Rifts and Refrains

by Devney Perry

  He had a gift.

  With everyone except his own daughter.

  It hadn’t always been like this. He hadn’t always picked at me. When I was young, our relationship had been wonderful. I’d adored him.

  It was when I’d begun developing my own ideals, my own desires and dreams, that the fights had started. They’d never stopped.

  First, it was my clothes. I wore low-slung jeans and spaghetti-strapped camisoles whenever I wasn’t at school. One summer Sunday, I got dressed and walked to church, thinking nothing of my outfit. It was cute and I was tan and it was hot. When Dad got home that afternoon, he told me if I couldn’t dress more reasonably for church, without my bra straps or panties peeking out, I might as well stay home.

  I didn’t stay home. Even in the winter, I went to church in a cami, freezing my butt off in a pew.

  After the clothes, it was the music. There was a kid in my high school band class who had an older brother. They had a garage band and needed a new drummer when theirs quit, so they’d asked me to join. I played with them for months, and it was never an issue because my parents thought it was all kids my age. Until my classmate quit the band and I was the only member under twenty-two. And the only female.

  Dad forbid me to participate.

  I told everyone, except Graham, that I’d quit.

  But I hadn’t.

  Two days before I was leaving for college, Dad caught me sneaking into the house at two in the morning. I’d been at a house party, playing with the band. It had been our farewell gig.

  Dad and Mom were furious and refused to take me to Seattle.

  I threatened to go anyway.

  Dad promised to disown me.

  So Graham drove me to the airport two days later and I used all the money I’d made playing with that band to buy my one-way ticket out.

  “How long do you plan on staying?” Dad asked, bringing my thoughts back to the church.

  “Getting rid of me already?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “I’m leaving Monday.”

  He nodded. “So . . . soon.”

  Was that relief in his voice? Or regret? My eyes drifted to the piano and its gleaming cherry finish. It had cost me a lot to break free. My home. My siblings. My parents. My boyfriend. But my life would have been miserable if I had stayed in Dad’s box. He probably would have loved nothing more than for my music career to have peaked as a music teacher who played with his choir each Sunday.

  There was an unspoken rule in our family. Behind closed doors, play what you want. Listen to what you want. Be who you want. But in public, uphold the image.

  When I’d decided rock music and the drums were more my speed than the organ and gospels, I’d tarnished his image. I was the rebel daughter and he was the pastor who couldn’t keep her under control.

  We were the real-life version of Footloose.

  Had Dad even listened to Hush Note’s music? He liked rock and roll. His truck was tuned to the classic station on the radio.

  Except it didn’t matter what Dad thought.

  It only mattered what others would think of Dad.

  I had eight million followers on Instagram, but Dad’s appearance was under more scrutiny than mine.

  The door behind us opened and we both turned to see Graham stride down the aisle.

  “Hi, Graham.” Dad stood, smiled and shook Graham’s hand. “How was work today?”

  “Hot.” He chuckled. His hair was damp at the ends and even feet away, I could smell the fresh soap. “How’s it going?”

  “I’m doing . . . okay.” Dad’s shoulders fell and he turned to look at me. “I’ll get out of your way. About the song, I really enjoyed it.”

  He’d enjoyed “Amazing Grace.” My teeth ground together. Would he ever hear me? Would he ever accept me?

  Without a word, I stood and walked to the stage, ignoring whatever Dad said to Graham before leaving the sanctuary.

  “Did I walk in on something?” Graham asked, taking a seat on the bench beside me.

  “The usual,” I muttered. “He’s just concerned his parishioners will hold the actions of his sinful daughter against him.”

  “I don’t think that’s it. Things have changed.”

  “Changed?” I huffed. “Nothing has changed. The man hasn’t spoken to me in nine years, unless you count a birthday card in the mail. Then he wants to have a heart-to-heart so he can convince me to play his approved song for my grandmother’s funeral. Heaven forbid I embarrass him.”

  If it hadn’t been one of Nan’s explicit requests, I bet Dad would have disinvited me to play. But he wouldn’t go against her. He’d follow her instructions word for word and suffer through three minutes of my singing. Then he’d only have to wait until Monday when I’d be gone.

  “He’s not embarrassed by you, Quinn.”

  “Don’t,” I barked. “Don’t defend him.”

  “I’m not . . .” Graham shook his head. “I was always on your side.”

  “Were you?”

  If he’d been on my side, why had he driven me to the airport and stayed behind?

  In my heart, I already knew the answer.

  Graham had stayed here, waiting for me to come home, because he’d never believed I’d make my dreams come true. He’d stayed behind because he’d thought I’d return.

  He hadn’t believed in me.

  Like my father.

  “Can we just do this?” I splayed my hands on the piano, not waiting for him to agree as I played the first notes.

  The song wasn’t as good as it had been yesterday. There was an angry edge to my voice. Frustration and impatience clouded Graham’s. But we made it to the end of the song and there was no stuttering over the lyrics or harmonization.

  “Good enough.” I stood and strode off the stage.

  I’d lay it all out there on Saturday. I’d hold nothing back as I sang for Nan. But I couldn’t practice with Graham any longer. It was too . . . hard. It hurt to be surrounded by his scent and feel the heat from his skin on my own. All I wanted was to bury myself in his arms and get lost in his embrace. After every fight with Dad, Graham had been where I’d found solace.

  My willpower was weakening, and if I sat beside him any longer, I’d cave. I’d beg him to hold me, and I knew he absolutely would not.

  “Wait up.” Graham called when I was halfway down the aisle. “I want to ask you something.”

  In my hurry to flee, I hadn’t noticed him follow, but he was three feet behind me when I turned and glared. “What?”

  My tone didn’t faze him. If anything, it softened his mesmerizing eyes. “Why don’t you sing?”

  “Uh, I was just singing.” I tossed a hand toward the piano.

  “That’s not what I mean. Why don’t you sing in your band?”

  “It’s not my job. I play the drums.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and the sleeves of his T-shirt strained around his thick biceps. He planted his strong legs wide, standing like an oak tree, sturdy and solid. Unmovable until he got the answer he wanted.

  I mirrored his stance and lifted my chin. This wasn’t his business. My band wasn’t his business. I’d made the mistake of playing him Nixon’s “Jingle Bells” message, but I should have kept that part of my life—the present and future—far away from the past.

  “Quinn,” he warned in that rumbling voice.

  Why didn’t I sing?

  Because of you.

  I lived for the music. It was as much a part of me as my heart and lungs and blood. I needed the pulse of the drums racing through my veins. I needed to be swept up in a crescendo and set free in the climax. The music made me feel alive.

  But singing, that had always been tied to Graham. When I sang, he’d always been in the crowd. The first time I’d performed at church as a kid, I’d been so nervous. The only way I’d made it through was by staring at him in the front row. He’d mouthed the words with me, start to finish.

  When I sang, it was fo
r Graham.

  He’d given me that courage and my voice had always been for the boy I’d loved. I could sing for Nan on Saturday because he was there, sitting beside me.

  How did I tell him that? How did I confess that I was an award-winning musician who was terrified to sing on her own because his face was missing in the crowd? It would reveal too much. He’d know that, to this day, he meant too much.

  So I spun away and marched for the door.

  Leaving him and his question behind.

  Chapter Eight

  Graham

  Fuck. What a stubborn, infuriating woman.

  Was it so hard for her to answer a simple question?

  Quinn had always been a singer. How many times had she told me about her plan to study music, then compose and perform? How many nights had I tucked her into my side in the bed of my truck, watching the stars as she whispered her dreams? She’d never wanted to be a teacher, like her mother. She’d wanted the spotlight. Her talent deserved it.

  She belonged in a band as successful as Hush Note.

  But as the drummer? She didn’t even sing backup.

  Why had she settled? Why didn’t she sing? Damn it, I wanted an answer. I wanted to know why, when she had the skill and the range, she stayed behind Jonas and Nixon. I’d seen enough of their music videos and coverage of their performances on YouTube to know she was hiding.

  Two long strides down the aisle and I caught her. I stretched and wrapped a hand around her elbow before she could bolt out the door. “Answer me.”

  She wrenched her arm out of my grip. “No.”

  “Why don’t you sing?”

  Her lips pursed in a thin line and that defiant stare I’d seen countless times fixed on my face. But there was something behind her hard expression. Fear? Insecurity?

  “You’re scared.”

  “No.” She scoffed. “I’m not scared.”

  That was a damn lie. “Then why?”

  “I have my reasons, and they’re none of your business. Not anymore.”

  “Because of you.” I pointed at her nose. “You walked away and cut me out of your life. You made that choice.”

  Quinn’s lip curled. It was the first real flash of the tenacious, rebellious, spirited girl I’d known my entire life. That lip curl meant she was about to lose the grip on her control.

  Good.

  She’d been holding back this week. There was no way the Quinn I’d known would have let me bark at her all week without a snappy retort.

  I wanted to see some of that fire, make sure it was still there. I wanted to see the spark of the girl I’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

  Her eyes blazed and blood rushed to my groin. God, she was something. That nose ring glinted under the lights and I wanted to lick the metal to see if it was cool.

  “That’s not what happened,” she gritted out.

  “Really? Because it sure as hell seems like you left everyone in your dust while you hooked up with a couple guys content to let you be their plaything because you’re good with a pair of sticks.” I leaned in closer, ready to push every button until she told me the truth. “If you stop fucking Jonas and Nixon, will they cut you from the band?”

  “Fuck you.”

  I’d seen the gossip headlines. They were impossible to miss when they were splashed across tabloid covers in the grocery store checkout line.

  Hush Note Love Triangle

  Who Will Quinn Choose?

  Team Jonas vs. Team Nixon

  There hadn’t been much of that lately, not since Jonas had confirmed he was in a serious relationship. Still, the idea of her with them made my stomach turn. Was that why Nixon called to leave her stupid jingles as messages? Was he in love with her?

  Was she in love with him?

  The thought of her with another man sent my head into a jealous spin. Did she gasp when he kissed her? Did he know that she was ticklish behind her knees and she loved to have her nipples sucked?

  I’d been the one to teach her those things. Me.

  Quinn’s chest heaved and her eyes, lethal and cutting, didn’t waver from mine. She’d hardened herself. For what? To keep people out? Did she think a scowl and a snarky attitude was going to work on me? Because I knew her too damn well.

  “Why don’t you sing?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  I closed the gap between us, towering over her and forcing her to tilt her head back to keep my gaze. “You owe me some answers.”

  “I don’t owe you anything,” she hissed.

  “You do. Tell me why.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me.” The rise and fall of her chest brushed against mine, but she didn’t back away. Her sweet scent surrounded me, and if I didn’t step away, there was a good chance I’d lose my head. But my feet wouldn’t budge. “Why don’t you sing, Quinn?”

  She held my stare, her eyes searching mine, but she stayed quiet.

  I ran a hand down her arm, my fingers barely skimming the soft skin from shoulder to elbow. A flash of lust crossed her face, and the fury melted away with the sparks zinging up my fingertips.

  “Because,” she whispered.

  “Because why?” Tell me.

  Her breath rushed out between us and her chin dropped. “Because it reminds me of you. Because it hurts too much.”

  Maybe deep down I’d suspected that answer, so that’s why I’d pushed for it. Maybe I’d known all along Quinn was as attached to me as I was to her. She crossed my mind daily, either in anger or curiosity or longing. Nine years, and damn it, she’d never truly left.

  Fuck it. I took her face in my hands and slammed my mouth on hers, swallowing her gasp. My tongue swept inside her mouth and I devoured, pouring my frustration into the kiss.

  Quinn’s hands slid up my chest and fisted my T-shirt, pulling me closer as her tongue tangled in mine.

  She tasted exactly like I remembered, sweet and potent and Quinn. Ambrosia. Her teeth nipped at my bottom lip, something that had always driven me crazy. I sucked on the corner of her top lip because it made her moan.

  I lost myself in the memory of a girl and the reality of a woman, both gorgeous and addicting. Quinn was unchanged yet so different, and it was screwing with my head. So I blocked it out and kissed the hell out of her. My arms banded around her, pulling her into my chest as every nerve ending in my body ignited.

  We were moving. My feet were shuffling us toward the door, stopping only when we pressed against the glass. The truck was right outside and the backseat—

  What the fuck was I doing? I was off Quinn in a flash, stepping away until she was out of reach.

  Quinn blinked herself out of the haze, then her eyes widened and a hand flew to her mouth.

  “Shit.” I wiped my lips dry. “I’m sorry.”

  She kept her fingers pressed to her lips like they’d protect her from me. “That was a mistake.”

  “Yeah.” A huge, fucking mistake. We couldn’t be kissing in the church or anywhere else. Nothing good would come from wanting Quinn. Or . . . surrendering to the want.

  She had the power to ruin me all over again, and it wasn’t just my heart on the line here. I had to think about Colin.

  “I, um . . .” Don’t know what to say.

  Didn’t matter. Quinn spun for the door and was gone. The tendrils of her silky hair blew in the breeze as she raced outside and left me standing in the lobby.

  “Son of a bitch,” I muttered, hanging my head.

  It was a lapse in judgment I wouldn’t let happen again. I only had to make it three more days and she’d be gone, taking the temptation with her.

  We’d sing together on Saturday. There was no reason for me to see her tomorrow—we had the song down. So I only had to see her for the funeral, and I damn sure wouldn’t be kissing her then.

  I reined in the physical excitement, breathing deep until the blood wasn’t pulsing in my ears and my cock wasn’t twitching behind my zipper. It had been a long time since I’d had
a woman, single dad and all. That, and I hadn’t had much of an appetite to date. The last time I’d kissed a woman had been two years ago.

  Until today.

  Until Quinn.

  Maybe I needed to take Walker’s advice and get out more. It couldn’t be healthy for a man to go this long without a release. But that was something I’d consider next week. Or next year.

  Things were good with Colin and me. A woman would only complicate my life.

  The air was warm and fresh when I walked outside, scanning the sidewalks for Quinn. They were empty. She was long gone, probably halfway home, which was great since my house was in the opposite— “Damn it.”

  I had to go get Colin.

  From Quinn’s house.

  “Mother,” I growled.

  “Hi!” She smiled as she bustled around the Montgomery kitchen. She was as familiar with this one as she was her own. The same was true for Ruby and ours.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Ruby and I thought it would be nice to have a mandatory family dinner since we’re all in town.”

  “Sure, you did,” I muttered.

  This family dinner was nothing more than another excuse to force Quinn upon her family—Ruby’s motivation—and to play matchmaker—thanks, Mom.

  Mom riffled through the fridge and frowned. “Do me a favor and go over to our house and get some ketchup. I have a spare bottle in the pantry. We’re doing burgers, but we’re running low here.”

  “Okay.” There was no point fighting this dinner, so I’d go retrieve her ketchup. The sooner we ate, the sooner I could leave. I walked through the kitchen and opened the sliding door, scanning the backyard for my son. He was running behind the playhouse carrying a Nerf gun. “Hey, bud.”

  “Hi, Dad!” he yelled, then lost interest in me as Evan joined him. The two raced for the fence, firing darts at an invisible bad guy.

  I closed the door and retreated through the Montgomery house to trudge over to my parents’. I had just stepped onto the concrete pad in front of the front door when it flew open.