Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) (10 page)

I’d held the trust we’d had in each other early in our relationship close, nourished it for years. Until he shattered my every illusion.

“Some days, I hate him,” I whispered. The words fell between my tears, heavy with the truth I’d held inside for way too long.

* * *

“
O
uch
!” I groaned as a few eyelashes popped out of my lids. My lashes had fused together either during my hours-long cry-fest or in my sleep. I needed to get to the bathroom before I tried opening my eyes again. Problem was, I couldn’t see.

I flopped over and hit something hard, maybe a knee or elbow. I squealed, dragging the covers up to my chin.

“Need a washcloth to get the gunk out?” Abbi asked.

“Thank God, it’s you. Yes, please.”

“Who else would it be?” She opened a door. A moment later she laid a warm, wet cloth over my eyes. The heat and moisture soothed my swollen tissue.

“Did you sleep in here?” I asked.

“Yeah. I got you into bed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Guess I still had some sadness to get out,” I mumbled, embarrassed.

“I hope so,” Abbi said, her voice sharp. “I never saw you cry after Dad died. You seemed so . . . unaffected by everything. Aunt Ella and Aunt Briar told me it was your coping mechanism, what you did when Grandpa died.”

I pulled the cloth from my eyes, thankful I could open them now. I looked at my daughter. “I loved your dad. I loved your grandfather, too.”

“You kept way too much bottled up for too long. You’re the one who should’ve gone to counseling, you know.”

“I thought it would help you work through your feelings,” I said. I brought the cloth back to my eyes and rubbed away the remnants of my tears.

Her eyes were too dark, her lips flattened. She tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m worried about you, Mom.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to be worrying.”

“I have healthy emotional relationships. Just ask my counselor.”

“Enough sarcasm, Abs. I’m dealing as best I can.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you finally going to let Dad’s death go? I need to know that by the time I go to college, you’ll be healthy enough for me to leave. Better yet, you need a man who spoils you rotten so you don’t even miss me.”

I gripped the back of Abbi’s hand, desperate for the connection. “I’ll miss you no matter what. Have I neglected you? Been too distant?”

Abbi shook her head. “Nah. You’ve been awesome, which sucks. Because now I have to live up to your strength, and that’s not going to be possible.”

“I’m not strong, honey. I was hiding. I knew it was going to hurt, getting it out finally. I . . . I was angry.”

“So was I. But he was going to die anyway. With Huntington’s, it’s just a matter of how horrible it gets before the end. I think it would’ve been a relief for us. Eventually.”

I hugged her. “He didn’t want us to see him deteriorate.” But that wasn’t the only reason.

“Did you ever consider leaving once you found out Dad had it?”

“No, never.” Not by then. I was pregnant. There was no way I could take Abbi from Doug.

“What if I had it? Huntington’s.”

“I’m thankful you don’t, but if you did, I would do everything I could to make your life the best it could be.”

“I’m glad you and Dad had me, in spite of what could’ve happened.”

“Me, too, Abigail.”

We lay there together. I breathed deeply, cataloguing the shards around my heart. They weren’t as sharp. Maybe I’d finally let the bitterness go.

“I wish you’d hang out with Asher again. He made you happy. For moments at least, which is more than I’ve seen in years. And he’s so cool.”

“First off, he’s older than your dad,” I said.

“Oh, please. By like a year or something. Not a good reason,” Abbi flopped back against the pillows. “Do you think Asher Smith is cute? I heard you tell Aunt Bri about his forearms. Luke has great arms, but I’m partial to his butt.”

“Yes. And you’re going on the pill if I hear one more word about some guy’s body parts.”

Abbi propped her chin on her folded palms. “Only if you go back on it, too. We can go to the doctor together. Then have lunch and giggle about our crushes.”

I slid out of the bed. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that with you just yet.” I pulled on my robe. “Just promise me you won’t treat sex as lightly as a lot of your peers do. It should mean something.”

“I’d offer to wait until you were ready to date again so we could swap stories, but if I did that, I’d die a virgin.”

“Abigail Rose Dorsey!”

“Puh-lease, Mom. You won’t even answer my question about the hottie rock star you spent half the night with a week ago. It’s called repression.”

“I did answer you. I’m getting coffee, brat.” I shut the door behind me and huffed.

I opened the door and stuck my head back in. Abbi was splayed across the bed. She was a beautiful young woman. Her long, sleek legs and narrow hips were encased in her sleeping pants. Her tank had ridden up, showing off the fragile, pale skin of her waist. She’d been cursed with the same narrow chest as most of the women in my family had, but she’d managed to fill out a B-cup. I bit my lip, realizing I’d been her age when I started my sexual relationship with her father.

She peeked at me from under her elbow.

“I have to be smart, Abbi. For both of us.”

* * *

S
weat pooled
at my lower spine, saturating my skirt’s waistband. I wanted to tug at the fabric, but that seemed fidgety. I needed to present a collected facade.

I shouldn’t be here, in this coffee shop in Spokane, waiting for a man I wasn’t interested in. Correction, the second man in less than four hours. I’d bought the last guy’s lunch just to get out of the restaurant quicker.

That’s exactly why I’d chosen this man, Dale, and the one before, too. None of these men were Asher Smith. None had Asher’s chiseled jaw, straight, thin nose, and broody hazel eyes.

I’d always loved Asher’s eyes.

Dale looked just like his picture—middle-age-softened stomach, long, slightly bulbous nose, and florid cheeks. He was about four inches shorter than Asher’s six-two. Brent, my lunch date, was taller than Asher, but he’d been scary-muscular and talked during the entire meal about how I needed to get into Cross Fit. When Brent handed me his card, I’d nodded, not surprised to find he owned a chain of gyms in the area.

This is what happened when Abbi refused to help me. I ended up on speed dates with men I didn’t find attractive or interesting.

I needed to apologize to her again. I hadn’t just hurt her; I’d been immature, lashing out at her instead of dealing with my insecurities.

“Dahlia? Lia Dorsey?”

I shivered when he said my name, wishing he sounded more like Asher. Correction. I wished he
was
Asher. But I’d made this date, and I’d stick to it. Swallowing, I met Dale’s pale blue eyes.

“Yes. Dale?” I shook the hand he offered. I’d pegged him as a middle manager, an accountant or another unimaginative type who liked to work with numbers. His clothes were high quality. Upper management then, if I’d judged his clothes and expensive haircut correctly.

I released his soft hand as he tried not to react to the slight dampness of mine. Good. He didn’t feel any chemistry either. This should be short.

“Want a coffee?” he asked. His voice was a deep tenor, not the rich bass of Asher’s. He made me think of pleated pants and loafers without socks. I cried internal tears as my libido curled back into a ball and slid into hibernation.

“Have one,” I said, motioning to the to-go cup in front of me. At his raised brow, I cleared my throat. “I hate cold coffee. I always get mine in a to-go cup.”

“Liar,”
Abbi’s voice screamed in my head. I’d hedged my bets, paying for my own drink on the off chance Dale wasn’t worth the time it’d taken me to drive out here, even if I did get to go to the fancy organic grocery store on my way home.

I yanked at the dampening waistband of my skirt, swallowing down the anxiety building in my chest.

“Well, I guess I’ll just grab a drink then.”

Dale trotted to the short line, his gaze diffident. My cheeks flushed. Score one for Ella, Abbi, and Briar. While I was finally willing to jump back into the dating pool, I only wanted to swim with Asher. Just like they’d said.

I was so not built for this process. Hell, I’d narrowed my focus and love to the first man who’d shown me enough interest and attention when I was fourteen.

I exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the ache behind my breastbone. Just an hour of my time. If nothing else, this was good research for some future novel. If I could ever write anything. Five days until my deadline. The panic fluttered back to life, beating against my ribs.

“You’re Lia Moore.” I turned toward the voice, smiling at the woman standing in front of me. She was about my age and held a toddler on her hip. Her hair was in a haphazard ponytail, wayward strands of muddy-brown hair escaped the tie and fluttered around a thin, tired face.

“Yes. Nice to meet you,” I said.

“I love your books,” the woman gushed. Her voice had risen to be heard over her noisy toddler. He smacked his mom’s cheeks and kicked his feet, making airplane noises. While I remembered Abbi at this age, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Thanks. That’s the best compliment.”

“When’s the next one coming out?”

“I’m outlining another book.”

The woman’s eyes clouded, and her lip thrust forward so she looked more petulant than her son. “I hoped for a release this year. Especially since there wasn’t one last year.”

Disappointing fans ratcheted up my anxiety. I sucked on my lip, trying to find some kind of balance. My cheeks heated.

I pulled up the memory of Asher stroking my hair and tried to breathe through my rising panic. “Sorry about that. I had to take a break. Personal reasons.” I cleared my tightening throat. “I’m working on a TV miniseries based on the books. We start filming in a few of months.”

Dale walked toward us, irritation clouding his ruddy features.

“Oh, well. That’s great then. I’ll look forward to seeing it. After this guy goes to sleep.”

I wiggled the boy’s foot, eliciting a giggle. “Probably best. If you’re on my mailing list, I’ll send out the details so you can be sure to catch it.”

“Great!” she beamed. “I’ll let you get back to your date.” The woman trotted out the door, hugging her son close.

“You know her?”

My stomach slid down into my foot somewhere. “No. She’s a fan.”

“Fan? Are you some type of athlete?” Dale’s eyes slid over my spare frame, and I’m sure I came out just as poorly in his athletic perusal as he had in boyfriend material for me. I spun my cup around.

“I’m a writer. A romance writer.”

As I expected, Dale shifted back in his seat, trying to escape the leprosy of my profession.

“You write about sex and stuff?”

“Only if a story calls for it.”

I didn’t add that pretty much every story did, so my books were filled with steamy sex scenes.

“I see,” he said in a voice that stated he was no longer interested. Asher had been interested in my career, his genuine focus alleviating the tension I normally felt when I discussed my profession.

“And what is it you do, Dale?”

He fiddled with his pocket, pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. I would’ve frowned but didn’t want to come off as any ruder than necessary.

“I run some car washes in the western part of the state.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure that keeps you busy. “

“Too busy. My ex-wife didn’t like my hours. I was constantly at the office.”

I took a sip of my coffee so I didn’t ask him if sitting in a car wash was the most productive use of his time.

Dale glanced around, eyes furtive. “Want to get out of here? I can get your car washed so clean you’ll be able to eat off the seats.”

Did he expect me to screw him in a small back office at a car wash while his workers scrubbed dirt from the underside of my SUV?

“Thanks for the offer. Another time, perhaps.”

“I planned to spend the afternoon with you.”