by Devney Perry
“Ugh.” Just the thought made my stomach churn.
What was wrong with me? Did I want him to be happy? Obviously. But in my heart, Graham would always be mine.
Seattle’s city lights shimmered through the windows as I sipped my coffee and the sun began to rise. Dad was probably already at church, preparing for his service. Mom would be cleaning. And everyone else would be waking up and getting ready for a Sunday.
We’d had a Montgomerys-only family dinner on Friday night before I’d left. Walker and Mindy had brought over fried chicken. Brooklyn and Pete had brought cookies from a local bakery. The adults had visited. The kids had played, and Maya had even called me Aunt Quinn.
My sister hadn’t snarled or glared as we’d worked together to set the table. Mindy had been fascinated by the recording process and had asked me question after question over the meal. After dinner and dessert, we’d said our goodbyes and then . . . the next day I came home.
To my sanctuary.
That was oddly uncomfortable and not-so-serene.
There wasn’t a sound coming from the guest room. Nixon had showered and was probably snoring, so with my coffee refilled, I went to my master suite and took a shower of my own. I didn’t bother blow-drying my hair or putting on makeup. I had no plans to leave the penthouse today. The refrigerator was empty, but anything I wanted would be delivered with a single call.
I put on a pair of sweats, a camisole and a Black Sabbath hoodie—one of the few items in my closet I’d actually purchased myself—then retreated to my music room and flipped on the lights.
I paid the owners of the building extra for this room. Rather, I paid to rent the apartment below this room. The last thing I needed when I was working out some stress on my drum kit was downstairs neighbors bitching about the noise. So I had nice buffer between me on floor eighteen and whoever lived on sixteen.
The piano beckoned and I sat down, running my hands over the surface. How long had it been since I’d been home? Two months. It felt like a lifetime.
The glossy black surface of my Sauter concert grand gleamed. Whether I was here or not, I hired a crew to clean the penthouse weekly and they had a special polish for the instruments in this room, my treasures.
My fingers skimmed the keys, and I set my mug on the floor to not risk a coffee ring. Then I closed my eyes and played, not worrying about Nixon on the other end of the apartment who was likely passed out.
Song after song, I let the music seep into the empty voids. It soaked into my heart, and when the notes shifted to the new song, my grandfather’s song, tears streamed down my face.
Everything was wrong. Why? I was here, wasn’t I? Living in the penthouse I’d always adored and had always thought suited me perfectly. I was finally working on the album and the music held so much promise.
“So why the fuck am I crying?” I wiped furiously at my eyes.
“Because things are changing.”
My heart leaped into my throat as I gasped, spinning around to find Nixon leaning against the door. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He walked across the room, his hands in his pockets.
His hair was damp and he’d changed into sweats of his own. The guest suite was stocked with extras because there’d been plenty of nights when Jonas, Nix and I would be messing around and it would get late so the guys would crash here. I had my own clothes at each of their places too.
As Nix sat beside me on the bench, I gave him an exaggerated sniff. “Much better.”
He laughed and splayed his hands on the keys. He wasn’t as good on the piano as I was, he mostly worked on his guitar, but he could hammer his way through a song if necessary. “What were you playing?”
“Something new,” I told him, then launched into the story of Nan’s letters and my grandfather’s song.
“Sing it for me,” he said, standing from the bench to grab the acoustic from the corner. I kept that guitar here for him and Jonas. Keys and drums were no problem, but I’d given up mastering the guitar a long time ago.
As I began playing, Nix took a seat on one of the room’s stools, and at the second chorus, he joined in, playing until the last note echoed in the room.
I held his gaze, my heart in my throat, hoping that he liked it. “Well?”
“Well, damn. That was awesome.”
Thank God. If Nix liked it, he’d help me sell it. “Lyrics are Jonas’s thing, but I want to pitch this to him and Harvey.”
“They’ll go for it. No question.”
“You think?”
He nodded. “Especially when you agree to sing it.”
“What? No. Jonas can sing it.”
“It’s your song, Quinn. Part of what makes it so powerful is you.”
Could I sing this? A thrill of possibility raced through my veins. “Would it throw the album off to add female vocals?”
Nixon grinned. “Not if we build the album around it.”
I ran my hand down the keys, filling the room with a random string of notes as I sighed. “I have three others penciled that I’m really liking at the moment. You?”
“One.” He stood and put the guitar aside, then stalked to the windows. “And it’s shit.”
I stood and joined him beside the glass, watching the street below as people bustled along the sidewalks and cars navigated the streets. Nixon, like me, had never had a block when it came to the music. “What’s wrong? What can I do?”
“Nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“Will you?”
“Will you?”
“We’re not talking about me, Nix.”
He lifted his chin. “Maybe we should talk about you. Why are you here? What are you doing?”
“Um . . . I live here.”
“You know what I mean.” He arched an eyebrow, and my stomach dropped. Yeah, I knew what he meant. “I saw you with Graham. You look at him in a way that makes the rest of us wish we had something half as strong. So what happened?”
I sighed. “We ended it. He doesn’t want this lifestyle and I-I’m not quitting the band. So we’re done. It’s for the best.”
“Wow.” He scoffed. “Harsh. You cut the poor guy out before he had a chance.”
“Excuse me?” I glared, shoving at his shoulder. “I didn’t cut him out. We agreed on it. Together. He has a son. This lifestyle—the travel, the schedules—it’s not steady. They have a good thing going and don’t need me complicating it.”
“So now you’re a martyr. That’s a new look for you.”
“What is your problem?” I barked.
“I gave you an extra week to figure it out and you still didn’t see it. So let me spell it out. I liked Montana Quinn. She was happy.”
Montana Quinn? “There’s only one Quinn. Me. And I am happy.”
“No, you’re not. You love him. You miss your family. And if you’d finally stop being so damn stubborn, you’d see that you’re shutting them out, using us, the band, as an excuse because you’re afraid of getting your heart broken again.”
“I—” Fuck. He’d hit that one straight on. “How would it work? I look at Kira and Vivi and how they can go with Jonas. I don’t see that happening with Graham.”
“You haven’t given him the time to figure it out.”
“Ugh.” I walked to the piano. “I hate when you’re right.”
“Doesn’t happen much.” He chuckled. “Better write it down.”
“So I just go to Montana and, what, live there? How will that work?”
“It just will.” He shrugged. “We’re rock stars.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Graham
“I want that gray stain. The light one that we used in my bathrooms. What’s it called?”
“Lancaster.”
“That’s it.” I nodded. “Flat panel style. Soft close.”
“Can do.” My cabinet guy Drew scribbled on his notepad. “Do you want us to build them for you? Or just deliver the boxes when they show up?”
“I’ll
build them.” Doing it myself would save me some money even if it would take my time. I was already into this place more than it would resell for and I wanted to keep my costs down.
“Great.” He clicked his pen closed and stuck it in his shirt pocket, stretching his other hand for a shake. “I’ll give you a call when they show. Probably about four weeks.”
Four weeks. I stifled a groan. “Thanks, Drew.”
I’d thought about using an online supplier to get them faster, but with shipping costs and the discount Drew gave us at his shop, I’d take the delay, let him deal with the hassle and have his one-year guarantee in my pocket.
He waved and let himself out the front door, and I waited until he was gone to curse. “Fuck.”
Why exactly had I destroyed my kitchen before I had the new cabinets ordered? This was a mistake not even the most novice DIYer would make. How the hell were we going to survive for over a month without a kitchen?
Eating out was going to get old fast. Grilling too. This was a clusterfuck all because I’d been so messed up about Quinn that I’d lost the ability to think logically.
Colin had come home after the Fourth and muttered a whoa when he’d stepped into the kitchen.
Whoa. Fucking whoa.
But this was my mess. I’d clean it up and was determined to get life back to normal. Normal, with a new kitchen. And a new floor.
The bright side of the cabinet delay was that I had four weeks to get the hardwoods installed. It was going to be my nighttime project when I couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn. Hopefully, Colin could sleep through the noise of my nail gun.
I walked to the fridge that I’d pushed into the living room and took out a Mountain Dew—we’d call this lunch. After three shitty, sleepless nights, I’d been surviving on caffeine and sugar to keep me moving.
Walker was at the job site, finishing up with the inspector, so I’d come home to meet with Drew. I was going to chug this pop and sit down at my computer—where, I wasn’t sure because my normal workspace at the dining room table was crowded with kitchen shit—to work on a bid.
We had two projects lined up after the Bridger mountain house. Neither Walker nor I liked looking into the future without three or four jobs stacked. If we won the bid we’d put in last month on a custom home in town, plus the one I was working up today, that would take us through the winter.
I crushed the empty can and took it to the recycling bin in the garage just as the doorbell rang. Drew must have forgotten a measurement.
My boots thudded across the subfloor—I’d torn out the carpet yesterday—and I set my can aside before swinging the door open.
It wasn’t Drew.
“Hey.” Quinn looked small on my porch. Nervous. Beautiful. Her hair was swept into a bun and she was wearing a dress. A simple, green sundress that made the blue in her eyes sparkle.
I blinked, making sure she was real. Had the delirium of no sleep conjured her from my dreams? “Thought you left.”
“I came back.”
I swallowed hard. “Why?”
“I’m a rock star.”
“Uh, yeah. I know.” Was that supposed to mean something to me? “So?”
“So, I’m a rock star. The Golden Sticks, though I’ve never been crazy about that nickname. Whatever. I’m rambling. The point is, I’m a rock star. Dream accomplished.”
“Right. Wasn’t that why you left? So you could go and be a rock star?”
“No. I am a rock star. I’ve been working so hard to become one, to get to the next level, that I missed the fact that I am one already. We’re at the top.”
“You didn’t realize you were a rock star.” I shook my head, not understanding a damn thing she was saying. Mom always said, Mountain Dew will rot your brain. “Huh?”
“I thought this was it. The endless tours. The hours we’d spend in the studio, recording and adjusting and recording again. Making album after album without a break in between so we could make it big. That’s what my life has been.”
The life I’d spent nights contemplating. Trying to find a way to give Colin what he needed and still hold on to Quinn.
Sure, her lifestyle wasn’t what I had imagined ever wanting for myself and Colin. She didn’t have a quiet, small-town house with routine mealtimes and regular pop-ins from family. But kids could thrive in a city. I’d never been to Seattle, but I was sure it had redeeming qualities. As hectic as it might be, the touring and the concerts would give Colin a unique lifestyle.
It was different.
But possible.
And if it meant a life with Quinn . . .
“I get it,” I said. “That’s your life.”
“No, that’s—”
“Just let me get this out.” I held up a hand. I’d planned to have this conversation next week, but for whatever reason, she’d come back and I wasn’t wasting a moment. “I’ve thought a lot about it the last couple of days. What you said under the stars. What I said about the life I wanted for Colin. And I think we were both wrong.”
She blinked, her mouth opening, but I kept going before she could interrupt.
“You have a special life. You have a gift. I’d never take that away from you, but I’m not losing you again. We belong together, Quinn.”
“Graham—”
“If that means we move to Seattle and follow you around the world, we’ll do it. Colin can have tutors. He’ll get to see the world, something most kids wouldn’t have the chance to do. And I’ll be there. With you. I’ll be front row during every magic hour, because if it makes you happy, I’ll be happy. As long as we’re together.”
Her chin began to quiver. “And I’d be happy here, with you. Living in this house. Playing drums with Colin or watching him play baseball or reading books. As long as I can sleep in your bed each night, I’ll be happy.”
It took a flash for my brain to register what she was saying. But this was it. Us.
“I want—”
I hauled her into my arms and sealed my mouth over hers, swallowing her words. Whatever she wanted; she could tell me later. She could tell me day after day, year after year, and I’d do my best to make it happen.
The sweet sound of her moan rang in my ears. The taste of her lips soothed the fears that I’d lost her again.
By some miracle, she was here, and I wasn’t letting go.
Not this time.
Quinn clung to me as I hauled her inside, kicking the door shut behind us as we shuffled toward my bedroom. A trail of clothes marked our path and when I laid her on my bed, the touch of her bare skin put the last of my worries at ease.
She’d come back.
Not that it mattered.
I’d already planned a trip next weekend to drive to Seattle and chase her down.
“I love you.” I kissed the long column of her neck.
“I love you too,” she whispered in my ear, her hands running down my spine.
I gripped my shaft, running it through her wet folds, then rocked us together, savoring the hitches in Quinn’s breath as I eased inside, inch by inch, until I was rooted deep. “You’re mine.”
“Yes.” She arched her hips. “Move, baby.”
I glided out and thrust inside, hard and fast. “I missed you.”
Her legs wrapped around my hips and her hands came to my ass, urging me deeper. My lips covered hers and we kissed, long and slow, in a rhythm that matched the motion of my hips, the slide of our bodies together. When the build and the heat became too much, our mouths broke apart. I lost myself in her stormy gaze, the dark swirls of blue dragging me with her as she toppled over the edge.
I collapsed, trapping her beneath me as the roar of blood subsided in my ears and the white stars in my eyes vanished. Then I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair that had escaped its pins, and held her tight. “We’ll make this work.”
“You’d really follow me around the world?”
I shifted, rolling to my side so I could face her. “You’
d really move here and give up the band?”
She nodded and clutched my hand to her chest. “For you.”
“I’m never going to make you choose me or the band, Quinn.”
Her eyes softened. “And I’m not going to make you give up what you have here. You didn’t let me finish explaining outside. I’m a rock star.”
“This is not new information, babe.”
“Would you be quiet?” She laughed. “I’m saying that I’m a rock star. That status we’ve been chasing, the fame and the notoriety, we made it. We can stop chasing it now. I don’t need to be glued to the studio. I don’t need to be on tour all the time. We made it. I’m a rock star, and it’s time to make space for the people missing in my life.”
“What about Jonas and Nixon? Are they going to be okay taking a step back?”
“I haven’t talked to Jonas, but I can’t imagine he’s going to be mad. He’s already pushing for more family time in our schedule. And Nix was the one who put my ass on a plane this morning to come home.”
“I knew I liked that guy.”
She took my hand, kissing my knuckles. “We’re burning out. It’s time to slow down. I can be in Hush Note and live here. I can fly off for shows and then come home. Maybe we can do mini-tours in the summers so you and Colin can come with me.”
She’d have the band.
I’d have roots.
But most importantly, we’d have each other.
“You’re sure? I don’t want you to look back in ten years and realize you sacrificed your career for us.”
“I’ve spent the past two weeks looking back, Graham. I know exactly what’s been missing. This time around, we do it together. I have no idea what it will look like, but I have faith that we’ll figure it out.”
I rolled on top of her, searching her eyes for any hesitation or fear. But they were clear and bold and true.
This was our second chance.
“You set me free once, Graham. You let me fly. Now I’m coming home.”