Reverse (The Bittersweet Symphony Duet, #2)

by Kate Stewart

“I understand, I do. I’ll deal,” Mom assures me as the water boils over and the tell-tale fizzling sound goes off behind her. Oblivious and intent on our conversation, she ignores it. Dad snaps into motion, turning off the heat fueling both burners before smoothly sliding the saucepan to safety, his chuckle rumbling through the kitchen. “Babe, you’re not going to turn into Gordon Ramsay tonight. Let’s spare your pride.” She keeps her gaze fixed on me. “No matter what, I’m proud of you. I know how unbelievably talented you are, no matter what, okay?” I can’t help my grin. “Thanks, Mommy.” Dad gives me his signature scowl, but Mom smiles, her watery eyes gleaming with pride. “That natural shift to smartass is all me,” she declares proudly to Dad.

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Easton says as if it’s a fact. I narrow my eyes. “Assumptions make most people assholes, but you already have that market cornered, don’t you?” I widen my red eyes as Joel audibly snorts.

“Seatbelt,” he orders evenly, not budging an inch. “You can’t be serious, Easton, go!” I say frantically, reaching blindly for my seatbelt. “Afraid so. It’s apparent if anyone needs a safety net right now, it’s you.” I turn to glare at him as laughter bursts out of him, and I manage to click myself in.

“The truth is, ordinary humans are capable of doing extraordinary things every single day without living extraordinary, extra lives. It’s the art, the creativity that sets them apart, not what they fucking eat for breakfast or who they’re fucking. Let them have their eggs in peace.”

“All right, I’ll drop it for now. But if you don’t come upstairs, you know she’s going to—” “To what?” Mom snaps halfway down the stairs. Dad visibly flinches, a slight fear in his eyes when she reaches the landing, crossing her arms. “What’s she going to do?” “Jesus, Grenade,” he turns to her, a sparkle in his eye as he pats himself down. I bite my lip to hide my smile because I know what’s coming. “What are you looking for?” Mom asks, frowning. “Your muzzle,” Dad deadpans, and I can’t help my chuckle.

“I don’t know if I’ll be very good company today.” “That’s assuming you’re capable of improving it?”

“You sure you’re good?” He glances down at my sparsely covered plate, “Or should I order another beer and reload the trough?”

“You know, you’re really a nice guy on the B-side of that mastered A impression of a total asshole.”

“I’m also thinking you’ve never been properly kissed, fucked, or loved and that you caught a glimpse of something you want for yourself.”

“If you weren’t so determined to keep me out of your bed, I’d be fucking the breath out of you right now, Natalie.” I let out a shaky exhale as his erection brushes against me. “In my mind, I’ve already sunk inside you a thousand times.”

“Well, you’ll be dining on peanut butter and jelly in a van that smells like blue cheese instead.” I can’t help smiling. “You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet.” He leans in. “I’m planning on doing my fucking best.”

He sobers, pulling back slightly so I can clearly see the look in his eyes. “No, it’s not. You punched a hole in my goddamned chest in Seattle, only to leave me in the dark to try and figure out how to fill it.”

He leans down, so we’re eye level. “Your lips are swollen from my kiss, and I’m willing to bet good money that your panties are fucking useless. Should we find a place backstage where I can make my point clearer?” “You don’t have to…say things like that.” I feel my neck reddening as he presses in.

“You read my article?” He nods. “Yeah, and honestly, I’m relieved. You write so much fucking better than you speak.”

“Hey, grumpy, take a drink. The heat is making you irritable.” “Or maybe it’s the annoying-as-hell, buzzing, blue bee that can’t seem to sit still.”

“No. You decided. I allowed it because you could have turned me down flat yesterday, but you didn’t. You didn’t turn me down knowing full well that I would want to—and try to—kiss you…touch you…fuck you.” He grips my chin tightly before lifting it to brush his finger along my neck. “I don’t have the urge to call my friends and share my highs and lows. I don’t miss them with an ache so deeply etched inside that it keeps me awake at night, and I sure as fuck don’t drive for hours in hopes they’ll spend a few days with me. And I definitely don’t jerk off to the image of them coming on my cock. I don’t feel this way for my friends, Natalie—close or otherwise—so I dare you to call me your close friend again,” he warns. “I fucking dare you.”

“You’ve been making backward comments for the last two days, Natalie. Apparently, this is how you see me living, even though you spent four days witnessing the opposite back in Seattle. I could tell you all day, every fucking day, that this is not what my life is on the road, but…actions speak louder, and though words are supposed to be your kryptonite, mine don’t seem to do shit.”

“Intelligent men don’t let life-changing women pass them by without trying to grasp onto them with both hands. I don’t need endless months to figure out you’re that woman for me. I’m not most men, Natalie. I know exactly what I don’t want, and it’s everything outside of that door. What I do want is standing in front of me, and the idea of letting her walk away from me a second time is fucking eating me alive.”

“I want more for myself, and I want to give you so much fucking more. So, think of what you’re asking me because I know exactly what I’m asking of you,” his voice cracks with emotion. “This is me fighting dirty for us both, so please just admit it so I can give you the best parts of me, because I want every fucking part of you.”

“The phone,” I grin. “I mean, I’m not saying I want to get off, either, you know what I mean.” “There’s that gift by way of words. Thank God I speak fluent Butler gibberish.”

It’s when he sees the blush shading some of my afterglow that he tips my chin in concern. “Was that too much?” “Yes, Easton, far too much. You don’t have a cock. You have an Amazonian water snake in your pants.”

He turns sharply. “You. Are. My. Wife.” “I know that, but—” “No, you don’t. Nothing comes before you now, not even my career. All I have to do is make music. I lived as a rock star’s son. I don’t have to live that lifestyle to fulfill my dreams. I just have to make music. In fact, I would prefer the opposite. I don’t want to be homesick on the road. I don’t want to spend endless months apart from you. Not even weeks. Not even a fucking week. That’s what I don’t want.”

“Have you forgotten, jealousy is new for me, and me and the green guy are not fucking getting along well at all.”

“I left you alone in it—I didn’t mean to, but I did. I let their past and my guilt tear us apart. I allowed my relationship with my father to overrule the most important love of my life—you. I took your patience and love for granted, Easton, because I believed in you—in everything you said, in the way you viewed and felt about us, because I felt and believed it too. But I didn’t nurture us the way I should have, when you needed me most, because I was too terrified to lose my future. But I lost it anyway when I lost you…and I miss you so much. I miss us. I regret more than anything, not apologizing for my mistakes when I had the chance.” I step closer to him, and he remains where he stands. “Married or not, I want the chance back to uphold those vows. I want the chance to be the partner you deserve. I w-want you t-to take me back.”

He grips my hand and presses a delicate kiss to the back of it. “I know exactly what you mean. You asked me once when I knew I loved you.” He takes my finger and runs it along the loop in his Chihuly tattoo. “Well, this loop represents you, literally, figuratively, and poetically, but crazier than that, predictively—because fuck, reckless and naïve—we’re the definition of insanity. But I’ll take insanity any day. I’ll relive it with you on loop.”