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

by Annmarie Boyle

  He stared at her for a beat. “A benefit of knowing Grace O’Connor, Avery.”

  Ouch, he really punched her stage name.

  “It has nothing to do with being Matt Taylor.” He tried to sound self-deprecating, but she heard the reproach in his voice.

  “That’s right,” she said, trying to keep her voice airy and light. “I’d forgotten Grace co-wrote the album. Sounds like, from your interview with her, that she has successfully made the move from pop to country.”

  Matt held her gaze and cocked a single eyebrow. “Grace knows who she is and isn’t afraid to show up as herself. That plays in any genre.”

  She dropped his gaze and squirmed in her perfectly comfortable chair. “Right. Even more reason to tune in Thursday morning to hear the album. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Today is about Devin Penney.” She double-checked her screen to make sure the music was cued up. “Let’s listen to the title track from her latest album. And be sure to come back after the break when we’ll be talking to the singer. Send any questions you have for Devin to @TheAveryLindShow or email booth@ALShow.”

  The on-air light went dark, and Avery pushed her headphones down around her neck. “Was that a thinly veiled message aimed at me?”

  “Nope,” he said, still not looking at her. He punched the intercom. “Ajay, how much time do we have?”

  “Seven minutes, mate.”

  Mate? Avery looked between the two men. When did they become mates?

  Matt stood, laying his headphones on the desk. “I need to use the restroom and answer a text. I’ll be back. And Avery, sorry about being late this morning.”

  With that, he left the studio. She never thought she’d ache to be called Amy-Lynn again. She tried to convince herself—again—he was just being professional, but it wasn’t working. She knew she’d blundered with her accusations, but she’d apologized. Mostly.

  In the past, he’d always been free with his forgiveness. She sighed. It was dangerous to keep thinking that Matt Taylor the man was the same person as Matt Taylor the boy.

  Was Momma right? Had she said those things specifically to put distance between them?

  Did it matter?

  If he didn’t bolt after she told him the truth, he only had nine shows—eight, after this one wrapped—left before he went on tour. A sadness settled deep in her belly.

  Dammit. This was why having Matt co-host was a bad idea from the beginning. Good or bad, he was a distraction. To her job. To her schedule. To her heart.

  Matt re-entered the studio as Ajay announced Devin Penney was patched in. She needed to put all this aside. And remind herself of her number one priority: making this show a smash success.

  After the longest four hours of his life, Matt followed Amy-Lynn down the hallway. His eyes kept dropping to the sway of her hips. His fingers twitched. It took everything in him not to reach out and settle his hand on her hip. Apparently, his body didn’t understand he was angry with her.

  Amy-Lynn stopped, and he ran into her, his front plastered to her back. The warmth generated between them was instantaneous. He hadn’t noticed they’d reached Celeste’s office. Why did she have to be so distracting?

  She shot a look at him over her shoulder and knocked on the door frame.

  “Come in. Please sit,” Celeste said, motioning to the chairs in front of her desk. “The show sounded good today.”

  Matt snorted, and Amy-Lynn shot him a death glare. He shrugged and rolled his eyes. He thought the show had sounded stilted, forced. But maybe that was just the way he’d been feeling.

  Celeste jotted down a few things on a towering stack of paper before placing her notes in a color-coded three-ring binder. Who knew they made tabs in so many colors? He was beginning to understand why these two women worked together so effectively.

  She grabbed a blue and black folder from the credenza behind her and opened it. “You know I’ve been working to get the show more exposure, and a unique opportunity has popped up.” Celeste turned the promotional folder to face them. “Have you both heard of the Wounded Warrior Project?”

  Matt looked out of the corner of his eye, watching for Amy-Lynn’s reaction. He guessed, given her history, veterans’ issues could be a trigger for her. Her fingers tightened over the edge of her chair’s armrests, but her expression remained placid.

  “Yes,” they said in unison.

  Celeste tapped a pen on the left side of the folder. It appeared to be a printout of an email. “A wounded vet has recently been transferred from Walter Reed to a local military hospital to be closer to his family as he recuperates. The Wounded Warrior Project is involved with him on several levels, and he mentioned being a fan of the show. They’ve asked if you’d visit him in the hospital and take a few photos.”

  “Both of us?” Matt asked. He had to admit he’d been enjoying not being “face forward” and Amy-Lynn’s comments over the weekend had only intensified his feelings.

  “Yes,” Celeste said, nodding. “It feels like a win-win-win situation. It’s excellent publicity for the charity and the show. And we’ll make sure the PR people know you are a member of Storyhill,” she said, lifting her pen and pointing at Matt. “What do you think?”

  Matt’s emotions ping-ponged in his chest. He wanted some space from Amy-Lynn. But he respected this organization. And, irritated or not, there was no way he was letting her deal with a wounded veteran on her own.

  Matt jumped as Donna Summer’s voice suddenly filled the room. Celeste’s phone was playing “She Works Hard for the Money.” Matt chuckled. Of course, it was. When she reached to silence it, Matt leaned toward Amy-Lynn, lowering his voice. “Will this be too hard for you?” He wouldn’t answer Celeste until Amy-Lynn gave him the go-ahead.

  Her eyes fluttered to him. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “Sounds great, Celeste.”

  “I guess I should ask when it is,” Matt said, “just to make sure I don’t have any conflicts.”

  “Wednesday. I built some time in for you to grab lunch, but they want you at the hospital right after that. That’s the best time of day for the soldier. He’s just been transferred here and is still working through some substantial injuries—I guess he’s a bit of a miracle. They weren’t sure he would survive.”

  Amy-Lynn flinched and curled her fingers into fists. Everything in Matt wanted to wrap her in his arms like he had when she confessed feeling responsible for her father’s death. He wanted to tell her he’d keep her safe. And that she didn’t need to do this. Celeste would understand. Unless Celeste didn’t know Amy-Lynn’s history?

  He reached for her hand, and she tersely shook her head. Irritation flared. His chin dropped to his chest. Yep. Emotional rollercoaster.

  “Can you send us the details via email?” When Amy-Lynn finally spoke, it came out strong and steady. And people thought he was the actor.

  Celeste nodded and turned her attention to him. “Work for you?”

  “I have practice this afternoon and Thursday, but Wednesday looks open,” he said, consulting his calendar. Looking at his phone was a formality. He would have cleared his schedule for this. For her.

  “Great!” Celeste said. “I’ll send you all the information. Thanks for doing this.”

  Matt slid to the edge of his chair, his elbow grazing Amy-Lynn’s. The single soft contact made his body yell, ‘Yippee!’ while his mind chastised, ‘this is the reason you shouldn’t have slept with her. You’ve got no willpower when it comes to her.’ He really needed some space.

  “Is that everything, Celeste? I have to get to practice.”

  “That’s it,” Celeste answered. “Let me know if you come up with any questions.”

  Matt nodded and exited the office, heading toward the door.

  “Matt,” Avery called from behind him.

  He stopped and turned back to her. His heart, and parts lower, clenched. “Yes?”

  “Do you think we should talk about what happened this weekend?”

 
; “The sex or your feelings about me being the living embodiment of a Ken doll?” He knew he was being unfairly harsh—and clearly cashing in his tickets for a second ride on the emotional rollercoaster.

  “I don’t think you’re a Ken doll. Sometimes stress makes me say stupid things. Momma thinks I’m trying to drive a wedge between us.”

  “Are you?”

  She transferred her weight from her right foot to her left and back again. “I don’t know. Everything this weekend was so intense. I didn’t expect that to happen. And I didn’t expect all the feelings that came with it. It scared me.”

  A little of the ice around his heart melted. “It scared me too. And it would have been so much easier if you’d simply told me that.”

  “I know,” she whispered. She looked over his shoulder. “Can we talk about it over lunch?”

  He wanted that. He did. But. “I’m expected at practice, and our weekly meeting, in thirty minutes.”

  Her gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Mac,” he said, putting a finger under her chin and tipping her face back up. “I agree we need to talk, and I don’t want to rush it. And honestly, I’m not in the right place to talk yet. What you said yesterday really threw me. Raincheck?”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

  “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “And I’ll be on time.”

  She reached out but pulled her hand back. She tried for a smile, but it withered before it really got started. “Bye Matt. Have a good practice.”

  He nodded and turned to leave. Screw it. He spun back around and brushed his lips over hers. He couldn’t help it. Even with bruised feelings. Even standing inside their place of employment.

  “Goodbye, Mac,” he said, smirking at her stunned expression. No need for only one of them to feel unbalanced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’m here, Avery texted Matt from the parking lot outside his building.

  Be right down.

  Only five shows to go. After the uncomfortableness of Monday, yesterday and today’s shows went smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, she was wondering what returning to just her and Ajay in the studio was going to be like.

  And what life outside the studio was going to be like, too.

  She jumped when Matt opened the car door.

  “You were expecting me, right?” he asked, chuckling at her physical response.

  She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel in beats of three. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

  His eyes followed the motion. “You worried about this appearance?”

  Her fingers stopped mid-beat and she curled them in. Her thumb tapped the final two beats against her fingers. “Not really.”

  “Have you interacted much with vets?” he asked tentatively.

  “No.” She put the car in reverse, checking her mirrors. “But not because I’ve avoided it. More because it’s never come up before.”

  “Do you do much charity work?”

  She hesitated, pulling out into the traffic. “A little. How about you?”

  “Nothing really on my own. I’d like to do more, but my schedule is tough with all the travel. Storyhill makes regular contributions to MusiCares and Blake does a lot of work with a few animal charities in New York City. I’ve joined him a couple of times. It’s pretty cool. Do you donate time or money?”

  “Both,” she said, turning left, following the GPS instructions. She reminded herself he wasn’t digging, just making conversation. Still, what happened to the ‘what’s your favorite color’ type questions?

  “Anywhere specific?”

  She didn’t want to answer the question. But it wouldn’t take long for him to realize she was avoiding the question. “Women’s shelters and transitional housing, mostly.”

  “That’s great. What made you choose those types of organizations?”

  Penance.

  She shrugged. “There’s just something about helping women and families find a new beginning.”

  He nodded. “Admirable.”

  Not the word she’d have chosen. But she couldn’t very well tell him she too had once needed a new beginning. Not without opening a can of worms.

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “We’re here.” Thankfully. She flipped her phone over. “And right on time, they’re expecting us in five minutes.”

  “We’re here to see Wayne Massey,” Avery said to the young receptionist sitting behind a large mahogany desk inside the front door. “Avery Lind and Matt Taylor.”

  She smiled. “I know who you are,” she said shyly.

  Avery smiled and opened her mouth to say thank you.

  “I was at the concert at the Ryman. I just started medical school and don’t get out much, but I couldn’t miss Storyhill. You guys were amazing.”

  Avery’s smile faded and she mentally rolled her eyes.

  The young woman looked side-to-side and leaned into the desk’s raised counter. “I’ll probably get in trouble for this, but could I have your autograph?”

  Matt laughed and winked at her. “It’ll be our secret.”

  The poor girl looked like she might pass out.

  He scrawled his signature across her notebook and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” she wheezed out.

  Avery shoved an elbow into Matt’s ribs.

  “You’re welcome, Jenny,” he said, reading her nametag. “Would you give us directions to Mr. Massey’s room, please?”

  “Of course.” She clicked the space bar on the large desktop computer. “The staff sergeant is in room B125. Down the hall. Take two lefts.”

  Staff sergeant? Same rank as her father. Avery closed her eyes and sucked in a ragged breath. She could do this. Her father had been gone for fifteen years. And this was an entirely different situation.

  Matt rapped on the desk. “Thanks Jenny. And thanks for coming to the concert. Have a good day.”

  She smiled, went pink again, and nodded vigorously.

  “We should go, Matt,” Avery said. The sooner they got started, the sooner this would be over. Plus, she didn’t have it in her to watch another woman fawn all over Matt.

  Was she jealous? Seemed so. Surprising. She’d never been jealous in the past.

  Maybe that’s because you knew where you stood then, and now, you have no idea.

  “Mac?” Matt said, watching her closely.

  “Huh?” She shook the thoughts out of her head. “Yes. Yes. Ready. Let’s go.”

  They followed the receptionist’s directions and wound through the halls, locating the staff sergeant’s room. The plain white door served as a backdrop to a sign with a rainbow of sliders protruding from it. Fall risk. No Flowers. Visitors must check-in at reception. No Latex. No outside food and drink.

  “That’s a lot of rules,” Matt said, staring at the sign.

  She chuckled and some of the tension slipped from her shoulders. The Matt Taylor she remembered had an aversion to rules. “Well, unless you have pockets full of posies and peanut butter cups, I think we’re good.”

  He laughed, turning out his pockets. “I’m clean.” He knocked and a quiet “Enter” welcomed them in.

  Staff Sergeant Massey was propped up in his bed, one arm in a sling, one leg missing. Avery swallowed. She would honor her father’s memory by being strong. He would want that. He would want her to honor this man’s service.

  Matt ran a hand down her spine and stepped forward. “Matt Taylor,” he said, reaching out his hand, “and this, which you likely already know, is Avery Lind. We heard you’re a fan of Avery’s show and want to thank you for your service.”

  Avery was suddenly very thankful not to be doing this alone. Having Matt here gave her space to collect herself. She’d teased him a lot, but his smooth, charming personality had its uses.

  The soldier’s smile broadened. “Nurses told me you might pay me a visit. This is turning into a big day for me.”

  “Were you also asked whether a photographer
would be okay?” Matt continued. She should be the one asking the questions. And she would as soon as she could catch her breath.

  Sergeant Massey nodded. “Wounded Warrior Project, right?”

  “That’s correct,” Avery said, finding her voice.

  “Ma’am,” Sergeant Massey said, looking at Avery, “your show was broadcast over American Forces Network. You’ve got a lot of fans in the military. You can’t imagine how much hearing something like your show helps.”

  “Really?” Avery asked, overcome with emotion. She never imagined she could be of assistance to soldiers, to men and women like her father.

  “Really. It gets us through the tough times, provides a slice of home, and gives us something to do in the down times. Sometimes those long stretches with little activity can be the hardest. Gives us too much time to think.”

  She wanted to ask about his injuries, but how did one do that tactfully? “You were stationed in Afghanistan?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “There’s no need for ‘ma’am.’ Avery will do.”

  “Avery,” he repeated with a smile.

  Matt laughed. “You clearly rank higher than me. She still makes me call her ma’am.”

  Sergeant Massey chuckled. “I’m guessing it’s not my rank, but this sexy hospital gown.”

  Avery smirked. “You got me. Baggy, backless sleep shirts and the faint smell of antiseptic are my weaknesses.”

  The soldier sobered. “Thanks for not ignoring the elephant in the room. Most people have no idea what to say to me. And certainly don’t feel free to make jokes.”

  The corners of Matt’s lips switched. “Enjoy it, sir. Avery Lind jokes are a rare sighting.”

  “Then I’ll take it for the gift it is.”

  Avery smiled but before she could say more, the photographer hired by WWP stepped into the room and after introducing himself, took a few photos, got a statement from the staff sergeant and one from Avery and Matt.

  The photographer stepped toward the door but was blocked by a nurse pushing a wheelchair. A woman sat in the chair holding a baby that couldn’t have more than a day or two old.