by Snow, Nicole
Andrea makes a mortified noise. “Dad, he just said he didn’t do anything—”
I grab her arm gently, urging her voice down to a harsh whisper, then silence.
“That’s right,” Clark interrupts sharply, squaring his bony, angular shoulders. “I didn’t do anything. So whatever, I’m not scared to say so in front of the sheriff, if that’s what’ll get you to calm the fuck down and get out of my face.”
Blake smirks.
Actually smirks, instead of bristling in response to what’s clearly a teenager lashing out and testing his authority. “You kiss your mama with that mouth, kiddo?”
I could kiss him right now.
For knowing when to be the big mean dad, and knowing when it’s not fair to flex his muscle on a kid. He lets Clark have that hit to save his pride.
“My mom cusses worse than I do,” Clark shoots back. “So are we done here?”
Blake shrugs. “Don’t know, are you?”
Andrea sighs and speaks up. “Look, we’re supposed to be working on our school project, Dad. Can...can we go do that, or do you want to embarrass me some more?”
Blake grumbles softly, then sighs. “Go on.”
I’ve never seen two teenagers bolt away faster, their shoes scraping the floor.
I’ve also never seen a boy turn as red as Clark does, when Andrea grasps on tight to his hand and drags him upstairs.
“Keep your door open,” Blake growls after them.
The only answer is the resounding slam of the door instead, and he hangs his head with a snarl, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“Well,” I venture, holding back my grin. “That was eventful.”
“Sorry you had to see that.” Blake jerks, lifting his head and looking at me a bit sheepishly.
“It’s fine. I’d rather be here if I helped even a little bit.”
“You did, darlin’. Thanks for helping calm her down.” With a firm glance, he settles down on the couch, his heavy weight sinking in—and I can’t help but notice that he’s favoring one leg again.
“Are you okay?” I ask softly.
“Never have kids, Peace. They’ll kill you, if you don’t kill them first. But I’m glad you were here, or I might have lit that little shit on fire myself. You’re sure it wasn’t him?”
“Not a hundred percent,” I admit. “But ninety-nine-point-nine. He’s just too skinny, and he doesn’t carry himself the same way. I don’t feel like Clark’s that kind of kid. He’s going through an angsty rebel phase, yeah, but not a crazy pyro phase.”
Blake smiles tiredly. “In all your wisdom raising kids, huh?”
“Hey, I’m not completely lost.” I laugh. “I know people, no matter their age.”
“Yeah, you do.” But Blake shakes his head. “I know you’re right, anyway. That beat-up old Pinto he’s driving ain’t the right car. Plus, there’s been another fire and a new note.”
“Again? Was anyone hurt?” My heart sinks; my eyes widen.
“Could’ve been,” he says grimly, lifting haunted eyes to me. “They tried to set the fire at your cabin, but the tinder tipped over into the snow and put itself out.”
That hits me like a blow to the gut.
I...oh, no.
Now there’s no more doubt.
The guy, the creeper, he wanted to hurt me.
He recognized me, knew who I was, and he wanted to hurt me, and I was off gallivanting around town today like nothing could ever happen. Totally oblivious.
I wrap my arms around myself. “But the note? What else happened?”
“Ms. Wilma chased somebody off her property but didn’t get a good look at him. Here.” He digs in his jacket pocket and retrieves a bit of blue paper, then passes it over. “Look for yourself.”
Frowning, I take it and smooth it out.
Jenna was the real hero, Warren.
And you can’t even protect her memory.
Yikes.
It’s so ominous, so terrible, and I can’t even explain why.
I shake my head. “Who’s Jenna?”
Blake exhales slowly, propping his elbow on his thigh and leaning forward, pressing his knuckles to his temple. “Warren’s sister. Dead. Almost a decade ago. She was murdered by one of our closest friends overseas while they were enlisted. All because she found out he had a terrible secret, some illegal shit he was smuggling in and out of Heart’s Edge. He made it look like an accident in the line of fire when they were deployed, but Warren...he wouldn’t quit till he found out the truth. Took him years to figure it out and win her some justice.”
“That’s horrible. So it sounds like whoever set the fire blames Warren for something?” I bite my lip and pass the note back to Blake. “What did the other note say?”
He gives me a skeptical look. “You didn’t eavesdrop on that, too?”
“Um.” I wince, half-smiling. “Sorry.”
Blake looks so heavy, so burdened, and I wish there was more I could do. “It called Leo a scarred freak. Said he and his merry band of assholes aren’t as smart as they think.”
“Wow, that’s cruel. So the arsonist is after the Heroes of Heart’s Edge,” I murmur as it clicks. “To him, you’re not that heroic.”
Blake’s head comes up sharply. “All of us? Me and Doc, Warren and Leo? Shit.” He stares at me, then swears, looking away and dragging his hand through his beard. “Yeah, guess that jives. And it helps me narrow my suspect list down to one, though I don’t want to fucking think about it.”
I can’t help myself.
I can’t stand seeing anyone in pain, least of all Blake.
So I slide off the arm of the sofa to settle down next to him, our hips just barely touching.
“Hey,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “Who do you think it is? Why would they want to hurt you?”
He doesn’t look at me.
His arm might as well be solid steel under my touch, so tense, and I worry all this tension can’t be good for his leg.
After a minute, he turns a long look on me, searching, before his hand falls to cover mine, warm and enveloping in its roughness.
He’s not pulling away from me.
But he’s not giving me any answers, either.
He just squeezes my fingers and says, “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. Old family business. You’ve gotten muddied up in enough of my dirt around here. It’s not your problem.”
Then he leans in, stamping a kiss to my forehead.
It’s chaste, not like the burn-me-down passion this morning.
I’m just as in love with it, anyway.
He kisses me like I’m a small, precious thing he wants to cherish, the rasp of his rusty-brown scruff against my temples, catching in my hair.
And even if it’s so small, so simple, so sweet...
It takes my breath away, leaving me silent as he pulls back, the sadness in his smile whispering at an old, deep ache.
“You just let me look after you,” he says, though he’s already standing, drawing away, and putting that wall up between us again. “I’ll get this wrapped up nice and quick.”
* * *
No matter how long I stand at the window and watch him, I don’t think Blake’s going to look up and notice me.
And if I open the window and call out Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
I doubt he’s going to climb the trellis to get me.
He’s been sitting outside by the snowy fire pit for hours, well past sunset and into the dark of evening, moving only to crack open another beer from his six-pack or to top off the flames with a few fresh logs to keep it burning hot and bright.
I can’t stand seeing him down there. Brooding. Hurting. Alone.
Sure, I’m supposed to be heading out to put on another show with Ember at The Nest while he’s here, locked up inside his own head.
But I don’t think I could sing with my real heart if I knew Blake was beating himself up over things that aren’t his fault.
I don’t want to
cancel on Ember, either, though.
So I guess I’ve only got one option.
I finish pinning my hair up in a little twist with lacquered sticks that give it just the perfect oomph of messy I like while keeping it out of my face. Then I pull on a sweater over my little strappy tank top with my favorite pair of jeans—this lucky thrift shop find, bell-bottoms that are tight in all the right places, loose enough to earn their name, and embroidered with flower appliques all over them.
Yes, they’re hokey, utterly kitschy, and totally me.
I pull on my winter boots, slide on my coat, sling my guitar over my shoulder, and head downstairs with hope bright in the back of my throat, like a quiet note waiting to burst into song.
Blake’s so lost in his trance he doesn’t even look up when I open the kitchen door and peek out back.
He’s brooding in the firelight, golden light flickering off the edges of his stark, handsome profile. It catches in glints on his hair to make it gleam like polished dark wood and streaks of snow.
This man.
Achingly gorgeous, even when he’s unaware he has an audience.
I never really think about how old he is. He just radiates this ageless vitality, even when he’s in pain.
But I can see the lines in his eyes tonight.
The strain.
The pain reflected in icy-blue depths. They capture and give back the light from the fire pit in sapphire fragments.
He’s living with the old ghosts tonight, I think. I can’t leave him to their mercy.
“Hey,” I say, smiling as I drift closer to his chair. Reaching down, I tap the empty beer can next to him. “Looks like you’re all tapped out for the night.”
He jerks slightly, waking up, even though his eyes are fully open. He looks up at me like he doesn’t recognize me, too wrapped up in the thoughts of the Blake he was before he ever met me. Then his gaze clears and he smiles faintly.
“Whole fridge shelf waiting for me inside if I want it.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” I fold my arms against the back of his chair, leaning over his shoulders to watch him with a smile. “I think you need a nice hot cup of coffee instead.”
“Eh.” He shrugs. “Too lazy to brew up a pot.”
“Good thing they make it for you at The Nest,” I say with a grin, tugging at the collar of his jacket. “C’mon. You’re coming out with me.”
Blake makes an odd noise but doesn’t budge. “I am? You want my buzzed ass around that bad, darlin’?”
“Yep. I’m playing with Ember at The Nest again, and I want you to come.”
I sound firm, confident.
Honestly? I’m shaking in my boots.
This is halfway asking him out on a date.
It’s openly admitting I want him there when I’m pouring my heart out in song.
And he’s looking at me like he knows, his expression strange, brows knit together. He tilts his head and studies me in that gentle bear way he has.
Everything goes numb and warm inside.
He’s got this way of looking at people that says he really sees them, open and frank and honest.
It’s a little scary.
Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone to really see me, and now I’m in this man’s spotlight.
After a moment, his eyes soften, his boyish smile returning—still small, barely there, but warmer. “You gonna sing that song about the birds made for the sky again?”
I flush, the heat in my cheeks chasing back the cold.
“If that’s a request,” I whisper. “So...you’re coming? It’s a lot warmer at the café than it is out here.”
“Well...wouldn’t wanna get frostbite, would I?” he asks flatly, leaving me in suspense.
There’s something else to it, too.
That rolling, husky sweetness to his voice. Rich emotion that infuses every word to give them meaning, weight, life.
And all the words in my mouth dry up, leaving me silent as he chuckles and levers himself to his feet, bending over to pick up a pail of sand.
“Let me just put the fire pit out and sober up for a few,” he says. “Then we’ll drive on over.”
* * *
I shouldn’t be so jittery.
I’ve played in front of customers at The Nest before, plus other little nameless cafes a hundred times over the years, but now?
It’s different.
This time people know Ember and I are here to play for them, instead of it just turning into a random jam session. Word of mouth spread—and there’s nearly twice as many people here tonight, settled in cozy little clusters, chatting, sipping their lattes and cappuccinos and dark roasts, watching with gentle curiosity while we set up.
Then there’s Blake.
Last time I hadn’t realized he was here until he was already gone, when Ember and Felicity told me he’d watched us play.
Now, he’s settled at a small table near the window—just him, the tall cup of black coffee he’d ordered, and a small, curious smile on his lips, his chin propped up in one hand.
Yet, that sadness is still with him, too.
I’d felt it the entire time we were driving through the snow, silent save for the oldies jingling from the Jeep’s radio.
He’s carrying something so heavy, and still finding it in him to smile just for me.
So I flash him a smile back, telling the butterflies in my stomach to calm down as I climb up onto my stool next to Ember. She’s checking her violin’s bow. She glances over with a sweet smile, her eyes as sunny as her personality.
“You look a little shaky,” she says. “It’s easier singing to him on the radio, huh?”
I let out a flustered sound so awkward and so loud several heads jerk toward us.
My face burns, and I clear my throat, tossing out a quick smile for the waiting crowd before leaning close to Ember and hissing, “Can you stop? I feel like the entire town is watching and waiting for me to fall on my face. I’m Icarus flying too close to the sun.”
“I don’t think so,” Ember says softly, watching me with gentle warmth. “The sun’s out of reach, girl. I don’t think what you want is.”
My throat tightens. I look down, running my fingers lightly over my guitar strings, checking the sound, listening to the faint ripple of notes to make sure I’m in tune.
“How do you know what I want?”
“Everybody knows what you want, Peace. It’s not hard to see there’s something pulling you two together like the red thread of fate in those Chinese stories.” She shakes her head with a soft laugh. “I think the only one who hasn’t really figured it out is him.”
“I’ve been pretty obvious,” I say.
“Obvious to you probably isn’t obvious to him.” With a lighthearted little shrug, Ember lays the bow against her lap, next to the gleaming, well-loved violin resting on her thighs. “Look, I haven’t been here that long. I don’t know him as well as other folks do, but...I know he’s got a lot going on inside his head. And he doesn’t always see what’s right in front of his face. With the guys he’s kind of the last one to get it all the time, but it’s not because he’s dumb. It’s just that he’s worrying about so much all the time. So it’s hard for him to pull away and see what’s right in front of him.”
I let my gaze drift back to Blake.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I can see that. He’s got his hands full with Andrea and everything else.”
Which makes me worry.
Do I really want to be another thing taxing Blake’s thoughts, making him worry?
Do I even have the right to want to be something like that?
Everything in the sadness hovering around him says no.
But everything that aches inside me for the haunted need in those dark-blue eyes begs yes.
I already know what’s happening.
Tonight, I’ll sing for him like never before.
“You ready?” I settle my guitar across my thighs, glancing at Ember.
“Ready.” She smiles. “How about you lead with whatever you want, and I’ll harmonize? I’m pretty good at picking up a chord as long as you go steady. We’ll improv.”
I laugh breathlessly. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Sure do. We’re about to create genius that we’ll never be able to repeat, and no one’s even going to record it.” She laughs, shrugging. “That’s how it goes.”
Right.
Just like those moments that are the most amazing in your life because you’re too busy feeling to document them.
Those moments come in music, too.
When you just play with all your heart, and let it come out of you full of beauty and wildness.
I can feel something in my fingertips, something vibrating and needing to come to life. I only hesitate a second before touching my fingers to the strings, making them quiver, vibrate, and sigh.
I hardly notice the room going quiet, full attention drawn in on us.
Time to let go and follow my heart.
It’s here. That song I’ve been working on, coming alive in my fingertips, this thing of burnt sparks across a dry landscape and the scent of cigarette smoke drifting from cynical lips, the weary creak of leather and boots, the movement of broad shoulders, the scent of blood in the desert and embers sparking in dry wood.
It’s the story of a hero who can’t let himself be a hero.
A man who can’t see that the heart inside him isn’t gunmetal, but gold.
And where I couldn’t find the words before...
Now they pour out of me like I’m exhaling that smoke and loveliness on my breath, taking in the pain on his lips, forming it into lyrics. And even with the haunting notes of Ember’s violin squealing around me, I’m singing those lightning notes into existence.
It hurts.
It hurts in all the best ways like only the most beautiful songs do, reaching down and pulling out my emotions until I’m such a wreck, but it’s all right.
It’s okay to be a wreck because I can’t look away from Blake Silverton.
He doesn’t look away from me, either. There’s something in his eyes, even if he’s not smiling anymore.
