Suddenly in Love (Lake Haven#1) (27 page)

Twenty-six

Mia was so dumb—why had she ever said they’d be friends? She should have cut it off at the head, ending it once and for all, but she’d been too heartsick to let go completely. And now, in spite of her best efforts to put Brennan behind her, he was making it difficult. He insisted on keeping in touch, and Mia was too weak to stop it.

She wished he’d go back to his fame and stardom and leave her alone. And yet, she couldn’t stop picking up the phone. She hated that she wanted to hear his voice. She hated that she longed to know what he was doing. She wanted to get on with her life and stop living the fantasy of Brennan Yates.

He sent text messages and called. Sometimes, he talked about his work, and how hard it was to produce a soundtrack that hit all the emotional beats of the movie. Mia was interested, but when he asked her opinion, she responded sparingly. She’d say things like, “I always try and find the natural rhythm,” and then cringe at how absurd she sounded. Who was she to advise Everett Alden?

“Like, how do you mean?” he would ask curiously.

“It’s hard to explain,” she’d say, and change the subject. Because the last thing, the very
last
thing she wanted was for him to perceive her as a clingy girl. As someone who made up shit just to stay on the phone.

The last time Brennan called, she heard women in the background.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“A restaurant,” he said. “I’m meeting my agent in about ten minutes.”

She didn’t want to be suspicious, but she wondered if he and some actress or model was meeting his agent. But she said cheerily, “That’s about ten minutes more than I have!”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. Of course he was—he was used to beating off admirers with his imaginary stick. Hell, he probably had someone assigned to do that for him. He knew better than anyone that her life was not exactly a hotbed of activity. “How is work?” he asked.

“We’re almost finished with the north wing.”

“I meant your art,” he said.

Outside of her mother, and occasionally one of her brothers or her father, Brennan was the only one to ever ask. The question made her feel heavy. How was her art? It was dormant. She’d lost more than him, she’d lost the desire to paint. It seemed to have withered along with her heart when Brennan left. “The painting of the lanterns is almost done,” she said. That much was true. She didn’t say it had taken her two weeks to go back to the painting. She didn’t tell him that the red door painting hung on her wall, and that she looked at it every morning, every night, and thought of him. That she was trying, unsuccessfully, to replicate the use of light with her lanterns.

“I’ve made a lot of clothes,” she said, changing the subject. “I made an extra twenty-five hundred dollars this month.”

“Hey, that’s fantastic!”

She pictured him trying very hard not to laugh right now. That must seem so ridiculous to him, to crow about making an extra twenty-five hundred dollars.

“What would you think about flying out to LA later this week?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, sounding annoyed. “I’d like to see you, Mia.”

As if that were an easy thing to do, to pay for a ticket at a moment’s notice and leave a job where she got paid an hourly wage and fly to the West Coast. “I’m kind of busy.”

She heard nothing but the clink of glasses and the sound of the woman talking. “Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he said, sounding defeated. “I just remembered I have to be in San Francisco.”

“Maybe some other time,” she said with a breeziness she didn’t feel.

“Definitely. I’ll call you. Listen, baby, I’ve got to go. Phil is here.”

Mia knew how this would all end, the phone calls, the endearments. She knew, she
knew
, and yet, she couldn’t erase that horrible feeling of anticipation, or the hope that every time he called there was going to be some huge surprise announcement.
I can’t take it here, I’m coming back to East Beach!
There was the undying hope that he would figure it out and he would come back for her, and they would have this wonderful life together. He would write music for big feature films, and she would paint and make clothes, and somehow,
somehow
, they would make it work.

Like that was ever going to happen. Mia had to pull on her big-girl panties and get over it. This was how it was with summer people. They flitted through your life and that was it—it was over.

It was over! Get on with it! Stop pining, stop wishing, stop believing you love him!

Over the next two weeks, Brennan’s calls grew fewer and farther apart. Mia found herself scouring magazine racks looking for stories about him. There were still a few articles about him living in a rustic cabin, but
People
finally ran a story based somewhat on truth—that he’d been here, at Lake Haven . . . caring for a sick mother. She couldn’t help but laugh at that.

Work at the Ross house eventually moved into the south wing. Jesse started dating someone from Black Springs, and for reasons that escaped Mia, he was very keen to share the details with her.

As for herself, Mia just put one foot in front of the other and kept moving through her days, hoping that distance and time from Brennan would somehow make it easier. She had more people wanting dresses, which kept her busy. She was experimenting with different fabrics that she found interesting. The thought occurred that perhaps fashion design was her true calling. She still had a strong desire to paint . . . but she’d always struggled to be really good at it. She didn’t struggle to make wearable art, and the fans of her work were increasing. The appeal of making the clothes was getting stronger every day. “You know what they say,” Grandma said one afternoon as she examined a dress Mia had made for her—a shift, with the big pockets that Grandma had requested. “When one door closes, another one opens.”

That seemed true for her art. But Mia didn’t know what the door closing behind Brennan meant. She wanted to ease the ache in her, but the more she tried, the angrier she became. Not with Brennan. Not with herself. But with Skylar.

Naturally, Skylar seemed completely oblivious to Mia’s hurt. She talked endlessly about her new friendships with the music festival organizers, thanks to finding Everett Alden right under their noses. She’d also kept up communication with the drummer for Whittaker. Damien, Daniel, something like that; Mia could hardly listen to Skylar talk about him. Unlike Mia, who would rather die than be a hanger-on, Skylar was more than happy to constantly text and call the man to keep her tenuous hold on him.

Mia realized she was irrationally angry with her cousin, and yet the anger was boiling, hotter and hotter every time she saw Skylar’s smiling face. Her anger exploded in the shop one afternoon.

It didn’t help that Skylar came in woefully late. She’d taken to coming in when she wanted, because Skylar never took any job seriously, and Aunt Bev didn’t insist that she take this one seriously. That day, Skylar excitedly reported to Mia that she was going to Seattle to a music event. “Damien’s going to be there,” she said, and leaned across the counter to whisper, “and we are going to hook up in a major way. The dude is
hot
.”

“Good for you,” Mia muttered.

“Sourpuss,” Skylar said cheerfully. “Hey, you should come with me!”

Why Skylar thought Mia would want to go anywhere with her was amazing in and of itself. But that Skylar couldn’t see how angry Mia was, or how she’d ruined Mia’s life, finally detonated something in Mia. “Yeah right. Even if I wanted to, I don’t have the money to do that,” she said coldly. “And I’m not about to ask my parents for it.”

Skylar blinked, clearly stung by the dig. “Then call your boyfriend.”

“He’s
not
my boyfriend!” Mia shouted. “And if I ever had any hope of him
being
a boyfriend, it was blown the minute
you
ran your damn mouth!”

“Ladies, ladies!” Wallace said, appearing from somewhere in the back, his hands up. “This is a place of business, not a beer hall.” He put his hand on Mia’s arm, tried to force her around to face him. “It’s not worth it, Mia.”

“What the hell is
that
supposed to mean?” Skylar demanded.

“I know,” Mia conceded. “But I can’t take it. She’s been doing this to me since we were kids.”

“Doing
what
?” Skylar exclaimed.

“Creating bad situations and then leaving me behind, that’s what.”

Skylar gaped at her, clearly stunned. “I don’t do that!” She sounded appalled and indignant and surprised. How could she be surprised?

“Oh no? You left me on the beach that night and you
knew
how drunk I was. You
knew
how Shalene felt about me.”

Skylar gasped. “You’re blaming
me
?”

“
You left me, Skylar! You dragged me to that fucking party, you talked me into drinking that shit, remember? Just
try
it, you said, don’t be an asshole, you said,” Mia shouted, her arms flailing. “And then you
left
me. You create situations and leave me behind.”

“Oh dear,” Wallace said.

“
I
didn’t drag you to the Ross house. That was all you, Mia,” Skylar shot back. “I can’t help it that you fell in love with some guy who was doing a number on you.”

Mia’s heart began to pound with hurt. Skylar had hurt her feelings, but it was more than that—what Skylar said was true. She’d fallen in love with a guy, the wrong guy, and it had done a number on her. “No,” she said, her voice shaking. “But you dragged the world up there, didn’t you.” It was not a question.

“All right, that’s enough!” Wallace said sternly, stepping in between them. “If you’re going to fight, take it to the alley!”

Skylar was furious—Mia could see it in her gaze. But slowly the anger and indignation faded away into an expression of disbelief. “
Jesus
, Mia,” she said, her voice softer. “You didn’t think Everett Alden was actually going to stick around for
you
, did you?”

Mia couldn’t speak. She was so angry, so hurt, and on the verge of tears. Of course she didn’t. If she’d believed that, she wouldn’t have broken it off, would she?

“Oh my God, you
did
,” Skylar said, her voice full of amazement.

“For heaven’s sake, Skylar, do you
ever
know when to stop?” Wallace snapped. He put his arm around Mia’s shoulders.

“I have to go,” Mia said shakily.

“Of course you do,” Wallace said. “Here,” he said, and dug in his pocket. “Take the shop van.” He handed her the keys. “Go and . . . paint something,” he said, and fluttered his fingers toward the back.

Mia grabbed the keys from him and hurried out of the shop before they saw her collapse under the weight of her grief.

Twenty-seven

The work was progressing, but not in the way Brennan had hoped after the success of “Come Closer.”
That song had been written in a fog of alcohol and depression and a discovery of emotions he didn’t know he actually had in him. That song had its own musical juju.

But the rest of the track, even with Chance’s help, was dragging. Brennan and Chance were spending long hours at the studio, working through it, but something was missing, something vital. It was a dull ache, the feeling of missing something. And it felt old and all too familiar to Brennan. He’d first felt it as the son of a single mother. Music was the thing he’d escaped to then, but music couldn’t seem to fill that void any longer.

The hole in him, which he had diligently shored up throughout his life, had somehow gotten bigger. He felt as lost as he had when he’d arrived on his mother’s doorstep.

It didn’t help that in LA, everyone told him how great he was. The label, the fans, the press—they all said he was an American icon, a musical genius. Brennan knew that’s what people said because they thought they were supposed to. To make matters worse, there was no one around him who would be completely straight with him about the music. Except for Chance—but Chance could be as blind to what was missing as Brennan.

What Brennan knew about himself was that he was a good musician, a creative one—but he needed to be pushed. He needed life to push him to greatness. A long time ago, his father’s rejection had pushed him. Trey’s downward spiral had pushed him. And still, he hadn’t reached his potential. He didn’t feel potential in him. If Brennan were honest, completely honest, he’d admit to himself that he couldn’t feel much of anything but loss. That loss was eating at him, and the music wasn’t happening.

He needed Mia. He
wanted
Mia. But she’d told him to get lost. He’d tried to give her space. He’d tried to keep the bond between them, hoping that she would think about what he’d said and realize that she loved him, too. But Brennan felt the gulf between them widening, and it seemed to him that she was steadily chiseling away at it, making it wider and wider. Like he wasn’t worth the effort to stay in touch.

And still, he couldn’t let it go. She meant too much to him.

He texted her one day and told her he was having trouble getting into the music, of finding the right space in it. That sounded like some voodoo talk, and he instantly regretted the text. But about fifteen minutes later, she texted back:
Listen to your music.

He texted with a simple ?.

Listen to something you wrote a long time ago. Put headphones on and just listen.

Brennan had nothing to lose by trying. He did what she said, choosing the band’s sophomore album, most of which he’d written. At first, he hummed along, so familiar with the music. He’d performed it a thousand times, hadn’t he? But then he stopped and
listened
. His mind wasn’t working to enhance or change it. He settled back, closed his eyes, and heard the music he’d created. He heard his talent, the sort of sound he was capable of creating. And he was inspired.

He texted her again, another day, but her reply was terse. He was bothering her. She was the only person he knew who wanted distance from him, and it was clear she did. So Brennan texted and called her less.

He just missed her. He felt the heartache of missing her every day.

Ben Whittaker called one day and told him the band was playing a private party for their label and handlers in Seattle and invited Tuesday’s End to the event. Brennan and the band flew up on the label’s jet.

The moment they walked into the venue, Brennan was surrounded by women and the inevitable posse of band friends. There was a time in his life he’d loved these parties and being the center of attention. He wasn’t interested in parties like this anymore. He’d even go so far as to say he was bored.

He was nursing a beer, answering vaguely about what he was working on, and lazily debating whether or not he ought to take a blonde up on her offer to check out and go to her place. As he lifted his bottle to take a drink, he noticed a woman looking at him. He recognized her—it took him a moment to remember why, but then he squinted, disbelieving. That was Mia’s cousin. What was her name—Sky?

She was wearing a short gold skirt and heels so high that Brennan couldn’t imagine how she stayed upright. She had long blonde hair with pink tips and a diaphanous top through which he could see a red bra.

He watched her strut toward him. “Hey,” she said when she reached him. “Remember me?”

“Sky, right?”

“Skylar. But who’s taking notes?” she asked cheerfully.

Not him. “How did you . . .” He gestured to the room.

“Oh. Whittaker’s drummer, Damien. Do you know him? We kind of hooked up after the Lake Haven Music Festival.”

So she was a first-class groupie, the kind who followed a band anywhere. He wasn’t really surprised. “Congratulations.”

She laughed and tossed her hair. “You don’t bother me,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, then congratulations again. A lot of people have no idea what they’re doing. They just move through life blindly.” He lifted his beer bottle and moved to turn away.

“I know, right? Like my cousin.”

Brennan’s pulse ticked up. He looked at her. “Pardon?”

“My cousin, Mia?” she said, as if he could possibly have forgotten. “Can I say something to you? I mean, for real.”

Now his heart began to race. He couldn’t imagine what this woman would have to say to him about Mia, and he was sure he didn’t want to know.

She read his reluctance. “It’s important.”

He didn’t trust this woman. He abruptly took Skylar’s elbow and wheeled her around, leading her out of the crowded room and into a hall. “Okay,” he said, gesturing for her to talk. “What about Mia?”

“First of all, it’s all my fault,” she said, pressing her hands on top of each other, over her heart. “If I hadn’t said anything, you’d still be up there. No one would know, and you and Mia would still be together.”

That was not true, but he might have stayed a little longer. “Okay, it’s your fault,” he agreed. “But I thought this was about Mia.”

Skylar frowned. “So you’re not going to accept my apology.”

“Was that an apology?”

“You know what, smartass? Mia is really hurting, and that is
not
my fault. It’s
yours
.”

Those words knifed his heart. “What are you talking about?” he demanded angrily. “She told me to take a hike.”

“God, are you that dumb? Mia has always lived in her own little world. She’s always been an outsider. No one ever understood the kind of person she was when we were kids, but
I
did.
I
got her,” she said, poking herself in the chest. “She let you into her world and she had this crazy belief that you would actually want to be with someone like her. Why did you do that to her?”

Brennan swallowed down bitterness. “I asked her to come with me,” he said tightly. “Did she tell you that?”

“No, of course not. Mia never tells anyone anything. But trust me, I know her. I don’t know what you said to her, but Mia isn’t the kind to give up everything and go off on a whim.”

“It wasn’t a whim,” Brennan said angrily, even as he played back that moment at Lookout Point in his mind. He hadn’t actually made it sound very enticing. He’d been so intent on making sure she knew what it would be like that he hadn’t really thought of how unappealing it might have come across to her. He’d been so nervous about telling her how he felt, he didn’t really think about how she might have felt. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me,” he said defensively. And he damn sure wasn’t going to explain himself to Skylar.

“Well, she does. You have to be able to read between the lines.” Skylar folded her arms and glared at him.

Brennan cast his arms wide. “What do you want from me?”

“To make it right,
Everett Alden
. You could, you know.” She turned and walked away. “You could if you wanted to!” she shouted over her shoulder at him.

Brennan had never been able to abide or trust groupies, but something Skylar said was clanging loud in his head. It was a thought that had been floating around in the ether since he’d left East Beach.

Mia did love him, and maybe he could make it right. He’d go back, try again, perhaps tell her he loved her and wanted to be with her in a better way.

The question was, did she want him to come back and make it right? And did he really want to face the pain of her rejection all over again?