Like you’ve forgotten—Stop it!
“You needed it. You were looking a bit too zombielike. Breakfast?”
“If it’s not brains.”
“In that case I’ll put them back in the fridge,” she said without missing a beat. And he smiled. Not quite a grin, but nearly as devastating.
“You’re as quick as ever,” he said.
She smiled back, proud that she was able to. But his expression faded, as if it had been a fragile, fleeting thing he couldn’t maintain. And once more that feeling came flooding back, that there was more wrong than she—than maybe anyone knew.
She poured him coffee, noted he still drank it black. She fixed eggs without asking how he liked them, because she knew. He smiled again when she set them before him on the bar where he’d sat down to watch her. But again it was fleeting, almost as if it were autonomic, something his muscles did without thought, and once thought intervened it faded.
“Thanks.”
“I assumed they didn’t fix them some exotic way in L.A. that you like better than scrambled with cheese.” His gaze flicked to her face. She made sure she was smiling; it truly had been teasing, not a jab.
“No,” he said, but the single syllable sounded as if he weren’t convinced. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She’d been sniping at him for a long time. He took a couple of bites. “They’re as good as I remember.”
“Been eating about as well as you’ve been sleeping?” she asked after he’d quickly worked his way through the plate of eggs and two slices of bacon she’d added.
“No appetite,” he admitted.
“For how long?”
His glance was sharper this time, as if she’d surprised him. After a moment he said, sounding reluctant, “A while.”
So she’d been right. There was more going on here.
“Sorry about your friend, but I’m really glad the initial media reports were wrong.”
He blinked. “What?”
“About it being you.”
“Oh.”
She watched him, her brow still furrowed, because something had come into his expression then that she didn’t like much. As if he’d suddenly understood something, and the knowledge stung. “What’s wrong? Besides the obvious, I mean.”
He put down his fork. “You don’t have to cook for me.”
“I offered. And someone clearly needs to. You’re too thin.”
He shrugged. Got up, carried his plate, fork and mug into the kitchen and put them into the dishwasher. He hadn’t gotten completely used to people picking up after him, apparently.
Then he turned to look at her. “I only came over to…say thank you.”
“Thank you for what?” She didn’t like the suddenly formal edge that had come into his voice.
“For…letting me come home.”
“Not like I’m in charge.”
All the old feelings had bubbled up in her at his use of the word home. All the “If you really meant its” that had peopled her mind since the moment she’d realized he had no intention of ever coming back. That she could even think that now, when he was so clearly hurting, told her rather painfully she’d let those feelings get way out of control. She was afraid they would break loose now, when she didn’t want them to, and so she rather abruptly changed the subject.
“I assume my brother’s off to Declan’s place?”
After a moment he nodded. “Final touches, he said. And Hope is at the rescue.” He paused, an odd expression coming over his face. “They seem…genuinely, truly happy together.”
“Bone-deep,” she said, meaning it. “She’s the best thing that could have happened to him.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. I know you and Amanda were close.”
“I love my brother. Hope is good for him.”
“So you don’t feel like she’s come between you?”
She frowned.
“I only meant that…it always seemed you were determined to be an unbreakable unit. Like you were determined to take care of him the way he came home and took care of you.”
“I was. But she’s made him happier than I ever thought I’d see him again. I would never begrudge him that.”
“She’s a gutsy woman. She was amazing at that trial.”
“Yes. I admire her for that.”
And how much of that admiration was for doing something Zee herself couldn’t seem to do—put the past behind her—she didn’t really want to admit. So her tone was rather brisk as she cleared the last of the cooking debris.
“What’s your plan?”
“I…hadn’t thought much beyond just getting here.”
She stared at him. Jamie always had a plan. From his tree house to his career path, he always had a plan.
There was definitely more wrong here. But whatever it was, he was obviously still reeling too much to deal with it right now.
“Maybe you should go back to bed for a while.”
Something flickered in his eyes, something not quite hot behind the green, but it was only a flicker and quickly faded. She knew what it once would have meant, how he once would have interpreted that as an invitation to her bed, and been right. That old longing stirred, tried to rise, and she quashed it firmly. He’d come home, yes, but for all the wrong reasons, and she’d do well to remember that.
Chapter Six
“Thanks for the bed last night.”
True only shrugged as he made the turn to head out to Aunt Millie’s. Jamie smiled inwardly at the man’s standard response to a thank-you or a compliment. True just went about his business, fixing things, going out of his way for people, solving problems, helping, leaving people feeling a gratitude that couldn’t be expressed simply by paying the bill. He remembered how he himself had felt when True called for help for Hope; he couldn’t jump on it fast enough.
Zee had said once that her brother tried to fix everything for everyone because he hadn’t been able to fix the one thing he’d truly wanted to: Amanda.
Jamie remembered her well, the sweet, generous girl everybody had loved. Including him, because on that terrible night it had been Amanda who had stepped in and taken charge until True got there. She’d seen to him as gently and lovingly as she had Zee. Much of that time was a fog in his mind, but he remembered her more than perhaps anything except the moment Aunt Millie had arrived and taken him into her arms, assuring him they were both badly wounded but they would survive.
Guilt stabbed at him. His aunt hadn’t just taken in her orphaned nephew, she’d also welcomed him, poured out her own unique kind of love and support. She was ever honest with him about what was ahead, that the true path of grief was not a straight, linear one but a snarl of loops and going back the way you came. She’d been right, about all of it, and her caring but honest approach had helped him more than any of the platitudes he got from others who wanted to shield him from the reality of his parents’ deaths.
It was Aunt Millie who had comforted him after his nightmares at all hours, who had never tried to hide her own tears and thus made him feel safe enough to shed his own, who refused to lie to him and say it would ever be over, and finally, on his sixteenth birthday, she had bought him that guitar. It was nothing fancy, but it had a beautiful tone and it had taught him the basics. He still had it. Always would, even though his collection had grown to about six.
It was the guitar he’d brought with him. The only one he wanted.
“How’d you and Zee do this morning?”
Snapped out of his thoughts Jamie gave True a quick glance, but he was studiously watching the road. The man was protective of his sister, even more than a typical older brother would be, because he’d raised her since she was fourteen. Hell, he’d been Jamie’s own adult male role model since then, too, his own borrowed big brother.
For all the good it did. You’d be a lot better off if you’d followed his example more.
“Okay,” he finally said. It was a lukewarm word for what he’d truly felt. And it didn’t
help that Zee was still the most… No adjectives were enough, she was simply the most woman he’d ever known. “She seemed…worried.”
“About you? Yes. I think she’s been worried since you left town.”
“Worried? Or mad?” he asked wryly.
“They’re not mutually exclusive.”
Jamie sighed. “Look, about that…I…we…I never meant…” He stopped with a disgusted snort and shook his head.
“If you’re dancing around telling me you two started having sex in your senior year of high school, don’t bother. I know. I always knew.”
“You did?” Jamie stared at the man. “You were always so protective of her. Why the hell didn’t you come after me?”
True shrugged. “Being with you was the only time Zee ever smiled. I wasn’t going to take that away from her. Or you, for that matter.”
Well, there’s that at least. So why do I still feel so defensive about it? “I was always going to leave, and she knew it.”
True flicked him a glance, then went back to the road. “We all knew it. You had big plans, dreams. And the talent to carry them out.” Another glance, this time with a smile. “Zee always said Whiskey River could never contain you.”
“Then why is she so mad that I left?”
“That’s between you two, and I’m not playing referee.”
“Great,” Jamie muttered. He’d been hoping True would at least give him a clue.
“But,” True added after a moment, “you might want to rethink the idea that that’s all she’s mad about.”
Jamie didn’t like the sound of that. What else could Zee be ticked at him about? They drove on in silence for a few minutes, Jamie soaking in the view as they went, the familiar things, the big pecan tree here, carefully preserved old buildings there. It took him a moment to realize what he was feeling, it had been so long. It wasn’t peace, not yet—it was too soon for that—but it was a sort of calm he hadn’t had for…well, he couldn’t remember when. Enough of this, of being home, and maybe he could deal with Derek. And Aunt Millie’s place.
Maybe even Zee.
Maybe.
His first sight of the house, from a distance, sparked an odd feeling in him. A jab of recognition, a feel of coming home, of a destination finally reached. But the closer they got, the more another feeling grew, an unease he couldn’t quite name.
“Damn,” he muttered as they came to a halt in the driveway.
“Told you it was rough,” True said. “I got the broken windows out and boarded up, fixed a leak—”
“No, man, it’s okay. I told you to just do what was essential for now.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry I didn’t check on it. Time gets away.”
“And you were busy. You’re always busy.”
“Keeps me out of trouble.”
The thought of steady, solid True Mahan in any kind of trouble almost made Jamie laugh. He got out of the truck, and for a moment just looked at the house where he’d lived out the roughest years of his young life. And yet it had been a haven, a safe place in his upended world.
“I didn’t think it would go down so far so fast,” he said softly.
“We’ve had some rough weather. But I should have thought about keeping an eye on it, after she passed.”
Jamie glanced at True. “It wasn’t your job.”
“She was like family to us, too.” True smiled sadly. “She was always one of the few people I could count on for the truth, about what it was going to be like. That there’d be no getting over this, only through it.”
Jamie nodded as they walked toward the house. “She knew. She’d been there even before my folks died.”
“Who? Did you ever find out?” True asked as they came to a halt in the front yard.
“She never talked about it much, but I found some photos once, of a guy in uniform. Camo stuff. She found me looking at them. I asked her who it was, and she said ‘My heart.’”
True winced, and Jamie nodded. Not wanting to dwell on it, he turned his attention back to the house. “I guess I’m lucky no one broke in and trashed the place.”
True made an odd sound. “Uh…someone did. Not trash it, but…broke in.”
He was surprised at how that jabbed at him. “What? When?”
“A while back.” True grimaced. “Hope.”
Jamie blinked. “What?”
“This is where I found her.”
Now he was staring. “You found Hope in my aunt’s house?”
True sighed. “It’s a long story. She was desperate. Needed shelter. And she didn’t damage anything, really, just a window, and—”
Jamie held up a hand. “I wouldn’t care if she had. Especially now that I’ve met her. And seen the change she’s made in you.”
True shrugged again, but he was smiling. “Best day of my life was when she hit me with Aunt Millie’s mop.”
Jamie laughed out loud. The first time he had in a long time, he realized. And he dared to hope that he might truly find what he needed, back here. Here, where he’d once before pieced his shattered life back together, with the help of his loving aunt and an equally shattered girl with huge blue eyes.
Maybe returning to the beginning really was the only way to go on.
Chapter Seven
“Well, what do you know?” Zee said. “I couldn’t believe it when my brother told me you were here and actually working.”
Jamie, who had gone still when she’d begun to speak, slowly straightened from the pile of debris he’d been stacking more neatly beside Millie’s house. He’d worked up a sweat in the late spring heat, and his T-shirt was damp with it. Damp and clingy, she noted sourly. Even needing another ten pounds on him, the guy was built. Damn him.
“It’s been known to happen,” he said, and she knew he must have worked at the neutral tone. She tried to match it.
“You’re going to need a shower.”
“True got the power turned on, and the well pump still works, so I’m good.” He grimaced. “As soon as I clean the bathroom a little.”
“I brought the things you told True you wanted. He’s kind of busy at the moment.”
“I know. Deck and Kelsey’s wedding.”
“Have you seen them yet?” He and Declan had quite hit it off when they’d all banded together to be Hope’s backup in L.A., discovering that each was a fan of the other’s work.
He shook his head. “But I talked to Deck a while ago.”
“So they know you’re here.”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t want anyone else to.”
“Not yet. If I can help it.”
“Why?” She was genuinely curious.
“People get weird,” he said with a wry grimace. “And I need some time.”
Alone.
He didn’t say the word, but she heard it as clearly as if he had. “I see.” She tried to stop herself from going on, but couldn’t. “Tell me, if you hadn’t needed True, would I even know you were here?”
He drew back sharply. “Zee—”
“Never mind. Sorry. Swore I wasn’t going there.” She looked around the neglected property, at the debris he’d stacked. Held up one of the shopping bags. “What’s with the sleeping bag?”
He let her change the subject. “Temporary solution. Until I get things into shape.” His mouth quirked wryly. “Well, True and I. When he’s got time.”
She hesitated, drew in a breath, then asked, “So…you’re staying for a while?”
“Isn’t that what you wanted me to do? Take care of Millie’s place?”
“Me? How about her? She loved this place, and you enough to leave it to you. How could you not see to it?”
“I am.”
“Finally. Nearly three years after she died.”
He was starting to look harassed now. “I didn’t realize there was a set timetable.”
“I just don’t understand how—” She heard her own voice rising, knew she was slipping the leash she’d been dete
rmined to keep tight. How could he still do this to her, after all this time? “Never mind,” she said again, and then asked the question she didn’t want to ask but—for some reason she didn’t want to acknowledge—needed to know the answer to. “Cleaning it up to sell?”
He looked suddenly weary again, and she remembered the hollow-eyed man who’d gotten off that plane. “If all you’re going to do is snipe at me, just drop the stuff and go, will you?”
She blinked. “That was a simple question.”
“Born of your conviction that I hate it here.”
“You don’t love it. Not like I do.” Not like you say you do, in your music. Music that still managed to pull at her heart, even knowing it was a lie. She pulled herself away from the thoughts before she voiced them.
“What the hell do you want from me, Zee? What do you expect me to do?”
“The same thing I’ve always expected. Not to forget where you came from.”
“I could never forget that.”
“Only how to get here?” He let out a long breath. She took one in. And said for the third time, “I’m sorry. You’re hurting over your friend. I shouldn’t be chewing on you right now.”
“But you reserve the right to tear into me later, is that it?”
He sounded more exasperated than angry, so she risked a small smile. “Something like that.”
He looked at her for a long moment, something softer coming into his eyes. “We always did know how to push each other’s buttons, didn’t we?”
“Yes. Yes, we did.” She gestured with the two bags she held and half turned toward the house. “I’ll just set these inside.”
“Leave the sleeping bag out here, thanks.”
She stopped. Glanced back at him. “Is the house so bad you have to sleep outside?”
She was on the verge of telling him to come back to their place, despite the fact that she’d be on edge the entire time, when he blasted that thought right out of her head.
“I’m going to sleep in the tree house.”
She froze. “What?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. As if it meant nothing. “It’s actually in better shape, and it cleaned up fast, so I’ll sleep there for a while. And hope the bugs don’t carry me off.”
Whiskey River Rockstar (Whiskey River Series Book 3) Page 4
