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Present day—Southern Brick Studios, Nashville
Iam crazy staying here and working with him on what is going to be a certified gold record. I pretend I’m busy answering emails in my office when the door to the studio opens. Dad must have forgotten something.
I have spent the last hours debating what to do. The thought racing through my mind is that I’m still in love with Navarone. I love the son of a bitch to a fault. It doesn’t matter if he’s started drinking again.
Looking at the clock, it’s already one in the morning. I should head into the control room and go over the last recording of Navarone’s rough and beautiful voice. I was about to do it earlier when the electricity went out and I had to change the fuse. I really need to persuade Dad to get a backup generator.
I like to go over the songs in solitude. I was trying to write lyrics to the catchy bridge Rone has composed. I look up when someone turns on the surround sound in the main room.
“Dad, are you there?” I set my guitar against the wall and click on the lights in the studio.
I pause when I see Navarone leaning over the console, his hands grabbing the edge. He’s brought a couple of moonshine bottles with him. Great, the old times are back. I can’t help but suppress a groan when I look at his broad back. He puts on another one of his songs and I sigh, my eyes glued to his tight ass.
“Are you ready to talk without running away?” he asks, his back still toward me.
“How did you know I was still here?” I ask, walking into the room. The soft glow of the lights casts a shadow over his face.
“I heard your moan from miles away, and you’re always in the studio.”
My stomach drops right on cue. “What are you doing here, and why did you bring the bottles of moonshine?”
“If you shut the fuck up, for once, I’ll show you,” he grunts out.
I give him a look saying “fuck off,” and he answers me with an apologetic smile.
“Babe, please turn off the lights.”
“All right, I’ll turn them off, asshole,” I mutter, and he laughs. When the lights go out, the whole room is illuminated by the moonshine bottles. “What is this?” Amazement rings through my voice.
He motions to them. “I read about a guy in Brazil who makes lights out of bleach and water bottles for third-world countries. I thought, why not use the moonshine bottles from the brewery? Saves energy and all that shit.”
I think back to when he took me to the distillery on his bike, remembering the lights illuminating the drive leading up to the barn. “You made those ones hanging along the distillery road?”
“Yeah, I did,” he says, hitting the switch. “I don’t drink. It tears me apart every day, but I will never drink again.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice croaking.
“Because I lost something right here when I did.”
I look around the room. “Do you need help finding it?”
“Fuck, babe, don’t you get it? I already found it.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Me and the guys talked it out last night at Frankie’s bar after you left. Now, it is our time.” Navarone’s undeniable bad boy presence is overwhelming. Mixed with his combed back hair and the black shirt clinging to his body, he has me doubting every decision I’ve made from the moment he stepped back into my life.
“This is it.” His voice is calm.
I pick up a couple of plectrums from the floor and ignore him.
“Don’t, Allie.” His tone makes me jump.
Sighing, I slowly turn around, and give him one of my nastiest smiles, because I remember he is the reason bad things happen.
“Hear me out this time. Damn it, stop moving.”
I open my mouth but he beats me to it.
“And don’t say I was the one walking away. I know, babe.”
“What do you want?”
