Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (25 page)

"That wouldn't be awkward for
you
."

He smiles. "Course not. But it would be awkward for you. And I'd hate to wait any longer to get my mouth on—"

"That's enough."

He motions to the door. "Call me if you need backup."

"Okay. But, um, you can finish before you come—ahem—before you leave."

He nods. "Good luck, Willow."

"Thanks."

God knows I need it.

––––––––

T
om

I'm not aware of much beyond the sticks in my hands, the way they tap the drums or smash the cymbals. Beyond my foot pounding the pedal of the bass drum until the entire fucking amphitheater is shaking.

The music—if I can be so generous as to call my thrashing music— bounces off the walls and echoes back into my ears. This is shit playing. I'll feel better if I focus, if I play our entire set list all the way through, but I can't focus on shit.

Don't want focus. I want loud. I want noise. I want my drum kit screaming.

Eventually, I'm gonna get tired. That's what logic suggests. But I've been going for a while, and I still have a head full of steam.

I better smack these fucking things harder. Hard enough I could break the kit.

Even in my pissed off state, this sounds too much like noise. I can't stand the shitty noise.

I start to focus. First, the loudest song we have. As loud as I can play it.

There. Better. I don't sound like a drunk fifteen-year-old who's never held a pair of sticks before. More like a tipsy twenty-year-old who's only been playing for a few months.

I bring it all the way up to sober twenty-something who knows his way around a drum kit.

Then all the way to Tom Steele, bad ass God of a drummer.

The music bounces off the walls and back into my ears. But there's another sound too. The door opening. And footsteps. They're fast.

I can't bring myself to look up. Can't bring myself to stop playing. Even as the footsteps move closer, as a sob breaks up the music.

It must be a fucking loud sob if I can hear it over the music.

"Tom."

That's Willow.

I drop my sticks instantly. Then I'm on my feet.

She's standing in front of the stage. Even with the stage lights on, I can make out the redness in her eyes.

She's been crying.

She's been crying a hell of a lot.

"Oh my God, Tom." She looks up at me. "You're okay."

I don't like that she's crying. Don't like that she's hurting. I'm still pissed about all this, but I need her not hurting. Now.

I move away from the drum kit. She's already climbing the steps to the stage. She practically throws herself into my arms.

"I was scared. I thought... I don't know." She presses her hands into my t-shirt. Then her cheek. "That something bad happened."

She's been crying so hard her tears wet my t-shirt. I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer. She smells good. Like Willow. Like home.

But what she did...

Fuck, I don't know what to do here.

"I'm sorry." She looks up at me, her eyes still dotted with tears. "I'm sorry I sprang that on you. Liberty seemed sincere and I thought... I thought you'd feel better once you heard from her about how much she regrets what happened. That maybe you'd feel more wanted, more loved."

I stare back at her. The words aren't making sense yet. I'm still foggy from the haze of playing.

Her voice is soft, a whisper. "I'm sorry." She buries her face in my chest for a long moment then she's looking into my eyes. Her voice gets louder, stronger. "But you can't do this to me, Tom. You can't run off. Bad things happen when people run."

There's fear in her hazel eyes. A lifetime of fear.

Dammit. I hurt her. It fucking aches that I hurt her. It doesn't erase everything else I'm feeling, but it's a hell of a lot stronger.

I hate when she hurts.

I nod.

She nods back. "You don't have to talk to me now. You don't have to talk to me for a month if that's what you want. If you ask me to leave now, I will." She swallows hard. "But you have to tell me you're okay. You have to tell me where you're going. Okay?"

"I'm sorry, kid." I run my fingers through her short hair. Already, I'm melting. It's hard to stay mad at Willow.

I don't think I've ever been mad at her before.

It feels right having her in my arms. Only other thing that feels this right is sitting behind my drum kit.

I pull her closer. Closer. Until her breath is steady.

"Your heart is beating slower," she says. "It was racing before."

I nod to the drum kit.

"You're sweaty too." She slides her palm over my bicep. "Not that I'm complaining."

"Yeah."

"Usually, you take your shirt off when you're drumming. Or is that for the benefit of the crowd?"

"Half for me, half for them." I look down at her. I would feel better to hold her without my shirt in the way of skin to skin contact. Without any of her clothes in the way.

But we have to discuss this. It's a big fucking deal.

I'm out of my haze. I'm calm enough. I make eye contact. "Start from the top again."

She takes a deep breath. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"About three months ago, Liberty contacted me. Through my photography site. A friend of hers was looking at boudoir pics and she thought you looked a lot like the boy she had when they were younger. Liberty has your picture everywhere. She shows it to everybody. She thought it might be her son, and she wanted me to pass her contact information along."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"At first, I thought I'd tell her to go away."

"Don't do that, kid. Don't make decisions for me."

Her expression softens. Her eyes brighten. "You called me kid."

I raise a brow.

"When you're really upset, you don't."

I let out a low laugh. "Guess that's true."

"I thought I could spare you from that pain. But then she said a little more about you, about what had happened." Her eyes fill with empathy—she's too fucking kind—then they're back on mine. "I guess I thought of what happened to me. That maybe she had been trying to leave her abusive boyfriend but she'd never figured out how. That she had just made a lot of mistakes that kept snowballing."

It's hard to think of Liberty as anything but the woman who didn't give a shit about me. Hard to use the word
mom
or
mother
to describe her.

I don't know whether I should melt over Willow seeing the best in people or shake my head over her getting taken for a ride. I don't like anyone fucking with her. I'll destroy anybody who fucks with her.

But I can't deny that her version of events could be true.

"I was waiting for things to slow down," she says. "But they never really do."

I nod.

"I knew she lived in Vegas. So I thought while we were here... I knew you'd say no. That doesn't excuse it, but you still walk around with a chip on your shoulder, like you're still sure everyone is going to think you're worthless." She reaches up to run her fingers through my hair. "I thought maybe if you met Liberty and saw that it was all mistakes, that she always wanted you and thought you were valuable... I thought maybe you'd stop feeling that way."

My last bit of resistance melts. It's impossible to stay mad at her. I'm not sure Willow has a selfish bone in her body.

But that doesn't make this okay.

Still... "Have to admit, I'd have done the same thing."

She smiles. "And I'd have been pissed about it."

"I don't need anybody but you loving me."

"You have your mom and Pete."

"That's three times what I need."

"Drew loves you." She laughs. "He'd never admit it though."

"Then how do you know?"

"I just do. And Miles. And Meg and Kara. I'm not sure about Jess. She hasn't known you very long, but she seems fond of you." Her voice drops. "You've helped me move on from my past. I thought maybe I could do the same."

"I don't doubt your intentions, kid. But I don't want shit sprung on me."

"I know. I'm sorry." She slides her arms around my waist. "I'm glad you're here. I thought I lost you."

"Never." I take her hand and bring it to the tattoo on my hip. "This is forever." I point to her wedding ring. "This too."

"You promise?"

"Course."

She looks up at me. "Do you remember that night I was trying to leave your bed, and you pulled me close and asked me to promise not to leave you?"

"That was the first night you blew me."

She blushes. "I'm trying to be romantic."

"You asked me to come in your mouth."

She laughs. "That's true."

"You said
please
." Fuck, that was hot.

"That's also true."

"Fuck, you're giving me ideas."

Her voice drops to something sensual. "I like all your ideas."

"Here?"

She nods. "Unless you want more time to yourself to think."

"No."

"You don't want space?"

"Not from you."

She raises to her toes and presses her lips to mine. Relief floods my lips as I kiss her back.

She's mine.

Whatever happens, she's always mine.

When the kiss breaks, she stares deeply into my eyes. "I was terrified I lost you. I'm not sure I can survive without you. You're my oxygen. I can't believe I did anything to risk that." She runs her fingers through my hair. "If you don't want to meet Liberty again, that's okay. As long as I don't lose you."

"Never."

She tugs at my t-shirt. "Promise again."

"Never, kid. You'll have to try a hell of a lot harder to get rid of me." I run my fingers through her hair. It's hard to think anything besides how much I want her body against mine, but I have to get this out. "Not sure if I'm ever gonna want to see Liberty again."

She nods. "We have a few days if you change your mind. And if not, that's okay. I sympathize with her, but you always come first."

"Now that isn't true."

She smiles. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, but I'd like to demonstrate what it's like when
you
come first."

She nods. "Please."

"Say it again."

"Please, Tom. I need you."

Fuck.

I kiss her and the rest of the world melts away.

***

B
ack in the hotel room, I order breakfast for us. We shower together.

I used to hate it when women felt the need to jump in the shower with me. We were done with our
relationship
, and we didn't need to play house. Not like those women looked at me as anything but a shiny trophy, a rock star boyfriend to show off to their friends.

But damn, I love when Willow gets in the shower with me. Love running my fingers through her short hair. Love the way she squeals and fusses over me using the products for color-treated hair.

I especially love pressing my lips to her neck and running my hands over her wet skin.

No sense in wasting this opportunity. I hold her body against mine and stroke her to orgasm.

God damn, I love that part most of all.

By the time we're done, breakfast is waiting outside our door and it's cold.

We're wearing those ridiculous white plush robes, sitting on the couch and sharing everything. It's a standard spread—scrambled eggs with vegetables, fruit, toast.

She stirs sugar and almond milk—of course they have almond milk here—into her coffee and takes a long sip. "It's freezing."

"I wonder how that happened?"

She smiles. "Quite the mystery."

Her robe slips off her shoulder. It falls open enough to show off her chest tattoo and the tops of her breasts.

Damn, already getting ideas about having her again.

She spreads jam on her toast, rips it in half, and hands one piece to me. "Did you think about it at all?"

"When would I have thought about it—when I was fucking you on that stage or when I was getting you off in the shower?"

She blushes. "When we were walking back to our room."

I shake my head. "Was thinking about fucking you in the shower."

"You were not."

Okay, I wasn't. Truth is, I wasn't thinking much. Hard to think much after sex.

Her eyes meet mine. "Where's the convertible?"

"At the venue." I tear my half-piece of toast into quarters. "Shouldn't have bailed like that."

Her eyes fix on mine. "It was okay, but—" She shakes her head. Her wet hair lands over her cheeks. "Don't do it again. Please."

Damn, she's polite. She should tell me to go fuck myself for that. Shit she pulled was bad, but nothing excuses leaving her stranded at some random diner.

Her gaze goes to her wedding ring. "You don't have to decide now."

"Don't have anything pleasant to say to that woman."

She nods. "We don't have to talk about. We don't have to talk at all."

"Yeah?"

She laughs. "I meant something like
watch a movie
, but we can do that too." Her eyes meet mine. "You're more insatiable than usual."

"Don't like feeling distance between us."

"Do you feel distance right now?"

I nod. "
This
is between us."

"Yeah." She chews and swallows a bite of her toast. Her eyes meet mine then they're back on her food. She hides behind her coffee cup. "That ball is in your court, sweetie. It's whatever you want to do."

"You really think something positive can come out of me talking to my biological mother?"

"If you're open-minded about it."

Quite a fucking if.

She finishes her coffee and refills it from the pot. Her fingertips curl around the handle, but she doesn't pick it up. She stares at it.

I take a sip of my coffee. This means a lot to her.

It's really hard to get my thoughts to do anything but scream
no fucking way
. I never thought I'd see my mother again. Never wanted to.

Mostly, I remember her high. But there are a few bits and pieces before she started doing drugs. Before she started dating another loser who hit her or me. She’s a magnet for that type of guy.