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There was a pinch in her chest thinking about Bea; Helen hadn’t spent a night away from her since she was born. But there was enough consistent love on that farm to light up a small city, and in the morning she’d call and talk to her.
Her stomach full, her heart happy, she let the once-in-a-lifetime moment wash over her.
“Let’s play something from the new album,” Danny said.
Micah’s head came up quick, like he didn’t like the idea. Like Danny had said something he shouldn’t have.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Micah said and fished a napkin out of his pocket. “I’ve got something new.”
“Yeah?”
“Chorus and bridge. Follow me?”
This is what you deserve and you know it. This is what you should have and you want it. I’m relentless for you and you like it.
It was that thing she’d said at the diner. He was making a song out of something she’d said. And it was sexy. Like, undeniably sexy. She remembered the grip of his hand on the back of her neck. The way he’d put his arm on the door frame beside her head in the hotel hallway.
The beat of his heart against her hand.
“Let’s try it in G minor,” Danny said. They played it again. “Move the chorus to the bridge,” Danny said.
They sang it again.
“Damn it,” Micah said. “That’s better.”
“I know.”
“I’ll have to give you co-writing credit on this one, too. You and Helen.”
“I just said the word relentless,” Helen said. “That hardly seems like it deserves a co-writing credit.”
“I don’t know,” Micah said, the fire turning his face gold. “The right word at the right time is the difference between fine and epic.”
“Why don’t you give Alex any writing credits on your songs?” Danny asked, picking quietly at his guitar. Micah looked up, his face sharp with shadow.
“Because he doesn’t write any of them.”
“Doesn’t that seem strange?”
“I am sorry about what Alex said to you,” Micah said, his voice a low murmur through the velvet night, the sparkling fire. “He’s a bona fide asshole.”
“You apologize for him a lot.”
“He’s my brother!”
“I’m sorry, you’re right,” Danny said and picked out a few chords. Micah joined him and then Danny stopped. “Really, though. You should talk to your brother. Like, stop fighting and talk. That’s my two cents and all I’m going to say.” He went hard into the first chords of the Bleachers song that they did with Springsteen and it was one of Helen’s favorites.
Micah wanted to be angry. To nurse whatever darkness his brother called up in him. But the night had been so great and she didn’t want to see it spoiled.
When Helen opened her mouth and started to sing, both men looked at her, startled. She didn’t have an amazing voice, but it wasn’t bad. She’d sung in high school, and if the melody didn’t get fancy she could hang.
Micah lit up like she’d opened a million bottles of champagne. Like she’d thrown open the door to a circus and a party. It was heady. Exciting. Affirming.
No one, not even Evan, had looked at her like that. Evan’s love had been solid. And steady. He’d looked at her like she was his partner and he was lucky to have her.
This look, from Micah, was something altogether different.
Chapter Sixteen
Micah
She fell asleep. In the splintering Adirondack chair, she was all curled up and snoring just a little. Just enough to be audible over the crackle of the dying fire.
“You called her,” Danny said.
“I did.”
“Does she know?”
“What?” He’d given her his mother’s name, she would connect those dots soon enough. He was tired of pretending and it was going to come out sooner or later.
“About…the album. The songs?”
“No.”
“You should tell her.”
Tell her that he wrote an album about her. About her life. About the death of her fiancé. Yeah, something told him, she wouldn’t see it as a compliment. She wouldn’t fan girl, she’d feel violated. And he couldn’t blame her. Because he’d mined her tragedy for his own gain.
No. She wouldn’t fan girl. And it was only one of the things he liked about her.
“My brother said the same thing,” Micah said.
“We agree on that, at least.”
“He thinks I should pay her.”
“I don’t agree with that.”
Yeah, Micah didn’t either. It made it cheap somehow, when what she’d brought into his life was priceless.
“We should get on the road,” he said, glancing at his phone. It was midnight, which was usually the beginning of his night. The hour he was coming alive, and she was all curled up in that chair, her denim coat too thin to protect against the chill in the night.
“The bunkie is all set up,” Danny said. “If you want to stay.”
“You evicted the mice?”
“Relocated. And there are clean sleeping bags and pillows out there.”
“I’ll see what she wants,” Micah said. Danny stood up and grabbed the guitars. Left the dishes stacked by the fire. He went inside, the door squeaking and then clicking shut.
