Tunes (Beekman Hills Book 2)

by KC Enders

  “Is this really real?”

  Staring at me through half-lidded eyes, hair a wild, rumpled mess, he asks, “Is what real?”

  “This.”

  “Us? Together, doing this?” he asks, his focus bouncing back and forth between my eyes, searching. “There’s nothing more real than you and me, right here. Now and always.”

  His fingers graze my cheek as he pushes my hair back from my face. The heavy warmth of his palm cupping the back of my head is soothing, reassuring in the way I so desperately need.

  “It’s time though. I hung some questions out there last night that never got answered.” Gavin shifts his hand and slides his thumb down my lips, the callus catching slightly on the lower one. “Who’s gonna do the ass-kicking? You or life? You ready to make your dreams come true? Take the opportunities that are there, waiting for you, and make good things happen or wonder, What if? You’ve found your purpose, Gracyn. Now, it’s time to make that shit happen.”

  The faith he has in me, all this encouragement to follow my dream and take the path I choose as opposed to the safe one, is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My heart is pounding against my ribs, trying to beat its way out of the too-small space. My silence stretches out, filling the void between us, sucking me into a vortex of self-doubt.

  “I’m scared,” I finally admit.

  “Of?”

  Part of me wants to escape, just run away again and avoid my truth. I close my eyes, shutting Gavin out, while I reach deep within myself and find the bravery to stay and face this, work through this.

  “Gracyn, what are you scared of?”

  Deep breath in, and as I let it out, I whisper, “I’m scared of failing. What if I can’t do this?”

  I don’t know what I expected to see when I opened my eyes, but the incredulous smile that lights up his face is not it.

  “Fail? At what?” He chuckles lightly. “You’re the biggest badass. You have to know that, right? You want this—the business model you were talking about last night? Then, you’re gonna rock it. There is nothing holding you back, except you.”

  He’s right. I know that he’s right. I can work at McBride’s until it all comes together for me. And, God willing, when my client list is big enough, Francie will have another poor rescue case to take my place. The last issue making my palms sweat, my chest heavy, is Gavin.

  “What about you? Are you really able to move here or …”

  “Oh, babe, I can be wherever I want to be. Ian and Nate are East Coast guys, and Kane, he’ll figure his shit out. LA, New York—hell, he could end up in the middle of the country for all I know. But the band will be fine.” He rolls us, so he’s braced above me on his elbows, hands framing my face. “I need to find a place to live, grab my stuff from LA, and let everyone know I’m going to stay here. That’s it. I don’t want to be anywhere else but here with you.” He searches my features, waiting for some signal.

  Running my hands up his back, I bite my lip and nod slowly. “Okay. Okay, that works.”

  “Thank God, woman. I thought we’d be fighting about this all morning,” he says, leaning in and kissing me, soothing my gnawed lip. “Sealed with a kiss,” he murmurs, ghosting kisses down the column of my neck, his tongue trailing along my collarbone to the dip of my throat. Humming against my skin, Gavin asks, “So, you want to help me find a place to live? Maybe something you’ll like enough to want to leave your roommate? Kate, right? That’s her name?”

  “Let’s not talk about Kate right now.” I shift, making room for him to settle between my thighs, and wrap my legs around his. “And, later, we can house-hunt.” I pull Gavin in, hips thrusting, and slide against him until his cock fills me.

  We’ve wasted most of the day, and I have to scramble to make it to McBride’s on time.

  GAVIN

  I follow Gracyn through the back door into the Irish pub and almost walk right into her when she pulls up short, gasping, “Jesus, Finn, are you okay?”

  The guy is leaning forward, staring hard at the laptop in front of him on the old desk. The thing looks like it’s seen some things in life, the dark wood scarred in places from use, but the faint scent of lemon oil and the shine on the visible surface show it’s well cared for.

  Finn, on the other hand, has both of his hands raking through his red hair, panic written clearly across his face. “Fuck’s sake, I don’t know,” he says, his brogue making it sound more like a question than a statement. “Francie’s not booked a band for St. Patrick’s Day, and there’s none available now. He’s never forgotten to book the entertainment.”

  He lifts his head, eyes pleading with Gracyn to fix this egregious oversight.

  I move further into the room, pull the door shut behind me, and lean against the thing, closing out the cold. “What’s the big deal? So, there’s no music. Don’t people just get wasted anyway? Do they actually pay attention to that?”

  Two sets of seriously offended eyes pin me with ball-shriveling glares.

  Gracyn shakes her head, truly stunned. “This is Francie’s favorite holiday. He’s never forgotten, not ever. Oh my God, Finn, what is he going to do when he comes in, and there’s no music?” Her boots create a staccato beat as she paces across the small office, twisting her hair into a sloppy braid. “What do you think’s going on with him?”

  Finn’s forehead wrinkles as his brows pinch together. “I don’t know, but he’s been slipping lately, yeah? It’s not just me who’s noticed? Christ, he’ll be devastated.”

  Their concern for the bar owner runs deep. The man obviously means the world to them.

  “When is St Patrick’s Day?” I ask.

  Again, both gazes glare at me like I’ve committed a national offense. Laughing, I put my hands up, palms out, to ward off whatever attacks might be headed my way.

  “I’ve been on tour and fucking around Europe. I legit have no idea what day it is today.”

  “Two weeks. It’s two weeks away, and seriously, there is not a damn thing we can do at this point.” Gracyn sighs. “Wait, did you try that guy from a couple of years ago? The one with the three-legged dog named Eileen?” she asks Finn hopefully.

  “Christ, that guy was terrible, and his dog was an arse. And, yeah, I checked, but he’s full up. We’re fucked, Gracyn. There’s no one to play.” The guy slumps back, his chair creaking when his frame hits the back of it.

  It’s like a funeral in here with all the sour faces and sadness.

  And, because I’m a sucker—and I will fucking move mountains for Gracyn—I pop my mouth open and toss out, “I can do it.”

  “That’s sweet, Gavin, but we need Irish music—traditional Irish music—”

  “I can do it.” I turn to Finn and say, “Give me a set list and the lyrics if you have them, and I’ll play for you. Just me, my acoustic, and … maybe no big publicity that it’s me?”

  “For real?” Gracyn asks, turning into me, hands resting on my pecs, her thumbs mindlessly playing with my piercings.

  I bite my lip and nod, doing my best to push down the effect her toying fingers are having on me.

  “Done,” says Finn, shaking his head, smiling. “The Gavin Keller’s playing in McBride’s for St. Patrick’s Day.”

  Chapter 46

  Gracyn

  True to his word, Gavin learned the songs Finn had sent him. And, so far, with his beard grown in and hair pulled back in a man-bun, he hasn’t been recognized by the drunk masses.

  Finn casually left several cans of green spray paint on the bar top, reminding Francie to go out and paint the double yellow stripes out front their usual festive green for the week, but something is off.

  Francie seems distracted, tired, definitely not himself. In fact, this is the first year that none of the employees of McBride’s have taken the night off. Everyone is here so that Francie can rest at the corner of the bar with a pint. Normally, he makes sure to work and give one of the boys the night off, but this year, it’s Francie’s turn to have the night off.<
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  Aidan is working the door, checking IDs. Jimmy, Finn, and Kieran are working the bar, and I’m running supplies. And keeping an eye on Francie and Gavin.

  Laying my hand on his shoulder, I lean in close and ask, “You doing okay, Francie? Can I get you anything?”

  His shoulder feels thinner, frailer than I’m used to, but he smiles broadly and clasps my hand in his chilly palm.

  “I’m fine, love. Couldn’t be better.” He smiles, his eyes tired-looking. “He’s brilliant, your man. You’ve got things sorted out then?”

  As if I could ever be surprised at this man’s concern for the happiness of those he loves.

  “We do. He’s staying here, in Beekman Hills. Said he’ll figure out recording and publicity stuff. Commute to LA when he needs to. Can you believe it?” Sometimes, I still can’t make sense of his willingness to make those sacrifices to be with me.

  “I can, Gracyn. He’s a lucky man to have you. Now, get back to work. The cups need replenishing, and it looks like that lass by the toilets is off her tits. You might help her to not be sick in my pub, yeah?” And, with that, he dismisses me and goes back to nursing his pint, tapping the glass to the tune Gavin’s playing.

  I check on the drunk chick first, handing her a water and steering her toward some fresh air because no one wants to clean puke off the floor tonight. I can guarantee that. Then, I head back to the storage room for more plastic cups to restock the bar, calculating the cost of these cups versus the thinner ones I saw on the website, running the potential savings if we were to switch it up next year.

  I make a circuit around the pub, emptying trash cans, lugging the bags through the crowd and piling them just outside the kitchen door. Gavin meets me near the back of the pub, setting his guitar safely in the office, ready to take a quick break. With a goofy grin lighting up his face, he wraps his arms around me and kisses me stupid. Kisses me breathless, imbuing it with a promise of so much more to come later.

  This moment can’t possibly be ruined in any way.

  “Well, isn’t that just lovely? I heard you had been released. Apparently, your career suffered heavily for your rashness. Did your band decide they didn’t want to be dragged down by you?” That voice does not fit; it is so out of context here.

  “Brooks? What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

  Gavin’s muscles tense under my hands, and he takes a step to the side, turning, trying to tuck me in behind him.

  “Your father was concerned about your welfare—and rightfully so if this is what you’ve stooped to. No wonder he’s so disappointed. He practically begged me to come check on you and bring you home,” he simpers.

  Only Brooks would go to an Irish pub in a college town on St. Patrick’s Day in a suit, complete with a pocket square and French cuffs.

  “Go to hell, Brooks.”

  Gavin steps forward, chest out, shoulders back, glowering. “Gracyn is fine, dick. I’ve got her covered, so you can piss right off.”

  Though he’s a couple of inches shorter than Gavin, Brooks manages to look down his nose at Gavin. He gives his pretty cuffs a quick tug and smiles condescendingly. Gavin turns to look at me. It’s sweet but absolutely a mistake.

  Brooks cocks his fist and rears back in the overly crowded space. I know we’re at or just above our occupancy limit, and the last thing McBride’s needs is the cops on St. Patrick’s Day.

  I duck around Gavin and go into autopilot, grabbing Brooks’ fist as he swings. Falling into my rote response, I use his momentum and push him off-balance, twisting his arm up and wrenching it behind his back. With surprise on my side, Brooks easily goes to the ground, landing with a thud. I firmly plant my knee in his back and pull up sharply on his arm, drawing an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp from him that quiets the entire pub.

  I lean close to his ear, so he can hear me above the drunken calls for me to kick his ass. “You need to go, Brooks. And stay gone. If my dad’s concerned about me, he can call like a normal person, but your interference is not welcome. Do you understand?”

  A grunt is the only response I get. I shift, digging my knee into his spine even further.

  “You’re going to leave when I let you up, and you’re not going to come back again, right? No more.”

  This time, he responds with, “Fine, okay. Just get the fuck off me, you crazy bitch.”

  I could let it go at that, but I really don’t like being called a bitch, not by anyone. I twist his arm one more time and push myself up off of the asshole. Finn and all the bar boys are staring at me with their mouths open and eyes wide.

  Not Gavin though. He has a proud smile stretched across his face and a knowing look in his eye.

  He reaches past me, offering a hand to Brooks, which is summarily dismissed. Gavin claps his hand down on the bar and addresses Brooks, “Dude, she kicked your ass. You should be embarrassed and have to turn in your man card or some shit.”

  Brooks makes a show of dusting off his trousers and straightening those damn cuffs yet again before turning and limping out the door.

  I don’t have any idea what he was hoping to accomplish by coming to McBride’s, but as soon as he’s gone, I have more offers for drinks and shots than I thought possible.

  Chapter 47

  Gavin

  I grab a shot of whiskey from Finn as Gracyn watches dick-less limp his sorry ass out the door. Yeah, I wanted to step in and put the guy down like the dog he was, but she needed it more. The closure, the knowledge that she took care of shit herself, is more important than me getting my licks in.

  But there’s a next time …

  I bump Gracyn with my hip and hand her the whiskey, grinning. “You’re such a badass,” I tell her, sliding my arm past her to claim my own drink from Finn. “Here’s to keeping your boyfriend pretty.” I lift my glass and wink at her.

  “Mmm, it’s just that you really are too pretty to go to jail again. I want to keep you for myself.” She tosses back the whiskey and pops up on her tiptoes. Hands on my chest, she leans in and kisses me.

  I set my still-full shot on the bar and dive my hands into her mass of blonde waves, deepening the kiss, devouring her. Pulling back only a fraction, I ask, “How much longer until we can leave?”

  “Hours. We still have hours, and you have two more sets. You didn’t think you’d get to skate on your gig because you’re tapping the bartender, did you?”

  “I’m offended that you would think so little of me. I take my responsibilities very seriously.” I step into her, grateful for the wall-to-wall bodies forcing us to connect from chest to thighs. “And I plan on making you one of my favorite responsibilities. Maybe we need to discuss just how seriously I plan on taking you—and when and where.” I raise my eyebrow, just the left one, as she lifts her gaze to the ceiling.

  Leaning in close, so she and only she can hear me above the noisy revelers throwing back their green beer, I say, “I’ll give you a hint. I plan on taking you hard when you want it, soft when you need it, and in every single room, closet, and corner of our place as soon as you move your shit into my house.”

  Her gasp is music to my ears, and while this is not where I planned on doing this, I keep going. “Gracyn, I don’t want to even imagine a day without you in my life. Don’t want you to ever go home to a place that isn’t with me. I love you, babe, and after all the time we’ve managed to piss away, I want to spend each and every minute showing you just how much you mean to me.”

  We are utterly alone—just the two of us—in this sea of strangers. Each inhaled breath presses her closer to me. Her fingers tighten around my biceps, digging in. This moment is the one you write songs about, that lyrics bring to life.

  I trail the tip of my tongue up the side of her neck, inhaling her perfume, tasting the salt on her skin, and kiss that spot—that one just below her ear. The one that makes her nipples pebble and her breath catch.

  I whisper, “And, now that I’ve licked you, you’re mine.”

  Gracyn melts into me
in a way I have never experienced before.

  “You can’t do that shit to me here. How am I supposed to function for the rest of the night?”

  I want nothing more than to scoop her up and take her home. Show her the only way she needs to be functional tonight is with me wrapped around her, worshipping her.

  “Your break is over, hotshot. You need to go play your next set and make all the girls swoon.” She tugs at my hair, the familiar sting beelining down my spine and straight to my dick.

  Making the necessary adjustments so that my knuckles brush against her, I smile and hit her with, “There’s only one girl whose swooning I’m interested in.” With everything I have behind it, I kiss her stupid and grab my guitar before heading back for another round of Irish music.

  Gracyn moves around the bar, helping and filling in wherever she’s needed without a blink of the eye. And, the entire time, I’m focused on the way her jeans hug her ass, the way her hips sway with each step. I grit my teeth every time some drunk asshole stares at her a little too long for my liking, the timbre of the song changing, until she moves on or puts the guy in his place.

  But the way her face lights up when she talks to the patrons, checks in with Aidan or the guys behind the bar, is breathtaking. There is nothing she can’t do, not a fucking thing, as long as she stays true to herself and follows her dreams.

  I play through two sets, soaking up everything about her and her town and these people that she considers her true family. The only one missing is her friend Lis; actually, none of the girls are here tonight aside from Gracyn. Lis is working at the hospital, but Kate, the roommate, and Addison … or Adelaide maybe … are both absent.

  Those girls … I feel like I need to pay some dues to. From the way Finn talks, he and Adelaide—I think—are all into indie bands and my kind of music. I should try to hook them up with some tickets to a show somewhere.