AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He mixed their drinks, then walked over and handed hers to her, then sat down in the chair opposite and took a sip. The alcohol might as well have been water. It did nothing to relax him.
Cassie was watching him, her gaze soft and searching. Suddenly, he didn’t want any distance between them. He wanted her right next to him, as close as possible.
It must have shown on his face, because she put her drink down, kicked off her heels, and crossed the space between them. She lifted the hem of her dress so she could straddle his lap. He pulled her down onto him and rested his forehead on her chest.
Cassie sifted her fingers through his hair. The warmth of her body and the sweet scent of her skin loosened a screw in his chest he hadn’t even known was there.
“When I was fourteen,” he said. “I used to sneak in and play my dad’s guitar.”
Her hands paused, then continued their lulling tug on his hair.
“He loved that thing. Whenever he wasn’t around, I’d go in, take it out of its case, and practice. I taught myself to play on it. I think there was a small part of me that thought that one day, I’d show him what I’d learned, and we’d finally have something in common. Something to bond over. I thought maybe he’d finally be proud of me.”
Cassie’s breaths were shallower now. He lifted his head off her chest but kept his eyes down. He fixed his gaze on her pulse, where it throbbed at the base of her throat. Her heart rate was rising. She already knew the story wouldn’t end the way he’d wanted it to. But she let him keep going.
“I must have gotten lost in the music one day, not heard Dad come in, because I was in the middle of playing when he burst into the room. He’d been drinking, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry. He started screaming at me. How dare I touch his guitar. That if it wasn’t for me, he’d still be playing. That I was the reason he could never play professionally again.
“That wasn’t the first time he’d hit me, but it was one of the few times he hit me in the face. I wasn’t expecting it, and he knocked me down. I dropped the guitar, and he picked it up and started swinging it at the set of drawers. He smashed it to pieces.”
Cassie’s hands dropped to cup his face. “Oh, Zac.” Her voice wavered.
He closed his eyes. It was the only way he could finish the story.
“When he was done, he threw what was left of the neck of the guitar at me and said if he couldn’t play it, no one could, especially not me. Then he left. Went straight back out the front door and, I assume, to some bar to keep drinking. After he’d gone, I realized I was still holding his pick. I’d been squeezing it so tightly, the edge had cut into my palm.” He choked out a laugh. “I still have the scar to prove it.”
Cassie’s fingers traced over the pick where it hung from around his neck. He nodded. Her palm pressed down over it, the warmth from her hand easing some of the chill radiating from his chest. She still didn’t say anything, though, letting him continue at his own pace.
“Mom came up then. She’d obviously heard the noise, but she waited for him to go. She told me I should have known better.” His laugh was tight. “She helped me clean up the blood, and I had a few days off school. Enough so that it wasn’t obvious what had happened. When I got back, I went straight to the music room. I was going to play, whether or not he liked it. But when I got there, there were two other boys already using the guitars. There was only a bass left. I went in, picked it up, and started playing around with it. I liked it. I think I liked that I wasn’t trying to follow in Dad’s footsteps even more. It’s why I kept the pick, to remind me of who I don’t want to be.”
He looked at her face for the first time since he’d started talking. Her cheeks were wet, her eyes huge pools of warmth and compassion he wanted to drown himself in. He reached up and wiped her tears away with his thumbs.
“Zac…” she started, her bottom lip quivering.
“Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry. That was the day I met Tex and Connor. That was the day that changed my life. It might have never happened if things were different. I can hate my dad, but I’ll never be sorry for that.”
“Was he angry when he found out you were playing the bass?”
“He didn’t find out for a long time. I’d stay late and play with the others after school. We didn’t talk about it much, but we all needed each other. Connor was angry about being sent from Ireland to live with his aunt. He hated his dad about as much as I hated mine. Maybe more. And Tex had only recently moved to town, and I know it was hard for him without his mom. But it was only when Noah began hanging out with us that we started talking about forming a band. And then it didn’t matter how pissed he was. We never looked back.”
“I’m so glad you found each other,” she said.
I’m glad I found you. It was on the tip of his tongue to say it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Because that was making a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. Even if a part of him had started wanting to.
“How did he react when you got signed?”
Zac gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to touch the pick where it rested against his chest. “He laughed. Told me I was just the bass player, and us getting signed had nothing to do with my talent. That I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and that was it. That I was just riding on the coattails of my friends.”
She brushed her fingers over his cheeks. “You know that isn’t true, don’t you, Zac? You’re so talented. So good at everything you do.” He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair. She followed him, her hands still warming the side of his face, her sweet breath washing over him. “Is that why you work yourself so hard? Is that why you’re so determined to make Crossfire as successful as Fractured? You’ve been burning yourself to the ground because of the opinion of a bitter, jealous, old man.”
He opened his eyes and reached for her wrists, tugging them away from his face. Her concern did something to him. It filled a part of him that had been empty for a very long time. He didn’t know what the future might hold, but that didn’t matter right now. What mattered was her. And he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone. Right then, he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.
He let go of her wrists, slid his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, and tugged her face down to his. She came without a second thought. The salt on her lips made his heart constrict. This woman. She’d already given him her body, her compassion, her tears. She’d give him her heart if he let her. And there was a chance he just might take it.
Her lips parted, and he was lost in the taste of her.
His tongue stroked against hers, and she fisted her hands in his shirt and moaned.
The sound seared through him, warming him, heating all the cold places inside him. He wanted more. More of her moans, more of her taste, more of her touch.
