by Jayne Frost
Cameron’s brother never ceased to amaze me. He was the largest land developer in Austin, owned two music venues, but still found time to look out for us. All of us.
The heavy weight of guilt I’d been carrying over Anna’s education diminished somewhat as I fingered the envelope. “You deserve this, Anna-baby. You’ve worked so hard. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
She snuggled against me, her eyes drifting to Willow and Betty running circles around the tree.
“This is what I’ve always wanted. You and me in a little house by the lake.” Cutting her gaze to the McMansion, she smirked. “I guess you can’t have everything, right?”
She was wrong. So wrong. Because I did.
I eased her onto the grass, and the branches of the willow tree reflected in her eyes along with the first star in the evening sky. A world painted in emerald green.
“You want everything? I’ll give it to you. Anything.”
Fingers coiling into my hair, Anna smiled. “I already have everything.”
Grunting when Willow jumped on my back, I propped up on my elbows to keep from crushing Anna entirely. “I love you,” I said, sweeping a tendril of hair from her brow.
Another smile. “I love you more.”
That wasn’t possible, but I didn’t tell her. Because we had love to spare. And music. A never-ending symphony.
THE END
PREVIEW
LOST FOR YOU
SIXTH STREET BANDS #4
Taryn
Five Years Ago
A faint ringtone sounded in the loft. Indistinct. Generic. I pulled the blanket to my chin.
Go away…
“Phone, babe,” Beckett grumbled, his voice muffled by the down pillow.
Groaning, I clumsily patted the nightstand searching for the source of my annoyance. When I came up empty, I cracked one eye open and spotted my jeans in a ball next to the bed.
Teetering on the edge of the mattress, I retrieved my phone from the back pocket and issued a groggy “hello.”
“May I speak to Taryn Ayers?”
The woman’s voice, all business, filtered through the hum of activity in the background.
As I resettled onto the bed, the room spun from too much wine at dinner and too much Beckett for desert. “Yeah…this is Taryn.”
Beckett draped an arm around my waist, his thumb skimming my ribs. I smiled as I rolled over to face him.
“Miss Ayers, this is the Travis County Sheriff’s department dispatch calling.”
The thick fog of sleep receded. Or maybe not. Maybe I was dreaming. “Who?”
“Miss Ayers…I’m a dispatcher with the Travis County Sheriff’s Department.”
Slowly, I rose to my elbow. “Um, yes…What is it?”
Beckett’s lids fluttered open and his cobalt eyes found mine in the dim light.
“Miss Ayers, we got your name from Preferred Motor Coach.” A long pause. “There’s been an accident outside Fredericksburg involving a tour bus with your contact information.”
Disentangling the sheet, I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, letting my legs dangle over the side. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“A semi-truck crossed the median and hit the bus at a high rate of speed.” I counted four breaths but couldn’t manage a word, so she continued, “The survi…the injured parties are being transported to Brackenridge Hospital via Care Flight.”
Beckett’s fingers brushed the base of my spine. “What is it, babe?”
When I didn’t answer, his footfalls sounded on the hardwood as he shuffled to my side of the bed. Moonlight poured in my fourth floor window, illuminating the edges of his broad shoulders and the tips of his dark locks.
He needs a haircut.
Shifting my attention back to the faceless woman on the other end of the line, I cleared my throat. “But everyone’s all right, though?” The question was barely audible over the dull roar in my ears, and I squinted, as if the act would help me focus.
My heart stuttered as the tail-end of her sentence ricocheted around my head.
“…two survivors and three fatalities at the scene.”
Beckett crouched in front of me, his lips moving without sound.
“I’m sorry…what did you say?”
It was my voice. I heard it. But it sounded like I was underwater. Choking.
The dispatcher began again in an even tone, and all I could do was look into Beckett’s eyes, pleading for him to make her stop.
“We don’t have all the details. At this point, we’ve confirmed two survivors and three fatalities at the scene. I’m sorry.”
A tiny fissure formed in my chest, spreading at the speed of light, and then something shattered deep inside and the phone slipped from my numb fingers.
Beckett grabbed the device and then stood, his footsteps adding to the voice singsonging in my throbbing head.
Two survivors…three fatalities.
And then silence. Beckett dropped in front of me and clutched my thighs. “Taryn…?”
“Hmmm?”
When I didn’t look up, Beckett skimmed a hand up my arm, and sliding his fingers into my hair, he gently tipped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.“Babe…you’ve got to get dressed now.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks, and I tracked each tiny rivulet of pain as it dripped off his chin. “Why?”
The crease in his brow deepened. “I don’t…here…let me help you.”
Clumsy fingers circled my biceps as he pulled me to my feet.
I ignored the pain that shot up my arm as I struggled out of his grip. “Why?”
Beckett scrubbed a hand over his face.“Babe, I don’t know why.” His voice cracked in half. “Please, get dressed. We have to go to the hospital.”
Two survivors and three fatalities.
My mind raced, but after a moment a calm washed over me. A sweet relief. “No.” I shook my head. “It’s a mistake.”
“Taryn—”
“Listen to me!” I clutched his arm, my nails sinking into his skin. “Don’t you see? They made a mistake. Rhenn, Tori, Paige, and Miles.” Holding up a finger for every name I ticked off, I wiggled four digits when I was finished. “See, it’s a mistake.”
Beckett crushed me to his chest, his heart thudding a staccato beat against my ear. “Baby, you have to get dressed now. Please.”
Confused, I peered up at him, the placid smile wobbling on my lips. “Becks, I just told you, it's fine.”
Taking my face between his palms, he rested his forehead against mine, anchoring us together. “Taryn, there were five people on the bus. You didn’t count the driver.”
>> LOST FOR YOU <<
Sixth Street Bands #4
Jayne Said:
I hope y’all enjoyed Missing From Me and I sincerely thank you for reading. Many of you might’ve had a hard time with some of the elements at the beginning of the story.
Yep, I’m talking about the cheating.
First, let me just say: I don’t condone cheating. But the reality is, people make mistakes. The world is full of flawed individuals. Damaged souls. Maybe it was their home life or their circumstances. Maybe they've been shaped by tragedy.
Still, they have a tale to tell.
And for some reason Sean picked me to tell his story. At times I pleaded with him to tell me a different story, but he wouldn’t. So, over the course of two years, I listened to him. When I was driving, before I went to sleep, sometimes in the middle of the night, Sean spoke to me.
In the end, I grew to love Sean in all his messy glory.
Every author hopes that their words will be loved and understood. I want my books to speak to you, to soothe pieces of your soul, and show you that even the most damaged among us can find their happily ever after.
Sometimes it’s the people with the most baggage who’ve made the longest journeys— who’ve grown the most and reached that place where the sun shines the brightest.
When I wrote “the end�
� Sean told me he was pleased. I will miss his voice in my head. And I’m grateful that I got to tell his story.
Acknowledgments
Jeff—Love of my life. All of my life.
Words and music, baby.
Matthew and Victoria— My true north. I love you both.
Mary—Can I be just like you when I grow up?
Love you.
Dad—You’ll never read this. Hopefully. But I’ll send you this page anyway.
Bonnie Marie—Always in my thoughts. I love you. Forever.
And finally—to all the readers—thank you.
About the Author
Jayne Frost, author of the Sixth Street Bands Romance Series, grew up in California with a dream of moving to Seattle to become a rock star. When the grunge thing didn’t work out (she never even made it to the Washington border) Jayne set her sights on Austin, Texas. After quickly becoming immersed in the Sixth Street Music scene…and discovering she couldn’t actually sing, Jayne decided to do the next best thing—write kick ass romances about hot rockstars and the women that steal their hearts.
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