To Bring You Back

by Emily Conrad

  Was that a red sports car beside the police vehicle?

  “Can you slow down?”

  The driver wordlessly complied.

  Glowing signs hung from a couple of the buildings. One featured a woman in a corset and stockings holding a bottle, the other a bundle of dynamite and a beer logo. Whatever nightlife Lakeshore had must happen here. The squad car had double-parked near a car with a low, cherry-red tailgate. A small crowd gawked from the sidewalk, a few holding phones up to capture the commotion.

  A man Gannon hadn’t spotted at first straightened. Had he been on the ground?

  Gannon’s stomach registered the truth an instant before his mind did. “Pull up. That’s Matt.”

  The bassist’s leaning posture and exaggerated gestures signaled he was drunk. Or high. As soon as Gannon climbed out of the car, Matt’s raised voice met him. Something about leaving him in peace.

  The officer stayed in Matt’s space. “When we get a call about a man lying in the street, we can’t leave him in peace.”

  Gannon jogged the last couple of steps, joining Matt and the officer between the cruiser and the sports car. “Matt, your ride’s here.” Gannon motioned to the waiting sedan with one hand and grabbed Matt’s arm with the other.

  The officer rested his hands on his belt. “And you are?”

  The man had to know. Everybody knew, including the crowd of onlookers. Yet neglecting to answer would be a sign of disrespect that would play out badly. “Gannon Vaughn. I can get him home right away.”

  Unless Matt had done something Gannon didn’t know about and the officer wouldn’t let him go. He resisted a glance at the raised cell phones. This would look great all over the Internet tomorrow.

  Matt jerked free. “I’ll take care of myself.”

  The officer shined his flashlight at the ground, illuminating a set of keys. “He’s under the impression he’s driving home.”

  At least that was the worst the officer had to say about him.

  “That won’t happen.” Gannon hooked Matt’s arm again. “Sorry for any trouble, Officer.”

  “I don’t know what you gentlemen are used to in LA, but everyone, including our teenagers, is watching and deciding how to act based on the precedent you set. We won’t give you special privileges here.”

  Uh-oh. Was this guy the father of one of the kids they’d met? His name tag read Officer Cullen. He’d have to ask Adeline about him later. “I understand. Again, I’m sorry. Matt’s going to be using a designated driver from now on.” He squeezed Matt’s arm, but the guy didn’t apologize. Maybe it’d be best to get him out of there before he opened his mouth, anyway.

  Gannon pulled him toward the idling sedan, but the officer’s voice followed them. “This car will be ticketed if it’s left overnight.”

  “You can’t tow my car.” Matt lurched to circle back, but Gannon held tight and delivered him to the rear seat of the sedan.

  “Get him home.” Gannon slammed the door, the locks snapped, and the car pulled away, threading around the cruiser at a crawl, then disappearing around the first corner.

  Gannon made his way back to where the officer stood near the car and scooped up the keys. “Thank you. If these had gotten into the wrong hands—”

  “I’m more concerned about what would’ve happened if he’d gotten in the vehicle.”

  “You’re right, sir. This won’t happen again.”

  “We’ll be watching for this car.”

  “I understand.” Tracking the only exotic sports car in Lakeshore wouldn’t take much effort. “Am I free to go?”

  Officer Cullen shined the light over the car, then gave a nod and stepped back. Gannon let himself in and started the engine. The officer moved the cruiser so Gannon could get the car out. With a glance to the right, he grabbed the shifter. Wedged between the seat and the center console was a tightly folded square of wax paper.

  If it’d been visible from outside the car, Matt would be in cuffs right now.

  Gannon set his jaw and pulled away from the curb.

  Out of respect for her roommate, Adeline wouldn’t try her bass so late, except that an episode of one of their favorite shows sounded through Tegan’s closed bedroom door. She was still awake and would wholeheartedly second Gannon’s request she play again.

  Upstairs in the guest bedroom, the bass leaned against the wall where she’d left it after visiting the music store. She flicked on the light. This was the front of the house, and anyone watching from the street would see the glowing window. Were photographers still out there? She wouldn’t part the curtains to check because if she saw them, they’d see her, and what she was about to do needed to be private.

  We’re free and forgiven. We don’t have to let a nine-year-old mistake define us.

  Free and forgiven.

  Free and forgiven, despite the undertow of attraction when Gannon had hugged her.

  “God, give me a clean heart so I can please you.” Speaking the words aloud should’ve made them feel more real, but the sound evaporated.

  She tugged the zipper of the case, revealing the scroll, a rich chestnut brown, and then the pegbox, the fingerboard, and the table, a face as familiar to her as Gannon’s or John’s—maybe more so, since they’d grown up in the years they’d been apart while the bass had remained unchanged.

  “I’ve missed you.” And she hadn’t realized how much until now. Holding it felt like embracing a friend.

  Maybe Gannon was right. Maybe she never should’ve given this up. Maybe she had something to offer that not only brought her joy, but would benefit her church too. She’d told Gannon talking wouldn’t bring back Fitz. It hadn’t, but avoiding music wouldn’t bring him back either.

  With a deep breath, she placed the fingers of her left hand on the strings. Had it always felt this awkward to get her hand in place?

  With no music before her, she determined to attempt a scale.

  A thud sounded against the house. A voice hit one surprised beat, and a murmur followed. Had photographers come into the yard?

  She abandoned the bass and crossed to the window. Parting the curtains, she could see the roof of the porch. Shadows—people, she was pretty sure—fled from the side of the house out toward the road, but the neighbor’s trees blocked a clear view.

  The paparazzi should’ve seen Gannon leave and wouldn’t have had a reason to come near the house. At least the fans, whoever they were, had left now. She watched another minute. Spotting no further movements, she returned to the bass.

  Before hesitation could turn into surrender, she plucked a note and then depressed the string with her left hand and plucked another. The cord felt tough against her skin, the fingerings awkward, and the notes not quite in tune with her intentions. She’d kept the instrument in working order, never realizing how her talent would deteriorate.

  On the other hand, being out of her depth felt right. She didn’t deserve what she’d once had. Did she want to do the work it would take to gain it back?

  She struggled to complete the scale. Up and down, with mistakes each time. By the end of the third attempt, her fingertips had turned tender. When she missed her mark with the last note, she didn’t retry. Instead, she wrapped the bass in its case once more.

  As she lay in bed, trying to sleep, snatches of Gannon’s song haunted her. If she could find it somewhere and listen again, she would, but he’d said he hadn’t shared it publicly.

  He had, however, shared other songs. Years’ worth of them.

  Her phone glowed in the dark as she downloaded all of Awestruck’s music, dating back to the first album. She wouldn’t get through the hours of songs tonight, but she’d listen until she fell asleep, and if she could concentrate on work well enough, she’d play more in the office tomorrow. Maybe along the way, she’d absorb his way of thinking about God, which was as different from her current perspective as her halting scale was from his moving living room performance.

  With the bass, if she practiced enough, she could
get back what she’d lost, what Gannon still had. But God was a being, not an instrument. If she showed up, would He do for her what He seemed to have done for Gannon? Would He do for her the things Gannon had asked?

  One of his requests in the song had been for God to hold her as she fell asleep. She didn’t feel any divine presence—she hadn’t in years—but for once, she didn’t miss the connection. How could she when she had Gannon’s voice?

  When Gannon pulled into the garage, the headlights revealed Matt. Gannon let the car roll within inches of his legs before he shut off the engine.

  “I’ll take those.” Matt extended his hand and waved his fingers toward the keys.

  “You’re done for the night.”

  “Fine. Give me the keys so I can get my stuff.”

  “Be my guest. It’s not locked.” Gannon went inside, the keys closed in his fist. He’d stopped along the private drive, out of sight from both the gate and the main house, to search the car. He’d emptied the packet onto the shoulder and had used his shoe to mix the contents with the gravel and dirt. Now, he flushed the wrapper in the first bathroom he passed.

  Tim lay sprawled out on a couch in the great room, head propped on an armrest, headphones on, and phone on his chest, about eight inches from his face.

  “You know we have TVs for that.” An entire home theater, in fact.

  Tim pushed the headphones off one of his ears. “Hear from Harper?”

  “No. She hasn’t turned up?”

  “Missed a charity dinner. She had a dress commissioned for it, so they thought there was no way she’d no-show, but my guess is the dress is why she skipped out. Probably too small or something.”

  “Did they check her place?”

  “She’s not there. Took her must-haves with her, so it’s not like she was kidnapped. If one of you went AWOL, it’d be a lot longer before I started calling your exes looking.”

  Touching. “Harper and I never dated. Her people must’ve had a reason to think I’d know something.”

  “She was talking about you earlier.”

  “What’d she say?”

  “Didn’t specify.”

  Gannon found Harper among his contacts and hit the call button. Her voicemail picked up.

  “People are calling looking for you. Let someone know where you are.” He disconnected as Tim’s focus settled behind him.

  Matt had followed from the garage, face flushed. “You’ve got it, don’t you? Probably going to use it yourself. Playing all high and mighty when you’re no different than me.”

  “I don’t have anything of yours.”

  “Yeah? Prove it.” Matt pushed forward and started patting Gannon’s pockets.

  Gannon lifted his hands from his sides to give him an easier time of the search. “Matt here’s going to need a ride when he goes into town from now on.”

  Matt pulled Gannon’s socks at the ankles, as if he would’ve hidden the drugs there. Sober, the guy would never stoop like this. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “A driver. Hire a limo for all I care. If it weren’t for me, you’d be in a cell right now.”

  “I’m fine to drive.”

  Gannon crossed his arms, looking down at Matt’s dingy hair. If the guy could’ve seen what he’d become, would he still have signed on with Awestruck? “Then why’d I find you crawling around, looking for your keys in the street in front of a cop who would’ve arrested you as soon as you got behind the wheel?”

  “He wasn’t going to arrest me.” Matt straightened, and his gaze shot toward his room.

  Gannon had gotten rid of what was in the car, but Matt likely had more on the premises.

  He shouldn’t have intervened with the police officer. Only serious consequences would convince him to reconsider his choices.

  As Matt proceeded up to his room, Gannon tossed the keys to Tim. “The police are watching for his car to make an example of him. Unless you want him in jail for our next show, he gets a babysitter whether he wants one or not.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Tim pocketed the keys.

  Gannon continued to the studio, but when he set his phone on the desk, it buzzed with a text.

  I’m not all right at all.

  Harper. Despite the words, the fact she was sending texts ruled out the worst possibilities.

  He sent a reply. People are concerned. You need to let them know where you are.

  I’m letting you know.

  Because he’d shut her down earlier, she was turning up the dramatics. If he bit by continuing the conversation, she’d think he was coming around. He abandoned the phone and powered up the equipment he’d need to make the recordings for Adeline.

  His cell lit up again.

  I’m coming to Lakeshore. I need to see you. I don’t know what else to do.

  That, he couldn’t let slide. You can’t come here, Harper.

  Something special had happened tonight when he sang for Adeline, but their relationship remained fragile. He finished his set up, chose a guitar, and pulled the strap onto his shoulder before glancing at the phone again.

  I’m two hours away. Please. I wouldn’t ask if this weren’t an emergency.

  She was that close? She must’ve gotten on a plane not long after their last conversation.

  This windowless room, with its closed door and soundproofing, gave the impression of privacy. An illusion. Word about Harper’s visit might already be spreading. If he allowed her on the property, the speculations would have teeth.

  Adeline said she cared more about reality, but she’d care about those rumors.

  You’re not welcome here. Strong wording, but he had to guard what he had with Adeline. He dropped the phone onto the desk and drew a breath to clear his head.

  The screen lit up again.

  He glared at it, but she’d said this was an emergency. What if it was?

  He picked up the phone.

  There’s nowhere else I can go.

  With the text, she’d included a selfie, one of her pretty blue eyes staring at the camera, the other swollen by a bruise that extended halfway down her cheek. A ragged line of broken skin ran along her temple.

  How was that possible? She’d claimed the last injuries were from falling, and he’d seen the footage. No one had entered the apartment. But here she was, injured again, looking for a place to go. Was it abuse after all? If so, how had the guy avoided the security camera the first time?

  Gannon hit the call button, but she didn’t answer.

  Another text hit his phone. Please.

  19

  A piece of equipment malfunctioned with a crash in the middle of Awestruck’s concert. Screeching beeps pierced the music with such ferocity that Adeline could no longer make out the words Gannon sang. Then a dog started barking, and someone jostled her arm.

  Adeline opened her eyes to find Bruce next to her bed, forcing his head under her arm as the high-pitched beeps from her dream continued. The fire alarm? Was the battery dying? She struggled to interpret the noise through the haze of sleep.

  Bruce trotted from the bed to the closed bedroom door, barking again. Her phone still played, audible between the alarm’s shrieks. She grabbed it and paused Awestruck’s music. The smoke alarm didn’t beep like this over a low battery. Either it was malfunctioning, or there was a fire.

  She went to the door. A snatch of fire safety training from elementary school resurfaced, and she touched the back of her hand to the doorknob to test for heat.

  Normal temperature. She turned the knob.

  The window in the living room, straight down the hall from her bedroom, burned orange with flames, both outside and on the curtains inside. Bruce, still barking, made a break for it, but she caught his collar.

  Tegan’s door opened between Adeline and the living room, and her roommate rushed toward the flames.

  “Tegan!”

  “It’s only on the curtains.”

  Even so, the fire was too much for one person. Adeline struggled to kee
p a hold on Bruce’s collar. “We can’t do this ourselves.”

  Tegan grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and set it in front of the double-wide window. The curtains on the left flamed from the halfway point up, near where the end of a burning piece of wood protruded through the broken glass. From her perch on the chair, Tegan grabbed the center of the curtain rod, then hopped to the floor and shoved the curtains outside. The fabric caught on the jagged edges of the glass, but what had made it out whooshed into a cloud of orange.

  The flames would spread back inside if the blaze outside wasn’t extinguished. Adeline led a still-struggling Bruce to the front door. She yanked it open as Tegan lifted the chair and used the legs to break the window further so she could dump the rest of the curtain.

  “I’ll call 911!” Tegan’s call parachuted after Adeline as she jumped to the dirt where the porch had been.

  Bruce didn’t jump out after her, but she couldn’t leave him in the house in case the fire spread. As she pulled him from the house and into her arms, all seventy or eighty solid pounds of him squirmed. He fell and sprinted away.

  “Bruce! Come back!”

  But the dog was gone.

  She could either chase him or save the house.

  Hopefully, at this time of night in this quiet town, he’d be okay. The burning house wouldn’t be unless she acted now.

  God, please keep him safe.

  She rounded the corner as the piece of flaming wood, a six-foot ladder, fell to the ground, a result of Tegan forcing the curtains out. The yard waste bags, which had been lined up along the house, under the window, blazed so high and hot she couldn’t tell whether the siding had lit too.

  Adeline sprinted past, the heat warming her skin though she gave the fire a wide berth. She cranked the outdoor faucet and threw her weight into pulling the hose. As she approached the ring of heat surrounding the fire, another long-lost memory told her to aim at the base of the flames.

  The fire hissed and steamed. She adjusted her thumb over the hose opening to sharpen the spray, focusing on the bags. At first, the fire seemed to hold its own, but then the orange tongues shrank. As the fire dimmed, the siding sparkled with embers, but no open flames. Small ones still licked the ladder, but away from the main blaze, those lost momentum.