by Jayne Frost
Sean kissed me, smiling now. “You want to go inside?”
Gazing up at the stars, I wished for the millionth time things were less complicated. “In a minute. I should probably check on Willow.”
Sean tightened his grip, and I wasn’t sure he was aware that he was doing it. At the mention of her name, all his senses heightened. He was everything and more I could ask for when it came to our daughter.
Tracing a figure eight on his arm, I told him, “Willow’s got an appointment in a few weeks at Cooks in Ft. Worth.”
His back went board straight. “Cook’s Children’s Hospital? Why?”
I shrugged. “It’s just a hearing test. But I figured I’d consult with the surgeon while I was there.”
Sean practically knocked me over as he sat up. “Surgery?”
His brows drew together like he couldn’t fathom it. And honestly, neither could I.
I hauled myself upright, and now we were facing each other. “I told you she’d probably need surgery.”
Sean’s eyes darkened, almost black in the dim light. “Is it dangerous? Because if it’s dangerous, I don’t think she should have it. She’s fine.”
Taking his hand, I turned his palm up so that I’d have something to concentrate on besides those steely blue orbs. “She’s not having it tomorrow.” I ran my nail along a particularly deep groove in his skin. “But if there’s a chance her hearing will improve, we should take it. Surgery scares the hell out of me too, but I want Willow to have every opportunity—”
“She will,” he blurted. “I’ll make sure of it.”
My focus shifted to the house where our daughter slept. Willow was the link on the broken road between Sean and me, and perfect in every way.
I kissed his palm before letting his hand drop. “Let’s just see what happens.”
Threading his fingers through my hair, Sean pulled me toward him, and just before our lips met a light flickered against the limestone veneer of the house. Someone was coming.
Sean squinted into the darkness. “What the hell?”
Grabbing his T-shirt, I yanked it over my head, since my flimsy nightgown didn’t hide a damn thing.
“How did they get in the gate?” I asked, more put out than alarmed, at least until I caught sight of the police cruiser following one of the blue security trucks that patrolled the neighborhood.
Sean jumped to his feet. “Stay here.”
Screw that.
I brushed the leaves and grass off my gown as I followed, staying on the pavement while he cut through the lavender bushes and trampled the spring flowers.
By the time I reached Sean’s side, he was standing in front of a Travis County Sheriff.
“What’s this all about, officer?” Sean asked, voice as gruff as his posture.
The cop looked Sean over, from his bare feet to the tattoos covering his arms and chest. “Are you Sean Jacob Hudson?”
Sean replied with a nod, and I linked our fingers when the cop turned his attention to me. “Are you Annabelle Dresden Kent?”
Before I could answer, Sean stepped in front of me. “I asked you once—what’s this all about?”
But I knew.
Nudging Sean out of the way, I schooled my features. “I’m Annabelle Dresden Kent.”
The officer withdrew two stacks of papers, and then handing one to each of us, he said, “Y’all have been served.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sean
Anna sat on the couch in our bedroom, staring out the window while I paced, my phone clutched to my ear. On the other end of the line, Trevor let out a weary breath. “Sean, you don’t understand, this is way over my head. You need to call Scott in the morning.”
“Scott.” I snorted derisively. “I’ve spent all of five minutes with that dude. You told me he was the best family law attorney in Austin. He hasn’t done shit.”
“You don’t know that,” Trevor retorted. “Look, things have changed. From what you just read, Dean’s gone on the offensive. He’s filed a motion to prevent Anna from taking Willow outside of Williamson or Travis County, and he’s joined you in the action. Scott will need to decipher the paperwork. Find out the scope. Let the man do his job.”
I sank onto the couch next to Anna. “Scope? What does that even mean?”
“Ask your girl. She’s got the documents.” Trevor stifled a yawn. “She was a law student; she knows what they mean.”
I cut my gaze to Anna, who’d yet to move. Or speak. She could barely lift her Dr. Pepper can without shaking, so delving into complex legal documents was probably out of the question.
I managed to force out a breath. “Okay, okay.”
“This doesn’t prevent you from doing anything you have to do,” Trevor repeated for the fifth time. “It just means that until Anna and Dean come to terms, she can’t do it with you.”
Thoughts of the tour crept into my mind. Twelve months. Impossible.
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Which lawyer did she pick? Is he good? He better be fucking good. Because I’m on a deadline.”
Trevor cleared his throat. “Anna said Peyton is handling it.”
Peyton?
Sitting up straight, my gut twisted in a knot. Peyton Hollis wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire. And for all I knew, she was squarely on Dean’s side.
“I’ve got to go, Trev. Thanks for the help.”
My phone landed with a thud on the table, rousting Anna from her haze. She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm. “What did he say?”
“He said you’d explain it to me.” Bolting to my feet, I resumed my pacing, punishing the carpet with every step. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me why you turned down his help?” Stopping behind her, I gripped the back of the sofa. “This is our daughter we’re talking about, Annabelle. And you’re letting Peyton handle it?”
When Anna slowly raised her head, I expected to see some acknowledgment of her mistake.
Instead, she rose mechanically, fists clenched at her side. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I snatched the summons from the table. “I’m talking about the fact that you let Dean get the upper hand. You should’ve hired one of the attorneys Trevor recommended and filed first.”
Anna pushed me out of the way as she stomped to her suitcase. For a minute I thought she might bolt. But from the look on her face, leaving was the last thing on her mind, at least not until she killed me and figured out where to bury my body.
“What you know about the law would fit in a thimble,” she spat. “Do you want to know why Dean filed?” The papers she’d pulled from her bag crumpled in her balled fist. “Because I filed. And that,” her angry gaze shifted to the summons in my hand, “is Dean’s response. And just so you know, I don’t need your help to figure shit out. Because in my experience, when you give me something, you know what that means?” She tossed the papers at my feet. “Absolutely nothing.”
Anna stormed out of the room, with me on her heels.
“I didn’t know,” I said, my tone gruff with leftover anger. “Anna, listen to me.” I grabbed her arm. “I didn’t know.”
She turned to me, eyes moist but fierce. “Of course you didn’t know. Because you didn’t ask. You just assumed. I’m not hiding anything from you.”
“Anymore?”
The word flew from my lips like a dagger, and fuck if I didn’t want to turn the blade on myself.
“Is that how you see it?” She cocked her head, and when I said nothing, she nodded. “I’m sorry that my divorce is fucking up your plans. But you don’t have to worry. You’ve got a good attorney.” She broke free of my hold and then marched toward the guest room, calling over her shoulder, “Not that you will. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to keep you occupied on your tour.”
In the seconds it took for me to recover from Anna’s blow, she was gone, behind the door of the guest bedroom. Gripping the knob, I pictured Willow, asleep in her bed on the other side.
> Fuck.
Resuming my pacing, I burned off the anger and then rapped softly. “You’re not playing fair, Anna-baby. Willow’s in there. We need to talk.”
She pulled the door open, just a crack. “I’m tired. We can talk later.”
I leaned against the frame. “We can’t. I’m leaving in the morning.”
Only half of her beautiful face was visible through the small opening.
But that’s all I needed.
Nudging the bottom of the door with my foot, I said, “You’ll be missing from me.”
A small smile ghosted her lips. “You’re not French.”
Breaching the space, I took her hand and then pulled her into the hallway. “You want me to be French?” I backed her against the wall, anchoring my forehead to hers. “I can be French.”
Her eyes shone like polished emeralds. “What do you want, Sean?”
I kissed her lips. “You.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sean
Exhaust fumes drifted through the vents as the taxi crept along in the downtown Los Angeles traffic. I rubbed my tired eyes as my phone pinged, the screen cluttered with another text from my lawyer. After our conversation this morning, Scott gleefully invoked the clause in his retainer allowing him to up his fee due to the time-sensitive nature of the summons. For the bargain basement price of a thousand bucks an hour, I now had his undivided attention.
I tapped out a perfunctory response.
Stepping into a meeting. Do whatever you need to do. Just do it fast.
Hoisting my backpack over my shoulder when the cab screeched to a halt in front of the Conner Management Building, I gazed up at the thirty-story glass and steel building that pierced the layer of overcast sky. June Gloom, they liked to call it here. It was fucking smog, no matter what fancy name they slapped on it.
Pushing through the revolving doors, I spotted Cameron and Christian at a table in the atrium.
Dropping my bag next to an empty chair, I flopped into the seat. “What are y’all doing out here?”
“Waiting for you,” Cameron replied wearily. “We need to have a chat before we go in there.”
My eyes narrowed when he shot Christian a look. “Why’s that?”
Cameron slid a thick stack of papers in front of me. “Logan thinks we’re being too demanding. He said if we let this deal slip through our hands . . .”
We all knew what could happen if we didn’t get something set up soon. Our temporary gig at the Parish would become permanent. We’d be right back where we started. On Sixth Street, waiting to be discovered. Or re-discovered. And the chances of that were slim to none.
Noting all the red ink on the contract, the revisions we were requesting, I blew out a breath. “What do you think, Christian?”
The bassist looked thoughtfully into the paper cup he held. He was the most soft-spoken of our group, wearing his fame with the ease of an overcoat he could remove at will. If he weren’t such a talented musician, he’d probably be teaching math at UT and banging co-eds.
Christian finally lifted his gaze, his blue eyes calm as ever, but deadly serious. “I don’t have a problem with the tour. Unless we can’t agree. Then it’s a big fucking problem. I don’t consider it a tragedy to play music in our hometown. Melody is there.” He glanced at Cameron, then back to me. “She’s not like Lily. She can’t take her work on the road. So I’m giving up a lot. I’ll do this thing, but only if we do it together.”
I nodded, taking a brief look around. Memorabilia from some of the greatest bands in the world lined the walls. Tributes frozen in time.
Across the atrium, Logan stood stock still in front of a Lucite case.
“Let me see if I can straighten shit out with Mr. Personality before our meeting,” I said as I pushed out of my chair.
“Try not to throw any punches.” Tension laced Cameron’s tone despite the wry smile. “We’ve already got a reputation.”
“It’s all good,” I assured, smiling.
Logan didn’t acknowledge me when I strolled up. Gaze fixed on the two Stratocaster guitars in the sterile case, he chewed the inside of his lip.
My stomach bottomed out as I read the inscription on the gold plaque.
In memory of the fallen. Rocking it out in the great beyond.
Rhenn Grayson and Paige Dawson.
Damaged—Sixth Street Takeover Tour
Photo courtesy of Conner Productions ©
Brief bios of Rhenn and Paige sat in steel frames along with several pictures from the band’s last tour.
Glancing over the tribute, I stood silently, reverently. Their deaths paved the way for my career. Which in turn blew Anna and me apart. It was a circle with all roads starting and ending in Austin. For all of us. Even Rhenn and Paige.
“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” Logan finally said, his voice thick with emotion.
I studied the mangled wreckage in the final picture. “You want to die in a fiery crash?” I chuckled. “Because if that’s the case, I ain’t boarding any tour buses with you in the near future.”
Logan faced me with frigid blue eyes. “I want to be remembered. I want the music to mean something.”
It’s what I wanted too. And until now, there was nothing more important.
“Dude, it does mean something. This tour isn’t going to change that one way or the other.”
Logan looked down, kicking the polished stone with the toe of his boot. “Sounds like you’re getting ready to bail. Is that what I’m hearing?”
Maybe. Possibly.
“I want to be remembered too.” I tipped my chin to the photo of Damaged performing at Wembley Stadium. “And not by ninety thousand strangers on another continent. I want Willow to know me. I’ve already wasted too much time.”
A cold wind swirled around us. “So that’s all the last four years have been?” Logan cocked his head. “Wasted time?”
There was no explaining this to Logan. He’d never loved anything more than the music. Maybe Laurel, but that was a long time ago.
Still, I tried. “The music, what we do, it means more to me than almost anything.” Looking him in the eyes, I smiled wistfully. “Almost.”
An impeccably dressed blonde sauntered our way, her heels clicking against the stone floor. Benny must have a thing for blondes because they were crawling out of the woodwork in this place.
“I’m Amber, Benny Conner’s personal assistant.” The blonde waited for Cameron and Christian to join us and then continued, “If you’re ready, Mr. Conner is waiting in the conference room.”
She turned on her heel, and I followed while Logan took one last look at the Lucite box.
He fell into step beside me a few paces from the elevator. “I’m glad you decided to show up for this, Sean.” Jaw set, his blue eyes stared straight ahead. “But don’t think for a minute you’re going to change my mind. We’re doing this shit, bro. With or without you.”
If you were planning something important in this town and you wanted people to know without actually admitting it, you marked the occasion with dinner at Mr. Chow. We’d yet to iron out all the details, but our meeting with Benny’s team had gone well enough to warrant a little public display of our future alliance.
I’d just finished my plate of sea bass when three servers hustled to our table with buckets filled with champagne.
“We haven’t even signed yet,” Christian whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “What’s up with the champagne?”
I polished off my first glass in one gulp.
“All part of the show,” I mumbled, holding up my flute for a refill. The perky server scurried over, cheery smile in place as she filled my glass. “Thanks. You can leave the bottle.”
Christian chuckled as the waitress retreated. “Anna-baby’s got you whipped into shape, huh?”
Smiling at the thought of Anna, whip or no whip, I shifted my gaze to Christian. “What are you babbling about, dude?”
He pointed his fork at me, peca
n pie dangling from the tines. “You barely made eye contact with that waitress, and I haven’t heard you say ‘sugar’ all day.”
Twisting the stem of the flute, I shrugged. “Whatever it takes, you know?”
The tinkling of crystal drew my attention to the front of the table where a member of Benny’s publicity team pushed up from her seat.
The woman’s overly plump lips curved into a smile as she addressed us.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Mandy, VP of public relations at Conner. I apologize for missing the meeting this afternoon, but I set up this little outing so we can get a jump start on your publicity.”
Our strategic location in the center of the restaurant accentuated that fact. At the surrounding tables, people stopped eating, whispering behind their hands while they stole glances at us.
Mandy focused on Logan first.
“From what I’ve seen, you boys manage to keep yourself in the news on a regular basis.” She lifted her glass, toasting my best friend. “Some of you more than others.”
She let the chuckling die down and then continued, “What we want to do is keep your press manageable. Within reason, it doesn’t matter what you do in your private life. It’s your public persona that’s of interest to Conner. Sometimes, when a particular story catches the public eye, we’ll need to hone the copy for your benefit as well as ours. What we don’t want are surprises.”
She pivoted to Cameron, and the rest of her team followed. “Cameron, since your story has already grown legs, I only ask that should you change your status, you inform our office immediately.”
Cam sat back, the easy smile never reaching his hazel eyes. “And what status would that be?”
“Your relationship status, of course,” Mandy quipped, thumbing through her paperwork. “If you and Lillian decide to part ways, just let us know.”
“Her name is Lily, and that’s not going to happen.” Cameron’s semblance of a smile disappeared. “And even if it did, I’m not about to hold a press conference to discuss the details.”