Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7)

by Jerica MacMillan

  “Yeah, me too.” My heart seizes. What does she mean by that?

  “I got a ticket for a flight this afternoon, but I can try to come sooner. See if I can get a seat on an earlier flight. Would that help?”

  She blows out her breath slowly. “Yeah.” That croak is back in her voice. She’s losing it again. “Yeah, I’d”—she draws a shuddery breath—“I’d really appreciate that,” she finishes on a whisper.

  Flinging back my covers, I get out of bed and grab my laptop, opening it up and going to the airline website to see what’s available. “Hang in there. I’ll be there tonight at the absolute latest. We’ll call Jonathan and find out what his PR people are planning to do about this. We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She’s still whispering, like she can’t manage to get out words at a louder volume, and that kills me.

  “And Lauren?” I pause, wanting to make sure I have her full attention. “You. Are. Not. A. Slut. Do you understand me?”

  When all she does is cry in response, my heart cracks in two.

  I’ll do whatever it takes to get to her as soon as possible. I’ll call my brother and make him send me his plane if I can’t get on an earlier flight. Or Charlie.

  I don’t care. They owe me. Their crazy fame-driven lives are the reason she’s in this mess. The least they can do is help me comfort her when she’s being dragged through the mud.

  Chapter Thirty

  Lauren

  After hanging up with Brendan, I slump over onto my bed, my hands on my face. Tears leak out of my eyes, but the sobbing has subsided. For now.

  I hate this. Everything about it.

  I hate that people are talking about me.

  I hate that no matter what I do, I can’t escape being called a slut.

  I’m married, for fucks sake. I’ve only slept with Brendan in the last year, since that fateful night with Noah, the asshole counselor. Bringing the grand total of men who’ve had their penis inside me up to five.

  Obviously I’m the biggest slut around.

  And I hate that this has turned me into a sniveling, sobbing wreck.

  This isn’t me. I’m not the girl who cries about what people say about me.

  But it’s never been in print before. Or all over the internet. Or on TV for my parents to see and hear.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, pressing my palms into my sockets, wishing I could squeeze out this new reality as easily as I can squeeze out tears.

  They called last night. And texted, asking me to call them back.

  I haven’t yet, though. I’m too embarrassed.

  But I’ll have to soon. I promised I’d let them know when and if my plans change. At the very least, I’ll have to tell them that I won’t be getting to work at the camp again.

  Another sob wrenches free, no matter how hard I try to swallow it. One hand clamps over my mouth, muffling the sounds that I can’t hold back anymore.

  Even though I’ve seen the articles, and I know everyone in the world can read them too, somehow it didn’t really sink in until that call woke me up this morning. I’d answered before I was fully awake, and when the disembodied voice on the other end apologized and said they didn’t need me for the camp after all, I’d been too stunned to process what they were saying.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m really looking forward to being there again. Last year was so much fun,” I said like a moron.

  The director of the camp cleared her throat and said, “I’m sorry. I think you must not have heard me. I’m calling to inform you that your services won’t be needed this year.” She put a slight emphasis on the word services. Which was enough to catch my attention, but not enough to make any sense.

  “My services won’t be needed? What does that mean? Camp starts in two weeks. Do you not have as many campers this year?”

  “Ah, no, our enrollment has increased this year.”

  I blinked in the dark room. “I don’t understand.”

  There was a long pause, and then she said the words that skewered me. “We’ve been fielding calls since yesterday. And emails. Parents are … unhappy to have the camp they trust their children with appearing in articles of a … distasteful nature. And they’ve all insisted that their children not be assigned to you.”

  “But … but … I’m not like that. I’m not that person they made me out to be.”

  Her voice finally softened. “I’m sorry, Lauren. You were a fantastic counselor last year. But even if it’s all lies—and I hope it is, to be honest—even if it is, perception counts for more than facts sometimes. We can’t afford for all of those parents to pull their children. We can’t refund their tuition. And they’ll never come back. I have no choice.”

  “Oh.” It was all I could say. She said a few more things, but I stopped paying attention, focused instead on fighting back the tears that were already building up. I wouldn’t let her know she’d broken me. That they’d broken me. I made appropriate noises and managed a firm goodbye, and then I fired off a text to Gabby and collapsed on my bed.

  She called, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop sobbing enough to speak. The third time my phone rang, I finally thought I could answer, but when I did the voice wasn’t who I expected. Not the soft feminine voice of my best friend, full of sympathy and compassion. It was Brendan’s low, rumbly voice that filled my ears, demanding to know what happened.

  He was probably worried someone had died from the way I was sobbing. I don’t know how he knew to call, but I’m glad he did.

  Curling onto my side, I pull the blankets back over me, clutching my phone in my hand so I don’t miss his text with his flight information. I’m so glad he’s coming. Of all the people in my corner, he’s the one I most want with me right now.

  Sounds from the living room pull me out of a deep sleep. Blinking, I rub my gritty eyes and feel around for my phone. It must’ve fallen out of my hand when I unintentionally fell asleep. My fingers glance off the edge under my pillow, and I pull it out.

  No text from Brendan with his flight information. Just one from Charlie asking if I’m awake. Was he unable to get on a flight today?

  I almost start crying again at the thought, but voices on the other side of my bedroom door draw my attention. With my heart racing, I unlock my phone, prepared to call 911 if I need to.

  But then I recognize one of the voices.

  Brendan’s here.

  Relief swamps me. Whoever’s with him is going to be someone I know, so I don’t think twice about throwing the door open in only my cami and sleep shorts.

  “Brendan.”

  His head snaps up at the sound of his name, and he looks me over from head to toe as he closes the distance between us and folds me against his chest. I close my eyes, inhaling his scent, feeling marginally better for the first time since that awful story broke. I don’t even wrap my arms around him, just pull them up against my chest and let him hold me.

  He strokes my hair back and places a kiss on the top of my head.

  “How did you get here?” I mumble into his chest. “How did you get into my house?”

  A tiny chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I called Charlie. She flew me up, and she has a key so …”

  I pull my head back to peek around him. I hadn’t even noticed her, all my attention focused on Brendan.

  She holds up a hand and wiggles her fingers. “Hey. How’re you holding up?”

  “Fantastic. Can’t you tell?”

  She cracks a sad smile. “Well, you’re still sarcastic, so you’re not too broken. Good.”

  My snort sends snot flying out of my nose, and I quickly slap my hand over my face, mortified. “Oh my god.”

  Brendan just laughs, and Charlie steps closer and offers a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

  I snatch it from her and scrub my face and my hand. “That was super attractive,” I mutter. “Aren’t you glad you showed up in my house?”

  Brendan’s warm hands settle on my shoulders, turning me
to face him. “Yes. I am. There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

  When I lift my head to look at him, he kisses me softly on the lips. I melt. There’s no other word for it.

  My world is collapsing, but he’s here. Holding me up. And I know I can count on him to help me piece it back together.

  He slides his arms down and around my waist again, wrapping me in another hug. This time I hug him back. “I’m glad you’re here. Both of you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Charlie says from somewhere on the other side of Brendan, “but I’m just here to drop him off and let him in. You should make him a key, though. Since you guys are married and all. I’ll leave you to your honeymoon.” She steps to the side of us and wraps her arms around both of us. “Catch me up when you have time.” With one more squeeze, she lets go. A moment later, the door closes, and she’s gone.

  Brendan and I stand there holding each other until he says, “Can we sit?”

  With a choked laugh, because I’m struggling not to sob against his chest right now, I nod and step back, rubbing my nose as I head for the couch.

  He plops down in the corner opposite me, then reaches over and drags me against him, kicking his feet up on the couch. “I’m exhausted. I’m glad you got some extra sleep, but I was up late last night, and then I couldn’t sleep on the flight here because I was worried about you. Now that I’m finally with you, I’m not sure how long I can keep my eyes open.”

  I spread my fingers over the fabric of his T-shirt, enjoying the solid feel of him under me. “That’s okay. Sleep if you want. All I want to do is lie here with you. I’m too tired to do anything else.”

  “Perfect,” he mutters. Moments later, the rise and fall of his chest slows, and his arm grows heavy where it rests on my side. He’s asleep. And somehow, just him being here, even unconscious, makes everything seem like it might be okay after all.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lauren

  The next few hours pass in a strange drowsy state. At first I’m content to just snuggle against Brendan as he sleeps, listening to his heartbeat and the even sound of his breathing. The regular rhythms are soothing, grounding me back in reality and letting me escape the storm raging in my head.

  I’ve slept most of the day, though, so even though I feel drained, I can’t sleep anymore right now. I get up a couple of times to use the bathroom and get a drink of water, but I always return to the same spot against his side. Each time he stirs enough to pull me close again and makes a sleepy sound of contentment that brings a smile to my face.

  And anything that can do that right now is welcome.

  When my thoughts inevitably circle back to the bomb that detonated in the middle of my life, I distract myself by reading a new ebook. It’s a space opera, full of life-and-death stakes and so far removed from my reality that it makes a good distraction. At least I don’t have to worry about rogue aliens that have betrayed the political alliance trying to kill me, right?

  Eventually Brendan stirs, his arm tightening around me and his chest pressing up against me as he arches and stretches with a big yawn. He slumps back into the couch and kisses the top of my head. “Hey.”

  I put my phone to sleep and turn over so I’m lying on my stomach on top of him, looking up at his face. “Hey.” I give him a small smile.

  He reaches up a hand and pushes his fingers through my hair, combing it back over my shoulder, his eyes never leaving mine. “How are you doing?” That sleep-roughened voice does things to me. Things I didn’t think I’d be interested in given my emotional state the last couple of days. But with my body draped over his, his low sexy voice, and the ridge hardening against my belly, another distraction from all the crap would be welcome about now.

  “Better now that you’re here.”

  He graces me with one of his beautiful smiles. It’s pure, unadulterated happiness. “Oh yeah? All I have to do is show up, and you’re all better?”

  I lift one shoulder an inch. “I didn’t say all better. But you showing up is definitely an improvement.”

  His smile changes, turning more wicked as one of his eyebrows lifts. “Is there something else I can do to help the situation more?”

  Planting my hands on either side of him, I drag myself up his torso until my face hovers right in front of his. His eyelids have dropped to half-mast, and his eyes have darkened so there’s only a thin gold rim surrounding his pupil. “Maybe,” I whisper.

  He lets out a gentle grunt and hooks a hand behind my head to pull my mouth to his. From the swiftness of the movement, I expect a bruising kiss. Instead, he caresses my lips with his. Soft and slow and sweet. His tongue flicks out and slicks across my lower lip. Gasping, I open for him, and he seeks out my tongue, stroking against it in a luscious slide.

  I groan into his mouth, draping myself over his chest once more, loving the way his other hand coasts down my back to grip my ass. His hips press up, grinding his hardness into my belly. I groan again, wanting that inside me. Now.

  Breaking the kiss, I sit back on his thighs and strip off my cami. He hisses in a breath at the sight of my naked boobs, immediately reaching for them. With a cheeky grin, I dodge his questing hands and stand up. “Nah-ah-ah. Strip first.”

  He glares at me for a second, but his lips are turned up at the corners, giving away that he’s not actually upset. He sits forward, reaching behind his neck and yanking off his shirt in one quick motion as he stands. Dropping the shirt on the floor, his eyes on me as I shimmy my shorts down my thighs, he undoes his belt and quickly shucks the rest of his clothes.

  His dick stands out, long and thick and hard, and he grips it, giving it a few pumps with his fist. “You want this?”

  Licking my lips, I nod.

  He steps closer. “You think this’ll make you feel better?”

  “Yes.” I’m whispering again, unable to give the word full voice, but this time from desire. Not from emotional destruction.

  “On your knees.”

  I tear my gaze away from his hand on his dick and meet his eyes. He quirks an eyebrow in challenge, that smirk I love so much playing over his lips.

  I wasn’t actually planning on giving him a blow job right now. I figured if anything, he’d be going down on me. But I did say that I want his dick …

  It’s not like Brendan’s ever left me unsatisfied.

  Slowly I sink to the floor. He steps closer, holding his dick in front of my face. My tongue darts out, swiping across the head, making him grunt at the contact.

  Encouraged, I open my mouth and swirl my tongue around the head, then suck him between my lips, hollowing my cheeks and bobbing just a little. He’s still holding himself, and his hand isn’t leaving me a lot of room to work.

  I keep my eyes on his as I suck him, enjoying the look of lust stamped on his face. I’ve never resented giving blow jobs, figuring that if I expect oral from a guy then I should be willing to return the favor, but I’ve never found them particularly hot. Until now.

  Damn. The way he looks at me, the way his abs tighten when I flick my tongue on the underside of the head, the way his thighs tremble the longer I do this—it’s a rush. I squeeze my thighs together, needing some friction to ease the growing ache. It’s not enough, though, and soon I’m spreading my knees apart so I can slide my hand between my thighs.

  “Fuck,” Brendan says when my fingers circle my clit. “Yeah, baby. You like this? You like sucking me? Does it make you wet?”

  I moan my answer.

  His abs twitch, and his thighs tremble, drawing my attention. But I quickly return my eyes to his, rubbing myself a little faster and sucking hard.

  “Fuck, Lauren. I love watching you touch yourself. It’s so fucking hot. Reminds me of that first night when you let me watch you come. I knew then that I wanted to watch that as often as you’d let me. You’re so fucking hot when you come. You gonna come for me now? You wanna make yourself come? Or do you want me to do it for you?”

  Another moan is all I can give h
im. Partly because there’s still a dick in my mouth, but even without that, I don’t know if I could verbalize what I want.

  “Yeah? Come here.” He pulls free of my lips and holds out a hand to pull me to my feet.

  Reluctantly I remove my hand from between my legs and let him help me stand. He guides me to the couch, gently pushing me back till I sit. Then he shoves the coffee table out of the way and kneels in front of me, hooking his hands under my knees and yanking me forward. Pushing my legs back, he dives in, fucking my pussy with his tongue. He doesn’t ease into it at all, just goes after it from the first stroke, and the feeling is electric. I arch up into his mouth. I was starting to get close already, and he takes me the rest of the way in almost no time.

  I hold onto his head, yanking on his hair, holding him to me as he sucks my clit and lashes it with his tongue. “Oh god oh god oh god. Yes! Yes! I need you. I need you inside me right now!” I shout as my orgasm overtakes me.

  He rips himself away, fumbling for a condom. It takes forever, and I’m dying without him inside me.

  Then his arms hook under my knees again, opening me to him as wide as I can go before driving inside. “You make me lose my mind. When you beg for my cock like that, I almost forget that I need a condom. I almost fucked you bare again.”

  I shudder underneath him, goosebumps washing over me.

  “You like that idea, huh? You wanna risk getting pregnant?”

  “No.” It comes out sounding like a pornstar moan, which doesn’t make it very convincing, and he just chuckles in response.

  Dipping his head, he kisses me, this kiss hungrier and fiercer than earlier. Perfect. When he pulls back, his pace picks up. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t do that without your enthusiastic agreement. But fuck, Lauren. You’re so fucking perfect. So sexy. I just want to do this all day. Every day. I’m so glad you’re mine.”

  “Me too me too me too.” All I can manage is single syllables. Simple words repeated on a loop. My brain is scrambled. My speech centers almost completely offline. I only exist as part of a pleasure circuit that flows through the two of us.