More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Hey, it’s Supernatural. Castiel is my boy.”
Killian snorts one last time. “Biggest rock band in the world and we’re sitting around drinking beers and watching paranormal melodrama.” “Yeah,” Whip says, accepting a beer. “Life’s pretty fucking grand, ain’t it?”
“I mean it, Rye. You have a way with music that’s transcendent. Killian and Jax might write the lyrics, but you polish everything up and breathe life into them.”
“Are you trying to sabotage me?” I ask lightly, because I know he isn’t really. But he answers with quiet seriousness. “No, Berry. Never that. I’d wish you luck right now, but you don’t need it. And, admittedly, I don’t know if I can wish you luck.” “Why?” I whisper, feeling the need to follow his hushed tone. “Because I don’t want you to go.”
I’m restless in a way that no amount of performing will settle. It’s her. She’s in my blood now. When I’m with her, it’s like nothing else. No better high. When I’m not with her? I am lost.
“She doesn’t want anyone to know.” “But I guessed it,” Whip fills in. “So you’re not really breaking her secret.” A snort escapes. “That’s a thin-ass excuse, and we both know it.” “But it’s the defense we’ll go with if asked.” “Sometimes I forget your mom is a lawyer.”
“Yeah, I just bet your dick was doing all the thinking.” “To be clear, I’m not regretting the decision, and neither is my dick, because the sex is off-the-charts fantastic—shit, I didn’t say that! You did not hear me say that.”
“I like her, Whip.” Like is too weak a word. But it’s the only one I can say.
“It’s a risk,” I say. Whip shrugs. “Everything worth having is a risk.”
His belt buckle clinks, a sound that goes straight to my happy bits, and then he’s popping the buttons of his jeans. Pop, pop, pop. Good God, when did getting undressed become a symphony?
“Oh,” he says as if remembering something. “And you wear that vanilla and caramel cookie scent when dealing with Flo. Until the day it’s over, when you switch to celebratory lemon cake perfume. Both of which, by the way, drive me absolutely frantic to take a bite out of you.”
I can’t. I CANT WITH THE SWOON
He smells of stale plane air and warm, earthy Rye; there’s no other scent like him. I’d know it in the dark now—rich and deep yet crisp, like fine bittersweet chocolate. People’s natural scents don’t actually smell like foods or spices, but it’s the closest I can think of. He’s hot, melted chocolate to my senses.
“Never be afraid to fly, Bren. Even if it takes you from all you know.”
“You really came all this way just to sleep with me?” There’s a beat of silence before he answers, his voice a whisper with an edge of surprise. “Yeah, I did.”
I had no idea just sleeping with someone I have a connection with could be this good. It feels like solace. Like true rest. Right here, in the light of the morning, with Brenna James wrapped around me in blissful sleep, the world stops spinning.
I can play any instrument put in front of me. It isn’t a trick but simply a part of my essential makeup, like the color of my eyes or that I’m left-handed. But lying there that day, alone and confused, I realized the bass guitar offered something I’d been searching for—an outlet where I could bang out beats or strum taut melodies. I could let the rage, the pain, out in a way that would satisfy some critical need within.
But here, with Brenna’s funny little snores buffeting my chest, it hits me with a calm certainty that music isn’t the entirety of my heart and soul. It no longer owns me completely. She’s there too, in my heart and soul. A touchstone in the darkness of uncertainty.
All these years, I never knew she was truly listening. I never knew she liked what I said. Amber eyes hold mine. “Music is part of your heart and soul, Rye. Whether you play or not, that will never change. You will always be able to express yourself through it and move people with your love of it.” Hell.
“Rye, you don’t ever have to thank me for having your back, because I always will.” Just like that, I’m done for.
“I went to Chicago to try and distract myself while you were gone,” he says in the face of my silence. “I tried and failed. Because it hit me that where you are is where I want to be.”
I don’t know why I’m asking, or why I’m still on the phone. I should hang up. But I can’t. I never can. Where my parents are concerned, I am a glutton for punishment.
But talking to my mom has my blood running cold. Because how much of what I fear has to do with the shit she’s put in my head over the years?
Truth? I don’t think I’m good enough for anyone. And here’s the real horror: this is the complete opposite of what I project to the world. On the outside, I am a confident woman who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. I don’t let anyone fuck with me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He smiles wide and adopts an affected English accent. “I’m your driver, Lady Brenna. Varg Hall awaits. Let us away posthaste so we may indulge in decadent revelries.”
“I am horrified that you know my luggage.” Whip gives me a sidelong glance. “Custom-made Gucci luggage has a way of making a lasting impression, Bren.” My cheeks warm. “Yeah, well, blame Scottie. They were a gift from him for my twenty-first birthday.” The guys took me out drinking, and I got a killer hangover in return. Scottie gave me luggage. Is there any wonder why he’s my secret favorite?
“I know. You know what he gave me for my twenty-first? Mutual funds for my retirement years.” I stumble a step. “He did not!” “Yep,” he says cheerfully. “Those fuckers have already made me a ton of money too.”
Whip says it kindly, but I’m thoroughly chastised all the same. I also love him with my whole heart in this moment, because he’s protecting Rye in a way few people would. Overwhelmed, I lean across the seat and kiss his cheek. “You’re a good guy, William.”
That smile, it’s the sun rising over a dark hill. It spreads over his face and lights his eyes.
God, but she’s sharp-edged beautiful in this faded watercolor world of mine. She makes my knees weak and my heart ache. And all I can do is stare at her, afraid to blink and find she’s gone.
Every time I see Brenna James, I want to unwrap her like the gift that she is. But she’s not mine anymore.
“You were really good with those kids,” she says, breaking the silence. Her lips quirk. “Cute, even.” “Cute. What every man wants to hear: he’s cute.” Frankly, I’ll take the compliment with pleasure, but a guy has to at least pretend he doesn’t want to preen with pleasure over being called cute by the girl he’s gone for.
“Fine. How about this? Despite having the body of Ares,”—I stumble a step at her words—“and the musical talent of Apollo, you retain the childlike wonder of…shit, my knowledge of Greek mythology has run dry.” “That’s still a lot of Greek,” I croak, my cheeks warm.
I want to wrap my arms around her, but it’s not my place to hold her anymore. Maybe it never was. The thought depresses me.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, almost lightly, like he’s not slicing into my heart. “I’ve spent my entire adult life either wanting you or wanting to forget you.”
“But in all that time, I never tried being your friend.” He glances away for a second, giving me his tightly drawn profile, before meeting my eyes once again. His are dark and troubled. “I should have tried.”
“Your daughter is bold, intelligent, and one of the most respected people in the music industry. She’s the living heart of this band. She doesn’t hang on to us. She holds us up.” You complete and utter dick drizzle. “And if you can’t see how great she is, then you don’t deserve her.” Scottie raises his glass. “Hear, hear.” Our friends follow suit, all of them wearing various expressions of fierce protectiveness and simmering rage.
🥺
“So superior, Xander. In your Italian loafers, playing country lord of the manor.” “Well, one ought to wear the proper footwear when lording,” Xander intones. I’ve always liked Xander.
And I’m left with the cold fear that I might never be able to convince her that love isn’t what breaks people apart; it’s what holds them together.
Some people will say words are just air, they aren’t real. As though you don’t need air to breathe, to live. Words can kill parts of your soul with astonishing ease.
“While everyone was arguing, I started thinking about my parents—coming to a realization, actually. Thing is, I love them, but I don’t like them. I could hunt them down, have a knock-down, drag-out fight about their shitty behavior or why they can’t accept me for who I am, but it won’t change anything.” A humorless laugh escapes. “I suspect only years of family therapy would fully eradicate our issues.”
“Brenna, the way that man looks at you is not that of a friend.” “We barely look at each other.” “And in those non-looks, everything is exposed. He is either in love with you or falling fast.”
WhipIt: She took his phone, didn’t she? JaxJax: Count on it. Scottie? I know you’re curled around Sophie like she’s your woobie, but we’ll need confirmation of attendance, because you’re evil and no one trusts you not to turn into a snake or something to get away. MrScott: Sorry, must run. About to dematerialize. BrennaBean: I’m joining Scottie aboard the mothership, away from you yahoos Stella!!!: FUNNY. Now get your butts down here. All of you. RYE! I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing. Rye-Rye: I was having the weirdest dream. You all were in it. No. Wait. It was a nightmare. Or
...more
He’s wearing ice-blue Dolce & Gabbana silk pajamas. My lips twitch. “Sophie got you those, didn’t she?” There is a certain model featured in a Dolce & Gabbana perfume ad campaign that could be Scottie’s twin. We’re never allowed to speak of it or him. But Sophie likes living dangerously. That, and she has her man twisted around her clever little fingers.
“Look who’s playing the role of sexy Santa,” Sophie says with a grin. Rye grimaces, a cute flush running over the bridge of his nose. “My mom got them for me.” And I die. I’m pretty sure all the women in the room sigh as one.
Killian runs a hand through his hair, the epic scowl still twisting his features. “Look, I know we all have a right to our private lives, but can we agree to tell each other the big stuff? Can we do that at least? Because it seems to me that we’re stronger when we come together, as opposed to going it alone.”
Never be afraid to fly, Bren. Even if it takes you from all you know.
“Finally.” Jax lifts his hands in exasperation. “It was a nightmare keeping silent.” “Amen,” Whip agrees with feeling. Killian gapes. “You two knew?” I gape too. Not because of Whip, but because almost everyone at the table is nodding. “From the beginning,” Scottie deadpans. “Well, I didn’t,” Sophie wails. She glares at her husband. “You kept this from me. This? Gabriel!”
“I can’t believe you guys knew,” I say, still not quite able to look at Rye. I’m aware of him, though, sitting there, humming with tension, staring at me like he can’t quite figure out what the hell I’m doing. Jax laughs shortly. “Honey, if you’re trying to be discreet, you can’t be making out in your kitchen during family dinner.” Killian makes a noise of disgusted horror.
Libby’s amused voice tugs my attention away from Rye. “I guessed but didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. It was your body language. People fucking…” She gives a stewing Killian a hesitant glance. “Er…having sex, act differently around each other.” “Yeah, it was pretty obvious,” Stella says, then smiles at Killian. “Well, to some of us.”
I turn to Scottie, because he’s far too quiet and way too smug. “How did you know from the beginning, Gabriel?” He gives me a “get real” look. “I knew what would occur the second Rye stormed out of Stella’s birthday party.” “Oh, you did, did you?” Arrogant ass. He probably did. He’s creepy that way. “Love, why do you think I set you up with Marshall, who happens to look far too similar to a certain dithering idiot here? I’d had it with all the sexual tension dressed up as antipathy. Thought you both could use a little motivation.” “That’s some Machiavellian shit right there,” Jax says with a
...more
I love him I love him. I fucking love him 🥺😭🤣
