FLOWERS ON THE WALL (25 page)

"No good?"

"You know damn well it's great. Women will weep when they hear it. Shit, I got a little teary myself."

"Me too." Ashe slapped Ryder on the back.

"Then why am I crazy?"

"Because you're here instead of with Quinn. Unless you were communing with some mystery woman for the last month, I assume the song is for her."

"I…" It wasn't that Ryder wanted to deny Ashe's statement. But it was harder than he expected to say the words.

"Give the guy a break." Dalton grabbed three beers from the mini-fridge. He was never comfortable with showing emotions. "We're dudes. We aren't supposed to say that shit to each other." Handing out the bottles, he tapped his against Ryder's. "Save the declarations for your lady."

Ashe joined the toast. Taking a sip, he sent Ryder a speculative look. "Which brings me back to my original question. Why aren't you with Quinn? Play her that song. However you screwed up, that will be an apology she can't resist."

"I didn't screw up."

Ashe snorted. Dalton merely shook his head.

Okay
, Ryder conceded,
maybe I had
. But not the way Ashe meant. There had been no blow-up. He and Quinn hadn't exchanged angry words that couldn't be taken back. Ryder's mistake had been not recognizing what had been in front of him the whole time.

"Are you going after her?"

Scratching at his beard, Ryder caught his reflection in the glass tabletop. That was the plan. After he had a shave and a haircut. If he was going to put his heart on the line, he didn't want to show up at Quinn's door looking like Leonardo DeCaprio in the
Revenant
.

"The jet is fueled and ready." Ryder tossed Dalton his phone. "There is a month's worth of songs. You guys can take a listen and we'll start work when I get back."

"Take your time." Dalton connected the phone to his laptop. "Have you seen Zoe?"

"I called her, but it went to voicemail. Is she in the building?"

"I haven't seen her today." The upload from the phone complete, Dalton handed it back to Ryder.

"Ashe?"

"No. I—"

"You're back!" Zoe burst into the studio. Tossing her bag in the general direction of the table, the contents spilling out across the surface. Unconcerned, she threw her arms around Ryder. "I should have known this would be your first stop."

Laughing, Ryder swung his sister in a circle. This was the Zoe he knew as a child. She never hesitated to smile or hug. When they were separated and put into foster care, she drew into herself, becoming shy and reserved. The adult Zoe didn't suffer from those maladies. However, it was rare for her to publicly show her affection. Hugging her back, Ryder savored the moment.

"You know me well." Holding her at arm's length, Ryder whistled. "You always look good, Zoe, but you didn't have to dress up just for me. Nice jacket. Is that new?"

Not quite meeting Ryder's gaze, Zoe tugged on the hem.

"I had an appointment."

Ryder knew his sister. Zoe met everything—and everyone—straight on. The only time she didn't look him in the eyes was when she had done something she didn't want him to know about.

"What's going on, Zoe?"

"And why did you fly to San Francisco?"

"What?" Ryder turned to see Dalton take an airline ticket from where it had fallen from Zoe's bag.

"I went to see Quinn." Zoe lifted her chin defiantly. "And before you ask, I had a good reason."

Ryder's stomach knotted. He could tell by the glint in Zoe's eyes that whatever had happened, it couldn't be good. Still, there was no point in overreacting before he had the facts. He watched as she hit a few buttons on Dalton's computer.

"There," she stepped aside. "See what that
photographer
did."

"I didn't realize
photographer
was a four-letter word," Ashe said.

"Fuck you, Ashe."

"Now,
that
is a four-letter word I recognize."

Ryder ignored Zoe and Ashe. Standing beside Dalton, he looked at the screen.

"
TMZ
, Zoe? Really?"

"Read the headline."

Ryder Hart Band Coming Apart at the Seams
. Ryder sighed. It was the same old crap.
TMZ—
and their ilk—had the band breaking up every other month. Mostly, it had to do with his
mysterious
disappearance.

"They used the fact that I was out of town to up their advertising revenue. What does it have to do with Quinn?"

"This time, it's more than speculation, Ryder. They have facts that nobody knows but us. All the tabloids are running with it. This time, that ubiquitous inside source is real."

"You don't mean Quinn?" Ryder laughed. Then he realized Zoe was serious. "You're wrong, Zoe."

"What is it about that woman?" Zoe looked at Ryder, shaking her head. "From the moment you met her, you lost your common sense. She used you to make a quick buck, Ryder."

"Have you read this?" Ashe asked Dalton.

Dalton's reaction was grim. "I did."

"Quinn couldn't have done this," Ryder said emphatically. He wanted his bandmates—his friends to understand.

"What makes you so certain?" Zoe challenged.

"Because most of the shit concerns me," Dalton answered before Ryder could.

"So?" Zoe saw the facts; she couldn't understand why they weren't as incensed as she was.

"What Dalton understands without me having to explain is that I didn't tell Quinn anything about him. Or Ashe." Ryder met his sister's gaze. "Or you. She has a lot of ammunition that she could have used. But it all has to do with me. Nothing I shared with her—nothing, Zoe—is in that article."

To give her credit, Zoe had the grace to look contrite. Tentatively, she reached out her hand.

"I was certain I was right."

Since she was little, Ryder had done everything in his power to protect Zoe. How could he stay angry when she tried to do the same for him? As misguided as it had been, her actions were guided by love. He took Zoe's hand and squeezed. Ryder couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw a trace of moisture in her blue eyes. When was the last time he had seen Zoe close to tears? It was too long ago to remember.

"Quinn will understand." Dalton gave Zoe a restrained kick in the butt. Before she could release her wrath, he pulled her in for a hug. After a brief hesitation, she hugged him back. "It was this knucklehead who screwed up, Ryder."

"Quinn struck me as a forgiving woman." Knowing Zoe had her limits, Ashe refrained from a full-blown hug, opting for one arm and a quick squeeze. "She won't slam the door in your face. But just in case? Bring flowers and talk fast."

It wasn't bad advice. But ordering flowers was easy. He could have two dozen roses waiting for him at the airport. No, Quinn needed his words, not an easy gesture.

"Ryder?" Zoe asked as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

Impatient, Ryder sent her a questioning look.

"May I drive you?"

It wasn't an apology. Zoe would wait until they were alone for that. A car ride to the airport would be a good start. Once Ryder worked things out with Quinn, it would be up to his sister to smooth things over.

Ryder slung an arm over Zoe's shoulder.

"Come on. I have a woman to woo."

THE ADVANTAGES OF living in San Francisco were too numerous to list. Quinn had fallen in love with the city at first sight. The culture. The abundance of fresh produce and seafood. The people. And the fact that no matter where she went, the workout she received walking up and down the many hills was better than anything she would find at an expensive fitness club. The street outside her apartment building was a perfect example. A simple trip to the grocery store and she could almost picture her muscles getting stronger—her legs getting long and lean.

Quinn gripped the handles of her eco-friendly totes. She had gone a little overboard, but she justified the purchases as necessary pantry staples. Her cupboards were bare. The dried pasta and boxed crackers would last for months—years, if push came to shove. Fresh fruit and vegetables were always a must. When she was in the mood for a big green salad or a crunchy apple, nothing else would do.

Admittedly, she could have passed on the freshly baked Caramel Pecan Dreams. But a dozen of the irresistible treats hadn't added that much bulk to her already overflowing bags. Like the salad and the apple, when Quinn needed a sweet treat, there was no substitute for ooey-gooey. The fact that they reminded her of Ryder purely coincidental.

Shopping had been a good distraction. However, as Quinn rounded the corner and began the last of her trek home, she couldn't help but think about Zoe and her accusations. Did Ryder believe his sister? Did he think she had taken his trust and broken it into a million pieces? Money was a huge motivator. Perhaps, like Zoe, Ryder would forget everything he had learned about her and think Quinn cared more about padding her bank account than their friendship—or her love.

The truth wasn't pretty—in cases like this, it seldom was. Quinn had called a contact at the tabloid. The woman owed her a favor—a big one. She had initially balked at revealing the source—it was against the paper's policy, and even gossip rags had ethics. Of course, those ethics were surface-shallow and easily skewed to fit the situation. It didn't take Quinn long to get the information she needed.

A few years ago, she had suppressed some pictures that would have ruined the other woman's marriage. Quinn would never have published the photos. She had deleted them from the camera and destroyed the hard copy. However, a favor had been promised. Until today, Quinn hadn't been able to imagine a reason arising for her to cash it in.

Stopping halfway up the hill, Quinn set the bags on the sidewalk. She took out her phone, checking the texts and missed calls—for the tenth time. No, make that eleven. Nothing had changed. There was nothing from Ryder. Either he was still at his cabin or Zoe had gotten to him and… What? Quinn closed her eyes, her head falling back. It was the not knowing that drove her crazy. If Ryder believed the worst, Quinn wouldn't blame him. Or so she told herself. Zoe was his sister. They were enviably close with a long and emotional history. Quinn was new—a blip on his timeline. But damn it, she wanted him to at least hesitate before condemning her outright. Was that too much to expect?

Call him
. It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed Quinn's mind. She ran her thumb over Ryder's number. It was tempting. With a shake of her head, she put her phone away before she gave in. The ball was in his court. He could get in touch or delete her from his life altogether. It was a depressing thought. Ryder wasn't her lover. With the push of a button, she would cease to be his friend. What would that make her? Irrelevant? Forgotten? Quinn sighed. She knew what she was. Pathetic.

Quinn had just bent to retrieve her bag when she heard the music. The faint sound of a lone guitar picking out a melody that was strangely familiar.
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?
Whoever was playing wasn't an expert, but Quinn admired the effort. It was better than she could do.

As she drew closer to her apartment building, the sound grew louder. Intrigued, she recognized the young girl. Molly Ionesco lived with her mother and older brother on the third floor, one down from Quinn. Della Ionesco was a hard-working single mother who was raising two well-behaved children. They weren't close, but they would stop and chat occasionally.

"You're doing great, Molly. When did you start playing?"

"Last month. Mom bought me the guitar for my birthday. It's hard."

"So I understand. I recognized the song you were playing. That's a big accomplishment."

The ten-year-old grinned, showing Quinn the gap where her front tooth used to be. Molly was a pretty little thing with big brown eyes and straight, shoulder-length hair. She would grow into the guitar, but right now, it was almost as big as she was. Determined, the girl scrunched up her face and haltingly repeated the song.

"That's better, Molly." The voice came from behind Quinn. "Remember. Technique is easy. Play with passion. That's the secret."

Ryder
. Slowly, Quinn turned as though afraid she was hearing things. He could have been an illusion, but if he were, Molly must have had the same hallucination.

"My school is having a talent contest next week." Tongue stuck out in extreme concentration, Molly played the last two notes. "All I care about is beating Tami Reinhold. She is
so
stuck up. Thanks for the lesson."

Waving goodbye, Molly raced up the steps and into the building, clutching her guitar to her chest.

Ryder chuckled. "Passion. Petty jealousy. Whatever works." Still smiling, he looked at Quinn. "Cute kid. She kept me company while I waited for you. It seemed only fair to give her a quick tutorial."

"I wonder what Molly will say when she finds out that Ryder Hart gave her a music lesson?"

"I introduced myself. She was not impressed."

Quinn doubted that. If she knew anything about tweener girls, Molly began burning up her social media accounts the second she entered her bedroom. As for Quinn, she tried to figure out why Ryder was here. He didn't look angry. In fact, he looked relaxed, carefree, and sexy as hell. She hadn't thought she was a beard fan. But on Ryder it worked.

"Have you spoken with Zoe?"

"I have." Ryder no longer sounded relaxed. His dark eyes narrowed. Grim. Quinn didn't know if that was directed at Zoe—or her. "Let's not talk about it out here."

Ryder took the bags from Quinn. Without a word, she started up the steps.

"I thought you would call."

"I planned on coming to see you before the crap with Zoe went down. She simply accelerated my timetable." Ryder waited until the elevator door closed behind them. "Sorry about the beard and long hair."

"The look works on you." Every look worked on Ryder.

"You think so?" Looking pleased, Ryder pulled at the curly hair above his lip. "Maybe I should keep it."

"God, no," Quinn exclaimed.

"You said it worked."

"The beard is sexy as hell, Ryder. But the world wants to see your handsome face."