Nick nodded. “I sure am going to miss that apartment.”
“It’s too big for us anyway,” Simon said. “We’ll find a cool place.”
Jazz pulled out her phone, and they all groaned. “What? No, not a video. I’ve been looking at a real estate app on my phone. We’ve got enough money in the bank to get in the door at least. Then we’ll figure out the advance. Maybe even get some equipment.”
Deacon tuned them out as they looked at pictures and joked. He took out his own phone and flicked it to life. His picture with Harper made his chest ache. Before he could over-think it, he texted her.
Can we talk?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
September 28, 12:08AM - Redeye
Harper stared at her cell phone, as she had for the entire take-off procedure. It was off, of course. The flight she was on still wasn’t on board with the new oh-hey-we-won’t-crash-the-plane-if-you-use-cell-phones rule of thought. But she didn’t need to have the phone on to remember Deacon’s text.
She hadn’t heard from him in days. And then that text.
Can we talk?
Nothing else. Just that.
And what had she done? Gotten on a plane.
She was an ass.
She was a dumb ass.
She was way, way past dumb ass.
This was some John Hughes movie over-the-top shit, actually. He could have been just checking in on her. Typical Deacon behavior. The guy worried about everyone else, it would only make sense that he’d make sure she was okay after she’d cut and run in the face of their first argument.
Oh, and then there was the career suicide. She couldn’t forget about that part. She’d actually called Meg and asked her to send a replacement to the tour. They’d had a two day layover in Texas of all places.
Texas—oh yes, Dallas, Texas—when she’d gotten the text from Deacon.
Hey, maybe she could blame this insanity on the residual orgasm hormones swimming in her blood thanks to the Texas air. She closed her eyes remembering Deacon’s strong arms holding her against the wall of a shack in the middle of a hurricane. Her nipples tightened under her t-shirt. For the love of dark chocolate, she was a damn mess. She grabbed the airline blanket from the pocket in front of her and whipped it out of its little plastic wrapping to hide behind.
Sweet Pete, she was sitting on a plane, getting ready to jet off from Dallas to Los Angeles because her recently jackass of a boyfriend—or was he officially an ex?—texted her. Oh, and the mere thought of him left her mildly high—okay, let’s just call it horny shall we, Harper Lee?—off the memories of the best orgasms of her life.
No big deal.
She was obviously losing her mind. The thoughts steamrolling through her brain certainly felt nuts. And it was all his fucking fault.
This was the moment where he should be groveling. He should be flying to find her and begging her to come back with him. Instead, one text, and she’d dropped everything to go to him. Never mind that she’d spent the last four days more miserable than should be humanly possible. Miserable because of one Deacon McCoy.
A musician.
See...this was why she should have run far, far away from him. Do not insert tab A into super stupid slot B because there will be nothing but trouble ahead. Even if tab A is a genius at orgasms.
And she was running back to him?
The four nights without sleep had to be to blame. Weren’t there studies out there that said extended periods of no sleep could actually make you insane? Maybe that was the reason that she’d opened his text and literally sat there for three minutes staring at it before opening her airline app and booking a flight within the same six hours.
Without texting him back.
Couldn’t forget that part. She’d been too chicken to actually reply to the text.
Because maybe he really had just been checking on her. Deacon was a sweet guy—when he wasn’t demanding that she put her career on hold for him anyway. It would be just like him to make sure she wasn’t dead.
And what was she doing now?
Putting her career into dangerous territory because she couldn’t go another day without him. She was the most pathetic excuse for an independent woman on the freaking planet. How had she believed she could go extended periods without seeing him? Or the better question was why couldn’t she?
She’d known the man for two months.
She’d been perfectly happy on the planet for twenty-three years without that blasted man. And now, all she saw when she closed her eyes were those stupid dimples and heard the echo of his deep, husky laugh in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her from the back.
Reason number one and two why she couldn’t shut her eyes.
Reason number three was definitely Deacon’s arms.
Now she actually didn’t know how to sleep in a bed without him.
The wheels of the plane rumbled over the runway as they picked up speed. And when her spine was pushed back into her seat as they accelerated and ascended, she pictured his tanned skin under her cheek as she snuggled into his chest.
Then the flight attendant’s voice crackled over the speakers, and her eyes flew open. No Deacon, and no warm skin under her cheek. Just the acrylic softness of the cheap blanket and her twisting stomach because she hadn’t been able to eat.
She was a chef. She loved food. She always had an extra five pounds to lose because she enjoyed sampling her own creations.
Loved feeding Deacon and eating off his fingers.
Holy crap. Just stop, Harper Lee.
She pulled the little blanket over her face and tried to block out the incessant drone of the engine, the movement of the passengers, the rickety wheel of the beverage cart. All of it sounded loud and in a few seconds she was actually going to lose it.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
The announcement that they could turn on their electronic gadgets left her weak with relief. She unclipped her belt and pulled her feet up onto her seat and wrapped her arms around her knees, then pressed her forehead into the little ball she’d created.
She took another long, deep yoga-style breath and dug her noise canceling headphones out of her hoodie pocket. With shaking fingers, she turned her phone on and hit play on whatever was handy.
The Black Keys.
Yeah, maybe not. She found her Matt Nathanson folder and hit shuffle. And listened to all of his songs twice by the time they landed at LAX.
But a handful of songs actually stuck, hard and fast. And the simple lyrics gentled all the jumping emotions trapped inside her like a pressure cooker.
She was here because she couldn’t not be here.
Funny how music would be the one thing that made sense, when it had been the main reason she’d tried so hard to resist Deacon. For all the craziness she’d been wrestling with since the first day, she’d actually let Deacon inside of her. Well, not exactly let him. He’d been really sneaky about it, the stupid giant.
She felt alive with him. Colors seemed brighter, food tasted better, laughter followed her and having someone be a part of her wasn’t so scary. At least when it was Deacon.
She scrambled out of her seat and grabbed her ruck sack from overhead. Three people swore at her as she flung it over her shoulder and headed out, but she didn’t care. She had one focus.
Telling him how much she loved him. Telling him how much she needed him.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t afraid to show him that.
But it had to be face to face.
She ran through the airport to the blessedly short line of people waiting for cabs. Red-eye flights had one good thing going for them.
“There’s an extra fifty in it if you get me there as fast as possible,” she said as she rattled off Deacon’s address. At least she hoped it still was their address.
The driver looked over his shoulder, down at her bag and her exhausted face and nodded. “Can do.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” she said
as she sat back into the lumpy seat.
It felt like it took forever to get there, but the cabbie was definitely breaking a few speed limits as he pulled up to the door of Deacon’s building.
“Are you sure this is it?”
“I know. It sure looks like I don’t belong, huh?”
The driver’s eyes crinkled in the rear view mirror. “I hope the guy is worth it.”
“How do you know it’s a guy?”
“I hope the girl’s worth it, then.”
Harper laughed and slid out, tucking the money through the window. “Thanks. Have a good night.”
She got to the door and wasn’t sure what to do. The band’s penthouse required a key. She looked around, but the night crew was sparse, and she didn’t recognize anyone. She could call Deacon. Ask him to come down.
But still...she wanted her first words to be face to face.
“Miss Pruitt?”
Harper closed her eyes. “Will?”
“I’ve missed seeing you around here.”
“I’ve missed being seen.” She swallowed back the sudden rush of tears that she’d been holding off for days.
“Can I help you with your bag?”
She opened her eyes. Will’s earnest gaze was patient as ever, but there was a dash of confusion in his friendly brown eyes. “I don’t have my elevator pass.”
“Oh.” Will shrugged and pulled on the card dangling from his belt. “I can take care of that for you.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not.” He gently eased her ruck sack off her shoulder. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Forgive me for saying, but you look like it’s been a very long week.”
She gave him a watery laugh as they walked to the elevator. “You have no idea.”
He punched the button and waved her ahead when the door opened. “There’s been a lot of activity here the last few days, but I haven’t seen you.”
“I had to travel for a job.”
“Well, that makes sense. Cooking up a five star dinner for someone rich and famous?”
She let out a strangled laugh. “Something like that.”
“I gotta say, I’ve missed seeing you around. I’m glad you’re back.”
She hoped she was back, too. When the doors opened, he hefted her bag again. “Want me to bring it in for you?”
Harper shook her head. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Will.”
He transferred the bag to the marble floor then waved as the doors slid closed.
She left her bag, wandering into the open living room. It was well after one in the morning, but the apartment felt empty. Low lights made for a cozy feel that the room rarely had. It was too big and too streamlined to feel homey.
She hit the stairs running, but found Deacon’s room empty. Boxes were stacked next to the wall, and a tape gun lay discarded on the carpet.
Had she missed him?
She went into the bathroom, but his toiletries were still there. So he wasn’t gone. She wandered back out to the upper living space that connected all of their bedrooms. No lounging Jazz with her headphones on, no gently strumming Nick, but more importantly, no Deacon.
Defeated, she slowly crept downstairs to wait. Light strums of a guitar lured her to the patio. Her breath backed up in her chest.
Deacon.
He was facing the staggering view from their balcony. Los Angeles, still so alive even now. There was no difference between a weekday and weekend in this city. It was always alive and moving.
Like Deacon, it rarely shut down.
He was curled over his battered black guitar. She knew the sound of his beloved acoustic. She’d listened to him for hours on the bus. The familiar tones of the notes to the song he was always playing soared into the night. The only illumination were the rope lights that framed out the space.
Low, glossy light accentuated his smooth skin and long, mouthwatering neck. It kissed his mahogany hair, leaving most of it in inky shadow. His profile telegraphed how lost in the song he was. Eyes shut, his hair falling forward. All of the achingly familiar lines of him pulled her into the space.
The song was haunting tonight. Sadness and longing lived inside the song tonight. Every whisper of his fingers down the strings flayed open another layer of emotion. The edges were sharp and sweet, the underlying tone was pain and loss.
The tears she’d been holding for days spilled down her cheeks. She slapped her hand over her mouth, but the sob broke free regardless. He looked over his shoulder, then quickly got to his feet.
“Harper.”
She clutched her other arm over her middle and attempted to choke back the emotions, but couldn’t. He put the guitar down and crossed to her. He didn’t hesitate. He hauled her in, up on her toes and flush to his chest. His solid strength undid her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and when he lifted her, she held on tighter. She speared her fingers through his hair, her breath coming out in shaky puffs.
His mouth found hers and she tasted her tears in their kiss. The softness of his beard, the shuddering gasps between them, all of it turned her inside out. He lowered her to floor again until he had her straddling his lap on the lounger.
He pushed her hair back, cupping her face. “You came back.”
She nodded. Throat closed, breath coming out in pants, her whole body was against her. She tipped her head back until the tears stopped running unchecked down her cheeks.
He was here.
In her arms. Not going anywhere. Finally her chest loosened enough for her to speak. “I love you, Deacon.” She pressed her forehead to his, their noses brushing, his warm breath on her lips. “God, I love you. I tried to work.” She had to get it out, and it came in a rush. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was cook. This was supposed to be my big break.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you choose. I just—“
“Shh, it’s not even about that. Okay, some of it is about that.” She tightened her fingers into the roots of his hair. “I could still peel your balls off with a paring knife for that comment, by the way.”
He laughed, moving his hands down to her hips, holding her there like she’d get away. “Fuck, I missed you.”
“That’s the thing, Deacon. I missed you. I hated how we left things. I can’t—” she pressed her cheek to his. “I just can’t. Do you know how annoying it is to live for twenty-three years without needing anyone and have that completely obliterated in two months?”
“Yeah, I think I know a little something about that.” He banded his arms around her back.
She leaned back until their eyes met. “Yeah, well, I don’t. I hate it.”
He jerked back. “I don’t.”
She stroked her thumb over the furrow between his brows. “I know you don’t. I’ve never met a more open and giving man.” How did she explain this?
“Only when it’s you.”
She sighed out a growl. “You ruined my entire plan. I’ve had this plan since I was seventeen years old.” Since the day she got her heart stomped on by a stupid boy who didn’t know how to be careful with her. But that boy wasn’t Deacon. No one could be like this gentle giant of a man who cherished her. And that was the difference. And the reason she’d been able to make her decision to come back.
She’d never had anyone get inside her like that. Never knew another soul to understand her like he did.
He opened his mouth to speak again, and she shook her head. She framed his face, smoothing her thumbs over the sharp angles of his cheekbones then down into the week’s worth of beard. Her favorite face. The face that she couldn’t live without. “No, just let me get this out.”
When he nodded with that little smirk of a smile, she let go of her doubts. She’d figure out how to make this work. Because this man was worth figuring it out for. He was worth any price she had to pay. She would have both her career and Deacon somehow, because there was no other option.
<
br /> “I didn’t handle it right at Maggie’s house. I shouldn’t have left.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.”
“Yes, you should have.” She straightened her shoulders. “You were honest and told me what you needed. I just couldn’t see past the caveman way you said it.”
He pressed his forehead to hers again. “I was stupid. I panicked. I knew if I watched you walk away from me that I would have literally burned something to the ground.” He shook his head. “My life has been a series of pitstops. I’ve never belonged anywhere until you. And when you said we could just float along seeing each other whenever, I lost it.”
Before she could speak again, he fused his lips to hers in a hard, desperate kiss. When he stopped, and she resumed the ability to breathe, she pressed her cheek to his. “I thought it would be enough. I was wrong. So, very wrong.”
“I’ve had some time to think. In between being an asshole and getting us a new contract, I—”
“A new contract?” She threw her arms around his neck. “Deacon, that’s amazing. With...what was it? Ripper Records? That Lila chick? I knew she’d call you back.”
He laughed. “Yeah. Wait until I tell you that story. But for now, we have a tentative contract, and I think everyone finally agrees that Trident isn’t for us.”
“Oh, babe, that’s great.”
He brushed his lips over hers. “Four days without hearing your voice about killed me.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“But, as I was saying...I’ve been thinking.”
“Always a dangerous proposition,” she teased.
“Har-har. I honestly don’t expect you to give up your job or any future jobs because of me. That was just me being an asshole.”
“At least you own your asshole moments.”
His dimples flashed. “I’m sure there will be many more in your future. I’m sorry in advance.”
“No tally sheets. I’m sure we’ll both have more than a few of those moments.” She played with the heavy fall of hair that was starting to slip past his shoulders.
“Remember how I was teasing you that you could be our personal chef?”
“Look, Deacon. As much as I love cooking for you guys, and you all definitely eat enough for it to be a full-time job. I need more than that.”
Rocked Page 45
