The Spirit Seducer (The Echo Series Book 1)

by Padgett, Alexa

  The song ended, and I clapped, adding a loud “woo-woo!” Simon glanced over and raised his beer. His eyes narrowed when he saw Asher sitting with me, but I waved back, smiling.

  Simon got the message. I’d known my brother-in-law since he was a gawky thirteen-year-old; he wasn’t going to do something to piss me off when I had photographic proof of his late-90s hairstyles.

  “You stayed involved in the music scene?” Asher asked, surprised. “I haven’t seen you around.” He’d leaned forward a little so I could hear him over the growing noise of the crowd.

  “Not really. Doug quit playing about ten years ago.”

  Again his gaze sharpened. “I heard about that.”

  Asher sat back, letting the waitress set a napkin and his pint glass in front of him. He chewed on his lip. Would he get up and walk away?

  “Where is Doug tonight?”

  “Dead.” At Asher’s look, I continued, “It’s okay.” Abbi’s stricken face flashed through my mind, and I struggled to maintain a reasonable tone. “He passed away almost three years ago.”

  I took another big sip of my wine. At least the panic had receded. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was comfortable with Asher or because of the wine I’d already consumed.

  “This is the problem with touring so much.” Asher ran his fingers through his hair, causing it to flop against his brow. “I hadn’t heard.”

  I turned my face toward Simon, who had just started the song he’d written with Doug for our wedding. We would have been married fifteen years in February. I tipped my glass and polished off the wine.

  Asher shifted, as though he was getting ready to stand. I turned to look back at him, trying to banish the melancholy that lingered so often these days.

  “Don’t leave. Please. It’s good to see you. Really.” I smiled. “If I’d known you’d be here, I would’ve worn my groupie shirt. I’m proud to say mine is from the first round of shirts you ever had made. From Cactus Arrow. It’s pretty tattered, but I like to wear it when I read.”

  “You seriously have a shirt from that band? We were together for all of two months.” He shook his head. “Who came up with that name anyway?”

  I laughed. “You did.”

  He smiled and turned his attention back to the stage, his eyes intent on Simon’s fingers sliding up and down the guitar frets. He clapped when Simon finished the song.

  “I can see why people are talking about him. Beautiful melody.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Asher’s gaze slid back to mine.

  “I’m taking credit for that one,” I announced. “Simon wrote it for my wedding. It’s the oldest in his repertoire. He doesn’t play it often anymore. He asked if I’d like to hear it tonight.”

  “You two are close.”

  “Closer since Doug’s death. Before that, we were all leading our own lives.”

  Simon slid into one of his newer, bluesier tunes. I tapped my foot and rolled my empty wineglass between my hands, shocked to realize the alcohol had bubbled into my head.

  Hmm, it’d been a long time since I was buzzed. I’d missed this feeling. I’d also missed talking to an attractive man.

  Asher had left Cactus Arrow within a few weeks of creating the band. Doug had never forgiven him for walking off the stage with his guitar in its case right after he sang the most beautiful song I’d ever heard. Chills rippled across my skin as I thought of how Asher had looked at me that night as he stood on the stage.

  I’d willed him to look again, before he walked out of the venue. He didn’t. And . . . that had been a long, long time ago.

  #

  Asher clapped when Simon took his final bow nearly an hour later. I tapped the stem of my second glass of wine. The lights stayed dim, but female heads turned in our direction, the murmur of Asher’s appearance making the rounds.

  “You’re going to be inundated now that they’ve figured out who you are.”

  Asher rolled his eyes. He slammed back the last of his beer. I clasped my hand over his where it gripped the glass, surprising us both. I’d never been pushy or forward, preferring to let the situation come to me. I dropped my hand from his warm skin.

  “I’ll play the knight-errant if you want me to,” I said.

  His mouth turned down. “It’s been a shitty week. I’m done with people.”

  A little grimace twisted my lips. “Okay. Well, good to see you.”

  His eyes widened. “You’re not leaving me. You said you’d help me out.”

  “I thought—”

  “You still like to walk on the beach?”

  I turned back. “I do.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but I probably failed, because Asher smirked.

  “Let’s go.”

  “You don’t want to listen to the rest of the bands?” I asked.

  “Simon was the only one I came to hear.”

  I pulled out two twenties and laid them on the table.

  “Thanks for buying my drink,” Asher said.

  “Thanks for sitting at my table. If you want, I’ll introduce you to Simon. He’d like to meet you.”

  “You sure? I don’t want to impose.” We both knew Doug had made some terrible comments about him when Asher left the band. He glanced around, his eyes darting too fast to catch anyone’s. Asher probably assumed Simon wasn’t his biggest fan.

  “You’re not.” I hefted my bag onto my shoulder, took Asher’s hand, and led the way to Simon.

  I wended my way through the tables, passing by a cute blonde two tables over. Had I ever been that young? My daughter Abigail was nearly the same age as the girls here tonight. I wasn’t ready for her to move away to college.

  I had to swallow down the panic. Abbi was smart and capable. She’d proven that by taking on a counselor role on a trip with her aunt this week.

  Simon finished buckling his guitar case, concern seeping into his eyes.

  “Great job tonight,” I said. “Thanks for playing my song.”

  I embraced my brother-in-law, needing a second to compose my emotions. Simon rubbed his hand up and down my back like he’d done each time he hugged me for nearly ten years, ever since Doug started showing symptoms. I pulled back and cleared my throat.

  “This is Asher Smith. He sat with me for part of your set.”

  Simon held out his hand, which Asher shook, but I caught the look Simon shot me from the corner of his eye. “Wow. Great to meet you. Lia gave me one of your albums when I was in high school. It’s amazing.” Simon always used my nickname, just like Doug had.

  “Thanks. Always good to hear you appreciate the music. Makes it worth doing.”

  Simon still had his other arm wrapped around my waist, an annoyingly protective gesture. Because of my dad’s stiff formality, I’d never been much for public affection. Except with Abbi.

  I sidled away, pointing up toward the speakers. “Too loud,” I yelled as the next band started tuning their guitars.

  “I’m planning to catch the next act,” Simon said as he moved toward the back of the club. “Sit with me.”

  I frowned. “I’m good. I think Asher and I are going for a walk.”

  The cute blonde I noticed earlier intercepted Asher as soon as Simon pulled me away. She clutched his arm. He smiled and nodded, but he shot me a look under his long bangs, his eyes begging me to save him. He took the pen from the blonde’s other hand and autographed the napkin she held out.

  Four more people—three men and a woman, all in their late twenties—gathered around him. The woman was gorgeous, and Asher had a reputation as a lady’s man. One he’d built over the years after leaving Cactus Arrow. Much as I’d hated hearing about his exploits, I read about them all. Every single one.

  Unlike Asher, Simon didn’t like dealing with the fans much. He knew it was part of the performer job, but he was in love with Ella. In. Love. The kind of love I used to write about.

  The kind I thought I had with Doug back when I was young and naive. I locked that door, refusing to le
t the melancholy overcome my burgeoning good mood. Doug and I had made our choices. I had to live with the results.

  “He’s married, Lia,” Simon scolded me, while Asher was occupied with his fans.

  I turned back to Simon. “I’m not interested in an affair. Especially a sordid one with a famous married man. Key words there are ‘married’ and ‘sordid.’ In that order.”

  I tossed my long auburn hair over my shoulder. The weight slid across my back, the ends nearly to my waist. Just one more piece of myself I hadn’t maintained. I wasn’t willing to go to the effort of being social even with my hairdresser.

  Abbi was right. I’d been hiding. Not just from other people but also from my own needs.

  “Doug didn’t like him, Lia. He was wild, and he writes about his affairs. Each album is chockfull of them. Even after he married.” Simon scowled at the growing crowd swarming around Asher, whose face was now as blank as his eyes.

  “Maybe like you and me, he writes what his audience wants to hear, not necessarily what’s true. And Doug was jealous.”

  Asher wasn’t enjoying the attention lavished on him, especially by the young women. Good. That meant he’d be happy when I rescued him in a few minutes.

  “I’m not looking for anything romantic.” I turned back to Simon. “And I’m not into casual. You know that.”

  Simon settled into a chair at the table I’d recently vacated. He tugged my wrist so that I was seated next to him, our knees touching.

  “He’ll turn your relationship into a song when he leaves you.”

  “I don’t plan to be anyone’s muse, Simon.”

  “It’s been almost three years. You’ll want to go out again sometime.”

  “Not yet. I need to focus on Abbi. She’s my priority.”

  “And Ella and I applaud you for that,” Simon said, his voice careful. “But I want you to be happy. If that means finding someone . . .”

  “What brought this on?” I asked.

  “I want you to be safe. Asher Smith isn’t safe. He’s a time bomb waiting to explode all across your life. Don’t get me wrong. Meeting him is cool. I was always so mad Doug played with him for a while, and I didn’t get an intro.”

  I smiled at Simon. “No need to worry. We’re old friends.”

  Simon’s brown eyes were shadowed with worry. “He’ll hurt you, Lia. We’re just starting to see you emerge from wherever you’ve been hiding. Ella pointed out you’ve smiled on this trip. We haven’t seen you smile in years.”

  I patted his hand. “I’m completely safe from doing anything that might come close to be called living.”

  “That’s what worries me. What’s going to happen when you pop the grief bubble?”

  I’d have to finish mourning the life I’d lost. I’d known those last years together would be hard, but I’d chosen to stay. While Huntington’s was a slow and painful descent, my relationship with Doug suffered many little deaths, some more painful than others.

  Simon rubbed his hand over the fashionable jet-black stubble bristling his chin. He looked good in scruff. Doug’s beard had been patchy at best, making him look like a guy with a bad case of mange.

  I’d always wanted to run my hand over a man’s cheek, feel the short, silky hairs prickle my fingers, or better, my breasts or the sensitive skin of my stomach.

  Huh. Must be the wine. Or maybe Simon’s continued push to talk about Asher. He looked good in scruff. Really good.

  “Just . . . be careful.”

  “I always am,” I quipped. I searched his eyes. “Are you okay? Doug’s death hit us all hard.”

  “Yeah. Ella and I, Jeremiah, we’ve gotten our feet under us from Doug’s death. It’s you we’re worried about.”

  I pushed down the sadness. I never would’ve chosen to become a widow at thirty-two. Half my friends hadn’t even married at that age, and I’d already lost my lover. “Thanks. You know I appreciate you looking out for me.”

  Simon swallowed hard, his eyes brightened by a sheen of tears. “We’ve been family a long time.”

  “We have,” I said. If he cried, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep my own emotions in check. “So give me a little space now, please. This may be stupid, but I want to talk to Asher. We used to be friends. Good friends. I’d like the chance to reconnect.”

  Simon tugged at his lower lip. “That’s what upset Doug. Your friendship with Asher. It worries me now.”

  Asher glanced over, fatigue pulling at his mouth and eyes.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I touched Simon’s shoulder. “See you in a bit.”

  Making my way back to Asher’s side, I grabbed his left hand, planning to pull him forward. He threaded my fingers through his, and the contact, palm to palm, stole my breath. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held Doug’s hand.

  The bubble of grief Simon had just mentioned cracked, and something thick and ugly seeped through my chest. I loosened my fingers. I needed to go home and go to bed.

  I needed to quit feeling. This was too much, too soon. I wasn’t ready.

  Asher gripped my hand more firmly. My breathing turned raspy. This was bad. Really bad. He must have felt my shiver because he let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, supporting most of my weight when I staggered against him. Instead of relief at the fresh air, black dots formed in front of my eyes.

  “This was a bad idea. I-I should go,” I said. My voice was hoarse as tension crawled up my throat. I was about two seconds from a full-blown panic attack.

  “We’re taking that walk. You look like you need a distraction from whatever you’re thinking about, and there’s no way I’m going back in there with those fans. They’re rabid. C’mon.”

  His arm still slung over my shoulder, I stumbled along next to him as he towed me down the block. I tried to force down the weight in my throat. I couldn’t take a full breath, not with his arm around my shoulder. My heart battered my ribs so hard tears welled up in my eyes.

  “Can’t,” I whispered, yanking away from him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Dahlia, don’t you dare run from me. It’s almost ten, and this is not the nicest part of town.”

  “Panic attack,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Don’t want you to see this.” I turned, trying to dash toward my car.

  Asher cursed, but then his long fingers wrapped around my forearm. He spun me around. He must have dipped his knees because my nose was pressed into the side of his neck, his strong arms banding around me. His touch, the caring in it, unleashed the monster I’d tried so hard to chain.

  He lifted my feet from the ground and stepped backward toward what I assumed was an alley. My vision tunneled, and I really didn’t care. I struggled to get air into my lungs.

  I gasped, shook, and mewled as embarrassment mingled with the panic. I’d gotten better at recognizing the signs, managing to get away from others before I melted down. Not this time.

  He held my head, his voice soothing. The worst of the pain passed quickly, and I trembled with relief as tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I willed them to stop, and I tried to pull back. Asher tightened his grip just enough to keep me tucked against his large, warm body, his arm settled low on my waist. His free hand smoothed down my hair.

  He spoke to me in a low voice. Soft words, like I used to say to Abbi when she had a nightmare. His fingers continued to comb through my hair. This time, I relaxed completely, basking in his warmth. This almost-stranger was more than I could handle, yet somehow exactly what I needed. The universe was so clever with its sense of humor.

  He smelled good, like summer rain.

  When my brain keyed in enough to hear what he was telling me, I calmed further, resting against the solid wall of his chest. My cheek was wet from tears, and sweat bloomed across our skin wherever our bodies touched.

  “I remember the first time I saw you. I looked out into the crowd gathered in that garage where they held the tryouts for Cactus Arrow and saw this long, dark hair and the biggest, bright
est gray eyes. I remember thinking how happy you were, how in the moment. I looked for you every day after that. I loved seeing the joy on your face. I loved talking to you.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” I whispered.

  “Panicking? Better than being puked on. That’s happened a couple of times.”

  “You handled it well,” I said.

  His eyes darkened. “My mom had panic attacks. They got worse after my father left. A lot worse. She’d try to hide them.” He raised his brows, a silent question.

  “Some event usually triggers them,” I said. “At least that’s what I’ve read.”

  “Doug’s death?” he asked, his voice still soft.

  I hesitated, debating. “My dad’s, when I was fourteen. They got better for a while. Then Doug was diagnosed.” I pressed my cheek against the hardness of his shoulder. “With Huntington’s disease.” I stepped out of his arms.

  “I don’t know what that is.”

  “A death sentence,” I whispered. Much as I didn’t want to, I forced my gaze to his. “I’m sorry. For all of this.”

  “It’s better than being covered in vomit.” He smiled.

  I grinned. It was wobbly, but it was real. Damn, that felt good.

  I scrubbed the heels of my hands over my eyes. I was glad I hadn’t bothered with mascara. At least I didn’t have black dripping down my red, blotchy cheeks. “No one else knows about my, er . . . episodes. Thank you for talking me through it. That helped. A lot, actually.”

  Asher chuckled. “Jessica would be shocked you’re thanking me. More that I actually helped you out. She says I’m selfish, always focused on me. But even an egotistical ass like me understands shitty things happen to good people.”

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall. I was probably getting grime in my hair, but I was too tired to care. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I don’t normally freak out in public. That’s more of a good-times-at-home experience.”

  “Something you save for Saturday night kicks?”

  The smile tugged at my lips. “No. I’m not much of a crier. Maybe that’s the problem.”

  “That was intense. Do you normally have any warning?”

  “I’m fine.”