Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five

by Alexa Padgett

  5

  Hayden

  The building was more depressing from the outside than I’d anticipated. The red brick, though well maintained, appeared tired. The blue shimmer of the water behind the building reminded me of the Great Beyond in those cheesy, low-budget movies I’d watched on Sunday mornings, waiting for my dad to putter through his morning routine.

  The soil itself must have sucked in some of the emotions of the thousands of people sent here to die, because even the trees and flowers were brown and droopy in an otherwise verdant city.

  Crikey. I was supposed to walk in there. On purpose. A place that was nothing less than the yawning maw of hellish, unfinished dreams. A fitting final place for the mother who’d chosen to disengage any inkling of maternal responsibility.

  Forget that I’d flown more than fifteen hours to get here. I pulled my key fob back out of my pocket and began to turn back. Harry was right. I should never have left my band. I definitely shouldn’t have come here expecting answers. Her years of silence spoke volumes.

  As I hesitated, a woman strode toward the doors. Her shoulder-length hair was the exact color of a mink I’d seen in a traveling zoo as a child. That mink’s fur was soft, rich, warm. Like my mum’s hair when she carried me home after our rambles. For years, I’d thought my mum’s hair was more beautiful than anything I’d seen before.

  And when I’d seen that mink’s fur at the zoo, the color reiterated how much I’d missed her. I’d spent an hour petting the soft, warm pelt, much to my dad’s bewildered acceptance. A good man, my father.

  The brown-haired woman hitched her large bag onto her shoulder and wrapped a hand around her elbow, head bent down. She passed me without so much as a glance, feet tapping a no-nonsense rhythm that pulled her inexorably closer to the institution of death.

  I didn’t want her in there. I didn’t want my mink contaminated with illness, death, and despair. Two steps ahead, she crossed the threshold into the hospice before I worked up the nerve to open my mouth. I shivered as I strode through the glass partition, following just inches behind her.

  Holy hell. The building was worse inside. The smell of death lingered, astringent and too close.

  “Hi, there, Briar. Did you bring someone with you today? Welcome to Bevins-Kline Hospice Care Facility.”

  As I stepped forward, the girl behind the desk stared at me, mouth agape. I groaned.

  “You’re—”

  “Hayden Crewe,” I sighed, sidling closer to the desk. “I’m here to see my mum.”

  “Oh. My. God.” The girl breathed, her face pasty. “I. Love. You.” Her cheeks flushed an unnatural shade even darker than crimson. While I was glad for the return of color, her comment made me uncomfortable.

  “Er, well, thanks. What room is Miriam Hastings in?”

  The woman with the beautiful hair—Briar?—stood next to me at the desk. “Stop, Ginny. You’re embarrassing him.”

  Her voice reminded me of blues singers who’d moved beyond controlled lust and dipped lower into emotional pain. It ripped through my gut in the best possible way. I wanted to hear that voice calling my name as she writhed against me. I blinked back the image. I was in a bloody hospice center. So not the place for sexual fantasies.

  Her eyes were blue. The same shade as the native bluebell Dad used to plant in the back garden.

  “He’s in Jackaroo. He plays the piano and keyboard,” Ginny said, her voice rising with excitement.

  Briar waited for me to say something. I hadn’t caught enough of what Ginny had said, but I’d heard something about a piano. “Piano’s my favorite, but I also play the mandolin. Some guitar.” Could I sound any more pompous?

  “Miriam’s in the room next to my friend. We good to go, Ginny?” Briar took two visitor stickers, handing one to me.

  I cringed at the bright sheen in Ginny’s eyes. Briar leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk.

  “Don’t, Ginny,” Briar said, her voice lowered to just more than a whisper. “Don’t make this harder for him. Think about what’s happening in this building now, without the extra attention. You told me you needed this job for the summer. If you make that call, tell anyone, I’ll be sure to have you fired.”

  The girl leaned back, annoyed, but she dipped her head once in acquiescence. “Go on through. But would you sign this for me first, Hayden?”

  She batted her lashes at me and held up a sheaf of paper. I snagged her pen and scrawled my name on a confidential billing statement. Shaking my head, I followed Briar through another set of doors. “Thanks for that. I think.”

  Briar’s long, trim legs ate up the industrial-carpeted hallway. “You have as much right to grieve as the next person. I’m glad Miriam’s got you. I’ve spent most of the last couple days here, and I was worried she’d die alone.”

  I cringed, biting back a curse. “We aren’t close,” I said. My voice was defensive, the gate holding back all my anger buckling under the surging emotions as we got nearer our destinations.

  She stopped walking and turned toward me fully. Crikey, she was gorgeous. Thick, dark lashes framed those blue eyes. Pert nose set in the middle of her face, her rounded chin curved into an elegant jawline. Her pink lips were slightly too wide. Today, those soft lips weren’t painted, but the natural plumpness of the lower one wasn’t something I could ignore. I wanted to bite it until she moaned, then soothe the sting with my tongue.

  “Look . . . ”

  I was, thank you very much. I’d already stared at the rounded globes of her bum as we walked in. Her waist was cinched by a wide belt, and her blue top, too demure to show off her scant cleavage, was soft, feminine. Her chest tapered into the long, elegant line of her neck. Nice. She ran her hand through her hair and glanced up and down the hall. Her eyes darkened.

  “Miriam’s close to the end. Whatever you need to say, remember she won’t be here in less than a week.”

  With that, she turned and entered a room behind her. She greeted a woman named Rosie, her voice hushed but upbeat. I slid my hands into my pockets, rocking back on my heels as I sought my mum’s name. Next door, she’d said. There, written on a dry-erase board: Miriam.

  In all the years I’d played through the moment we met again, I’d been the injured one and she’d begged for my forgiveness—forgiveness I wasn’t sure I could give. What kind of woman walked away from her only child? But she was the one hurting now. Briar’s words echoed through my head as I braced myself to enter the room.

  The door was open. Good. My steps were hesitant as I approached the hospital bed. She turned her head on a pillow, making me feel like an arse for not stepping into her line of vision. Her skin was pale, nearly translucent. Tubes and wires were connected to most of her body, making her look more like a bad sci-fi movie experiment than a person.

  Her brown eyes, they were alive, bright. I inhaled sharply, mirroring her breath. Fuck me, they were the exact same color and shape as mine. Much as I might want to, I couldn’t deny our relationship.

  “Hayden?”

  Her voice was tentative. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “G’day.”

  “Are you real, or one of my dreams?”

  “I’m real.”

  She tapped her finger against her lip, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I’d like to hope so. I’ve thought of you so many times over the years.”

  We stared at each other for another long moment. Her long, thick brown hair was now a cap of translucent gray. That I mourned; my best memories were lying my head on her hair.

  What to say? “Thank you for birthing me” sounded ridiculous. Anything else was much less polite. Especially bringing up the incident.

  “Will you sit with me?” she asked.

  I inched closer to the armchair next to the bed. The padding was thin, lumpy. As uncomfortable as a chair could be. A metaphor for my life. Shit-tastic, as my mates would say.

  “You look like George,” she said. “I have pictures he sent and others from the newspaper, of cour
se, but you’re so much handsomer in person.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” I glanced up at the clock. A quarter hour gone. How was I going to sit through many more minutes if all we did was exchange platitudes and chitchat?

  She smiled a little. “Tell me about you. I want to know everything.”

  I cleared my throat, my gaze probably wide and wild as she talked to me. “Er, well, my band’s on tour. We canceled one show in Melbourne, but I’ll catch up with them in in a few days when we head to Japan. We’re coming to the States in September. After Europe.”

  Another long pause. I squirmed in my chair.

  “Do you like performing? Music?”

  I shrugged, unsure how to answer that, really. “Reckon I do.”

  “What’s your favorite song?”

  “Not sure,” I hedged. “When you write so many, there’s lots of choices.” Patently false, but I wasn’t ready to tell my mum that. I glanced up at the clock. Barely another five minutes scraped off the hour. At some point, I could walk back out, the obligatory meeting over.

  She memorized my every feature while I catalogued the lights on each of her machines.

  “I’ve never met anyone as passionate about music as your father,” she sighed. The breathing tube hissed, pushing new air into her failing lungs. “His timing was so confident. I loved that about him even as I envied his ability.”

  “He’s dead,” I said.

  Her eyes slid closed. Out of tiredness or to block my words? “We talk, you know. Now. He looks younger than I do.” She smirked. “He’s told me so much about you. He’s proud of the man you’ve become. So am I.”

  We sat there again, me unable to look at her, she unwilling to look away.

  “I miss the piano,” she whispered. “I miss music.”

  I glanced at the clock again. I could leave this horrible place soon, after I asked my questions and met with the director.

  “Why’d you do it?” I asked. I wasn’t quite sure what I was asking. Let me leave? Never call? Hurt me in the first place?

  She slid into sleep as I sat in the chair. I bent my head toward the edge of the bed. Her breathing remained even thanks to the steady hiss of the oxygen machine. I willed her to wake, to tell me something—anything—she remembered about my childhood. Jet lag and sadness pulled at the edges of my consciousness.

  “You okay?”

  I startled at the voice. The woman I’d walked in with earlier stood before me. Briar, the blue-eyed girl with the mink hair that I wanted to pet.

  “Sure. Great.”

  Her lips pulled down in concern. I stood quickly.

  “She’s asleep,” I said, motioning toward my mother. She appeared so small in the bed. Wasted. I scrubbed my hand over my face, trying to get my bearings. “I need to talk to the director.”

  “He’s not in right now.”

  “How do you know? I have to set up arrangements.”

  Briar’s hand was soft on my bare forearm. We both froze, staring at her pale hand on my tanned skin. The potency of her touch was overwhelming. Awareness flickered between us, building.

  Holy hell. I wanted this woman.

  “Most of the staff is at lunch. They’ll be back in about an hour,” she said. “I’m Briar Moore, by the way.”

  “Okay.” I drew out the word, not sure what to do with my desire or her interest. This was a weird place to meet someone, in a building shrouded in illness and death. Getting away from the pretty, dark-haired woman was less important than leaving my mum, but just as necessary. I was on a short time frame to handle my mum’s arrangements.

  “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch,” she said.

  Did Briar expect more from me? I couldn’t quite gauge her.

  “I didn’t really think about fans and media when I made my travel plans. How crazy going out anywhere would be. I’ll talk to the director and her—my mum’s—doctor and leave. Go back to my band.” I glanced around, looking for inspiration.

  She dropped her hand away and chuckled. “You forgot you were famous? You sound like Asher. All wide-eyed when the fans mob him. Like he hasn’t dealt with fame for nearly twenty years.”

  I paused, trying to retilt my world back on its axis. “Asher Smith?”

  Briar exited the room. “My sister’s boyfriend,” she murmured over her shoulder. “He’s mentioned you, especially with your band’s new album. I’ve heard so much about you, in some ways I assumed I knew you.”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to hide my surprise. “Asher’s great.”

  “He’s perfect for Lia, that’s for sure.”

  “Is he in town?” Maybe I could salvage tonight with something more interesting than the self-flaying I was planning on doing.

  “No. He’s staying with Lia right now. In Idaho.”

  “Ah. Right. We heard about his new relationship with your sister. The divorce. Ugly business.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Bet I do. That’s why I need to get out of here fast. Before the journos figure out where I am and how to turn my mum’s dying into a circus.” I liked the easy banter we fell into. Not that I planned to share my life history or anything. But if Asher liked Briar, she must be okay. Some of the tension in my shoulders and back eased.

  She peeked at me from the corner of her eye. “Marination Station.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Food. Let’s go eat at Marination Station. But you need a cap. Sunglasses.”

  “See this? It’s raining. Like it does pretty much all the time in this godforsaken place. Why the hell would I put on sunglasses?”

  Briar rolled her eyes. “This is barely a drizzle. You people from sunny places are so water allergic. And the glasses and cap are to make sure you can eat without being recognized. It works. Most of the time.”

  “Maybe I’m overreacting and people won’t recognize me?” I opened the door leading outside for her, and inhaled her shampoo as she walked past me. Sweet, but with undertones of spice. Just as I hoped she’d be.

  Behind us, Ginny called, “Bye, Hayden.”

  Briar raised an eyebrow, showing off the amusement in those big blues. I blew out a breath.

  “I have sunnies in the car. Would you prefer to ride with me or in your own car?”

  “If you want, we can take mine. I plan to come back and sit with Rosie again this afternoon. You can get your car then.”

  “She’s a relative? Rosie?”

  She shook her head, causing her pretty mink-brown hair to slide across her shoulders. Teasing me. I wanted to touch both her pale skin and the silkiness of her hair.

  “A friend. I met her through an ex.”

  “Kind of you, to find her again.”

  “You’d think that,” she said as we stopped at my dull, gray compact. I’d hoped the car would bring me some anonymity. “My ex told me about her earlier this week. He offered to trade oncology treatment for sex. Maybe a child and marriage.” Her words trailed off as she seemed to realize the weight of what she’d said. “Wow. His actions sound even worse out loud than rolling around in my head.”

  I pulled my head out of the little car, one of my hands resting on the car’s cool metal roof, the other, now holding the sunglasses, on the door. Briar was tall, her skin fresh and smooth in that healthy, outdoorsy way. Beautiful. Real. I couldn’t say that about any of the women in my life except Cynthia, and she belonged to Flip.

  “Your ex is a wanker.”

  “I don’t know what that means, exactly, but yeah, I think he is.”

  She pointed to a red Audi two rows over. “That’s me.”

  “Cute.”

  “A gift.”

  “From the wanker?”

  “Yes. Before I knew just how devious he was.”

  I shook my head, unhappy that she drove a car gifted her by the doctor-ex. How stupid was that? Jealous over a woman I’d just met.

  I glanced back at the building where my mum lay, dying. She was so frail.
Nothing like the photo I’d kept of her—her young face beaming at the camera as her hands cradled her large belly. Before I was born and destroyed her life.

  So far, my first trip back to America wasn’t going as I’d expected.

  6

  Briar

  He insisted on opening my door, something Ken always did, too. But unlike Ken’s need to keep up appearances, Hayden’s gesture seemed genuine. Maybe. How would I know?

  This whole being more open thing might have been a bad idea. I mean, I’d already blurted out details about my life that made me cringe. For Hayden to know them was hide-under-the-covers embarrassing. If he hadn’t been so unsure and unhappy when he walked into the hospice center, I would’ve ignored my desire to help.

  Once I settled in my seat, he strolled around to the passenger’s side and climbed in. He reached down, fumbling for the release under his seat. Finding it, he pushed the seat back to give his long, jeans-clad legs more room.

  “So this restaurant. What do they serve?”

  “It’s a food truck. To give you the full-on Seattle experience.”

  “Food truck?”

  “Come on—you have to have them in Sydney. Marination Station serves fusion. That’s a Northwest thing. Hawaiian Korean. I like the miso chicken.”

  “Miso and chicken I’m familiar with. Hawaii and Korea not so much.”

  I drove in silence. The truck wasn’t far, and we would arrive at the mobile restaurant after the normal lunch rush. I circled past where the truck was stationed and found a parking space a couple of blocks away.

  “This okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Hayden put on his dark sunglasses and the Seattle ball cap I tossed him before jumping out of the car. It was a good look for him. The cap covered all his sun-kissed hair, and the glasses left only his straight nose and firm, square jawline covered in a couple days’ worth of stubble visible. Why did musicians dislike razors?

  I’d always liked my men clean-shaven. Put together. A man in a well-fitted suit and wingtips revved my engine better than any half-naked guy. Especially if that suit included a power tie and cuff links. I loved cuff links.