Lovely. Just how she’d wanted to be discovered. Adeline ran her hand over the small of her back to ensure the hem of her sweatshirt reached the waistband of her sweatpants as Gannon’s footsteps drew nearer. She sat cross-legged on the bench of the lower patio, elbows on the wall, staring at the lighthouse beacon. Her sweats were comfortable and warm enough for the fifty-degree weather that had rolled in with nightfall, but if she’d expected company, she would’ve pulled on jeans and a jacket instead.
Or not come out at all.
Unable to sleep, she’d taken up station here about half an hour ago, figuring that at nearly midnight, no one would notice. She’d wanted to think and pray, just her and God. If she was going to talk with Gannon instead, she ought to tell him what was on her mind.
She didn’t know how to navigate the risks of a relationship.
But how could she cut off the potential between them? The knowledge he was walking up behind her had turned her breath shallow and distracted her so thoroughly, she couldn’t focus on a single point of light. Stars? Lighthouses? What were those?
She forced a deep inhale, the air clean with the first chills of impending autumn, and pivoted, putting one foot on the ground as Gannon descended the two steps that separated this outlook from the rest of the yard.
Lights set under glass among the flagstones glowed like candles across a smile that told her he thought the sweats were cute. “Mind if I join you?”
She motioned to the bench. “Plenty of room.”
Littered with pillows, the bench ran the entire length of the outlook. Gannon didn’t take advantage of the space but sat close enough for the warm sandalwood notes of his cologne to mingle with the crisp air.
He still wore motorcycle pants, but he’d shed the jacket. He leaned back with his elbows on the wall. His face angled toward the sky, expression clouded.
She rested her arm on the wall and supported her head. “What’s on your mind?”
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “I should be asking you. You’re the one sitting out here alone in the middle of the night.”
No, not so soon. She’d already hurt him enough. Why couldn’t she go along with him on this? See where romance took them?
God, how do I know for sure what You’re saying?
Crickets chirped, waves fell against the cliff, and aspen leaves shimmied, none of it whispering an answer. She skirted the subject. “Hardly feels like the middle of the night, since I slept until noon.”
He nodded.
She nudged his arm, hoping to get him to answer her question. He turned his head with more intense focus than she’d intended to draw.
She folded her hands in her lap. She could tell him she’d played, but then he’d want to hear, and she’d rather wait until she’d reclaimed more of her skill. Besides, what would trusting him with music say about their relationship? That she was as in as he was?
“Harper and Matt went out together, drinking,” he said.
Of course something new had happened with Harper. The development served as a reminder to keep her head, not get carried away. “You’re worried?”
“I called the police because I think she’s driving drunk. It’s in their hands and God’s now. I brought it up because you’ve had enough surprises. If their escapade turns into something, now you know.”
“Thanks.”
“Whatever happens, she’s not coming back here. Staff packed her bags and are keeping them at the gate to send her off when she arrives.”
“She won’t take that well.”
“She had warning.” He pulled his arms off the wall and crossed them over his chest. The movement was steady, more like a defense mechanism than a response to the cool air. “What’d you think of the songs?”
She’d loved them, loved everything about them. But telling him as much would be committing to a relationship she wasn’t sure was best. For either of them. He deserved someone who could give her whole heart with no lingering worries about navigating his world. “You can use them. I have an idea for a bass line for the phoenix one, but I can’t make it work.”
“Rusty?”
She nodded. She’d expected more of a reaction when she’d dropped the hint that she’d played again.
“It’ll come.”
She’d practiced, driven by the same conviction, but to hear him say it, low and calm and full of confidence, renewed her hope. “When Matt heard me work on it, he seemed relieved I’m not here to replace him.”
“Replace him?” Gannon scoffed. “He got it in his head today he was going to quit drugs, drinking, the whole nine yards. I knew there had to be a reason.”
“I was the reason? Then when he found out I wasn’t a threat …”
“He lost his motivation.” Gannon shook his head, clearly annoyed. “One of the high schoolers’ dads is a cop, isn’t he?” Arms still folded over his chest, he looked her way, annoyance fading. Points of light reflected off his eyes as he studied her, but not enough that she could lose herself in the color of his irises again.
It was probably better that way.
“Olivia’s dad, Joe Cullen. He showed up at the fire.”
“Matt and I had a run in with him after I left your house last night. Matt was about to get behind the wheel drunk, even with Cullen right there. I sent him home with my driver, took his car myself. He had drugs in there. The officer didn’t see, but he said he’d watch for the car in the future.” Gannon tightened his arms, biceps flexing. “I hope he does, because this needs to stop. Better with an arrest than an accident or an overdose.”
“Any of those could cause problems for the band, though.”
“Yeah, but an arrest is one of the best outcomes I can see for Matt. He was onto something when he mentioned replacing him. The next album is our last chance to make a mark before our contract is up. We need it to be the best it can be, and he hasn’t been his best in years. We should have someone waiting in the wings to take his place.” He slid her a loaded glance.
“Not me.” Playing with the band would mean spending so much time with Gannon that she’d never get the rest of her life in order. Besides … “You need someone better.”
“Nah. It’s bass. Doesn’t take that much skill to play the same three notes over and over.”
She whapped his shoulder, and he laughed.
“When I conquer that song, you’ll change your tune.”
His smile turned gentler. “And how does it feel?” His eyelashes sloped toward the ground instead of toward her, but he waited, listening as intently as she imagined he would if she offered to pluck a few notes for him.
“On the one hand, it’s frustrating because I can’t play the way I used to.”
“On the other?”
A deep breath filled her lungs. “Playing again feels like freedom. Or like music will be freedom once I get back what I lost. I’ve been stuffing down a lot—emotions, my story, my personality—for years now.” She paused, realizing he’d said something similar when he’d first mentioned the songs he’d written about her. If she hadn’t already given her blessing to share the songs, she would now. “Returning to bass makes me feel like I’m on the verge of being able to express all that again.”
“Sounds like living.” He tilted his head, gaze climbing to the sky.
Lakeshore didn’t emit much light pollution, so here, a mile or two from town, a generous canopy of stars shone. “I think it is.”
“Are you praying again too?”
“I am.” And it felt almost as good as sitting here talking to Gannon, but shouldn’t God mean more to her than a man? “I was praying when you came out.”
“About?”
“You.”
He returned to studying his feet. “You haven’t said much about what the songs mean.”
“They’re flattering.”
She’d intended it to be a compliment, but his smile turned rueful.
“Musically, the phoenix song pulls me the most.” When had music become a safer topic than their relationship? “The song about thinking about me … I’ve thought a lot about you too.”
“You haven’t missed me, though, have you?”
“I …” She’d been about to insist she had, but looking back, she hadn’t missed him the way his song said he’d missed her. She’d thought a lot about what-ifs—what if he showed up again, what if he’d forgotten all about her, what if she attended one of his shows? Longing tinged all of it, but the flavors of guilt and anger had been too strong to call it missing him. “I couldn’t, Gannon. I was too caught up in what had gone wrong and trying to not go off course again. But if it helps, when you leave now, it’ll punch a big hole in my life.”
“I’ll fly you out whenever you want.”
She’d gone too far, and now she had to backtrack. This was why she hadn’t wanted the conversation to go here. “Do you do that for all your friends?”
He stood and turned toward the lake. “Are we on that again?”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared silently over the water as if there were no more to say. Maybe there wasn’t.
Adeline slipped off the bench and took the first step toward the house to leave him in peace, but he clasped her hand, turning her back. He was close—much closer than she’d realized—and she put a hand on his chest to avoid crashing into him.
He covered her hand, his fingers cool over hers, a contrast to the body heat that seeped through his shirt to her palm. His breath rose and fell. Contrary to those lyrics, his heart beat against the base of her thumb. If they kissed, would she feel it speed up?
He dipped his head, not for a kiss, she could tell, but to coax her into lifting her gaze to his eyes. When she gave in, his line of sight strayed. Down to her lips. Heat rushed her face.
This wasn’t what she’d intended, but would it be so bad? Just a kiss. So the timing wasn’t ideal. The changes she faced would be a lot more fun if she could sometimes escape into Gannon’s arms.
Still holding her hand over his heart, he brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m running out of ways to show you what you mean to me.”
“And I’m afraid of how much you mean to me.”
“What’s there to be afraid of?” His question brushed her cheek, and his fingers trailed under her ear and into her hair.
She parted her lips to reply, but she didn’t know the answer. This wouldn’t be wrong. She had nothing to be afraid of. There were obstacles, sure, the potential for pain, but couldn’t Gannon help more than he could ever hurt her?
He glanced down to his side and smiled. Only then did she realize her free hand was at his waist, clutching the fabric of his T-shirt as though, if she lost her grip on him, she’d fall off the cliff.
“Tell me now you want to be friends, and I’ll believe you.” Even as he spoke, he moved closer.
The desire to kiss him hadn’t been half this strong the last time, so many years ago. That version of her never could’ve held out this long, let him take this kind of time. This version of her had completely melted inside, wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and press into him, but getting involved physically wouldn’t be right. Something was off. What? And why couldn’t attraction erase her better sense this time?
Gannon’s lips brushed her cheek, and in another second, her silence would be her answer.
“Friends.” She whispered it.
She felt Gannon’s sigh on her cheek. His chest rose and fell under her hand. Another breath. In and out.
What was wrong with her? Why had she cut it so close? She couldn’t tell if his heart rate had picked up because hers was beating so hard.
He stepped back, his touch sliding from along her neck, the hand that had cradled hers to his chest releasing. He started for Havenridge.
She ought to grab him the way he’d grabbed her, catch him and take it back.
God, what am I doing? How could that have been the right thing? He’s helped bring me closer to You. Doesn’t that make us a good match?
She didn’t know God well enough to guess His response, and the one person who might’ve shed light on it for her was ten feet away and farther every second.
She’d hurt him again. She never should’ve let it get so close to a kiss.
“Gannon, I’m sorry.” She jogged after him and fell into step beside him, the thick grass dragging against her canvas tennies.
His mouth was set, hints of a frown there and in the angle of his eyebrows. The pace he kept suggested anger, but he didn’t lash out at her. If only he would, they could argue, and somewhere in the back and forth, she’d figure it out—why a romance didn’t sit right.
“The timing is wrong,” she said.
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t blame him. They’d already had the timing discussion. He’d explained why it had to be now or never. Did that mean she’d chosen never? Because of a reservation she couldn’t even name?
He pulled open the patio door, let her through first, then started for the stairs.
She followed. “Gannon, we need—”
He stopped abruptly, and she ran into him. She stumbled back, apologizing, but he held up a hand for quiet.
She bit her lip, utterly confused until she registered the voices. And music. Who was up and making so much noise?
“They’re back.” Gannon headed for the stairs to the lower level, where the rec room was.
Laughter and voices ricocheted to meet them as they descended. Whoever had come, it wasn’t just Harper and Matt.
When Gannon pushed open the door of the rec room, more than a dozen people mingled, drank, and explored the games. Meanwhile, music thudded through the stereo equipment.
Gannon paused at the doorway to send a text, then stepped into the room.
One of the few guys nodded to Gannon as though they were old friends, but Gannon’s jaw pulsed with anger, eyes lasered on Matt. A woman sat on the bassist’s lap, her hands in his hair, and the pair ignored everything around them.
Another woman kneeled across the coffee table from Matt and cleared a space on the glass surface. Adeline didn’t need a good glimpse of what she held in her hand to guess what it was.
“Everybody out!” Gannon’s command, issued from the center of the room, fell on deaf ears.
A man with a goatee and small eyes toyed with the hair of a thin, young woman who tried to shrug him off. He wrapped a hand around the waist exposed by her crop top, hindering her escape. Her beer sloshed over her fingers as she shifted again, but to no avail. She wore short shorts, showing miles of legs. Despite her smoky makeup, her small face looked immature and way, way too innocent to be in this group.
The girl’s shocked and guilty eyes locked on Adeline, and realization dawned.
“Olivia?”