Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1)

by Alexa Padgett

  After they were on paper, I went back to bed and slept for nearly six more hours. Even now, I felt freer, like I wasn’t fighting my head for space.

  We ate our lunch in silence, Briar dunking her toasted cheese sandwich into the chunky red soup. She was right about not being able to handle the sandwich. The bruise on my cheek made eating anything more than soup impossible. My face was a profusion of blue, black, purple, and even a little sickly yellow. I had a large egg-shaped bump over my eyebrow that was just as tender as my bruised cheek. Briar changed the bandage, making sure to check the edges and rub some antibiotic cream into the wound.

  “C’mon. Let’s go see the doctor.”

  “What about Abbi?” I asked.

  “She’s going to her friend Sally’s after practice. I talked to Rhonda while you were in the shower.” Briar grabbed her purse from the counter. “Can we drive your car? The rental doesn’t have any shocks, and I think it’ll make your face hurt more.”

  I tossed her my keys. “Thanks for coming, Bri. For setting this up.”

  “I told you, I’m using my time here as an excuse to check out other opportunities. So it’s a win-win.”

  We didn’t get home until late, but I checked in on Abbi using Briar’s phone while she was in the mall.

  “What did the doctor say?” Abbi asked when she answered the phone.

  “That I was lucky the cut isn’t deeper. He gave me some cream that’s supposed to reduce scarring. He did a couple of internal stitches, but only because Briar made him. They pinch.”

  “Will you have a scar?” Abbi asked.

  “It’s possible.”

  Abbi sighed. “I’ll meet you at home. Rhonda’s going to bring me after dinner.”

  Abbi hadn’t asked for her own car yet, and while I was happy not to pay for another vehicle, I didn’t like her being an imposition on our friends. “You’re sure?”

  “She said it’s not a problem. Stop stressing.”

  “Good. Be safe. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mom.”

  Ending the call, I handed Briar her phone, thrilling at the words. Briar opened the trunk and stuffed it full of bags.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Every pair of sexy underwear in the mall,” she responded.

  “Briar! I told you. Friends.”

  “Well, even if it doesn’t work out with Asher, you still needed sexy underwear. Your drought’s gotta end some time. Consider it an early birthday present.”

  “My birthday’s in November.”

  Briar slammed the trunk. I waited for her to open the driver’s door. “So it’s a present for selling your series to HBO. Whatever.”

  I pleated the bottom of my shirt between my fingers, refusing to look at her. “The HBO deal’s contingent on me finishing the series.”

  Briar patted my arm. “I know Doug’s cheating hurt you, but you managed to write through some of that. So you can do it now. You’re not so . . . distant, I guess. That’s what happened after you found out he was sick.”

  “No, after he slept with any willing vagina.”

  “I’m really, really sorry he did that to you, big sis. You said you wrote last night?”

  “Just set-up and a few scenes for how I’d like to end the series. Asher told me to let the words come. I sent it to Bev, but I’m expecting her to rip it to shreds.”

  Briar let out a little squeal. “Asher’s done more for you in a few weeks than we’ve been able to do in years.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him right now, Bri. It’s— I don’t know what I feel. I need to focus on closing this deal. I need to write again. I miss it.”

  Briar picked up my hand, squeezed my fingers. “And Doug? He doesn’t deserve a hold over you anymore, Lia.”

  “You’re right. I— It’s better.”

  I looked at my sister’s fingers and wished it was Asher’s hand wrapped around mine. I looked out the window and swallowed down my need. Wanting, wishing wouldn’t change that Asher’s life was an even bigger mess than mine. Nor would it make him stop touring and focus on me the way I craved a man to do.

  “Let’s get that beer and pick up some pizza. Dad always said pizza and beer was the perfect meal. Each time I drink a beer, I think about him.”

  I wasn’t sure I could manage either the pizza or the beer, but I liked the idea of being close to my dad and my sister.

  We’d just finished cleaning the kitchen when Abbi walked in. She kissed my non-bruised cheek and gave her aunt a hug. “I’m glad you came. I’ve been worried about Mom. You know how she tries to be tough. I didn’t know how hard to push her about going to the hospital.”

  “You did just right, Abs,” Briar said, returning the embrace.

  “But we’re still talking about you not having your phone on,” I said, my voice stern because I couldn’t transform my face into its mom look.

  “I feel really bad. I already put my laptop in your office. I told Sally and Luke I couldn’t hang out after school this week, and I was probably going to be stuck in with you this weekend, which totally sucks because Luke’s going to Coeur d’Alene to catch some outdoor concert Saturday.”

  “You’re going to be stuck with me. We’re having house guests.”

  Abbi’s eyes flitted to Briar.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” Briar laughed. She’d finished loading the dishwasher and was now in the process of spreading her paperwork across my kitchen table. I rolled my eyes when she smeared a drop of tomato sauce across a printout. She’d never learned to wipe up all the way.

  “Who’s coming? Aunt El and Uncle Simon?”

  “Can I tell her?” Briar asked, her grin widening. “Nah, you tell her.”

  “Asher wanted to come out and make sure I’m not broken. He’s bringing his son with him.”

  “Mom!” Abbi shrieked. One of those nuclear siren sounds that made my teeth ache. “This is a monumental. He asked to come see you?”

  “He asked her to take down her dating profile,” Briar said. I glared while Briar smirked.

  “Abigail, I expect you to not make a bigger deal out of this than it is.”

  She snorted. “Whatever. Can I go take the profile down? You have like four hundred e-mails.”

  “Seriously? That’s insane,” I said.

  “You’re beautiful, Mom. Even the guys at my school think so.”

  “That’s disturbing. I don’t want high school boys to look at me at all. I’ll deal with the profile.”

  “Does this mean Asher is your boyfriend?” Abbi asked, bouncing on her heels.

  “No, Abigail. It means you need to calm down. He’s a friend. And I think he needs to talk about his divorce. Please be cool about this. Please.”

  I was pathetic, begging my daughter, but I’d heard the hurt in Asher’s voice.

  “Fine,” Abbi muttered. “I’m going to my room.”

  “You don’t want to hang out with us?” Briar asked.

  Abbi narrowed her eyes and puckered her lips. “No. I’m going to go listen to Supernaturals. Brush up on the lyrics.”

  “So tell me why you’re looking for work at other papers,” I said once Briar and I were settled on the couch.

  Briar hesitated, her forehead puckering. “You really think Ken is an asshole?”

  Ah. Her relationship with the doctor had been a surprise. He’d pursued her with a zeal that would flatter any woman.

  “Do you love him?” I asked.

  Briar’s eyes clouded. Slowly, she shook her head.

  “They why do you stay?” I kept my voice gentle.

  Her mouth was a taut line. “I don’t know. Rosie would be sad.”

  I squeezed her fingers. “Rosie loves you. If you stopped dating her nephew, she’d still love you.”

  Briar dipped her head, a small concession to my words. “He’s gotten worse. More controlling.”

  “Oh, Briar. Don’t let him take your independence or your happiness. Look, you told me to dive into a r
elationship with Asher. What about you? Why don’t you dive into a relationship with someone you love?”

  She was silent.

  “You need to find someone who cares about you for the amazing person you are,” I said.

  “I’m thinking of leaving him.”

  I rested my good cheek against hers. “I’ll be here if you do. Anything for you, Sweet Briar.”

  Eventually, she scooted back. “I need to look at that paperwork.”

  “Okay. I should check in with Bev.” My stomach ached, but I stood. While Briar headed to the kitchen, I went to my office and checked my e-mail.

  Bev had left me a half-crazed message: “You should call me when you nearly die! I need to know these things. Call me. As soon as you get this. I don’t care what time it is.”

  Bev never told me to call her, so I fought down fear as I dialed her number. She answered on the second ring. “I’m at the trendiest restaurant in the city, eating God-knows-what with my new boy toy. I’m only answering this call to let you know I want to kill you myself.”

  “I’m sorry, Bev. I’ll try not to scare you again.”

  “You’re not allowed to concuss that brain of yours. Now, these chapter notes,” Bev said, “they’re awesome.”

  “Really? I mean, they’re just some ideas.”

  “How could you send me just those? I’m dying for more,” Bev cried. “Where’s the rest of the book?”

  “I haven’t written it.”

  “Quit falling on your goddam face and write it then. Jesus, Lia. Priorities. Get yours right. I want the first hundred on my desk by Friday.”

  “That good?”

  “I do not bullshit. I have an addiction. You have to feed it. Otherwise I get bitchalicious.”

  “That’s your normal state, Bev. I’ll do my best. Enjoy the rest of your dinner and your boy toy.”

  “Wait a minute. What’s this about you and Asher Smith?”

  I moaned. “Is there no privacy in this world?”

  There was a long pause. “I was wondering about the sound track.”

  “Oh.”

  “But there’s more going on . . . ,” Bev said, inquisitively.

  “He’s my friend,” I said.

  “Does he know you set up an online dating profile?”

  I growled as I switched the phone to speaker. Setting it on my desk, I opened a new browser window on my laptop. “I took it down.”

  “The dating profile? Because you’re bonking Asher Smith?”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hissed at her. “You’re in a restaurant, and people can hear you.”

  “Is that where all this creativity is coming from? If so, chain him to your bed.”

  “No. Will you stop it? We’re friends.”

  “Whatever you say, Lia. Just be sure to stay friends long enough to finish both books. If you crap out on me after those pages, I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”

  “Bye, Bev.” I hung up the phone and stared at my computer screen. Abbi hadn’t been kidding. I had hundreds of e-mails asking me for everything from coffee to lap dances to—oh, that was just nasty.

  I clicked through until I was sure the profile was down, then I opened up my document and began to type.

  I sent my sister off the next morning, already missing her. We hadn’t been as close as I’d like to have been for years, in part because I’d moved out so young. I’d asked her to come stay with Doug and me, but she’d refused, probably out of pride and hurt.

  Just weeks after my nineteenth birthday, I was married. A few months later, I had an infant to care for. Between Abbi’s needs, and later, Doug’s, I didn’t have anything left in me, especially once my writing took off. I hadn’t been there to help Briar make her decisions. Now all I could do was support her choices.

  With Abbi at school, I made the trip into town and picked up a newer version of my phone. It did things I didn’t understand, but the nice pierced-and-tatted young woman transferred all my data over from my shattered one and deactivated my music and book accounts on my old phone.

  “You have no idea how many people don’t do that. Man, do they pay later when they can no longer access their media.”

  I thanked her and stepped outside. My face still hurt, and now it was an even nastier mass of colors. I wanted to go home and console myself with a milkshake and more writing, but first I texted my family to let them know I had a new phone. I sent Asher a message, too.

  I wasn’t sure what to think about his visit. I was drawn to him, more than any other man, ever. The fact that he cared about me, wanted me . . . I shivered as I considered how his voice dropped when he’d told me. How his eyes had looked when he held me in the elevator.

  I loved his sensitive side that was buried under years of cynicism, stardom, and even loss. From our walk, I knew he mourned his mother as I still did my father.

  But I wasn’t someone who sought out attention from others. I was a writer, by my very nature, a recluse. The antithesis of his rocker persona.

  Getting more involved with Asher meant stepping out of the tiny life I’d made for myself. I knew I’d be happier with the wide range of people and experiences such a life would bring, but I was also terrified of leaving my cocooned comfort zone. No one in my tiny circle would hurt me. Not intentionally, anyway. I’d made sure of it.

  My lips curved up just a little when my phone chimed with an incoming text.

  Got the all clear so we’ll leave Friday. Be later in the day because I have another meeting with Paul to officially sign on for the sound track. He just talked my ear off about your chapter notes your agent sent.

  Flight deets to follow. Mason’s looking forward to meeting your daughter almost as much as I’m looking forward to making sure you’re still in one beautiful piece.

  I pressed the back of my hand to my flushed cheek. This was a bad idea. But I couldn’t bring myself to cancel.

  I drove home and walked straight into my office. I opened my writing program and hit the keys before my butt settled into the chair. I let the fantasy flow.

  Four hours later, I shut down the computer, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Maybe the scenes were good, maybe they weren’t. But I had twenty-five pages to show for my day. Added to last night’s, I had the first four chapters written. Talk about productivity.

  I went to the kitchen and looked up my favorite recipes. As part of Abbi’s punishment, she was going grocery shopping with me. She hated the way I tested all the produce before picking the best ones.

  Unfortunately, my punishment plan didn’t work out the way I expected. She was so excited about meeting Asher, she was willing to do anything to help, a theory I tested when I made her wash all the sheets and towels in the guest rooms and bathroom.

  She hummed while she folded the warm, fluffed towels. Hummed.

  “So school went well today?”

  “Mmm hmm. Luke feels bad he got me in trouble, so he’s being extra nice.”

  “What does that entail?”

  Abbi chuckled. “It means he walked me to my classes and held my hand at lunch.”

  “And the kissing?”

  “Only between periods. And after school. And when he brought me home.”

  “Is it good?”

  “Puh-lease. Like I’d be with him if it was bad.”

  “Take it slow. Please. I am not changing diapers for at least another decade.”

  “There’s a long way between kissing and baby-making, Mom.”

  “You know what I mean. I was sixteen . . .”

  “Once, like, a million years ago.”

  “And I remember how hormones rage. Your dad was a great kisser.”

  Abbi made a face. “That is so gross.”

  “I thought you wanted to trade stories.”

  At her horrified look, I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. “Ouch, that made my face hurt. Just remember sex means more than a quick release. At least I need it to mean more.”

  She set the towel in
the basket and pulled a small piece of fluff off the edge. Finally, she nodded. “I get it. But are you telling me that or reminding yourself?”

  18

  Asher

  Jessica agreed to let me take Mason for the weekend. I was suspicious, but I wasn’t going to push my luck and ask her why she was caving on this when she was so primed to fight about everything else. I made her sign a paper, as per my lawyer’s advice, stating I had the right to take Mason on the trip, and then I hustled my son out of the house.

  Nearly four hours later, I fidgeted in my seat while I waited for the captain to turn off the seatbelt sign. I hefted Mason’s red backpack and pulled my carry-on from the overhead bin. Last thing I grabbed was my Taylor guitar. It was an older model and the wood had long since lost its sheen. I’d had it for nearly thirty years, and I took it with me everywhere. Kind of like Mason used to do with his blanket.

  “You ready to meet my friends?” I sounded almost normal. Good.

  “Her daughter’s nice?” Mason asked. He was picking at the skin on his thumb.

  “Yeah, very. So’s Dahlia. You’ll like her.”

  I hoped he would. Mason had a great bullshit meter. Way better than mine. He wouldn’t lie to me about his reaction to Dahlia, and I wouldn’t stick around if he didn’t like her.

  My kid and my sanity meant more than my pride. With my emotions going all intense, I needed someone with better perspective to let me know if I was caught up in lust, and the best I could come up with was my eight-year-old son. I was enough of a bastard to use my kid’s talent to help me out.

  I took a deep breath and motioned Mason to go into the aisle in front of me.

  “You seem worried,” he said.

  “Me. Nah. I’m just thinking about the fact our plane landed late.”

  “Flying’s a bitch.”

  “What did you say?” I asked. The flight attendant and pilot standing at the exit had heard him, too. Their friendly expressions twisted into looks of shocked disapproval.

  “Mom says flying’s a bitch. She told me that’s why she doesn’t like to tour with you.”