Tunes (Beekman Hills Book 2)

by KC Enders

  “How long? Not that it matters.” Warmth tingles through me as I wrap her hands in mine. Without even thinking, I bring them to my lips and hold them there.

  Silence stretches between us long enough that I think she’s not going to answer. That she’s going to shut down and close me out.

  “I’ve known since my junior year. My mom called that morning in Destin; that’s why I left without saying goodbye. She was crying, insisting I come home.” Gracyn is staring at our hands, looking at our entwined fingers but at the same time, not quite focusing on them. She’s wrestling with something bigger than the fact that her dad is a piece of shit.

  “Did she leave him, your mom?”

  She finally looks up at me, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Doesn’t even come close. “Of course not. Appearances are everything. Can’t have people knowing that their accountant is a lying, cheating bastard. That would hurt business.”

  I plant a kiss on her hands and shift them, so I’ve got one tightly clasped in each of mine. Her palms are soft and smooth against my callused fingertips.

  Seeing her like this hurts. It’s not how I remember her, sassy and vibrant. Experiencing this side of Gracyn makes me want to fix things, take care of her. Make everything better.

  “How long are you working in the city?” Liquid chocolate eyes meet mine, searching, questioning. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Grab your stuff.” I pick up the blanket and start to fold it.

  “What?”

  “Gracyn, stay with me.”

  “Why?”

  There she is. There’s the girl I remember. She cuts me a look like she doesn’t trust my intentions. My fucking intentions are nothing but good and pure. Mostly.

  “Because I have a suite at the Renaissance in Times Square. You can have the bed; I don’t care. But we have a lot to talk about. You need to sleep, and I need to know you’re okay. I need to know what the fuck happened, sweetheart.” I don’t make a habit of doing the macho, alpha thing; it’s so not my shtick, but she needs a little push right now. “Pack your shit, and let’s go. I have a song to write and a date in the park to play tomorrow morning.” I grab her suitcase off the floor, setting it on the coffee table.

  She still hasn’t moved.

  “Let’s go.”

  Finally, Gracyn stands up and starts gathering shoes and blouses, putting them all in her bag.

  “You want me to get the bathroom?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “No, I’ve got it.” And she does.

  Once her mind is made up, it takes no time at all for her to be ready to leave this den of iniquity behind. We lock the door just as the cab I ordered pulls up to the curb.

  “Renaissance Times Square. Can you take us to the service entrance on Forty-Eighth? Thanks.”

  “Are we sneaking into the hotel?” Gracyn speaks quietly and gives me a rock-solid side-eye.

  “No, but there’ve been some fans camped out front the past couple of days. I don’t know who leaked where I’m staying, but I’m trying to avoid them for the time being.” I chuckle at her wide eyes and the way her mouth has fallen open, like she’s shocked. “I told you, we have a lot to talk about.”

  GRACYN

  Our car passes the front of the Renaissance and turns left down a side street, stopping at a double metal door.

  Gavin jumps out, grabbing my bag and his guitar case. He takes a twenty from his wallet and hands it to the driver. “Thanks, man. I appreciate the accommodation. Gracyn, babe, let’s go. We need to hustle.”

  My purse snags on the door as I climb out of the car, spilling some pens and my favorite lip gloss. I stop, scooping them up before they roll through a subway grate. Last time I was in the city, I dropped my favorite pen through a grate as soon as I stepped out of Grand Central Station. It was a pen from my favorite author, and while that shouldn’t matter, it does. It so does.

  Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Gavin stares toward the far edge of the hotel, scanning everyone who turns the corner. He curses under his breath as I cross the sidewalk, settling my computer bag on my shoulder.

  “Who are you looking for?” I ask, trying to see what he’s so agitated by. As the question tumbles from my lips, a group of young girls round the corner and come to a dead stop.

  It’s a cartoon moment, one where the character’s eyes pop out of their head. Where there’s a blissful five seconds before the scream makes it out. And I’m just standing stock-still, watching it all unfold.

  Screams of, “Oh my God, oh my God …” layered over, “Gavin, I love you!” and the sound of feet pounding on pavement pull me from my trance.

  “Gracyn, I need you to move—now,” Gavin growls at me, one foot propping the metal door open.

  Chapter 20

  Gracyn

  What the hell is happening? These girls are insane. And running right at me.

  I gasp out a yelp when a strong hand wraps around my arm, pulling me into the dark service hallway of the hotel.

  “Jesus, they were almost on us. What were you waiting for?”

  “Gavin, what was that? What just happened out there?” I pull out of his grasp and point at the door like it has personally offended me.

  “They’re just fans. We get that sometimes.” His jacket lifts as he runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “That’s why I asked the driver to drop us back here, away from the front of the hotel. The manager made sure to give me the code to sneak in and out. They sure as hell don’t want the crowds of people out front, blocking access—”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  With a hand on top of his head, fingers twined through his tousled blond locks, Gavin barks out a laugh and quirks his eyebrow at me. “Have you been hiding under a rock? We just finished up our tour. How …”

  I’m not stupid. I earned good grades and passed the CPA exam on the first try, but this isn’t computing. Like, not at all. Realization wraps itself around me. This is ridiculous, totally ridiculous.

  They did it. His band …

  “Come on. Let’s move before someone finds their way back here.” Hefting my suitcase in one hand and his guitar in the other, Gavin takes off down the dimly lit hall.

  We step into the elevator, blissfully alone, and as soon as the doors slide shut, I turn, so we’re face-to-face. He got pushy and crowded my space earlier; now, it’s my turn.

  “You finished a tour? As in a tour with who?”

  He’s backed up against the handrail, both hands still firmly grasping the handles of our cases.

  Before he has a chance to answer, the elevator stops, the doors opening to a private hallway with only a handful of doors off the space. Smirking, he launches his hips away from the wall and turns the tables, moving me out of the elevator, backing me into the hall. We are solidly right back in that thing we did in Destin—the push and pull. Vying for control.

  “We’re the last one on the right. The key is in my back pocket. Wanna grab that?” He turns his ass to me. His ass that fills out his jeans like I’ve not seen in a long time. A year and a half really.

  Biting my lower lip, I keep my chuckle contained and reach a hand into his pocket.

  “Maybe it’s the other pocket.”

  Right.

  “Is it in your wallet? I don’t feel anything here.”

  God, he’s still such a goof.

  “Nope, not in my wallet. Hmm … I must have tucked it in my front pocket.” He turns to the right and holds his arms slightly away from his body. And he winks. He fucking winks at me, the smart-ass.

  I slowly lean in, sliding my hand from his shoulder to down his arm, turning him so that he faces me directly. Voice low and breathy, I whisper, “Let me help you.” And I take hold of my suitcase, sliding it out of his grasp. “There you go. Do you need me to take your guitar case, too?”

  “Jesus, Gracyn, you haven’t changed at all. You’re still crushing the dreams of starry-eyed assholes,” he says, his smirk
twisting up the left side of his mouth.

  Though his tone is joking, those words hit me straight in the chest, stilling my heart. I take a step back from the door to his suite as he pulls the key card from his pocket. Another step back as the lock clicks open. In the few seconds it takes Gavin to swing the door open, I’m halfway back to the elevator, angry, embarrassed tears stinging my eyes.

  “G? What are you doing?”

  Just a few more steps, and I can hit the button to get the elevator back here. If it’s close, still at this floor, I might be able to get in before the first tear falls. I have regretted leaving Destin every day since I snuck out from Gavin’s sleepy embrace, sure that he’d just end up lumping me in with the chick who cheated on him as a card-carrying member of the women-who-fucked-him-over club.

  “Gracyn, stop. Where are you going?” I startle, not quite sure when he came after me. Gavin’s callused fingertips run down the back of my hand and grip the handle of my bag. “Turn around. Look at me,” he demands, voice soft but firm.

  The call button is just out of my reach. Squaring my shoulders, my jaw clenched and eyes squeezed tight, I take a deep, bracing breath and pull my crazy emotions back in. Stuff them down where I don’t have to deal with them. Down where maybe they won’t be written across my face.

  “I’ll just go. I don’t want to dash your dreams again and be the reason your poor ego gets crushed.” I try for flippant and unaffected but come off bitchy instead, and I know it.

  Gavin’s brows rise, and his eyes go wide in surprise. “Yeah? And where are you going to go? Back to your father’s fuck nest?” he asks.

  For the second time in a breath of a moment, his words punch the air from my lungs. I want to run, leave this place, and go home. Home to my apartment in Beekman Hills. Between Brooks and Gavin, I’m completely overwhelmed and I just want to settle into the corner of my couch and shut down for a day or three.

  It’s not in me to crumble though. Not here, not in front of the guy I’ve obviously had on some kind of undeserved pedestal for the past eighteen months. The guy I thought might be the one, even after I ran away. The one who saw through my shit and called me on it almost from the start.

  “I’ll figure it out. No worries.” I tug on my bag, trying to pull it free from his grasp.

  Gavin holds firm and turns me toward him. “I don’t think so. What just happened? What’s with the attitude?”

  The warmth from his hand grounds me, keeping me connected to him when all I want to do is run. Again.

  I have nothing, no words. If I open my mouth, the tears might escape, and that’s not something I can handle right now, nor do I want to. The shake of my head is such a small motion, so negligible a movement, I’m almost positive he misses it.

  “Just come inside. It’s late. We can talk and air this shit, or we can crash. I don’t care, but just stay.” He tugs at my bag, pulling me away from the elevator and back toward his room.

  I follow him across the plush carpeting to the door he propped open with his guitar case. I follow, but it’s not without pause. Gavin sweeps down, scooping his guitar up in his free hand, and leads me into the living room of a stunning suite.

  A luxurious velvet couch in deep blue is flanked by brown leather club chairs, grouped around a dark wood entertainment center. A bar is angled in the corner by the window framing a breathtaking view of the city.

  Gavin relieves me of my bag, taking it through a door to the left and into the bedroom. I take in the lavish furnishings, the skyline, the stark difference between this and the last hotel room we were in together. The distinction is stark and marks a serious change in where Gavin is in the pursuit of his dream.

  “Do you need a drink?”

  I didn’t hear him come back into the room and startle at the sound of his voice. He stalks to the bar and pours himself a healthy measure of whiskey.

  “Yeah. I think I do.” My words come out on a sigh, exhaustion rolling over me.

  He grabs another glass and pours whiskey in that one as well. “Hang on. Let me run down the hall for some ice.” He sets the glass down and moves for the door.

  “It’s fine like that,” I say, stopping him in his tracks.

  He searches my face, obviously remembering my insistence on fresh ice and lots of it from our time … before.

  “Really, it’s fine.” I reach past him, locking on to the tumbler. The heavy-cut crystal glass is cool against my flushed skin, still warm from anger and embarrassment.

  From Gavin.

  Chapter 21

  Gavin

  I’m fucking lost.

  This whole night has been a roller coaster ride of ups and downs and I. Am. Fucking. Lost.

  Hell, I’m still reeling from the fact that we ran into each other after all this time.

  How the fuck did she end up in my sister’s restaurant on the one night I played there? How the hell have I survived the past year and a half without her?

  Gracyn lifts the crystal glass to her mouth, and as much as I try to tamp that shit down, my cock twitches, and I have to suppress a fucking groan. Her plump lips curve around the edge of the glass, her take-no-prisoners and fuck-this-shit attitude, the way she drinks her whiskey now. I don’t know what happened, but I plan on finding out.

  Back in Destin, this girl needed all the ice and totally preferred a fruity tequila drink to whiskey. I don’t know who the fuck she is anymore. Hell, I’m not sure I ever knew who she was. I thought I did, but …

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Gracyn asks after slamming back the three fingers of whiskey like a boss.

  She pours herself another, and all I can do is stare as she moves to the couch and plops down in the corner furthest from me. Her shoes tumble to the floor, and she tucks her feet up underneath her ass. Ankles crossed, knees smashed together, she is the picture of proper and classy. Never in a million years would I guess at the depth of strength in this woman. Or the shit she tends to carry around with her.

  I slowly nod my head, gathering my thoughts. “Tell me what happened. What’s happening. What’s going on.”

  Her brows rise as she rolls the glass between her palms. “What do you want to know?” she asks, still not looking directly at me.

  “Everything. Catch me up on you. Last time I saw you—”

  “Was evidently this morning.”

  “Your eyes were rolled back in your head, and you were screaming my name,” I toss at her with a shit-eating grin as I settle myself into the other end of the couch.

  “Jackass.”

  “Catch me up, G. We can hit the hard shit another time, but tell me what you’ve been doing. Graduation, your exam. You still living with your friend? What was her name? Lisa?”

  “Lis, and no. She met the man of her dreams while we were hanging on the beach. She moved in with him, and now, she’s planning her wedding.”

  “So, you’re living it up, alone?”

  She’s not giving much, and I feel like I’m working hard to pull every little piece of information from her.

  “No, I found someone new after Lissy left me for her man.” Her laugh is raw and raspy. “Whatever happened to hos before bros? Chicks before dicks?”

  I’m mesmerized, watching her sip at the whiskey, darting her tongue out to lick an amber drop that splashed onto her thumb.

  “Chick or dick?” I ask.

  She eyes me over the top of her glass, lips still resting on her thumb. Her wheels are turning, and I can practically see the snarky-ass response forming in her mind. I narrow my eyes at her and stretch my leg out, pushing at her knee with the toe of my boot.

  “Chick,” she finally responds. “But a chick whose former dick decided he was into dick as well.”

  I choke on my drink mid-swallow, concentrating with everything I have not to snort whiskey out my nose. Nothing burns like that shit. “Wow, that’s …”

  “That’s a tale for another time. What about you? Tour? That sounds like a story. Did you guys get discove
red in a scummy beach bar?” She scoffs at the preposterousness of it.

  “In fact, we did. Got picked up by a label, and they scrubbed our image, changed our name, and shoved us out on tour.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Seriously, you had no idea? What’s your playlist looking like these days? Decide you like the boy bands?”

  “Changed your name? Scrubbed your image?” She leans forward and sets her glass on the coffee table. Then, she shifts, so she’s sitting on her heels, bouncing up and down. “What does that mean? Oh my God, is Kane gone or completely reformed?”

  “Yeah, we did the college scene before the label decided Dreams of the Unbroken was too much. So, we dropped the Dream and shortened it to just The UnBroken.”

  She is fucking distracting with the bouncing.

  “Kane is still … Kane. He’s not going to change for anyone. Mostly, they revamped all our social media, and they got us into the studio and then out on the road with a couple of other bands. No headliners, just a multi-band tour, but shit went down with one of the other bands, and we were the ones who had enough material to fill a longer set, so …” I shrug again.

  “And?”

  I tilt my head side to side, not wanting to brag, but totally wanting to fucking brag. “And we rocked that shit. Sales for the rest of the dates skyrocketed, and we ended up with our own tour. Just finished up last week and came to the city to decompress and hang with my big sis.”

  Thank fuck Gracyn slides down off her knees, planting her ass back down on the seat cushion. She grabs her drink from the coffee table and reaches out to tap my glass with hers, placing her free hand on my leg for leverage. And she leaves it there, resting it on the side of my jeans-clad calf before absently running her fingers along the ridge of muscle.