I sighed when my text alert went off.
Mom: You doing okay?
Me: If falling for a beautiful girl and plotting world domination is okay, then yes?
Mom: You already dominate my world.
Me: I’m blushing.
Mom: I miss you.
Me: I miss you too. I promise I really am doing okay. I just really like this girl, and she may be leaving. I know kidnapping’s illegal, but…
Mom: Ha. Don’t end up on the evening news. And if you like her, you could always just…ask.
Me: Ask?
Mom: Ask her to stay. Sometimes the simplest way is the best way.
Me: Ugh. How did you get so smart?
Mom: I’m a mom, it’s in the job description. Tell her how you feel. Honest moments are the best ones, the ones you want to keep, the ones that mean the most.
Me: I love you so much.
Mom: I know.
Me: Arrogance becomes you.
Mom: Says the guy who flashes his six-pack on a regular basis on stage.
Me: It’s in the job description.
Mom: Cute. Can we facetime later? I want to see this girl.
Me: Absolutely. And Mom? I really like her so maybe don’t tell her it took me until I was ten to learn how to tie my shoes the right way.
Mom: Sorry, that text didn’t come through.
Me: MOM!
Mom: Will you look at the time?
Me: MOOOOMMMMMMMMM
Mom: LOVE YOU!
I stared down at the phone, irritated but smiling, and then wiped my hands down my face as I thought about it more. Could I just tell Piper how I felt? Even though it was so soon?
I groaned and tossed a pillow to the floor. My mom always did say that when I fell, it would be instant and hard. I remember laughing in her face. Not laughing now. No, I was suffering and wondering how Piper’s phone calls were going, and wishing we were both naked.
“Hey!” Piper knocked on my door. “You okay?”
I looked up. “Is that my shirt?”
Her cheeks turned bright red. “Possibly?”
“Damn, it looks better on you.”
“It’s black.” She grinned, and I tossed a pillow in her direction. She dodged it. Suddenly, she was running toward me and jumping on top of me.
I kissed her first—I think.
Her hands found my face, pulling me closer as she hooked her legs around me.
Bliss.
This was what people wrote love songs about.
This was what people fought wars for.
This feeling right here, where her heart seemed to beat my name.
I wanted to tell her I was keeping her. It was on the tip of my tongue, and I opened my mouth—
“I got an interview.”
I stilled, eased out a breath, and tried for a façade of nonchalant interest. “Where at?”
She pulled back and smiled. “It’s a secret.”
I laughed, even though I wanted to immediately do something illegal like lock her in my room. “Ah, well, I bet I have a few ways to get you to confess.”
“Mmm, really?” She tugged my shirt over her head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against my lips. “Still so sure?”
I couldn’t think beyond the word mine, so I didn’t talk at all. I used my actions to show her how I felt, to show her I was owned. That a life coach had waltzed into my world, tipped it upside down—or maybe right side up—and made me realize that I had something to give the world beyond a gimpy leg, my voice, and my life.
I had my songs.
And that’s why we needed music. Because sometimes words weren’t enough. But pair those words with notes, and you had a masterpiece that moved people to tears, moved them to action, moved individuals in general.
Piper pulled away and tilted her head. “Did you get a lot of writing done?”
I jerked my chin toward my notepad. “Take a look.”
She slowly crawled out of my lap—topless, might I add—then grabbed the yellow notepad and started reading.
I’d never been nervous about anyone going over my lyrics before. Not until that moment. Suddenly, she started wiping tears from her cheeks.
Without speaking, she grabbed the notepad and went into the living room. I slowly followed.
She grabbed my vision board and started drawing.
I let her sketch, though I didn’t know how she was seeing through her tears to do it.
When she was done, I was stunned into complete silence.
She’d drawn a small globe and then had written my name over it. After that, she drew a sun next to it.
“I knew you would never put this down, but it needs to be on here. Because the minute this album drops, you’re going to change the world with your light, and I’m so damn proud to be a part of it, even in a small way.” She turned, and I almost lost it, almost told her I loved her. I knew that my love was too soon, but I didn’t care.
Instead, she beat me to it by kissing me again and again. I was lost to her and barely had any time to take her to the couch before our clothes went flying and our touches became a hurried mixture of pain and pleasure. When I thrust into her, felt her heat around me, I knew I would never want anyone else.
Ever.
“Stay,” I whispered as we moved in sync.
Her eyes were glassy as she answered, “Where else would I go?”
I flipped onto my back, letting her ride me as she pressed me into the couch, her hair draped over her face.
“Away,” I barely squeezed out, finding myself getting choked up. “Would you believe me if I told you, you were my soul?”
“Would you believe me if I told you, you owned my heart?”
Neither of us answered.
But our bodies did.
And in that moment, all I kept thinking was, thank God I was spared.
Even if it was only for a day. It still meant I had her.
Chapter Fourteen
Piper
Five more days in his arms, that’s what the universe gave me, and I told myself to be thankful. Technically, my time was up next week. Even though I wasn’t still working for the production company, I was trying to help in small ways. Like attempting to get him to finish a full album and making sure he was nourished enough to do so. I even told my old boss not to send someone new, that I was doing this pro bono, that I refused to leave his side.
Braden was funny when he was writing; it was either food or sex or both. I still hadn’t told him who my interview was with. I was too terrified that he’d panic or say no.
And I knew his denial would break me, so I kept it to myself. I decided I’d tell him after the surprise.
I just hoped it worked. It was a last-ditch effort to get him to see that the world needed him and his music. I could only hope that he didn’t blame me or panic when he saw what we had planned.
That was the other problem. I’d been half hoping that Drew and Zane wouldn’t be able to work miracles that fast, but apparently, money talked. When they called me earlier that day and said that Project Free Braden—Zane’s idea, not mine—was a go, I was already mourning the loss of the man who’d stolen my heart with his words. Who made me sigh with his touch.
How did people survive knowing this sort of feeling and then suddenly living without it?
“So that was weird,” Braden said as he walked into the room wearing nothing but low-slung dark jeans that showed off his perfect chest and ramped up his wow factor.
I sighed, totally distracted by his ink and hard muscles.
“Hey, eyes up here.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m a person, not a piece of meat!”
I just shook my head. “Not what you said this morning when I had you in my mouth. Pretty sure you said something like, ‘Suck me like your favorite lollipop, and I’ll call you queen.’”
His grin was smug. “Hey, I’m not the best at dirty talk, all right. But that mouth…” His eyes zeroed in, and suddenly, my black sweater dress felt too tight, lik
e I needed to take it off, get some air, and then some Braden.
“Eyes up here.” I winked.
“Yeah, that’s fair.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Anyways, Zane just called, which he never does. Thought the dude was in prison or something since he didn’t send a text, but he wants us all to go out since we only have a few days left.”
I swallowed the giant lump in my throat and nodded. “That sounds fun. Did he say where?”
Braden shrugged. “Said he’d text me in a few minutes. They wanna meet now, is that cool?”
“Yep.” I didn’t tell him I’d already gotten a text hours ago and had done my hair and makeup since I’d literally lived in Braden’s sweats for days, helping him focus and get on track with his music. “You better go put on a shirt so girls don’t just swoon at your feet though.”
He laughed. “I don’t think I’ve been this shirtless in a long time. And someone keeps stealing my sweats so…”
I bit my bottom lip and gave him an innocent look. “They’re comfier than my pantsuits.”
He gave me a stunned expression. “Does that mean we can burn them and stay naked?”
“Um, no. Because we still have to go outside this house.”
He pouted. “That’s not actually accurate. We can get groceries delivered, and food ordered like a date night in. Technically, I could keep you here as my prisoner.”
“I’d want nothing more,” I said honestly.
His face fell like he knew where my thoughts were headed, and then he was walking over to me and pulling me into his arms.
He would be leaving for his tour soon.
And if I ever wanted to see him again, I needed to ace my interview and hope he didn’t get pissed.
The future was so uncertain.
But I knew I could count on his kisses.
On his words.
His touch.
The way he protectively held me close and showed me that he was in this even when nothing was said between us. I clung to him so tightly that I started to get hot.
Finally, he pulled away, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “We’ll figure it out, all right?”
“I believe you.”
He groaned as his phone went off. “That’s probably Zane. Let me go put on a shirt real quick.”
“Wear that gray beanie I like too!” I shouted after him. I knew what was coming; he didn’t.
“On it!” he called back.
Within minutes, we were in his Jeep headed toward downtown. There were a ton of people. Not just a few clusters, more like hundreds, all going in the same direction we were.
“Shit, is there an event going on?” Braden asked.
“It’s Seaside, who knows?” I answered. “Just park wherever, we can walk.”
“If we can find parking.” He laughed and then a car magically pulled out. We pulled in, and I felt like puking. “God provides.”
“Ha.” I pressed a hand to my stomach as we joined the crowds of people walking toward the beach, in the direction of the circular drive of the Seaside boardwalk where a stage was set up.
It was already starting to get dark.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach as we finally got close enough to see the stage and the name in front of it.
Adrenaline.
AD2.
Zane “Saint” Andrews.
With special guest, Braden Connor.
He stopped walking and dropped my hand, his gaze on the giant stage with its two TV screens.
There were at least a thousand people already cheering, holding glow sticks. The guys were going on in a few minutes.
“You knew,” Braden said in a broken voice.
“It was my idea,” I confessed.
“The hell?” He pulled away, his eyes searching mine. “Why? Why would you do this to me? You know I’m not ready! This crowd is huge, and I haven’t performed since—”
“Since you freaked out on stage. And before that, since you were shot in the leg by a crazed fan. Since the world heard your name and said prayers that you’d recover, since fans swarmed your social media pages with well wishes and kind words. Yes, I know. Not because I’m your life coach or your friend, or the person who wants to keep you forever, but because I’m a fan. A true one. And because I know that what you have inside here”—I tapped his chest—“is something they need to hear. The world is waiting, Braden. So with each step you take toward that stage, own that fear. Own the way it tastes, the way it tries to choke your truth, tries to silence your voice. Get on that stage and sing the loudest you’ve ever sung.” I dug into my purse and pulled out the pictures of the fans who had died. Most of them were from them posting on social media wearing his merchandise. “Most of all, do it for them.” I handed him the pictures.
He looked down and swallowed, his eyes filling with tears. “What if I can’t?”
“What if you can? You’ll never know unless you try.”
With a sigh, he turned and started walking toward the stage. As he walked, the crowd parted, and slowly, so slowly, the fans lifted their glow sticks like a salute as he made it through. And then he saw it.
The front of the stage where the pictures of the people who had died were surrounded by candles.
He stopped and stared while the crowd started chanting his name.
He slowly faced each picture, made the sign of a cross over his chest, and then pointed to the sky.
Cheers erupted from the crowd as he took the stairs up to the stage.
Zane was there, handing him his guitar.
I couldn’t hear what they said, but it didn’t matter, did it? Because Braden Connor was home.
Chapter Fifteen
Braden
My body was shaking. It was impossible to stop or control. I’d freaked out at a smaller concert, and now this—this was double the size, and they were screaming my name.
The rest of the guys were backing me up, which helped.
I searched the crowd for Piper and found her near the back, smiling. I focused on her face, and then I closed my eyes and thought about all of the people affected by the shooting.
Because it hadn’t been an incident, had it?
It was a mass shooting.
Caused by music.
But not caused by me.
I didn’t control the guy who’d lost his shit. The only thing I had control over was my reaction.
And I’d let it affect me and my music like a disease.
Suddenly it clicked.
I opened my eyes as a sense of peace descended, because hell if I was going to let that bastard win.
I grabbed my pick and threw my guitar strap around my neck, then went up to the microphone.
The entire crowd went silent immediately.
“Hey, guys.” I started strumming. “I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m absolutely terrified to be up here right now. I think it’s important we talk about our fears, though. I’m afraid because in the back of my head, I wonder if someone else is going to use my music as a way to act on their own personal pain. And it destroys me to think that my words, words of peace and love, could be used for war, for pain, for personal gain… But someone once told me that sometimes you need to use what makes you feel broken to help heal others. So here I am, revealing my insecurities, my scars, and asking you to feel with me. All the pain, all the fear, all the regret, all the what-ifs. Let the overwhelming sensation of being human wash over you, and be here with me in this moment.”
I started my new song, the one I had written when Piper bullied me into using my broken pieces. The minute my voice filled the air, Ty started on the drums, slowly building the haunting melody, the rest of the guys quickly caught on with the harmony. Suddenly, we were a band, all of us. Not just us, but also the crowd.
I was shocked when they started singing along and then noticed both screens held the lyrics.
They all had their glow sticks raised, and when I looked at the front row, I saw several people with pictures of the victims on thei
r shirts with titles like Gabi’s mom, Taylor’s dad, aunts, uncles, and then my mom, grinning from ear to ear. I nearly lost it.
The families were here.
They were here.
At my concert.
Walking in bravery while fear tried to choke them.
And they were singing along.
A tear ran down my cheek as I sang the chorus, and then just when I thought things couldn’t get more emotional, the screens next to me changed.
They said:
Austin Shooting Tribute Concert. All proceeds go to victims’ families. All money matched by performers.
These guys.
My family.
And that girl.
My world.
I ended the song a minute later, dropped to my knees, and felt my friends behind me. Zane held out his hand, and then I was hugging all of them as background music filled the air.
The crowd cheered. I was so emotionally exhausted, I wanted to sleep for a week.
But I’d done it.
I hadn’t run.
I had faced my giant head on.
And I smiled in the face of fear.
Maybe that’s how we kept going.
Maybe there was no explanation for why bad things happened. But thank God we had good people on this planet to help us get through it. Those who loved us through our pain and told us it was okay to be scared.
When we were done hugging, Zane grabbed the microphone and started singing one of his newest songs. I fell back with the rest of the guys and played my guitar. I’d helped Zane write this song, after all.
It’s what I did.
I wrote words.
I performed.
And tonight, I triumphed.
Chapter Sixteen
Piper
We hadn’t had a chance to talk after the concert. Everyone headed to Braden’s house, including the wives and kids, for the calmest after-party ever. Paw Patrol played in the rec room while the main room had Frozen Two. Even some of the dads were watching that with rapt fascination.
“Damn, I wish I had written that song,” Zane lamented as Into the Unknown played. The guys laughed while the kids tried to sing along.
Pizza was delivered, and all seemed well.
Provoke: A Seaside Pictures Novella Page 10
