Missing From Me (Sixth Street Bands Book 3)

by Jayne Frost

  Chelsea started stomping around upstairs, and glaring up at the ceiling, I muttered, “I’m going to take that kid’s car away if she doesn’t adjust her damn attitude.”

  Melissa sighed, wincing from the effort. “Cut her some slack, sugar. She’s got a lot to contend with.”

  Anger flashed hot through my veins. “Nobody’s contending with you. Don’t ever think that.”

  Melissa’s pressed a kiss to Willow’s head. “Not me. The disease. What it could mean for her.” Her small smile returned. “I’m damn lucky; you know that, right?”

  One glimpse of the bandages peeking from the top of my aunt’s top proved how unlucky she was. “How so?”

  Melissa managed a half shrug. “I watched Mama and Gracie die. And still, I didn’t think it would happen to me.”

  With the medication loosening her tongue, Melissa’s honesty had slipped into brutal territory.

  Glassy blue eyes peered up at me. “I should’ve died, Sean. Stage two at my age? That’s a miracle. And lightning doesn’t strike twice.”

  Focusing all my attention on straightening her blanket, I avoided her gaze. “Time for a nap.”

  Melissa’s fingers curled around my arm. “You don’t understand. They want to run the tests on Chelsea.”

  The tests. One test. To determine your whole life.

  The ever-present fear slithered through me, and I dropped onto the chair with a thud, holding Melissa’s hand. “When?”

  “Soon. But the thing is, she’s about to turn eighteen, and I can’t make her take the test.”

  With false bravado, I muttered, “I can.”

  Something akin to relief shadowed Melissa’s features. “So you’ll talk to her?”

  Her blue eyes locked on mine, the silver threads beseeching, and I realized Melissa meant now. My façade of strength cracked, and I slumped. “Yeah, sure.”

  Fuck.

  Blowing out a breath, I pushed to my feet.

  Melissa smiled, curling her arm around Willow, fast asleep at her side. “Thank you.”

  Reluctantly, I climbed the stairs, following the music spilling into the hallway. Classical, of course.

  “Come in,” Chelsea grumbled in response to my knock.

  Sprawled out on her stomach on the bed, she didn’t look up when I walked in.

  “Whatcha doing, kid?”

  Chelsea shot me an evil glare.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I took a look around.

  Pausing at her desk to thumb through some sheet music, I asked, “Whose are these?”

  When Chelsea didn’t answer, I gathered the pages and then sank onto the edge of her bed.

  She rose to sitting, eyeing me warily. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s it look like?”

  Chelsea snorted. “Trying to read music.”

  “You think I can’t read music?” I cocked a brow. “I play the drums, guitar, piano, and the bass. I think I can muddle through this.”

  She wrinkled her nose and then scooted to the head of the bed, drawing her knees to her chest. “Why did you choose the drums of all things?”

  Ignoring her jab, I dropped to my elbow. “Because the beat in my head drowns out most of the other instruments.”

  A small smile curved Chelsea’s lips. “I hear strings. Individual strings. You know, like when I’m walking around.”

  “How does that work?”

  I knew how it worked, but the kid hadn’t talked to me in two weeks without scowling, so I was running with the conversation.

  Humoring me, Chelsea twisted up her mouth in contemplation. “Birds, they have a specific string. Crickets too. And people.”

  I fingered the sheets, nodding. “So you change the scores to fit the sound in your head?”

  Indignant, her brows dove together. “Those are mine, Sean. My stuff. There is no score to change.”

  Pride filled me from some unknown place as I glanced over the intricate work. I’d purchased all Chelsea’s instruments, including the six-thousand-dollar violin. But I had no idea she was this good.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry you didn’t get into Juilliard, Chels.”

  It was the first time I’d mentioned it. Because, apparently, I was a fucking dick.

  Chelsea smirked. “I did get into Juilliard.” She raised a brow when my lips parted in surprise. “I didn’t want to leave Mama.” She frowned and looked down at her hands. “Guess I made the right choice.”

  Sheets of paper fluttered to the floor when I sat up. “You can’t give up your dreams, Chels. Your mama wouldn’t want that.”

  “I’m not giving up shit. I don’t want it.” She glanced around the room at the pictures of me performing. “That’s your dream, not mine.”

  Contentment sparked in her eyes, and I knew she was telling the truth.

  “Fair enough.” I managed a smile. “I’m going to take care of things. I don’t want you to worry when you go to Dallas.”

  “I’m not going to Dallas either,” she said flatly. “I only told Mama I would go to get her off my back. She believed me when I told her I didn’t get into Juilliard. She wouldn’t believe I didn’t get into SMU.”

  I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “So you’re just going to hang around here and play the martyr? Good plan.”

  “I’m not playing the martyr, asshole,” she hissed. “If I wanted to go, I would. But I’m not you. I don’t suffer through family dinners and holidays. I like it here.”

  Direct hit, straight to the solar plexus. I had to look away, and when I did, a picture on Chelsea’s mirror caught my eye. Christmas two years ago. Chelsea sat between Logan and me in front of the fireplace, and to my shock, he seemed happier to be there than I did. My focus wasn’t even on the camera, but somewhere in the distance.

  With the photo mocking me, I asked, “What are your plans then, after you graduate?”

  “Music theory at UT.” A smile played on Chelsea’s lips. “I want to teach someday.”

  Like the other women in my life, Chelsea had a knack for making me feel unworthy. She didn’t have to try since I suspected it was true.

  Her scowl returned, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, when are you leaving anyway?”

  Running through my list of errands, I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’ve got to make dinner and then I’ll head to the pharmacy to pick up your mama’s pain meds. But I’m going to sleep here tonight.”

  Rolling her eyes, an exasperated sigh tripped from her lips. “No, I mean for the tour.”

  “Oh, that.” I picked at the fringe of her Hello Kitty throw pillow. “I’m sitting this one out.” Saying it out loud, admitting it, lifted a weight, and I smiled. “I’ve got a few things to take care of here.”

  “Yeah.” She snorted. “I figured that. Since your ‘thing’ decided to join us at the hospital.”

  A flame ignited in my chest. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about. And your cousin.”

  Turning that stone cold glare my way, Chelsea huffed, “Excuse me if I don’t get all emotional, considering I might not see her again for years. Anna never came around after you dumped her. And you never bothered to tell us about your kid.”

  Chelsea couldn’t have landed a more solid blow if she’d used a bat.

  Deflating from the blunt force trauma, I sank back onto my elbow. “I would’ve. But I didn’t know about her.”

  “You didn’t?” Chelsea’s tone thawed slightly. “Anna didn’t tell you?”

  I shook my head, the lump in my throat too massive to speak.

  “Oh . . .” She shrugged. “I just thought you were too busy to bring her around.”

  And the hits keep coming . . .

  “Nope. Just didn’t know. But she’s here now, and so am I.” A few beats of silence while I tried to think of the right words, the right thoughts to keep Chelsea from shutting me out.

  “I know you’re scared,” I finally said, “I’m scared too. But you don’t have to handle this by yourself
.”

  Guilt washed over me as Chelsea rested her chin on her knees. She looked grown, except for the eyes. I could still see the child in those blue orbs.

  And when did that happen?

  For years I’d put the people I loved in a box, taking them out on holidays, or when it suited me.

  Chelsea outgrew her box long ago. And I’d missed it.

  I tugged Chelsea’s hand, and though she held out for a second, she finally relented and let me lace our fingers. Once, I was her hero. But I’d lost the title long ago if her hidden resentment was any indication.

  “Listen to me,” I said, seriously. “If you need me, I’ll be here. I still have to work. I haven’t figured everything out yet. But I’m just a phone call away, and I’ll never be gone long.”

  Chelsea nodded, her gaze on our joined hands.

  Brushing her calloused fingertips with my thumb, I dipped my head to find her eyes. “Your mom and I were talking about the . . . cancer. You have to promise me you’ll do everything the doctors ask and that you won’t avoid any of the tests.” I tilted her chin with my finger. “I may need you to help me explain things when Willow gets older. So promise me, yeah?”

  Chelsea blinked, tears gathering in her eyes. “B-but . . . Willow’s just a baby.”

  She crumbled then, and I pulled her into my arms, my lips grazing her sandy brown hair. “So are you, sugar.”

  Fisting my shirt, Chelsea let go of all the emotion she’d been holding in. Sobs wracked her body as her fear and sorrow poured out in buckets. Rocking her gently, I waited for her breath to even out and then I took her face between my hands and bumped my forehead to hers like I did when she was little.

  “I’ve got to go check on Willow. Can you come downstairs and watch your mom when I take her back to Alecia and Brian’s?”

  Chelsea pulled away, swiping her soggy cheeks. “Where’s Anna? Isn’t she coming over?”

  Pushing off the bed, I gave her a soft smile. “It’s complicated.”

  She caught my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Uncomplicate it. I’m sorry for what I said at dinner. I miss her.”

  You’re missing from me.

  The skin over my heart flamed as if the tattoo had a life of its own. And maybe it did.

  “She knows that, sugar.” Tilting her chin with my finger, I grinned. “Are we good?”

  Smiling at me, she nodded, and I tossed her a wink before I left.

  In the hallway, I leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

  Life was easier when I could write a fucking check and be done with it.

  But those days were long gone.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Sean

  The pounding beat from the Bose system rattled the windows in the empty bedroom. Leaning on the handle of the roller, I spread pale pink paint on the wall with even strokes. Sweat trickled down my back, due in large part to the humid air seeping from the open window. It was almost May now, and May in Austin meant air conditioning, but I had to release the fumes or I’d pass the fuck out.

  My phone vibrated on the table, so I dropped the roller into the pan. Wiping my hands on a towel, I leaned over and glimpsed the screen. A text from Logan.

  Let me in. It’s hotter than shit out here.

  Logan had a key to my front door, which was likely unlocked anyway, but since we hadn’t spoken in a month, I could see why he was a little wary of barging in.

  He didn’t need to be.

  Regardless of the role he’d played in my meltdown with Anna, he wasn’t to blame. He was my best friend, and I didn’t want him going on the road for a year with this hanging over our heads. Jogging down the stairs, I pulled the rubber band out of my hair and then opened the door.

  Propped against a pillar in the archway with his arms folded over his chest, Logan stared at me with wary blue eyes.

  Cocking a brow, I stepped back to allow him entry. “Do you want to come in, or are you planning on glowering at me from the porch all day?”

  Logan flashed a grin as he pushed off the stone column. “Glowering?” He knocked me in the shoulder on his way inside. “Someone got a word of the day calendar for their birthday.”

  I followed Logan to the kitchen where he flopped onto a barstool at the breakfast nook.

  Despite the smile, he looked like he might need alcohol to get through the conversation, so I dug a couple of beers out of the fridge.

  “My birthday’s not until next month, asshat,” I told him, handing over a bottle of Shiner Bock.

  He shrugged. “I know. I figured it took you eleven months to get to G.” Twisting off the cap, he flicked the disc between his thumb and middle finger, aiming for the sink. The metal circle bounced off the faucet, landing on the counter. “Ohhh,” he hissed a breath through his teeth, “so close.”

  Opening my bottle, I smiled and then took my shot. With one snap, the disc sailed into the nearby trashcan. I chuckled. “But yet so far.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. “Lucky shot.”

  My focus shifted to the spot on his cheek where I’d landed my punch a month ago. There was no bruise, no outward signs of our scuffle. Only the awkward silence we’d maintained. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

  After a few moments of avoiding each other’s gazes, I hoisted myself onto the island, letting my feet dangle. “So, what brings you by?”

  Setting his beer on the granite, Logan turned the bottle around and around slowly. “I need a reason to visit my best friend?”

  “Nope.”

  He gave me the side-eye. “You still pissed at me?”

  “Yep.”

  When I didn’t elaborate, he sighed and ripped a hand through his long hair. “I didn’t know Benny’s team was going to pull that shit with Kimber.”

  The declaration lay between us like a dead fish, but ironically, I believed him. Logan’s agenda was his own. But I still wasn’t sure what that was. It was more than the music, no matter what he’d said.

  Logan had fired our manager for fucking with Cameron and Lily’s relationship, and he didn’t even know the girl at the time. It was about Cameron. Logan loved with all his heart, he just extended that emotion to very few.

  Leaning back, I pressed my palms against the stone. “What did you think was going to happen if you put the two of us together, Kimber and me?”

  Hitching an arm over the back of his chair, Logan blew out a breath. “I thought you were going to fuck her.”

  Logan didn’t move a muscle when I slid off the island, chewing up the small space between us in three strides. The height of his barstool didn’t give me much of a vertical advantage, though he did have to look up to meet my eyes. Unusual for him.

  “What would you have done then? Send Anna an email?”

  He sipped his beer and then replied casually, “Better me than someone else.”

  Clenching my fists, I fought to keep my tone steady. “You got a thing for my girl, dude?”

  It was an outlandish question, more for shock value than anything else, but to my surprise, Logan looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Yeah, I do.”

  My hand shot up with no real target. But Logan was too quick. Covering my fist with his large palm, he forced my arm to my side.

  “Cool your fucking jets.” He chuckled, which was usually a precursor to his own fist meeting someone’s face. “It’s not about that. I didn’t want to see Anna get hurt again, that’s all.” His eyes darkened, and all traces of humor faded. “She’s like a sister to me.”

  His words trickled through my rage.

  Like a sister. Like Laurel.

  I’d hit the nail on the head the night of our scuffle, but I still didn’t know where Anna fit. Why he chose to elevate her to a coveted status.

  Rarefied air.

  To my knowledge, only two women had ever achieved that position in Logan’s eyes. His mother and his sister.

  Confused, I sank onto the stool next to him. “If you were so against me hooking up with Anna, then why didn’t you say anyt
hing when you saw her in my room at the Four Seasons.”

  “I thought it was a revenge fuck.” He took another drink. “Hers, not yours, and I figured you deserved that. Then I found out about the ki . . . about Willow. And all of a sudden they’re living with you.”

  “So you thought, what, you’d set me up and see if I’d bite?”

  Logan looked away, confirming my suspicion.

  “Well, I didn’t.” I hopped off my stool. “I wouldn’t, and I don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not.”

  “I believe you,” he said, glancing down at his hands.

  Since this was as close to an apology as I’d ever get, I decided to get over it. I was learning to get over a lot of things. And I needed Logan in my life.

  “Come on.” I nudged his shoulder. “I need your help with something.”

  Grabbing the rest of the six-pack, I headed up the stairs. Before I reached the landing, Logan’s heavy footfalls echoed on the marble behind me, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  He had my back, like always. And the rest? It didn’t matter.

  Setting the beer on the tarp, I surveyed the empty room while Logan dropped on his ass to tug off his combat boots. “What are we painting?”

  “Willow’s room.”

  He nodded, so I synced my phone with the boom box, and then a thundering beat surged from the powerful speakers, drowning out the possibility of any conversation. We didn’t need to speak anyway.

  I took a roll of painter’s tape and started on the far wall, covering the top of the baseboards while Logan worked on the other side of the room. An hour later we met in the middle.

  Plopping onto the floor to unwrap a paintbrush, I snapped my head up when Logan cut the music off.

  Easing onto the floor, he stretched his long legs. “Did you know the only reason I graduated was because of Anna?”

  I shook my head, surprised. “No, man, I had no clue.”

  To my knowledge, the two of them never studied together. Hell, Logan never studied at all.

  Staring into his bottle, Logan’s long, blond hair fell over his eyes. “I think my old man hit me in the head one too many times. I have a hard time reading and shit.”