Don't Let the Music Die (The Storyhill Musicians Book 2)

by Annmarie Boyle

  How was she supposed to face Matt after nearly begging him to kiss her?

  “See?” she said, pacing in front of her closet. “This is why inviting Matt Taylor to co-host was a bad idea.” She shouldn’t go to the party. She pulled out her favorite sweatshirt and yoga pants, but stopped.

  She was Avery-fucking-Lind. She would not be afraid. She had the opportunity to spend the evening with country singers, a Grammy award-winning songwriter, and other industry people. This was just networking.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Impending panic attack. She laid back on the bed and stroked her fingers between her breasts, reciting the mantra that calmed her.

  A knock resounded through her door. “Yes?” She’d told her family that the anxiety was better. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

  “Sissy? Can I come in?”

  “I’m getting ready. Not dressed. Can it wait?”

  “Then my timing is perfect. I pulled something from my closet that I think will look beautiful on you. You can’t go on your first date with Mr. Taylor, after all these years, and not look absolutely fabulous.”

  “It’s not a date!” She wondered if she was telling herself or her sister. “But come in.” She wiped away the perspiration that had accumulated at the base of her neck.

  “What are you doing?” her sister asked, scanning her prone position from head to toe.

  “And why, if this isn’t a date, do you have your best bra and panties on?” Jessica tried holding back a smirk but couldn’t do it. She sat down next to Avery on the bed. “And you shaved your legs?” she asked even more smugly, running a hand down Avery’s smooth calf.

  Avery rolled over and buried her face in the duvet. “I don’t know,” she said, voice muffled. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

  “Roll over,” Jessica demanded. When Avery had done so, she asked, “Is this what it’s like dealing with me? I can see why it’s so exhausting. Now, sit up and act like the Amy-Lynn we all know and love—balls to the walls, take no prisoners.”

  Avery sat up and looked at the dress Jess was holding up. It was short, black, had a deep, plunging neckline, and was totally outside of Avery’s comfort zone. “What’s wrong with my clothes?” she said, motioning toward her closet.

  Jess gave her a look that said, I really don’t need to say this, do I?

  “It’s basically all work wear.”

  Avery scoffed. “I have dresses.”

  Jess snorted. “Designed for Victorian ladies.”

  “That’s not fair,” Avery said, tromping over to her closet and pulling out her one sequined top. “I have this.”

  “Which I haven’t seen you wear in years.” Jess wiggled the dress hanger. “Just try it on.”

  Avery sighed. “Fine.” She wrenched the dress from Jess and slid it on over her head. It fit perfectly and clung just enough to show off her figure, but not so much she’d be uncomfortable.

  “Whoa, Sissy,” Jess whistled. “If I had a figure like that, I’d never stop showing it off.”

  Avery rolled her eyes. “This is your dress.”

  “My body has changed since having Wyatt.”

  Avery started pulling her hair up, but Jess stopped her. “Leave it down. And how about I do your make-up?”

  “I can do my make-up.”

  Jess’s expression softened. “Let me do it, like old times.”

  “Okay,” Avery said. “And you might as well find me some shoes, too.”

  Jessica clapped her hands together and squealed.

  Was this all it took to make their relationship easier? She really could use one less stressful thing in her life right now.

  The doorbell rang just as Jessica swiped a final coat of mascara on Avery’s lashes—false lashes, Jess had insisted. She felt like a dress-up doll, but it made Jess so happy. And isn’t that why she did all the things she did? To make her family happy?

  “Amy-Lynn,” her mother called from the bottom of the stairs, “Matt is here.”

  Avery turned to look in the mirror, but her sister stopped her. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

  “But I need to see . . .”

  “You look perfect.”

  Avery scooted closer to the mirror. “It makes me uneasy that you won’t let me look. What did you do to me?”

  Jess smiled and lightly patted Avery’s cheek. “Relax, you’re still 92 percent professional, stuffy Avery.”

  “What’s the other eight percent?”

  “Jessica McWilliams magic.”

  Avery snorted.

  “Now go,” Jess said, pushing her out the door.

  Avery really wanted a mirror. What if Jess wasn’t telling the truth?

  She didn’t have to worry long. She descended the stairs and Matt turned to look at her. His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open before he caught himself. “You look beautiful. I mean, you always do, but this is different.”

  “Different bad?” She nervously smoothed her hands down the front of the dress. Why did she care? Avery Lind didn’t need anyone’s approval. “If this isn’t right for the party, I can go upstairs and change.”

  “It’s perfect,” he said, reaching for her hand and threading her fingers through his.

  She looked from their intertwined hands to her mother and her sister and quickly pulled her hand free. Her mother wore a soft, enigmatic expression, but Jess’s expression read I told you so.

  “You obviously met Momma last night,” she said, trying to move attention away from his touch. “And you remember Jess.”

  “Yes,” he said, pulling his attention away from Avery. “Nice to see you again, Jessica.”

  Jess smiled like a Cheshire cat. “You’re welcome here anytime, Matt.”

  Avery cleared her throat. “Still my house, baby sister.”

  “Momma taught us to be hospitable, big sister. Didn’t you, Momma?”

  Isabel smirked and arched a single eyebrow at Avery. “That I did. That I did.”

  Before Avery could say anything further, a streak of blue ran past her and wrapped his arms around Matt’s knees. “Boy!” the little boy hollered. They really needed to talk to him about using his inside voice.

  Matt laughed softly and mussed the little boy’s head. “And this must be Wyatt,” he said, looking at Jess. “Your auntie was telling me all about you last night.”

  “Boy stay. Play,” Wyatt said with a stomp.

  Jess pulled him away from Matt. “He has plenty of friends, but I’m afraid he doesn’t have a lot of contact with adult boys,” she explained.

  Matt looked up from the child and met Avery’s eyes. “Really?” he said. “Three beautiful women in this house and he doesn’t see a lot of men, huh?” The question was meant for all of them, but it was directed at Avery.

  “There it is,” Isabel said. “The famous Matt Taylor charm. Glad to see it hasn’t gone away.”

  “No, ma’am,” Matt said, finally moving his intense gaze off Avery. “It’s served me well. Can’t go messing with a proven winner.” He smiled at Isabel, and Avery could have sworn her mother blushed a little.

  Matt bent to get eye level with her nephew. “Your auntie and I already have a playdate planned. How about I come back and play with you another time?”

  “Tomorrow,” Wyatt said, crossing his little arms, demanding agreement.

  Matt looked up at Avery. “That’s up to your auntie.”

  “Tía,” Wyatt said, pulling on the hem of her shorter-than-she-liked dress. “Tomorrow?”

  “We’ll see Wyatt,” she said, shooting Matt a look that she hoped communicated, don’t make him promises you can’t keep.

  Matt stood to his full height and picked the little boy up. Seeing him hold Wyatt made her gut twist. What if they’d never broken up?

  No. No. No. She’d made her choices. Crafted her life to perfection. Well, professional perfection. She would not play the ‘what if’ game.

  Avery patted her nephew
’s back. “Wyatt, say goodbye to Mr. Matt.”

  “Bye,” the little boy said, and placed a big, wet kiss on Matt’s cheek.

  Jess motioned for Wyatt to come to her. “I’m sorry, he never does that. He’s usually shy around strangers.”

  “Maybe he senses I’m not really a stranger,” Matt said, his attention shifting back to Avery.

  “We really need to go,” Avery said, without knowing if that was the truth or not. She grabbed her handbag and the door handle. “Right, Matt?”

  “Yes, Grace has a thing about punctuality.”

  Jess leaned in and whispered, “You’re wearing my dress. Maybe act a little more like Jess tonight and a little less like Amy-Lynn.”

  Avery screwed up her lips, rolled her eyes, gave Jess’s shoulder a nudge, and stepped out onto the porch.

  “We won’t wait up,” Jess yelled after them.

  Matt opened the truck door for Amy-Lynn and took her hand, helping her onto the elevated seat. Her dress slipped up, exposing the creamy skin of her thighs, and a current shot through him, gaining speed as it hurtled down his spine, settling low. He’d once known her body better than he’d known his own, and if the tightening of his pants was any indication, his body was on board to learn the curves of her body all over again.

  He slid into the driver’s side and started the ignition.

  “Sorry about Jess. And her . . . her . . . insinuations.”

  Matt bit back a smile. She was so confident at work. He couldn’t help liking this more vulnerable side of her. “What was she insinuating?”

  “Nothing,” she grumbled.

  “Why apologize if it’s nothing?”

  She flicked him on the shoulder. “You’re maddening.”

  He sobered. “Are you still embarrassed about being seen with me?”

  “Embarrassed?” She swiveled in her seat to face him and damn if that dress didn’t slide up even higher. If it inched up just a little more, he’d know exactly what she was wearing under it. Could his heart take it? Doubtful.

  “What does that mean?” she asked, snapping his attention back to her comments about Jessica.

  He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and kept his attention on the road. He didn’t want to see her expression. “Clearly I’ve never been good enough for you.”

  Her skin squeaked against the leather seat, and he felt the weight of her gaze on him. “That is not true, and you know it.”

  He signaled left, and he knew this was not the time or place for this discussion—in less than five minutes they’d be at the condo Grace and Andrew were renting until they found a second home in Nashville—but he couldn’t force himself to let it go.

  “That’s the real reason you broke up with me, isn’t it? I didn’t fit into your grand plan.”

  He glanced her direction. She was looking at him as if he had a shark head.

  “Is that honestly what you think?”

  He lifted a single shoulder. “Why else?”

  She twisted her hands in her lap and looked out the passenger side window. “I told you why,” she whispered.

  He shouldn’t push. He knew that. But the truth was within his reach. Maybe she’d finally tell him? “Remind me.”

  “I didn’t want a partner who was going to be gone all the time, like my daddy. I saw what it did to my family.” Her words were even, but her body had gone stiff, and the color drained from her face.

  He turned into the surface lot surrounding Andrew and Grace’s condo, pulled into the first open parking spot, and killed the engine.

  “That hadn’t mattered for the six years we were together, and then one day it did? I might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but I’m a long way from stupid, Mac. I deserve the real explanation, or at least why you suddenly changed your mind about my career choice.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said, rubbing her fingers over the depression in her collarbone while her telltale blush colored the column of her neck.

  No. He wouldn’t cause a panic attack, especially before meeting his friends. This was supposed to be a fun night. A night to help her forget about all her worries for a few hours.

  There was more to the story than she’d tell him, but he didn’t need to dig it out right now.

  He grabbed her fingers and uncurled them, rubbing the webbing between her thumb and forefinger in a way that calmed her—or had nine years ago.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, keeping pressure on her fingers. “We—well, I—need to talk about this, but it doesn’t have to be tonight. Is there anything else I can do to help with the anxiety?”

  “Anxiety?” she said, clearly trying to mask what was going on.

  He pushed a curl behind her ear. “I know the signs. Mac. Is it still as bad as ever?”

  She dropped her head and her eyes shuttered closed. “No,” she whispered.

  “But it’s still an issue?”

  She nodded without looking up.

  He placed a single finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “Look at me,” he said.

  She finally opened her eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  He pulled her into a hug over the center console. Her body stiffened, but she didn’t pull away. He’d take that as a win. He could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck. What had he read about anxiety attacks? Keep calm. Speak in short sentences. Help her stay grounded. “There is absolutely no reason to be embarrassed. This doesn’t define you.”

  She reached for the hollow spot in her clavicle. Again.

  “Want to do the 3-3-3 rule?”

  Her eyes found his. “How do you remember that?” she whispered.

  “I love you,” he said. Her eyes flashed again. “I mean, I loved you. I learned everything I could about anxiety.”

  “Thank you. But I think I’m okay.”

  “I can take you home.”

  She looked out the window in the direction they came from and then back to him. “No. I committed to this, and I will do it. You told me you wanted to meet the woman I’d become. Turnabout is fair play.”

  He smiled. “You think my friends are going to be a window into my world?”

  “Yep. And the people most likely to tell embarrassing stories I can rub in your face over the next nine shows.”

  “Nine shows,” he repeated, “is that all that’s left?”

  “Yep, thirty-six hours and you’ll be free of me.”

  Something reached out and squeezed his heart. Thirty-six hours to show his bandmates he had skills. Thirty-six hours to get the answers he wanted—no, needed. And thirty-six hours to figure out, all over again, how to live without her.

  “Well, thirty-six show hours plus this party.”

  She smiled. “There’s that.”

  “We better get started, then.”

  Her smile drooped. “Is there anything I need to know before we go in?”

  She smoothed her hands down her dress and damn if he didn’t watch her hands, wanting to do the same thing himself. So many emotions, but apparently lust trumped everything else going on.

  “Don’t worry, Mac. These people have no expectations, they are a laid back, welcoming group. Being yourself is all they expect.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Be yourself, Avery repeated in her head as they rode the elevator to the top floor. Did she still know how to do that? Was she anxiety-ridden Amy-Lynn? Or confident and capable Avery Lind? Likely a jumble of both.

  The elevator doors opened directly into a large apartment. “Penthouse?” Avery asked, scanning the large entryway.

  “Yep. Grace is very down to earth, but I think she grew accustomed to a certain way of living while married to Jax Jensen.”

  Avery wanted to know more, but at that moment, the woman herself floated into the vestibule and pulled Matt into a familiar hug. “I was wondering if you’d forgotten.”

  He gave Grace his biggest smile and placed a small kiss on her cheek. So he’d kiss Grace, but not her? It’s not the same
and you know it. She did, but the little green monster currently jumping on her chest didn’t.

  Against her better judgement, she longed to feel Matt’s arms around her and feel his lips pressed against her skin. The need to touch him grew stronger every moment they spent together. How long would she be able to keep her distance?

  “No chance I’d forget,” Matt said to Grace. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast to leave room for all this delicious food.”

  Avery had almost forgotten about the pie in her hands. “I hope bourbon pecan pie will fit in,” she said, employing her radio voice. “My momma’s nearly famous for it,” she added, holding it out to Grace.

  Grace turned her smile on her. “You must be Avery. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

  Avery smiled. A real one. “Hi. Yes. Nice to meet you too. Thank you for being on the show yesterday. I’m sorry if you had to juggle your schedule.”

  “Of course. My pleasure. That’s the beauty of songwriting. I can do most of it on my schedule. That’s a great dress, by the way,” Grace said, turning toward the archway into the living room.

  Avery fought the urge to pull at the hem. “Thank you. I hope I’m not overdressed. I rarely go out, so I don’t have many chances to wear something like this.”

  “Then I’m even more pleased Matt invited you. I can imagine your job takes a lot of time and attention. And we both know it’s harder for women in this industry.”

  Avery nodded and sighed, releasing some of the tension caught between her shoulder blades. It felt good to have someone understand the rigors of her job—and the effort it took.

  Grace led them into the adjoining room and the sound got louder with every step. Matt said there’d be fifteen people max. Maybe she should have gone home.

  As if reading her mind, Grace turned and said, “There are only ten people here even though it sounds like fifty.”

  “My boys aren’t known for their inside voices,” Matt said with a chuckle.

  “Truth,” Grace said, setting the pie on a table piled high with all kinds of amazing looking food.

  “Kinda like Wyatt,” he said next to her ear.