I forced my shaking fingers to unwrap the tie on my dress. Putting it on, I retied the bow. Anxiety pummeled my chest. The mirror reflected a pale, hollow-cheeked version of my face. Dark shadows circled my eyes.
There was a knock on the door. Soft. Just a knuckle. Asher was in my room. My knees turned to jelly.
He looked taller. No, he’d lost weight. I wanted to go to him, soothe him. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to know I could calm him, too. The pain in my chest expanded, licking into my throat.
Asher’s eyes slid from my mouth to meet my steady gaze.
“I was stuck in the divorce hearings. Your evidence both helped and also slowed the process. I had to finish the sound track, too, because we had the studio time all booked. Media’s been a bitch.”
My skin chilled, but I kept my eyes steady on his, hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff.
“Social media is an amazing tool,” he said. His fingers tapped his thigh. “Especially for my new hobby of cyber stalking.”
I swallowed. This was it. We were over. At least he had the decency to tell me in person, unlike Luke who’d simply switched his relationship status on Facebook.
“Mmm.”
“But you weren’t on social media. And you haven’t posted anything on your blog or updated your website. It’s like you’ve been hibernating. You thought I was leaving you.”
Thought? He had. For three weeks. Of course we were over.
“Dahlia, if I hadn’t talked to Abbi—because you weren’t even answering your e-mails—and found out why you thought I’d dumped you, I’d be really fucking angry.”
“I turned off my Internet access after Briar left.”
“Because of the media coverage?” he asked.
“In part. I didn’t like seeing you so tired and alone. And I couldn’t help myself—I kept going to the news sites to see what was happening.”
He slid his hand up the back of my neck, cupping it in his long-fingered palm. My heart rate escalated, but not with panic. With need. I could see the image of me naked, that night, in his eyes. How I wanted this man.
I closed my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of calm.
“The pulse in your neck is going crazy. You’re not having another panic attack, are you?”
Concern laced through his voice. He’d offered me the perfect out. I could lie and push off this conversation, but that wasn’t fair to either of us. The one thing Asher and I had always had was honesty.
“N-no,” I stuttered. I met his eyes. “Tell me the rest.”
“Jessica caved. Finally. The evidence was too much. She told us Olivia wouldn’t stop crying. She covered her mouth with a pillow until Olivia stopped. But by then, she’d quit breathing altogether.”
He tipped my chin up, his thumb caressing the curve of my jaw. I gripped his arms, needing to offer something back, even if it was just my touch. “I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. Olivia deserved better than she got. So does Mason. These past weeks have been hard on him. He’s seeing a counselor.” He ran his free hand through his hair, fear clouding his hazel eyes. “I thought I deserved more, too.”
I stepped closer, our bodies nearly touching, drawn to him as I always was. “You do.”
This might be the last time he ever looked at me. I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his, showing him I cared about his pain. His other hand came to the far side of my waist, pulling me tight to his lean body. I’d missed this, him. My hands tangled into his too-long hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.
Finally, I pushed back, my chest heaving.
“The record company contacted my agent this morning. The single we released last week—the one we did at the show with Simon—it’s getting loads of airtime. Richard thinks it’ll go platinum.”
I grabbed his hand before I thought better of it. “You all deserve the recognition and success.”
He linked our fingers together, pressing his palm tight to mine just as he had when we walked on the beach that first night in Seattle. Memories built in his eyes and longing welled up my throat, about to flood my face. I tugged my hand from his and turned away.
“I want you to be happy.” I didn’t like how small my voice was. I forced my gaze to his. “You’ve spent so long trapped in a situation you didn’t create.”
“Oh, I created it. Jessica was right when she called me selfish. I never loved her the way a woman deserves to be loved. She knew that, and she resented me for it. But once I found out she was pregnant with my kids, I planned to stick by her. It all came back to not wanting to be like my father. I just fucked up lots of lives in a different way.”
I cupped his cheek. “You didn’t fail your son or daughter, Asher. Your wife failed you when she didn’t ask for help when she needed it. She failed you when she went too far and hurt your child.”
He pressed his lips into my palm, and my breath caught, my chest heaving as I tried to inhale, but couldn’t.
“Like Doug hurt you?”
“That’s different.”
“Yeah. But he hurt you. Bad.”
I couldn’t hold his gaze. My throat tightened. “He was something I needed. Once.”
Asher dipped his head. We stood like that, our breath mingling.
“Abbi and I text throughout the day. She told me you finished the last book in the series. That’s fucking amazing, Dahlia. I’m really proud of you.”
“They’re all about you,” I said. “I couldn’t stop wanting you, and it just kind of all came out.”
“I’ll be your muse anytime. Just as you’ve always been mine.”
Much as I hated to, I disengaged from his embrace. My heart pounded. We stared at each other. I wet my lips and said, “You need time to grieve, to recover from your divorce.”
He snorted. “That would be true if I’d done nothing but grieve since Olivia died. Sort of. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy.” He stepped closer. Held me like I needed. “But I need you. I wanted to be here sooner, but I had to stick around to finalize the settlement. Then Mason wanted to go to the camp Jeremiah’s in for the next few weeks.”
“Wow.” Confusion and anger swirled through me. Ella hadn’t said anything. Neither had Abbi.
That wasn’t exactly true. They’d brought up Asher, and I’d changed the subject or walked out of the room.
“But you didn’t answer your phone,” I said.
“I was recording or I was in court. It was off.”
“But you didn’t call back.”
“Abbi said you were writing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Then you quit calling and I was worried. I knew I had to come here, tell you these things in person.”
Asher slid his lips over mine, a gentle caress that eased the painful ache. I opened my lips so I could kiss him the way I needed to. Our tongues met, and desire exploded. I gripped his hair just like I’d always wanted, while he slanted his mouth over mine, again and again. His palm rubbed over my breast.
I’d thought for years I was better off not feeling. I’d been so wrong. Every second with Asher was worth whatever pain came after.
A knock sounded on the door, and we broke apart.
“They do have impeccable timing,” I said, struggling to catch my breath.
We glanced over his shoulder at Abbi. Her eyes danced with excitement. Mason peeked under her arm, and I was pleased to see he didn’t seem angry or resentful.
“They do,” Asher said.
“See, Mom. Asher loves you.”
Mason slid under her arm. “Yeah, heaps. He told us so. Right, Abs?” Mason grinned up at her, his eyes greener than usual. He seemed happy. Moving away from his mom and his security would cause ongoing problems. The healing from the divorce was a process with better and worse days. But we could get him through this. I wanted to help.
Asher turned to face the kids. “We’re trying to work out our living arrangement.”
“I liked that room I stayed in before, and there are horses. And we do
n’t have a house anymore. Dad gave it to my mom. But that’s okay because I get to stay with Dad. Most of the time, anyway. And maybe you and Abbi.”
I disentangled myself from Asher and went over to kneel in front of Mason. “You’re always welcome here.” I brushed his brown hair off his brow. I bet Asher looked similar at his age. “I’d like to have you stay with me, with us, as much as you can.”
The concern slid from his face and Mason beamed. “I brought a suitcase.”
“I’ll help you bring it in,” I said.
“Already did.” Abbi grinned. “I’m taking Mason to the diner in Asher’s car. It’s a freaking convertible. I hope we see Luke,” she said. “He’s going to be so jealous. C’mon, Mason.”
“Can I get one of those buffalo burgers?” Mason asked as he skipped down the hall after her.
“Be careful,” I called. I turned back to look at Asher, amusement building. “You bought a convertible?”
“I want to see your hair dancing around your head. Or better”—his voice dipped low—“you naked on the hood.”
My eyes stayed on Asher’s as I gripped his biceps. I pressed my lips to his and thrilled when he cupped the back of my head.
“I love you, Dahlia Moore Dorsey. I’m going to love you forever.”
“Oh.”
“That’s it? Aren’t you supposed to be good with words?”
I took a deep breath. “From the moment I met you, I wanted to know you. But I think I fell in love with you when you sang me ‘Moonshine Eyes.’”
“You do have a thing for being sung to.”
“By you. You speak to me. Because I love you.”
He grinned, one so full of life and happiness I had to grin back. He dipped his head and pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of my mouth. Heat slid through my chest, sliding down into my belly.
He loved me. He was here. I couldn’t control my hunger for him anymore than I could stop breathing.
I caught my heel behind his knee and shoved him. He cursed as he fell back onto my big bed. I followed him down, landing on his pelvis and then his chest.
His eyes gleamed bright. I tangled my fingers through his silky hair again and leaned down so that my lips were barely an inch from his.
His neck strained trying to reach my mouth, but I leaned back so I could nibble my way to his ear and that spot I’d found. He rolled over.
“I’m taking you here, right now,” I muttered.
He slid his hands down my arms until our fingers were entwined. “I like the way you think.”
“You’ll like the way I act more,” I said.
“Keep it coming. I got plenty of ever-after to work on.”
Thank You!
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Acknowledgments
So many people to thank for this book! This one was fun (and steamy!) to write. LERA ladies and gentlemen, you’re welcome. And thanks for being so supportive, for making me love writing again and for sharing your knowledge so freely. You are the best.
As always, thank you, Chris. Your unwavering support and love shine through in all you do. I’m me because you’re you. To my family, thank you for your love and the patience to let me write.
To Nancy, thank you for your eagle-eyed editing services. I hope you’re proud of where we ended up.
To Nicole, thank you for the advice on Seattle and the fantastic copy edits that make the story shine.
To Clarissa, once again the cover is gorgeous. I love working with you.
To my AuthorLab writing pals: You keep me on task and keep me motivated. I love seeing what you write. And I love how diverse our group is.
And to my readers and reviewers. Thank you for your time. It’s precious and I’m so, so glad you spent some of it with me.
Between Breaths, Book Two
The Seattle Sound Series
Book 2
Alexa Padgett
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the material in this book.
This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical, without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-945090-05-9
BETWEEN BREATHS © 2016 by Alexa Padgett
Edited by Nicole Pomeroy and Sara Peterson
Cover art by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs
To Juliette. Without you, Hayden wouldn’t have his voice.
1
Hayden
“Woo! Second encore! Let’s go,” Ets said, giving me a high five.
“I love playing Sydney. Nothing like the hometown crowd,” I said, scrubbing the towel over my face and hair. “Even midweek, their energy is amazing.” I let the tech powder my face again. Waited for the same treatment for Ets, Jake, and Flip. Our smiles grew wider as the raucous crowd screamed for more of us. Ets, my best mate, flung his arm around my shoulder, gripping me tight.
“You’re on fire,” he yelled. His gray-blue eyes lit up with joy and his eyebrow ring flashed in the stage lights. Sweat darkened his hair to a deep brown.
I stepped back out onto the stage. Blinding lights, the deafening roar of thousands of people excited to see me. To hear me play, sing. I raised my arms over my head and the screams grew louder. Yeah, baby. This right here—this was glory. And I was the high priest of rock.
I loved our fans. Loved that they connected with our music. Loved that I could sit at my piano and play this simple melody that’d run through my head for months to a rapt audience of thousands.
I rode the high as I sang, making sure I winked at the beautiful young woman standing right at the front of the stage, her strawberry-blond hair catching the light when she bobbed her head to the music. As our last song ended I dipped my head in her direction before taking my final bow and heading backstage.
“Fabulous show!” Our manager, Harry, slapped my back, his hand landing right on the sore muscles created from hours of lifting heavy equipment, even though I was told to leave those details to the roadies.
Bloody roadies. The rise in fame these last few months was still surreal.
Harry handed each of us a bottle of water. Sure, I would’ve preferred a beer, but I was the only singer other than Ets, and while his song skyrocketed us to the top of the charts this past year, my voice and compositions kept us there.
“We kicked arse,” Ets said, rubbing my chest. “You were on, Crewe.”
“You weren’t too shabby yourself, mate. Loved the play up the frets at the end there.”
Ets’s showmanship onstage kept our concerts fresh, interesting. Selling out.
“So did the fans,” Jake said. Ets’s younger brother, Jake played bass to his brother’s lead guitar. But Ets was flashier than his introverted, stocky sibling. Always close, not just in age but also in appearance, they balanced each other. Or had until Ets’s behavior turned erratic. Though he hadn’t said so, he was still hurt and angry that his longtime girlfriend ditched him for parts unknown last year.
I chugged the bottle of water, tossing it to Harry when it was empty. “Let’s do the meet and g
reet. Noticed a strawberry-blonde.” She was hot. All legs and tits. I grinned, anticipating the next few hours.
“She’s gorgeous. So’s her friend.” Harry licked his lips, thinking no doubt of the mostly nude women waiting for us in the next room.
“Go wild, Harry,” Ets said.
“Wait a mo’.” I dug my phone out of my pocket. I couldn’t hear the ring over the din of excited voices filling the space, just felt the vibration. I didn’t recognize the number—international. Seattle area code. My stomach tumbled over, landing somewhere much lower.
“Hello,” I said, cautious. Anyone with my phone number was here, at the venue.
I plugged my other ear, trying to hear the voice speaking into the phone.
“I can’t hear you,” I said.
“Your mother . . . Hospice . . . ”
“Hang on,” I said, and turned toward Harry. “Harry, I need to get somewhere quiet.”
He didn’t ask any questions—good bloke, there—and led me through the back hall to a room. He snapped on the lights, shut the door behind him.
“You ’right, mate?”
I waved him off, unsure how to answer. “Please start again. Who are you?”
“First, this is Hayden Crewe?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Kelly Winston. I’m a hospice nurse at the Bevins-Kline facility in Seattle. Your mother was admitted yesterday.”
“You sure you have the right person? What’s her name?” I asked.
“Miriam Hastings. She asked me to call you to let you know she’s here.”
“How’d you get my number?” I asked, too shocked by her words to think of anything else. My mum. No bloody way.
Kelly sighed into the phone. “I called your record label and jumped through a lotta hoops. Your mom’s in a bad way, Mr. Crewe. She has pancreatic cancer.”
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