Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five

by Alexa Padgett

  The fans were screaming, worked up into a frenzy from the last few fast-paced songs. Need filled the space, a sharp hunger for more of their talent. They’d go back out in a minute, and I’d be right there, watching and listening.

  “It was excellent,” Flip agreed. “Right, Ets?”

  “Like Flip said, best show we’ve put on yet,” Ets said on a sigh. “Hayden was on fire.”

  “Which is why you’re not going to take his phone or try to undermine his relationships anymore,” Jake growled. “Because if you do, I’m leaving the band, too.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Ets said, eyes narrowing.

  “I would,” Flip said. Arms crossed over his chest, eyes dark and hard, Flip was intimidating. “Hayden’s made it clear he’s staying for us—Jake and me. So the question is, are you going to get your head out of your arse and start paying attention to the people around you?”

  “Right-o.” Ets snapped his mouth shut, nodded twice. He turned to Hayden and me, took a deep breath, and met my gaze. Then he lifted his head to face Hayden.

  “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have messed with your relationship or your girl.”

  Something made me wonder if this was all about jealousy. No, I didn’t think so. I could tell Ets had been hurt. Badly. It was something in those blue-gray eyes.

  Hayden tightened his arms around me. “You stay away from Briar. Me, too, and we’ll be fine. I told Flip and Jake I’d finish out the tour. But don’t push your luck.”

  Ets dropped his head. “Got it. Let’s finish this. I need a drink.”

  He walked back onstage, picked up his guitar, made faces at the audience. The consummate performer. Hayden grabbed my wrist and pulled me down a hall.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere private,” he growled.

  “You have to go back on!” I struggled to keep up with his long strides. He led us to the back of the building and through the large metal entrance doors.

  As soon as the doors shut behind us, his body pressed against mine. I’d missed the feel of his chest, the broadness of his shoulders, the way he pushed his thigh between my legs, pinning me in place with such ease.

  “Hayden, what’s this about?”

  “I told you, I have important words to say to you. I don’t want to wait. I don’t want you to doubt me. Not again.”

  “What do you want to say?” I asked. I loved looking at his face. I pushed a damp caramel wave off his equally sweaty forehead.

  He leaned in, pressing kisses to the tip of my nose, my jawline, below my ear. I gripped his forearms for support. “That I love you. I need you. I think about you all the time. I need to tell you about my mum. Why my dad and I left Seattle. Why I love the piano. You’re the one I want to share that with.”

  “You’ll travel for your job. I don’t want you to change for me, Hayden.”

  “I won’t. Not sure I could, really. But, fair dinkum, Briar, you make me want things. And whatever I have to do to make that happen, I’m all in.”

  “Even with an old woman like me?” I asked. The comments about our age difference, all twenty months of it, were cruel. Toward me. I was too old for someone as attractive and talented and famous as Hayden Crewe, so said the media.

  “My dad was more than thirty years older than my mum. Granted he died before her, but only by a couple years. And they didn’t have the best of relationships. Okay, they’re a bad example. But what I’m saying is relationships come in lots of different flavors. For me, you’re it. You fill me up and make me love living.”

  He pressed a kiss to my nose and I smiled, snuggling my cheek into his chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this content. Probably because I’d been too young to remember.

  “Rosie left me money. A lot of money.”

  “Yeah? That’s great.”

  “I want to set up a support group in Seattle for people like you—who are struggling to deal with a loved one’s death.”

  Hayden nuzzled into my neck, nipping my earlobe. “You’ll be amazing at that. Suits you.”

  “I can get my degree from any university, and I will, as long as I can be near you. We can talk about my plans more. Later. But I wanted you to know I don’t mind about the paparazzi as long as I get to be with you.”

  “Sweet Briar, I just professed my undying love. Of course you get to be with me. Always. That’s all I want.” He stroked that callused thumb down my cheek, over my chin, resting it there, right in the small cleft. “I love you.” He leaned forward, his lips a mere breath from mine.

  I slid my fingers up into his hair, tugging his mouth down to mine. “I love you, too. God, I love you so much.” And I kissed him the way I’d been dreaming about: long and deep and so perfectly slow.

  “Hayden, you’re on. Oops! Sorry, mate,” Harry’s voice was sheepish. “You gotta get back out there.”

  Hayden’s arms slid from my shoulders, down to my waist, farther down to my butt, which he cupped in both his hands. “I will. When I’m finished kissing my girlfriend.” He glanced at Harry. “Go away.”

  “They’re all waiting for you.”

  Hayden leaned in, his lips a whisper over mine. My head shifted back, giving him better access.

  “No running off with one of the roadies while I’m singing for my tea.”

  I frowned. “I’m pretty sure they’d give you a beverage if you need a drink.”

  He blinked. “Supper. That’s what you Yanks call it. I’m going to sing for my supper. You’ll wait for me?”

  “Always,” I sighed. Hayden took my hand and led me back out, down the hall.

  “Knock ’em dead,” I yelled over the din of the crowd as I released my fingers from his.

  He winked at me before he turned into the glare of lights. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath.

  “Hayden?” He glanced back at me. I blew him a kiss. “For luck. I want an expensive tea.”

  His smile, this real one he rarely let others see, was slow, devastating. I melted.

  “For you, Sweet Briar, anything.”

  Thank You!

  Thank you for choosing and reading this book. If you enjoyed it, I’d be grateful if you’d write a short review and post it on Amazon or your favorite book site. By taking a few seconds to leave a review, you not only help out your favorite authors, you help new readers find them as well—a total win-win!

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  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people I need to thank. This journey wasn’t an easy one. First, my husband, Chris, and my parents. Your support made this possible.

  Jeffe, I love our bubbles dates and all the knowledge you’ve shared over the years. I’m so very blessed to call you a friend. Your kitties aren’t bad either. And, no, Izzy is nothing like Princess.

  Taylor, your thoughtful comments were insightful and so very helpful. I’m so glad we’ve had the opportunity to work together.

  Juliette, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the help with the Aussie-isms. And for reading such an early draft and giving me hope there was, indeed, something special in this story.

  My LERA friends, thank you so much for your generosity and support.

  Clarissa, thank you for an amazing cover. I love it.

  Nicole, your thoughtful edits made this book shine. I cannot thank you enough. I’ve so enjoyed getting to know you and now count you a dear friend as well as a kick-ass editor.

  Sara, your careful read-through caught the final timeline issues. Thank you so much, and I hope Bumbershoot was super fun!

  Erin, you amaze me with your ability to create such strong back-cover copy. My books are stronger because of your efforts. Thank you.

  And to my readers, thank you, thank you, thank you for reading. You’re the best! Be sure to say hello on Facebook or Twitter. I’d love to “meet” you all.

  Hold You Close, Book Three

  The Seattle Sound Series

  Book 3r />
  Alexa Padgett

  Copyright

  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 of 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 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.

  Hold You Close © 2016 by Alexa Padgett

  Edited by Bev Katz Rosenbaum and Nicole Pomeroy

  Cover Art by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs

  1

  Mila

  Fourteen months ago, I tossed away my entire life. For him. Murphy. He didn’t know any of it, and, finally, I was coming to terms with the fact he probably never would.

  He didn’t want to see me, never would again. His song, “She’s So Bad,” reinforced my opinion—hard.

  I walked down the narrow, hard-packed dirt path, ducking under the thick limb of a gnarled tree. The last few days proved more difficult than I anticipated—wasn’t the first year supposed to be the hardest?—but the visit to Me-Kwa-Mooks Park was nonnegotiable. I needed the soft sound of water to ground me, give me a reason to move forward. Problem was, water, the beach, reminded me of Murphy. Even this gray Seattle version, so different from our Sydney favorite with its soft, white sand and surfers dotting the water.

  I settled in on the narrow strip of sand, gazing out over the tumbled gray boulders and the fog-riddled green-gray water. I patted my other pocket. Thank goodness for my trusty little bottle of Xanax, the only reason I’d get through these next few days.

  Pulling out the ticket, I read the date. He’d be here in Seattle tomorrow, performing sold-out shows at Key Arena and the more intimate Tractor Tavern. That’s the ticket I held now. Probably a complete waste of the $80, but I needed to see him.

  My phone range.

  “Mila!”

  Mum’s voice sent me back into a tailspin. I might love my mother, but that didn’t mean I trusted her. She’d let me down too many times. She was part of the reason I’d moved.

  “I’m thinking of coming for a visit. I’ve never been to America.”

  And my stomach tanked even further. “That’s okay, mum. I’ll get out to visit you.” Lie, lie, lie. I’d never set foot in Australia again. I’d made that promise on my last trip to the cemetery to visit my son.

  She made a disgruntled sound. “You’ve said that for the last year. And last time we Skyped, you were so thin! It’s those crazy hours you work.”

  “I like my job,” I said, standing. No point in sitting here enjoying a view when my mum’s criticism had already destroyed the moment. “Sure, I work a lot but that’s because I have to go through a second residency to be licensed in the States.” I’d completed the certification but still had more than two years left on my accredited residency. The good news was I was able to work in my preferred field.

  “I don’t know how you could. You haven’t been home for a visit in ages. I barely know what you do.”

  “Because you’re not interested.”

  “Of course I am. Jordan asks me all the time.”

  At the sound of his name, I stumbled. The phone slid from my fingers but I managed to catch it before it hit the dirt.

  “You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”

  “Now, why would you worry about that?” Her voice was all innocent. She’d blinked her eyes, I’d bet. I hated that expression because it meant she’d done something royally stupid. Or insane. Like the time she’d married a man fifteen years older than she was. The bloke was a rancher with a cattle station out in the Western Territory. Their affair lasted long enough for us to travel to his godforsaken stretch of red, dusty land before my mum dug in her heels, insisting he take us back to “civilization.” He’d dropped us in Sydney, disgust shining from his eyes.

  That summed up my childhood—one flighty mistake after another. At least the mistakes didn’t hurt anyone. Until Jordan. But he wasn’t my mum’s mistake. More like her mum’s.

  “Mum,” I said. I backed away, planning to dart back into my car and . . . what? Hyperventilate? Call the police because I was scared?

  “Don’t be like that, Mila.” Impatience laced her tone. Her mouth must be puckering in that annoyed moue she tried hard not to let settle over her still-perfect skin. “Jordan loves you. And anyway, why would he care about your boring old doctor job in the Pacific Northwest?”

  “You told him I live here?” My voice went from too loud to too quiet. I couldn’t breathe. I clutched my keys and purse like they could hold me erect.

  Allowing my mum to visit was the worst idea. Danger smeared this situation. At least she only knew I was in the Northwest, not the name of my hospital, and I refused to have my photo taken for the website and used my initials for my bio, intentionally sounding as masculine as possible in any and all professional documentation. I’d never given my mother my precise location, fearing she’d rat me out. I glanced around the deserted Seattle beach. My private sanctuary destroyed with fears of being accosted. Dragged from the safety of my life. I’d already lost my boyfriend, my baby, my future because my mother didn’t believe me.

  “It’s been years since you made up those silly accusations, Mila. Nothing came of it and Jordan’s forgiven you. Let it go.”

  Fourteen months and four days since I left her house for good. Twelve months and twenty-one days since my last run-in with Jordan Jones when he mowed me down on that bicycle. I dropped a small pill into my open mouth and swallowed. Thirty-one minutes and the relief would begin to trickle through my system. I closed my eyes.

  “See? A lifetime. I’ll make the flight arrangements today. Should I fly into Seattle or Spokane? Vancouver? Portland?”

  Sweat burst across my skin. Subtlety wasn’t my mother’s strong suit. It was obvious Jordan had asked her to fish for more information. I grabbed a tree branch as I passed by, holding it tight in my hand as my knees weakened.

  “Oops! I’m late for my next appointment. I’ll touch base with you soon.” I hung up the phone before my mum could respond. I’d turn it off completely but I needed the reassurance of being able to call 911 in under five seconds. My legs gave out completely and I plopped onto the ground, my breathing ragged and my eyes stinging with the tears I wouldn’t shed.

  My mum hadn’t believed me then. Not when I was eighteen and scared. Not when I was twenty-one and jaded. And definitely not when I was twenty-seven and so broken, I never would have been able to put myself back together if my best friend, Noelle, hadn’t collected my sorry self and forced me onto that airplane.

  That my mother would actively help Jordan seek me out again, even after I’d moved halfway around the world, told me how little she’d ever cared for me.

  But she didn’t know where I lived, and I wasn’t about to tell her.

  Anyway, I was being silly. Jordan was in Sydney. I kept tabs on him through social media. Well, actually, Noelle was the face of the accounts. I couldn’t be that close to him, not even via the binary code of computers.

  I released a shaking breath and forced my legs under me. No way my mum would bring him here. I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. My legs were stiff, but I managed to stand and walk to the car. I settled into the supple leather seat. Immediately, I locked the doors and slid the key into the ignition. Shoving the car into reverse, I refused to acknowledge that my hands trembled or my breath came in shallow pants.

  I was safe. Thousands of miles away from Jordan Jones. There was no reason to panic. No reason to worry.

  I pulled over onto a side street and let the shivers take hold
of my body. Finally, the medication kicked in and I leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes as I forced my tensed muscles to relax.

  My mum’s phone call brought it all back. All the ugliness I’d been trying so hard to put behind me.

  I’d wanted to go back to Perth for the first anniversary, but I couldn’t gather enough courage. Plus, I’d reasoned, Murphy was touring through the American Northeast at the time. Not much chance of me running into him in Perth if he was in the States. And that’s what I needed: a chance meeting.

  To tell him the truth.

  To apologize for killing his child.

  I parked in my normal spot behind the hospital, gaze flicking faster than a startled bird. My mum’s call shattered my peaceful life. Even so, even with the added protection of my security system and the anonymity that came with eschewing social media, the old memories slithered out of the box I locked them in, gripping me by the throat long before I could push them aside.

  “Mila, love. Roll down the window. There’s a doll.”

  I shook my head, pulse racing. Jordan tried the car door, slammed his palm into the glass separating us when he found it locked. I always locked my doors. My windows, too. I knew what would stalk in if I didn’t. I had the nightmares to prove it. When Jordan’s hand slammed the glass for a second time, I flinched but managed to get the car into reverse.

  “Jordan, what are you doing? Mila, where are you going?” Mum raised her voice.

  I pulled out of the drive, trying to contain my shivers. Didn’t work. Where to go? I had no one here who believed me. I was so alone.

  I huddled deeper into my sweater, half-expecting to see his face, florid with anger and lust, mere inches from mine. No, that incident occurred almost a decade ago—when I was twenty. Half the world away, too. But for weeks thereafter, I lived on the streets until I finally found a place to stay near my university. Even then, I wasn’t safe enough to stay in one place long.