by Emily Conrad
“How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
“That’s really young.” Tegan spoke gently, as if Adeline’s age excused what came next.
“After he’d been gone six months and things weren’t going well for Awestruck, he got down again. We were growing apart. I was a college student living with my parents, and he was a starving artist, waiting for the big break with less and less hope.”
“That’s a heavy load for an eighteen-year-old to deal with. That would be heavy for me at twenty-five.”
“Yeah, but I made terrible mistakes.”
“You’re not a psychologist. There’s only so much you could’ve done for him.”
“I could’ve been faithful.”
Tegan drew her mouth into a line, but she didn’t look as disapproving as Adeline had expected. “What happened?”
“After they’d been gone a year and a half, Gannon came home for Christmas. He wrapped me in this gigantic hug. It was like all the time we’d spent together, all the conversations we’d racked up, the ways he’d matured, the fact he was there, flesh and blood and present and interested in my life …”
“And at that point,” Tegan said, “you hadn’t seen Fitz in over a year.”
“That doesn’t make what I did okay.”
Tegan shifted in her seat, settling in, ready to wait her out.
Adeline pushed herself ahead. “I went to a classmate’s party, knowing Gannon would be there. I hitched a ride home with him. Kissed him in the car.”
When he’d responded in turn, she’d realized her crush wasn’t as one-sided as she’d assumed. Neither of them had wanted to stop, so they hadn’t. But they should’ve. The kiss never should’ve happened, let alone everything after. She deserved now for everyone to know she was that kind of person. The kind who’d done that. But her throat closed against the truth.
“I’m not saying it’s okay,” Tegan said. “I’m saying it’s understandable.”
“I betrayed Fitz. And God. When I told you and Drew the story the other day, I made Gannon sound like he was the one to blame, but I’m just as guilty.”
“What Drew said is still true. You’ve carried this too long.”
She didn’t argue, but she couldn’t bring herself to signal agreement. If God had forgiven her like Gannon promised, why did she still feel so ashamed? Why was her life so difficult that she had to sell the bass to fix her house?
That wasn’t the picture of God’s forgiveness. He didn’t want her prayers, and He didn’t want her music.
She stood and clutched the handles on the instrument case.
“Let me help.” Tegan rose, steadied the top, and navigated with her down the stairs. They loaded the instrument into the back of Tegan’s SUV. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I’ve got it from here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” But as she got behind the wheel, her heart pounded and her breath went shallow. With shaking hands, she shifted into reverse and took the trip to the music store one block at a time.
Once she’d parked and wrestled the bass inside, business mode took over. She went through the motions, told the man behind the counter why she’d come.
He laid his glasses on the paperwork he’d been reviewing. “I remember you having the bass serviced here. Getting something new?”
“I haven’t been playing, and unfortunately, I’m a little short on cash.”
“Ah. Well.” He scratched his chin and came out from behind the counter. “I wish you’d called first. We don’t go through many basses here. Most students rent one of the school district’s instruments.”
“Oh.” She looked over the case, remembering each curve of the bass underneath. “It’s in excellent shape. Maybe a school would buy it.”
He wobbled his head with doubt. “I could make some calls, but if we bought it to resell, we could only give about a thousand for it.”
“It’s worth twice that. At least.” Would one thousand dollars even cover the cost of the painter?
“But who knows how long it’d sit in our inventory, and we have to have a margin on it. You might do better taking it to a larger city. I can give you the name of a shop in Green Bay.”
Since selling the bass for so little was out of the question, she numbly accepted the slip of paper he offered her.
“Call before you make the drive. Mention me and that your service has been done by the same luthier they use. Hopefully they can make a better offer.” He seemed to assess her and then the bass. “Can I carry it back out for you?”
She shook her head and lifted the weight.
The neighborhood association had given her ninety days, and a couple of weeks had passed since she’d received the letter. As drained as she felt by this trip, once she slumped back in the driver’s seat, she forced herself to call the other shop.
The salesperson took a message and promised someone would be in touch on Monday, but the girl’s tone hit the point home: her most valuable possession wasn’t the commodity she’d hoped.
At the sound of giggling, Gannon rose from the couch and went to the foyer. Matt had caught an evening flight and then driven up from Green Bay. Gannon and John had expected him hours ago. As the night progressed, their theories about the condition he’d arrive in had grown grim.
The laughter bubbled from two blond women. Or girls. They wore enough makeup that they might be seventeen-year-olds hoping to look older. Their clothes were as skimpy as the women wore in the clubs Matt frequented in LA, but they weren’t the same designer quality. He’d found these two somewhere else.
“You waited up for me?” Matt laid his hand over his chest as if flattered. Alcohol wafted off his breath. He had no luggage, but one of the girls lowered a leather duffle bag to the stone floor. Had he let her carry his bag for him?
“We’re not here to entertain guests, Matt.”
“I wasn’t planning to share anyway.” He drew the women closer, eliciting more giggles. Matt’s clothes hung off him. With his sallow complexion and the circles under his eyes, he couldn’t have picked up women this attractive without the help of his role in Awestruck, which meant the women knew who Matt and Gannon were. As if the staring and the coy smiles hadn’t already confirmed that.
“They need to leave. Send them back with the car.”
“I got a rental. It doesn’t drive itself.”
Gannon brushed past them and opened the door. A bright red supercar glittered under the lights of the carport, though a car service had been scheduled to pick Matt up from the airport. “You’re lucky you didn’t wrap that around a tree.”
One of the women whispered something in Matt’s ear.
He chuckled. “She wants to know if you’re always this uptight.”
Gannon focused on the blondes. “Where are you from?”
The one with longer hair twirled a lock around a finger. “Milwaukee.”
“Originally,” the other girl said. “We go to Lakeshore College.”
Local girls? Matt must’ve stopped at a bar once he’d arrived in town. At least they’d be easy to send home and, if they were college students, they probably weren’t minors.
Keys jangling, Tim approached, his hair sticking up as if he’d rolled out of bed and into a pair of jeans. “Someone needs a ride?”
John, who stood nearby with his phone, must’ve texted for help.
Matt dropped his arms from his guests and swiped the back of his hand under his nose. Always with the runny nose and bloodshot eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“We’re minimizing distractions around here.” Tim’s gaze swept the women up and down. “And you two look like marvelous distractions.”
The women all but batted their eyelashes as they gravitated toward Awestruck’s manager. They probably thought he was in the band too.
Matt made a grab for Tim’s shoulder to stop him, but John and Gannon stepped between them. In moments, Tim had ushered the women out the door.
Gannon’s anger soared, but he had better recourse than returning the blow. “Try it. You’ll be gone, and not just from the cabin.”
Matt jerked back, stooped, and slung the duffle bag over his shoulder with a grunt. “This isn’t a convent, and I’m not a nun.”
Gannon let the ridiculous statement go unanswered as he shadowed the bassist into the great room and pointed to a door on the second floor. “That one’s yours.”
Matt climbed the stairs, trailing his hand along the railing until he reached the bedroom.
Once Matt shut the door, John dropped onto one of the couches. “Nice room assignment.”
The idea had been that Matt would be easier to supervise if he was near the common living areas, but with the door closed, he could do anything up there. What kind of war would Gannon start by checking on him?
“About what you said”—John brought his gaze down from Matt’s door and met Gannon’s eyes—“I agree. If he crosses the line, I’ll be on your side this time. We’ll fire him.”
This time.
Gannon and John had only discussed firing a band member once before, when the label told them to drop Fitz. Pain spread through Gannon’s chest. Behind that closed door, Matt wasn’t who he used to be, but he didn’t deserve an end like Fitz’s.
“It’d better not come to that.”
John nodded. “But we have to be prepared.”
Gannon retreated to his room, the reminder of Fitz squeezing his lungs. After everything, Gannon had no right to harbor feelings for Adeline. He sat on the bed and peered into the darkness that had settled on the lake. From the edge of the island blackened by night shone the beacon of the lighthouse.
He took the fresh notebook he’d started and worked for about an hour before turning in. But despite the distraction, despite knowing he had no right, as he tried to sleep, thoughts of Adeline plagued him. She was the only woman he knew who’d have his phone number and not use it.
8
When Gannon made his way to the kitchen in the morning, Tim sipped coffee at the island, a laptop open in front of him.
“Get the women home all right?” Gannon put a mug of water in the microwave.
“Yeah. They won’t be talking, but I can’t say the same for everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
“Matt met them at a party, which he found by posting about being in town and looking for something to do.”
Gannon turned from the cabinet to lock eyes with Tim. “You’re kidding.”
“Lina reached out as soon as she saw it, about twenty minutes after he posted.”
Lina, Awestruck’s social media manager, had been working for the band almost as long as Tim had. Judging by her quick action last night, she had a better handle on Awestruck’s goals than Matt did.
“I had her take it down, but enough people know you’re here, and with this all over the Internet”—Tim swiveled the laptop to face Gannon—“it’s a good thing the security team starts today. Expect a mob next time you go out.”
An image of Gannon and Harper covered the screen, him in a tux, her in a backless, silver gown. His hand rested on her waist while one of hers lay on his chest. Despite his lackluster smile, the way they peered at each other in the picture had been spawning rumors for months.
He’d been doing an interview on the red carpet when Harper tripped on that fancy gown, slamming into him. A dozen pictures had been snapped in the three seconds it took to untangle from each other.
He shrugged at the headline and tried to hand the laptop back.
Tim shook his head to refuse it. “Keep going.”
He scrolled the article to a picture of Harper leaving his building. Her hair mostly hid her face, and what wasn’t covered by her locks, she’d held up a hand to shield. The article claimed it was a walk of shame.
“Well?” Tim asked.
His mouth went dry, but he refused to flinch. “I let her stay one night while we were here.”
Tim continued watching him.
“There’s nothing going on. Harper and I are friends. Period.” He went back to making his tea. “She’s with Colton, and there’s a lot more photographic proof of that than anything with me.”
Tim tapped the laptop’s touch pad, intent on the article. “You know there’d be no shame in it.”
“In what?”
“You and Harper …” Tim shrugged.
“If there’s no shame in it, why don’t you want to finish that thought out loud?”
“Hanging out with you too long, I guess.”
If only that were the case, but Tim’s years with Gannon and John hadn’t changed his theology. Back when they’d signed with Tim, the man hadn’t said a word one way or the other about God. He was well known in the industry and had played a key role in Awestruck’s success. As their fame grew and Tim devoted more and more of his time to them, he’d grown less tight lipped about disagreeing with Gannon and John’s faith. They discussed whether to find someone new but decided they didn’t have to share the same beliefs to work together, provided Tim stayed ethical. Plus, Gannon hoped to eventually win Tim for Christ.
Tim’s phone pinged, and he typed a reply, taking care of who-knew-what detail of Gannon’s life. “Sex is a basic need. No more wrong than eating.”
“It’s a gift for the right time, and I’m treating it that way.”
“I’m sure people do crazier things in the name of religion.” Tim pocketed the phone. A smile snuck onto his face. “None come to mind, though.”
“So indulgence is the path to happiness?”
“All you have to do is say the word, and I can get you whatever you want. You’ve got a golden ticket, and you think you’re obligated to waste it.”
“Matt’s not golden. Did you make him the same offer?”
“I’m the one who got the women out of here, aren’t I? But since you asked, I think this God of yours does more harm to you than good. Religion limits your music, your lyrics, your life experiences. Without those limitations, would we need to be up here, trying to find whatever peace of mind you need to produce new music? And you and Matt would have a lot less to squabble over. You’re risking the next album and the contract beyond that.”
“God’s the only reason Awestruck has gotten this far. I’m not jumping ship now.”
Tim folded the laptop under his arm and retrieved his phone from his pocket as he left the room. “You’re doing this rock star thing all wrong.”
Gray clouds darkened the water to the color of steel. Not the prettiest day for a boat tour, but a small cruise ship churned the surface of the lake as it ventured toward the lighthouses. As the ship cleared the breakwater, Adeline turned onto Main Street, on her way from church to her lunch shift at Superior Dogs.
When she stepped in, Asher paused in rotating hot dogs on the sizzling cooking surface to glance her way. “That guy wasn’t a dog trainer.”
“Guy?” Outside the window stood Olivia and a couple of her friends.
Olivia grinned and stepped up, putting both hands on the windowsill. The teen had painstakingly styled her hair and makeup and wore a tank with a low neckline. “Hey, Adeline. How are you?”
“I’m good.” She glanced back to Asher, but he worked without explaining his comment. She returned her attention to Olivia. “What can I get you?”
“I already ordered.” Her glossy lips pulled into a smile. “Isn’t it a nice day? Don’t you have any plans?”
“Just work.”
“Oh. Well, we’re going for a drive.” She glanced at her friends, who watched from a few feet back. “Have you seen anyone today?”
Asher nestled a beef frank into a bun and left it on the corner of the food prep area.
“I’ve seen you.” She passed Olivia her hotdog.
“I know. But …” She tipped her head. “They are still here, right? Awestruck? I
know you’ve seen Gannon Vaughn, and Matt Visser was at a party on Saturday. And there’s a picture of John Kennedy with his dogs taken in this very spot and posted this morning.”
Adeline looked back to Asher, but he stirred the chili, probably purposely avoiding this. The revealing clothes and makeup suggested Olivia and her friends wanted to interest Awestruck in more than giving them autographs. She ought to ask if they realized the guys were at least a decade older. Would that burst their bubble, or would the rock star thing outweigh age?
“I just started for the day. You’re the first customer I know about.”
“So you won’t tell me anything?”
“Do your parents know what you’re up to?”
Enthusiasm dampening, Olivia stepped back. “I’m just hanging out with my friends. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
Adeline nodded slowly. “Make sure it stays that way, okay?”
“Sure.” Olivia’s lips quirked. “See you around, I guess.”
Once they’d gone, she turned back to Asher. “What’s this about a dog trainer?”
He snapped his tongs open and shut. “I posted the picture from Saturday this morning. The one of the guy with his dogs.”
“When did he say he was a trainer?”
“He said his dogs live with their trainer.”
“Oh. He probably meant while he was traveling with … for work. John’s away more than he’s home.”
“The picture got over a hundred shares.” Considering their photos rarely got more attention than a couple of likes, Asher’s reaction made sense now. “He’s Awestruck’s drummer?”
She should’ve warned him, but a viral picture could only help business. “The other guy, the day of the art show, was Gannon Vaughn.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Her pulse thrummed. “Are you angry?”
“No. I’ve only been open an hour and already two groups walked down from the college, which means they went right past Bryant’s Subs and two burger joints. I might need you more hours, if you’re interested, but I wonder what this is going to turn into.”