Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1)

by Alexa Padgett

  “Thanks, Ralph.”

  “We’ll check in with you tomorrow. I’m real sorry, Lia.” He shook his head and left, shutting the door with quiet precision.

  I pressed the button and waited for the screen to come to life. Squinting, I was able to make out that I’d missed three calls from Ella.

  “Call your aunt Ella for me, Abbi. She must need something, and my head hurts too much to call myself.”

  Abbi turned her phone on and dialed the number. Ella’s excited voice blared through the phone.

  “Your mother is a doll, Abbi. I need to come out there and thank her in person.”

  “What’s going on?” Abbi asked. She sniffled, tears still clinging to her lashes.

  “The Supernaturals want to record one of Simon’s songs, that’s what’s going on! Asher invited Simon to the studio in Seattle next month. I guess the Supernaturals are recording another album then.”

  I tried to smile at Asher’s thoughtfulness. My cheek didn’t appreciate the movement, and I groaned.

  “Just a minute, Aunt Ella.” Abbi turned to face me. “You need something?”

  “More ice,” I sighed.

  Abbi took her phone with her while she dug through a kitchen drawer. “Mom got beat up by the sheriff tonight,” she said.

  I lifted my hand, trying to tell her to stop, but it was too late. I couldn’t hear Ella’s response, but Abbi said, “No, it wasn’t like that. C’mon, this is Mom you’re asking about. Sheriff Lindon came to save her from a raccoon and slammed her face with the front door. I thought she’d broken her cheek, but Charlie—he’s the EMT—said it’s just a bad bruise. She has a cut over her eye. It’s all nasty and she’s covered in blood.”

  Abbi brought the ice back and offered it to me. I pressed it to my cheek, wincing a little at the pressure.

  “Need anything else?” Abbi asked.

  “I’m good.”

  “Yeah, right.” Abbi held out her phone. “She wants to talk to you.”

  I stared at the phone like it would zap me to oblivion. “Can’t hold it to my face.”

  Maybe my family would leave me alone if I was pitiful enough. Abbi must have put it in on speaker because Ella’s voice, a little tinny, shouted out, “You’re talking to me, love. Don’t try to weasel out of it. What the hell did you do to yourself? Abbi said you got in a fight with the sheriff.”

  “She did not. She told you the sheriff hit me with my own front door.”

  “Somehow that means you now look like a domestic abuse victim?”

  “Just about. It hurts to talk. Can I call you when the swelling goes down? Oh, and my phone is busted. I threw it at the raccoon. Those suckers are fast and huge. I had no idea. I have to get a new phone. Don’t call me on mine until I call you.”

  “Dahlia, I’m worried about you.” Ella’s voice grew quieter. “Are you sure you’re all right, darling? Did the nasty thing bite you? Go to the hospital to make sure you don’t have rabies.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Quit pretending. Was it a panic attack? I’ve read you can pass out from them.”

  I groaned. So much for having privacy. “Never passed out before, and this wasn’t a panic attack. They’ve been better since Asher talked me through one after Simon’s concert, but—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t! Asher Smith talked you through a panic attack? That man is the most delectable creature,” Ella moaned.

  “He is. You love Simon.”

  “That I do. I meant Asher was delectable for you, love. I told Abbi to send me a picture of your face. I want to see how bad the damage is. Have you called Briar? Have Abbi send it to her, too. She’ll want to know.”

  No point in arguing. Ella and Abbi had already teamed up against me. “Fine. I’m so happy about Simon’s break. I’ll thank Asher.”

  “Do that, darling. He’s a right lovely bloke. Simon’s having a beer with him right now. They’re talking about your sound track. I guess the Supernaturals are recording that and their new album at the same time. Don’t really understand it all.”

  “Maybe you’ll get to thank Asher yourself.”

  “I’d prefer you do it. Many times,” she said with a snicker. “Get some rest. Call me tomorrow. I’ll worry.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  I pressed the End button and leaned my head back against the couch, which caused me to squeak in pain, the ice pack falling into my lap.

  Something clicked. It sounded like a camera shutter. “Did you take a picture of me?”

  “Yep.”

  “What if I didn’t want you to do that?”

  “I’m worried about your cheek. It might be fractured. And the cut’s oozing, even with the Band-Aid. Charlie’s just an EMT. You should probably go to the doctor. Aunt Briar’s boyfriend will know if you need more care.”

  “Ken’s an oncologist, not an ER doctor. I don’t want to owe him anything.” I would’ve scowled but my face hurt too much.

  My phone made a sound. Not its normal text chirp, this sounded more like a dying sparrow. I couldn’t make out the words through the busted screen.

  Abbi’s phone rang again. “Hi, Aunt Briar. No, Mom’s okay. At least she says she is. She got hit with a door. I think she needs to go to the ER and get stitches. Hmm, maybe. You think? That’d be great! She’s sitting right here. You want to tell her? Fine. No. Text me. Mom’s phone broke. Long story. She’ll tell you tomorrow. Love you, too.”

  Abbi settled next to me on the couch. “Aunt Briar said she’s flying out in the morning and will get you into one of the plastic surgeons in Spokane or maybe even Coeur d’Alene. Ken’s working on it right now.”

  “This is the problem with a tight-knit family. I can’t get slammed in the face without everyone freaking out about it.”

  “It’s bad, Mom. I’m really sorry you were worried about me.”

  “Guilty enough to never, ever, shut your phone off again?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We can discuss whether you deserve to be grounded tomorrow. When do I have to pick up Briar?”

  “She’s going to text me.”

  Abbi’s phone rang again. “Hello?”

  Her mouth formed an O as her eyes lit up. “She’s right here.” Abbi thrust the phone at me.

  “I’ll call whoever it is back tomorrow.”

  “It’s Asher Smith.”

  14

  Asher

  My lawyer’s office was downtown near Pike Market. I hated being in this part of town with all its bustle, but I needed to go over my options. Pete told me what I already knew: to get what I wanted, my fastest option was to roll over and give in to Jessica’s demands for huge alimony checks. Full custody of Mason was worth it.

  Since the meeting that morning, I’d almost called Pete four different times to give him the green light, but I’d decided to run the idea by Bill. He was my closest friend. He’d learned lead guitar so we could start the Supernaturals after our short stint in Cactus Arrow. Bill and I found the other band members together.

  He picked up on the second ring. “’Lo.”

  “Here’s the deal. You know Jessica and I split.”

  “’Bout time.”

  “Don’t start. I can’t do the sound track outright. I already told her I’d nixed the deal.”

  “I don’t understand. Sounds like a great gig. Both for you and for us as a band. Three songs, right? That’d be nice bank.”

  “It would be. I really want to do it.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Jessica’s pushing for a cut of the royalties on all my future work. She says that’s the only way she’ll give me custody of Mason.”

  “You can’t let her have anything to do with the band, Asher.” Bill’s voice was serious. “She’s tried to break us up for years.”

  Dread filled my stomach, but I managed to ask, “More than what you told me?”

  “I’ll be there in a week for our rehearsal. The new stuff you sent is excellent. Looking fo
rward to getting into the studio. Should we run our next album next to this sound track? Make better use of studio time.”

  “More, Bill?”

  “Dammit. This is hard.” Bill paused, his breathing harsh. “She came to my room late one night after a show. She was really high. She cried and cried, man. Kept talking about if things were different. If Olivia lived, you’d want her again. Then, when I comforted her, she . . .”

  I leaned my head against the bedroom wall. “What?”

  “Kept trying to get me to . . . well, to fuck her. I ended up sleeping in Carl’s room. I knew you were still working through shit from that night. You know, when Olivia died. I didn’t want to tell you. But it was bad. She was a mess.”

  I moaned a curse. “I don’t want to drag you into this, but I may need you to tell my lawyers, sign something.”

  “Asher,” Bill said. “I got my shit together just like you did. If it comes out Jessica tried to bang me . . . Cammie and I are in a good place. She’s happy. That shit—it’s ancient history. I don’t want to drag Cammie through that.”

  “If I can’t get something to stick on her, I don’t get custody of Mason,” I said. “She’s out of control. Apparently as far back as you’re talking about. Mason’s getting hurt in all this. Hell, she left him alone the night I got home.”

  “He’s a good kid, Asher. He wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

  “He doesn’t deserve to be hurt in this, Bill.”

  “But what about my marriage?”

  I pressed my thumb to the spot between my brows. “Jessica doesn’t just want Mason. She wants to punish me for Olivia’s death. I get that. It was my fault. I doubt a judge would give her all these ridiculous demands, but she’s hanging Mason over my head because she knows how much I love him.”

  “That’s not something I can help you with. I mean, she’s always been crazy. Controlling. She’s not gonna let this go. Not if she can gain from it.”

  Bill was right. I’d married her, brought her into my life. But Jessica hadn’t healed from Olivia’s death. She wanted to hurt me. Over and over. And that was hurting Mason.

  “I know you’re pissed,” Bill continued. “Hell, I would be if the situation was reversed, but I swear, Asher, I swear to God, I didn’t do anything with her. I mean, besides some kissing . . .”

  “I may need you to testify,” I muttered. I ended the call and sat on the edge of my bed. I tried taking deep breaths.

  I’d worked so hard to keep the details of Olivia’s death out of the media, and so had my record label. We hadn’t really succeeded, but we got Jessica through the worst of the fallout before I had to leave again. I’d been happier out of the house, away from my own wife.

  Maybe if I’d listened to my mother then . . . but I hadn’t been willing to divorce my wife when she was suffering. I hadn’t wanted to turn any further into my father. And leaving a woman who was suffering from depression was a dick move for any guy to make.

  I had two choices right now. I could destroy my apartment to try to work off the rage, or I could call Simon back and talk to him more about the project I’d mentioned to him earlier.

  I needed to try to find a way to move on. To keep the sound track inching forward even though I couldn’t sign on. Yet. Paul said the deal wasn’t complete until Dahlia sent another round of outlines and more story samples. Those were due Friday. I had a few days. Time, hopefully, to sort some of this mess out.

  Simon met me at a little place near The Showbox, my favorite live music venue in town. His smile was uneasy, but he seemed cool with hanging out for a while.

  “I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Simon admitted. He chewed on a handful of bar nuts, his gaze never leaving my face.

  “Thanks for meeting me. Like I said, I wanted to talk to you about recording your song, ‘Hiding in the Night.’ I like the licks, and I think Bill can do something amazing with the bridge. We start rehearsals next week. Plan to lay down tracks in two, maybe three weeks. I want to do your tune toward the beginning.”

  I was moving forward, building something I could be proud of. It was Jessica I was divorcing, not the rest of my friends or my career. Bill and I would work through this. I rolled my head, stretching my neck, but tension still locked down my shoulders.

  “I’d love that, man.”

  Simon texted his wife the news while I ordered us a couple beers.

  “So this isn’t for the HBO sound track? Lia told me about your offer.”

  “Maybe, we’ll see if I can make it work. The sound track, I mean.” I swallowed my grimace. Not Simon’s problem. “I’m not sure I can swing it. Life’s complicated.”

  “I heard about your divorce. That’s tough.”

  “You have no idea.” I cleared my throat. “Like I told you, Paul Loomis asked for a song. But it’s not signed and sealed yet. So we’re moving forward with a new Supernaturals album while we wait.”

  I slammed back my drink, waving my hand for another. The rage was still there, burning in my gut.

  Simon nodded. “You okay?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

  “Not really, but I want to talk music, not about my personal life.”

  Simon’s phone rang, and he tossed an apologetic look while he pulled it out. “That’s Ella’s ring. My wife. She wouldn’t call unless it was important.”

  I dropped my gaze to my empty pint glass. Foam slid down the side, fingers spreading through the brown dregs. I wanted to pick up the glass and hurl it across the room.

  If I couldn’t find a way to remove Jessica from my life, I’d continue to go through these cycles each time she wanted more money, more fame. Wreak more havoc. With Jessica, there was never a top-out. She was so angry with me about Olivia, she’d make sure of it.

  I liked Simon, but I shouldn’t have come here, brought him into my mess. I needed to hit someone or take enough downers to pass out. Neither was a healthy option. Much as I knew it, I didn’t care. That scared me.

  “Hey, El. Hell. But she’s okay? Did she go to the hospital? No, that doesn’t surprise me either. They found Abbi?”

  Dahlia’s daughter was Abbi. I looked up. Simon’s brows were pulled down in a deep frown, his eyes cloudy with concern. Fear overrode my anger, condensing in a cold, nasty knot deep in my gut.

  “That doesn’t sound like Abbi. No wonder Lia freaked out. Lia didn’t get stitches? Okay, I’ll look in a sec. Want me to call her? Abbi’s phone. Got it.”

  Simon disconnected, his thoughtful expression sliding into grimness.

  “Dahlia’s hurt?” I asked.

  “She got banged up.” His eyes widened as he looked at something on his phone. His breath hissed through his teeth. He turned the screen toward me so I could see.

  I yelped a curse and snatched the phone from his hand. Dahlia’s eyes were dilated and her mouth pulled down in annoyance or pain. Dried blood caked her from temple to neck. A big bruise marred her cheek, and a bandage covered a cut above her eyebrow.

  I handed back his phone and pulled out mine.

  “What are you doing?” Simon asked.

  “I’m calling her to make sure she’s gotten proper care.” I put the phone to my ear. It rang and rang. “Her daughter’s fine?”

  “Abbi’s home, safe.”

  “Why isn’t Dahlia answering her phone?” I demanded.

  “It broke during a scuffle with a raccoon. Want to try Abbi’s?”

  “Fuck, yes.”

  15

  Dahlia

  I snatched the phone from Abbi’s hand.

  “Hi,” I said, shifting the phone, trying to find a comfortable position. There wasn’t one. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  “I wanted to hear you say you’re fine. Shit, Dahlia. Your face.”

  “Simon showed you the picture? He’s in so much trouble.”

  “I’ll tell him,” he said, the laughter building in his voice. Abbi was sitting at the end of the couch, staring at me like I was a seven-headed hydra. I kicke
d her with my foot, jarring my face. I wasn’t doing that again.

  “I’m supposed to make sure you don’t have a concussion,” she said.

  “Part of your punishment means you need to leave now,” I said to Abbi, trying to cover the mouthpiece of her phone with my free hand.

  She scowled at me. “Fine. I’ll go research concussions on my computer, but don’t go to sleep without telling me.”

  “Why’s your daughter in trouble?” Asher asked.

  “Because it’s her fault I’m busted up.”

  “She hit you?” Asher asked, his voice filled with confusion.

  “No, her phone was off while she was on a date. I called her friend’s mom who’s married to the county sheriff. A raccoon was in my garage and tried to eat me. Rhonda called her husband to check on me, and he clobbered me with my front door.”

  “The sheriff assaulted you?”

  “I live in a bad reality TV show, what can I say?”

  Asher laughed, and I wanted to smile until I remembered how much it hurt to move my face.

  “Seems like. Simon said you have a concussion.”

  “I might have a concussion. I declined a ride to the ER to find out.”

  He blew out a breath straight into the phone so it sounded like a mini tornado. “Dahlia, that’s not a good idea.”

  “It’s my decision to make.”

  “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Yep. I’m quietly independent and opinionated.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

  I wondered if he was running his hand across the back of his neck. I’d bet money he was. And his hazel eyes would be browner at the moment, his thick brows pulled low over his straight nose. I loved that grumbly look. He used to get it all the time when the guys argued about melody and rhythm.

  “Look, I’m worried about you. Simon said your place is pretty remote.”

  “I appreciate the concern, really I do, but . . .” He was silent for a long moment, probably waiting for me to finish my statement. I couldn’t.