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

by Annmarie Boyle

  “You mean like a therapist?”

  Matt nodded.

  “About my anxiety? Yes. A long time ago. But about Daddy? No. I can handle it.”

  “Really? Because I’m going out on a limb here and say that having a full-blown anxiety attack right after the best sex of your life is not a good sign.”

  She smiled a genuine smile. “Someone’s full of themselves.”

  “Mac,” he whispered. “You are not responsible for your mom and sister—or your father’s death. It’s great that you want to help them. A family that supports each other is a rare gift. No one gets that more than me. But support is a two-way street, and it needs to come from here.” He touched a finger to her chest, above her heart. “It’s not about atoning for something you had nothing to do with.”

  She slumped into him, and he inconspicuously felt for her pulse at her wrist. Normal. “Promise me you’ll see someone. Talk through it. I know Grace sees a therapist in Nashville. Do you want me to get her name?”

  Her eyes widened. “Grace sees a therapist?”

  “When she started writing with Andrew, she was still dealing with some very real grief issues from the loss of her husband.”

  “And she told you this?”

  “Grace’s mantra is, ‘We can’t remove the stigma of mental health issues if we don’t talk about them.’”

  He felt her nod against his chest. “Promise me, Mac.”

  “How about a deal? I’ll promise to call someone if you promise to do that thing with your tongue again.”

  He laughed softly. She was still making jokes, but it was a start—and he had no problem making good on his portion of the deal. “You don’t want to go home? I meant what I said. Anytime you want to go, we’ll go.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her hands roaming over his chest again. “But I’d like to stay. You’re right. Momma or Jess would call if there were any issues.”

  He wrapped his fingers around her hand, stopping her motion. “I’m sorry? Could you say that again?”

  She tipped her head up, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Momma would call?”

  “No, the other part.”

  “You’re right,” she said, planting a kiss on his pec.

  “Those are some magical words, Avery Lind.”

  She started planting kisses from his neck down his torso to his belly. He wanted to ask her about the break-up. If what she’d just shared had something to do with it. But her mouth was distracting. And he didn’t want to upset her again so soon. He knew how exhausting each anxiety event was for her.

  Once again, he let his body take the lead. He captured her shoulders and flipped her underneath him.

  Were they both using sex to forget about all the things they should address? Highly likely.

  Did he care? Nope. He had a promise to keep. He couldn’t very well let Nora Roberts down, could he?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Avery rolled over and buried her face in a pillow. It smelled like cinnamon and leather. Matt. Her eyes popped open. She scanned the room. Not her bedroom. So last night wasn’t a dream.

  She patted the space beside her. Empty. And cold.

  She stretched and parts of her twinged that hadn’t ached in a long time. Then she remembered the anxiety attack. And what she’d said about her father.

  What would he think? Would he treat her differently this morning?

  Her phone pinged and she reached for it. Two messages. One from Momma, making sure she was okay. How was she supposed to answer that? Guilt rumbled through her. She should have let Momma know. But is that what grown women did? Check in with their mother before having sex with their ex? She rubbed her forehead. This was all kinds of messed up.

  The second one was from Jess. Were they sitting across the breakfast bar from each other, texting her? No words from her sister, just a single emoji. Winky face. Ugh. She couldn’t get mad. It was her fault that they were all up in each other’s business.

  She typed a response to her mother that said, ‘I’m okay’ but immediately deleted it because that wasn’t even close to the truth. She felt so far from okay, she couldn’t even see it from where she was standing. ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I’m good’ also felt wrong. She followed Jess’s lead and sent back the thumbs-up emoji. She’d have enough questions to answer when she got home. No need to get into things now.

  She rolled from the bed, pulling the t-shirt Matt had given her last night over her head, and wandered into the bathroom. Lying next to the sink was a new toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste. Her eyes misted over. Seriously? Was she crying about a baby-sized Crest?

  It had been so long since someone had taken care of her. She sighed. It’d been so long since she’d let anyone take care of her.

  She brushed her teeth and wiped away the faint smudges of yesterday’s mascara. Who knew tears were such an effective make-up remover?

  She padded into the living room and stopped, silently sucking in a breath. Matt stood at the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans. She’d bet her annual salary that he had nothing on under those jeans. She watched as the muscles in his back rippled as he stirred what looked like cheesy scrambled eggs.

  “See anything you like?”

  Damn him, the cocky SOB, he always could sense her.

  “Those eggs look fantastic,” she shot back.

  He laughed. Deep and full. And it made her stomach flutter. It made her remember the first time she saw him walking down the hallway in high school. Only three months after Daddy died, her mother had packed them up and moved them to Marla. Her mother said they needed a change, but Avery knew the truth. After her father’s death, base housing was no longer an option.

  Huddled next to her locker, trying to make sense of her schedule, Matt had been one of the first people to talk to her. “You must be the new girl,” he said, flashing a smile that made her feel like snow in the sun. “Matt Taylor,” he said, thrusting out a hand. “You know where you’re going next?”

  “Not really.” She handed him her schedule. “Oh,” he mock grimaced, “you have American History with old man Paulson next.”

  “Is that bad?” she had asked.

  “It could be, but I’m in that class too, so it’ll be good.” He’d winked at her. Winked.

  “Are you sure there’ll be room for me and your ego in the classroom?” she’d retorted. She expected his smile to drop, but it only got bigger. It was like no one ever challenged him, and he welcomed it.

  “Earth to Mac,” he said, setting a plate of bacon and eggs in front of her and sliding a glass of OJ next to her plate. “Where were you?”

  “Thinking about the day we met.”

  He ran a hand down his sculpted chest. “Because you were thinking about what I looked like without a shirt the minute we met?”

  “No. But it’s good to know your ego is still intact.” She smirked. “And I’m pretty sure washboard abs were not part of sixteen-year-old you.”

  He winked at her and chuckled. “Some things get better with age.”

  “I’ve never complained about your body.”

  His smile dropped. “No one ever has,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He sat down next to her and shoveled eggs into his mouth. “I suppose you’d like to get home,” he said after swallowing. “You finish up and I’ll jump in shower, then we can leave.”

  “Matt,” she said, touching his arm, “what did I say? You seem upset.”

  “Nothing,” he repeated. “It’s just I’m sure you have plans for today.”

  She sucked in a breath. This was another moment to channel confident Avery Lind, not tentative Amy-Lynn. “And if I don’t?”

  He set his fork down and turned to her.

  “What if I’d like to spend the day with you?” So maybe it would be one night and one day.

  “What about Isabel and Jess?”

  “I texted them. I’m sorry about last night’s overreaction.�
��

  He ran his thumb along her jawbone, and his eyes searched her face. “I told you the other day that you’re safe with me. And I didn’t mean only in the studio.”

  “Thank you,” she said, getting very interested in her eggs. God, how she wanted to trust him. To let him in. To have him help shoulder her burdens.

  But she didn’t deserve that.

  She needed to tell him. Now. It was bad enough she’d slept with him while still carrying her secret.

  “Matt, there’s something we need to talk about.” Her stomach turned over, and it felt like the eggs were climbing back up her throat. She couldn’t do it.

  But she had to.

  He deserved to know.

  “I already know,” he said, pulling her from the stool.

  She winced. “I don’t think you do.”

  “You don’t have to be shy about it, Mac,” he said, nuzzling his face into her neck. “If you want to shower with me, just ask.”

  Her shoulders sagged. She couldn’t drop a giant, steaming truth bomb right after he’d suggested shower sex. She was sure that was a rule.

  Coward, the little voice chided.

  I’m the worst kind of coward. The selfish kind. She wanted a little more of him. And the truth would change everything. She’d been carrying around this particular skeleton for years. What was a few more days?

  A few more days to get attached all over again.

  Screw it. Selfish or not, she was taking this for herself. She rubbed the spot on her clavicle and willed the guilt and anxiety away.

  She pulled the t-shirt over her head and watched his eyes go wide. “I am feeling pretty dirty.”

  “Jesus, woman, you are going to kill me.” He stepped up to her and scooped her into his arms and didn’t let her down until the water ran over them.

  Matt ordered two iced coffees from the vendor in the park and turned to watch Amy-Lynn. She was sitting on a nearby swing, hanging on to the chains, pumping her legs, trying to propel the swing higher. They’d stopped by her gym this morning, and she’d changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt she kept there. Said it was too risky to stop at home—they wouldn’t let her out of the house without answering a hundred questions.

  It was hard to believe this was real. A few days ago, she was only a memory and now she was here, spending the day with him, after spending the night with him.

  It was just the two of them. Together. Not because of Storyhill or the radio show, but simply because they wanted to be together. His heart climbed into his throat when she waved at him with a small smile.

  Should he tell her he was still in love with her?

  No. Not yet.

  He’d put feelers out for another gig—something to do between tour dates. Something to show her he was more than just a part of a band. Something that would match her impressive drive and ambition. Something that would prove he was worthy of her.

  He checked his phone. No messages from Brad or his agent. Rationally, he knew it was Sunday, but he was still disappointed. He needed another gig lined up before he shared his feelings . . . and asked her if she felt the same way.

  He’d waited nine years. He could be patient a little while longer.

  He walked back to her, stilling her swing, and handing her a coffee. “Want to walk?” He pointed to the paved trail that led through the park.

  “Yes,” she said. She closed her lips around the straw, and his mind immediately flashed to sitting on his sofa while she kneeled in front of him. All his blood rushed southward. He needed to get a grip. The nine days left in the studio would be painful if he didn’t.

  “Lead on,” he sputtered, trying to dislodge the memory.

  “Matt,” she said, swirling the straw in her coffee.

  She seemed nervous. “Yes?”

  She bit her lip and opened her mouth and closed it again. “Did you get the notes I sent you for Monday’s guest?” she asked.

  He laced his fingers through her free hand. Was she still worried about the show? “Devin Penney?”

  She nodded but kept her gaze on her shoes. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I scanned them, but I had planned to review them today.”

  She sighed. “And I ruined your plans.”

  Why did he get the sense that she was talking about more than show research?

  “No worries. There’s plenty of time for that.” He lifted her fingers to his mouth and kissed each one softly. “How about no show talk for the next couple of hours?”

  She sucked her bottom lip under her teeth again but agreed. “What should we talk about instead?”

  She’d given him the perfect opening to discuss the elephant in the room. They needed to talk—really talk. But, right now, right here, with the sun shining and her hand in his, the words wouldn’t come. Maybe some easier questions, first? Ease into the bigger stuff.

  Ease in or chicken out?

  He pulled her to a park bench and nestled her under his arm. “You’ve lived an entire life I know very little about. How about we get to know each other a little better?”

  Chicken out it is.

  She laughed. “Sounds like an interview.”

  He smiled. “Since you’ve already interviewed me, I think it’s my turn.”

  “I’m not very comfortable in the spotlight,” she said.

  “I’ve noticed. Why is that?”

  “I guess that inside I’m still that shy girl who showed up in Marla. And, frankly, my life is not all that interesting.” He started to protest, and she held up a finger. “Not when you compare it to the lives of the people I interview.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that—after I interview you.”

  A nervous laugh trickled from her lips. “Be gentle.”

  “Always,” he said, his eyes softening. “I’ll start with easy questions.”

  She glanced over at him from the corner of her eye. “Like?”

  “Like, what’s your favorite color?”

  She laughed. “You know that.”

  “Maybe it’s changed?”

  “Nope, still pink.”

  He mocked pulling out a pen and paper and straightening an imaginary tie. “Okay, Ms. Avery Lind. You know my first full-time job was at Dollywood. What was your first job out of college?” How was it that he didn’t know such simple things about her?

  “Um,” she said, her fingers clenching and unclenching, “well, I moved back to Marla for a couple of months. After . . .”—she cleared her throat— “after I saved some money, I moved to Nashville. I’ve worked in radio ever since. I did traffic reports and research at my first station. Not super glamorous, for sure.”

  He tugged on her fingers, pulling them straight. “See? Those questions weren’t too hard, right?”

  A smirk pulled at the corner of her lips. “No. Celeste would say you’re asking softball questions. Not a compliment, by the way.”

  He touched his chest, feigning offense. “I’d prefer to call it ‘warming up the guest.’ But I can make it more challenging if you’d like.”

  “Um, okay.”

  Strange that they’d bared themselves to each other, but she was still reticent.

  He pulled the sleeve of her t-shirt up to reveal the tattoo he’d noticed—and kissed—last night. Three birds in stages of taking flight. “This is new. To me, anyway.” He ran a finger over the ink. “Does it have a special meaning?”

  She searched his face, as if seeking an answer to an unreadable question. She sucked in a deep breath and worried her bottom lip.

  “It’s a reminder.”

  “Of?”

  She sat in silence. He could almost hear her warring with herself, debating whether to tell him. “To not forget.”

  She was dancing around the question. “That is the definition of a reminder. What’s so important that you put a permanent reminder on your body?”

  She stood and put a step between them. He could feel her slipping away. He grabbed for her hand. “I’m only asking because Celes
te would expect me to,” he teased quietly.

  A tiny smile danced over her lips. “Well, you know how I feel about disappointing Celeste.”

  He chuckled. “I do.”

  She sighed, resigned. “It’s a reminder that sometimes the right answer is to let things go.”

  “Like?”

  She rubbed her fingers over the three birds and met his gaze. The look in her eyes spoke volumes.

  “Like me?” he whispered, not sure how he wanted her to answer.

  She nodded. “And other things.” She swallowed. Hard. “The first one is for—”

  His phone buzzed and they both jumped. He pulled it out to silence it, because he really, really wanted to know what the birds meant, but a familiar name flashed across the screen.

  “It’s Brad. I really should take this.”

  She nodded, and he was expecting her to be annoyed, but unless his Mac radar was way off, it was relief that flashed across her face.

  He nodded and hit Accept. “Hey, Brad.” He stood and walked back toward the sidewalk.

  “Got your text,” Storyhill’s manager said. “And your request couldn’t have been more serendipitous. I got a call from CTV yesterday. They’d gotten wind of the radio show and want to talk to you about hosting a new singing competition that’s currently in beta.”

  He slapped his thigh. Yes! This is exactly what he’d been hoping for. A gig on national TV? Amy-Lynn would finally be proud of him, be proud to be with him. “That’s awesome.” Wait. “Won’t something like this interfere with touring?”

  “Maybe. Don’t know. But I think you should talk to them. See what the timing is. Even meeting with the execs will help Storyhill’s visibility.” Yes, it would help Storyhill—and him.

  Brad could not have called at a better time. He could tell Amy-Lynn about it right away. And then he’d tell her how he felt. Everything was about to change. For the better.

  “Great, let’s do it.”

  “I’ll get back to them and get a meeting on the calendar. Preferably before you leave on tour.”

  “Sounds good. Just make sure it doesn’t conflict with the radio show.”