I let the music wash over me, lets the simple smile from Spence warm me, and lean against Cat as I play the keyboard while she strums her guitar, and we sing.
Sometimes, I think, it’s not about getting where we’re going, because we’ve been on this road for so long it’s a wonder any of us have stuck around. It’s about the journey, getting there.
And for me, the journey has always been the people.
Cat stays until the sun is high, idly playing new songs from Spencer and poking at the documentary I have playing in the background, and when she leaves to go open the bar, she hugs us both tight. Her eyes are still worried and she murmurs in my ear, “Be careful, honey.”
I nod against her shoulder and she sighs a little, stepping away to leave us to the quiet of the evening.
Chapter 6
THE WEDDING IS TWO WEEKS away and it rushes past in a blur of work and rearranging gigs, of getting fitted for a tux and packing and listening to Spencer talk about everything we’re going to do back home.
I don’t think he has any idea how tiny Mason is, or how much I don’t want to do anything remotely resembling socializing with the people there.
“C’mon, Ethan, there has to be someone you’re looking forward to seeing,” he cajoles, and I give him a flat stare. We’re shopping—without Cat because we both learned years ago that shopping is better without her—for something to wear to the rehearsal dinner. So far, Spencer has vetoed every shirt I’ve suggested because “white is boring”, and “besides, that’s Violet’s color this weekend”.
I wave a green button down at him. “How about this?”
He frowns critically at it, and I wonder how I got to the point in my life where I take fashion advice from a man who prefers graphic t-shirts and flannels to literally every other thing.
“That could work,” he mumbles, and I huff a sigh of relief.
“Now,” he grins, bright and quick, “what about this?”
He holds up a red button down and I nod, silently approving it.
Spencer always looks good, but in business casual, he looks fucking edible, and in red—Jesus. It sets off his pale skin and dark hair, makes his eyes shine.
Shit.
“So, who are you looking forward to seeing?” he asks, annoyingly persistent.
I sigh and shrug, grudgingly saying, “Gunner.”
Spencer perks up a little, like he’s startled and pleased I gave him something. I swallow my groan because he does not need any encouragement.
“And,” I say, stealing the red shirt and steering him toward the counter to pay, “We’re not talking about Gunner. Or Mason.”
“We’re leaving in like, a week, big guy. Are you planning on ignoring it until we show up?” He’s grinning at me and I’m tempted to say yes, just to shut him up. As much as I adore him, sometimes it’s nice to get the upper hand. It’s rare, which is probably why it’s so nice.
“Aren’t we meeting Cara?” I say, a desperate distraction, and he grins, nodding.
I try not to watch as Spencer greets Cara at the restaurant. She’s in a tight pair of jeans and a loose flowing top that makes her look effortlessly gorgeous. I wish like hell I could dislike her just a little. She slides into the booth next to Spencer, presses against him and gives me a wide grin.
The problem with Cara is that she’s just so damn nice. Ever since Spencer showed up with her at the Wolfden and I realized that my window of opportunity, never really big, had been slammed closed by this pretty girl with bright blue eyes and a friendly smile, I’ve been trying to find something about her that I don’t like.
But she’s disgustingly likeable, good for Spencer, and as smart as Cat.
She’s everything I like in people, and I don’t even like people, and she’s dating the man I love, which makes it really hard to dislike her.
“Spencer tells me you’re going to your family ranch this weekend,” she says, breaking a breadstick in half and idly handing a piece to him. “Are you excited?”
I shrug a little and Spence leans forward, catches my gaze and smiles small for me. “It’ll be nice to get out of the city for a few days, huh, big guy?”
I don’t contradict him, don’t tell either of them that this trip is a nightmare waiting to happen, wrapped up in the trappings of every fantasy I’ve ever had.
I just smile and force myself to act as normal as I can, as Cara talks about work and Spence watches me with concern in his eyes
***
“We need to talk,” Spencer says the next morning, and I feel my stomach drop. He’s been acting shifty and nervous since dinner the night before, and I know he’s not telling Cara all the details about our trip—that became painfully obvious when we sat and ate with her.
I knew the other shoe would fall, that he’d find a way to back out. He offered, sure, but no one was actually stupid enough to go through with it—and I was an ass for even thinking about letting him.
“Hey, hey, no—stop that. I can see you panicking. Stop it,” Spencer says, sharp enough to cut through my thoughts.
I blink at him, a little bleary.
“I’m not backing out, dude. I’m saying we need rules.”
I shift, frowning into my coffee. “Rules?”
Spence runs a hand through his hair, a sure sign he’s agitated. “Rules.”
“Like what?” I ask cautiously.
Spence mutters under his breath and then nods, like he’s confirming something for himself. “We don’t talk about the future. I know you’re sisters, and your mom—they’re going to want to know what kind of plan we have long term. We aren’t doing that.”
“What do you want to tell them?”
He huffs, annoyed. “Tell them we’re not thinking about it, that we’re focused on the band and just enjoying being together, for now.”
I nod. It makes sense. It’s a good plan. “And we got together?”
He shrugs. “Recently. Got drunk, made out a little. Realized it was good, and decided to take a chance.”
It rolls off his tongue so easily, I kind of hate it—how much has he done that, who has he done it with?
Is that how he and Cara hooked up, that first time? I never asked, because I don’t want to know. All evidence to the contrary, I’m not actually a masochist.
“Ok,” I say.
“PDA,” Spence says softly ,and I go tense. I look at him and for the first time, Spencer isn’t looking back. He’s staring at the ground.
“We don’t—no, Spencer.”
“E, we can’t not touch. There will be dancing and you know your sisters are gonna expect us to be all over each other—especially if we’ve just recently got together. And that’s how we have to sell it. Ruby isn’t going to believe you could keep it to yourself for long. So this has to be new, and we kept it to ourselves because we didn’t want to jinx it.”
Shit. “Uh. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
Spence flushes and hunches over his cereal a little. “You know I like being thorough,” he mutters.
I grin. I do know. It’s been something I’ve wondered about—as thorough and intent as Spencer can be, what would it be like to have that attention turned on me, completely and utterly, to have his only focus be taking me apart in bed?
“Obviously hugs are good. I don’t mind kissing—cheek, neck, what you’re comfortable with. Just, uh, not the lips, ok?”
I nod.
“Handholding is fine,” he adds slowly, brow furrowed. “And dancing. Are you—are you comfortable with that?”
“Yeah,” I say, hoarse.
He frowns at me. “I need you to be honest, Eth. You can’t say you’re ok if you’re gonna panic when we get there.”
I shake my head and give him the most reassuring smile I can muster. “No, Spence, it’s fine. I’m good. I promise.”
His grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Great. Then this’ll be easy.”
Right. Easy.
Fuck.
Chapt
er 7
MY SISTER, I DECIDE THE next morning, is a horrible person.
“I agree,” Spence mutters, leaning further into me. I startle and glance down at him, leaning against my shoulder in the cab. I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.
“Why is it so early?” Spencer whines, and I wrap an arm around him, steadying him as he sways while the cab turns.
“Because,” I grit out, “my sister is the actual worst.”
He hums, thoughtful and sleepy—and I knew. I knew this was going to be hard, but Jesus, we left the house five minutes ago and I already want to tug him into my lap and kiss him senseless.
“Did we get her a present?” Spence asks, like that’s something we should be concerned about.
I shake my head and he makes a vindictive little noise, settling closer. “Good. She doesn’t deserve it.”
I laugh a little against his hair. He makes a sleepy noise before he snuggles closer and drifts off.
I sigh and the cabbie gives me a small smile. “My wife isn’t a morning person either,” he offers, “Needs at least one cup of coffee before she’s close to human.”
I laugh and pet a hand down Spencer’s arm, not really meaning to do it. “He needs two. But we woke up late, so he hasn’t had any.”
The cabbie makes a sympathetic noise in his throat and says, “You’ll take care of him, though. Just get to the airport Starbucks.”
I smile and nod, because yeah. I can definitely take care of Spencer.
He’s snoring softly against my shoulder when we reach the airport and I shake him awake gently after I pay the cabbie.
“Don’t wanna,” he mutters and I tug him along, rolling his suitcase behind me and juggling our carry-ons.
“I know. Just get through check in with me and I’ll get you the biggest coffee we can buy,” I coax, and he grumbles against my shoulder but let’s me steer him into the airport.
Spence is always handsy when he’s drunk or tired—honestly, he’s handsy more often than he isn’t, but it’s worse when he’s sleep deprived and drunk. I half carry, half frog-march him to the check in, shaking him awake long enough that he can produce his driver’s license and smile sleepily at the girl behind the counter. I’m pretty sure she’s laughing at us, but I manage to ignore it as I drag him away from the counter, toward security. It’s early, but there’s a line of people already. I prop Spence there, holding him steady as we make our way through security. I shake him awake when it’s our turn to play nice with the TSA, and he grumbles sleepily at them before standing dazedly.
“This,” I huff, toeing out of my shoes and emptying my pockets, before fishing in his, “is why we don’t do morning flights, and why you don’t travel alone anymore.”
“Stop groping me. We’re not home yet,” he mumbles. I snort, shoving him toward the metal detector. We pass without incident, and I collect my sleepy roommate and our shit before steering him toward our departure gate.
He hums in my ear as soon the scent of coffee hits us, and his eyes open for more than five seconds as he veers toward the kiosk like a heat seeking missile.
I smother my laugh and chase after him, because losing a caffeine deprived sleepy Spencer in an airport seems like an epically bad idea.
Maybe—I think, as Spence pours himself up to the counter, offering a sleepy but charming smile to the barista—maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought it would be.
***
I expect him to pull away after he gets some coffee in him. I can see it working through his system, the way his fingers are twitching against his thigh, his foot jiggling slowly against the ground, his breathing going a little rapid and uneven. He lifts his head from my shoulder and glances around, seeming to notice his coffee cup before he flashes me a bashful smile.
“How bad was I?” he asks.
I shrug, pulling away just a little. “Not as bad as our trip to Cozumel. Worse than LA.”
He blushes. “We promised not to bringing up Mexico,” he mumbles into his cup.
I grin. It’s not often Spence is embarrassed, and I love milking it when he is.
“How long?” he asks, digging his phone out and shoving an earbud into his ear.
“About an hour.”
He sighs and settles deeper into his seat and I say, quietly, “You can sleep some. I’ll stay awake.”
Spence doesn’t respond, just gives me an exasperated smile before he turns his attention to a puzzle game that makes my eyes cross.
He leans against me when we’re on the plane, and I thumb on the playlist I picked just for our flight. Spencer makes a startled noise and jerks my phone away from me, scrolling through it quickly, before his eyes flick up to mine, warm and grateful.
“Sorry we couldn’t drive,” I mutter, and he nudges back into my shoulder, offering me the free earbud.
“Shh,” he answers, and I let the soothing melody drift through me.
Spencer hates flying. It’s ridiculous for a man like him, who likes life bigger, more adventurous. It’s almost funny, or it would be, if he weren’t so prone to panic attacks on planes.
He’s fine until I have to turn off the music, and then his fingers are white knuckle gripping the armrest, almost vibrating in his seat with tension. I would normally look away, give him space and time to get through this on his own, but him being on this plane is my damn fault.
His breath catches when I pry his hand off the armrest and squeeze it between mine. I can feel him leaning away from me, so I tuck him close under my chin, a position that feels impossibly right, even though we’ve never done this.
The tension drains out of him when I start singing.
Black bird singing in the dead of night. . . .
Even after the plane levels out and he’s moved away, giving me a sheepish but grateful smile—even then his grip on my hand doesn’t loosen.
Chapter 8
WE TOUCH DOWN IN AUSTIN and Spence follows me from the plane, bag tossed over his shoulder, dividing his attention between checking his messages and avoiding running into people, and doing a shitty job of it. With a slight sigh, I grab his elbow and steer him through the busy airport until we reach the car rental desk. It doesn’t take long before we’re in a small blue sports car, and he’s grinning at me as I steer us onto the highway toward Mason.
“Excited yet?”
I give him a flat look and he smirks. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He waves his phone. “Ruby said to hurry. They’re making chili con carne.”
“Stop talking to my sister,” I grumble and hit the gas.
“Awww, don’t be like that, babe,” Spence teases. My breath catches in my throat. I shoot him a startled look and he frowns, a little guilty. “Sorry. Pet names no good?”
Right. We’re dating. We’re fake fucking dating. The easy, familiar way that rolls off his lips doesn’t mean shit. It’s just Spence selling the part.
“Yeah,” I grit out, “they’re great.”
***
Mason looks the same as it ever has.
Ten years and nothing about the tiny blip on the map has changed. It’s still too small, there and gone beyond the Cobra’s windows faster than even I remember. Spence makes a noise, half questioning, and I shrug, not looking at him.
“I told you it was small,” I mutter.
“There’s small, and there’s Mason, apparently,” he says, glancing back.
I ignore that and Spence flops back into his seat, almost hitting me in the face with one flailing arm. My skin feels itchy and tight and I feel—
Fuck. I feel exposed, vulnerable in a way I didn’t expect, not with Spencer.
I didn’t think it would be hard to show him my past because he knows so much of it already. He’s quiet as I drive on, silent and scowling until we get to Henry Meadows Ranch. Long, neat black fences march down the road, rolling green Texas pastures beyond. And there, at the end of a long tree-dotted gravel drive is—
“Damn, E,” Spence whistles, peering up at Henry H
ouse. I smile, because that reaction, I know. I’m used to people seeing the sprawling ranch house and being overwhelmed.
It looks the same—needs a new coat of paint and the flower boxes haven’t bloomed yet, but the house looks like every memory from my childhood, right down to my mother sitting straight-backed and regal on the front steps, boots dusty and jeans dirty.
Spence squeezes my hand as I pull the car to a stop behind Ruby’s truck. His voice is a low reassurance, reminding me that this is ok, that I’m home. “Come on, big guy.”
It’s soft and familiar, the quiet nudge of confidence that I know like breathing. I let it wash over me before I push the door open and climb out of the car.
Spence scrambles to join me, but I barely notice, because fuck, I’m home.
Mama watches me with patient eyes as I cross to stand in front of her, and all I can smell is wildflowers and fresh cut grass, the sweet scent of horses.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, my voice low and a little broken.
I sink down, so I’m sitting a step below her, lay my head on her knee, and her hand feels like home, like something I didn’t know I was missing, as she pets through my hair. I feel like I’m five years old, watching fireflies with my sister, and ten, sleepy as fall turned the trees gold and brown, fifteen and anxious as she tugged me back against her, a fucking lifetime spent here, at her feet on this porch,. Tears burn in my eyes as I press harder against her.
“Welcome home, baby,” she murmurs.
I don’t know how long we sit like that, how long I let her pet through my hair and she lets me soak in the scent of her and of home. I do know when I sit up, and rub my face quickly, Spence is nowhere to be seen and Mama has a smile that’s a little sly on her face.
“So, Spencer?”
“I haven’t even been inside yet,” I whine and she laughs, pushing to her feet.
“Then let’s fix that, hmm? Should probably rescue the poor boy from your sisters anyway.”
I feel a flair of panic and she grins, bright and happy, as she walks inside ahead of me.
Wanted: Blurred Lines (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 3
