Cursing loudly and colorfully, Matt stalked across the room and began to pace. “My mental health? What the hell does that even mean? Do they think I’m depressed? Am I on suicide watch?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “Oh, they’d love that! The world likes nothing more than to watch people on their way down. Bastards!”
“Matt.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vivienne walking toward him, but he was too upset at the moment—too raw—to have a rational conversation. Without a word, he spun and stalked out the door.
* * *
“Well, that went just great,” Vivienne murmured to herself. With a sigh, she went back to the kitchen and put the tartlets on one plate and covered them.
What was she supposed to do? Maybe she shouldn’t have brought up the rumors swirling about him, but…it had just slipped out! At some point, Matt was going to have to stop hiding and face the fact that he wasn’t immune to gossip and speculation, and one day, he was going to have to go out in public again and deal with it.
Obviously, he wasn’t at that point yet.
She hated how dinner had ended. With a weary sigh, she figured since she’d been the one to start this, she might as well see it through to the end. Matt clearly needed a friend, needed to know someone was in his corner and believed in him—someone to help him see things were going to get better.
It felt like she was walking to her own execution.
Halfway across the yard, she stopped to consider her actions. Maybe it was wrong to go in there and push. Maybe Matt needed to blow off some steam.
Or maybe he really was suicidal and the reports were right.
“Dammit. Now I’m believing the nonsense,” she huffed and continued making her way to Aaron’s back door. She didn’t bother to knock, and as soon as she stepped inside, she found him flat on his back on the floor in the middle of the living room. “Oh my God! Matt!” she cried and ran to his side, dropping to her knees beside him. “Please be okay! Please be okay!”
Her hands were on his face and fear had her by the throat when he opened his eyes. Green eyes blazed with anger as they met hers. Matt smacked her hand away as he sat up. “You believed them!” he shouted accusingly, coming to his feet. “You freaking believed what you read today! Dammit, Viv! What the hell?”
It took a moment for her heart rate to return to normal as she sat back on her heels. It was foolish to believe he would harm himself—or that he had managed to do it in the five minutes since she’d last seen him.
But he had scared the hell out of her for a brief moment.
Slowly, she came to her feet and stood her ground. “You know what? Yes. For one second, I did. I came in here and found you on the floor, not moving, with your eyes closed. What was I supposed to think?”
“I don’t know, maybe that I was just trying to calm down? Geez! Do you honestly think I’d kill myself over a stupid show? Over bad reviews?”
“Why not?” she yelled back. “You’re locked up here having a damn pity party over them! And I don’t know you well enough to know what your state of mind is. For all I know, you’re holed up in here all day drinking or taking stuff to numb the pain. It’s what guys like you do, isn’t it?”
His eyes went wide and then narrowed significantly. “Guys like me?” he snarled.
Okay, not the best thing to say when trying to calm someone down, she told herself, but there was no way to take it back. “Oh please. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t drink or never did drugs because it would be insulting to us both.”
He took a menacing step toward her. “Sweetheart, you don’t know anything about me.”
“You’re a drinker. Jack Daniels. Right out of the bottle,” she spat at him accusingly.
And then it hit her what she’d done. There was no way she could know that—at least not that Matt was seemingly aware of. She looked at him and tried to keep her expression neutral, but she saw the suspicion on his face.
“I’ve seen pictures of you,” she said quickly, defiantly. “So don’t bother denying it.” Plus, I’ve been alone with you in your dressing room and tasted it on your breath when you kissed me into oblivion.
“Fine. I drink,” he sneered and then stopped and let out a ragged sigh. “At least…I used to. I haven’t had a bender in…two years.” He paused and took several deep breaths before he continued. “I’m not going to apologize or explain my actions to you, Vivienne. It’s not a crime to drink. When I realized it was becoming a crutch, a problem, I stopped. Not completely,” he quickly added. “I just know my limitations now. I can have a beer or a glass of wine and stop there. It’s a choice, and I’m very lucky I don’t have an addiction.”
She nodded as understanding dawned on her. On top of the weight of this scandal—or semi-scandal—hanging over him, he was also struggling with other demons. He was strong and wanted to remain so, but sooner or later, he was going to break. Taking a tentative step toward him, she sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said gruffly. “And it’s not your battle. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“No, but…I shouldn’t have brought it up. We were having a nice evening, and I ruined it. Again, I’m sorry.”
Matt’s gaze remained hard for a moment longer, and then he seemed to relax a bit. A long sigh was his immediate response, but Vivienne had a feeling he was searching for something to say. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now. And I can’t figure out why I’m not.”
I don’t want to touch that statement with a ten-foot pole was the first thing to enter her mind. And as much as it pained her, she remained silent.
“It’s ego,” he said and then walked over and flopped down on the sofa. “And I hate it. I always hated guys who were so damn wrapped up in themselves they thought they could do no wrong.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Turns out I’m one of them.”
Another statement she was biting her tongue on.
“How can I make it go away?” Matt shook his head. “Not the rumors and speculation—I can’t stop people from talking—but the feelings. How the hell do I stop letting those things get to me? How do I stop taking it personally?”
“By proving them wrong,” she said before she could stop herself. Her hand instantly went up to cover her mouth and she mumbled, “Sorry.”
Matt studied her for a moment and then held out his hand to her. Vivienne had no idea what to do because she had a feeling touching him was the worst thing she could do—it might crumble her resolve, or he’d be able to see how much she was attracted to him. So she simply stared at his hand.
“Um…Viv?”
“Oh…right,” she mumbled and forced herself to sit down at the opposite end of the sofa—without touching him.
He frowned. Deeply. Almost scowled. Then he threw his head back against the cushions and growled. “See? Even you think I’m scum.”
Great.
“No I don’t,” she said, but it sounded weak even to her ears.
“Right. That’s why you’re sitting practically on the other side of the room and looked at my hand as if touching me was repulsive.” He cursed. “When did I become this guy? This…completely self-absorbed jackass?”
Two years ago, she wanted to say, and then stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Her inner dialogue was almost getting too hard to control.
“Look, Matt,” she began casually, “most of us don’t realize we’re changing. You spent a lot of years with people catering to your every whim. I’m sure, given the chance, most people would change. You now have the opportunity to see the change and decide which version of yourself you want to be. I bet a lot of people wish they could have done that before they were too far gone.”
“What if I’m already too far gone?”
“You’re not,” she replied softly. “You’re sitting here telling me what you see in yourself. If
you were really too far gone, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” She paused. “Now you can be whatever kind of guy you want. It’s up to you.”
He straightened and looked her directly in the eye, his expression less angry and more pleading. “I’d like to be the kind of guy you don’t cringe away from.”
Well, damn. “I didn’t cringe,” she said, going for light and teasing. She even forced herself to grin.
Rather than speak, he simply held out his hand again. His gaze held hers as he waited.
There wasn’t an option. Doing her best to have no reaction at all, Vivienne stood and walked toward him and placed her hand in his.
And felt more alive than she had in years.
His hand was large, his skin rough and warm. Her eyes met his, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he looked just as shaken as she was. Her lips parted and she took a slow, shaky breath. Matt’s hand closed around hers and he gently tugged her down onto the sofa beside him. She sat stiffly for a moment and then—as if of one mind—they relaxed against each other. Vivienne’s head was on his shoulder, his arm around her, and it felt…nice.
Natural.
Like everything she’d been waiting for.
Now what? How was she supposed to act? What was she supposed to say that wouldn’t come out as her begging Matt to kiss her? Touch her?
She should have stayed in the cottage and let him have his meltdown and recovery on his own. Now she was stuck here with no way to get up and leave without it being completely obvious that she was no better than the hundreds of girls he’d been with over the years.
She visibly shivered even as the proverbial bucket of cold water was dumped on her with that thought.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low and gruff in her ear.
Not trusting her voice, she nodded.
They sat in somewhat companionable silence for several minutes. Vivienne’s mind wasn’t quiet for even one second. When she noticed the sheet music out on the piano, she twisted slightly and looked up at him. “You play the piano?”
He chuckled softly and placed a light kiss on her temple. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, forcing herself to laugh even though all she could think about was the fact that his lips had just touched her.
“I’ve tried it several times over the years, but while I was sitting here today doing nothing, I decided to give it a try. It was a little intimidating and I still basically suck at it, but I’m better at it than I was yesterday.”
“I was forced to take lessons for years. My mother was obsessed with me learning. I was relieved when I moved out on my own and didn’t have room for a piano in my apartment. Then Aaron went and built this house and bought one. Every time our parents come to visit, I’m obligated to play a little. If I’m not mistaken, that’s their old sheet music you’re using.”
“That would explain why there isn’t anything from the last decade or two.”
She chuckled. “Aaron really didn’t even need it. I think it was just something my parents passed on to him. Lord knows I didn’t want it.”
“Sounds like you hate it.”
She shrugged. “I think hate is a strong word for it, but it’s very different when you play for pleasure than when you’re doing it because you’re expected to. I used to love to play the popular songs—I have an ear for it now and can play a lot of them without sheet music—and it used to make my mother crazy.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the memory. “Whenever she was nearby, I’d play Mozart or Beethoven, but as soon as she would leave, I would break into some NSYNC or Backstreet Boys.”
“Ugh! Not the boy bands!” he cried in mock disgust.
“What can I say?” she said, unable to control her laughter. “It’s the music I was listening to.”
“Please tell me you don’t still listen to it?” he begged. “If you could sit down and play anything right now, what would you play?”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because now I feel like I’m under the microscope, like you’re going to criticize my choice in music, especially if I pick something that’s not one of your songs or something.”
Matt pulled back and shifted so they were fully facing one another. She immediately missed the heat of his body pressed up against hers.
“No pressure. Just honesty. I’m genuinely curious. If no one were here, what would you play?”
“Classic Elton John,” she said without hesitation. “I love his music. All of it. But his earlier stuff is my favorite.”
“I was working on one of his songs earlier, and I have to admit, it didn’t sound half bad.”
“Prove it,” she challenged, a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye.
“No way,” he replied, shaking his head. “That’s not fair.”
“How is it not fair? You’re a musician. You play music in front of tens of thousands of people all the time. Why can’t you play one song on the piano for me?”
“Because I barely know how to play it.” Then he stopped, and Vivienne did not like the look on his face. Matt stood and held out his hand to her again. “Play it with me.” His voice was so soft, as was his expression, and this time, she fit her hand into his without hesitation.
Together they sat on the piano bench and Matt set up the sheet music and started to play.
Only…he couldn’t.
At least, that’s how it seemed to Vivienne.
He seemed stiff and uncomfortable, and finally, she placed her hand over his and stopped him. “You need to relax a little. You’re still too new at this just to jump in. I always had to do warm-up exercises before my instructors would let me play.”
“I always thought that seemed like a waste of time,” he said. “You think it’s necessary?”
“Technically, you’re a beginner. So I would say yes, just to loosen your hands up and get you comfortable with the keyboard.” Then she started playing some exercises she remembered from when she was a kid and encouraged Matt to do them. Then, they easily moved on to “Chopsticks.” And from there, she moved on to “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” They both laughed as she played it and Matt sang along, and then he played it back for her, teasing that she needed to sing it to him.
She declined but laughed the entire time. There was no way she was singing for him—she knew her strengths, and singing was not one of them.
“What about this one?” he asked and started the very basic beginnings of “Heart and Soul.”
“Oh,” she sighed, “this is one of my favorites.” She joined in, with Matt doing the A section and Vivienne doing the chords. Their shoulders bumped together as they played, and she couldn’t help the tingles she got as Matt quietly sang the lyrics beside her.
When she turned her head and caught him watching her with an odd expression on his face, she began to wonder if maybe he was remembering the way he’d held her that night and kissed her…and let her go.
She jumped up from the bench so quickly she stumbled and almost fell on her butt. When she righted herself, Vivienne looked at him with wide eyes, her heart beating madly. “Sorry.”
“You okay?” he asked, obviously concerned.
“Um…yeah. I had a…a, um…leg cramp and I needed to get up and move.” Way to sound like an eighty-year-old woman, Viv, she cursed herself. Trying to prove she wasn’t lying, she limped around a bit and then sat back down on the very edge of the bench, effectively putting space between the two of them. “So…I think you should be good to go. Why don’t you play something for me?” Her voice sounded weird even to her own ears.
Matt was still looking at her funny, but he didn’t say a word. He cleared his throat as he turned, put his focus on the keyboard, and began to play. It was slightly off and riddled with mistakes, but he kept going. Vivienne was learning more and more about him. F
or instance, she could tell he was tempted to stop and start over again with every mistake. But he didn’t. He kept on playing and singing.
He opted for the Elton John tune, and as he had before, he sang as he played. Vivienne could only sit and listen, his voice washing over her. She knew he hadn’t purposely chosen this song—the lyrics weren’t his—but for one brief moment, she let her imagination run wild. A small sigh escaped her lips as she imagined it was her own sweet eyes he was singing about.
Matt was looking at her again, and Vivienne felt hot all over. She was feeling things she shouldn’t. He was making her feel things she shouldn’t. Or maybe he was just singing lyrics, and she was reading too much into them. When he turned back to the piano and continued to sing, she told herself that was all it was—her imagination.
Her stupid, overactive imagination.
With her mind somewhat made up, she allowed herself to relax a little and just enjoy the music. As the last note faded and the room became silent, she knew he was waiting for her to give him feedback. Forcing herself to smile, she turned her head and looked at him. “That was pretty good. I would never know you were new to playing the piano.”
“Really?” he asked, and she could tell he didn’t fully believe her. “Because it was riddled with mistakes.”
“Matt, you know you have talent.”
“I used to.”
“That’s a bunch of bull and you know it,” she said a bit harshly. “You can’t be good at everything. It sucks, but there it is. You’re a very talented musician. So you can’t act? Big deal. So you’re better at backup vocals than lead? There are worse things that could happen! Seriously, you have more skill and musical ability than most people. Why can’t you just be happy with that?”
His answer wasn’t immediate. Instead, he got up and went to the kitchen and grabbed them each a bottle of water. When he walked back over and handed Vivienne hers, he smiled sadly. “I hate to fail.”
One More Kiss Page 8
