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Nate didn’t have any luck tracking down the girl he’d brought back to his room. She’d just been one of the faceless hangers-on who liked to party after the concerts. He’d been twenty-three and the wake-up call had changed his life. He took a break from the band and returned home to Las Vegas, where he’d spent the next twelve months writing music.
It hadn’t been an easy time. For the first two month
s neither the words nor the music would flow. The urge to lose himself in alcohol or drugs had been a constant nagging presence. Much of the songwriting he’d done to that point had been while he was under the influence. He was afraid he didn’t know how to write any other way. At that time his mom had still been living in Las Vegas. Being around her kept him from backsliding. He had only to look at her to remember how his father had gone after her with fists and eventually a knife.
At long last the music came more easily. The words took a lot longer. What he wanted to say came from his pain and his isolation and his sense of failure. These were not easy places to visit. He’d never really come to terms with the young boy who’d been too afraid to defend his mother. While a rational part of him knew it was ridiculous to expect a kid to take on a drunk, belligerent adult with a murderous temper, Nate knew there were things he should have done.
Like tell someone. His teacher. A cop. Anyone who could help. His mom had never learned to read lips and had had a hard time communicating. Nate became her voice from the time he could speak. But when it counted, he hadn’t spoken for her.
“Are you hungry?” Mia asked. “I can heat up some soup. I brought you some of my famous chicken broth. And I have Throat Coat tea with honey.”
Nate gazed up at her in bemusement. If this was what it felt like to be the beneficiary of Mia’s nurturing, no wonder Ivy kept her sister on such a tight leash. How wonderful to have someone so focused on your every need.
I could get used to having you around all the time, he thought, but instead signed. “I’m hungry.”
He hadn’t noticed his empty stomach until Mia mentioned the soup. The thought of eating something she’d prepared with her lovely hands made him smile.
“What?” she asked, taking in his expression.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Well, don’t get used to it,” she teased, heading to the fridge once more. “You only get me for three days.”
She busied herself pulling out a plastic container and ladling soup into a bowl. The suite had only the bare minimum of supplies—a coffeemaker, cups and a microwave, in addition to the small refrigerator—but somehow Mia presented a lovely tray with silverware, a linen napkin and even a tiny vase with a daisy in it.
“All this for me?” he signed as she placed the tray on his lap.
“Eat what you can. And there’s vanilla and caramel gelato for dessert if you think you can manage it.”
Instead of joining him on the couch, she sat in a chair nearby and watched him like a hawk as he tasted the soup. “Is it okay? Not too bland?”
“It’s delicious.”
“You should be able to switch to thicker liquids and soft foods tomorrow. Maybe some creamy cauliflower or broccoli soup?” He’d once told her he hated any sort of pureed vegetable, and wondered if she was taking perverse pleasure in his situation. When he scowled at her, she laughed. “Macaroni and cheese?”
“Better.” And then, since he had her full attention, he added, “It means a lot to me that you’re here.”
* * *
Mia drew her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible. He would have no idea how much his heartfelt words meant to her. Actually, it wasn’t his words as much as the look in his eyes that warmed her from the tips of her fingers down to her toes. In the weeks they’d spent apart, she didn’t remember ever feeling so alone and empty.
“We promised to be there for each other always,” she reminded him, proud that she sounded so steady. He couldn’t know what a struggle it was for her to keep from throwing herself into his arms and confessing how miserable she’d been without him. “What sort of friend would I be if I let you go through this alone?”
She knew Nate had trained himself to catch all sorts of subtle nuances in a singer’s voice: pitch, strain, emotion. And he could do the same with her. While on tour, it had been pretty obvious that she’d been an open book to him. And he’d capitalized. If it had been another man, Mia might have worried that she was being manipulated into falling into bed. But Nate was a straight arrow. Not one person in the industry had anything but glowing comments about him, personally or professionally.
“We did promise.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Which brings me to something I spoke to your father about last night. How would you feel about acting as my translator for the next month until I get my voice back?”
How would she feel? Thrilled. Honored. Slightly terrified. Spending an extended amount of time with him, she was bound to let slip that she was massively crazy about him. Would she have the strength to stick by her original decision if once again he demanded she choose between him and her sister?
The way things were with Ivy at the moment, Mia couldn’t leave her. But the opportunity to sit beside Nate while he worked his magic on Ivy’s album was worth the risk.
“You talked to my father about this?”
“I wanted to make sure you couldn’t use your sister as an excuse to turn me down.”
Mia made a face at him. “And both Ivy and my dad were on board?”
“Your sister wasn’t thrilled, but she understands in order to have me work on her album in a time frame that fits with her schedule, I’m going to need your special skills.”
