Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7)

by Jerica MacMillan

  He pounds into me over and over, his face intense, his stare searing into me. When he slams into me and holds himself there, his dick pulsing, it hits that perfect place inside me one last time, triggering a second, smaller orgasm. He shudders over me as I clench around him.

  When the intensity subsides, giving way to the warm, pleasant afterglow, I cup his cheeks with my hands and bring his lips to mine. He kisses me, making love to my mouth. He breaks the kiss after one last press of his lips against mine, his hand going between us so he can pull out and clean up. I keep my hands on his cheeks, forcing him to meet my gaze before I let go. “I love you, Brendan.”

  “I love you too, Lauren.” His voice is rough with emotion, and I acknowledge it with one last brief kiss before letting him go.

  Flopping back on the couch, I watch him walk to the bathroom, admiring the lines of his back, the dent of his ass as he moves. He’s beautiful. And mine.

  When he comes back out, he pauses, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall, taking me in.

  “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head slowly. “I just didn’t expect to see such a gorgeous smile on your face given everything.”

  I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand. “You make me happy.”

  “Good.” We stare at each other for a long moment, until a shadow passes over his face.

  “What?” I ask again.

  This time when he shakes his head, he’s looking at the floor. He inhales deeply and blows out his breath slowly. “I just can’t help thinking that I’m also the reason you’re in this mess. No one would care, except I was kinda famous once, and I have a famous brother.”

  With a snort, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling, one arm thrown above my head. “That is a point. Though I think you’re selling yourself short a bit on the fame thing. You have fans.”

  He snorts. “I’d rather not.”

  I can’t help smiling. Maybe I should be crying still, but after two orgasms courtesy of Brendan … I just can’t muster up the energy to be upset right now. “And that’s one of the things I love about you.”

  His muffled footsteps bring him closer until I’m looking up into his face. He reaches down and pulls me up to sitting, then climbs onto the couch with me, lies down, and pulls me against him. He sighs in contentment when our skin touches again. After sitting for a moment and enjoying each other’s company, he takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing himself. I try hard not to stiffen against him, but I’m not sure I succeed. When someone has to preface whatever they’re going to say with a fortifying breath, I feel the need to brace myself to hear it. Especially in light of the last few days.

  “So …”

  I snort, not able to hold it back. “All that, and all you came out with is ‘so’?”

  He chuckles, both of us relaxing a little. “I’m just wondering where we go from here.”

  “Uhhh … I figured we’d stay here a while. It’s a comfy couch. And I have food. And a TV. Is there somewhere you’d prefer to go?”

  His arms tighten around me, one across my shoulders, the other below my breasts, hugging me from behind. “No.” I can feel his smile against my temple as he presses his lips there. “I didn’t mean physically. I mean, with everything that’s happened, and now you losing your counselor gig, what do we do next?”

  My brows pull together, and I let out a slow breath, considering. “Right. Good question.”

  He’s quiet, but it feels like he wants to say something else. So I wait.

  “Would you …” He trails off, clearing his throat and sliding his fingers through my hair again, moving it all over one shoulder. I lean my face against his shoulder, letting him come out with the words. “Would you consider coming to California instead? For those two weeks?”

  He asks the question slowly, and I twist my mouth to the side. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. I haven’t moved past the fact of losing the job yet, actually. So I haven’t at all considered what to do instead. Or how else this might affect me going forward. Oh god … I hope this doesn’t make it impossible to get into grad school. Maybe I’ll just keep working with Clara and take auditions. Orchestra auditions are blind. You play behind a curtain, so there’s no bias on the part of the committee. It’s all about how well you play. No favoritism. Or the reverse, in this case.

  Grad school’s not that way at all. Charlie basically got kicked out of school when her cover was blown and everyone found out she was at Marycliff. Officially she withdrew, but the administration made it clear she was unwelcome.

  While my tabloid presence is nothing compared to hers, it’s just now occurred to me that a prospective grad school might not look favorably on the fact that I have articles like that written about me at all. They could deny me admission because of all this. And despite Brendan’s reassurance that they’ll eventually find something else to write about and the attention will die down, what if they don’t? Those articles are out there for anyone and everyone to find. Forever. There’s no undoing this damage.

  Apparently my whirling thoughts and how long I’m taking to answer his question is making Brendan nervous, though, because his next words come out in a rush. “Now that you’re not doing anything else. I mean, it’s just a thought. You don’t have to. But since you were so happy I was here I thought it would be good for us to be able to spend more time together. And while The Professor is okay with me being here for a little while and working remotely, it’s not a viable long-term option. So I could maybe stay for like a week and then we’d be apart for about a week, and then you come down instead of going off into the woods with a bunch of preteens and assholes who fuck you over. Oh god, I should shut up. You obviously hate the idea and calling the people you worked with assholes isn’t going to make you change your mind.”

  I grip his arm tightly, sitting up so I can face him, trying hard not to start laughing. “Brendan.”

  Lines around his mouth show the strain from clamping his lips shut so he won’t keep talking. His eyes fill with dread as I meet his gaze.

  I squeeze a little bit harder. “You’ve been spending too much time with Gabby.”

  Confusion flickers across his face, and his mouth relaxes, falling open in surprise.

  A giggle breaks free from my chest. “You’re babbling. And it’s actually a really good idea. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

  His eyes dart back and forth between mine, gauging my sincerity. And then he seems to deflate, all the tension in his shoulders leaving at once. “Oh good. You’re not mad. I thought I was pissing you off the longer I talked. And you were just quiet and stiff and I didn’t know what you were thinking.” He examines my face again, hesitation leaking back in. “I also thought you could maybe check out that grad school you were talking about.”

  My face sort of crumples at the mention of grad school, and it’s my turn to collapse on myself. I let go of his arm to cover my face. “I don’t know if grad school’s going to be an option after this. That’s what I was thinking about when you thought I was freaking out about your suggestion. I was freaking out about my potential future. And employability.”

  His fingers gently wrap around my wrists, tugging my hands down. I let him do it without a fight, but keep my eyes focused on his chest.

  I give my head a tiny shake. “I’m not going to be a world-class soloist. I’ll be lucky to land a spot with a regional orchestra. It’s not that part I’m worried about, because the audition process makes them unbiased. But I’ll have to work somewhere else to make ends meet.”

  “No you won’t.” The quiet words are spoken with conviction, and it makes my eyes snap to his.

  “What do you mean? Section positions with small orchestras don’t pay that well. Of course I’ll have to do something to pay the bills.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “No. You won’t. I’ll cover everything. If you want to play for an orchestra, that’s awesome. Do that. Focus on that. If you want to be a soloist, we’l
l get you whatever teachers you need to make it happen. I can cover it. You don’t need to worry about money. Not anymore.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Brendan

  Lauren blinks at me after my declaration that she doesn’t have to worry about money anymore.

  That’s the only reaction I get from her. Blinking. No expression. No words. And the longer it lasts, the greater my worry that I’ve miscalculated. Overstepped.

  Dammit.

  I’m about to open my mouth to say something, though I’m not sure what. Backpedal? Push harder? I want to push harder. I don’t want her to worry about money. She shouldn’t have to. I mean, I don’t have the same level of cash flow as my brother or Charlie, but between the trust my parents set up in my name from Brash’s heyday, the money I’ve made performing again with Jonathan, the increased royalties from more interest in our old music, and now working for The Professor, I have more than enough for us to live comfortably.

  I haven’t pushed the issue before because I know she doesn’t pay rent anyway. And we’ve been preoccupied with other things. Money hasn’t come up, other than in relation to the cost of travel to see each other. And while she balked at me single-handedly covering the cost when we talked about it, that was before we got married.

  Before I can say anything, though, her gaze cuts down to the side and her brows wrinkle together in thought, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “Um. You can pay the bills. And I can just … play music.” She sounds almost confused by the idea.

  “Yeah.” The word comes out as an exhale, and I’m not sure to be relieved that she hasn’t flipped out and yelled at me, excoriating me with the sharp side of her wicked tongue, or be wary in case that’s still coming.

  Her eyes work their way back to mine, that confused expression still on her face. “I hadn’t even considered that as an option.”

  “Well …” I spread my hands apart, then reach for her and pull her close again. “We’re married, after all. If we’re together, it makes sense that we’d have a joint budget. You’re still in school. I make plenty. There’s no reason for you to have an extra job unless you really want one.”

  She lets me pull her against my chest once more, relaxing against me as I stroke up and down her back. I seem to have completely upset her conception of reality, and it’s taking her some time to reassemble the pieces.

  “Okay,” she says at last.

  I push her back enough so I can look at her face. “Okay?” I expected more of a fight than that. More convincing. More time where I just pay for things without asking first and forcing her to accept it.

  But instead she gives a tiny nod, her forehead smoothing out. “Yeah. I mean, like you said, we’re married. It makes sense.”

  I settle her against my chest, her back to me this time, still a little flabbergasted at how easy that went down. “Good. Glad that’s settled.”

  She wiggles, making herself more comfortable, and lets out a sigh. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “And yes,” she says after a pause, “I’ll come to California with you since I can’t go to camp. I’ll check out the grad school. It’s a good plan. Maybe they’re used to their students showing up in tabloids.” She says the last sentence with a wry lilt.

  “Yeah. Maybe.” I give her a squeeze, happy that she agreed to come to California. That there isn’t a question about when we get to see each other for now, at least. After that … well, we’ll have to take things one step at a time. “I’m glad you’ll be there. It’s nice getting to spend time with you somewhere other than a hotel.”

  She laughs, and the sound fills me with warmth. “Tonight will be the first night we spend together in a house.” She cackles like that’s the most hilarious joke in the world, and I chuckle along with her, skating a hand up and down her arm.

  “We’ll spend a week at your house. And then you can spend two weeks at mine. We can pretend we’re a normal married couple. For a little while at least.”

  Her laughter dies, and she lapses into a somber silence. “Yeah,” she sighs, craning her neck around to look me in the face. “We’re nowhere near normal, though. I doubt we ever will be.”

  My heart squeezes at her words. I’d be thrilled for a normal life with her. “You don’t think so?”

  She shakes her head slowly. “Not with you on track to be a superstar producer. I mean, your brother is Jonathan Brasher, for fuck’s sake. You don’t get to be normal when you’re related to pop royalty.”

  I force out a small laugh. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  Is that going to be a problem for her? I’ve already disrupted all her plans since December. And now I’m disrupting the plans she had for the rest of her life. I’d think that not having to worry about getting a second job to make ends meet would be welcome, but maybe she’s not so on board with having everything she’d planned turned upside down.

  “I need to call my parents.”

  I have to blink a few times for her words to penetrate my thoughts. “Right now?”

  She nods. “Best to get it over with.” She sighs. “I promised that I wouldn’t keep big secrets from them anymore. They found out we eloped in Vegas from some entertainment news show.”

  “Oh, uh …”

  Her laugh is rueful. “Yeah. Exactly. They were … unhappy, to put it mildly.”

  “Did they get really mad?”

  She shakes her head. “No. More like hurt and disappointed.” She sits forward so she can turn and look at me again. “They want to meet you. So we’ll need to do that soonish. Maybe next time you come up.” She looks away and blows out a breath. “But I need to tell them that I won’t be working at the camp again. And that I’ll be going to California with you instead.”

  I swallow, watching her for a second. “I’d like to meet them too. Can I …” I clear my throat, suddenly nervous. “Would it be okay if I was on the call too? At least we can meet over the phone to start with.”

  She looks at me again, her eyes darting between mine and dipping to look at my lips before meeting my eyes again. “Yeah. I think that would be good.” Her gaze drops to my bare chest. “Let’s get dressed first, though. That way we can video chat and they can see you at least.”

  She’s off the couch before I can respond, padding to the bedroom in her bare feet. I watch her go, glad that she seems to be feeling somewhat better. And happy that I’ve been able to give that to her.

  Standing, I retrieve my clothes from the floor and pull my shirt over my head.

  Next, I have to win over her parents.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Lauren

  The call with my parents isn’t nearly as awkward as I’d feared. I don’t know if it’s Brendan sitting next to me, the obvious devotion in his gaze every time he looks at me, or the way he’s turned the charm up to eleven. Whichever it is, he seems to be winning them over.

  They have reservations still. Who can blame them? Nothing about our relationship seems mature or well thought out. And now I’m getting dragged through the mud in the tabloids.

  At the very least, I’m saved from having to hash out the details of the latest horrible article.

  Mom purses her lips and shakes her head. “Everyone knows those things are sensationalized to try to sell more papers. At best they’re exaggerations, and at worst they’re pure fabrications.” She reaches for my father’s hand, and her face crumples. “I didn’t believe a word. I just hate that they’re writing such terrible things about you.”

  I force myself to take a deep breath, because not everything in that article was a complete lie, even if it was spun to paint me in the worst light. But there’s no sense in completely destroying my mother’s belief in my virtue.

  Brendan reaches over and takes my hand, and I smile at him, and how we’re inadvertently mirroring my parents. Maybe this marriage thing isn’t such a harebrained idea after all.

  Turning back to the screen, I give my mom a reassuring smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Unfortunat
ely, not everyone seems to realize that tabloids aren’t reputable news sources.”

  Dad’s face wrinkles in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  I take a deep breath to steel myself. “I got a call earlier from the director of the Northwest Young Musicians camp. They don’t want me back.” My voice chokes off on the last words. I’d hoped I could push them out without my still-raw emotions breaking through, but apparently not.

  My parents are both pictures of sympathy. “Oh, honey,” Mom says, her fingers clenching around Dad’s. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  Blinking, I wipe the stray tears from my face and nod. “Yeah. I mean, no. But I will be. That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Since I won’t be working there, I have two weeks of free time open now. So I’m going to California to spend that time with Brendan instead.”

  He squeezes my hand and gives me an encouraging smile.

  My parents exchange a look, their faces bland when they look at the screen again. “Okay. That seems like a good idea,” Mom says. “How long is he going to be in Spokane with you? Will you have time to come for a visit before you go back to California?”

  My eyes dart around as I try to figure out the best way to answer, but Brendan jumps in before I can. He gives them a winning smile. “I’d love to come visit you in person. Unfortunately, that will have to wait for later this summer. I can’t stay for long, and Lauren and I need to spend the time I have here working with the PR team that’s supposed to be handling this media explosion.”

  Mom’s face sours. “They don’t seem to be doing a very good job.”

  Brendan nods gravely. “I agree. Which is why we need to get on a conference call with them to plan a better strategy. They’re doing a poor job of containing the damage to Lauren’s reputation, and I’m furious that it’s now affecting her work as well as her emotional health.” His fingers tighten on mine as he speaks. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure she makes it through this without further negative consequences.”