Music of the Heart (13 page)

completely alone.

As I eyed the crumpled sheets of his roost, I asked, “So how do you want to do this?”

“Can I spoon you?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Can you what?”

The shadow of a smile fluttered on Jake’s lips. “You really don’t know what that is, do you?”

An embarrassed flush filled my cheeks as I ducked my head. “No,” I murmured.

Jake’s finger came under my chin and tipped my head up to look at him. “It’s okay. I’ll show you.”

On his knees, he edged across the bunk to where he was pressed up against the wall. Then he turned

on his side to where he was facing me. He then motioned me with his hand. I sighed. It was now or

never time. I eased down beside him.

“Now lie on your side,” he instructed.

I quickly flipped over to where I wasn’t facing him. My breath hitched when I felt him snuggle up

behind me. His arm snaked around my waist to drape across my hip. He then nestled his chin into my

neck. His breath was warm against my skin as he asked, “Is this okay?”

I tried to still my rapid breathing. The truth was it felt so good being this close to him. Although it

was just to comfort him, it felt dangerous and illicit sharing a bed with Jake.

“Abby, is this okay?”

Jake rarely used my real name, so I knew he was really worried. I reached down to grab his hand

in mine. I squeezed it tight before I glanced back at him over my shoulder. “It’s fine.”

The genuine smile he gave me caused my heart to flutter. “Thank you. I’ll never forget this.” In a

lower voice, he murmured, “I’ll never forget you.”

I closed my eyes and willed myself to go to sleep. With the heat of Jake’s body against mine and

the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against my back, it wasn’t long before I was lulled into a deep,

contented sleep.

***

Delicious warmth wriggled against me and cut through the levels of my subconscious. I didn’t try

to fight waking up from this exquisite dream. After all, I’d gone to bed alone, hadn’t I? But when my

hips automatically bucked my morning wood into the curvy backside pressed up against me, it felt so

very real. Without opening my eyes, my hand slid up the dream girl’s ribcage to cup her breast. The

tiny whimper that escaped her might as well have been a bloodcurdling scream because that’s when I

realized the girl was
so
not part of my dream, but worst of all, I was molesting Abby.

I jerked my hand away like I had been scalded. Thankfully, she slept like the dead, and my horndog

assault hadn’t woken her up. Gently, I climbed over her body and escaped the roost. Glancing back, I

gazed down at her sleeping form. A tug pulled at my heart. I’d never had a girl comfort me before—

well, at least not since I’d hit it big. Girls just wanted a piece of the fame or to be able to say they’d

screwed me. With our crazy schedule, it was too much of a hassle to have a girlfriend. At least that’s

what I told myself.

Pushing the long strands of blonde hair out of her face, I rubbed Abby’s cheek tenderly, but she

still didn’t stir. Instead, she made those cute little snores that would have mortified her if she had

been awake. She truly was an angel right out of Heaven to care enough to dry my tears and comfort

me, not to mention sleeping with me when she knew she shouldn’t.

Fuck. Why did she have to be so beautiful? It would be so much easier if she was some average or

even butt-ugly girl. No, my savior—my angel—had to be any man’s fantasy. With a frustrated grunt, I

escaped into the bathroom. Even though I was tempted, I would not stoop to jerking off this morning.

It wasn’t entirely that I had all this integrity—hell, I’d let a waitress blow me the night before in a

diner storeroom. It was more about the fact that I knew to get off I’d have to fantasize about Abby.

So instead, I took a cold shower and watched my wood shrivel under the stream. Just as I was

about to turn the water off, a riff hit me like a train barreling through my mind. It took me so off guard

that I had to lean against the stall for support. Pinching my eyes shut, I hummed aloud what was filling

my mind.

Hustling out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist before leaving the bathroom.

Normally, I would have gone stark naked to the bedroom for my clothes, but I didn’t dare want to run

into Abby like that. Once I was dressed, I grabbed my guitar, a notepad, some sheet music, and a

pencil and headed to the kitchen. After flipping on the coffee maker, I flopped down at the table.

After scribbling down the riff I’d heard, I worked on the melody. Once it was done, I started

hammering out lyrics to go along with it. All of the emotions I’d been experiencing converged on this

moment. I only paused in my furious scribbling when my hand cramped from the excessive writing.

I eased my guitar onto my lap and started playing the music I’d written. I erased and changed a few

chords before beginning again. Closing my eyes, I focused on the lyrics in my mind as I played.

At the sound of someone behind me, my eyelids popped open.

“Morning,” Abby murmured softly.

I glanced back at her and smiled. “Morning. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“Sorry. The muse decided I didn’t need any more sleep,” I lied. I knew I would freak her out if I

told her the truth. Jerking my head over my shoulder, I replied, “There’s some coffee if you want

some. Of course, you probably need OJ instead.” I winked at her. “Don’t want you passing out on me

again.”

Pink tinged her cheeks at my attentiveness. “Thanks. But I’m good for now.”

I nodded. “We’ll probably stop for some breakfast in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” She motioned towards the notepad with scribbled lyrics and chords. “How’s it coming?”

I grimaced. “Good, but it’s never going to work.”

“Why not?” she asked as she eased into the bench seat across from me.

“The label wants very specific stuff from us, and this,” I waved the notepad at her, “isn’t it.”

Drawing her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on the tops of her legs. “You won’t know

until you approach them.”

“Trust me, it’s not happening.”

She cocked her brows at me “Oh, come on Mr. Glass Half Empty. What’s it about?”

With hesitating, I replied, “My mother dying.”

Her face fell. “Oh Jake, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I know. And thanks.” When I started to rip out the lyrics from the pad, she reached over and

grabbed my hand.

“No, don’t.”

I clenched my jaw with determination. “It won’t work, Angel. I have to sing about love,

relationships, and sex. You know, bullshit like that. A song about my fucking heart being ripped to

shreds because my mother is dying isn’t going to make an album, least of all a single.”

“What about Eric Clapton’s
Tears in Heaven
.”

I gave her a withering look. “That’s Clapton. He could tell any label to screw themselves if they

didn’t like his songs.”

“Fine. Give me a minute here.” She drummed her fingers on the table for a few seconds. “Okay

what about Alter Bridge’s
In Loving Memory
?”

My brows rose in surprise. “You actually listen to Alter Bridge?”

She rolled her eyes. “Contrary to what you think I haven’t been in a hole my entire life or jamming

to the Jonas Brothers.”

I couldn’t fight my lips from momentarily turning upwards. “Yeah, well, Alter Bridge’s

management isn’t necessarily marketing them the same way ours is.”

“You’re honestly going to sit there and give up so easily on something you obviously feel very

passionately about?” She shifted her legs to where her elbows leaned forward on the table. “That

doesn’t sound like the kick-ass and take-names Jake Slater I know.”

I scowled at her for a minute before blowing out a frustrated breath. “Okay Miss Fix-It, how do I

make it work?”

Tilting her head, she chewed on her bottom lip, lost in thought. “What if you were to choose

something symbolic to represent your mother’s…” I knew she couldn’t bring herself to vocalize the

words.

“You can be a big girl and say it. Her
death.
” Abby started to open her mouth, but I silenced her

with my hand. “Yeah, you’re sorry. I know. Now continue on about the symbol shit.”

“Like back in the day during the 60’s, people sang songs with symbols in them because of the FCC

codes. You know, like the Byrd’s
Mr. Tambourine Man
was talking about a drug dealer, and I’m

sure you know about
Puff the Magic Dragon
.”

I shot her an exasperated look. “And you just naturally expect me to know about the songs with the

drug references?”

She grinned. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

I laughed. “I’ll have you know that I haven’t done drugs since high school, Angel.”

“That’s good to know.”

I made a circular motion beside my temple. “It messes with my creative side, so I like to just say

no.”

“Hmm, what about the alcohol?” she challenged.

Damn, she had me there. I couldn’t help the sheepish expression from filling my face. “Yeah, well,

we all have our vices I guess.” I then motioned to the notepad. “Okay, you think I should write about

my mom’s death with symbols—make the emotions sound like something besides death.”

“Right.”

We sat in silence for a few seconds. When I snapped my fingers, Abby jumped. “What if I made

death a person—like a dude I was fighting with for my mom?”

“But make her a girl—the only woman in the world you’ve ever loved.”

“Exactly.”

She bobbed her head enthusiastically. “You will totally make the audience believe that. Look at
I

Will Always Love You
for example.”

My brow creased in confusion. “Whitney Houston?”

“No, Dolly Parton wrote it, but Whitney made it huge.”

I grinned. “Angel, you seem to have a bit of a Dolly Parton fetish that’s quite disturbing.”

Abby laughed. “Actually, it’s my mom with the Dolly fetish. She’s originally from Sevierville,

Tennessee, where Dolly’s from. So I grew up with all her albums, and my mom read her book back in

the day. In it, Dolly explains that while the song sounds like letting go of a love relationship, it’s

actually about her severing ties with her business and singing partner, Porter Wagoner.”

“What a little fount of knowledge you are,” I teased.

“Trust me, when you grow up in places with sporadic electricity or none at all, you learn to amuse