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

by Annmarie Boyle

  The staff sergeant beamed. “See what I mean about this shaping up to be a great day?” he said to Matt and Avery. “That, there, is the reason I was transferred from Walter Reed. Matt, Avery, this is my wife, Laurie Massey, and the daughter I thought I’d never meet.”

  Avery stepped back, and her pulse jumped. The child he never thought he’d get to meet. Her breath quickened. Her fingers tingled. Her stomach spun. She needed to get out of this room before she had a full-blown panic attack.

  Her eyes flew to the door. Getting there meant conquering a medical-themed obstacle course. It was a small room, and she’d have to get around a giant hospital bed, the wheelchair, the nurse, and the photographer, who had the camera back up in front of his face.

  Mrs. Massey looked at Matt. “Are you afraid of babies?”

  “Not unless they need changing,” he quipped.

  She laughed. “Can you hand Olivia to my husband?”

  “It’s okay?” Matt asked the nurse. She nodded.

  Matt reached for the baby, and Avery’s knees almost buckled. She felt like a rocket on the launchpad, and the countdown was on.

  Matt laid the newborn on the staff sergeant’s healthy arm, and both men’s eyes were wet.

  “Excuse me,” Avery blurted out, maneuvering herself around medical equipment and people. She needed air and fast. She got out of the room and collapsed against the wall, sliding down until her butt hit the floor.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Calm down, Avery. Think of the last three things she saw. She rocked. That wouldn’t help. The last three things she ate. Bacon Cheeseburger. French fries. Diet Coke. The last three three things . . .

  Suddenly, Matt was next to her, pulling her into him. “I suspected this would be too hard for you.”

  “You did?” she choked out.

  “A staff sergeant deployed to the Middle East? You’d have so many memories. Painful ones. And then when his family came in. More memories of losing your father while he was so far away and not having a chance to say good-bye.”

  As terrible as it sounded, she wished it were that.

  A nurse came down the hallway and stopped. “Are you okay?” she asked Avery.

  “Hospital smells do this to her every time,” Matt said, showering the nurse with his signature smile. “I tried to warn her, but she never listens.” He shrugged and winked at the nurse, who turned the color of a ripe raspberry. “She just needs a couple of minutes and she’ll be fine.” The nurse nodded and walked off.

  She rubbed her forehead, willing away an emerging headache. “You don’t have to keep making excuses for me. I can handle things.”

  “Baby, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I’m not saving you, just offering a helping hand. It’s what friends do.”

  “We’re friends again?” she said, trying to steady her breathing and voice.

  “We never stopped being friends. I was just upset. Friends get upset with each other once in a while.” He brushed the hair from her face. “And I’d be lying if I didn’t hope we could be more than friends.”

  God, how she wanted that. But she knew it wasn’t possible—not until she cleared the air.

  “Think you’re okay to stand?”

  She nodded, and he helped her into a standing position.

  “Okay?” he asked, bending to look directly into her eyes.

  “Okay,” she answered.

  “Think you can come back into the room with me?”

  She looked at him. “Is his baby—I mean, his family—still in there?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

  Avery dropped her eyes. She needed to power through this.

  “I think the photographer got everything he needed. We only need to say goodbye. He’ll want to spend this time with his family. Sixty seconds, Mac. That’s all it will take.”

  She could do sixty seconds. She’d do it for the job. And to show Matt she wasn’t a complete basket case. “Okay,” she repeated. You’d never know she made her living speaking. She couldn’t manage more than one-word answers.

  Avery calmed with every step away from the soldier’s room. They’d made their excuses and he’d thanked them profusely for coming. She forced her attention on the soldier, avoiding looking around the room, and they’d been able to exit gracefully.

  They climbed into her car.

  “Do you want me to drive?” Matt asked, concern still lining his face.

  “I’m fine now.” Well, mostly fine. Dammit, she couldn’t keep doing this. “Matt, can you have dinner with me?”

  He smiled. “I’d love that, but I have plans tonight.”

  “A date?” The question blurted out before she could stop it.

  “Why? You jealous?”

  “No,” she lied.

  He reached for the hand that clutched the console between them and slowly ran his fingers over her knuckles. “I think it’s time for us to be honest with each other, Mac.”

  Her eyes flashed to his. “What?” Here? Now? The fear that consumed her in the hospital room rushed back.

  “I meant it earlier when I said I wished for more than friendship. We’re good together. The show feels natural. Being together feels good. And what happened the other night wasn’t just two people fumbling toward release.”

  “It wasn’t?” Again, so eloquent with the words, Avery.

  “No, it was the intimate love making of two people who once knew everything about each other. I think you felt it, too.”

  Whoa. Maybe he should be the one making his living with words.

  “I want more,” he admitted. “I want to try again. But I don’t want to go any further until I know if you’d consider the possibility. I don’t think I can sustain another broken heart.”

  Now would be the time to tell him. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it, sitting in her car, in a hospital parking ramp. “But you’re still going to be traveling all the time.” She’d fallen back on the same bogus excuse she’d used all those years ago.

  And his face said he knew she wasn’t being honest.

  He sighed. “Do you know why I agreed to do this radio gig, Mac?”

  She dropped her gaze, staring at his knees. “Exposure for Storyhill.”

  He lifted her chin. “Yes, but more than that, I wanted to do something that didn’t involve my face. I thought it would be a way to show everyone that there is more to me than a pretty package.”

  “Oh, Matt.” Lines creased her forehead. How was it that someone so skilled couldn’t see his own talents?

  “That’s the reason I said yes, but the reason I stayed was you.”

  Her eyes flashed wide. “Me?”

  “Yes. When you left me, I was destroyed. And everything in me said you weren’t being one hundred percent honest with me. I told myself if I ever got the chance to talk to you about it, I’d get to the bottom of it.” He studied his fingers.

  She tried to say something, but nothing came.

  “I wanted to show you that I was worthy of you. I wanted to kick this radio thing out of the park so you’d see I was the kind of man you could count on—that I have skills and abilities. That we could be equal partners. If I did that, you’d stop doubting me.”

  Oh my god. It suddenly became crystal clear to her. He thought she broke up with him because he wasn’t enough. That’s why he kept repeating things like ‘all flash and no substance.’

  How had she not seen this? He’d always hated it when people thought all he needed was his looks. She knew that. And she’d played right into it. He hadn’t bought her reasons for breaking up with him—and he’d carried the burden of thinking she thought so little of him. For nine years.

  Enough. She was going to tell him. And if he walked away from her, so be it. At least he’d know she had always believed in him.

  She reached over and squeezed his fingers. “We need to talk. But not here. Tomorrow after the show?”

  “I won’t be in the studio tomorrow—it’s the day I negotiated off
, remember? I have a full day with Storyhill tomorrow. It’s our second to last practice before we leave on tour.”

  “Right,” she said, nodding. “I forgot about that. Lunch after the show on Friday? Come to my house. I’ll cook. Momma and Jess will be at work. We’ll have the house to ourselves. We’ll talk and afterwards if you still want to give us a shot, I’m in.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Matt. Just because we broke up doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you.”

  He leaned over the console and placed a kiss right below her ear and whispered, “I never stopped loving you, Mac.”

  She sucked that in and pushed it into a safe space in her heart. She’d keep it close if he walked away. A speck of hope bubbled up. He seemed to want her. He just admitted he still loved her. Maybe after she explained, he would understand—or try to.

  When he slid back into his seat, she started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. “So, lunch on Friday?”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “Friday lunch.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Matt let himself into the practice space Grace had arranged. Apparently, it was all about who you knew. He scanned the space. Overlapping Persian rugs covered the pine floor, and a stone wall ran the length of the space. There was no doubt it had been a warehouse before the current owners carved it up into studios for musicians, visual artists, and writers.

  He was early, but he’d been pacing around his apartment. He’d become so used to being at the station on weekday mornings, he didn’t know quite what to do with himself.

  A single guitar was hanging from the wall. Having seen better days, it was for decoration, not playing. But he pulled it from the wall, strummed the strings, and did his best to tune it.

  The strings felt rough on his fingers. He flipped over his right hand. The calluses he’d worked so hard for were gone. It had been years since he’d picked up an instrument to do anything but figure out a few chord progressions.

  Gone were the hours he’d spent playing. Working out his feelings with nothing but a pick and a pen.

  Storyhill didn’t use instruments. That was his excuse.

  The real reason was more complicated. He’d played every free moment after Amy-Lynn left him. The guitar became synonymous with heartbreak and as the years passed, he picked it up less and less.

  And there was the fact that he’d let the show get too big. He’d become wrapped up in the performance, in his brand, and the purity of the music had faded.

  He didn’t want the heartbreak back, but he did need to reconnect with the guy who left for Pigeon Forge—who used music as solace rather than solution. The guy who performed for the love of it.

  Amy-Lynn’s comments made him realize that.

  He couldn’t get angry about people making assumptions when he’d been using the very things he claimed to hate.

  He hung the beat-up guitar back on its pegs and scrubbed a hand down his face. Time between tours usually meant down-time. Unpacking his bag. Sleeping in his own bed. Outside of the concert at the Ryman—which felt like a lifetime ago—relaxation was the priority.

  But instead, he’d chased a chance to prove himself. And run headlong into a brick wall of memories. And unresolved feelings. And so many unanswered questions.

  “Mattie!” Blake yelled, letting the heavy steel door slam behind him.

  Matt jumped, and his hand flew to his chest. “Having a heart attack was not on my to-do list today. Holy shit.”

  Blake laughed and clapped Matt on the shoulder. “You the only one here?”

  Matt held up a hand, motioning to the emptiness. “It appears so.”

  Blake let a large duffel drop to the floor. The sound reverberated through the cavernous space.

  “What you got in there? A dead body?”

  Blake smirked. “Props.”

  Matt groaned. “For what?”

  “You’ll see.” His smirk turned into a full-blown grin. “Let’s just say, they’ll help you return to your roots.”

  “Oh, hell no, Blake. I am not dressing up as a pirate ever again.” Matt pursed his lips and shook his head.

  “Someone role playing in the bedroom again? Who’s the lucky sea wench, Mattie?” Andrew said, walking in, an eyebrow climbing his forehead.

  “Seriously, dude, you really need to stop arriving mid-conversation.” Matt blew out a breath. “Blake brought props.”

  “That’s a hard no,” Andrew said.

  Matt lifted his hands out to his side and dipped his head in a mock bow. “Thank you. That’s what I said.”

  “But—” Blake stammered.

  “No, buts. Joe and Nick are right behind me. Let’s get these numbers blocked and get out of here.”

  Matt stumbled through the blocking of the last song—again. It was like his brain couldn’t handle one more thing.

  “Mattie,” Andrew grumbled, “you still with us? I have a beautiful fiancé I want to get back to and that’s going to be impossible if your head’s no longer in the game.”

  “I think a beautiful woman is likely his issue, too,” Blake said, biting back a smile.

  “Hilarious,” Matt growled.

  “Wow, dude,” Joe said. “I didn’t even know your voice went that low.” Joe swung his head from one band member to the next, his eyes wide. “It’s definitely a woman.”

  “Or he’s finally going through puberty,” Nick deadpanned.

  Joe walked to Matt and threw his arm around Matt’s shoulder. “Tell Uncle Joe all about it.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “You are four years older than me. Hardly puts you in the ‘uncle’ category.”

  “Yes, but I’ve been married forever.”

  “Exactly why you’re not the one to give advice.” Matt looked up at the rest of the group and pointed his finger at each man. “And I’m not taking advice from any of you other dopey dwarfs either.”

  “Dopey dwarfs?” Andrew asked, smirking.

  “Yeah. Happy,” he pointed at Andrew. “And Resentful,” pointing at Nick. “And Unwilling,” he finished, pointing at Blake.

  “Hey,” Blake retorted, his palms out in surrender. “I’m not unwilling.”

  “I’m not talking about your dick. I’m talking about your heart,” Matt retorted.

  Andrew laughed. “He’s got you there.”

  Blake shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, we can’t all walk around dripping with sappy love. We’re all tiring of your blissed-out attitude, Andrew.”

  “Hey Joe,” Andrew called over his shoulder. “You tired of my happiness?”

  “Naw,” Joe said. “It’s been a long time coming.”

  “How about you, Resentful?” Andrew shot a look at Nick.

  Nick sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. “While I’d rather be practicing than doing this, no, I’d like to think if Andrew can find love, it can happen to any of us.”

  Andrew laughed. “Guess it’s just you, Unwilling.”

  “How’d this become about me?” Blake said. “Matt’s the one acting like it’s his first day. Whatever it is, Mattie, get it off your chest so we can get out of here.”

  Matt walked in a circle and rubbed his temples. “I think she loves me.”

  “Avery?” Blake asked.

  Matt snorted. “Yes, you idiot, Avery.”

  “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Joe said, his expression turning serious. “Do you not feel the same way?”

  Matt fisted a hand in his hair, making it stand straight up. “I’ve loved her since high school.”

  “So the problem is?” Andrew asked.

  “She’s hesitant to admit it or even to give us another chance to see if we still work.” He thought about how she kept trying to talk to him and how they kept getting interrupted. And each time he’d been relieved. He knew he was being a coward, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t like what she had to say.

  “And you’re hesitant to trust her again,” Nick said. “I get that
,” he mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.

  Matt’s head snapped up. He’d been telling himself it was because he wanted resolution of the past, but Nick was right. “My gut is screaming that there’s still a wall between us. And I guess I’m unwilling to give her my whole heart until I figure that out.”

  Blake laughed. “Did you just say you are Unwilling?”

  Matt rolled his eyes and threw one of the absurd props at Blake. “You’re a comedian today.”

  Andrew picked up the foam sword that Blake insisted they use while singing their medley of sea shanties. He poked it into Matt’s stomach. “If I learned anything in the past few months it’s that you need to talk about it—not with us, but with her.”

  Matt nodded. “Yeah. We’re having lunch after the show tomorrow, and she promised we’d talk.”

  “That’s good,” Andrew said.

  “Is it terrible to admit I’m scared out of my mind? What if she yanks my heart out and stomps on it again?”

  “Then you have your answer,” Nick said. “The only thing worse than having your heart stomped on is having no answers at all.”

  Matt looked at his buddy and realized, for the first time, they’d been in the same boat all this time.

  “All right, dopey dwarfs, thanks, let’s finish this song and wrap things up,” Matt said.

  Avery sipped her coffee and confirmed her show notes were in the proper order. For the third time. If she went through them enough times, maybe she’d forget what waited for her after the show.

  “Two weeks down. Only four shows left after today,” Celeste said, popping her head into the studio, causing Avery to jump. “Pretty soon you’ll have all this back to yourself. You excited?”

  No. Not even a little bit.

  She’d been so focused on getting here, to a place where she could support everyone in her life, that she never even considered having a co-host. She had to admit she liked it. Someone to riff with, someone to laugh with, someone to support her on the days where she felt weighed down.

  But would any co-host do that, or was it just Matt?