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“Will you answer me one question, then, Ian?”
She could tell he didn’t want to, but he would for fear she might not let the subject drop. “One question. And then we let the subject go and you will photograph me nude.”
Bree twisted her lips, holding back her irritation. “Why does having a successful record label keep you from playing guitar? Why can’t you have both?”
His dark green gaze narrowed at her. “That was two questions,” he noted, dodging them both.
“Damn it, Ian. Come on. I know you still love to play.”
“Of course I still love to play. Picking up that guitar last night was like being reunited with a long-lost brother. Like coming home. If you have music in your soul, you can’t just lock the door and throw away the key. It’s always going to be there. I try to channel it into my artists, but it never really goes away.”
“Then why do you torture yourself? Why don’t you play if you want to?”
“Because it still hurts, Bree!” He shouted the answer, almost as though he might not get the words out if he didn’t. His face contorted with surprise and irritation before he shook his head and wiped his palm over his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. I just... It’s easier for me not to play at all. If I don’t play, I can try to forget about all the plans I had that never came to fruition. I can tell myself it was just a phase I grew out of. That I wasn’t that good so I didn’t lose out on my big chance. That no amount of practicing—” his voice trailed off “—would’ve kept me from losing the most important person in my life.”
Bree opened her mouth to argue with him, but then she stopped. Her eyes met his and there was no doubt in her mind that he was talking about her. She swallowed hard, trying to choose her words wisely. “You didn’t lose me because I thought you weren’t a good musician, Ian. I thought you were a great musician.”
“Then I lost you because I gave up.” He shrugged. “No one likes a quitter.”
Bree placed her camera on the coffee table and settled next to him on the couch. She took both his hands and covered them in her own. “No. Not even close. I loved you, Ian. You happened to play guitar. But that wasn’t all that you were any more than me taking photographs was all that I was or am. I loved your spirit. Your thoughtfulness. I loved that you always held the door for me and would help me haul my camera equipment no matter how far off into the middle of nowhere I wanted to go. I loved your smile. I loved the way you loved animals and how excited you would get about the idea of getting a dog once you graduated. I remember you had the breed already picked out and the name to go with it.”
“Gibson,” he said, the surprised expression on his face making it clear that he’d forgotten until that moment.
“There were a million things I loved about you that had nothing to do with your music.”
His green eyes were nearly boring into her by the time she finished. It made her chest feel tight, like he was squeezing her rib cage in his fists. “Then why did you leave me?”
Bree swallowed hard. “I didn’t leave you, Ian. You left me. You didn’t do it on purpose, but losing your music changed you. Day by day, the Ian I knew disappeared and there was nothing I could say or do to get you back.”
“I’m still here, Bree. I always have been.”
“Then prove it to me. Show me that inside the CEO of SpinTrax is the man I used to love. The one who would do anything to make me smile.” Bree pulled away from him, walking over to the closet where the guitar was stored. She carried it back to him, holding it out.
Ian hesitated. His jaw was tight, the muscles in his neck and shoulders like stone. His gaze flicked over the guitar, but he didn’t reach for it. She could tell he wanted to, but it was an internal struggle she couldn’t understand.
“Then don’t do it for me, Ian. We haven’t been in love for a long time and you don’t owe me anything. But you owe yourself a lot. Do it for yourself. Play your guitar. Write some new songs. You might find that keeping your music alive isn’t nearly as painful as holding it inside.”
That was what it took for him to reach out and take the guitar from her. He slipped the strap over his head and held it for a moment. “What do you want me to play?”
“Play whatever you want to, Ian. I just want to capture the moment.” Bree took a few steps back and picked her camera back up from the table. As she turned it on and adjusted some of the settings, she heard the familiar notes of a Kansas song begin. This had been one of his staples.
As he began to sing, his heavenly baritone filled the large room.
Bree moved back, crouching down to take her first shot. Framing Ian perfectly, she stopped short of hitting the button. Instead, she just watched. His eyes were closed, his fingers moving deftly across the strings. He sang with such emotion, the melancholy lyrics touched her as strongly as if he’d written those words himself.
She only took a couple pictures. Four at the most. She couldn’t bear for the sound of the camera interrupting his song. Ironic, considering her desire to photograph him playing had driven this entire, emotional discussion. About halfway through the song, she dropped the camera into her lap and just listened to him sing.
The final notes carried through the room, followed by a resounding silence. The house suddenly felt empty without his music filling it. Bree expected him to immediately set the guitar aside, having appeased her, but he continued to hold it. His fingers flexed around the neck, his palm caressing the smooth wood.
“Thank you,” he said at last.
Eight
Bree awoke the next morning to a familiar sound. At first she thought she was dreaming it, then she heard it again and knew it was real. Lying facedown on the mattress, she rolled over and tentatively opened one eye to see Ian standing beside the bed with her camera. Taking her picture.
She immediately shot up, feeling an unnerving cold breeze on her skin. She looked down and realized she was naked. She quickly tugged the sheets up to cover her bare breasts and prayed Ian hadn’t gotten a shot of that. They’d spent the night together and her clothes were currently scattered around the room. Ian, of course, was fully dressed, putting her at a distinct disadvantage. Last night it hadn’t seemed that important, but she hadn’t expected to be the subject of a photo shoot first thing in the morning.
“What are you doing?”
