Overtones (Songs and Sonatas Book 6)

by Jerica MacMillan

  It’s bittersweet to climb into his car again, and I keep my face turned to the window, eating up the wintery view of New York City. Who knows when I’ll ever get the chance to come back? I need to soak it in while I can. That’s why we came here, after all. This was the point. Not whatever happened between Brendan and me.

  “You can just drop me off at the curb,” I say as we take the exit going to JFK.

  He gives me a look. “Please. That’s not happening. I’m going to go in with you and say goodbye. Our epic road trip isn’t going to end with me dumping you on the curb of the airport.”

  I force out a chuckle, feeling a swoop of joy that he wants to prolong our time together, but also a sense of dread at drawing out the inevitable. There’s no chance of a clean, swift goodbye if he’s walking me in. And the chances of me crying are getting higher the longer we spend together.

  I don’t want to cry in front of him.

  Soon we’re parking, and he goes around to the trunk to pull my suitcase out. “I got it,” he says when I reach for it. Instead, he takes my hand, threading our fingers together, and I can’t help staring at our linked hands as we walk to the terminal.

  We’ve held hands like this often enough that it feels completely natural, but it’s also weird given the parameters of our relationship. And the fact that this is it.

  The end.

  Brendan doesn’t seem to notice my preoccupation with his small gesture of affection, staring straight ahead as we walk in. He stays with me while I wait in line to check in, handing over my suitcase to the agent and quietly paying the baggage fee.

  “Are you going to wait with me in line for security?” I ask after the agent hands me my boarding pass and we move away from the desk.

  His hazel eyes look almost liquid, full of emotion. An emotion I don’t want to examine. Don’t want to name. Feelings aren’t part of our agreement. “Do you want me to?”

  I shake my head, taking a deep breath. “I think it’s best if we say goodbye now, without people waiting behind us and getting annoyed. Don’t you?”

  He drops his head, looking at the floor, clears his throat and shrugs. “Yeah. I guess so. Makes sense.” When he meets my eyes again, he takes a deep breath, and I know it’s coming. I can feel it. He’s going to ask if he can call me. If we can stay in touch. And I can’t. I can’t bear it. I don’t want to hear his voice and not be able to see him or touch him. I don’t want to try to make a long-distance thing work. It never works. Everyone just ends up miserable, and someone will eventually give up something to move and be with the other person.

  Look at Jonathan and Gabby.

  But I’m not Gabby. I can’t be Gabby. I won’t drop out of school and move to California for a guy. Not even this guy who seems to understand me on a level that I’ve never encountered before.

  Clearing my throat, I force a bright smile, blinking away the gathering tears. “I meant it earlier, but I’ll say it again. Thanks for an awesome trip. This is one hundred percent not what I expected when I desperately latched onto you to save myself from that guy at the reception. Thanks for helping me. Thanks for deciding I needed to make one of my fantasies come true. This is the best trip I’ve ever been on.”

  His throat works as he swallows, and he meets my eyes, a faint echo of my smile crossing his face. “I’m glad. I wanted it to be good for you.”

  A joke at the double entendre is on the tip of my tongue, but the sincerity in his face makes me swallow it down. Reaching for his hand, I hold it in mine, giving it a squeeze. “It was.”

  He flips his hand over, clasping my fingers in his, using the connection to draw me closer. His eyes examine my face, and he dips his head to brush a soft kiss across my lips. “The drive back is going to suck without you.”

  A real smile brightens his face, and I smile back. “I’m sorry. I wish I could drive back like we planned.”

  “Me too.” The smile dims, and he wraps his arms around me, clutching me against his chest and burying his face in my hair.

  I wrap my arms around him, sliding them inside his open coat. Holding him just as tightly, I press my face into his chest, drawing in deep breaths of his scent, wanting to memorize the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he breathes so I can call it all up whenever I want to. And I will want to. I’ll relive these memories again and again.

  Because dammit, he’s right. I will always belong to him, in some small way. And he’ll always belong to me, too.

  After too short a time, we release each other. I don’t want to let him go. But I have to. And he seems just as reluctant to let me go.

  We part slowly, arms sliding down before falling away. I adjust the strap of my cross-body bag, stepping back and clearing my throat. “I … I need to go. Get through security. Find my gate. The whole thing.”

  He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek in a soft caress. “Yeah.” He swallows, and his voice is more hoarse when he speaks again. “Yeah. I know.”

  I take another step back, and his hand falls back to his side. “Thanks again. Drive safe.”

  He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You’re welcome. I will.”

  Lifting a hand, I give a little wiggle to my fingers. “Goodbye, Brendan.”

  He stares at me, his hazel eyes sad, his lips pressed together in a firm line before they open one last time. “Goodbye, Lauren.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Brendan

  Five months later …

  “You’re really going to come all this way and not see her? How chickenshit are you?”

  I grunt in response to Colt’s question, keeping my attention firmly on the stupid game I’m playing on my phone. He’s been harping on this all night.

  We have a show with Jonathan this weekend in Bumfuck, Middle of Nowhere, and Jonny B, diva that he is, insisted that I meet up with him a few days early so we can have time to rehearse. What he neglected to tell me was that we’d be stopping in Spokane for the night so my sister-in-law can hang out with her friends.

  The friends in question being Charlie.

  And Lauren.

  “Lay off, Colt,” Jonathan chimes in from the throne-like armchair he occupies in the sitting area of his suite. “He’s obviously still hung up on her. But remember, they had a no contact agreement.”

  “Which they’ve already broken,” Colt fires back. “They’ve talked on the phone at least twice that he’s admitted to. Who knows what else?”

  Without lifting my head, I raise my right hand and show Colt my middle finger, which only makes him cackle.

  “C’mon,” he stage whispers. “You know I’m right. You’re dying to see her.” Then in his normal voice. “Jonathan, back me up. Let’s all go over there. You can see Gabby, who I know you already miss even though she’s only been gone a few hours. We can crash their sleepover. It’ll be fun.”

  Finally looking at him, spearing Colt with my best glare, I drop my phone in my lap. “Why do you give a shit? What’s in it for you? There aren’t any single chicks there.”

  Jonathan cracks up, covering his mouth with his hand, drawing my attention.

  “What?” I demand. “What do you know?”

  Colt’s now glaring at Jonathan, but undeterred, Jonathan leans forward and motions me closer in dramatic fashion. So I lean in, curious now. “Colt’s got a thing for Charlie’s assistant. He wants to talk to Charlie so he can suggest that we work together on another project. That way he has an excuse to talk to her assistant.”

  My laughter covers Colt’s protests of innocence. “Now I get it. Makes sense.”

  He stands. “So you’ll do it? Come on. Let’s go. Jonathan, get off your ass. We gotta go before he changes his mind.”

  Jonathan stands, and they’re both staring down at me, waiting for me to get to my feet.

  Do I want to see Lauren?

  Fuck yes, I do.

  I’ve wanted to see her since I put her on that plane.

 
But despite our two phone calls, I’m still not sure if she’d be happy to see me or not.

  Only one way to find out.

  Ready to find out how Lauren and Brendan’s story ends?

  Click here to preorder Reverb now!

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Lauren and Brendan’s story! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. These two were a lot of fun, and their adventure continues on March 25!

  If you haven’t yet, be sure to check out the rest of the series. You can read Gabby and Jonathan’s story in Double Exposition, Development, and Recapitulation. And Charlie and Damian’s story is in Broken Chords and Counterpoint and Harmony.

  To stay on top of new releases and what to expect next, be sure to join my Facebook group or my Book Club (or go crazy and join both!).

  If you’ve read all those and want something to hold you over till the second half of the story comes out, be sure to check out my other series. I’ve got another batch of sexy rockstars, some hot college football players, and some businessmen who own a wine bar/vineyard. I’m sure you can find something you’ll enjoy. :-)

  Thanks again for reading! If you loved it, be sure to leave a review!

  ~Jerica

  As always, I have to recognize my fabulous editing team of Deb Markanton and Leslie McAdam. These two women have helped me shape nearly every single book I’ve written (Leslie’s actually helped with every one). It’s amazing to me that I’m now publishing my eighteenth book. These two have pushed me to become a better writer with every single one. Thank you both.

  To my supportive family, thank you. And my friends who make the mistake of asking for details about my books, because I have a tendency to answer questions honestly, whether you really want me to or not. So you’ve listened to me blabber about story ideas and work through story problems aloud, even when you have no idea what I’m really talking about. Thanks for being my sounding boards.

  And finally, as always, to my readers. I know many of you have been waiting for a Lauren’s story for a long time. I hope it’s everything you wanted. Thanks for your support and patience. You guys are the best.

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  Jerica MacMillan is a lifelong reader and lover of romance. Nothing beats escaping into a book and watching people fall in love, overcome obstacles, and find their happily ever after. She was recently named a semi finalist in Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write 2015 contest.

  Jerica is living her happily ever after in North Idaho with her husband and two children. She spends her days building with blocks, admiring preschooler artwork, and writing while her baby naps in the sling. Sign up to receive updates on her reading and writing life at www.JericaMacMillan.com.

  Cataclysm

  Anything You Need

  Shouldn’t Want You

  Songs and Sonatas Series

  Double Exposition

  Development

  Recapitulation

  Broken Chords

  Counterpoint and Harmony

  Overtones

  Reverb (coming March 25!)

  Players of Marycliff University

  Summer Fling

  Convenient Fall

  Opening Hearts, A Players of Marycliff University Novella

  Managed Hearts

  Unsaid Things

  Coping Skills

  False Assumptions

  Rebound Series

  Rebound Therapy

  Rebound Envy

  Rebound Revival

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at Double Exposition

  Chapter One

  Jonathan

  After paying for my coffee, I turn and survey the campus coffee shop. It’s crowded, not an empty table in sight.

  I should’ve known better. It’s only the second week of classes. Everyone’s still getting into a rhythm, me included. There are three times when the coffee shop is guaranteed to be packed: the beginning of a semester, the week of midterms, and finals week. With six semesters already under my belt, I know this.

  But I have a gap in my schedule on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It’s only ninety minutes, so not long enough to make going home worthwhile. I’ve meandered around campus during this hole last week and on Tuesday. Today I’d hoped to grab a coffee and a table and get through some reading for my Victorian Literature class with Dr. Rankin. She’s a ballbuster, and there’s no way to bullshit your way through her class discussions. But she’s also one of the best professors in the English department.

  Resigned to finding a less comfortable spot on a bench outside, I grab my coffee when my order is called. But my attention snags on a fall of dark brown hair at a table in the corner. I can’t see her face from here, just the curve of her neck as she sweeps her long hair over one shoulder and bends back to whatever she’s working on, pencil in hand.

  The chair across from her is empty. She’s engrossed in her homework, which I see is spread out over most of the table as I step closer. A textbook sits open on one side, and papers sprawl across the remaining real estate, with her coffee cup on top of a paper.

  No matter. I just need a tiny circle of space to set my own coffee down. I can hold my book. It’s a paperback, nothing too heavy. We can do our homework in companionable silence, and I don’t have to scout out another place to work.

  I have to clear my throat twice before she realizes I’m standing next to her. She has a pretty face—high cheekbones, a dusting of freckles over her nose, full, pink lips. But it’s her eyes that do me in. Large, brown, and scanning over every inch of me like I’m the best thing in this coffee shop. When they meet mine, the combination of mischief and curiosity steals my breath for a moment. I could lose myself in those eyes.

  Her voice pulls me out of the spell her eyes have cast on me. “Can I help you?”

  It fits her perfectly. A smooth alto, with a slight twang that means she’s not from here. The soft question from those kissable lips sends a surge of lust rushing through me.

  When her dark eyebrows arch high over her hypnotic eyes, I realize I’m taking too long to answer. Clearing my throat, I gesture at the empty chair across from her with my cup. “Mind if I sit here? I need to get through some reading, and all the tables are full …”

  She straightens, glancing around, and the movement causes her tank top to shift a little, pulling tight over the small, perfect mounds of her breasts.

  I snap my eyes back to her face before she catches me checking her out.

  She looks me over again, then shrugs. “Sure. Um, sorry, let me move some of my stuff. I wasn’t planning on sharing the table, so I sort of spread out.” She moves her coffee, shuffling her papers into a neater pile as I move the chair out as much as I can since it’s against the wall.

  Squeezing into the seat, I set my cup down in the open space she’s created and give her a smile. “No problem. I don’t need much table space.” I dig out my copy of A Tale of Two Cities.

  When I look up, her nose is wrinkled in the most adorable way. “Dickens, huh?”

  I bite back a smirk. “Yup. Not a fan?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’ve fortunately never been forced to read him. I tried reading A Christmas Carol o
nce. I think I maybe got through the first chapter.” She shakes her head. “Too wordy. Hawthorne’s just as bad in my opinion. I had to read The Scarlet Letter in high school, and I skipped whole chunks of that book. Not just single chapters, but groups of chapters, and when I started reading again I still knew what was going on. Clearly I didn’t miss anything of great importance.”

  Chuckling, I set my messenger bag on the floor at my feet. “Your teacher didn’t notice?”

  “Nope. She talked everything to death in class. It was easy to pick up on anything she deemed important that I may have missed just by paying attention in class. You always knew what was coming on her tests. Whatever she harped on constantly was sure to show up. For an honors-level class, I didn’t have to do much studying.”

  Smiling now, I lean closer to her, one arm braced on the table. “I hope you’re not an English major then. Otherwise Dickens will be unavoidable for you. You’ll get a lot more Hawthorne, too, and in my experience, you can’t bullshit your way through classes without doing the reading.”

  She returns my smile, her eyes darting to my lips as she leans forward too. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m a music major. There’s no bullshitting through music theory, either, but most of it’s pretty straightforward. Memorizing chord spellings and learning to analyze music. No rambling Victorians who got paid by the word.”