by Devney Perry
I was leaving Monday and had no intention of returning soon. I wanted to go home—to Seattle. I wanted to get back to work and write this next album. If I called Brooklyn, I doubted she’d answer.
She seemed happy. That’s all that mattered, right?
“Where’s Evan?” Maya looked up from her tablet, searching the room for her brother.
“He’s outside. Want to go play?” I stood and stretched a hand for her.
She nodded and followed me to her backpack. I helped her into a pair of flip-flops with an elastic strap for the heel and we went outside where I pushed my niece in a swing.
Was I making things worse by being here? Was it worth trying harder?
Or was it better to leave my family to their lives?
And go back to my own.
A day spent playing with kids was more exhausting than any tour schedule Ethan could have dreamed up.
“They’ll wear you out, huh?” Walker chuckled as I plopped down in a chair at the patio table.
Mom had come home from her trip to the church, and seeing that the kids were happy and thriving, deemed me childcare for the rest of the day so she could help Dad finalize preparation for the funeral.
I’d been glad to help, preferring a day with smiling kids to a day dreading tomorrow. But damn, I was wiped.
“How does Mom do this every day?” I asked.
“Hell if I know.” He sat beside me and watched his kids in the yard. Colin was spending the night with Graham’s parents and they’d already stopped over to collect him. “You’re good with them.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” I muttered.
He grinned. “Heard you talked to Brooklyn today.”
“She tattled on me already? For the record, I was trying to be nice. But she hates me and that’s not going to change.”
“She doesn’t hate you. But you know how she is about Dad.”
“Yeah.”
Brooklyn was Dad’s girl. She adored him and when it came time to picking sides, she was always on his.
“Dad was pissed when you left,” Walker said. “Brooklyn never understood that he wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at himself.”
“Oh, I think he was mad at me too.”
“At first. That fight was bad and you basically told him to shove it when you disappeared. I mean, Christ, Quinn, you had Graham take you to the airport. You didn’t leave a note or say goodbye. They didn’t even know where you’d gone.”
I cringed. “I’ll admit, that was bad.”
“Yeah. But Dad got over it. He’s spent a lot of years regretting how it turned out.”
“This is news to me.”
“He doesn’t know what to do with you. Dad is so good with people, but you, he never figured you out.”
“So rather than try, he disowned me instead.”
You are not my daughter.
That was one of his statements I’d never forgotten.
I’d held those words tight every time I’d written a song for a year. Every ounce of pain from that sentence had been poured into my music.
“He’s changed,” Walker said gently.
“So everyone says.” But had Dad called? Had he apologized? No. At this point, I didn’t even want an apology. I just wanted to be accepted for who I was. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s been so many years, it’s better to forget and move on.”
“Well, when you move on”—Walker stood from his chair—“don’t forget there are some of us who will always be here for you.”
I looked up at my brother. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you more often.”
“And I’m sorry I never came to one of your shows. Two-way street, Quinn. This is not all on you.”
“Thanks.”
“What are you doing tonight?” he asked. “If you want to get out of the house, there’s a band playing at the Eagles downtown you’ll probably like.”
“I don’t know.” A night away from the house, away from the awkward silence that always came when only Mom, Dad and I were home, sounded wonderful. “With Nan’s funeral tomorrow, I don’t know if I should push it.”
“Tell them you’re coming over to hang at my place.”
“Are you encouraging me to lie to our parents?”
He gave me a sly grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Walker had always been the one to cover for Graham and me. On the nights when we needed to spend more time together, on the weekends when we’d go camping in the mountains, Walker would always claim to have been there too. He’d been the third wheel who’d disappear to spend a night with whatever girl he was dating.
“I think I’ll do that.” I could use a couple of hours out of this house, doing something I loved and getting my mind off what was to come tomorrow.
“Can’t wait to hear what you think of the band. They’re my favorite.”
“Your favorite? Excuse me?”
“Besides Hush Note.”
I smiled. “That’s better.”
He smiled back and I knew, right there in my parents’ kitchen, I wasn’t going to lose my brother again. I’d do better to stay in his life. To know his children and his wife.
I’d do better.
Walker was a goddamn liar. That rat bastard.
Of course, this band was his favorite.
Graham was the lead singer.
I closed my gaping mouth and blinked from the dark corner table I’d claimed earlier tonight.
After dinner with my parents, I’d made some excuses about wanting to explore Bozeman a bit and that I might be out late. I’d decided not to leverage Walker’s fake invitation and go for vague instead.
An Uber brought me downtown, then I snuck into the Eagles with a hood pulled over my head. So far, no one had recognized me and I doubted they would. None of the bar’s patrons had paid me a bit of attention, except my waitress who’d just delivered my third vodka tonic.
The dance floor was empty, but I suspected that wouldn’t last long. The noise level in the bar had slowly crept up as groups of college-aged kids trickled through the door. When I’d arrived, there’d been plenty of empty tables, and now, nearly all were full. A line of older men and a few women sat at the bar itself, laughing with their bartenders and people-watching the younger generation. The energy in the room was growing with the promise of a fun night. A table of guys doing shots let out a whooping holler when the band had stepped on stage.
Walker was as bad as Eileen with this stunt.
Thankfully, Graham hadn’t spotted me yet.
He’d come in twenty minutes later than the other band members and the stage was mostly set up. He shook everyone’s hands and gave one guy a back-slapping hug. Then he took out his guitar, stowing the case against the far wall, and maneuvered to the center microphone.
“Hey, guys,” he said into the mic. “How are we doing tonight?”
The crowd cheered and a couple guys in cowboy hats whistled. A pretty brunette standing with them blushed as Graham’s gaze swung their way.
My lip curled.
She was practically a child. Had the bouncers not checked her I.D.?
Graham strummed a chord on his low-slung guitar and grinned at the lanky guy to his right holding a bass. The keyboard was set up on Graham’s left. The drummer sat behind a decent Yamaha kit.
I lifted my glass to take a sip, but then Graham played a guitar riff that made every muscle in my body freeze. “Life is a Highway.”
One of my favorite songs. One he’d play for us in his Chevy truck when we were driving around, windows down and music blaring.
The room erupted.
A crush of people swarmed the dance floor. The table beside mine emptied except for one lady who stayed and sang along.
The entire bar was fixed on Graham. He’d always been an amazing singer, but when had he gotten so good on the guitar? He had them eating out of his hand.
My throat went dry and I gulped my drink, draining it to empty save for the ice and lemon slice.
&nb
sp; Graham’s voice filled the room and he flashed that sexy, charming smile as he scanned the crowd.
I hovered deeper into my hoodie, hoping he wouldn’t see me. Hoping I could just sit here and watch because . . . holy fuck he was hot.
My tongue darted out to my bottom lip, searching for his taste from yesterday’s kiss. His voice washed over me and my foot bounced on the floor. There was no stopping my body as it responded, completely at his mercy. A rush of wetness pooled between my legs.
That smile.
My God, no wonder that little girl was blushing over him. Graham was the complete rocker package—confident, talented and gorgeous. Was this how women felt about Jonas and Nixon? Because I was coming out of my skin as his fingers flew over the frets on his guitar and a lock of hair draped on his forehead.
He was wearing a simple black T-shirt, the sleeves stretching over those corded and tanned arms. His jeans were simple and faded but they fit over his bulky thighs, straining as he moved with the music.
My heart was in my throat as he stepped to the mic, crooning through the song’s hook, then stepping away to hit a lick on the guitar that was pure rock-and-roll brilliance.
Someone cheered. Loud.
Me. I cheered.
Shit.
Graham smiled again, his eyes flickering toward the source of the noise. He spotted me. He’d snared me and held me captive, not missing a note, a lyric or a beat. As he sang the final chorus, the crowd disappeared between us.
He sang to me and I forgot how to breathe.
By the time the song ended, my panties were drenched. I was seconds away from walking up on that stage and taking a kiss that would put yesterday’s to shame.
I was in deep, deep trouble sitting here.
The song ended and the crowd roared as Graham led them right into Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.” Except he swapped out Alabama for Montana.
Tears flooded my eyes and I focused on my empty glass.
He was so good. So, so good.
It hurt to hear. It hurt to feel his gaze on my face. It ripped my heart out to know he wasn’t mine.
We’d survived burgers last night. Hearing everything that had happened with Colin’s mom hadn’t been easy. But Graham was strong. Stronger than any person I’d ever met.
He was a force. A magnet.
Maybe that was why I’d known a long-distance relationship with him would never have worked. His pull was too strong. Eventually, I would have yielded and come home.
I would have stayed forever, forfeiting my dreams to sit at tables like this one, being Graham’s cheerleader and number one fan.
The temptation was overpowering.
When had I not loved him?
I shot out of my chair and ducked my head, sidestepping past people and maneuvering through the crowd. If I sat here and listened for another minute, I’d stay.
I couldn’t stay.
My shoulders bumped into people as I squeezed my way through the mass toward the front door. With every step, Graham’s voice faded and my heart ached.
If I stayed, if I let myself remember how it was to love him, I’d break. I’d worked so hard to bury these feelings. I’d worked so hard, period. I had a life to get back to. A band. The door loomed and my feet pushed faster, my boots thudding as I jogged past the bouncer and burst outside.
The air, crisp and fresh, filled my lungs and I let a sob escape.
There were reasons, so many reasons, that Graham and I would never work, and it was easier to remember them without his voice ringing in my ears.
I spun away from the bar and began walking down the sidewalk, the urge to cry lessening with every step. Five steps. Ten. The end of the block was getting close, the pull toward Graham weakening with every stride.
I could breathe again. I could think.
Until his voice called my name.
“Quinn.”
My feet stopped, but I didn’t turn. I faced forward, staring at the street ahead, until a broad chest covered in a black T-shirt filled my vision.
He’d chased me.
He’d chased me when I really needed him to let me go.
Graham tucked a finger under my chin and tipped it up, forcing my eyes to his. “Why are you always running away from me?”
I couldn’t answer him. He’d push and push until I did, but it was the one thing I wouldn’t admit. Because if I admitted that I’d been in love with him since I was fourteen, it would destroy us both.
So I didn’t let him push.
I shut him up by standing on my toes and pressing my mouth to his.
Chapter Ten
Graham
I trapped her.
My arms banded around Quinn’s body and I pulled her into my chest, squeezing her tight. There was no fleeing from this kiss, not until I’d had my fill.
Quinn didn’t seem in a hurry to break away either. Her grip on my face was as firm as the one I had on her shoulders and waist. Her tongue twisted and tangled with mine, her desperation clear as she let a whimper escape. I met her intensity stroke for stroke, reveling in the feel of her breasts smashed against my chest and the taste of her on my lips.
Standing on stage, singing to her, I’d been drawn to her lips. I’d almost stumbled and screwed up the song, so distracted by her heavy gaze and panting chest. She’d wanted me. I’d seen it from the across the darkened room.
Then she’d run away.
I should have expected it. The woman was always leaving me, and she would again. But this time, I wasn’t standing behind and letting her go until I got what I wanted. I’d waited a long damn time to see her again, and it was my turn to do some taking.
I hefted her up and her arms wound around my shoulders, holding firm as her toes dangled above the sidewalk. Without breaking the kiss, I walked us toward the building at our side and pressed her against the brick façade. The moment her back hit the wall, she wrapped her legs around my hips and let out another whimper.
My hardness rubbed against her core and a shudder rolled down her spine. Our mouths stayed fused, and my head angled to get deeper. What I wanted to take she was giving me freely. Or maybe she was the one stealing from me. I didn’t give a shit about the semantics as long as she kept clinging to my body.
We kissed and kissed, not caring about being on Main Street, dry humping against a wall, until a throat cleared at my back.
Son of a bitch. I ripped my mouth from hers, panting and blinking the world into focus. Then I glanced behind me, searching for the source of the noise.
It was Tim, the guy who led the band and our bass player.
“Sorry.” He held up a hand. “You comin’ back?”
I arched an eyebrow.
“Right. It’s cool. I think I saw Kaylee in there. I’ll see if she wants to play tonight.” He took a step back, his eyes going to Quinn’s flushed face. “Uh, hey. Huge fan. I came to your show in Denver two years ago, and it was awesome. That solo you played on ‘Silent Riot’ was maybe the best drum solo I’ve—”
“Tim,” I barked.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He spun away, took one step, only to turn again. “I don’t know how long you’re here, but if you want to play, I turned my garage into a studio.”
Quinn let out a soft laugh. “Thanks.”
“Bye, Tim.”
He chuckled. “See ya, Graham.”
I faced Quinn, expecting to see guilt in her eyes like there had been when we’d kissed at church. She’d shove me away any second now. But there was a smile tugging at her lips, and her arms were holding me as tight as ever.
I waited until the sound of Tim’s footsteps disappeared before dropping my mouth to hers again. Taking. Worshiping. This kiss wasn’t as frantic and hurried as the one before, but damn, it was hot. It was deep and consuming. It was a prelude to the kiss that would last all night.
Quinn broke away, her arms adjusting to get an even stronger hold on my shoulders. Her fingers toyed with the strands of hair at my neck as she whi
spered, “Take me home.”
“Which home?”
“Yours,” she said breathlessly. “Take me to your bed.”
Fuck. Yeah. I hauled her off the wall, shifting my hold so one arm was under her ass to keep her from trying to drop her feet on the concrete. There was no way I’d put her down and risk a fraction of space. I had her. Right now, I had Quinn.
Unless she told me, with words, to let her go, I wasn’t taking the chance that she’d run.
I walked us around the corner, turning the block to loop around behind the bar. The alley was dark and quiet except for a couple slipping into the Eagles from the rear entrance.
The bar’s door opened, and Kaylee’s voice drifted into the night.
“Who’s that?” Quinn asked, squirming to be set down.
I swatted her ass so she’d stop. “That’s Kaylee. There’s about ten of us who play in the band. Tim is the constant. So is Clyde, our drummer. Everyone else rotates out so we’re not tied to the band every weekend.”
Thank God, Kaylee had been here tonight. Even if she wouldn’t have been, I would have left with Quinn. But at least this way, Tim wasn’t forced to sing since he preferred to play without a microphone in his face.
“Ahh.” Quinn wiggled her hips and unhooked her legs from behind my back. I swatted her ass again, earning a frown. “Are you going to let me go?”
“No.”
“I can walk.”
“You used to like it when I carried you around.”
An expression flashed across her face, slightly pained but wistful, like she’d recalled a bittersweet memory.
Maybe she was thinking of the times I’d pick her up in a cradle and carry her from my locker to her algebra class. It used to embarrass her completely and make her laugh hysterically, but she’d never fought me to put her down. She’d only bury her face in my neck and pretend she meant it when she scolded me.
Then there were the times when she’d fall asleep on the couch while we were watching a movie. I’d carry her from my parents’ house to her own, leaving her with a kiss on the forehead as I tucked her into bed.
Those times were innocent and fun.