Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five

by Alexa Padgett

  I pulled the cloth from my eyes, thankful I could open them now. I looked at my daughter. “I loved your dad. I loved your grandfather, too.”

  “You kept way too much bottled up for too long. You’re the one who should’ve gone to counseling, you know.”

  “I thought it would help you work through your feelings,” I said. I brought the cloth back to my eyes and rubbed away the remnants of my tears.

  Her eyes were too dark, her lips flattened. She tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’m worried about you, Mom.”

  “I’m the one who’s supposed to be worrying.”

  “I have healthy emotional relationships. Just ask my counselor.”

  “Enough sarcasm, Abs. I’m dealing as best I can.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you finally going to let Dad’s death go? I need to know that by the time I go to college, you’ll be healthy enough for me to leave. Better yet, you need a man who spoils you rotten so you don’t even miss me.”

  I gripped the back of Abbi’s hand, desperate for the connection. “I’ll miss you no matter what. Have I neglected you? Been too distant?”

  Abbi shook her head. “Nah. You’ve been awesome, which sucks. Because now I have to live up to your strength, and that’s not going to be possible.”

  “I’m not strong, honey. I was hiding. I knew it was going to hurt, getting it out finally. I . . . I was angry.”

  “So was I. But he was going to die anyway. With Huntington’s, it’s just a matter of how horrible it gets before the end. I think it would’ve been a relief for us. Eventually.”

  I hugged her. “He didn’t want us to see him deteriorate.” But that wasn’t the only reason.

  “Did you ever consider leaving once you found out Dad had it?”

  “No, never.” Not by then. I was pregnant. There was no way I could take Abbi from Doug.

  “What if I had it? Huntington’s.”

  “I’m thankful you don’t, but if you did, I would do everything I could to make your life the best it could be.”

  “I’m glad you and Dad had me, in spite of what could’ve happened.”

  “Me, too, Abigail.”

  We lay there together. I breathed deeply, cataloguing the shards around my heart. They weren’t as sharp. Maybe I’d finally let the bitterness go.

  “I wish you’d hang out with Asher again. He made you happy. For moments at least, which is more than I’ve seen in years. And he’s so cool.”

  “First off, he’s older than your dad,” I said.

  “Oh, please. By like a year or something. Not a good reason,” Abbi flopped back against the pillows. “Do you think Asher Smith is cute? I heard you tell Aunt Bri about his forearms. Luke has great arms, but I’m partial to his butt.”

  “Yes. And you’re going on the pill if I hear one more word about some guy’s body parts.”

  Abbi propped her chin on her folded palms. “Only if you go back on it, too. We can go to the doctor together. Then have lunch and giggle about our crushes.”

  I slid out of the bed. “I don’t think I’m ready to do that with you just yet.” I pulled on my robe. “Just promise me you won’t treat sex as lightly as a lot of your peers do. It should mean something.”

  “I’d offer to wait until you were ready to date again so we could swap stories, but if I did that, I’d die a virgin.”

  “Abigail Rose Dorsey!”

  “Puh-lease, Mom. You won’t even answer my question about the hottie rock star you spent half the night with a week ago. It’s called repression.”

  “I did answer you. I’m getting coffee, brat.” I shut the door behind me and huffed.

  I opened the door and stuck my head back in. Abbi was splayed across the bed. She was a beautiful young woman. Her long, sleek legs and narrow hips were encased in her sleeping pants. Her tank had ridden up, showing off the fragile, pale skin of her waist. She’d been cursed with the same narrow chest as most of the women in my family had, but she’d managed to fill out a B-cup. I bit my lip, realizing I’d been her age when I started my sexual relationship with her father.

  She peeked at me from under her elbow.

  “I have to be smart, Abbi. For both of us.”

  Sweat pooled at my lower spine, saturating my skirt’s waistband. I wanted to tug at the fabric, but that seemed fidgety. I needed to present a collected facade.

  I shouldn’t be here, in this coffee shop in Spokane, waiting for a man I wasn’t interested in. Correction, the second man in less than four hours. I’d bought the last guy’s lunch just to get out of the restaurant quicker.

  That’s exactly why I’d chosen this man, Dale, and the one before, too. None of these men were Asher Smith. None had Asher’s chiseled jaw, straight, thin nose, and broody hazel eyes.

  I’d always loved Asher’s eyes.

  Dale looked just like his picture—middle-age-softened stomach, long, slightly bulbous nose, and florid cheeks. He was about four inches shorter than Asher’s six-two. Brent, my lunch date, was taller than Asher, but he’d been scary-muscular and talked during the entire meal about how I needed to get into Cross Fit. When Brent handed me his card, I’d nodded, not surprised to find he owned a chain of gyms in the area.

  This is what happened when Abbi refused to help me. I ended up on speed dates with men I didn’t find attractive or interesting.

  I needed to apologize to her again. I hadn’t just hurt her; I’d been immature, lashing out at her instead of dealing with my insecurities.

  “Dahlia? Lia Dorsey?”

  I shivered when he said my name, wishing he sounded more like Asher. Correction. I wished he was Asher. But I’d made this date, and I’d stick to it. Swallowing, I met Dale’s pale blue eyes.

  “Yes. Dale?” I shook the hand he offered. I’d pegged him as a middle manager, an accountant or another unimaginative type who liked to work with numbers. His clothes were high quality. Upper management then, if I’d judged his clothes and expensive haircut correctly.

  I released his soft hand as he tried not to react to the slight dampness of mine. Good. He didn’t feel any chemistry either. This should be short.

  “Want a coffee?” he asked. His voice was a deep tenor, not the rich bass of Asher’s. He made me think of pleated pants and loafers without socks. I cried internal tears as my libido curled back into a ball and slid into hibernation.

  “Have one,” I said, motioning to the to-go cup in front of me. At his raised brow, I cleared my throat. “I hate cold coffee. I always get mine in a to-go cup.”

  “Liar,” Abbi’s voice screamed in my head. I’d hedged my bets, paying for my own drink on the off chance Dale wasn’t worth the time it’d taken me to drive out here, even if I did get to go to the fancy organic grocery store on my way home.

  I yanked at the dampening waistband of my skirt, swallowing down the anxiety building in my chest.

  “Well, I guess I’ll just grab a drink then.”

  Dale trotted to the short line, his gaze diffident. My cheeks flushed. Score one for Ella, Abbi, and Briar. While I was finally willing to jump back into the dating pool, I only wanted to swim with Asher. Just like they’d said.

  I was so not built for this process. Hell, I’d narrowed my focus and love to the first man who’d shown me enough interest and attention when I was fourteen.

  I exhaled slowly, hoping to ease the ache behind my breastbone. Just an hour of my time. If nothing else, this was good research for some future novel. If I could ever write anything. Five days until my deadline. The panic fluttered back to life, beating against my ribs.

  “You’re Lia Moore.” I turned toward the voice, smiling at the woman standing in front of me. She was about my age and held a toddler on her hip. Her hair was in a haphazard ponytail, wayward strands of muddy-brown hair escaped the tie and fluttered around a thin, tired face.

  “Yes. Nice to meet you,” I said.

  “I love your books,” the woman gushed. Her voice had risen to be heard over her noisy toddler.
He smacked his mom’s cheeks and kicked his feet, making airplane noises. While I remembered Abbi at this age, it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “Thanks. That’s the best compliment.”

  “When’s the next one coming out?”

  “I’m outlining another book.”

  The woman’s eyes clouded, and her lip thrust forward so she looked more petulant than her son. “I hoped for a release this year. Especially since there wasn’t one last year.”

  Disappointing fans ratcheted up my anxiety. I sucked on my lip, trying to find some kind of balance. My cheeks heated.

  I pulled up the memory of Asher stroking my hair and tried to breathe through my rising panic. “Sorry about that. I had to take a break. Personal reasons.” I cleared my tightening throat. “I’m working on a TV miniseries based on the books. We start filming in a few months.”

  Dale walked toward us, irritation clouding his ruddy features.

  “Oh, well. That’s great then. I’ll look forward to seeing it. After this guy goes to sleep.”

  I wiggled the boy’s foot, eliciting a giggle. “Probably best. If you’re on my mailing list, I’ll send out the details so you can be sure to catch it.”

  “Great!” she beamed. “I’ll let you get back to your date.” The woman trotted out the door, hugging her son close.

  “You know her?”

  My stomach slid down into my foot somewhere. “No. She’s a fan.”

  “Fan? Are you some type of athlete?” Dale’s eyes slid over my spare frame, and I’m sure I came out just as poorly in his athletic perusal as he had in boyfriend material for me. I spun my cup around.

  “I’m a writer. A romance writer.”

  As I expected, Dale shifted back in his seat, trying to escape the leprosy of my profession.

  “You write about sex and stuff?”

  “Only if a story calls for it.”

  I didn’t add that pretty much every story did, so my books were filled with steamy sex scenes.

  “I see,” he said in a voice that stated he was no longer interested. Asher had been interested in my career, his genuine focus alleviating the tension I normally felt when I discussed my profession.

  “And what is it you do, Dale?”

  He fiddled with his pocket, pulled out his phone, and set it on the table. I would’ve frowned but didn’t want to come off as any ruder than necessary.

  “I run some car washes in the western part of the state.”

  “Congratulations. I’m sure that keeps you busy. “

  “Too busy. My ex-wife didn’t like my hours. I was constantly at the office.”

  I took a sip of my coffee so I didn’t ask him if sitting in a car wash was the most productive use of his time.

  Dale glanced around, eyes furtive. “Want to get out of here? I can get your car washed so clean you’ll be able to eat off the seats.”

  Did he expect me to screw him in a small back office at a car wash while his workers scrubbed dirt from the underside of my SUV?

  “Thanks for the offer. Another time, perhaps.”

  “I planned to spend the afternoon with you.”

  Oh. Gag. He was worse than Brent, the overzealous gym owner. I wasn’t going to make it another ten minutes with this guy.

  “Sweet, but no. I’m sorry.” I tried to lessen the blow by shifting my features into contrition. “I’ll need to head out soon.”

  “Not yet. I’m still getting to know you.”

  I knew all I needed to about Dale, owner of multiple car washes. I forced a smile and repeated, “Maybe another time.”

  I stood, grabbed my purse as I swallowed the panic eating its way into my throat. There was something about this guy . . . I had to leave. Now.

  I stuck out my palm, wishing I could avoid the expectation of another handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, Dale.”

  Checking my e-mail the next morning, I had seventeen messages from Dale. The first few mentioned how beautiful I was. He said he’d enjoyed talking to me. I couldn’t understand why.

  He wrote my name Leah even though I’d signed my name Lia on the one—and only—e-mail I’d sent him to set up our coffee date. Little details like my name mattered.

  His next four messages suggested dinner. The last few suggested what he’d like to do with me at the local motel. I rolled my eyes and dumped his e-mails into the Not Friends file. Then I blocked him from my e-mail and all social media.

  Instead of dwelling on the gross messages, I fantasized about coffee with Asher. It would’ve been so much better than my short date with Dale.

  Write my fantasies. Just write.

  I closed my eyes and let my fingers tap out the memory of our outing on the beach.

  I opened my eyes and read what I’d written.

  Ten lines. Almost a poem.

  I propped my chin on my hand. Wow. I liked these lines. A lot.

  With a small smile and renewed purpose, I opened a new document and fleshed out the scene that was building in my head.

  I ended up writing through both breakfast and lunch, managing to take bites of the sandwich Abbi brought to me while I was still typing.

  I did a double take. “Don’t you have school?”

  “Teacher in-service. You’re in the zone. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I hadn’t been this productive, well, ever. My fingers were one with my mind, the words filling pages, the story pouring out of me. I let myself enjoy the act of creating something I wanted to read.

  “I may go out later,” Abbi said from the doorway. I sat back and blinked. Late afternoon sunshine pooled across her face, accentuating her petulant expression.

  I downed a glass of iced tea. “Okay. Thanks for the lunch. Just let me know where, when, and with whom.”

  “Not like you’ll notice if I go anywhere,” Abbi muttered, stomping down the hall.

  Abbi’s attitude bothered me, breaking my momentum. I stared out the window. I should apologize to her again. I’d lashed out at her because I didn’t know how to deal with my fears. Maybe if I explained that part, she’d be more willing to let her frustrations go.

  I stopped off at the bathroom, then collected my plate and put it in the dishwasher. Abbi wasn’t in her room or sprawled on the couch.

  The note on the kitchen counter said she was out with Luke. She hadn’t asked; she’d just gone. I pulled up my phone, noting the text from her twenty minutes ago: I’m going out. See you l8r.

  I punched Abbi’s number. Straight to voice mail. She always had her phone on. It was part of our deal.

  I tried Sally because I didn’t have Luke’s number, but same scenario. Panic clogged my throat. I left Abbi’s friend a message, asking her or Abbi to call me back sooner than soon. Ending that call, I dialed Sally’s parents.

  “Hi, Rhonda. This is Lia. Have you seen the girls?”

  “Sally’s sitting right here, watching that Wolverine movie with me. Girl time.” Rhonda giggled self-consciously. “I’m not sure where Abbi is.” The phone moved away, and Rhonda asked Sally about Abbi. “Sal says she hasn’t talked to Abbi today.”

  “Would you have Sally try Abbi on her cell and let her know I’m really worried about her? She left with Luke a while ago, and I can’t reach her.”

  I wasn’t going to panic. I wasn’t. Abbi would be smart. She was fine. I was fine. Except for the cold sweat blooming all over my body.

  “Course. Sally doesn’t have Luke’s number, but we could get it.”

  “Please. If you get in touch with Abbi, have her call me. On my phone.”

  “You okay, Lia?” Rhonda asked.

  I mumbled an “I’m fine” as I opened the door to my garage. I’d drive into town first, look in the diner. If she wasn’t there, I’d go to that secluded spot down by the creek that none of the kids thought the parents knew about. As if I hadn’t spent time down by the creek with Doug. Different creek, same use. My smile turned to a shriek when something hissed at me.

  A raccoon ran toward me. With i
ts teeth bared and its fur puffed up, the rodent looked as big as a dog. Its little black eyes gleamed from the dark fur around them as its toenails scraped on the garage floor.

  Without thought, I threw my phone, Rhonda’s concerned, muffled voice still on the other line. The phone clipped the beast in its side, stopping its momentum. My phone bounced off, skittering under the car. I backed into the house, slammed the door shut, and leaned against it, breathing hard.

  These were the moments I missed having a man in my life. I was going to have to brave the hissing monster if I wanted to get in my car.

  I dropped my purse onto the kitchen counter and pulled the broom from the narrow closet in the adjoining laundry room. I took a calming breath, then another. And another. I went to get a glass of water. I wasn’t ready for round two with the beast from hell yet.

  Sirens wailed down the road. Red lights threw weird shadows across the room as I sprinted toward the front door.

  Abbi. Please, God, let her be safe.

  A fist pummeled against the thick wood. “Sheriff! Open up!”

  I reached for the handle just as the door flew open, the edge catching my cheek and forehead. I flailed backward, shocked by the pain. Someone caught me before I hit the ground.

  “Ow!”

  “Where’d it hit you, Lia? You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  “I figured that out already, Ralph. Why’d you hit me with my door? I was coming to open it.” I hissed when I touched the spot where he’d walloped me.

  “You have a cut over your eye. I’ll call for an ambulance. They can be here in just a minute.”

  “You’re the sheriff. You should be able to handle a little bit of blood.”

  “It’s not a little bit.”

  Nausea rolled through my stomach. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

  Ralph helped me toward the living room. I sagged against him, trying to keep the blood from running into my eye. I settled on the sofa with a groan.

  “Rhonda called me, said you were screaming. Asked me to come out. We thought it might be an intruder. You know, some crazy coming after you because of your books.”

  I used my sleeve to dab at the blood. My face hurt, and I had a terrible headache building behind my eyes.