Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five

by Alexa Padgett

  “You’re so mean,” Abbi moaned.

  “Did I ask you about your conversation with Pitcher Luke?”

  “I’d tell you if you’d share your sexting with me,” Abbi said, crossing her arms.

  I gaped at her. “You did not just say that!”

  “Too much? ’Kay, I didn’t. Am I cooking dinner or can we go out? I really want some manicotti. Practice kicked my butt.”

  “Out. But I need a shower.”

  The private message from Asher lingered in my mind the entire time I was showering and through dinner. I enjoyed the building anticipation.

  I’d missed the heady feel that came from a new relationship. Not that I was in a relationship with Asher. I had to remember he was just a friend. A friend who maybe was going to become a business associate.

  I pushed my plate away, no longer hungry.

  “Read the message, already,” Abbi snapped. “It’s not going to change what he said to you a few days ago.”

  I pulled out my phone but made a point of frowning at my daughter as I did so. She just grinned, all smug, and forked up another bite of her dinner.

  My hands shook, and I had to set the phone on the table. I opened the app, holding my breath. I clicked on the message before I could chicken out.

  I’ve been thinking about you though I probably shouldn’t. I want to know how you’re holding up. Any more panic attacks?

  Much as I want to do this sound track with you, I’ve hit a snag. Jessica found out about it and is making noises about reconciliation. She doesn’t mean it. She just wants more from me—more money, more fame.

  I told you we’ve been legally separated for months. Our lawyers are hammering out details for our court date. It’s soon. And, Dahlia, I can’t wait. Because for the first time in years, I have something I’m looking forward to. I’m looking forward to spending time with you.

  You better hold up your end of the bargain. Start writing.

  “So?” Abbi asked.

  I raised my eyebrow.

  “Mom!” Abbi fell back into her chair, arms down by her side. “You’re so killing my mood.”

  “He says he’s been thinking about me, and I need to start writing.” I didn’t mention his divorce because I knew what she’d say, and I wasn’t sure I’d know how to respond.

  I pulled at my hair. He wanted to spend time with me. What kind of time?

  Was it bad my mind went immediately to sex? The good, scream-his-name kind I hadn’t had in years.

  Abbi sat up, a large smile on her face. “Awesome! All true.” She reached over and stole a bite from my plate. “Hey, this is good. I might order it next time.”

  “All yours.”

  “I told you I was hungry.”

  She forked up more of my linguini, slurping it a little before putting her hand in front of her mouth.

  “It’s messy. I’m not ordering that in front of Luke. He might get grossed out. How’d you eat it so neatly?”

  “Practice. So tell me, why doesn’t Varsity Pitcher Luke have a girlfriend?” I asked as I pushed my plate closer to Abbi’s side of the table.

  She shrugged. “He did until just before spring break.”

  “And?”

  “He broke up with her.” Abbi’s cheeks turned pink, and she was very serious about twirling a bite of pasta onto her fork.

  “Do not tell me you were involved in that.” My voice was sharp.

  Abbi’s eyes flew to mine, the fork clattering to the table.

  “No! She moved. To, like, New Jersey or something.”

  “And you decided to insert yourself into his life. After he and his girlfriend broke up.”

  Abbi picked up her fork and shoved it into her mouth. “Yeah,” she said around the pasta.

  I shook my head. “Just so you know, I would never have had the guts to go after a guy I liked in high school. If your dad hadn’t constantly flirted with me, I would’ve never had the courage to go out with him. And I’m not going after anyone now either. Asher’s married, anyway.” Technically. But that was enough.

  Abbi swallowed her bite and set down her fork. “Word in the media is that they’re having problems. They’ve been separated for months.”

  “Did you look him up?”

  “Of course. With Aunt Ella.”

  “I’m totally mortified you did that.”

  “You’ll get over it, especially if you start a relationship with him. By the way, there’ve been a couple of articles that she’s seeing some other guy and filed for a divorce.”

  “I’m not a marriage breaker-upper.”

  “You do realize that’s not a word, right? I don’t see the harm in going after what you want, Mom.”

  “This discussion is officially closed.”

  “Fine,” Abbi said, flopping back in her chair. The kid was so dramatic. “But you really need to do something for yourself. You and I both know life isn’t fair. Did you look at the dating profile I set up for you?”

  “Not yet, but I will.”

  We sat in silence, mine thoughtful, Abbi’s sullen, until the waiter brought a box and the bill.

  “You’d want to be the reason some kid lost one of his parents?” I asked.

  Abbi glared at me, her fair skin flaring tomato-red as it always did when she was embarrassed or truly angry.

  “People make their own decisions about their lives. Dad chose to get on that plane. He chose to jump out of it, too. And guess what? We’re the ones who pay for his actions.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” I said. But I was discombobulated, like my daughter had faked a pass right and spun around me to the left.

  “Which means we’re the ones who have to find our own happiness.” Abbi smiled in triumph. “May I drive home?”

  I handed Abbi the keys as she stood.

  I went straight back to my computer when we got home.

  “Ooh, you’re going to answer him!” Abbi squealed as she leaned her hip against the edge of my desk.

  “No, I’d planned to work on my proposal for HBO.”

  She rolled her eyes because we both knew it was a lie. I blew out a breath and leaned back in my chair. I looked up into Abbi’s eyes—so much like Doug’s—and saw a world of excitement I hadn’t felt in years.

  “I want to answer him,” I said. “I think he and I can be friends, Abs. We might work together for the miniseries, but that’s it. I-I need to learn to take care of myself, not lean on someone else for my happiness. You’re right about that.”

  “Like you did with Dad?”

  I bit my lip and slammed my eyes closed, hoping she hadn’t seen the anger in them.

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah, like I did with Dad. We were so young.”

  I’d needed Doug’s confidence, his support in high school. My father was dead, and my mom didn’t want my sister or me. Doug and I had grown up together, merging into one person in some ways. Doug’s opinions, laughter, even his silences had shaped the woman I’d become. And there was no way to cut out half your vital organs and survive that level of trauma. Even when that other half was the cause of the emotional turmoil. I hadn’t been strong enough to do it years ago, and I was still paying the price now.

  I hadn’t realized—because it wasn’t something I’d allowed myself to consider—my feelings for Asher Smith were simmering underneath my day-to-day life with Doug. Since he’d sung “Moonshine Eyes” at that last performance, I’d gone over the edge from awareness to caring.

  I’d thought those feelings were safe because they weren’t returned. He’d moved on to another band, and I’d moved away.

  “I’m not much younger than you were when you moved in with Dad.”

  I turned my head to smile at my daughter, the set of her chin just like Doug’s. “I was seventeen, not sixteen, and your dad couldn’t take any more community college courses. He needed to move to go to the university across town.”

  “So it was no biggie to leave your high school friends, your school?”
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  “Here’s the rub. I was so wrapped up in your dad I didn’t care about any of that.” I didn’t add then. Abbi didn’t deserve that much honesty.

  Abbi’s eyes misted. “I want that for me,” she said.

  I didn’t. I’d overlooked Doug’s faults, willing to let him sustain my happiness as he had for years before we moved in together. When he blew apart what was left of our life together, I quit trying to find any kind of happiness. Worse, I quit living.

  “I want more than that for you,” I said instead, gripping Abbi’s slender fingers. “I want you to stand up by yourself, be proud of the woman you’ve become. Find a partner, someone who loves you and respects who you are. You don’t need to complete the other person. You need to be your own person who is loved for who you are.”

  Abbi’s brows drew down, and I knew she didn’t understand what I was saying to her. I wasn’t sure I understood myself, but I needed to find out who Dahlia Dorsey was, separate from Doug, if I had any hope of being happy again.

  “I really am going to work on my proposal. I have to get something to Garcia and Paul by Friday.” I said.

  “Do you have depression?” Abbi asked. She studied my face with narrowed eyes.

  I laughed. “I have clarity. It’s refreshing.” I smiled at her, then dropped her hands. “Changes are a-comin’. You think you can keep up?” I teased.

  “Pfft. I’m the poster child of flexibility.”

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “That you are, and I’m sorry for it, Abigail.”

  She pushed off the desk. “Not to worry.” She yawned. “If you won’t let me read your response to your boyfriend, I’m going to go obsess with Sally over what to wear to school tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good. Want to go into Spokane this weekend? Shopping, hair, maybe a mani-pedi?”

  Abbi threw me a grin over her shoulder. “I like these changes. We’re going to make you smoking, Mom.”

  I didn’t answer Asher’s message that week though I did accept his friend request. I liked pulling up my account and seeing his face there, but I obsessed over his unlisted relationship status for two days.

  He probably thought I was teasing him or, worse, ignoring his overture. I told myself I was doing neither. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say, especially after how I left it in the parking garage. I’d been scared so I chose to back away. My normal MO, one Doug had taken advantage of.

  Asher and I both knew the importance of words. I wanted my response to him to be clear so that he knew what I expected moving forward. Since my head wasn’t capable of finding the right response yet, I procrastinated.

  Unable to make any progress with the writing, I made copies of my notes and sent them to Bev. She went through and jotted down her thoughts, which I dutifully typed up into the proposal.

  “It’s not your best work, but it shows that you’ve thought about it,” Bev said. “I don’t love the ending.”

  Neither did I, but I hadn’t come up with anything better. “What if we send them these synopses but say I’m open to developing the appropriate ending for the series with their help? I think Paul would like that.”

  “Hmm, you mean not sell these last two books you know you need to write, just the movie rights?”

  That wasn’t what I wanted, but I couldn’t get the words onto the page. I might not have a choice.

  “I’ll send them this,” Bev said. She seemed hesitant, and I’d never heard Bev sound tentative before.

  When Paul’s response of “We need something in line with the quality of the first three books” came, I collapsed into my chair, struggling to breath. When Abbi called to me from downstairs, I fled to my bathroom, turning on the shower. I had a week to come up with the quality Paul and Garcia expected.

  One week to overcome years of frustration and disappointment.

  10

  Asher

  Last night I’d considered driving to Idaho just to make sure Dahlia was okay. A stupid impulse, sure, but she hadn’t posted anything online. Like, at all. She’d been a regular user of social media until she accepted my friend request. This week nothing, even though her friends posted on her wall. And I knew from one of those posts—no, I wasn’t checking my account fifty times a day—that she’d set up a dating profile. Her sister, Briar Moore, had commented on it as soon as it went live.

  Why the fuck had Dahlia set up a dating profile now? She’d linked it to her Facebook account, another oddity since she ignored both.

  While I wanted to talk to Dahlia about what I’d said to her the last time we spoke, I needed to discuss the sound track. The HBO guys coughed up more money to sweeten the deal, but I needed time—time to get Jessica out of my life so I could accept the gig.

  Especially since Jessica had rejected my last offer, further dragging out the divorce proceedings. She was now asking for full custody of Mason and alimony from any future music royalties.

  “Face facts,” Jessica had said. “I’m going to get a lot of this because you weren’t exactly circumspect about your drug-taking for years. No judge is going to rule against the little wifey who’s been raising your kid in backwoods Washington while you’re touring the world in rock-star style.”

  I’d walked out at that point. If I’d stayed, I would’ve done something stupid. Like get high just so I didn’t have to hear Jessica’s bitching anymore.

  I drove to the crap apartment I’d rented months ago for a place to store my stuff. Not that I had much. I hadn’t wanted to worry Mason by clearing out more than what was necessary. One extra suitcase hadn’t made much of an impression, but now my entire music library was still at the house and Jessica planned to sell it off for cash.

  I had another month left on the lease but I was too dejected to renew. I had to start making some decisions about my future. I knew what I wanted: a chance to be me, hanging out with my kid, getting to know Dahlia, the woman I’d always coveted.

  With each day that passed, I stretched tighter, as if I were going to snap. The last time I’d been this wound up, I’d popped enough pills to see my world in Technicolor for three days. That’d been amazing, but I’d done some stupid shit that I was still paying for in the form of bad publicity. That was one of the reasons I’d cleaned up my act. I knew, even then, I’d lose Mason if I didn’t.

  Mason flopped onto the grass, his chest heaving. I headed over and sat next to him.

  “I like baseball,” he said.

  “Home-run derbies are the best.”

  “Are you and Mom really getting a divorce?” he asked. His hazel eyes were serious, his mouth turned down with concern.

  “Yeah.” I pulled my knees up and laid my arms across them. Now that we had the final date set with the judge, I’d told Mason about our coming split.

  “Because you don’t love her no more?”

  “Is that what she said?”

  Mason nodded, and I sucked my lips into my mouth to keep from cursing. Every situation was all about Jessica. When had she started putting her feelings, her needs first? My stomach clenched.

  When Olivia died.

  “She said you wouldn’t go touring with the band if you loved us right,” he said, the words tumbling out faster and faster. “She said you don’t want to stay here with us because we don’t fill your ego or something.”

  I had to force my hands to unclench. I wrapped them around my knees. Mason looked at me, a frown forcing his brown brows into a deep V.

  “Part of the reason your mom and I are divorcing is because we don’t talk to each other well anymore. If that’s how she felt, she should have told me.”

  “So you do still love her?” Mason asked, his face lighting with hope.

  I rubbed my thumb against my forehead, hoping to alleviate the building ache.

  “I don’t want to tell you lies, Mason. I don’t want to tell you you’re too young to understand, because I remember how angry I was when my parents did that to me. What I can say is that it’s complicated. Your mom is angry. I am, too. S
he’s the one who asked for the divorce. She’s the one who asked me to move out.”

  “This is because of that guy who calls her all the time, huh?”

  “What guy? Dale?”

  “I don’t know his name, but he’ll call and Mom will talk to him and then she’ll make Mrs. Knowles stay with me and she’ll be gone for hours, sometimes overnight. I don’t like it when she leaves me with Mrs. Knowles at night. She snores, and I’m scared.”

  The headache exploded. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes. I was going to have to have my kid testify against his mom. How, in good conscience, could I make Mason do that? He loved Jessica, even with her failings. Hell, I had a ton of my own, not least of all with Jessica.

  I had been the product of a single-parent household from the time I was in fifth grade. I didn’t want Mason to follow my pattern. I’d been—still was—fucked up because of it.

  “You want me to talk to her about that?” I asked.

  Mason nodded.

  “All right, buddy. I will. When she gets home.”

  I just hoped that wasn’t until after Mason went to bed for the night. I liked my time with him—reading him a book, tucking him in. I wanted to do more of that. I wanted the every-night daddying I’d dreamed of ever since Jessica had told me she was pregnant. Thankfully, I got my time with him now.

  “He’s afraid, Jessica. He’s a little boy.”

  She was at the kitchen counter pouring a glass of white wine. “I’m the one here with him. Every. Day. So enjoy your thirty minutes of dad-time for the month. Then you get to leave for another tour, screw any number of girls between the stage and the bus, and eventually saunter in here, questioning my parenting.”

  She glared at me over the raised glass. When she set it down, half the wine was gone.

  Fuck. Mason had reason to be scared. I was, too. This wasn’t the woman I’d married. She’d been spiraling for years, and nothing I did had helped.

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to be the famous rock star. I want you to adore me like you used to. I want exciting vacations and lunch dates with cool people. I want the life you promised me.”