“You good?” Santino pulled away from their group and bent his head to catch her eye, drawing her gaze from Bran.
Nelle nodded, not trusting her voice. It was just her husband who she hadn’t seen in four months. Who hadn’t tried to contact her except to say happy birthday and then comment that he’d done so on some random tweet so her mentions had exploded.
Santino held out his arm and ushered her towards one of the big curved booths at the back of the room. She passed behind Bran, a row of busy tables between them, and swore his shoulders rose under his dark cardigan. Hackles up sensing danger. Sensing her. Or at least, sensing the way a wave of whispers followed her across the room. It was LA after all, everyone thought they knew something about Bran Kelly and Nelle, and now here they were in the same room together. She almost turned around and left, but that would have caused a scene. And Bran Kelly wasn’t going to get a scene from her.
Nelle scooted across the dark red leather, into the middle of the booth. The rest of the restaurant had a brassy glow, but the booths were up on a platform where the low ceiling provided a shadowy privacy.
Across the restaurant, over a flickering candle in a red warbled glass, Bran dragged out a long sip. Of course he was here. Bran Kelly belonged in rooms like this—dark, sexy places that looked like ads for luxury watches and expensive scotch. A shiver went through her as she remembered what it was like to be up close to Bran at a bar like this. When the smell of winter wafted off him in tantalizing ripples like fog off dry ice. When it was her sitting next to him not—Nelle squinted through the wavy air above the candle—Arlo?
That afternoon, when Santino had invited them to Cormac’s buzzy new steakhouse, she’d only agreed to come after dismissing the possibility that Bran would be here. He’d told her they made a point of keeping their friendship out of the public eye.
He’d told her a lot of things. Her mistake had been believing him.
And now she’d walked into a goddamn band reunion.
Arlo nudged Bran’s side and Bran shook his head. She knew what that meant. He wasn’t leaving.
Well, she wasn’t either.
Nelle addressed the heavy menu, flipping it from side to side without reading any of the words. A waiter in a black button-down came by and she ordered a burger, hoping they had one.
“Great choice,” the waiter said with a smile. “And to drink?”
Water would be another great choice, given her already shaky equilibrium.
“Tequila, white, a double, lots of ice and lime.” Nelle exhaled. “Please.”
“I’ll have the same.” Santino handed over his menu. “Has anyone heard it?”
“Nobody,” said Santino’s cousin Bri. She was an influencer, so when she said nobody, she meant nobody because she knew everybody.
“Heard what?” Nelle asked, jumping into the conversation to distract herself from Bran fishing the cherry out of his drink.
Santino slung his arm over the back of the booth. “Kelly’s got a new single. He’s closing the Besties.”
Bri’s friend, Lana, sighed. “I wish I could go. It’s barely an awards show. It’s a televised party. Like a concert with speeches.”
Nelle folded her arms on the table. So she’d be seeing him tomorrow too.
“You didn’t know?” Santino asked. “It was all over my feed this weekend.”
“I’m taking a social media break,” Nelle said. It seemed necessary when, instead of ignoring the random comment Bran had made about her online, she responded and got the exchange screen-grabbed by @Celebpetty. She didn’t need that attention. The Note noms would be announced in a month. That was her focus. Not the unbelievable fact that she’d have been married to Bran for an entire year without anyone finding out.
The waiter gestured to the curtains on a pole above them. “Should I?”
“No!” Lana said.
Benj tucked her chin back and shot Nelle a look that asked, You okay with this? There were two people too many between them, so Nelle responded with a slight shrug.
She couldn’t avoid it any longer. If it wasn’t today it’d be tomorrow. When Bran was singing his new single for the entire country.
There had been a time when part of Nelle’s Bran Kelly fantasy included the moment he finally finished a new song. And the first thing the Bran Kelly in her head did was send it to her. Wanting her to be the first one to hear it. It hadn’t happened that way.
Nelle sipped the tequila, feeling it bloom warm and alive in her stomach. It was at that moment Bran turned halfway in his chair and looked directly at her. The tequila detonated. Dizzy heat threatened to consume her as she held his gaze.
Despite the circumstances—because of the circumstances—they needed to talk. They needed to clear the air before their staring competition transformed into audible static, lightning heat that consumed the room with a deafening smash. Holding Bran’s gaze, she finished her tequila then pushed at Santino’s side to get out of the booth. She excused herself, and started for the bathroom. She didn’t watch to see if Bran stood, but she knew he was following her from the tingle that spun up her spine.
The room was dim. The sink and toilet and floor a shiny obsidian. Three mirrors reflected a black-and-green jungle print wallpaper that covered every inch of wall. It was like stepping into a different world, disconnected from the one outside in the restaurant. Like space: with no up or down to orient herself. Nelle turned just as Bran entered. The door closed behind him with a heavy click, cutting off the sound from the other side with it.
She stepped forward to flip the metal lock, expecting him to move back, but he stayed put. Suddenly they were alone, and inches apart. That hadn’t been part of her plan.
His breath wafted warm over her left shoulder. He lowered his chin and she braced her hands on his hips to keep herself from tangling them into his hair. But her hands slipped up, under his shirt and—
She tried to shove him back against the mirrored door but he was too solid.
“What have you been doing?” she asked, pulling up his shirt to reveal freshly toned abs and Adonis lines that dove into his jeans where she shouldn’t follow.
He glanced down at the defined stomach she was admiring with eyes and hands, like he didn’t know what had caught her attention. “Aya roped me into an underwear campaign. I let Cormac take over my fitness. So I don’t embarrass myself.”
“You won’t.”
She let herself explore, intoxicated by his proximity and the fact that Bran Kelly had made himself hotter. When her palms slid to his back, she switched to fingertips dancing over the grooves of muscles at his shoulders. She scraped down his spine with her fingernails and Bran vibrated with a telling groan. His hand pushed into her hair, cradled her head and he pulled her close to inhale. “I missed you.”
“You didn’t call.”
“I was waiting. Until I’d done what you wanted.”
“This is for me?” She traced the trenches of his pelvis and his grip on her head tightened.
“I fixed myself.”
Nelle fixed her eyes on his chest. The neck of his cardigan came down in a V. With her chin down, the first tiny grey button landed directly in her eye line. She stared at the X of thread keeping it stitched in place because if she looked up, her mouth would find his.
Bran thumbed her elbow, locking them together. “Last year I was in a rough place. Coming off tour, I was beat, but I missed it. Missed having something to keep me busy, keep me from having time to deal with my shit. You know that feeling like: Without those people singing with you every night, what’s left? I was coming down, and I kept getting lower when my gran died, and my dad blackmailed me. What was left, you know? And even the Cleffies felt like more weight that could sink me. It felt like this shadow had covered everything, this endless dusk, and then...” He pressed his lips to her forehead.
“‘S
he Turned Midnight’?”
He tilted her head up so their eyes met. “You heard the song?”
Had she heard the song? The one nobody had heard?
She had felt the song. She had tasted the song. She had lived the song.
She had pressed fingers to her earbuds as Bran’s voice pumped through the little wires, holding him there as he sang about her.
Easy, easy, easy to run
Easier said than done
She told me it could be fun
Hard to pretend she wasn’t the one.
Twist of lemon looking bitter
Said she wasn’t gonna sit there
Drinking sour eating salt
Knew by then it was my fault
Fucking up something brand-new
Showed up cold but she came through
Broke the ice, that queen of light
She turned midnight
On all the best nights of my life
She turned midnight
Nelle pulled back, breaking away. “Don’t be mad, Charlie sent it to me. You used my producer, we go way back—”
“I asked Charlie to send it.” Bran prowled after her.
Nelle’s palms met the edge of the black counter, her fingers curling around it. “Because it’s about me?”
He hooked his hands over the counter on the outside of hers, leaning down and dragging his nose across hers. “You came out of the darkness.”
The kiss happened slowly. Her chin tipped up, his tilted down. Their lips touched in one glancing pass, and then another. Nelle opened her mouth to take in his breath and closed it before their tongues could meet. Kisses so light she could still pretend they hadn’t happened.
This couldn’t be happening. It might feel like they had stepped through a portal to a place where time didn’t exist, where the pain they caused each other was as far away as the people in the buzzing restaurant—but everything was waiting for them outside that door. They couldn’t ignore—
“I owe you an apology.” Bran’s tongue brushed his lower lip and the next time she skated the bow of hers over it, the skin caught, stretching the connection longer.
“You do,” she agreed, her hands shifting their grip to cover his.
“I got mad. I lashed out. None of it should have been directed at you. I’m sorry.”
“Your dad’s house—”
“Doesn’t matter.” And then he stopped waiting and brought his body flush against hers. Nelle gasped at the contact and Bran kissed her. Really kissed her, mingling the sweet cherry on his tongue with the tang of lime on hers. Nelle forgot the rest—forgot her reasons, her plans, her reservations. She forgot how it felt to be apart while she was on tour, forgot how hard it had been this last month, staying at home with her parents in a childhood room where the Bran Kelly she imagined existed simultaneously with the one she’d known.
This was the fantasy Bran Kelly brought to life. The one consumed by her, the one who used his words and said just the right thing, sang just the right thing. And he was still the real Bran Kelly, unguarded and confident. The one she’d spent the last few weeks polishing her songs about, getting ready to head into the studio for N3.
He was the Bran Kelly she wanted to love.
He was her Bran Kelly, for the last time.
Nelle bit his bottom lip and thrust her hands into his hair, pulling hard. Bran groaned in response. At her back, his hand fisted in the vintage polka-dot dress. The skirt twisted up, exposing her lace-covered bottom. Bran skimmed his other hand over her butt, driving his thumb under the lace. Nelle nodded into his mouth and helped him shimmy the panties over her hips and down her legs. As she perched on the counter, he looped the garment around his wrist twice for safekeeping.
She’d shoved a hand halfway into the pocket of his cardigan before he stepped out of reach. He stood back, regarding her, his chest rising as he took three deep breaths.
Nelle opened her legs, drawing her knees wide. “Come here.”
Bran pulled a condom from his back pocket. Slowly he came forward. This might be a random bathroom hookup, but he wasn’t going to rush it. He undid his pants, slid his hands up her thighs, and kissed her, so deeply her whole body tilted back. Nelle slipped forward, and Bran used the momentum to guide her onto him, full and hard and the fit she’d been aching for for months.
Nelle went limp with pleasure, but Bran’s arms wrapped around her back, securing her to him. He might not have wanted to rush, but their desire was so close to the surface, it wouldn’t be long before they both broke.
He snaked one hand up her spine to hold the back of her neck and Nelle whimpered, giving over the last ounce of her resistance and letting him take her weight—he could so easily, his body more powerful than it had been months ago when he’d heaved her over the threshold at his house. She let him take complete control too. He knew what he was doing and she trusted him to do it. Long strokes, easy rhythm, all building to a crescendo that would crash through her like storm waves over stone breakers.
Nelle clasped her hands to his shoulders and pulled herself up. Her mouth on his mouth, an orgasm pulsed through her, her body tightening like a string brought back in tune.
With one final thrust Bran pumped heat into her. Nelle held him close, still floating on the ripples of pleasure that rolled through them both. He pressed a kiss to her throat and sighed and something stung the corner of her eye. She forced the tension out of her fingers and smoothed his sweater, adding a gentle push so he’d get the idea and remove himself. He did. Bran had always been good with body language.
He disposed of the condom in a gleaming black trash can before returning to her and bending to her feet. Nelle’s brow furrowed until he unwound her underwear from his wrist.
They were done. It was time to get back to—to whatever it was they were supposed to be. Nelle brought a hand to her temple. What was she doing? She had to get out of here. She had to say what she needed to say before Bran did anything else to confuse her.
But she opened her mouth a moment too late, giving Bran the advantage. He started speaking from below her, where he knelt, threading her underwear back up her legs.
“I figured me out. I felt out of control, so I shut down. But I never had control, I only had fear. That I’d be alone. And I’d have nothing for myself. It took me a long time to admit that, but I’m admitting it now. And you.” His fingers pressed into her calves. “You like the game best when you’re winning. And if you want to keep playing with me, you have to know you might lose.”
“I called Tomi.” Her voice sounded far away, but she felt it crack on his cousin’s name. The outer-space quality of the room gave her nowhere stable to look, and she felt like she was spinning, detached, drifting away from...everything. Out in the universe alone.
“You what?”
“I’m—I’m planning to file. After the Note noms. She thinks she can do it quietly—” She broke off to give him a chance to respond. His jaw had gone slack. He hadn’t moved from the ground at her feet. “This can’t surprise you. We haven’t spoken in months.”
“Then why now? Why’d you wait? If it’s been over. You took off your ring in May.”
“And you never put on a ring, Bran. You were never on the line the way I was. I waited because I didn’t want Tomi to get in trouble.” And because it had required effort, working up her courage, convincing herself that her career was strong enough to weather a scandal if Tomi couldn’t get it done without revealing the truth. “She went out on a limb for us with Judge Jordan. And a five-month marriage doesn’t look very—”
He stood up, stepped back. “Who cares how it looks! You heard the song, right—”
“And it’s a good song—it’s a great song.” She hopped off the counter, pulling her underwear all the way up and scrambling to rebuild a line of defense. “But it’s about a moment that happe
ned almost a year ago. From this distance, a talented writer like you—who doesn’t embellish? Play things up? Once you have that hook, that after-the-fact catchy phrase, you blur the truth to fit it. You know, if you really want, we could talk about how funny it is that you don’t want anyone profiting from the private details of your life—except when it comes to your own ability to sell out.”
“That’s not what I did. That song—”
“I don’t care, Bran. I’ve got a hundred more about you.” Nelle fisted her hands, regretting her quick tongue and trying to control herself. They were writers, their words were their weapons.
She had to stop thinking about Bran as a secret and start thinking about him as a mistake. She had to get out of this room and hope no one was waiting outside to take a photo—Good Iowa Girl Caught Fucking in Steakhouse Bathroom—it was too easy a headline.
A sharp knock sounded through the door. A familiar rat-ta-ta-ta-tat Nelle’s fuzzy mind couldn’t place but a rhythm that made Bran sigh and reach for the handle. Cormac’s wide shoulders wedged into the opening. He regarded Bran with a measured glance and held his hand out for Nelle.
“I give tours of the kitchen, did you know? Kind of a secret operation, had to clear this hall to sneak you back there, but people who can make moussaka out of the nonsense in his fridge make the list.”
He was offering an out and Nelle nodded gratefully, putting her palm against his. The drummer’s fingers closed over the back of her hand.
Bran stepped into her path. “We’re not done—”
“Yes, we are,” she said, looking him directly in the eye.
With a hand on his shoulder, Cormac eased Bran out of the way. “You are, unless you want everyone out there to know. And everyone they know to know.”
The palm guiding her was heavier than Bran’s as Cormac pulled her through the hall into a swinging door for servers. Nelle blinked in the new space. Cormac steered her through an assault of white light, glimmering chrome, heat and motion and a clatter of sounds. The “tour” lasted only a few seconds before they came through another swinging door off the side of the dining room, right at the bottom of a small set of stairs leading up to the booths.
All the Best Nights Page 24