Blue Horizons (A Horizons Novel Book 1) (30 page)

“What happened the last time?” Anxiety washes over me.

“She can tell you that.” She gives me a small smile. It’s an apology for leaving me wondering, but I understand—this is the part of the story that’s Avery’s to tell.

“What happened to him?” I ask as my fingers dig into the armrests of the chair.

“Nothing.” She shrugs her shoulders.

What?

“How does someone like that just get to go free? Do you know if there were any others he treated this way?” My knuckles strain and turn white.

“One other, that I know of. A few years ago Avery’s father called and told her he had gone to jail for doing something similar to someone else. I think he thought it might make her feel better to know he was behind bars and not out running free, but it did the opposite. She cried for him.”

“Why?” Why would she cry for that asshole? More like good riddance!

“She loved him. She never wished bad things upon him.”

“She should have pressed charges.”

“Maybe, but her parents didn’t want to do that. It would have damaged the reputations of both families. Small towns are funny about stuff like that, and in the end, she got out.”

“So, the boyfriend and her parents betrayed her.” Not one person, but three. The three most important people in her life. My heart hurts for her and I drop my eyes to Whiskey.

“You’re catching on quickly,” she says.

“Hmm.” I don’t know what to say. I’m so furious at those people who call themselves her family. No wonder she never wants to see any of them. It’s not just the bad memories of going home; it’s so much more.

“Talk to her. She’ll tell you what you want to know.” Emma’s voice is calm and assertive.

Slowly, I suck in a big breath and bring my eyes back to hers. “I suppose it’s time. I just didn’t want to push her.”

“Push. She’s ready.” Emma nods her head and smiles at me.

“And, on that note, so am I.” Clay breaks the silence and stands up, pulling Emma with him. She giggles and I smile at my friend. He nods his head to say good night and the two of them leave hand in hand.

CLICKING. THAT’S THE first thing that I hear.

No, typing.

Gradually opening my eyes so they can adjust to the light, I look across the room and see Ash sitting at his desk, working on a laptop.

I’m in his room.

I’m in his bed.

My eyes shift to the empty side of the bed, and yep, it’s rumpled. He slept next to me. My faces flushes at the thought, and then I realize I’m disappointed I don’t remember it.

The clicking stops, and I glance back at him. He’s watching me.

“Good morning, or should I say afternoon?” He smiles a lazy smile, sits back in the chair, and runs a hand through his hair. It sticks straight up and I stop breathing at the sight of him. Red pajama pants, a white t-shirt, bare feet, and that just-climbed-out-of-bed look—where do I sign up to get this every morning for the rest of my life?

“Hi.” I sit up and look around the room. There on the table is one of my travel bags. “What time is it?”

He glances at the clock on his phone, which is sitting next to the laptop. “A little after noon. Are you hungry?”

What?!
I haven’t slept this late in years.

I run my hand over my stomach, nothing. “No, not yet, maybe in a little bit.”

“Cora came by this morning and brought you that.” He tilts his head toward the bag.

“She did?” I look at him curiously.

“Mmm hmm. And Emma came by last night to check on you.” He crosses his arms over his chest and a dark look passes over his face. This throws me, and suddenly I’m worried about what they talked about.

“Wow, I must have passed out hard.” I remember being tired, but not that tired. Then again, I think his bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.

“You could say that.” He smiles at me, tracking me with his eyes as I get up to go inspect the bag. She packed half of the things I brought to Nashville. Maybe she’s as hopeful as I am that I get to stay the rest of the weekend.

His computer dings, and he leans forward to read what just popped up. I know what he’s doing—he’s checking for backlash.

“How bad is it?” I walk over and place my hand on his shoulder.

He immediately grabs it and brings it to his mouth for a kiss. “How bad is what?” he glances up at me.

“Social media.”

He chuckles. “Well, it’s not what you think. There are very few mentions of what happened in the hallway. The blow up has more to do with you and me dancing.”

“Really?” Relief floods through me. People know I’m standoffish, but no one needs to know why. I’ve worked so hard over the years to try and prevent anything like this from ever leaking to the media. I had just assumed this would be front page news.

He goes to Google, types our names into the search bar, and tons of links pop up, along with quite a few images of us together last night. The pictures look very intimate, certainly not like that was our first time dancing together.

“Yeah, it seems people like the idea of you and I being together.” He looks back up at me and grins.

I return his smile—I like the idea of us being together too.

“What are they saying?” I ask, walking back to my side of the bed.

He follows me, leans against the headboard and stretches out his legs. “Well, they aren’t too far off from the truth. There’s a lot of speculation about my disappearing act after Phoenix and your cancelled shows. What was it I read? Oh yeah, we were off on a secret romantic rendezvous.”

I giggle and boldly move my head to lie on his lap, just like last night, and his fingers immediately start playing with my hair.

“I did hear about you walking out after Phoenix; I think the whole world did. What did they call it, ‘Where’s Waldo . . . No . . . Where’s Will?’”

He snorts.

“Why did you do it?” I roll a little so I can see his face.

“I had to.” He looks down at me and smooths the hair off my forehead. “No one understands. Well, maybe Clay.” He shakes his head and frowns.

“I’ll understand. Tell me.” I run my hand down his arm; his skin is warm.

“It all used to be a dream. At twenty, I knew what I wanted to do, and what I wanted to accomplish over the next ten years of my life. But somewhere along the way, as we started making those things happen, visions for the future became less clear. Now I’m thirty, and when I think about life ten years from now, it feels like it can happen in the blink of an eye. I panicked. Spring turned into summer, summer turned into fall, and every weekend as I stood on stage, my hand would go numb on the mic. The lights felt like they were pressing down on me, I’ve hated the direction our songs have gone, and by Phoenix, I was pretty sure my heart had stopped beating. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I felt suffocated.”

I’m grateful that he’s talking to me, but it’s upsetting him. Taking his hand, I place it on my chest over my heart and let him feel it beating. It’s what he does to me, and he looks down, meeting my eyes.

“That day in the truck, you were right about the music, and I’m glad you said it. I needed to hear it from someone other than me.”

“I thought about that last night and I felt bad.”

His fingers stop moving through my hair. “Don’t.” He shakes his head.

“Why did the music change?”

He takes in a deep breath, his chest expanding, and resumes playing with my hair. “I think it’s probably a combination of us wanting to make the label happy, thinking they knew what was best, and lack of time. We used to have all the time in the world to write great songs, but once the tours started, free time vanished. It was easier to pick a pre-written song than to sit down and create a number one hit from scratch.”

I do understand. Completely. The girls and I have experienced some of this ourselves.

“So, what happens now?”

“Back at the lake when I told you I needed to take care of some work things, that people weren’t happy, this is it. Clay and I have had several meetings with the label about our direction going forward. He’s in agreement with me—we’re not ready to give it up, but things need to change.”

“Did I hear Mona say you are part owner of my label?”

He grins at me. “I did tell you I’ve made some great investments over the years, and Three Little Birds Records is one of them.”

“That kind of makes you my boss.” I scrunch up my nose with apparent distaste.

He throws his head back and laughs. I love that sound.

“So what did Emma say?” My heart rate picks up; it’s my turn to do the talking.

“Not much. She did fill me in a little about why the panic attacks happen, but I’d like to hear it from you. All of it, if you can.” His eyes scan my face.

I know I need to tell him, but it’s so hard.

Hesitating, I take a deep breath, and he smiles at me to give me support. “Chris and I were born to be together.” He shifts his weight under me, not liking how I’ve started the conversation. “He’s two months older than I am, and for eighteen years, we were together just about every single day. Our parents were best friends, and they loved the idea that he and I would one day end up together, uniting our families once and for all.”

“Sounds medieval,” he mumbles, frowning.

“It wasn’t, and honestly, up until he changed, I had the best life ever.” I shrug my shoulders and know my expression shows my sadness. Staring up at the ceiling, I’m sure it’s easy for Ash to see that I really did love him.

“What caused the change?” He looks at me with a genuine question in his eyes.

“Steroids.” I hate this word.

Complete loathing drips across his face and he swallows to stamp it down. “Did you know he was taking them?” His hand runs down my arm and picks up my hand, lacing our fingers together.

“No. Not until after it was all over, but it makes sense. He wanted to be bigger, better, faster, and well, he was. Right around the same time, he’d started having these random episodes where he would flush red and completely overreact to the littlest things. He would get aggressive and have spurts of crazy violent behavior. Punching the walls, breaking things, throwing things, and every muscle would strain from his neck to his fists.”

Ash looks out across the room, his jaw locked tight and his chest moving up and down with the effort of staying calm.

“He hurt you.” His blue eyes flicker down to mine.

“He did,” I whisper.

Shaking his head, he sits up a little straighter and pulls his hands off of me. “I’m so mad right now, but I’m afraid to be mad near you because I don’t want to scare you.” He looks away from me and his hands fist next to his hips.

“Ash, I’m not afraid of you. You don’t scare me.” I roll so I’m off my back and facing him.

“He didn’t either, until it was too late,” he grits out between his teeth.

“Look at me.” His eyes find mine and what I see in them isn’t scary. Yes, he’s mad, but it’s a protective anger. “I’ve read a lot of articles about ‘roid rage,’ and there’s a consistent theme across the board. Most experts believe that people who develop it already had a tendency to get angry, and he did. I’ve never seen you angry, but even if you were, that’s a normal emotion and reaction to things. His was just more, and it was like one day I woke up and he had undergone a complete personality change.”

“Emma mentioned something about the last night. What happened the last night?” The blue in his eyes is darker, troubled. I hate that he feels this way, but love it at the same time. He cares. About me.

“I’m not that girl, Ash, so please don’t think that I am. After a while, once I realized things were only going to get worse and not better, I began to make plans. I deserved better.” Tears fill my eyes, and his expression changes, softens. “That was the night I told him we were over.”