Sing for Me (The Langston Brothers Duet, #2)

by Brittany Ann

For eight seconds, I would be at peace. For eight seconds, I was just Mason. For eight seconds, I was free.

The crowd was chanting my name, so I did a slow turn, taking my hat off for them. A smile spread across my face, the same as always, practiced and perfected. Fake. A show. A trick.

“Men don’t hurt women,” he stated, his jaw tightening. “Men who do pay.” Emotion swelled in my throat at his words, at his promise of justice. This was the kind of man this planet needed to be filled with.

She had the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen, like a cloudless sky in the middle of summer. They reminded me of simpler times, times when I was innocent and free of torment. I’d never seen eyes like hers, not anywhere else in the world. I could stare at them for forever, if she let me.

“Hurting women isn’t something I’m a fan of, Pam. You know that,” I reminded her. “Despite everything, you should know that. I’m a decent fucking human.”

I wanted to be hidden, forgotten. I used to dream of it, and the peace that would come with it.

He was the first ray of sunlight that peaked through the clouds after a storm. He was a beautiful chord in a song that sent goosebumps across my skin. He was every note in the music I’d been writing for the last two months.

I never really had my own space, and now, I do. There was something powerful and beautiful in that, something I treasured.

“You are stronger than your trauma. You are braver than your fears. You have blossomed over these last six years, and the progress you’ve made should be proof enough that you’re an incredible, strong, resilient woman.”

Life was good at the Farmer’s Market. It was simple, humble, and downright beautiful.

“I’m not going to push you, Little Song, but you need to know you’re safe with me.”

A woman like her shouldn’t be healing. A woman like her should have a life filled with nothing but happiness and love. A woman like her deserved to have a reason to smile every day, her only tears being happy ones. A woman like her needed the world placed at her feet. I would be the one to give it to her.

Her blue found my gray, and suddenly we were lost in an unforgiving ocean of pain, fear, and trauma, our pasts demanding control. Then, like a lighthouse, shining like a beacon, she called out to me, the boat beneath us steadying at her words. “My soul trusts you.”

All I cared about was this, right here, this kiss that seemed to stop time. Harmony, my little song, kissed me back, giving herself to me. It was the greatest gift I’d

“She knows my soul, and I know hers. We are the same. Broken always finds broken.”

Dr. G told me life was about finding peace and beauty in small moments. Romanticize everything you can, Harmony.

“Considering the man forked over half a million just to watch you, no. I think you should go to a show,” Billie noted. I blinked and looked at my bedroom door. “Isn’t it too soon for that? I mean, technically, we haven’t even had a date yet.” She scoffed. “No, he just pulled a grown man off you, threw him a few feet and then watched over you for the last two months. Not to mention, he practically inserted himself into your life in the most Alpha-male way possible and kissed you so good, your body rose from the dead.”

Harmony Green was a drug to me, foreign and stronger than the drug of bull riding.

“I want to know you. I want to know the passions and secrets behind those mesmerizing blue eyes. I want to know everything that makes you smile. I brought you tulips because I saw how happy they made you at the Farmer’s Market. I stood in the shadows and watched your beautiful face somehow become even more stunning as you smiled. My eyes want to see that smile every fucking chance I can get. I want to know what makes you laugh; I want to drown in the sound of it. Hell, baby, I want to be the reason,” he admitted, his voice rough. His thumbs stroked my cheeks. “I want to know the name of the mother fucker who hurt my little song, who made her afraid to sing.”

“The second I saw you pressed against the wall, scared beyond comprehension, I wanted to shield you from him. Not just him, Harmony, but everything else in this shitty world. I wanted to protect you, make you feel safe.” He wanted to protect me. He wanted to make me smile. Don’t try to push him away again. “Why?” I croaked. “Fuck if I know. All I know is that I gotta,” he growled as his lips slammed down on mine.

Six years. Six fucking years of not being kissed without being forced. Six years of not being touched. Six years of nightmares, loneliness, and healing to get here, where a man looks at me like Mason does. Six years of having to protect myself, and now I have a man wanting to do it for me.

“This being the strong pull we both have to each other and don’t try to bullshit me like you did at the clinic. You feel this, Harm. You do, and so do I. This would consist of me going off to ride bulls and coming back here to you. This would be, instead of knocking on your door and taking the shit into the kitchen, I would press you against the nearest wall and kiss you until you were dripping for me as a hello. This would be, eventually, baby, you in my bed, taking my cock, coming on my cock, and loving every fucking second of it. This would be me taking you out and showing you off to every unlucky motherfucker who wishes they were me.

You weren’t a part of my plan, but I have been thanking the heavens above every single day for hearing your cry for help.”

“You needed me, and I came, baby. I’ll always come. Don’t give a fuck who I gotta go through. You call, I come.”

“You said you wanted this, Harmony,” he growled. “Gonna have to clue you in, seeing that fucker still has his claws in you so deep, you don’t know what’s standing right in front of you. Me. Let me erase that doubt you’ve got swirling in your head, doubt that fucker put there. You. Are. Mine. You’ve been mine from the moment I saw you in that damn hallway. Gave you time, Little Song, even gave you a choice. You said yes. You want me—you get all of me.”

don’t want to be controlled,” I whispered. “You’re free with me. You just gotta trust me,” Mason promised. “My sweet girl called me, something in her voice told me something was wrong, and I came. Didn’t think anything of it. Just needed to get to you.”

“Harmony Green, you are worth every ounce of trouble you throw my way.” His words crashed into my soul, oozing over the shattered pieces. Slowly, oh so slowly, those pieces started to come together again.

“I’m a cowboy, and we protect our own. You are mine. Therefore, I protect you. Simple as that. Don’t give a fuck who I’m protecting you from; if they hurt you, they deal with me. When I said you get all of me, you get all of me, including the cowboy. It’s who I am, Harm. Down to the bone,” he said, his voice fierce.

“I’m poison to cowboys, Mason.” He shook his head again, his throat bobbing. “How can you be poison when you’re my cure?”

With each stroke of his tongue, he chased everything away. The doubt. The poison. The fears the monster from the depths sent to the surface in hopes to push Mason away. Newsflash: this cowboy wasn’t going away. Even if he was fighting for his life, he wasn’t going away.

Her features softened. “I forgive you.” “Get used to saying those words. This isn’t the last time I’ll piss you off. That’s the cowboy in me. Cowboys piss off women.”

As soon as the words were out, I watched my little song’s face break out into a brilliant, blinding smile as she tossed her head back as a soft, raspy, throaty laugh came from her. I watched in awe, pondering what type of bastard would hurt a woman like this with a laugh like that. Add in her smile, her beauty, her curves, and her sass…I was still coming up blank. I did know one thing, though. I was going to kill him.

“You are a beautiful, intelligent, young woman. A person having darkness and pain in their past doesn’t make them unworthy of happiness. I’ve told you this before, Harmony, you are not unworthy of anything. You deserve love and happiness just like anyone else.”

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his voice rougher and deeper than before. My core spasmed, and I felt a different kind of wetness between my thighs. It was Mason. All him. I had nothing to do with this. I put the phone on speaker before setting it on top of the long-forgotten book. Persephone could have Hades; I wanted my bull rider.

“I got you out of there because the second I saw you; I knew this wasn’t a fucking game. Not anymore—never has been to me, Harmony. You’re healing, and, darlin’, I respect that, I really do. You need space. You need a man who’s patient with you. You need a gentle man, one who will take you slow and sweet. I’m not slow and sweet. I’m hard and fast. I don’t make love—never have. I fuck. Hard.”

“Rode a monster tonight to get my eight seconds of peace—of silence. Didn’t get that, baby. I got your voice; it was the only thing I could hear as that fucker tried to throw me off. When it was all over, I looked up and saw you there—here—watching me.” “Yes,” I whispered. He pressed his hand harder against mine, thrusting his hips into my palm. “Had to get you out of there because if didn’t, I was gonna fuck you in front of those cowboys. Those underserving sons of bitches shouldn’t see beauty like yours.”

“Do you trust me?” he demanded, his lips an inch from mine. There was a storm forming around us now, trapping us within its eye, and as everything around us was in chaos, we held on to each other, our souls, finding each other after braving the storm alone for so long. We met in the center of it, broken, hopeless, and desperate. Desperate for a connection. Desperate for acceptance. Desperate for love. “My soul does, Mase.” “Fuck,” he groaned as his lips slammed down on mine.

He reached up and pulled the hat off, setting it beside my bottle. The sight of it caused my heart to skip, and my broken soul picked up another piece, slowly repairing itself—healing.

The dress made me feel beautiful, but the Docs gave me an extra layer of emotional protection.

“Turns me on so much that you don’t try to change yourself for me, Harmony,

A broken artist and a broken cowboy, lost in a storm we never wanted to end.

“God ain’t here, baby. If you wanted God, you should’ve stayed away from cowboys,” he ground out as he snapped his hips again, pulling out of me and thrusting back in. “Ironic, seeing as how your wet little pussy is the closest thing to heaven I’ve ever fucking felt.”

My eyes remained closed, and my ears were filled with a wonderful beat, a steady rhythm. Mason’s heartbeat. The most beautiful song ever written.

The universe was apologizing for the torture that was thrusted upon me, the darkness I was drowned in, filling my lungs and leaving them tainted. The universe was apologizing for the years lost, the sleepless nights, the screams of terror. The universe was apologizing for breaking me and taking away my light. It came in the form of a smile—a real, genuine smile. It was a smile that stretched so beautifully across a man’s face that my soul sighed in awe, the bruises on my heart healing, the doubt in my mind vanishing Mason Langston was smiling at me.

A dimple on his right cheek appeared, saying hello and giving me a glimpse of a younger, happier cowboy—a boy free from pain. His white teeth gleamed in the early morning sun, so bright that I knew this was a gift from heaven above.

There, seared into his right shoulder, the skin a deep, ugly red and scarred over was the brand of Hallow Ranch. Then, as tears filled my eyes and rage burned in my blood, I knew I was in love with Mason Langston.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never met the man in person, but I could tell by his voice—that man loves you. Nothing will change that.” “You don’t know that,” I snapped, looking back at him. He gave me a weak, half smile. “That man’s a cowboy, sweetheart. Cowboys only love once, and they never stop.”

“I’m damaged,” she croaked out. “Not. To. Me.”

Tim Moonie was part of her song, but he wasn’t in the final chorus. No, that would be reserved for her and me, for the happiness that I would spend the rest of my days trying to give her. She could have the world if she asked, but right now, I needed her to sing for me.

He was made for me, and I, him. When I broke away, leaning my forehead against his, I told him about her. About how she looked. How sweet she sounded. Then, when our cheeks were covered in tears, I told him about Sammy. My precious little wildflower. When I was done, he told me something, too, healing my soul completely, making me whole again. “Sammy is mine, you hear me? He doesn’t get her. That’s my daughter. If somehow, a cowboy like me gets into heaven, that little girl is mine. Fuck, I love her so much.” “Mason…” I buried my face in his neck, crying. “I love her mommy, too. Fuck, baby, I love you both so much,” he cried, his arms tightening around me. We laid there, holding on, and crying—mourning. Hours or minutes later, whenever sleep came to bless me, I heard my husband whisper to the ceiling. “I forgive him, Momma. I forgive Denver for the sins he didn’t commit. Take care of our wildflower for us, yeah?”