Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (26 page)

He began to sing, his voice raspy.
I see her on the desert’s edge, auburn hair, skin so fair. She sees me standing in the sun, my head bare, no one to care.

The melody was haunting and slow, and it washed over Mia. People whistled with approval.

She doesn’t know I’ve come so far. I’ve lost my way, another day. Come closer, girl. Battered and used, my soul badly bruised. You see me standing here. You feel my fear. Come closer, girl, and rescue my shipwrecked heart. Come closer, girl. Don’t watch me fall apart . . .

Mia couldn’t tear her eyes from him—she didn’t know if it was because his performance was so spellbinding, which it was, or because she felt as if he was singing to her. And when he finished the song, the tremendous thunder of applause and whistles seemed to surprise Brennan. He put his hand over his heart and bowed.

Mia didn’t see him walk off the stage because of the tears in her eyes. That song had moved her. His artistry, his musicality, the heart and soul of a man who produced the song—all of it overwhelmed her.

Of course he had to go back to his life. To the world. He belonged to the world.

Of
course
he had to go back.

The after-show party, as Brennan had called it, was as crowded as the concert itself. Skylar was practically floating on air as they stood outside the big party tent, peering in. Mia nervously clutched the credential Brennan had given her. This was not the sort of scene she liked—she always felt conspicuous and on edge.

“Why didn’t you ask for two?” Skylar had asked, annoyed, when Mia had told her about the party.

“Really, Skylar?”

“Really,”
Skylar had said. “That’s how you do it. You always ask for a plus one.”

Tonight, however, Skylar seemed too happy or too high to care that she didn’t have a pass. “Wow, there is some star wattage in there,” she said, peering into the party tent. “You won’t even know how to act, Mia.”

“I’m not staying,” Mia said. “I’m just going to tell him nice job and then go. Will you wait here for me?”

“Sure!” Skylar said. “I’ll even walk you up to the entrance.” She slipped her arm through Mia’s, attaching herself to her like Velcro as they moved to the roped entrance. Two burly men eyed them as they approached. Mia held up her credential. One of the men glanced at her, then at Skylar, and lifted the rope. Mia turned to Skylar to thank her, but Skylar gave her a push and hopped in beside her, jumping over the threshold with a laugh. “I’m in!” she cried. “Come on, let’s get a drink.” She tugged on Mia’s hand, forcing her to come along before Mia could protest.

At the bar, Skylar ordered the drinks while Mia surveyed the crowd. She felt so self-conscious in this tent with her funky hat. She obviously didn’t belong in here—most of the women were wearing next to nothing. They were tall and thin and had sleek, shiny hair. Mia had on jeans, and she was curvy, and she’d made her top from an old prom dress.

Then she spotted Brennan, and her heart sank a little. She didn’t know what she’d expected—that he would be standing alone, a wallflower, waiting for her? No, no—Everett Alden was surrounded by people as he should be, the star of the show. He was laughing at something and a beer dangled from his fingers. He’d changed his shirt, combed back his hair, and looked as if he’d just run a race and won the whole damn thing.

She was startled by a tap to her shoulder. Before she could turn, Skylar shoved a highball glass into her hand. “I’m going to mingle,” she said, and walked away, sipping from a glass that was filled with a pink drink.

Mia glanced back at Brennan, debating what to do. She didn’t know how to get to him. She didn’t know how to walk through this crowd of rock gods and beautiful women and interrupt his circle. She’d never felt so out of place in her life.

She’d text him, she decided. She’d text him and tell him that she’d come as she promised, but that he was busy. She’d suggest they see each other tomorrow. She dug in her purse for her phone, but before she could find it, Brennan saw her. He immediately broke away from his group, even peeling one woman’s fingers off his arm. Mia glanced around looking for an escape, someone to hide behind—but she was alone in that crowd. She was standing in the desert with her head bare and no one to care.

No one but Brennan.

“Hey,” he said when he reached her. He dipped down, kissed her cheek, and Mia blushed madly, glancing furtively about, almost as if she feared someone was going to accuse her of trying to accost him. “You came. I thought maybe you’d bail on me.”

“No, I—I thought . . . it was wonderful, Brennan,” she gushed. “Masterful,” she blurted. “My God, I didn’t know how good you are—I mean, I knew, of course I knew, but to see you perform was just . . .” She was fumbling all over herself like a rabid fan. She took a breath. “You were really great.”

He smiled at her fluster. “Thank you. I’m glad you liked it.”

“I didn’t like it, I loved it. I was so moved. I wish I had the words to tell you how moved I was.”

He smiled. “I guess you know the song is about you.”

Tears filled her eyes again, and she nodded. “I sort of guessed, anyway. It felt like you were singing to me.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, dipping down to see in her eyes.

“Nothing. I was just . . .” There were no words to describe what she’d felt listening to him sing about her. His voice and the lyrics had sunk down so deep that they were permanently embedded in her. “Such artistry,” she said, fumbling for the right thing to say.

He chuckled softly and touched her face. “You slay me, baby,” he said. “Listen, I—”

“Everett! Dude, that was fucking
sick.
” It was the lead singer of Whittaker. He smiled at Mia, but she was too starstruck to do anything but stare back at him.

“You
killed
it, man,” he said to Brennan. “Did you see who came in with your agent?”

“Who?” Brennan asked.

“Chance.”

Brennan froze. He turned around. “Holy shit,” he said softly. He took Mia’s hand and squeezed it. “Give me a minute, will you? Do you need a drink?”

“No, I’m fine. Do whatever you need to do.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He let go of her hand and, with Whittaker’s singer, moved across the party tent, leaving Mia standing alone in the middle of the crowd.

She watched him put his hand on the shoulder of a guy with long hair. That man said something and the two of them moved farther away so that she couldn’t see them any longer.

“Hey, you want a hit?”

A joint appeared before her; Mia glanced up at the man standing next to her. “You look like you could use something to take the edge off. This is some good shit.”

“No, thank you.”

“Mia!” Skylar popped in around the man. “Hey, I’ll take some of that,” she said. The man shrugged and handed the joint to Skylar. She drew long, then tilted her head back and released the smoke to the air before giving it back to him. “You won’t believe who I met,” she said, and took Mia’s drink and sipped from it. “The drummer for Whittaker,” she exclaimed, and pushed the drink back at Mia. “He is so
cute.
And I think he likes me. You should have Everett put in a good word for me.”

“A good word?” Mia asked, confused.

“You know, tell him I’m cool.”

It was astounding how self-centered Skylar McCauley could be. “He doesn’t even
know
you.”

“Yeah, but he knows you.”

That was it. Mia couldn’t bear another moment in this tent with these dope-smoking hangers-on. “His name is Brennan.”

Skylar frowned. “Don’t be a dipshit, Mia. His name is Everett. I don’t know what fairy tales he was telling you, but that guy is Everett Alden,
obviously
,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

She couldn’t deny that was true. Tears were beginning to burn her eyes again. She had to realize he
was
Everett Alden, and she . . . well, she was not in his league. “I’m leaving,” she said.

Skylar’s mouth dropped open. Then closed. “Go ahead.” She reached into her purse and dug out the keys, pressed them into Mia’s hand. “Tell Mom I spent the night with you, okay?” And with that, Skylar was gone.

Mia put her head down and started for the exit. She was intercepted by Brennan. “Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to desert you—”

A big man appeared between them holding a highball glass that looked like a toy in his enormous hand. “Everett, is it true?” he asked jovially.

“Hello, Dinkleman,” Brennan said.

“I heard you’re going to work with Kate Resnick.”

“We’re talking,” he said, his hand finding the small of Mia’s back. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said, edging away.

“I should go,” Mia said as he tried to guide her to the bar.

“Please stay,” he said.

“Brennan!” She grabbed his wrist, made him stop, made him
look
at her. “I need to go. This isn’t . . .” She glanced around. “I feel so out of place here. Everyone wants to talk to you, everyone wants you. You don’t have time to babysit me.”

“I’m not babysitting you,” he said, sounding exasperated.

But Mia was practical. She didn’t belong here, and he knew it as well as she did. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it, but babysitting was exactly what he was doing. She put her hand on his chest and pushed. “Just go and enjoy your night. You deserve this attention, every last bit of it. That song was incredible, and I’m in your way.”

“That’s not true.” He covered her hand with his. “Come on, Mia. I’m asking you to stay.”

They stood there staring at each other. She wanted to stay. God, how she wanted to stay. But she couldn’t. As much as she felt for him, probably even loved him, Mia could not be this person or move in this world. It was too much. It was all too
much
. “Stay for what?” she asked him.

“For a drink—”

“No, Brennan. What am I staying for?” she asked again.

He knew what she meant; she could see it in the pained look around his eyes. He winced, then shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

Those three words were perhaps the most heartbreaking words Mia had ever heard in her life. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a miracle—or maybe she had. A tear slid from the corner of her eye and down her cheek. Brennan groaned, then bent his head and kissed her lips. “If you want to go, go. I understand. I’ll call later.”

Mia nodded. She couldn’t speak; if she did, a torrent of grief would come pouring out of her.

She left. She walked out of the tent, her head down, and practically ran to the parking lot.

She drove to the other end of Lake Haven in something of a daze. Had they just ended it? Had they just mutually agreed that it was impossible? Or had she read that into what he’d said?

Whatever had just happened, Mia couldn’t keep doing this to herself. She had to end it for the sake of her sanity and her woefully fragile heart.

She half expected Brennan to show up at her apartment in the middle of the night. He didn’t. She thought he would call her the next day. There was no call. She texted him and asked how he was. He didn’t respond.

Mia puttered around her little apartment, trying to work on a new dress. But she couldn’t think. She couldn’t think of anything but Brennan Yates. She tried to imagine herself making a life with him. She tried to imagine him making a life with her. She imagined how the end would come, then debated if it had already come.

Sunday night, with no word from him, Mia was a wreck. When her phone rang, she pounced on it. “Hello?”

“Well, it’s official,” Aunt Bev said. “We’re delaying work on the Ross house until Nancy’s celebrity son gets the hell out of the way.”

Mia’s heart plummeted. “For how long?”

“She said he should be gone by the end of next week. Can you believe it, one of his fans actually came in with one of the demolition crews and was walking around the house! There are some crazy people out there, Mia! Just come to the shop tomorrow, sweetie. We’ll find something for you to do.”

“Sure,” Mia said. She hung up, then hurled the phone across the room. She fell forward onto her bed, face down. And she sobbed.

Twenty-five

Chance’s appearance was a great surprise to Brennan. “Gary flew me out,” he said. “Congratulations, Bren. The song was amazing. I get it now,” he said. “I get what it is you want.”

Brennan invited Chance up to his mother’s house, where poor Drago was doing his best to keep fans and photographers out. The two old friends talked all night, airing their differences, working out a way to forge a path forward. In the end, they’d come to an agreement: Chance would come in with Brennan on the soundtrack, and after that, Brennan would go back into the studio with Chance. They would write a mixture of pop and alternative rock. It didn’t resolve all of their differences about where the band was going, but it filled in the gaps for the near term. It was a start.

On Sunday afternoon, Brennan drove Chance into the city to catch a flight.

He returned to East Beach after dark. His mother was sitting on the terrace with a glass of wine when he strolled up from the garage. “There you are. My son, the talk of the town.”

“I am?” he asked, and took a seat on a chaise next to her.

“Everyone is talking about your performance. Is that the song I’ve heard you tinkering with?”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said.

“I’m proud of you, Bren. I was so worried about you, you know? But you pushed through it. I should have listened to you.”

He smiled. “Thanks, Mom.” It was not the first time, and it probably would not be the last time, that his mother admitted she was wrong. But he liked the sound of it.

“But . . . now that all the attention is on you again,” she said, frowning, “I don’t think you can hide out here much longer.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’ll probably head home at the end of the week. Chance and I have agreed on what we’re going to do, and now I need to get to work.”

“I’ve postponed work on the house,” she said. “It’s just too much commotion. And then that woman was walking around . . . well, it’s unbearable. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”

He smiled a little. “It’s usually not this bad.”

She sat up and grabbed his head, pulled him forward, and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Brennan. But I’m ready for you to go back to your life.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

He continued on inside and grabbed a beer on his way up to his room. It was quarter till nine. He wanted to talk to Mia, but he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Things were falling into place, but she was the piece of his life that was the true outlier. She knew it, too. She’d asked him at the after-show party—what was she staying for?

Brennan had mulled it over, turning that question over in his head, looking at it from all angles. He couldn’t stay here; he had to go back to work. He
wanted
to go back to work. Brennan debated his thoughts about Mia, groaned with exasperation at his old scars and fears. He tried to look inward, to see down to the river of desires and emotions that flowed somewhere in him, in a clumsy effort to understand. Brennan was feeling things, thinking things he’d never allowed himself to contemplate. He was wanting things he never thought he could have, much like one wanted priceless jewels behind glass walls they weren’t allowed to touch. But the walls were shattering now, and the jewels his for the taking . . . and yet he was still afraid to touch them.

Finally, somewhere near midnight, he texted Mia and asked her to meet him at Lookout Point the next day.

He didn’t hear back until almost ten the next morning.
When?

Noon. I won’t be late.

True to his word, Brennan was pacing in front of the old bench at noon, thinking, his hands locked behind his head. Mia appeared on the path, walking up from the beach. She was wearing knee-length shorts, a flowing blouse over a tank. She had her hair tied back with a bandana. She looked like she should be painting. “The baby owls are gone,” she said when she reached him. “I saw them last week, hopping around, but now they’re gone, just like that. It’s like we imagined them.”

She moved closer.

“We didn’t imagine them. My God you look so good,” he said, sur
prised by the emotion in his voice.

She smiled. “You look pretty good yourself.” She touched his face, her
honey eyes skating over his features. She frowned slightly. “Are you okay?”

He grabbed her hand and kissed the palm of it. He didn’t want to let go. Ever. “Yeah, I’m okay. I have some news.”

“Right.” She pulled her hand free. “You’re like the baby owls, you know? Hopping around before you leave. And then poof—you’ll be gone.”

He wished he knew some way to soften this news, to let her know how he’d agonized. But what was the point? “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I have to go, Mia. My mother’s life has been disrupted, and I’ve got people all over me, wanting things. I have a lot of work ahead of me that I can’t do here.”

Mia nodded.

“Chance and I had the opportunity to talk, and we’ve come to an agreement of sorts.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, looking interested.

“He’s going to work with me on the film, and then we’re going back to the studio.”

“That’s
great
,” she said. But her voice and expression did not match her words. She looked devastated. “Well, that certainly makes things easier.”

He didn’t understand her. “What?”

“I’m breaking up with you, Brennan. Well, wait—I’m not sure I have anything to break because it was never really official,” she said, making air quotes around the word
official.
“But whatever it was, it’s run its course. I need to move on.”

“Wait, Mia,” he said, and grabbed her hand. “You don’t understand—I want you to come with me.”

“You
what
?” she said loudly, her eyes widening.

“I’ve thought a lot about it, and I don’t know how it will work. I mean, I’ve tried to figure it out—I guess what I am trying to say is that it’s going to be hard, and I might not be around much at times, and part of me thinks that I am being unfair, that I will ask you to come along on the ride, but a lot of the ride you might be taking alone.” Good Lord, could he make this any more of a mess? For someone who was renowned for heartfelt lyrics, he couldn’t seem to muster the poet when he needed to most. “But I . . . I love you,” he said, his voice catching on the word. “I
love
you, Mia, and I don’t want to be without you.” He roughly stroked her hair, frantically thinking. “I thought this would be so easy, this thing between us. What I’m trying to say is that
you
are easy, but life may not be easy. But it’s worth it, right? It’s so worth it.”

She was biting her lip now. There was still hope in her, he could see it in her expression. His gut twisted—with alarm and joy at once, because he
did
love her, and he wanted her, and although he was scared by how much he wanted her, his panic and fears about what would happen if he uprooted her seemed to fade into the background when he looked at her. Everything but the beat of his imperfect heart and Mia faded away.

He smiled.

Mia pulled her hand free. “That’s . . . that’s very sweet to hear,” she said haltingly, and Brennan’s imperfect heart lurched and shuddered. “But I don’t want to come with you, Brennan. This was just a . . .” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

“A what? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying n-no,” she said, stumbling on the word a little. “Jesus, this is hard,” she said, and pressed her palm to her forehead a moment. “It’s time to move on. Everyone go back to their corners. You go on with your life and I go on with mine.”

He stared at her, disbelieving. He had just seen the hope in her eyes. Why was she saying this? “I just told you I love you,” he said, dumbfounded.

“I know.”

“Doesn’t that mean something?” he demanded.

“Well, yeah. I mean I am humbled by it, but I—”

Brennan jerked around. He couldn’t look at her if she was going to say she didn’t love him. The old wound of rejection his father had left him suddenly opened, and she had poured fire into it. He looked blindly out at the lake, his heart racing, his thoughts alternating between anger and hurt. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The glass walls were coming up, encasing the priceless jewels. He had to get out of there.

How he managed to collect himself from that punch to the gut, Brennan didn’t know. He turned partially toward her and took her in once more, biting his tongue. “I have something for you,” he said at last. He walked to the bench and picked up the plain brown bag. “This is for you.”

She didn’t move; it was as if her feet were glued to the place she stood. So Brennan brought the bag to her. Mia reluctantly took it and looked inside. She withdrew the painting of the red door she’d admired at the art festival and held it up. “You bought this?” Her voice was full of wonder that made the wound hurt more.

“I did. I contacted the artist. I wanted you to have it. For inspiration. I was hoping that when you look at this painting, you’ll see all the things you pointed out to me, and I hope that it inspires you.”

Mia folded her arms around the painting. “God, Brennan . . . I will always love this painting. I will always admire it.” She looked up at him. “But admiration and inspiration are not the same thing. You know that inspiration doesn’t come from looking at someone else’s work. It comes from living. From being out in the world and experiencing pain and heartache and joy.
You
have inspired me.”

He couldn’t possibly have inspired her in the way she had inspired him these last few weeks. She’d changed him—look at him, professing his love!

“Thank you for this,” she said.

“Is that it, then? You’re going to tell me I’ve inspired you, then walk away? You’re going to turn my world around when no one else could and then end it?” Maybe that’s why this was so excruciatingly painful to him—she had seen through his bullshit and called him on it. She had seen inside him, had pulled the man he was out of the ashes of his fame. She had picked up where Trey had left off, and he was going to miss her as much as he missed Trey.

Brennan felt at sea, riding roughly over tsunami waves of emotion he’d not felt quite like this.

“I wish it were that simple,” she said. She put her hand on his arm. “It’s not like I’m dead. We can still talk, can’t we? When you come back, we can have a drink or something.”

“A
drink
?”

Mia smiled sadly. “Brennan,” she said softly.

It was his fault. He should have told her. He should have given her the chance to bail out in the beginning with the truth, but he hadn’t. He’d been too selfish, too stupid.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “We’re better off as friends, aren’t we?”

Brennan relented then. He couldn’t bear it, and gathered her in his arms with a choke of emotion, kissed the top of her head. “I’m so sorry, Mia,” he murmured into her hair. Sorry for being who he was, sorry for having omitted the truth. Sorry for ever having fallen in love with her. It was an unbearable pressure, this suffocation of his heart.

It hurt like hell.