She stares up at me, her eyes darting back and forth between mine.
“Please, Lauren. Give us a real chance.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Lauren
My mind is racing. I don’t even know how to respond.
He quit?
For me?
“But moving here won’t stop the tabloids.” The words leave my mouth as soon as they enter my head.
The hope in his face dims, and his lips firm. “No. I know. They can’t really be stopped.” He takes a breath and opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but then closes it again, cutting himself off.
I look away, considering that. “They might not leave me alone even if we do divorce.”
“No.” His voice is a rasp. “They won’t. If anything, a divorce will only make them dig more. Since they’ve decided to run with the fame-chasing angle, they’ll probably try to pair you with a dozen other men by the end of the first week after the papers are filed.” His voice cracks on the last word.
I sag in his grip. He’s right. Dammit. “I’m always going to get called a slut, aren’t I?”
His fingers tighten on my upper arms. “I fucking hope not. If anyone calls you that around me, I’ll break their fucking face.”
A giggle bursts out of me at his unexpected threat of violence, and I look up at him again.
He doesn’t smile back, though, just stares at me, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard. “I’m so fucking sick of the way they paint women. You. Charlie. Any woman who’s ever caught their attention. Gabby didn’t get it as bad, but …” He shakes his head slowly. “Jonathan was fucking pissed anytime anyone even so much as hinted at that.”
I try to shrug, but can’t because Brendan’s still holding onto me. “Gabby’s always been too much of a goody two-shoes. There wasn’t anywhere to find even a speck of dirt on her. It’d be hard to make her out to be anything but what she is.”
“Oh, they still tried.”
My brow wrinkles, thinking back. “I don’t remember that. I must not have been paying attention.”
He eases his hands down my arms, wrapping me in his embrace again. I let him, letting my hands drift around his sides and clutching handfuls of his shirt as I rest my head on his chest again. His heart thrums under my ear, fast and steady. It’s comforting.
Do I really want to give this up?
Am I really going to let some assholes who make up lies for a living—I mean they tried to smear Gabby, of all people—drive a wedge between me and the only man I’ve ever loved? The only man who’s seen me completely and never made me feel like I needed to hide parts of myself or dull my sharp edges?
He fucking quit his dream job for me. Who does that?
Brendan does. He barges in and asks me to make time for him, to give him a chance. He doesn’t let me hide. Doesn’t let me take the easy way out, especially when that will only leave us both miserable.
Don’t we both deserve to be happy?
I push back enough that I can look up at his face—really look this time, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the two-day beard roughing up his jawline, the droop underlying the tension. He’s exhausted. Worn out. And not just from sleeping in his office, which I’m aware he only does when he’s trying to distract himself from my absence. He’s admitted as much to me.
And me?
I’ve been a zombie. A robot. Going through the motions, eating because I’m supposed to, showing up to classes but barely caring about the material, even for subjects I usually find interesting. And my lessons and practice sessions have been rough. Julia told me that adding more emotion would take my playing to the next level. Clara criticized my mechanical playing. I’ve been trying so hard not to feel anything, because the only thing I’ve been able to feel is pain. Sorrow. Heartache.
I don’t want to anymore.
And here Brendan is, telling me that he’s not ready to give up. I can stop this with a word. He’ll move here. This can all be over. All I have to say is …
“Yes.”
His brows jump, his eyes growing sharp. “Yes? Yes what?”
“Yes. I’ll give us another chance. We’ll do what you said. We’ll make this work, for real this time.”
He bends his knees, crouching down so our eyes are level, his sparking with joy. “Yes? You’re serious? You don’t want me to sign the papers?”
Shaking my head, my emotions overwhelm me, tears flowing down my cheeks. “No. No. Don’t sign those papers.” I turn and pick them up off the table and tear them in half. “I don’t want a divorce. I never did. I was just scared and hurt and when I was told that I was holding you back, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stand the thought of that. I didn’t want to hold you back.” I reach for his face, his beard scruffy against my palms. “I didn’t want to hurt you. And I didn’t want to be hurt. But all I’ve done is hurt us both. Deeply. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
He crushes me to him, finding my lips with his. “Thank god,” he breathes against my mouth. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if you said no. I’ve hated every minute we’ve been apart since I took you to JFK. And this last separation was the worst. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too.”
His hands are everywhere, clutching me to him, gripping my ass, sliding under my shirt. His lips part, and I open for him, welcoming his tongue into my mouth.
That seems to be all the encouragement he needs to move this from making out to something more. Almost before I can register what’s happening, his large hands clamp on my ass, jerking me up his body. My legs wrap around his waist out of pure reflex. Is he going to pin me against the wall? Heat coils low in my belly, and a shiver of delight races down my spine. It’s so fucking hot when he does that.
But no. Not this time. He staggers to the couch, his knee glancing off the coffee table. Turning, he lowers himself to sink into the soft cushions, me on his lap. One of his legs shifts under me, and I feel him give a powerful shove. The sound of the coffee table scraping across the carpet reaches my ears, and all I can think is good idea. We definitely need the space, especially with him here taking up so much room.
With his hands on my back and his mouth still fused to mine, he leans to the side, slowly lowering us to the couch, then he shifts so I’m on my back, him rising over me, my knees still clamped around his hips.
He pulls back from the kiss, a soft smile on his swollen lips, his eyes warm and liquid, lust and love mixing in their depths. “God, I didn’t think I’d get to touch you like this again. When I got those papers …”
I cover his mouth with my fingers. “I’m sorry. I know. I was scared. I didn’t …” Swallowing, I’m not sure how to end that sentence.
But I don’t have to. Brendan grasps my hand and kisses my fingers before pulling them away. “I know. I get it. I’m just glad you changed your mind.”
A sultry smile curves my lips. “You’ve always been very persuasive in person.”
“Mmm.” An answering smile stretches across his mouth. “Well, I’ll just have to make sure to use my powers of persuasion on you on a regular basis.” He leans into me, grinding his hard cock against my center.
My breath catches, but I manage to still be able to form words. “I wouldn’t have any objection to that.”
And then his mouth is on mine again, his hands sliding up my shirt, bunching the fabric and breaking the kiss to pull it over my head. My bra comes off next, and he stands to yank my pants and thong down my legs, tossing them aside.
Propping myself on my elbows, I rake my eyes over his body. “Your turn.”
His hands fall to the belt at his waist first, his gaze heated. “I love when you talk to me like that.”
“Do you? You want to hear how much I want to see you? To watch you undress for me?” His nostrils flare, and I drop my eyes to the bulge pressing at his zipper. “How much I want your cock?”
He grunts, a sound of satisfaction and pleasure. And then his cock is out,
reaching for me.
I sit up and slide onto the floor as he finishes undressing.
“What are you doing?”
Looking up at him, my hand closes around his shaft. “What does it look like I’m doing?” Before he can answer, I lick the underside from balls to tip. “I owe you an apology.”
His hand closes around my wrist, and he shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
But I don’t let go. “I want to.” I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock before sliding my lips over him and giving a hard suck.
Any objection he might’ve had dies before he can voice it. His hand releases my wrist, moving to my hair, brushing it back over my shoulder. I work him with my mouth and my hand, bringing my free hand into it to caress his balls, which I know he loves.
His thighs and abs jump and twitch, and his breathing picks up the longer I work until his hand closes on my wrist again, this time not letting go until I release him and let him pull me to my feet.
He slides a thumb across my lower lip, his eyes tracing the motion. “I need to be inside you. I need to feel you coming around me. Lie back on the couch.”
At one point I might’ve playfully resisted his order, but I’m just as desperate for him as he is for me. I’m not going to do anything to delay getting what I want.
I step backward, practically falling over in my eagerness. Brendan smiles, stepping close and catching one of my legs under the knee so he can spread me wide. Without hesitation, he drops to his knees and dives in, licking and sucking until I’m as close as he was when he stopped me. So close to the edge that one more touch, one more lick, will send me flying into the abyss of pleasure waiting for me.
But he stops.
I groan my displeasure, which earns me a chuckle. “Be right back.”
“What? No. Where are you going?”
He fishes his wallet out of his pants and digs out a condom, his eyes never leaving mine as he rolls it on. And then he’s back, dragging the blunt head of his cock over me a few times, making me shudder and clench before he sinks inside me.
There’s no pretense at gentleness or tenderness. He takes me hard from the first thrust. “Are you going to come for me, Lauren? I told you I need to feel you coming on my cock.”
“Yes yes yes yes,” I chant, both in answer to his question and in response to what he’s doing. “So close. I’m so close.”
“Fuck yeah. That’s it. Get there. Come with me. Come now.” His words detonate inside me, all my muscles spasming with the force of my orgasm. And he’s right there with me, grinding his pelvis into mine, his fingers clenching my thigh hard enough to lend a slight edge of pain to the pleasure rushing through us both. He collapses on top of me, releasing my leg and wrapping his arms around me, his weight a comforting force pressing me into the couch. I slide my arms around his neck, my thighs still cradling his hips, and we lie there like that as the last of the aftershocks shudder through us, leaving us a warm, relaxed tangle of limbs and breath.
When our heartbeats have slowed, almost fully returned to normal, he lifts his head and spears me with his gaze. “No more leaving.” It’s a statement. A command. “Promise.”
Sucking in a breath, I blink back the tears that spring to my eyes. “I promise.”
“Even if the media attention never dies—which it will, eventually. But even if it doesn’t. That’s not a good reason to give up.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“I love you.” The words are a solemn intonation, a vow, every bit as important as the vows we spoke in that neon chapel full of fake white roses months ago.
“I love you too.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Brendan
Six months later
“It’s number one!” Lauren comes barging into the spare bedroom that we’ve turned into my studio and thrusts her phone in my face. “The track you did with Jonathan and Charlie! It hit number one!”
I sit back in my chair, smiling as I watch her squeal and do a happy dance. Then she launches herself at me, which is why I moved back from my desk and pushed the electronics farther away as soon as she came in screaming her excitement. I catch her easily in my arms, helping her get into position so she’s straddling me, standing tall on her knees and beaming down at me, her hands on my shoulders, mine on her ass. “You. Are. Amazing,” she says, punctuating each word with a tiny shake of my shoulders.
“Thank you. You’re pretty amazing yourself.”
She makes a face like I’m being ridiculous, but this year’s been her year. Her senior recital was two weeks ago, and it was amazing. I called it flawless at the time, but she scoffed and detailed the handful of mistakes she made. I still think it was flawless, though. I mastered the recording of it, after all. The things she considers mistakes are what make it unique to her.
I also made the recording of her audition for the concerto competition a few months ago. I thought she’d rocked it for that, but it wasn’t anything compared to her recital. And she’ll be playing that for the finals in a few more weeks. She’s going to kill it. I know it. And I’ll be with her for every step of the way. Once she wins, which she will, we can add that to her list of accomplishments, and then tackle the decision of where to go after she graduates. She’s been accepted to her top choices of graduate schools. And I can go wherever she goes.
Her eyes shine down at me, alight with happiness and love. “It’s all falling into place. This means that you really don’t need anything from The Professor anymore. Even if he tries to claim you didn’t contribute much to any of the projects you worked on for him”—which started happening almost as soon as I quit and made getting clients on my own much harder than it should’ve been—“he can’t take this away from you.”
I pull her down and kiss her hard. “I know. Which is why Jonathan and Charlie decided to release that single. They wanted to help me. I’ll get busier, though. Which means I’ll have to travel more.”
She shrugs and kisses me again. “I’m so proud of you.” Her voice is rough and her eyes bright with tears.
But these tears don’t gut me. They’re happy tears. And this is the best part of being with her—the way she doesn’t hold anything back from me anymore. Her happiness, her sadness, and everything in between.
I never would have guessed that the effects of one spontaneous decision over a year ago would reverberate through the rest of my life. But I’m so glad I decided to make one of her dreams come true.
Because now she’s my dream come true.
Epilogue
Colt
My brother Brendan’s voice comes through the headphones in my ear. “That was good. How did you feel about it?”
I swallow my mouthful of water and set the bottle back on the stand next to me, looking at him through the window between the booth and the soundproof recording studio. “Um, good? I think.” My voice cracks, which provokes a smile from him. I flip him off. He laughs, but I can’t hear him, because he’s not holding down the button to talk to me while he laughs at me.
Shaking his head, his chuckles filter into my ear. “Let’s give your pipes a rest, at least. Your falsetto’s great, but it’s rough on the cords when you do it that many times in a row.”
Nodding, I swallow another mouthful of water before standing and taking off my headphones as I head for the door. Brendan opens it for me, holding out a hand for the headphones. He stores them in their designated spot before sitting back at the desk in front of his computer. I take the open seat next to him.
I pick at the label on the plastic bottle, nervous about this whole thing. “You think it’s good, though? Good enough to shop around?”
His silence isn’t encouraging. “Your vocals are solid. You’ve been performing with Jonathan, which has to have drawn some attention your way. Has anyone approached you?”
My mouth twists with bitterness. “No.”
Brendan grunts. I’ve been trying to convince myself that no one’s approached me—no label
s, no managers, no one—because they think I’m happy to work with my brother.
But …
Jonathan got his break from a viral YouTube video. Yeah, our former fame helped, but …
But.
It’s always but.
We like you, but …
You sing well, but …
Too many buts.
I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of hiding behind my more famous brothers. I have the know-how. I have the connections. I just need to find that elusive spark, that edge, that’ll take me from nice, but … to killing it.
I’m not content to be Jonathan’s assistant for the rest of my life. He knows it as well as I do. Brendan’s helping me free of charge, taking more time than he probably would with anyone else for me to lay these tracks perfectly. He’s made a name for himself, gathering hits like a snowball rolling downhill grows until it’s enormous. And his roll isn’t even starting to slow.
Everyone’s clamoring to work with him.
And don’t even get me started on Jonathan …
He’s helped me too. But I can tell that neither of them are impressed.
Is it bias? They don’t take me seriously because they’ll always see me as the baby brother?
Or is there something I’m missing?
Grinding my teeth, I suck in a breath and force myself to let it out slowly. Brendan gives me a questioning look, familiar with all the self-calming techniques our mother made us learn as kids. He uses them too, but for him it’s more about performance anxiety. He hates playing shows. And now that he’s busier as a producer, he’s used it as an excuse not to anymore. Which means I haven’t been playing any shows either.
I meet his eyes, lifting my chin. “Is it the falsetto thing? You think it’s overdone? Adam Levine does it …”
He raises his brows and shrugs. “I don’t know, man. It’s not …”
Reverb (Songs and Sonatas Book 7) Page 25