Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) (4 page)

I should find a partner, someone I could cuddle next to on the couch. Laugh with. Maybe I could start living in this century and enjoy a man’s company without a deep emotional attachment. I deserved . . . something more than my current barren love life.

I’d set up that dating profile everyone was hounding me about, go on a few dates. See what was out there.

Thirty-five was too young to be this incomplete.

I
pulled
up in front of the clapboard farmhouse Jessica and I had bought in Mount Vernon, about an hour north of Seattle. All the lights were on, spilling warmth onto the porch. Dread stiffened my shoulders, causing my head to ache.

I toured and recorded, successive rounds, one after the other, to keep a steady flow of income for Jessica’s desires and to cover Mason’s needs. But I wanted more than four days with my son each month. I wanted Mason to remember me as an involved father.

Right now, I wanted to tousle Mason’s hair and hold his solid body close to my own. That’s why I was here, a day earlier than I’d expected. Problem was, I didn’t want to see Jessica. Part of me felt like I’d cheated. I’d shared more of myself with Dahlia last night than I ever had with my wife. But Jessica was the one who’d chosen to dissolve our life. Now, after seeing Dahlia, I was glad. Relieved, even.

I climbed out of the car and walked into my house, my heart slamming a harsh beat within my chest.

Mason sat on the couch, the Wii controller in his hand. Jessica was right. I’d bought the stupid gaming system out of guilt. Gifts didn’t assuage my shitty parenting abilities, but Mason liked the thing.

“Hey, buddy,” I said.

He glanced up, his mouth in a sour line. “I thought you were coming back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good to see you, too.” I sat next to him on the couch. He didn’t lean into me like he used to.

“Mom was going to let me spend the night with Bryan Hornsacker.”

“Well, if those are the plans, I wouldn’t want to mess that up.”

Mason’s faced softened. “Really?”

“Mason, I love you. I want you to be happy.”

He sat the controller down and slid his arms around my neck. I hugged him hard, regret biting at my heart, burrowing deep. His legs were lanky, like a colt’s. Before we started using Skype, I was shocked by his growth between my visits home. I kissed his cheek, and he let me. This, here, was the best thing I’d done with my life.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Mason said, his voice muffled into my neck. “Wanna play with me?”

“What are you doing?”

“Building. See?”

“An entire city,” I said. “That’s amazing.”

“You should add something cool.”

“Sure, let me just tell your mom I’m home.”

Mason’s eyes shifted to mine, his mouth turning back down. “She’s next door.”

“You’re here by yourself?” I asked, keeping my voice controlled. Our next-door neighbor was a half-mile away. If a problem arose, no one would hear Mason’s cries.

“Yeah.”

“Does she do that often—leave you here alone?”

“Sometimes.” He shrugged. “I get to play my game while she’s gone.”

Anger welled up, overriding the guilt and regret I’d felt moments before. “Well, let’s build the heck out of this city and then we’ll grab some dinner. You hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna eat first?”

Mason turned those bright hazel eyes toward me. “Yeah.”

I gripped him around his middle, hauling him into the kitchen like he was a football “Let’s see what you got.”

* * *

I
was
able to get in a few hours of time with Mason before Jessica dropped her nuclear bomb into my skull.

I ended up driving Mason over to his friend’s house for his sleepover. I gave Bryan’s mom my cell, asking her to call me if she needed anything. Confusion filled her eyes, but I ignored it, bending down to hug Mason. He was too excited for more than a quick pat, running and shouting out some scene from a show he and Bryan liked.

Jessica’s car was in the garage when I got back to the house. Great. Now we could talk.

“You took Mason to his sleepover?” she asked from where she stood in the kitchen.

“Wish I’d known he was going to be gone tonight. Maybe I would’ve stayed in Seattle. I had a meeting request I turned down so I could hang out with him.”

“No one begged you to show up tonight.” Her eyes were bright, really bright, like she was on something. Much as I wanted to ask, that would only make the situation worse.

“I noticed. Why was Mason here by himself, Jessica? He’s just a little boy.”

“I left probably two minutes before you got here. It wouldn’t have been a problem if Mrs. Knowles wasn’t sick. She wouldn’t come stay with him.”

“He’s barely eight, Jessica.”

“I have better things to do with my life than sit around and wait for you to drop by,” she said. “Mason was fine. He was playing that stupid game you got him.”

Neither of us mentioned that our neighbor, who Jessica had been “visiting” instead of watching our son, was a forty-something single man with an easy smile. He was fit, a runner.

I bit my tongue, refusing to point out that I’d cut back on my travel schedule years ago because I wanted to spend more time with them. After a year and a half of long weekends and extended weeks home between gigs, Jessica demanded I go back on tour. She wanted to put Mason in private school and she wanted a new car.

I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. Not the kind I liked, but it’d do.

“Come with me on the next leg this summer,” I said. Not because I wanted Jessica with me. I really didn’t, especially since I got her list of requirements from her lawyer. I’d told Pete to hold off until Monday to forward over my counteroffer. I still had time to pull some of the demands if Jessica let Mason come with me. And I’d even put up with her to get more time with my son.

“It’s easy, up and down the coast. Lots of beaches for Mason to play at and for you to relax on. What’s the name of the fashion designer you like? Doesn’t he have a store in LA?”

Jessica crossed her arms over her breasts. I noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra under her thin, green camisole. She probably hadn’t worn it to see if I’d get angry. I took a large gulp of my beer and wished I hadn’t given up the harder stuff.

“I don’t want to travel with you, watching women throw themselves at you. How many do you plan to screw while I’m in the hotel room with Mason, waiting for you to come in after the show?”

Jessica wouldn’t give me what I wanted with Mason—tonight had proven that. I closed my eyes and fought to find some serenity. Dahlia’s eye’s reflected in the water slid into place behind my shut lids. “I don’t screw any of the fans.”

Jessica sniffed.

“Look, we’ve beaten this horse past death and into dust. Mason will never completely believe in stable, loving relationships again. The least we can do is ease the transition.”

“You signed the separation agreement, and we have the trial date set.”

“Let’s give our kid a chance to get used to the idea,” I said. I set the bottle down before facing her. “We haven’t told him anything, Jessica. He’s not going to understand. Especially with you screwing Car Wash Dale.” I waved my hand. “And the neighbor.” Jesus. Two different men.

She slammed her hand against the counter. “I’d rather have any life except this one. Any other life!”

“You’d go back to that trailer?”

She glared, eyes burning with anger. “You are such an asshole. I’ll never be poor again. Ever.”

Fear flitted through her eyes. I didn’t know what it was like to be hungry and scared. Jessica had never told me much about her mother, but from the little she’d said, Jessica’s childhood was filled with traumas I could barely grasp. Her fear was deep-rooted, a demon she struggled to overcome.

“If you won’t provide me with the lifestyle you promised and make sure I have everything I need to be happy, then I’ll find someone who can,” she said. She was petulant but also combative.

“Fine,” I said, relief replacing the brooding depression I’d felt since I pulled into the drive. At least I could tell Dahlia I’d tried without it being a complete lie. “I’ll have my lawyers get in touch with your lawyers. Guess I’ll see you around.”

Sadness and fear swirled through her eyes. She looked like a lost puppy. She straightened and smirked, thrusting out her chest. “Enjoy your little apartment. I have things to do.”

I turned to go. I should have just left. I knew it, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “What about Mason? Do you care what this does to his life?”

She picked at one of her nails. “He has a life. The one you wanted for him.”

“I never said my life was glamorous, Jessica.”

“I’ve known that for years. It’s a slow grind.”

“Then why shove this on him now?”

She met my gaze, her lips settling into that mischievous smile I used to find adorable. “I’ve talked to Dale.”

“What’s good ol’ Dale up to these days? Besides banging my wife.”

“Your wife. I haven’t been your wife in years, Asher. Long before we officially separated.” She laughed, but it was caustic, scraping against my skin and shredding my pride.

“He asked me to marry him. And he wants us to have custody over Mason.”

G
arcia was a thin
, well-dressed man who gushed with flamboyant happiness about my grasp of emotional nuances. By the time I was seated in a brown leather chair in front of the gleaming glass-and-steel conference table, he was my new best friend.

“I read the first book in the series at my son’s birthday party. My partner hasn’t completely forgiven me, but after reading your books, at least he understands why I was so captivated. He said to thank you for that bathroom scene. You sex kitten.” Garcia winked. “I’d totally do that if I was a woman.”

I wanted to. With Asher. But more, I wanted to see his smile, to hold his hand. I needed him to ease the panic winding into a tight grip in my chest.

I focused on how his hand pressed against mine, and my lungs relaxed. The clasp of our hands had been decadent, intimate. Perfect. I wanted to hold his hand again. Soon. I wanted more with him.

Reconnecting with Asher Smith had pushed me over the edge, reminding me of the small, lonely life I’d been leading. This sudden rush of need left me raw, unsure how to proceed. Hence, my increasing anxiety.

“So we see you in a producer role. I told your agent I want your input because your grasp of romantic tension is divine,” Garcia said, his smile wide, his manicured fingers steepled in front of his short, neat beard. “But we’ll need to see where you plan to take it—the final ending, you know, so we can set the tone. Paul suggested we might want to film the ending first.”

“Of course,” I said, squirming in my chair. The ending? I had no idea how the series would end. I’d made notes, sure, about the next book. But since Doug’s death, nothing I wrote flowed. It felt stilted, unimaginative.

Bad.

I exhaled through my nose and turned back toward the director who was waxing poetic about another scene. We’d done many of the things I’d written about, Doug and I, before the symptoms started to manifest. He’d declined faster than his doctors predicted. Within months, Doug’s coordination started to fail, and he’d been frustrated with his waning strength. Our sex life was the first casualty. Not that it had been all that spectacular for the previous couple of years.

I shoved my glasses back into place and then clasped my chin, forcing my attention to stay trained on Garcia’s thin, tanned face. My eyes felt gritty, too tired after another sleepless night. I didn’t have it in me to deal with my contact lenses this morning.

Paul, the director, had remained silent this whole time, twiddling a pen. I could tell he didn’t want me on the project. He was sending out as much negativity as possible, trying to get me to agree to sell my rights and leave.

I had two options: I could pretend Paul wasn’t bothering me or I could confront this situation. Panic fluttered up my throat, but if I wanted to be able to complete the series, I needed to take charge of my writing. That started with taking control of my life.

I faced Paul, both amused and ashamed that his heavy features reminded me of a basset hound. His balding head and long ear lobes didn’t help, but it was his deep frown that sealed the connection.

“Are you sure you want my input?” I asked. I slid my hands into my lap and twisted my fingers together. My knees began to bounce, but I kept my gaze steady. I was in control of this situation. I could walk out anytime I wanted.

“We do, darling,” Garcia answered, glaring at Paul, who’d yet to do more than blink at me. “This is going to be the hottest series on HBO. We’re in agreement there. Right, Paul?”

“Of course, Garcia. But I’d like to get through the first round of screenplays that
our
writers are working on before we ask Ms. Moore for her input.”

I waited for Garcia to quit grumbling. “Paul, I appreciate the offer to keep me in the loop. I really do, but I need to make sure you and I can work together. I haven’t signed the contract yet because I wanted to see what your vision was for the project.” And because I wasn’t sure I could deliver the next storyline. “And call me Lia, please.”

Paul glanced at Garcia from the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath before launching into his ideas.

“So I’m thinking we open with the firehouse scene. Viewers will be hooked.”

I nodded, moving my clasped hands to the tabletop. That was one of the hottest scenes in any of my books, one Doug had laughed at when I read it to him.
“You think dudes actually do that? Please, Lia. Maybe you need to recategorize into fantasy.”

I’d reminded myself that Doug had been sliding deeper into the Huntington’s by then, and he probably had no idea how much his words had hurt. They still did.

Paul sputtered out and I blushed, trying to smooth out my frown.

“Sorry, you were talking about the sound track?”

Garcia leaned forward. “Bev told us you’re a big indie rock fan.”

I nodded. I listened to it all the time. It even played softly in my room as I slept. “My husband was a guitarist.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

I smiled. “His band was pretty underground.”

“What was it?”

“Dynamite Fish.”

Paul smiled, his red-rimmed eyes sparkling with interest. “Really? I have all their albums.”

“I’m sure Doug would’ve been thrilled to hear that. Before that, he was in Cactus Arrow.”

“I’ve heard about them. That was, what? Nearly twenty years ago?”

I nodded. “I can make you a copy of their only release. It was four songs, including an early version of ‘Moonshine Eyes.’”

“Excellent!” Paul smiled, but he still looked tired.

Garcia tapped his pencil on his desk, shooting Paul a get-on-with-it look. Paul met my gaze as he scratched behind his ear.

“‘Moonshine Eyes.’ That’s an Asher Smith song. Was Cactus Arrow one of his earlier bands?”

I nodded again, slower this time. Paul smiled, his brown eyes lighting up even more.

“I’ve been talking to Asher Smith’s agent, Richard, about possible projects. Richard and I went to UCLA together, so when he approached us a couple years ago, I tossed Asher a few smaller gigs. He told me Asher wants to move into sound tracks, do more producing.”

“Interesting,” I said. I dropped my pen and shoved my shaking hands back into my lap. Just a coincidence. No way I’d get thrown back into Asher’s life after all this time. Fate wasn’t this cruel.

Garcia leaned forward, smoothing his gelled hair back into place. “When Paul mentioned Asher’s interest, I was intrigued. I mean, the man writes about sexiness with a little roughness. Your heroes are willing to play it loose with the rules. Like Asher.”

“I saw Asher Smith again a couple of nights ago at a singer-songwriter show. He’s a great guy.”

“Maybe you two could collaborate on the lyrics,” Paul said, his droopy face jiggling with excitement. “For the theme song. That could be really cool! Not too much, just give him some ideas of phrases that’d work well for certain scenes. The two of you could make the music so intense! Actually, if you’re good with that idea, Asher’s going to meet with us today. His agent said he had a family thing to deal with last night, but Asher called a while ago, saying he was back in Seattle.”

“I’d love the opportunity,” I said. Sweat slicked my back and my heart rate escalated.

Garcia thought we were a perfect fit. I swallowed, breathed deep through my nose. I couldn’t see Asher again. I couldn’t. My burgeoning feelings for him needed to stay out of whatever business arrangement we developed. He was married, and I wanted them to reconcile whatever their problems were. I needed to believe in Asher as much as I needed to believe that love could get people through the hard times.

Correction. I needed to believe in Asher even more, especially after the night we’d spent together.

I forced the tension down with brutal efficiency, unwilling to give in to the emotions rolling over me.

Paul’s smile warmed. “Great! I want him, specifically, to do the songwriting, with some help from a few singer-songwriters and another couple of indie rock groups. Keep the mix eclectic but unified. Maybe your brother-in-law, Simon. I heard him play a couple of months ago, and I loved his ‘More Time’ tune,” he gushed.

Surprise sizzled through me. “I’ll pass that along,” I said. This entire meeting was surreal. First, my books were like Asher’s songs and now Paul wanted to give Simon his big break. “I’m sure Simon would love the opportunity and airplay.”

The door opened and a young brunette stuck her head through the opening. “Asher Smith’s here. Should I send him in?” she asked, looking at Garcia.

“Please,” Paul said.

Garcia nodded. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to school my features into some semblance of professionalism. I wasn’t ready. When he entered, I stood, bumping into my notepad. It tumbled to the floor. “Asher, so good to see you again,” Paul said, holding out his hand.

“Yeah, thanks.” But Asher’s eyes never left mine, even when he shook Garcia’s hand.

“I wondered,” he said, a slow smile curling his lips. “I remembered your last name used to be Moore.”

I stared at him, the panic building. I couldn’t sit next to him for an hour, not after the depth of our conversation the other night. Asher narrowed his eyes, no doubt seeing I was about to lose it. He moved around the table, picked up my notepad. He leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek in a casual greeting.

His smell swirled around me, heightening the burning sensation around my heart.

“Breathe, Dahlia,” he murmured, close to my ear. “You have this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I looked up at him, his eyes soft and sure. I took a deep breath and nodded. He set the notebook on the table in front of me. I collapsed into the chair, and Asher sat next to me.

“I didn’t realize you two were more than acquaintances,” Paul said, frowning.

“Old friend,” Asher said with an easy smile. Under the table, he clasped my hand. “Dahlia and I reconnected the other night at Simon’s gig.”

Paul eyed us. Asher squeezed my fingers, and I managed a smile.

“Thanks for having me here,” Asher said. “Richard said this was for a sound track.”

“Since you know Lia,” Garcia said, his smile megawatt-bright, “I’m sure you know she writes these sexy-hot books. We want to produce her Gardiner series.”

Asher nodded. “I’m familiar with those books.”

I pulled my hand from his, and rested my damp palm on my knee. Much as I wanted his touch, I couldn’t handle it, not if we were going to discuss love scenes.

“So here are some of my ideas,” Paul said, snapping back to business mode.

I pulled my pen and paper closer, ready to take notes.