Home Is Where You Are

by Melissa Grace

  “You didn’t,” he said gently. “Cash’s wife, Carrie, died almost a year ago. It was the week after Thanksgiving. Brain cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He gazed at the houses we passed for a moment, lost in thought. “Cash is like our brother, and Carrie was kind of like our protective big sister. We called her our den mother. She was the one who made sure we had enough time off. She was always reminding us of that Dolly Parton quote, ‘don’t get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life.’ She was the one who made sure we didn’t exist solely on fast food and ramen. She made sure we took time to see the sights on some of our concert stops, where ordinarily, we wouldn’t have seen anything outside the venue or the hotel.”

  “Well, any woman that quotes Dolly is good in my book,” I said. “It sounds like she was a really special person.”

  “She was.” He nodded. “Cash still tries to go visit his in-laws as often as he can because, besides us, he doesn’t really have anyone else. Carrie’s parents really accepted him. He has a few other clients on his roster, but he’s with us most of the time, so we’ve sort of become his family.”

  “It’s sweet how much you guys care about each other.”

  “I can tell he digs Ella, but I think he’s honestly still a little lost,” he admitted. “He and Carrie were married for twelve years. I think he’s still trying to figure out how to live without her.” Thunder rumbled, causing the ground to tremble beneath our feet. A few raindrops announced their presence, splatting against the pavement. “It’s definitely going to rain.”

  “We’re almost there.” I could see my white bungalow with the navy-blue shutters a few yards away.

  “That’s your place up there, right?” Jax asked, gesturing toward my house. “It’s nice. I love the navy shu—” Before he could finish his sentence, the rain launched a monsoon level assault on us all at once. “Shit.”

  “Run for it!” I screeched as we splashed down the sidewalk. We barreled up the stone walkway, not stopping until we were finally under the safety of the porch covering. “Oh my God.” I didn’t even have to see my reflection to know I looked like a drowned rat. I looked up at Jax, his long-sleeved black T-shirt clinging to every curve of his muscles.

  “Wow.” He raked his fingers through his now sopping wet hair and looked down at his clothes. “The jeans didn’t fare too bad, but I think the shirt was a total loss.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I fished my key out of my bag, shoving it in the lock and opening the door. “Let me throw your shirt in the dryer for you. I have some old concert T-shirts, and I bet one of them will fit you.” I trudged into the house, kicking my boots off by the door. He followed me inside, discarding his wet Chuck Taylors.

  “I don’t think we’re exactly the same size.” He chuckled, following behind me as I padded my way down the hall.

  “I know.” I laughed. “I used to have a thing for oversized concert T-shirts. It was a phase. Anyway, I’m pretty sure I still have a couple.” He followed me into my room, and my stomach lurched into my chest. I realized this was the first time I’d been in a bedroom, let alone a bedroom that belonged to me, with any man besides Ben. My heart began to race, and I was suddenly thankful I’d read that article a couple of months ago about the benefits of making your bed every day.

  I tossed my purse on the bed and strode over to the closet, stepping inside. My mouth went dry as I rifled through the clothes, trying to focus on the shirt-seeking mission at hand and not the fact that Jaxon Slade was in my bedroom. I squatted down, sifting through the folded clothes in the organizing cubes.

  “Is that… is that a guitar case?” Jax’s voice interrupted my search.

  “Huh?” I asked absentmindedly. “Oh. Yeah. It is.”

  “You play? Why didn’t you tell me?” I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice.

  “I used to,” I replied nonchalantly. “As in past tense.”

  “Whatever. You never forget how. It’s like riding a bike.”

  My fingers finally landed on what I’d been looking for. I pulled the worn charcoal-grey Aerosmith shirt from its pile, checking the label inside the T-shirt before turning toward him. “Found it. It’s oversized on me, but it will probably fit y—” Before I could finish my sentence, he ripped his shirt over his head, and I stood face to face with a very gorgeous, very shirtless, Jax. His chest was smooth, a perfect crease leading down his center, dividing an impressive six-pack that narrowed in a v at the waistline of his jeans. His entire body glistened, damp with the rain that soaked through his shirt. “Uh. Um. Here.” I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I shoved the shirt toward him. I quickly turned my head to prevent myself from staring, or worse still, drooling. I waited until I saw him pull the other shirt over his head out of the corner of my eye before I allowed my gaze to return to him, looking unfairly sexy in my shirt. I cleared my throat as he placed the wet garment in my waiting hand.

  “I had my doubts, but you were right.” Jax looked down at the shirt. “This is exactly the size I would buy. At least now I know how cute you’re gonna look if you borrow my T-shirts.” He said it so casually that if I hadn’t already been hanging on to his every word, I might have missed it.

  The laugh that escaped my mouth was so high pitched, it didn’t even sound like it belonged to me. My fingers and toes tingled as I looked down at my feet, unable to maintain eye contact with him. “Told you,” I mumbled almost unintelligibly.

  “Aerosmith is one of my favorites.”

  “Mine, too. I love anything Steven Tyler does.” I stepped forward to make my way out of the closet, but he didn’t move. “I should go put your shirt in the dryer and change.”

  “Can I see your guitar?”

  “What?”

  “Your guitar. Can I see it?”

  “Uh, sure.” I turned to grab the case and handed it to him. He backed out of the closet, the case in his hand. “Come on. I’ll show you back to the living room, and then I’ll go change and take care of your shirt. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’m good,” he answered. “Why don’t I go ahead and order us some food while you’re doing all that? What sounds good to you?”

  “You like Thai food?”

  “I love Thai food.”

  “There’s this great place called Bow Thai.”

  “Consider it done.” He grinned. “What will you have?”

  “Soy sauce noodles with tofu,” I answered. “Spicy level four.”

  “That sounds amazing. May have to make that two.”

  “Make yourself comfortable.” I gestured at the navy-blue sofa as Mama came out from her hiding place, hissing in Jax’s direction.

  He looked taken aback for a moment before his mouth stretched into a big grin. “Hostile kitty?”

  I laughed. “Yep. That’s Mama. I’ve had her for two months, and I’m pretty sure she’s been plotting my death the entire time.”

  “Hi, Mama,” he said, as she scampered off toward the kitchen.

  “Don’t take it personally.” I snorted. “She’s an equal opportunity hater.” Our eyes locked for a moment, and I suddenly remembered I was standing there looking like I’d showered with my clothes on. “I’m going to go and… take care of all of this.” I gestured at myself with his wet shirt in my hand. His shirt that I noticed still smelled deliciously like him.

  “I’m going to order the food,” he said, settling in on the couch and opening the guitar case. “Take your time.”

  I heard the faint strumming of my guitar as I proceeded down the hall, through the kitchen, and to the laundry room. When I reached my bedroom, I paused for a moment in the doorframe. I could hear Jax’s sweet, emotive voice singing a song off Steven Tyler’s solo country record from a few years ago. It was one of my favorites off the album, a song called “Love Is Your Name.”

  Chapter 8

&nbs
p; Jax

  I ordered the food and settled in on Liv’s sofa. My fingers absentmindedly strummed her old Taylor guitar to the sounds of the thunderstorm outside. Occasionally, Mama would make her way into the living room and peek at me suspiciously. I leaned my hand down to pet her once, but she hissed at me before darting down the hallway.

  My mind wandered to Liv looking at me, her chestnut hair drenched. Her sweater had soaked through so that it hugged every soft curve of her gorgeous body. Every moment, I found myself more and more drawn to her.

  Finding out she had this guitar made me feel like I’d been handed a huge piece to the mysterious puzzle that was Olivia Sinclair, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. She seemed so indifferent about it, but I felt like there was more to the story.

  “Sorry. My hair felt disgusting, so I took a quick shower. You want anything to drink? I was thinking about opening a bottle of wine.” Liv’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. I found myself staring at her, completely speechless. Her hair was damp from the shower, and she wore a pair of grey leggings with an oversized T-shirt that fell casually off her shoulder. If she had any makeup on, I couldn’t tell. I’d never seen a woman look more beautiful than she did at that moment. “Jax? You okay?” She eyed me curiously.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” I raked my hand through my hair. “Wine sounds great. The food should be here soon.”

  “Is red okay?” She turned and started toward the kitchen.

  “Perfect.” I returned the guitar to its case. A couple of moments later, she returned with two wine glasses filled nearly to the brim and handed one to me.

  “I’m a generous bartender,” she warned. She sat next to me, leaving enough space that a whole other person could have fit between us.

  “My favorite kind.” I smiled and held my glass out toward her. “To donuts and chance encounters.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” She gently clinked her glass with mine.

  “I love your house.” I took a drink and settled into the sofa so that I was facing her. “It’s really cozy.”

  “Thank you.” She took a sip of her wine. “I’ve only been here a few months, but it’s finally starting to feel like home. Honestly, the best thing is living so close to the shop. I love walking to work, and this neighborhood is really nice. Ella and Grace live close by too, so I’ve got everything I need here.” There was a knock on the door, and she started to get up. “That must be the food.”

  “Let me get it,” I offered, setting my glass down on the rustic white coffee table. I answered the door, snagged our food, and tipped the driver. “This smells amazing.” I returned to the couch with the bag, extracting the two containers and the plastic flatware. Liv grabbed one of the containers, lifting the lid. Balancing the food with one hand, she grabbed the remote off the coffee table with the other and flicked the television on.

  “I have a very important question for you,” she said with mock seriousness. “Not to be dramatic, but your answer does determine whether we’ll make it through to dinner.”

  “So, no pressure, right?” I shrugged. I could hear the sounds of the rain and the storm rumbling outside.

  “So much pressure.” She pulled up her Netflix account on the television. “What are your feelings on The Office?”

  “You mean the greatest show of all time?” I took a drink of my wine. “You know, as much as I loved ‘The Dinner Party,’ I really am partial to Jim and Pam’s wedding. Did I pass the test?”

  “With flying colors.” She grinned and hit play. We ate our lunch and watched the show, simultaneously talking about our favorite scenes. We’d made it through a couple of episodes and glasses of wine when a loud clap of thunder rattled the house, leaving us in the dark. “Shit.” She laughed. “So much for a Netflix binge.”

  I peeked through the blinds of the window behind the sofa. “It’s really coming down out there.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She padded out of the room, quickly returning with the opened bottle of wine and one large candle that flickered in the dim light of the room. She placed it on the coffee table, her beautiful face illuminated by its golden glow as she sat next to me.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I scooted closer to her as she topped off our wine glasses.

  “Hmm?”

  “The guitar,” I said tentatively. “You said you used to play. What happened?”

  She took a heavy drink of her wine and settled into the sofa, facing me with her legs crossed beneath her. “My whole life I wanted to be a singer and write songs.”

  “Are you serious?” My eyes widened.

  “Yeah, but that was a long time ago.” She took another sip from her glass. “I got my first guitar when I was thirteen. I think my folks liked it because they always knew where I was. I wasn’t out getting into trouble. I was in my room writing songs about boys who had no idea I existed.”

  “That seems unlikely,” I said softly. “It’d be impossible not to notice you.” Even in the flickering glow of the candle, I could see her blush.

  “My parents got me this guitar as a graduation present, and I opted not to go to college. Instead, I had a fake ID made and started playing in bars when I wasn’t even old enough to drink.”

  “Wow. I am completely floored.”

  “Ella and I got an apartment together. She was working retail at the time, and I was playing in every honky-tonk that would let me on stage. During the day, I started a side business baking cakes and cupcakes for people to help pay the rent. Baking wasn’t my passion, but it’s what I was good at.” She sighed heavily, looking down at her glass. “Anyway, I met my hus… my ex, Ben, when I was twenty. In the beginning, he was okay with my music, but after we got married, things started really taking off for him. The further he got in his career, the less comfortable he became with mine. The last thing he wanted was to be courting potential clients downtown and see his wife playing for cheap beer and tips at Tootsie’s. So, I stopped.”

  “You just stopped?” Her eyes fell, and I wanted to reach out and hold her hand.

  “Yep.” She took another long drink from her glass. “Ben was right anyway. At that point, it would have been embarrassing for him. Honestly, it was probably equally as embarrassing for me to be chasing a dream that was never going to happen. I guess I didn’t have that elusive it factor.”

  “Says who?” I asked the question, but she didn’t answer, which was all the answer I needed. I wanted to know more. I wanted every single detail about who Olivia Sinclair was, but I feared she would shut down if I tried to push any further. “Well, I know what’s got to happen now.” I took her wine glass from her hand, placing it on the table along with my own. I pulled her guitar from its case and handed it over to her. “I’m going to need to hear you sing.”

  “Jax, really. It’s been forever.”

  “No better time to change that than now,” I insisted. “Please. I want to hear you.”

  She reluctantly took the guitar and settled it in her lap, her fingers gliding over the frets. “I don’t normally give private concerts. Especially not to bonafide rockstars sitting in my living room.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I want to make it clear that I’m only doing this because I’m two glasses of wine in.”

  I raised my brow at her and leaned forward, waiting. “Noted.”

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Finally, she began to play. I immediately recognized the opening notes to a slowed-down version of “Ring of Fire” by Johnny Cash.

  Her voice started off soft, gravelly, and haunting, but slowly it began to build. By the time she reached the chorus, her vocals became more powerful with a bluesy twang. Her voice cracked, raw with emotion, in all the right places. Trained vocalists took lessons for years to learn how to do what Liv was doing effortlessly. I’d never envied a musical instrument before, but as I watched her fingers move smoothly over the fretboard, I knew I’d let
this woman play me any way she wanted to. When she finished the song, she opened her eyes to find me gazing intently at her.

  “What?” She grimaced, reaching out to take a sip of her wine. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Liv, that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” I said. “For the record, can I just say that your ex was a fucking idiot? Anyone that would discourage you from doing what you just did is a complete moron.”

  “I’m really not—”

  “Nope.” I stopped her. “I’m not even going to let you say it. Liv, you’re amazing. If I were your husband, I never would have let you stop, but then again, I never would have let you go.”

  She chewed her lip and looked down at her fingers that still fluttered along the strings.

  “You have a gift, and you sing from a place that you can’t fake. I can hear every emotion in your voice, and frankly, it’s exquisite. You can’t give this up. You could start again.”

  “No way.” She shook her head. “That ship has sailed.”

  “It most definitely has not,” I argued. “The ship has docked, and we are now boarding the USS Olivia. You can’t let this go, Liv. Music is where your heart is. It’s all over your face. You have to keep singing.”

  “You’re crazy. I can’t go back to that whole bar scene now. They’ll laugh me off the stage.”

  “You’re crazy if you seriously let this go,” I retorted. “Besides, who said you had to go to a bar? Write with me.”

  “What?” She looked at me incredulously. “Get out of here.” She set the guitar down, propping it against the sofa.

  “I’m serious,” I said softly. “Write with me.”

  Chapter 9

  Liv

  “Write with you? I think you’ve had a little too much wine.” I laughed. “Is it time to cut you off?”

  “I’m serious, Liv.” Jax looked at me with such sincerity that it caused my heart to soften around the edges. He leaned closer to me and placed his hand on my knee, taking a deep breath. “I told you our label wants us to sing other writers’ songs, but I didn’t tell you why. It’s not because they’re trying to change us. It’s because of me. I’ve been struggling to write any new material. I’m the one who writes our lyrics, and for the last six months, I haven’t been able to write anything. Not even a single decent hook.”