Seattle Sound Series, The Collection: Books One to Five

by Alexa Padgett

  “I need some time. Bye, Lia.” I ended the call, turned off my phone, and tossed it on the table. Then I sat, dazed, waiting.

  Nothing came. Not a thought. Better, no emotion.

  Eventually, Princess’s claws kneaded my legs. I didn’t flinch, not even when she hit the bruises on my inner thigh. Mrroow? Princess nuzzled her head against my chin. So I laid it there, on her back, listening to the cat purr.

  Somehow, morning came again. Standing was painful, in part because of the bruises but also because I’d sat for so long, my limbs stiff. A long, hot shower wasn’t an indulgence, it was a necessity.

  I dressed with more care today, knowing I’d see reporters again. After blow-drying my hair, I realized I didn’t have my makeup kit. It was still at The Edgewater. I couldn’t even go out of the building like this.

  No way I’d let anyone see how devastated I was. That would lead to more rounds of questions, more pictures. My best defense was looking as good as possible, putting up the carefree façade that bored paparazzi and gossip readers.

  I dug through Rosie’s drawers until I found some concealer, her blush, eyeshadow and makeup brushes. Lipstick. I spent nearly an hour trying to pull off the look I wanted.

  Finishing my cup of coffee, I set the mug in the sink and picked up my phone. I dreaded turning it on, but I couldn’t ignore it. Guilt swirled through me. What if something had happened to Rosie?

  I clicked on my phone and fed Princess again. The cat purred, winding through my legs. I made a show of petting her while I waited for my heartbeat to even out.

  I wouldn’t be any more ready. Picking up my phone, I glanced at the 1000+ sign on my e-mail.

  Later. Voice mail first. Lia left multiple messages that I ignored. After ensuring none of the messages were from the hospice center, I opened my text app. Three hundred messages. I shook my head. I needed a new number.

  My finger hovered over the one from Hayden. He’d texted me again? Probably to say he was sorry about the vampiric journo arses. Well, that didn’t fix the actual problem.

  I’d spent an hour on my makeup. I wouldn’t cry and let him ruin that, too. I opened the text, careful not to read his words as I typed my message to him. You made your choice when you walked out on me. You don’t get to contact me again. Ever.

  Simple. Direct. See? I could handle myself. Princess stared up at me, her wide eyes delving into me.

  “Don’t. I don’t want to go there.”

  She pressed against my leg, rubbing her jaw up and down. God, I was taking comfort from a cat. I didn’t even like cats.

  Calling my service provider, I asked for an unlisted number.

  Twenty minutes later, I owned a new number and only Lia, Abbi, and a handful of others knew it.

  I pulled my purse over my shoulder and fluffed my hair.

  “See you later, Princess. Don’t do anything drastic today. The couch can’t take another round of your claws.”

  I opened the door as I settled my sunglasses on top of my head. The reporters were waiting in the lobby, just as I’d anticipated. I walked out, chin high, ignoring their impertinent questions and camera flashes. They wanted a picture of me—they could have it.

  I turned at the last moment and gave them a cheeky grin. Deal with that, assholes.

  I slid my sunglasses down over my teary eyes once I was out in the thick mist that had settled over the city. Because those vampiric arses, especially Hayden, wouldn’t get to my heart. It no longer existed.

  27

  Hayden

  “Hey, mate. Head in the game.”

  I offered Ets a rueful smile. “Sorry.”

  “After the show, Hayden, you can distract yourself with whatever vice you want. Seven of them at the same time for all I care. Now, though, we’ve got fans waiting to see that pretty face.” He tapped my cheek like he used to. I shoved his hand away. He bloody well irritated me. They all did.

  The past two days, all I wanted was to curl up with Briar, tell her what I was feeling.

  Not even my keyboard helped. All the notes sounded stiff, my timing off just enough to wind me up further.

  “Give me a sec.” I shook out my arms, rolled my head around on my shoulders.

  “Right-o. Look,” Ets said. “We get you’re torn up about your mum’s death. But we need you here. Focused. Last night was a disaster. If you don’t pull your head out of your arse, we’re calling Pete back in to play for you.”

  I nodded, both in acknowledgment and agreement, though resentment built in my chest. My mates had rescued me from multiple missed cues at last night’s show. I couldn’t keep performing like this. I knew that. But Ets was being a dickhead.

  No, Ets was being Ets. I’d always considered him no-nonsense, and he was a good mate because of it. He always got his point across, no bullshit. But I’d been wrong about him. That coldness in his eyes ran deeper since Mila disappeared. His temper spiked quicker. I’d sympathize with the end of his youthful dreams if I didn’t want to punch him right now.

  “Got it, mate. Thanks for the sympathy on my mum.”

  “You’re getting plenty from the rest of the world. And it’s not like you actually knew her.”

  True. Though I wouldn’t tell him why. He might’ve been my band member and the person closest to me, but I didn’t want him to know about my mum’s disease—and the fact I might very well be a ticking time bomb waiting to blow my lid into crazyville. Those bruises on Briar’s skin . . . I’d worked myself up into a frenzy, certain I must have bipolar disorder if I’d willingly hurt Briar.

  Thanks to the e-mails Briar sent the afternoon before I left and her blind copying me on all her messages, I’d gotten the names of a few of the psychiatrists at two of the facilities my mum frequented in the years between my return to Melbourne and her sojourn into hospice. Instead of hitting the after-party last night, I’d spoken with the doctor who’d spent the longest period treating my mum—nearly a decade both before and after my dad and I left. He’d gone over some of her basic diagnosis, but with HIPPA—whatever the hell that was—he couldn’t go into any real detail. He’d been winding down the call when I finally built up the courage to ask him my real question.

  “I know bipolar disorder runs in families.”

  “True,” he said.

  “What’s the timeline like for onset?” I asked.

  “Hayden, are you asking me if I think you’re bipolar?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yeah.”

  “I’m assuming you know the list of symptoms.”

  “I do. Well. Had a friend in high school with it. I studied up again once my mum told me she suffered from it.”

  “I see. So, are you manic? Super into whatever you’re doing?”

  “For a while. Music, specifically the piano, that was my escape.”

  “I’m talking about barely sleeping, impulsively quitting your job. Maybe going on a shopping spree you can’t afford.”

  “No, never,” I admitted.

  “Do you have trouble sleeping? Have you been so depressed, so empty you’ve wanted to end your life?”

  “Sad and lonely, sure.” Especially now that Briar wasn’t lying next to me.

  “But not to the point you quit what you love and thought about suicide?” he asked.

  “No.” I sighed in relief.

  “Then I think you’re probably okay. Granted, it’d be smart to get a full psychiatric evaluation. But just because your mom struggled with bipolar disorder doesn’t mean you will. And, for the record, she talked about you constantly. You were the reason she was here, the reason she wanted to get well.” He was quiet for a moment, considering his next words. “For some of my patients, wanting to get well isn’t enough to release the illness’s hold over their mind. Unlike other diseases or even a broken arm, we can’t see the problem so sometimes people go weeks, months, years even without a diagnosis or proper care. That makes recovery harder. Not impossible, but much more strenuous.”

  “So my mum wanted to get
well but couldn’t actually kick the disease? Like a cancer patient who can’t get rid of the entire tumor?”

  “Something like that,” he said.

  With a quick thank-you, I hung up the phone. I closed my eyes, tension easing from my neck and shoulders. I might have hurt Briar, and that was wrong—something to apologize for—but I had control over myself, my mind.

  “Earth to Hayden. That’s the third time I’ve called you,” Ets snapped. “You’re all over the place, mate. We’ve got important business here. Focus now, then you can flake out all you want later.”

  “You’re a dickhead,” I said.

  Hurt flashed in his eyes before he flipped me off. He slammed the door. Ets and I had been mates since uni, but this tour opened up many of our insecurities—especially once the story made rounds that I was the creative driver of our band—and we’d grown apart because of it.

  For the first time in years, I wished I’d developed a deeper relationship with someone else. I liked my band mates, but I couldn’t talk to them, not like I’d talked to Briar. I ran my fingers through my hair. She dominated my thoughts. She’d replied to the groveling text I’d finally gotten the balls to send.

  She hadn’t read it, I’d bet, and her response was terse.

  I couldn’t muster the courage to call her, because hearing her voice would slay me, leaving me whimpering like a bub in nappies. And when I’d tried to text her again, my stomach had twisted.

  She’d disconnected her number.

  I leaned my head back against the wall. I’d hurt her, physically marked her. Of course she didn’t want to talk to me.

  I opened my text message app and texted Bill, Asher’s band mate. We’d exchanged numbers at his studio my first night in Seattle, and now he was one of my only connections to Briar. A starting point.

  Left 2 fast to finish up my biz in Seattle. Can u put me in touch with Asher?

  Now I’d have to wait. Again. The time change kicked my arse. I was exhausted.

  I couldn’t sleep. Not that I wanted to. I didn’t. My dreams were a mixture of fading pleasure and remorse. Each time, I dreamt Briar was covered in more bruises. The worst dream focused on her black eyes morphing into my young face.

  I checked the American news and gossip sites again, for the millionth time today. Reporters still followed Briar. She’d been photographed with her sister, Asher, and their kids. I couldn’t begin to imagine what Asher thought of me. While that bothered me, the blankness in Briar’s eyes kept me up last night and distracted me at practice today.

  I was headlining a huge worldwide tour—my biggest dream come true. And I couldn’t enjoy any of it.

  I clicked on a link that led to a new picture. She’d been photographed at the hospice center, visiting Rosie. Her jaw was set and her eyes were flat, lifeless. Briar, my Briar, no longer existed. Sure, her beautiful face still filled the screen—those soft, wide lips, her high cheekbones. The full lashes. But the light in her eyes was dimmed; they were vacant, even.

  I hated the tour that kept me from her nearly as much as I hated being the reason for the stillness in her eyes.

  “Better show tonight, mate.”

  “Glad to have Hayden Crewe back in Jackaroo.”

  My mates clapped me on the back as we exited the stage after our second encore. We walked through the back area. I scowled at Harry, who’d opened one of the rooms to reporters. They nearly fell over themselves to get to me.

  “Hayden, tell us about your relationship with Briar Moore.”

  “Were you and your mother estranged?”

  “Why weren’t you at her cremation?”

  “What do you plan to do with her ashes?”

  “Why did you really break up with Briar?”

  The last question stopped me. “Who asked that question?”

  “Which question?”

  “Is Briar meeting you on tour?”

  “The question about Briar,” I said.

  A hand shot up from the back of the crowd. Crikey, the reporters were four-deep at least. Never seen this many before.

  “One, my relationship with Briar Moore isn’t any of your business. I’d appreciate very much if you’d quit writing about her. You haven’t got it right yet. Two, Briar is the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. That’s it.”

  I turned, ignoring the escalating shouts, and walked into the green room.

  “Not a good idea to answer the wanker,” Flip said.

  “Oh? I was supposed to just let him print his speculative tripe about her?”

  Ets shrugged. “It’d die down faster if you didn’t feed them a trickle. You know that.” He used the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his forehead. “Let’s go see who Harry stocked in the dressing room.”

  I ran my hands through my hair, scrubbing at the shorter bits in the back. Answering reporters wouldn’t get Briar talking to me again. With the time difference, it was dead of night in Seattle. Bill needed to answer me because I needed to hear Briar’s voice, to tell her the whole truth about my mum.

  What I really wanted was to tell her everything in person, but I didn’t have a spare second during the next month.

  “Just let it go. That Yank was fun, I’m sure, but there are tons of women around who’d be more than happy to get you off,” Ets said, his face serious. “Time will help with the heartache, mate. Trust me.” His dark hair hung in thick, sweaty ropes around his face, his thin black eyebrow ring stark against his pale skin. He was nearly as tall as me, and I knew women considered him a good-looking bloke. Until he opened his mouth. He led me into the room bursting with young, beautiful women. Long hair, perky tits. Gorgeous curves, mostly uncovered.

  A leggy blonde disengaged herself from the other women in her group and walked toward me, her hips rolling. A model, then.

  Ets groaned. “She’s a beaut.”

  She was. “Hi. I’m Mara.” Her hands slid up my arm, pale fingers locking around my neck. I let her tilt my head down, willing my body to do more than remain unresponsive, but my brain screamed I was cheating on Briar.

  “G’day, love,” I said. “Enjoy the show?”

  She nodded, biting her lip as she peeked up at me from under her lashes. “You were amazing.”

  “Glad you had a good time.”

  She kissed my jaw before standing on her tiptoes and pressing her large breasts into my chest. “We can have a better time now.”

  Ets clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Knew you wouldn’t let that Yank keep you down long. Have fun, tiger.”

  The slap was light but it might as well have been a knockout punch to the jaw. Mara rubbed against me with sinuous grace. Ets grinned at me like a loon. I staggered back.

  “What’s wrong?” Mara asked, concern pulling at her brows.

  “Nothing. Just a little woozy.”

  Ets raised his eyebrow, the ring there gleaming dully. “Get on with it, mate. Once you purge the Yank from your system, you’ll be ’right.”

  Briar’s eyes, so filled with tenderness as she held me when I told her my mum was dead, flashed before me. The way she tilted her head back when she laughed, spilling that rich mink cascade over her gleaming shoulders. The way she’d told me she loved me, just before she drifted off to sleep.

  “I don’t want another woman.” I enunciated each word carefully, like I would for someone who didn’t speak much English.

  Mara teetered back, eyes wide and filling with hurt. “Look, you’re beautiful,” I said to her. “But I can’t. I’m involved—”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Ets growled.

  “I’ll catch you later. Enjoy your party.” I nodded to Mara, tipped my head toward Ets. And turned, only to realize there was a camera pointed at me, documenting the entire tableau.

  Bloody hell. There’d be pictures tomorrow. Ones I couldn’t explain away easily. Ets or Harry, one of them, set this up. I was sure of it. I spun on my heel and stalked toward the door.

  In the hall, Ets grabbed me by my T-shirt, his pale ey
es sharp under his dark brows. “You are acting like a complete wanker.”

  I brushed his hand off. “Thanks for the opinion I didn’t ask for.”

  “Either screw some other chick or suck up your fake heartbreak, Crewe. We both know you don’t actually care about the sheila.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I slammed the flat of my hand into the wall next to his head. Ets’s jaw tensed but his eyes never left mine. “I do care. And she does matter.”

  “Since when do you care about anyone?”

  That one hurt. Right between my ribs, straight in the heart. For years, my success was my sole focus. But I’d changed. Correction. Briar changed something fundamental in me.

  “Since now.”

  Ets scoffed.

  “Just because you’ve turned into a massive dickhead since Mila left—”

  “Don’t mention her name,” Ets snapped. His eyes darkened and his eyebrows tugged low. We glared at each other. “We’ve got another few months to go on this tour,” Ets said. “I don’t know what you’re messing around at—what your mum’s death did to your head—but you can’t go back to playing like shit.”

  “Are we done?” I asked. My cheeks were stiff, my fists balled tight. I stepped back, unwilling to punch Ets, no matter how much he deserved it.

  “Yeah, we are.” He spun on his heel, throwing his arms out to the gaggle of groupies standing in the doorway of the dressing room. I shook my head, disgusted by his shitty attitude toward women in general. I’d never thought about it, but Ets used and discarded women like most people would a tissue.

  “He’s been in a mood since you left. He knows you carry the band, which upsets him.”

  I dipped my head in acknowledgment of Flip’s words.

  I opened my phone and forced myself to look up the websites, finding the picture where Briar looked straight into the camera. Her cheekbones were more pronounced and her eyes were dazed, empty.

  Whether I wanted to admit it or not, my feelings for Briar weren’t going to go away. If anything, they were stronger now than they’d been even three days ago. Hell if I knew what to do with that. How to fix her empty eyes or my empty heart.