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A place of truth. I had that with Libby. I felt it when we sang. I want it back. I want it with her at my side. Does that make me selfish? I don’t know. But regret weighs on my shoulders. I backed off, gave her space. And it feels like a mistake.
I have made enough mistakes in my life. I set my bottle down on the bar, my stomach sour. “I want you to listen to the songs I wrote,” I tell Whip. “I think they’ll go with what you and Rye have been working on.”
Whip slowly smiles. “We’re gonna do this? Kill John rebooted?”
Anticipation licks over me like a good buzz. No more regrets. Forward action from here on out. “Yeah, man. We are.”
Libby
I’m having a pity party of one, lying on the couch and staring at the ceiling when someone knocks on the door. It sends my heart into instant overdrive, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I need it to be Killian.
Even so, I sit there for a long moment, trying to stop shaking.
Another knock gets me up. My legs wobble as I head for the porch. Outside, a town car sits in the drive. My mouth goes dry, my palms damp. They slip on the knob as I wrench open the door.
Disappointment sends my heart skydiving to my stomach.
“What the hell are you two doing here?”
Scottie gives me a dry look as he speaks to Brenna. “I thought Killian said she was shy.”
Shy? Is that how Killian sees me? Knowing him, he probably called me a hermit, which isn’t exactly wrong. I used to relish that, but now I realize how stupid it was, hiding away from life.
“Shy does not mean mute,” I snap. “Or deaf. Try addressing me instead of your assistant.”
“I love her more every time I see her,” Brenna says with a bright smile. “She’s like a little Kate Hudson. Only not as blond. Or as perky, thank God.”
“Don’t you two have an a cappella contest you should be commentating on?”
Scottie’s perfect mouth twists. “A cappella? What are you nattering about?”
Brenna snorts. “She’s cute. No,” she says to me in an overloud voice. “We’ve moved on to solo acts, kid.” She bumps my hip with hers as she walks up into my house. She does it so easily, I don’t even think to stop her.
Thankfully Scottie has some manners and inclines his head. “You really do not want to let her loose in your house unattended, Ms. Bell. May I come in?”
“If you can control Thing One, then you might as well.”
Already Brenna has poured three glasses of ice tea and is rummaging through the kitchen for God knows what.
“Where are your cookies?” she mutters, opening a cabinet. “Kitchens like this always have cookies. I’ve seen it on TV.”
“I have crackers, yogurt, and very sharp knives.” I shoo her away.
“No cookies?” She lays a hand on her chest. “I’ve been waiting all day for some.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I barely have any food in the house. I haven’t felt like eating—I’m shocked too.
But because my hospitality gene kicks in, I put the drinks on a tray and take them out to my living room. Scottie and Brenna follow. For a minute, we sit sipping ice tea in heavy silence. Well, Brenna and I do. Scottie won’t touch his glass, just eyes it suspiciously. I’m tempted to tell him it’s not poisoned. Then again, part of me likes the idea of him fearing it just might be.
Setting my glass down, I get more comfortable in my chair. “All right, then. Why are you here?” Why isn’t Killian here if they are? I miss him so much it hurts to breathe, and their presence makes it worse.
Scottie’s expression begins to sour as if he’s choking down something particularly distasteful. He can’t blame my tea, at least. Brenna, on the other hand, starts to snicker. A lot.
Scottie shoots her an ugly look before leaning forward. “Killian has a message for you.”
“A message?” My heart kicks into high gear, but my mind skids to a halt. “What the hell is this? The fifth grade? Why can’t he just call me?”
The corner of Scottie’s eye twitches, and Brenna coughs loudly into her hand. Tears are forming beneath her cat glasses.
“Yes,” Scottie grinds out through his teeth. “That would have been the logical choice.” The twitching by his eye gets worse. “However, we’re here to deliver it—”
“Is it a singing telegram? Because that might be worth it.”
Brenna loses the fight and erupts with laughter, her slim form doubling over.
“Go search for cookies,” Scottie snarls at her, though he hasn’t really lost his cool. He’s as contained as ever—well, aside from the eye tick thing.
Still hooting, Brenna staggers off, and Scottie turns his focus back to me. “There are days I truly hate my job.” He pulls a folded piece of paper from his inner breast pocket and hands it to me. “Don’t ask. Just read the bloody note.”
