Sweet Solace (The Seattle Sound Series Book 1) (5 page)

O
nce the shock wore off
, Dahlia handled herself with the same poise and patience I’d come to expect from her years ago. She offered a few suggestions, but mainly listened, jotting down her notes.

I shook hands with the men before ushering Dahlia from the room. She fell into step beside me, surprising me with her acquiescence. Once we were in the elevator, I turned toward her. She was composed, but the pulse in her neck still beat at a frantic rate.

She hadn’t told me her pseudonym. I didn’t think it was because she was embarrassed by her work. Like I’d told her, as had millions of her fans, she wrote intriguing stories with deep, compelling characters. Something I strove to do with my songs.

Maybe that was the whole of our connection. We both loved words strong enough to evoke images and emotions. It didn’t encompass how much I’d wanted her all those years ago before she started creating her own art. No, I was drawn to her, the woman with sad eyes that shone bright in the moonlight.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Lia Moore?”

She kept her gaze firmly on the floor. “I don’t know.”

“Look at me, Dahlia. Please.” When her eyes hit mine, the punch of awareness was deep. I sucked in a breath. “I keep thinking about you.”

Not what I meant to say, but there it was.

“Maybe this project is a bad idea,” she whispered. She clenched her tote’s strap so hard her knuckles were white. “I mean, I haven’t even written the ending.” Her breathing became more labored, nearly a wheeze. “I don’t know if I can do it in one more book. And getting you involved in my mess seems irresponsible.”

She thought she was irresponsible? She didn’t know half of the mess I’d caused in the last few days, let alone over the past two decades.

The elevator doors opened to a crowded lobby. Before Dahlia could object, I pushed the up button, followed immediately by the close doors button. A man in a suit hurried toward us, waving for me to open the doors. I ignored him.

“I didn’t tell you the full truth the other night either,” I said, fighting the urge to fidget. “That’s not right. Everything I told you was true. I just didn’t tell you the whole story.”

She scooted back into the far corner, her breathing escalating again. I moved close enough to touch her shoulder. I slid my fingers up to the soft skin on her neck, my thumb against her pulse. She melted into me, her body finding its place against mine. I wrapped my other arm around her, holding her there for a minute.

“Jessica and I have been separated, officially, for nearly a year. She instigated it. Had me served.” Dahlia made a noise but didn’t try to pull away. I hoped that was a good sign. “We have the date for our divorce hearing.”

“Asher.” Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know.”

“We’ve managed to keep it fairly quiet. I’m worried about how the split will affect Mason. So far he hasn’t asked any questions, probably because I’m gone so much on tour.” A huge weight lifted from my shoulders, easing the constant tightness there. “See, you need to know you weren’t part of that decision. It’s been made. Was made long before I met you the other night.”

“But you said—”

“I said we were in a bad place. We are. The divorce is going to be difficult. I want custody over Mason. Jessica knows that. She wants money, security. I’d give it to her, but she’s been counseled that she’ll do better financially if she keeps custody.” I unclenched my fists. “I’m pretty screwed there.”

Her mouth softened and her eyes finally came back up to meet mine. “I’m sorry.”

“I want to work with you on this project,” I said. “Not just because I’ll get to see you. That’s a major perk, by the way. But I’ve been transitioning into a more stable work situation. To show I’m capable—and willing—to take on Mason’s school schedule.”

She pulled back, and I let my arms fall to my sides, though I wanted her warmth against me again. Her, there, it felt right.

The door opened and two people entered, deep in discussion. Dahlia and I stood quietly at the back. We rode up another few floors before the pair stepped off, never looking back. I nearly groaned with relief. I didn’t need to deal with a fan right now. I needed to talk to Dahlia without distractions.

“I told you I always thought Doug was a lucky bastard. What I didn’t tell you was how much I loved and hated that you were Doug’s girlfriend.” I scratched the side of my head. “Loved it because you were at so many of the practices. But I wanted to talk to you. I knew I shouldn’t. But I did. I always did.”

The pulse in her neck sped up. She wrapped an arm around her waist. “You can’t say this to me now.”

“I should’ve said it then. I wanted you, Dahlia. I dreamed about you. Fantasized you dumped Doug and slept in my bed.”

Her eyes were huge, her face so pale. I pressed my thumb to that spot at the base of her neck. She inhaled sharply.

“I had to leave,” I said. “The band. I wanted you enough that I was willing to fight for you. I did.”

“What?”

“Doug knew how I felt about you. He taunted me about the fact you’d just moved in with him. How he was going home to you. I went after him but Bill stopped me.” Bill, my best buddy even then. He’d left Cactus Arrow and helped me form the Supernaturals.

The elevator chimed. We were at the top floor. The doors opened. Neither of us moved. We started the descent back to the lobby.

“That’s why I left the band. I was too old for you then. Hell, I’m probably too old for you now. But I always—
always
—wanted you.”

The doors slid open. Four young women entered.

“Oh, my God! You’re Asher Smith,” one squealed.

Turning toward the ladies, I smiled. I managed to sign a paper for each of them, sidestepping their overt offers for a drink and easy sex.

The whole time, Dahlia stood in the corner. Her knuckles white where she gripped her bag, her eyes huge.

She deserved to know she was the one woman who’d stuck with me all these years. Seeing her again had just reinforced how much I wanted her. That desire was still there, buried under the years of poor decisions and too many memories I wished I could forget.

We collected another few people on the elevator. I moved back to stand next to Dahlia. She didn’t move closer this time. She didn’t look at me. I didn’t try to touch her again. Much as I wanted to push for more, Dahlia needed to come to her own conclusions about us.

When we arrived at the lobby, I waited for her to exit the car and followed her to the parking garage. She pulled her keys from her purse, her mouth in a firm line that spelled trouble.

“I’d like to work with you, Asher,” she said, her voice steady. “I want to help you with your son. But I can’t be some ideal. I’m not the same woman I was eighteen years ago.”

“I know that.” But did I? I paused. She’d been my dream for so long. What if the real woman now couldn’t live up to my memories of her?

“I need to go,” she said, her shoulders folded in. I hated seeing her so defeated.

“I want to ask you something. Will you answer me?”

She tugged at the ends of her hair and shuffled back, giving herself the emotional space she was trying to build between us. I got that—it was smart. I was in a bad place emotionally. I shouldn’t push this. I knew I shouldn’t. But like so many of my decisions, I was compelled to push forward.

“Did you feel it, too? The attraction between us? Isn’t that why you liked my music?”

She sucked in a breath. Then another. I stepped in, but she held up her hand. “I’m not panicking.” When she lifted her eyes, they were dark with concern. “Yes. I did. I still do. But I could destroy your chance at custody of your son if I can’t fulfill my contract.” Her pleading eyes met mine. “Let me focus on our career goal first. Please.”

She slid into her SUV and shut the door. I turned toward my car, knowing she wasn’t going to give me anything further right now.

She’d already given me more than I deserved.

“
H
ow’d the meeting go
?” Ella asked when I opened the door.

“Good. I think it’s going to work out well. As long as I can figure out an ending they’ll like for the series.” I tried to stretch out my neck, but it was too tight to find relief. Great, I’d probably end up with a killer headache soon. “Where’s Abbi?”

“She and Jeremiah walked up to the corner market for ice-cream cones. That’s okay, right?” Ella asked, worry filling her eyes when she caught a glimpse of my face.

“Yeah, fine.” But the familiar anxious flutter beat its way upward from my stomach at the thought of Abbi walking through the city unsupervised. I took a deep breath and remembered the feel of Asher’s hands on my cheek, his long, lean body pressed to mine.

Until he’d talked me through those moments, I hadn’t realized how anxious I was all the time. When I thought about him and his whiskey-roughened voice, my pulse slowed and my muscles unclenched enough for me to function.

“She’s careful. More careful than any other sixteen-year-old I know,” Ella said.

I closed my eyes. “That’s because she knows one bad decision can cause death.”

“I’m sorry, Lia. I didn’t think it was a big deal. They were bored, and it’s just to the corner. We walk up there with Jeremiah most weekends. And Abbi’s old enough to drive.”

I smiled, but it felt forced, like a fake attempt at happiness.

“It’ll be fine,” I said. This time I made my voice firm. “I’m glad Jeremiah wanted to hang out with his cousin another day.”

“Are you kidding? He loves Abbi. He cries whenever you leave.”

I needed to change the subject and distract myself. I dropped my bag in my room before heading toward the kitchen. “So Paul, the director, likes Simon’s music. He asked about him specifically for the sound track.”

“Really? That’s bloody brilliant!” Ella hugged me before stepping back. She jumped up and down a few times, her hands clasped under her chin.

I smiled as I opened the fridge. “What did you want for dinner tonight? Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you feel like making, we’ll gladly eat. You know that. Tell me more about the meeting. It went on for hours. How cool is it that you met with HBO execs?”

“They’re planning to make an entire season’s worth of episodes. Well, if I can give them an ending.” I delved deeper into the fridge, needing a moment to settle the emotions twisting in my chest. “I guess that’s abnormal to put so much money into a production at the get-go. But they’re shooting it like a movie. I don’t really understand. Paul, he’s an indie rock geek, wants Asher Smith to do the sound track. Garcia said Asher’s songs complement my writing.”

I pulled out a bunch of packages, set them on the counter.

“Interesting,” Ella said. She hopped onto the island and swung her short legs back and forth. She looked like a teenager sitting there, cheeks flushed with excitement. “You and Asher Smith complementing each other. Simon told me about your night out while we were gone.”

“I knew he’d tattle. Nothing happened.”

“That’s too bad. Asher Smith is scorching.”

“Ella!” I squealed.

“What? He’s always been GQ cover material. I’d let him in my knickers.”

“I don’t know what part of that to address. Did you just say
knickers
?”

“I’m British, darling. Not even your lovely family can change that.”

“I’m glad,” I said, giggling.

“I’ll open a bottle of that gorgeous Rioja you bought, and you can tell me all about how Asher Smith brought you back to the land of the living. I owe that man a debt of gratitude. I haven’t seen you this animated in years.”

“Yes to the Rioja. Paul and Garcia have some fabulous ideas for the series. I’m really excited.” I bit my lip. As long as I didn’t think about the writing. I shook my head. I wanted this—for my career, yes, but also to help Asher. He deserved to be happy, and I’d do what I could to ensure that.

“But?”

“There’s no but.”

Ella made a skeptical sound.

“Asher was at part of the meeting.”

“What? And you’re just getting to this
now
?”

“Look, there aren’t any details to share. This is business. He wants the project so he can have stable work hours for his son.”

I turned away, unable to face Ella’s all-too-knowing eyes. Asher’s words still swirled through my head, just as they had since he’d said them an hour ago.
I always—
always
—wanted you
.

Something more beautiful than panic fluttered through my chest. He didn’t really mean them. He couldn’t. Not when I wanted him to. So badly.

“What about your walk on the beach?” Ella asked.

“We talked. He’s easy to talk to. I’d forgotten that.” I tugged at the ends of my hair. “I told him he should work things out with his wife,” I said in a rush, fighting the familiar anxiety.

Ella slammed the corkscrew down on the counter and turned back toward me, her creamy cheeks cresting with furious color. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

She’d used her teacher’s voice. The one that made an entire room of high schoolers sit up and listen. I was in so much trouble. “No. Why wouldn’t I tell him to work things out with his wife?”

“Because you had the
perfect
opportunity to burn up the sand with him. And we both know you’ve been at least half in love with him for years.”

I always—
always
—wanted you
. I tossed my hair back, glowering. “You’re insane.”

“No, I’m telling you the truth.” She thrust her finger at my chest. “One you don’t want to hear.”

“I’m
not
in love with Asher.”

“Yet.” Ella’s smirk was triumphant.

Why did he have to tell me he’d wanted me for years? Seeing him the other night brought back all those yearnings I’d tamped down. Knowing
now
he’d felt the same . . . I mashed my lips together, hard, to keep from saying something stupid.

My life could’ve been so different.

“He’s the first man since Doug died to make you realize you’re missing life,” Ella continued.

“That’s not true.” I feared, however, Ella was right.

I’d forced down my interest in Asher for years, just as I’d done again the other night. I pressed a hand to my queasy stomach.

“Bollocks. You’re sex-starved. It can’t be good for your brain, let alone other important body parts. At the very least, you could have reestablished a connection with the great O.

“You—I can’t believe you.”

“When was the last time you had sex?” Ella asked.

I pulled out pans I didn’t need. “I’m not answering that.”

“The last time you even mentioned sex was over six years ago, Lia.”

“Doug was sick,” I whispered. But there was more than that. I ran my hands up and down my chilled arms.

“You weren’t, darling. That’s my point.”

“We had good years.”

I hated that I always came back to that. Hated more that the words were a smoke screen to cover up the disaster our relationship had become.

“You loved Doug the way a man can only dream of being loved, better than most women could have. But I’ve seen the look on your face when you’re listening to Asher sing. Why do you think Doug hated him so much?”

“That’s crazy,” I breathed.

But it wasn’t, not after what Asher told me today. Doug had known of Asher’s attraction. He’d known I’d shared it, and he’d used my guilt to keep me pinned in our relationship. If not for Abbi . . .

Ella narrowed her eyes. “I hear how your voice vibrates with passion when you talk about him. You had the opportunity, and you passed on it? I am so angry with you, Lia Dorsey!”

“What’s going on?” Simon asked. He walked over to the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. He glanced back and forth between us, taking in his wife’s ruddy cheeks and firm jaw.

“Ah. You’re discussing Lia’s rock-star boyfriend.”

I gasped. “Simon! He’s a friend. And your wife”—I pointed a finger at her—“is upset I didn’t have sex with him.”

“Course she is. I was worried you would. So, naturally, she’s upset you didn’t.”

I flapped my hand in front of my face in an ineffectual effort to cool my now-burning cheeks. “You two are getting too personal.”

“By pointing out you have feelings for him? Even I have to admit, he’s super cool. A lot mellower than I’d expected him to be,” Simon said.

“He exudes that melancholic sex appeal you favor,” Ella added.

I downed my wine, unwilling to lie. I had feelings for Asher. Strong ones that I’d been trying to hide, both from him and myself.

Now, on top of the fantasies I’d already created, Simon and Ella had stuffed more in my head. Hot flesh, soft lips, and deep release.

I picked up the pepper mill. “Sorry to disappoint you both, but Doug is still the only man I’ve ever slept with.”

“Drink the wine, darling.” Ella refilled my glass. “No need to take your frustrations out on the pepper grinder or that gorgeous steak. We’ll think of something to relieve the tension,” she added, her voice sly.

“Who says I’m tense?” I asked.

Simon and Ella exchanged a glance.

“Lia, even I think it’s time you started dating,” Simon said. He sipped his wine, his gaze steady. “You deserve more than . . . than . . . widowhood. You’re beautiful, funny, smart, and successful. Men are idiots if they don’t see what a catch you are.”

“Date a few,” Ella said. “That doesn’t mean you have to fall in love again. You don’t have to get married.”

“Are you ganging up on me on purpose?” I grumbled.

“Yes,” Ella chirped. “Because we want you to have one of those happy endings you used to write about.”

“There’s a reason I write, Ella. Well, used to write. It’s fiction. Make-believe. In real life, there’s no guarantee for anything other than an ending. I’ve learned they’re rarely happy and most often painful.”

Simon leaned back against the counter and considered me over the rim of his wineglass. “So Lia Moore’s been reduced to bitterness. You know, losing Doug hurt us all.”

“We didn’t lose him,” I interrupted, my voice low and vicious as some of that poisonous anger spilled into my chest. “He can’t come back because he isn’t
lost
. He died. He went skydiving and didn’t open his parachute. He didn’t tell me where he was going, didn’t tell Abbi good-bye. He left me
alone
to raise a broken teenager.”

I bit my lip before more venom spewed out. I turned away. I needed to go. Ella placed her hand on my shoulder. Grief and anger tangled with the panic pounding through my chest. I wanted Asher’s arms around me, his voice whispering in my hair. I wanted what I couldn’t have.

When would I learn?

“You should be angry, Lia. We’ve been waiting for it. Grieve what you lost. Please.”

My shoulders fell inward as the fight went out of me. “Doug took the choice from me, so why should I mourn him?”

“Be angry with him,” Simon said. “I am, too. For hurting you and Abbi, for not talking to any of us about how he was doing. But, totally separate from Doug’s death, you deserve to find someone to share your life with.”

“I don’t see the point of trying again. Most loves don’t last. They might not end as dramatically as mine, but they end—in divorce or a car accident or cancer or cirrhosis of the liver.”

“You love because it’s worth the risk,” Ella said. “You know that better than anyone.”

“Don’t quit believing in something beautiful just because Doug fucked it up.” Simon set his glass on the counter. He held my stare. “He fucked up, Lia. Bad.”

He had. Worse than Simon knew.

Simon leaned over to peck Ella’s cheek. “I’ll walk up and see what’s keeping the kids.”

I stared at his back, so similar to Doug’s, and the piece of me that had broken through the bubble when I took Asher’s hand at the bar shattered. I leaned forward, struggling to get enough air. No good. The grief and anger weren’t contained any longer. They spread through my chest, outward to my limbs, up to my brain.

And then the image I’d buried deep bubbled up: Doug looking down at baby Abbi, his smile so proud on his young face.
“I’m going to love her better than any other man ever could, so she’ll keep feeling it even after I’m gone. Like I love you.”

I missed what we’d had then, during the good years before unwarranted jealousy and sickness broke us. I missed feeling wanted.

Hands pressed to my mouth, I tried to breathe myself back to safety.
I wasn’t doing this.

The Doug who’d killed himself hadn’t been the Doug who’d loved Abbi and me.

“What is it?” Ella asked, gripping my hand.

I shook her off. “Just tired.”

I turned on my heel and walked quickly to the bedroom. I fell onto the bed and struggled to contain my breathing. Bad idea. I needed to get up and keep going or let the anger pull me all the way under.

No way was I giving Doug the satisfaction of knowing I was still broken. Even if he was dead . . . No, he hadn’t broken me. Not completely.

So I got up. Cooked dinner. Drank too much wine.

Later, I struggled to stop the few silent tears that slid past my tightly shut eyes when I finally went to bed. And I hated my weakness nearly as much as I hated what Doug had turned me into.