Between Breaths (The Seattle Sound Series Book 2) (15 page)

B
riar

T
he suite was
quiet when I woke. Sunlight streamed through the window. I stretched, winced, and stretched some more. I bit my lip, my body achy but my heart full. I loved that Hayden turned to me in his grief. He was so walled off with everyone else, but the need on his face, the grief and desire in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss me last night brought it all into focus.

For whatever reason, he needed me just as much as I needed him. We could figure this out. I loved him enough to try. And he’d already asked me to meet him in Europe.

I sat up. Hayden must be in the shower. I dropped the sheet and walked toward the bathroom. The door was open, the room empty. He must be in the living room then.

Brushing my teeth, I decided to shower before I found him. I needed to head over to Rosie’s and feed Princess before I took him to the airport. There was no way that cat could survive much longer without another meal.

I knew Hayden had to leave. And that hurt, deeply, but we’d talk about how soon I could meet him. With a plan in place, we’d both feel better.

I wrapped myself in the hotel robe, combed my hair, and walked into the living room. The table was set with a large coffee, a fruit salad, and a croissant. He’d already learned my favorite morning meal. My smile was quick, warm.

The note next to the breakfast spread gave me pause.
Went to the funeral home to hammer out the details. I need this done. ~ H

He’d pulled back again. Uncertainty crept across my skin. Something in his note—no, I wouldn’t worry yet. I ate my breakfast slowly. I dressed and filled a to-go cup with more coffee, checking to make sure I had the room key card, my purse, and my car keys before heading down the elevator.

As the elevator doors opened to the lobby, I hit a wall of cameras. The reporters’ voices rang out, questions thrown so quickly I couldn’t process what they were asking. They pressed in closer, trying to get another picture of my face, then another.

“How long have you and Hayden Crewe been seeing each other?”

“Do you plan to join him on tour?”

“Did you know of his mother’s illness?”

“Are you attending his mother’s funeral?”

“Why didn’t you leave with him this morning?”

This was the part of journalism I’d always detested, mainly because it was such an invasion of another person’s privacy. I lifted my arm up and pushed through the sea of bodies. As one, the group turned with me, pressing close enough for me to feel the hard plastic edge of one of the camera lenses. Panic rolled up from my now-queasy stomach.

Another flash, then another. I was the fox being run to ground. I quivered, an instinctive need to hide taking over.

Where the hell was Hayden?

I was tall, but most of the men outweighed me by a good fifty, even a hundred, pounds. They didn’t budge.

“Step back. Please,” I said, raising my voice to a near shout to be heard over the questions. A security guard was wading into the sea of bodies. About time. If I could just get to him, he could lead me out of the group.

“If you’ll step back I’ll answer a question,” I said. My fingers clutched my bag, holding it tight in front of me like a shield. I was in an old pair of jeans, my hair damp. The vain part of me shuddered to consider how unflattering these pictures were going to be. But the rational part of my brain was much more frightened of being mobbed and trampled.

The group grumbled but backed up a little. I caught the guard’s eyes, mine wide, begging. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and continued to push through the bodies. At least thirty people. This was insane. I shook my head, trying to push through the daze that so many people were interested in my life.

No, not mine. Hayden’s. Worry swelled my chest. Did he know how bad the frenzy was?

I edged toward the front exit, my footsteps small, subconscious. The sea of reporters flowed in front of me, wanting to capture the emotions on my face.

The guard settled at my side. “Thanks,” I murmured.

He nodded, face grim, arms set in a no-nonsense stance that showed off his tall, bulky physique. “Your car will be here in a minute, Ms. Moore.”

I could do this. “Okay, what was your question,” I asked one of the closest reporters. I continued to edge backward. Only ten feet to the door.

The woman was small, her eyes hungry. She reminded me of a terrier, nuzzling deep into a tunnel to yank out its quarry. I managed another couple of shuffle steps as she preened.

“Why weren’t you on the flight with Hayden this morning?”

My poker face didn’t hold. I cracked as the words sank in. My mouth dropped open. Dammit, I was a reporter myself. I could handle this. I forced myself to smile. My face felt wooden, fake.

“Hayden’s going through a difficult time. Losing a parent is traumatic under the best of circumstances. I’d appreciate it if you’d all give him some space as he works through his grief.”

I nodded toward the security guard, who stepped forward in front of me as I bolted out the door. I dashed around the valet and practically dove into the driver’s seat. My chest was tight, my lungs aching.

He wouldn’t have left. Not without a goodbye.

I drove to Rosie’s, needing distance from the flash mob.

Hayden was hurting. The reporter was trying to throw me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t check with Hayden, find out the truth for myself. I’d left my phone in my purse last night and it ran out of battery at some point.

My pep talk to myself wasn’t very good because my fingers still shook, and it took me multiple tries to open Rosie’s door.

Princess’s
mrow
of greeting was followed by a purr. At least someone was happy this morning. Such a change in her since we’d met Hayden.

I closed the door softly and bent to pick her up for the first time. I needed the comfort of another warm body. I plugged in my phone and set about making a fresh cup of coffee. I’d lost my other cup in the mad dash to my car. I took a deep breath as the text app chirped, followed by the voice mail one. While my fingers itched to pick up the device, I opened the fridge instead. I pulled out a packet of lunchmeat I’d bought earlier in the week. Before I’d met Hayden. I closed my eyes, trying not to let the panic crash over me.

“It’s not salmon, but you’ll cut me some slack, right, Princess?” My voice cracked. I filled her bowl, made sure her water dish was full, and washed my hands so I could doctor my coffee. Out of ways to procrastinate, I grabbed my phone.

Seventeen texts. Twenty-three voice mails. My stomach churned. Either one would offer painful news if there were this many.

I took a sip of my coffee, proud I got the mug to my mouth without spilling a drop. I opened the text app. The first one was from Lia, from late last night, making sure we were okay. The next was from Hayden.

Arranged details with the funeral home.
Heading straight to the airport. Thanks for the last few days.

I blinked at the message a couple of times. It didn’t change. He’d told me
thanks
? In a text message? What the—who did that?

The hurt was there, I could feel it building. But right now I was wallowing in righteous anger.

I took another sip of my coffee and checked the rest of the messages. All from colleagues looking for the scoop about my relationship with Hayden, his relationship with his mother, his abrupt departure. This was going to be one hell of a story.

My mind buzzed with thoughts of the last few days. The last few hours. The only thought I could focus on was that he’d left me. He hadn’t finalized any plans for me to meet him. He didn’t
want
me to join him. Just like he’d never planned to tell me goodbye. I was such a fool.

Princess meowed and arched her back, winding her body through my legs. I picked her up again and buried my face in her fur. I’d started this. I’d finish it. I set the cat down, pressed my ear to my phone, and listened to my voice mails. Same thing as the texts. Many from people I barely knew. All wanting a piece of me. Anything I had to give.

Too bad I’d given it all to Hayden last night.

The final few messages were from Lia, all making sure I was okay. I managed to collapse onto the couch.
Was
I okay?

Princess settled into my lap, her wide eyes reflecting my confusion.

I pressed the Call Back button, needing something to stop the rush of emotion building in my chest.

“Briar! I’ve been frantic. What’s going on?”

I opened my mouth. For a moment, I was struck mute. But then a sob rose up and burst forth.

H
ayden

N
othing felt right
. I couldn’t get comfortable.

“Need another pillow, Mr. Crewe?”

The flight attendant’s eyes were blue but too pale. They weren’t the stunning color of Briar’s. Crikey, I needed to stop thinking about her. I refused to think about her smile when I’d asked her to meet me on tour.

She’d have realized that was a mistake just as I had. And there was no way she’d want me now that I’d hurt her.

I closed my eyes, my guilty conscience tracing each of the bruises I’d left on her skin. Like my mum had marked me. Bile rose, hard and fast. I managed to swallow it down, barely.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Be sure to let me know if I can do anything to make you more comfortable.”

The words were professional, but the tone and look were seductive. I glanced out the window, trying to ignore the woman’s obvious interest. Once she walked down the narrow aisle, I pulled out my notebook, planning to go over the difficult chord progression I’d developed for the new song I’d started when Briar took me to play piano.

Ten minutes later, I gave up. All I could think about was Briar. About the marks I’d left on her. About her soft words of love last night.

Leaning my head back against the hard seat, I closed my eyes and saw Briar, waiting for me. Instead of meeting my gaze, she faced Puget Sound. Her eyes were sad, her gaze downcast.

That was silly. Even if she was upset now, we’d met in lust. Shared a few days. She’d be glad to get back to her life, and I . . . well, I’d survive. It’s what I did.

I opened my eyes and pushed up the plastic screen covering the airplane window. I shouldn’t have left her. Not the way I did. I should have apologized for using her body. I should have told her, if not in person, then in the note, how much she meant to me.

But those bruises I’d left on her beautiful skin . . . How did I apologize for that? How did I tell her I feared it would happen again and again with me losing more of my control each time? Just as my mother had.

Until the day Briar ended up in the ER, battered and scared out of her mind, because of me.

“Drink, Mr. Crewe?”

The flight attendant was back.

“Coffee. Black. Thanks.”

She poured it, handed me the Styrofoam cup I knew Briar wouldn’t approve of. Must be something about spending time in the Northwest. In just those few days, I’d managed to absorb some of their earth-friendly initiative.

“I was sorry to hear about your mother, Mr. Crewe.”

My eyes snapped up to hers. She wasn’t going to leave. If I asked her to, I’d seem rude. But I didn’t want to deal with a fan right now.

“Appreciate it.”

“Your friend looked upset. Was she close with your mom?”

What the hell was she talking about? “My mum was in hospice. She had cancer.”

“Yes, I read that. It’s all over the news.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes. My friend. Upset. The pieces fell together. “You mean Briar?”

“Tall brunette.”

The coffee sat heavy in my stomach. I’d left early . . . there was no way the media could have found out already. “Can I see the picture you’re talking about?”

“They’re all over the Net. Just pick a site.”

I pulled out my phone. “Okay for me to use now?”

She shrugged. “Sure. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

I nodded, scrolling through the menus to get access to the Internet. My heart tripped at the number of times the piece had been shared.
Fucking hell.
I clicked on the first one, trying to brace myself for the worst.

And there she was. Briar. Hair damp, eyes wide, surrounded by reporters.

Why hadn’t I considered that? She was scared. Alone. Fragile. But so beautiful.

The picture was taken in the lobby of The Edgewater. And there were so many other photos—all of Briar with that same scared look in her eyes. Where was security? The paparazzi obviously surprised her, but the hotel was supposed to be prepared for these types of events.

The coffee churned in my stomach again and I barely swallowed it down. Security was there for celebrities.
I
was the celebrity, and I’d checked out hours ago, leaving instructions for all of Briar’s bills and needs to be put on my card. I didn’t think the media would turn their focus on her in my absence.

After going through the photos, I read the story, my heart rate escalating with each word. She’d been so brave, facing the reporters. I’d left her alone to clean up my mess. And she’d defended me. Offered up an explanation for the inexplicable. For the way I’d left her.

I didn’t even have the decency to look her in the eyes and say goodbye. I’d sent her a text message, cowardly arse that I was, and run away from my deepest fear.

I checked another site, then another, mouth hanging open as I realized just how big this was. First, that I’d been photographed with a woman at all. Second, that I’d left her without even a Dear John ending. But no one pounced on that part. Because Briar kept her mouth shut.

She’d promised me the day we met that she wouldn’t share any details of my life. She’d kept her word even though she had to have read my message by now. Even though she must hate me.

Then one picture caught my attention. In it, her eyes were wider, her mouth hanging open a little as the hurt settled over her face. Definitely pain bleeding into her eyes.

The realization hit me like a hard punch to my gut. She’d learned from a journo that I’d come to the airport. I lacked the balls to tell her myself, and she’d learned from one of the vultures after I walked away. And now I knew, I didn’t leave
just
her body bruised.

My break from Briar was as big—if not bigger—than the story of my mum’s death. No articles of my mum’s mental illness yet. And they might not learn of it. Not as long as they were focused on Briar. Site after site ripped her apart, saying I never would’ve stuck by her because she wasn’t pretty enough for me. Because she was too old. As if her year and a half on me was equivalent to the thirty-five-year gap between my parents’ ages.

I glared at that comment, wishing I could give the writer a piece of my mind. Briar was gorgeous, and if she read that, I knew she would be crushed.

Another commentator said I’d only marry an Aussie. A famous British gossipmonger said Briar couldn’t be everything I wanted in a woman, not if I dropped her so quickly. That I was just looking for an easy lay, so Briar must be nothing more than a groupie with low morals. The next two said the same: Briar was only a fling, a nobody. Someone to simply while away my mum’s last days with.

They’d gotten it so wrong.

I wanted to wrap my arms around Briar, keep her safe from this. Laugh with her over how wrong the journos were—like always. Kiss my favorite spot under her eye, brush her bangs back from her forehead. Rub my thumb across her plump, wide lower lip.

I dropped my head against my fists. This—the mess I’d made—all stemmed from my mum’s death. I’d let the situation spin out of control.

And the realization hit me, a cricket ball straight to the head. I was uncomfortable because Briar wasn’t with me. I missed the weight of her head against my neck, the scent of her soft hair. I missed the warmth from her body, the curve of her breast and hip snuggled into my side.

But we’d been honest with each other. She knew I wouldn’t stay. Couldn’t stay. It’s just . . . I shouldn’t have left. At least not the way I did.

And I sure as hell shouldn’t have sent her a text message. A lame-arsed one at that.

I was an adult. Time to man up.

I grabbed my phone from the seat and opened my e-mail. I started typing. Not to Briar, not yet. I’d do my best to limit the damage. I owed her that.

No, I owed her much more. I owed the world an explanation for how much she meant to me. I’d give it to her, to the rest of the world. Let them know she’d be joining me. Soon. Like I’d planned since the moment she introduced me to Dan as her boyfriend.

I paused, considering. I should call her. No. I wasn’t ready to hear the hurt in her voice. I’d text her.

“The captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt Sign.” A tinny voice came through the speaker above me. “Please turn off all electrical devices as we begin our descent into Hong Kong.”

Heat seared my gut, moving up into my chest. I typed faster. Harry needed to get this now. I needed to fix as much of this as I could.

“Mr. Crewe, you need to turn that off, please.”

“I’m almost finished.”

“Now, Mr. Crewe.”

I sighed, and shut down my phone. Going ballistic wasn’t going to solve Briar’s current paparazzi issues. Staring out the window, the tension built in my shoulders. I wanted Briar there, gripping my hand. Letting me know I wasn’t alone.

But I feared I was. I’d been afraid of loving her. I’d been afraid she’d reject me once she saw the bruises. But most of all, I’d been afraid I’d hurt her again. So I’d left. I’d made the choice for both of us. Without asking her what she wanted. What she needed from me. She’d given me so much.

I swallowed the thick ball of emotion building in my chest.

I’d really fucked up.