Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (25 page)

“I
love
them!” she cried, and punched him in the arm.

“Ouch,” he said. “I hope your reaction was this strong when you found out about me.”

“I had a very different reaction,” she said, her brows dipping. “And it was a lot stronger.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “You should definitely come to hear Whittaker. You can come backstage with me and watch from there.”

Mia blinked. She leaned back, staring up at him.

“It’s a good view,” he assured her.

“Umm . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Backstage isn’t a good idea? That’s a first. Why not?”

“I mean, it would be
amazing
,” she said. “But people would see us, and then everyone would wonder.” She shrugged out of his embrace.

“I don’t give a damn what the press says, if that’s what you think.”

“The press! I was talking about my family and friends.”

It took Brennan a moment to understand what she meant. “Wait, what . . . are you
ashamed
of me?”

“No, of course not!” she said, but her cheeks were turning pink. “It’s just that no one really knows about us, not even Skylar, no matter what she
thinks
she knows. And that would be so public, and then there would be all these questions and expectations and
can we meet him
,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Wow,” Brennan said, nodding with amazement. “No one has ever turned down backstage before.”

“I can see better from the front anyway,” she said, and turned back to her salad, as if it was nothing to turn down backstage passes with one of the most popular bands currently on tour. Passes that would be scalped for fifteen hundred dollars in some parts of the United States. It was not what Brennan expected. He supposed he expected her to assume the role of every other woman he’d ever been interested in—wanting the glitz that came with his career. And that she didn’t made him feel strangely clumsy. “But I . . . can I at least see you after the show? There’s an after-show party. Your family won’t be there to see you with the dregs of humanity,” he said drily.

Mia tilted her head to one side and appeared to think about it.

“I’ll get you some tickets, whatever you want. Just come.
Please.
”

One of her brows rose with surprise. “Are you begging?”

“Apparently,” he admitted.

“Okay,” she said. “Since you’re begging, I’ll come to that.”

“Thanks,” Brennan said grudgingly.

“But only as a favor to you. Which means you owe me. Again.” She smiled pertly at him.

A surge of emotion rattled Brennan. He abruptly grabbed her up, took the knife from her hand and put it aside. “God, I love you.” The words fell from his lips without thought, as if they were naturally part of him. That he’d said it so easily shook Brennan.

Mia gasped.
“What?”

“I . . .” He faltered, unsure what he was doing. Did he love her? That word carried so much weight, meant so many things to him. Happiness. Pain. Death and rejection. A thousand self-protective protests rose up in him, some of them based in reality, some of them based in fear. But there was another thought, struggling to rise above the others, clawing free of the baggage he’d carried around with him all these years. He
did
love her. At least that’s what it felt like—and it was both electric and terrifying.

Worse, Mia’s shrewd gaze unnerved him. Brennan had the uneasy feeling that she was reading each and every one of those protests. “You’re just so damn different from anyone I’ve ever known,” he said, fumbling the moment badly.

Her gaze narrowed. Then she relaxed and even managed a small smile. “Well don’t make it sound like I’m weird.”

“Not weird. Priceless,” he murmured, and kissed her to silence his conflicting thoughts.

Twenty-four

When Mia arrived at the family’s weekly dinner with her mother, Skylar was holding court in Grandma’s living room, regaling Emily and her husband Garret, Mike, Derek, and Tamra with her “discovery” of Everett Alden.

“You should have heard Misty Garner when I called her and told her he was
here
, in
East Beach.
”

“Who is Misty Garner?” Tamra asked.

“She’s the one from the mayor’s office working with the concert promoters,” Skylar said. “They’ve been trying to get more big names in, and she about wet her pants.” She spotted Mia then and threw her arms wide. “Hey,
there
you are!”

“Here I am,” Mia said and walked in with her arms full of clothes she’d made for Emily’s friends.

“Move, move,” her mother said from behind her. “This dish is
hot.
” She hurried past Mia and into the kitchen.

“So Mia, this Everett Alden is the same guy who was so rude to you, huh?” Mike asked.

“Apparently,” Mia said vaguely.

“Can you believe it?” Skylar went on effervescently, waving her hand at Mia. “She had
no idea
until I told her. It’s like you live in another world, Mia.”

“I don’t live in another world. I just didn’t recognize him. And I wasn’t the only one—honestly, Skylar, no one knew about him until you started flapping your gums all over town,” Mia said, her voice betraying her irritation.

Skylar blinked. “Okay, so? Is it a big secret or something? By the way, have you talked to him? I heard he was back in town. Is he going to stay here for a while or is he going back to LA?”

“I don’t know,” Mia said sharply.

“What’s the matter with you?” Derek asked.

“Nothing.” Why oh why had she even opened her mouth? She felt uncomfortably exposed, as if they could read her thoughts. Why didn’t she just confess she’d been sleeping with a rock star? It’s what Skylar would do. Just get it out on the table and go on. But Mia wasn’t Skylar. And everyone was looking at her, surprised by her anger.

Mia shrugged. “It’s just been crazy at work because Skylar told everyone, and now there are all these people coming and going and it’s making my life miserable.” She held out the clothes she’d made. “Here are the clothes for your friends, Emily. I’m going to go and help Mom.”

“These are fantastic!” Emily said. “Tamra has some friends who want dresses, too.”

“That’s right,” Tamra said. “They saw Emily’s dress and are dying to meet you. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Mia said.

“She’s going to need a shop!” Emily said proudly.

“Four or five dresses isn’t a shop. But it is fun,” Mia said, grateful to have something to talk about other than Brennan. “Give me a call, Tamra.” She walked on to the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Skylar wasn’t going to let her escape. She caught up to Mia and grabbed her hand in hers, tugging her back before Mia could make it to the kitchen. “So really, you haven’t talked to him?”

“Not about anything but work.”

“Oh, come on, Mia. Surely he’s said something. Like, hey, I’m Everett Alden of Tuesday’s End, and not this Yates guy like you thought I was.
Something.
”

“Actually, Skylar, I’ve been really busy with the renovations and making clothes for everyone. It’s not like we’re having long, drawn-out conversations.” She pulled her hand free of Skylar’s and stepped into the kitchen.

“You should ask him about it!” Skylar insisted.

“Ask who about what?” Aunt Amy asked as Skylar followed her in.

“It’s nothing,” Mia said.

“She always says that,” Skylar complained to Aunt Amy. “Mia, he could get you tickets to the music festival.”

“I could get my own ticket,” Mia said.

“Who can get tickets?” Aunt Amy asked.

“Everett Alden of Tuesday’s End,” Skylar said.

“Never heard of him,” Aunt Amy said, and turned back to her pot on the stove.

“He could get us
great
tickets,” Skylar pressed.

“Us?” Mia said, and jerked around. “Skylar, I don’t
want
tickets from him,” she snapped. “If you want them,
you
ask him.”

“Whoa,” Skylar said, and backed up a couple of steps. “Okay, already. I was just asking.”

Mia’s mother and Aunt Amy exchanged a look. “Skylar, will you set the table?” Aunt Amy asked.

“Fine,” Skylar said. She picked up a stack of plates from the counter, but she paused and looked at Mia. “If you don’t want to get tickets from him, then let’s go to the festival together!” she suggested brightly, and sailed out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

Mia wanted to kill her. Just put her hands around Skylar’s throat and squeeze until she couldn’t talk any more. She turned around and almost collided with her mother, who was standing very close, watching her. “What?” Mia asked curtly.

“You’re going to go to the music festival, aren’t you?” her mother asked.

Mia shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She shrugged again. “Probably.”

“Then why not go with Skylar?”

“Are you kidding, Mom? Every time I go somewhere with Skylar, there is trouble.”

“Oh honey, that was a long time ago,” her mother said patiently. “Skylar means well.”

“And who else are you going to go with?” Aunt Amy asked.

Maybe Aunt Amy had a point. Skylar was family and she was a companion. A bad companion, but still.

No matter what Mia thought about it, Skylar was not content to let it go. Once Mia agreed to go with Skylar, her cousin started in on backstage passes. “You know you could get passes,” she said to Mia when everyone sat down to dinner. “It’s a blast to be backstage.”

“But I don’t want to go backstage,” Mia said.

“
Everyone
wants to go backstage!” Skylar exclaimed.

“I guess I’m not everyone.”

“No, Mia, you’re not everyone. You must seriously dig being an outsider,” Skylar snapped.

“Hey, that’s enough of that,” Grandpa said loudly.

Skylar shut up then. But she continued to sulk about it.

But Skylar had recovered the day the music festival opened. Probably because Mia had reluctantly phoned the day before to tell her she’d gotten tickets from Brennan.

She hadn’t seen much of Brennan since they’d had dinner at her apart
ment—between his preparations for the festival and her desire to finish
dresses for Tamra’s friends, they’d both been quite busy that week. But he’d
delivered the tickets to her personally, told her how much he’d missed her those few days, and they’d fallen onto her bed, giggling at something silly.

Brennan hadn’t blurted out any other declarations of love, but Mia could feel it. She knew what it was—she was feeling the same thing for him.

She was excited about the festival, especially when the day dawned bright and filled with warm sun, a sure sign that summer was around the corner. Skylar arrived to pick her up in Aunt Bev’s Cadillac SUV. She was wearing a beaded vest, linen pants, and a leather tie around her head. “It’s not Woodstock,” Mia said with a laugh. “It’s Lake Haven.”

“Funny,”
Skylar said, laughing too. “You’re the last person who should be critiquing outfits.”

That was true—Mia had on her favorite distressed jeans and a halter top she’d made from one of Emily’s old prom dresses. She’d also made a floppy sun hat and had festooned it with tiny gold Christmas ornaments. “And may I say you look especially creative today,” Skylar added cheerfully. “That’s my cousin,” she said, throwing her arm around Mia’s shoulders. “Always determined to stand out in a crowd.”

Once they arrived at the grounds of the festival, they wandered around, taking it all in. There were food trailers and photo booths, water stations and rows and rows of portable toilets. The two of them walked by the merchandising tents where Skylar shopped the jewelry. Mia didn’t have much money, so she roamed up and down the rows of T-shirts, purses, sun hats. She stumbled upon the Tuesday’s End T-shirts quite by accident. Next to the tables set up to sell the merchandise of the bands on the official lineup, a smaller table had been dragged over and the T-shirts dumped directly out of the boxes. The front of the T-shirt had the neck of a guitar with the words
Tuesday’s End World Tour.
On the back was a list of cities and the dates they’d played. Mia guessed there were at least forty cities listed.

It was staggering to see that list, visual proof of the sort of life Brennan actually lived.

Mia bought a T-shirt and tucked it into the shoulder bag she’d made from raffia ribbon.

Skylar bought a leather and silver bracelet, and the two cousins headed to the beer tent. They spent the rest of the afternoon in a mellow haze of sunlight, listening to bands that came on stage one after the other. Some of them were familiar to Mia. Some of them were not. All of them were good.

By nightfall, she was feeling the effects of having spent the afternoon drinking beer in the sun. She was relaxed and happy as she and Skylar shared a plate of nachos. After they finished them, Skylar said she was going to the portable toilet. It seemed like an hour or more had passed when Mia started to worry. Her calls to Skylar’s cell phone rolled to voice mail. Mia felt a little sick—she was uncomfortably reminded of the night on the beach. Skylar had disappeared then, too, and as darkness fell, Mia’s anxiety was ratcheting up.

When Whittaker, the headline act, was introduced, Mia was certain something had happened to Skylar. She had decided she would find a police officer and ask for assistance, but as the band began to play, Mia was grabbed from behind, and then pushed forward. She cried out, twisting violently around to see Skylar behind her, grinning wildly. Her headband was gone and she reeked of marijuana. She grinned at Mia with the all-too-familiar glassy gaze.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mia shouted over the din.

“Don’t look at me like that!” Skylar shouted back. She swiped Mia’s hat from her head. “Take it off so people can see. Come on, Mia, it’s a
music
festival!” She continued to push, knocking Mia into other people who angrily turned and yelled at them. Skylar laughed at all of them and kept pushing forward until they had squeezed in at the ropes.

Whittaker came on stage to thunderous applause, lights, and smoke, and began to play.

That’s when Skylar began to dance. Not just moving from side to side, but hopping and flinging her arms, oblivious to everyone else around her. Mia missed the first fifteen minutes of the concert trying to rein her cousin in. She was furious, absolutely furious. She wanted to leave, to get out of that roaring crowd and away from an impaired Skylar.

But they were hemmed in, and there was no escape. Mia could do nothing but wait for the concert to be over.

Then the lead singer from Whittaker said, “We’ve got a special surprise for you tonight!”

“This is him!” Skylar screeched, and fell onto Mia’s back, her hands on Mia’s shoulders.

“Are you ready?” the singer shouted, and the crowd roared. The band began to play a tune Mia recognized. Smoke filled the stage once more, and as the lead singer shouted, “Put your hands together for the one, the only,
Everett Alden
of
Tuesday’s End
!”

Brennan appeared on stage, walking out of the smoke with a guitar, his fingers flying over the neck.

Mia was stunned. She was mesmerized. She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t this. With his legs braced apart, Brennan played the guitar, knowing just when to crescendo, to pull back, then rush forward again so that the crowd was shrieking and whistling for him. Then the full band entered the song, the drum pounding a hard beat, and Brennan began to sing “Dream Maker.”

The crowd went absolutely wild. They pushed and shoved forward, cell phones in the air, filming his performance. Mia pushed around a man in front of her, unwilling to lose sight of Brennan.

His was a truly masterful performance. She loved the deep and gritty quality of his voice. She loved the way he moved, his body swaying and bouncing along with the music. The song ended to a deafening roar of the crowd.

Whittaker then performed two of their songs, with Brennan playing along. He was clearly enjoying himself; he seemed to have gone somewhere else entirely, into a world she wondered if she could ever understand. Sweat dripped from the tips of his shaggy hair. His T-shirt—one with a dinosaur, she thought—was drenched.

The band played an encore, and still the crowd wasn’t satisfied. The lead singer of Whittaker walked out one more time. “You want more?” he shouted at the crowd, who screeched back in response. “Man, we’ve got a special treat for you tonight.” He wiped his face with a towel. “Everett Alden has been working on some new music.”

The crowd roared.

“It’s never been heard before.”

The roar grew louder.

“He wants to play it for you tonight.”

Mia had to cover her ears, the whistles and screams were so loud.

The lead singer lifted his hands and signaled the crowd to settle down. Brennan appeared again, carrying a stool and his guitar. He set the stool down, covered the mic with his hand and said something to the singer from Whittaker, and then sat on the stool and settled his guitar on his leg. “I’ve been working on this piece for a few weeks,” he said as he adjusted the mic. He strummed a few chords on the guitar. “I hope you like it.”