She sent him a drowsy smile, and alarm bells went off in his head. There was no denying it; she was wasted.
“How did you get in here?”
“I never left.”
Jesus Christ. He hadn’t kicked all the hard shit to get brought down this way. “You need to get dressed, get your shit, and get the fuck out, Ava. I’m not even kidding.”
“Come on, Zane. I thought you’d be a little more hospitable.”
“Yeah, you would’ve been welcome to any room in the house, if you’d asked. Just not mine.”
“Oh, this is yours? My bad.” The sultry purr of her voice told him exactly how full of shit she was. “Well, now that I’m here and you’re here . . .” She studied him a little closer. “You look a little uptight, love. I could work that out for you.”
He shouldn’t have sent Jase home. Jase wouldn’t have given one single fuck throwing her out on her cute naked ass, no matter who she was. But Zane realized he was walking a very fine line here.
Tossing his cap and sunglasses down on top of his bag, he scrubbed both hands over his face. “That’s tempting, Ava. It is. But I think we ought to keep things professional right now. Don’t you?” Obviously, she didn’t, or she wouldn’t be butt-ass naked in front of him right now. Hopefully he could talk her around.
“Oh, fuck professionalism, Zane. You’ve been in this racket as long as I have. We do what we do so we can stick a middle finger in the face of professionalism. We can have whatever we want. Whoever we want. Haven’t you learned that yet?”
Rowan. I want Rowan. And I can’t have her.
He’d tried, he really had, not to think about Rowan any more than he had to. So sweet, so broken. He wanted to put her back together. Goddamn, if she were in his bed right now, gazing up at him with those sad green eyes still defiantly full of hope after everything she’d been through, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He would have worshiped her body until all she had to sob to him about was her pleasure. Even now, even at the merest hint of the idea, his balls tightened and his mouth ran dry.
And he had to keep those physical reactions in check, or Ava would think they were for her.
“I have someone,” he told her. It wasn’t the truth, not really, and yet it was.
“Your ‘date’ last night?” She said the word mockingly. Making it a joke.
“Yeah.”
“It isn’t serious, or she would be here with you.”
“It’s new. And I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize it right now. I’m sorry, Ava. You have to go.” Reaching behind him, he opened the bedroom door and swung it wide, not taking his eyes off her. “Please.” And he left her alone in the room.
All the oxygen in the universe seemed to converge on him at once when he was out of there, and he wondered if he’d been holding his breath through most of that exchange. Shaking his head at nothing in particular, he cursed whatever cosmic glitch had caused this fuckup in the flow of things. Wasn’t shit weird enough in his life right now? Fucking Ava Marks naked in his bedroom, practically begging him to fuck her. Hell, that was better than most fantasies ever got.
Not knowing what to do, he ambled his way into the kitchen and stood there, aimless, feeling a little too fucking useless for his liking. Ava could very well be destroying his house right now, but all seemed quiet. No explosions, no crashes, no shouted epithets questioning his manhood or the functioning thereof. Five minutes later, she peeked in the door, while he still stood staring straight ahead with his hands braced on the granite countertop. When he turned to meet her gaze, she glanced away, but if there was any hint of malice or humiliation in her pale eyes, she hid it well.
At least she was fully dressed.
“Before I leave, I thought I’d ask about doing our song live at some of the festivals we have coming up. We’ll both be at Hammerdown, right? If we debuted it during your set . . . fuck, Zane, your fans would lose their shit. YouTube would blow up.”
This, now this, was a prospect that excited him. Straightening, he gave her a nod. “Yours would love it too.”
Pursing her rosebud lips, she finally looked at him. A little aloof, maybe a little hurt. But at least she tried to wear the mask of professionalism, at least she still wanted to work with him. A definite plus. “It’s just an idea.”
“It’s a good one. It could coincide with the release of the single. I’ll have to make a few phone calls, but—”
“Of course. You know how to get in touch with me.”
He nodded again, and awkwardness descended like dead weight between them. For all his excitement over her idea, he hoped this wouldn’t happen when they were onstage together. The song was in no way romantic or anything, but it would require that they seemed to like each other, for fuck’s sake. If she got in front of thousands of fans and stared daggers at him, as she was suddenly doing right now, it would raise some eyebrows. He could only hope that time would heal the sting he’d inflicted.
Ava cleared her throat and turned to go, giving him one last glance over her shoulder. “I can say one thing for your girl, Zane. She’s one lucky bitch.”
Rowan wasn’t his, nor was she a bitch, but he let it go. Ava was leaving, and that was all he could ask for right then. But this time, he made sure she was really gone.
Chapter Four
Rowan,
I hope you like these. Listen at your leisure and let me know what you think.
I did write something for you . . . but I need to keep it to myself. For now.
I do hope I can share it with you someday.
~Z
What did that even mean?
Rowan read his email a dozen times and then read it a dozen more. He’d written something for her, but he couldn’t share it with her? What the hell had he written?
She pondered it as she sipped her decaf at her breakfast nook, while she clicked around idly on her phone and contemplated another empty day.
Had he written good things?
No. He’d written bad things. His lyrics could be bleak and sardonic and scathing, and there was no reason to think he would change that for her. She moved to her laptop to listen to the MP3 files he’d attached to the note, and sat openmouthed at what she heard.
It was . . . everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him and the guys. The gut-wrenching sucker punch of their earlier work, the high gloss of excellent production overlaying a brutality that left her breathless. And his voice. His voice, majestic and soaring and almost inhuman. It made her think of a wild animal, caged, enraged, waiting for its moment to tear its way out and take down everyone who had ever hurt it. Throat-shredding, raw and real.
“Oh my God,” she murmured to herself. She couldn’t even focus on the words yet, only the emotion driving them out.
It was surely too soon to call him raving. She didn’t want to seem desperate, or a bother. Instead, she clicked around on her computer, pulling up live performances shot from the audience on YouTube. So many shows. Some of the most popular videos were of unexpected incidents: losing power right in the middle of a set (Zane had not looked happy), surprise guests from other bands appearing onstage with them, rare songs they performed.
Then there were his social media accounts. He updated them himself, having almost a million followers on Instagram alone. It seemed to be his preferred outlet—his most recent posts had been studio shots, selfies, and images of his bandmates acting goofy. Before that had been backstage shenanigans and scenic views from his recent touring. She could search his hashtagged name and find hundreds of fan-posted pictures. My future husband, boasted one LarsonLover82 beside a particularly gorgeous shot of him grinning wickedly from the stage, black hair disheveled, graceful hands wrapped around his microphone.
“Whatever,” Rowan grumbled, and sipped her decaf. She was still snooping through his posts an hour later when she heard the front door open and close.
“Rowan?”
Only one person came and went from her house at will without knocking, and that
was her mother-in-law. Rowan tried to tell herself she didn’t mind. This had been Tommy’s house first, and his mother had been welcome at any time. Asking Regina to stop doing that, even politely, seemed impossible, especially since she was doing so much for Rowan and the baby.
No matter how badly she wanted to.
Quickly, Rowan shut down her computer. She didn’t bother glancing at herself in the mirror on the way out of the room; there was no help to be had. Regina, always perfect Regina, looked at her in surprise when she entered the living room.
“Sorry,” Rowan said, raising a hand self-consciously to her sloppy hair. She still wore her robe and hadn’t so much as picked up a brush since she tumbled out of bed after reading Zane’s email. “I haven’t been up long.”
It was a no-win situation. Either Regina was going to fret because she was sleeping so late, or fret because she was still sitting around looking like death when it was almost noon.
Regina waved a French-manicured hand dismissively, but Rowan didn’t miss the concern in her expression. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was shopping and I found the cutest things for the baby. Thought I’d bring them by and check on you.”
For the first time, Rowan noticed the bags she carried. More? She was running out of room as it was, and she wasn’t even halfway through the pregnancy. She didn’t even know what she was having yet. “Do you want some coffee? Decaf,” she amended quickly when Regina’s gaze snapped to her.
“Oh, you poor thing. No, I’d better pass.”
Yeah, Rowan would pass on decaf too, if she could. She tightened the belt on her robe and moved forward to hug the older woman, her familiar cloud of light, cheery perfume a comfort. “Thank you so much for this,” she told Regina, squeezing her tight, “but there won’t be anything left to get me at the shower if you keep it up.”
Regina patted Rowan’s back and released her with a chuckle, but still held her at arm’s length. “Believe me, honey, you can never have too much. You’ll learn. How are you feeling?”
Rowan nodded. “Pretty good.”
“You said before you’d been a little sick in the mornings?”
“I think that’s getting better.”
“Are you eating enough?”
She hadn’t eaten a thing since she’d gotten out of bed. Most days, it didn’t even occur to her. “I had a couple pieces of toast,” she said. It would make Regina feel better, and as soon as she left Rowan would choke something down just to add a little truth to the lie.
“You need more than that, Rowan. You have to keep your strength up.” She braced herself for the whole “eating for two” lecture. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Do you want me to fix you something?”
Oh, hell, now that was a new one. She nearly recoiled from the thought of Regina in her kitchen, searching her cabinets, trying to find something to cook. There wasn’t much to find. Rowan didn’t have anyone to cook for anymore, and sometimes she simply couldn’t face the thought of fixing something only for herself.
“No, no, don’t do that. Really, I’m fine, and I’ll have something else soon.”
“You know you can come over to the house anytime. In fact, I wish you would come by more often so I know how you’re doing. When do you go to the doctor again?”
The woman might as well just admit she wished Rowan would live with them. She expected the offer any day now. “A couple of weeks. I should find out the sex.”
“Good, good. We’ll make a day of it. I’ll take you to lunch.”
Rowan nodded, feeling numb inside. She loved Regina dearly, she really did. But . . . sometimes she was just too much to take. And as bad as it made her feel to think it . . . Regina was a poor replacement for her son. Her constant presence only affirmed his absence.
As if it needed affirming.
She would rather go to that appointment alone. Cry about it alone, or with her doctor, who had been a wonderful support throughout this entire ordeal. Dr. Madison often called Rowan out of the blue just to check on her.
“Maybe we can get Savannah to go too,” Regina said thoughtfully, walking over to idly straighten the throw pillows on the couch. Great. She would probably start inspecting tabletops, too, and notice the dust accumulating on every surface. “With her schedule now, though, I don’t know.”
“It’s fine if she can’t,” Rowan said quickly. Savannah was practically her best friend in the world, but even she grated Rowan’s raw nerves at times. “She’s busy with Mike.”
“I just wonder what’s going to come of this,” Regina fretted, picking at a loose thread on the couch as she sat. “This long-distance thing is going to get tiring for them, I’m sure.”
And then the question remained . . . would Mike leave everything he knew and move here, or would Savannah leave them all to move to Houston? “I think she’s pretty happy with keeping things the way they are right now. She says it’s kind of exciting.”
“She is happy,” Regina agreed, and a tinge of sadness crossed her face as her gaze wandered to the family portrait on the wall, the same one Zane had inspected just last night. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her.”
“I’m glad for her.”
“Me too. It isn’t exactly what I expected, but . . .”
Savannah and Michael had found beauty in their shared tragedy. Couldn’t be mad about that, right? Even if it left the rest of them out in the cold . . .
“I know,” Rowan said softly, walking over to sit next to Regina. She folded her hands in her lap and let silence fall. It lasted a good while and she wished she were anywhere else in the world but here.
She wondered what Zane was doing right now. Wondered what his private life was like, wondered what his house looked like, wondered so much.
Regina stayed for far longer than Rowan would’ve liked. She hated the silence and the sadness, but the only thing she hated worse was sharing it with someone else. Before Regina left, she had Rowan approve all the baby items—onesies and bibs and socks and so much cuteness. A sweet gesture that always left her feeling worse.
“By the way,” Regina said as she was going out the door, “Tommy’s birthday is in three weeks. We want to do something special.”
Rowan had to force a swallow past the lump in her throat. “What were you thinking?”
It came across as What did you have in mind? But she really did kind of mean What were you thinking?
“Nothing big. A get-together. If what happened to Tommy showed us anything, it was how short and uncertain life is. We thought we’d have some family and friends over, make more of an effort to keep in touch.”
“Regina, I . . . I’m not sure if I’d be up for something like that.”
Her mother-in-law’s perfectly arched brows drew together. She looked so much like Savannah when she worried, which was a lot. She looked like Tommy when she laughed. Which lately wasn’t too often. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. “Everyone would love so much to see you, though. It might do you some good to get out, be around people more.”
I’m right here, she wanted to say. People could come see her any time they wanted, but they didn’t. She couldn’t give voice to those black thoughts, though. Her tongue remained frozen by obligation.
“I’ll honestly have to think about that,” she said instead, wanting to scream. Too soon, too fucking soon. Tommy had been gone four months. Maybe the Dugas clan would rather mourn together, but Rowan would rather do it as she always had: alone.
“Please do,” Regina said, instead of realizing the entire thing was a terrible damn idea. She leaned forward to give Rowan another hug, but this one wasn’t as much of a comfort. Rowan stared straight ahead with burning eyes and wished twice as hard to be somewhere else, anywhere else. Anywhere but here.
* * *
“You haven’t called, you haven’t texted. You haven’t said a word about how it went with Zane.” Savannah sipped her mimosa, her eyebrow cocked.
Rowan looked at her across the table and grinned. Smooth, sooth
ing jazz floated through the air of their favorite brunch spot, overlaying the lazy buzz of late-morning conversation. She always wondered how many of the patrons were nursing hangovers with their Bloody Marys. Unfortunately, it was only orange juice for her.
“It went great,” she said, then took a sip as unease slid through her. She couldn’t talk to Savannah about these things. Tommy was her brother. “We had dinner and I took him on the ferry.”
“That’s all?”
“What else?” Rowan cast a meaningful eye down to her stomach. “It’s not like I can take him clubbing.”
“No, I know that. You wouldn’t want to do that with him, anyway. Just figured you might think of something else to do.”
“Nothing that Tommy and I didn’t do together all the time.”
“Oh.” Understanding filtered through Savannah’s dark eyes. So like Tommy’s. Sometimes it was like he was looking out at her through his little sister.
Rowan shrugged and glanced away. “I didn’t want to bore him for too long.”
“You didn’t bore him. Mike says he had a good time. He’s pretty mum on the whole thing too.”
It was definitely a special night that she would keep forever locked up in her heart. Something to take out and relive on the bad days, the hard days . . . until her last day, when hopefully it would pass before her eyes with all the other good times in her life.
“Maybe you could go with me the next time I go to Houston,” Savvy said hesitantly. “The change of scenery might do you some good. We could all go out.”
A double date? With Zane and Mike? “Are you serious?”
“Well, why not?”
The waiter came by to drop off their eggs Benedict, and the conversation stalled while he settled everything in front of them and refilled Rowan’s juice. Once he left, she shook her head. “I’m confused as to why you’re pushing this.”