by BB Miller
“Tom?” My head snaps up, but my father is staring out the window to avoid looking at me, his lips twisted in a smirk. “Oh my God. So, while I was waiting for Matt to wake up, you two were gossiping about us like a couple of old women?”
I swat his arm, but he merely laughs and pretends to duck. “Not the entire time,” he protests through his chuckles. A smile tugs at my lips, ruining my scowl, so I give up. He slips his arm around my shoulders.
“Look, honey. All I’m saying is that after the blow he received, it’ll be natural for Matt to struggle while he finds his feet.”
“I know that, Dad.”
“And maybe your pampering just keeps reminding him of everything that happened and everything that he fears might happen. If you want to help him move on, don’t smother him, Tess. That’s not what a man like Matt needs. Just be yourself. Smart mouth, bad cooking, and all.”
I roll my eyes, and he chuckles again. “So, are you ready to go back and face the music yet? Or do you want to put on a spare pair of shoes so you can help me putter in the garage a while?”
It’s late when I pull the Camaro back into the garage and shut off the engine. Helping Dad reorder his socket wrenches and clean up the garage also helped me clear my head. Maybe I have been letting my concern for Matt override my instincts. But is it fair to snap back at him with my usual snark and add to his anxiety? He’s got enough to worry about without me adding to it, doesn’t he?
There are no sounds from the loft as I mount the stairs. I’m sure he must have heard the garage gate groan shut—everyone in a ten-block radius can hear the damn thing. Maybe he left? Or maybe he moved on from the guitar to smash up the entire place? Bracing myself for anything, I open the door quietly and enter. The living room is empty, a single lamp in the corner emitting a soft golden light. The deep dents in the amp bear silent witness to the afternoon’s ferocity. The scraps of what’s left of his poor red Fender stick upright in the garbage can that’s now sitting by the door. Everything else seems as it was.
A noise from up in the bedroom alerts me. I can’t see him, but I know he’s up there. My steps on the bedroom stairs echo in the loft in time with my heartbeat. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
“Hi,” I whisper and sit on the edge of the low wall that surrounds his elevated bedroom. He doesn’t raise his head but reaches blindly toward me; I immediately move and take his hand. He pulls me to stand in front of him so he can rest his forehead against my stomach. I feel him shudder as his arms encircle my waist.
“You came back.” His voice is muffled, but I can hear his relief. I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and gently ruffle his blond hair.
“Of course I came back. This is where you are.”
He leans back a bit and looks up at me. His eyes are dark with contrition. “I’m glad. Although I wouldn’t blame you if you hadn’t.”
I brush a fingertip over his lips, and he closes his eyes, as if savoring my touch. “Did it help?” I ask simply. He knows what I mean—a corner of his mouth turns up.
“Yeah, actually it did.”
“Okay, then. Next time you feel the urge to break something, though, I’d advise you to call Tucker. I’m sure he has things you can destroy that don’t cost quite so much.”
He huffs a chuckle. “No doubt.” He scans my face and digs his fingers into my waist. “I’m sorry, Tess. Are you okay?”
I nod, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Of course. It will take more than that to drive me away.”
“I’m not sure whether that makes you too good to be true or completely nuts.” His eyes spark with a sense of humor that I’ve missed these last six weeks.
“Let’s go with the first choice.” He laughs in response and positions me back a step so he can rise. He bends over and awkwardly digs into a pocket of his backpack with his healing arm. I fight the urge to move to help him. It’s harder than I thought.
Ignorant of my internal struggle, he turns and shyly holds out a small black velvet bag. “Six weeks ago, I had meant for this evening to go differently. Happy birthday.”
Oh my God. I gulp and take the featherweight bag. My heart is in my throat as I open the strings and tip the contents into my palm. A thin platinum oval winks up at me in the dim light. “Oh, Matt,” I breathe, and hold it up to look more closely. “They’re beautiful.” Three delicate charms hang from the bracelet: a butterfly, a heart, and a guitar. I look at him with wonder, blinking back tears.
“They seemed appropriate.” His husky voice sends a shiver of desire down my spine. “You have my heart, after all.”
He’s standing too far away. Clutching my gift in my hand, I rush and throw my arms around his neck, startling him. With a soft grunt of gratitude, he hugs me, squeezing as tightly as his shoulder will allow. “I love you, Cardinal,” he whispers, and I gasp out a half-laugh, half-sob against his collarbone. I don’t need to hear those words, but I have to admit they sound pretty damn good.
“I love you, too.” I sniff into his chest. “And I’m sorry.”
“What have you got to be sorry for?” he scoffs, his arms tightening a bit, as if I might slip away from him.
“I’m sorry for smothering you. I’ll try to give you space and won’t nag when you do something asinine.”
His laugh resonates in his chest. “I’m sorry for behaving like an ungrateful Neanderthal with his head up his ass,” he replies, his nose buried in my hair. “I know this whole thing has scared you, too.”
My giggle comes out as a gurgle, thanks to my stuffy nose. “Sounds like maybe we both talked to our dads today.”
“Maybe so.” He cups my cheek, tilting my head so he can see my face. The longing and love shining in his eyes—with a hint of desperation—take my breath away. “I need us to be normal again, Tess. I just want to play my music and love you the best way I know how. And I promise to do whatever I need to do to accomplish both.”
“Me, too.” I pull his head down to mine, my lips ghosting over his. “We’ll figure it out, Matt. It’s what we do.”
Matt
I’M A DRENCHED, sweaty mess, caught in a tangle of metal and steel. Tess’s broken body is still as stone, unresponsive, just out of my reach.
“Looks like our work here isn’t quite done, boys.”
A group surrounds us, their faces cloaked in the darkness of the night. Sadistic laughter, a kick to my ribs, followed by another.
Pain seers through my shoulder as I struggle against the weight of the Harley. I’m pinned, trapped, and unable to move. A shadowed body moves closer to Tess, crouching down beside her. He tosses a sneer my way.
“I think we’ll have some fun with her.”
I wake up in a cold sweat, arms flailing and heart hammering to another vivid nightmare. Tess stirs awake beside me, her arm sliding across my chest. “It’s just a dream.” Her voice calms me, and I bury my face in the blanket of her hair.
Just a dream. It’s not real. She’s real. She’s what’s real.
Tess. She’s everything that’s good and right in my life. She’s here and she’s safe. I repeat it over and over until the harshness of the dream starts to fade.
My arm is on fire with the weight of her draped over me, but I don’t want to move.
“Sorry,” she whispers, leaning away, but I need to feel her, close and protected. Away from the nightmares that threaten to pull me under.
“No. Don’t. I want you here. I need you here.”
“But your shoulder.”
“I need you, Cardinal.”
“I’m right here,” she whispers against my neck as I tighten my hand over the delicious curve of her hip.
She seems to know what I want, what I need on instinct alone. Slowly, she straddles me, her creamy thighs brushing my overheated skin. There’re very few advantages to having little to no mobility in my arm, but this is one of them. Tess taking control, leading me down the path we both want to ride.
It’s sweet torture not b
eing able to tighten both my arms around her, to lift her like I used to, like I want to. Her like this, spreading her thighs wide, guiding my cock to her entrance, watching when she throws her head back as she rides me, takes my breath away.
Leaning forward, I pull one hardened nipple into the warmth of my mouth. She answers on a parted sigh and a gradual grind of her hips. This is what’s so fucking perfect about Tess and me: the give and take. She’s strong where I’m weak, a breath of fresh air when the darkness threatens to choke me.
I tighten my good hand against the curve of her ass, coaxing her faster. Her slow and steady rhythm quickly becomes raw and erratic. Coaxing my lips back to hers, her fingers tighten into my hair, tugging relentlessly with each intense thrust of my hips. It’s like she can’t get enough of this, of me.
Feeling her clench around me, heat fires up my spine, and I lean back to watch her fall apart. It’s a sight I’ll never get used to. I’m right there with her, the arm I can move bracing around her back as my hips slam forward with my own release.
She’s a panting wreck, her hair wild and tangled around my face. Her shaky breaths mix with my own as she clings to me. For a few glorious minutes, I don’t care about the throb in my shoulder or the stress of not being able to play. It’s just Tess and me, and that’s all I’ll ever need.
She realizes far too soon that despite her best efforts to avoid it, she’s crushing me.
“Sorry about that.” Her gentle lips brush against my shoulder as she lifts away, tucking herself under my other arm.
“I never want you to apologize for that.” Her fingers lightly trace the lines of ink on my chest, and I breathe her in. Pulling my hand through her thick hair is soothing in a way I hadn’t expected, but then everything about Tess and me has been unexpected.
“You never talk about your dreams.” She glances up at me.
“You don’t want that shit in your head, believe me.”
“If you won’t talk about it with me, maybe you can see a counselor.” Scoffing at her suggestion, I shake my head. She leans up, her lips hovering just over mine. “It’s eating you alive. I can see it.”
“I’ve been dealing with it my whole life. No counselor is going to make it better.” I take a bite at her bottom lip. “You do that already.”
“You are the most stubborn person on the planet.”
“I thought you had that title.” She shakes her head with an amused grin. “If this is about before, you know that’s not me. I’d never hurt you, Tess.”
“I know that. And it’s okay; everybody needs to get lost sometimes.”
I lean back against the pillow. “That’s a really good lyric.”
Her answering laugh is exactly what I need. There’s no drug they can give me that makes me feel the way she does. “I’m serious.” My hand skims along her side, up to cup the underside of her breast. Fuck, if I could stay here like this with her, life would be so much easier. “I’ve been writing a bit.”
I can see her smile in the path of the moonlight peeking through the window. “You have?”
“Mmm. I’m thinking about talking to the guys about it since I’m fucking useless otherwise.”
Her leg hitches over mine as she presses against my side. “You’re a lot of things, but fucking useless isn’t one of them.”
“Is that right? Why don’t you tell me what else I am then, Cardinal, hmm?” I slip my hand up her back, tugging at the ends of her hair. It earns me one of her sexy little moans. “You have my undivided attention.”
A couple of weeks later, I’m at Kennedy’s front door in Bodega Bay, shifting nervously. My grip tightens on the tablet in my hand. I’m a fucking idiot for calling him and asking to meet. Of all the ideas I’ve had over the years, this has to be on the list of the worst. The man is a lyrical genius. He’s going to think I’m ridiculous. What the hell was I thinking?
I look back to the Camaro, plotting my escape. I shouldn’t have come here.
The door whips open as I contemplate my sanity, and Kennedy offers me a grin. He looks relaxed, but then again, he’s not the one about to spill his guts. “Matty, it’s good to see you, man. Come on in.”
I step inside, taking a look around. I hope to hell he’s alone. “How’s the arm coming along without the cast?” He nods in the direction of my shoulder.
“It’s a work in progress, Tucker tells me. Slow and steady, you know?”
“I hear you. You’re in good hands there. Tucker won’t let you be the slacker we all know you are.” He leads the way into his massive living room.
Sinking down to one of the couches that face the ocean, he eyes me. “What’s up? Not that I mind you visiting. You know you’re welcome anytime.”
“Is Abby here?” I glance down the sprawling hallway.
“She’s at work. It’s just you and me, so take a load off, and spill it.”
I drop into the couch across from him, my leg bouncing off nervous energy. “What’s happening with the tour? Have you guys talked about replacing me?”
Kennedy scowls, silent as he studies me. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m serious. Look, man, I get it. You’ve got commitments, fans, and the entire country of Canada waiting for you.”
“No. We’ve got all of those things. How can you think we’d replace you?”
“Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.”
“It hasn’t.” I lift a brow. “Okay, so the record label’s been asking, but we shut it down.” Shaking my head, I rub my hand across the back of my neck. “Matty, it’s not an option. This is temporary. Your shoulder’s going to heal, and you’ll be back in no time.”
My throat constricts, reality spilling out of my mouth. “There’s a possibility I may never play the same way again.”
Kennedy doesn’t even flinch. “I don’t believe that and neither do you.”
Feeling the frustration start to fire through me, I try to lift my arm. Every day it gets a little easier. The aqua therapy in Cameron’s infinity pool has definitely been helping, even if it does come with Sean lounging poolside like the king of the world with a fruity umbrella drink in his hand, barking orders at me. Therapy is a long and painful road in more ways than one. “It’s nerve damage, Kennedy. There’s no way to predict how it’s going to heal, if it’s going to heal.”
“Have you even tried playing yet?”
“If by try you mean trashing the red Fender, then yeah.”
His eyes widen. “Wait, which Fender? Not the ’72?”
“One in the same.” He grimaces. “And technically I didn’t really try to play it; I just kind of totaled it. Anyway, it’s found a nice new home in a landfill.”
Kennedy leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know you can always talk to me. You, the guys, you’re my brothers. And what I’ve always said is still true. The band doesn’t work without all of us. We’ll figure this out.” Hearing any of the guys talk this way always gets to me, even after all this time. I’m still surprised people actually give a shit about me.
“Plus, to be honest,” he continues, “the break is nice. Not that I like what you’ve been going through. I’ve gotten time to spend with Abby and Mom and Dad.”
“Glad I could help you out.”
“You know what I mean. It kills me to see you like this. If I could trade places with you, I’d do it. We all would.”
My fingers tighten against the tablet as I fight to keep it together. “Shit. Don’t get all emotional on me. I feel bad enough as it is.”
“You’re stuck with us. You leaving, or whatever else is going through that thick skull of yours, isn’t happening, got it?”
Giving him a slow nod, I open up the tablet, my heart pounding. “Since I can’t play, I’ve kind of been sort of writing a bit. I mean, it’s not like your stuff, but it’s something.”
I finally glance back to him.
“Kind of sort of been, hmm?”
“Fuck, I don’t know why I’m so ner
vous.”
“If it helps, I’m a wreck every time before I share something new with you guys. What if it’s shit? What if they laugh at it? What if we can’t find a way to make it ours? A million questions run through my head, you don’t even want to know.” He glances down to the tablet. “Going all high tech?”
“I know you write everything out old school with notes and everything, but there’s a couple of apps I found.”
He lets out a laugh. “Jesus. There’s an app. Of course there is.”
“Welcome to the 21st century. Anyway, it lays down tracks for the bass, even drums, so you can get a feel for it. Obviously, it’s not going to sound like it would when you play it.”
“When we play it,” he says pointedly.
“Right. When we play it, but it’ll give you an idea.”
“You want me to call the rest of the guys? It can be a celebration. A little different than the one we had on New Year’s Eve.” He pushes up from the couch to start heading down to his studio.
“What happened New Year’s Eve?” Following him down the stairs, he flips the lights on. I can feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, glancing at the glass-enclosed studio at the far end of the room. How many hours have we spent down here perfecting a track, fighting over a chorus, playing into the middle of the night? History written right here in this room.
“We had a party in your room.” My eyes widen as he continues, “Sean blew up a bunch of those extra-small condoms you kept getting from fans, filled them with glitter.” He laughs, lifting one of his Fender acoustics from the stand and pulling the strap over his shoulder. “Fuck, that was funny. We had to wade through them, there were so many.”
“Wait, you spent New Year’s Eve in my hospital room while I was unconscious?”
“Damn right we did. Party hats, music, sparkling cider at midnight. The whole nine yards. It was pretty fucking epic. The nurses weren’t impressed.”
“I had no idea.”
“Course you didn’t.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “We didn’t want you and Tess to be alone.”