separate ways. I was here this week for Nan and causing drama with Graham would have upset her.

  So I climbed in his truck and took a deep breath.

  Graham’s scent surrounded me. As a boy, he’d smelled fresh and clean. It was still there, familiar and heartbreaking, but with a spicy undercurrent of musk and cologne and man. The heady, intoxicating smell wasn’t going to make this trip to the hotel any easier.

  Before I had my seat belt buckled, Graham was behind the wheel and racing away from the curb.

  I swallowed and braved conversation. “So, um . . . how have you been?”

  His jaw ticked in response, but thankfully the radio filled the silence.

  The Sirius XM Countdown continues with “Sweetness” by Hush Note. A song that’s been number one on our countdown for—

  Graham stabbed the off button with his finger.

  I faced the window.

  So Graham wasn’t just upset. He was furious. Clearly nine years apart hadn’t turned me into a fond memory.

  “I have a reservation at the Hilton Garden Inn. If you wouldn’t mind dropping me—”

  “You’re going home.”

  Right. End of discussion. Graham was doing a favor for my mother since my family would be busy on a Sunday mo
rning. He’d been sent to retrieve me before I could disappear to my hotel.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry to leave the East Coast.

  The drive through Bozeman was tense. I kept my gaze fixed outside, taking in the new buildings. The town had boomed over the years. Where there had once been open fields, there were now office complexes, shopping centers and restaurants.

  It wasn’t until we approached downtown that the streets became more familiar and I was able to anticipate Graham’s turns. When we reached my childhood neighborhood, I marveled at the homes. Had they always been this small?

  Then we were parked in front of my parents’ home. My home.

  Finally, something that hadn’t changed. Slate-blue siding, white trim, black shutters and Mom’s red geraniums planted in a whiskey barrel by the front door.

  “Thanks for dropping me off,” I told Graham, risking a glance his way. “Just like old times.”

  He’d always insisted on dropping me off at my house even though he lived next door.

  Except back then, he would have smiled and kissed me goodbye.

  But that was before.

  Before I’d broken his heart.

  Before he’d shattered mine.

  PREORDER NOW

  The Hush Note Series

  BOOK ONE: LIES AND LULLABIES

  By Sarina Bowen

  BOOK TWO: RIFTS AND REFRAINS

  By Devney Perry

  BOOK THREE: MUSES AND MELODIES

  By Rebecca Yarros

  Also by Rebecca Yarros

  The Flight and Glory Series

  Full Measures

  Eyes Turned Skyward

  Beyond What is Given

  Hallowed Ground

  The Reality of Everything

  Legacy

  Point of Origin

  Ignite

  Standalones

  The Last Letter

  Great and Precious Things

  Coming Soon

  The Things We Leave Unfinished

  About the Author