You.
My scandal was my solitude. Some speculated the reason I was never photographed with a man was because I was in love with Nixon or Jonas. Every year that passed, every hit that climbed the charts to number one, made my single status became more and more interesting.
The truly desperate tabloids liked to paint Nixon and me as a couple. They’d speculate that our “secret” relationship was tearing Hush Note apart. There was a time when they’d painted all three of us in a love triangle.
But the truth was, there were no romantic relationships in my life.
Maybe because I’d left my heart with the man on this bench.
“There’s no scandal with me.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed, catching me in the lie. Maybe he’d read some of those tabloids. Maybe he thought they were true.
Doubtful. Graham didn’t seem like he’d spent much time thinking about me since I’d left.
“The worst people say about me is that I’m the bitch,” I told him. “That’s normally how I’m portrayed. Maybe there’s some truth to it. We get a lot of people around us on a tour and everyone wants to be your friend. The bitch helps scare away those who aren’t genuine.”
Guarding myself ensured I wouldn’t be hurt.
Graham’s attention shifted to the piano, his eyebrows coming together like he was thinking over everything I’d told him. “Should we practice tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Meet here at the same time?”
“Sure.” He made a move to stand, but I put my hand on his arm.
“Wait.”
His eyes locked with mine, sending a jolt through my veins. The heat of his skin seeped into my bones, and I couldn’t pull my hand away.
“Why’d you ask?” I whispered. “About the band?” About me?
Graham jerked his arm from my touch and stood, taking one long stride away as his eyes turned to granite. “You traded your family—me—for your band. I guess I wanted to know what I was worth. Sounds like a womanizer and a drug addict.”
I flinched, his words a slap across the cheek.
His parting shot hit dead center, and he strode out of the sanctuary, keys in hand.
Graham had asked me my story so he could have ammunition. Something to hold against me. My hands balled into fists and I slammed them onto the keys, the sound harsh and angry. A scream burned in my chest, begging to be set free, but I shoved it deep. Then I stood and got the fuck out of this sanctuary where Graham’s scent lingered in the air.
One song. We had to get through one song. One funeral. Then I was going back to a life where Graham Hayes was just another painful memory.
Maybe this trip would be good for me after all.
My heart would have some new bruises when I went home to Seattle.
And I’d pour every ounce of this hurt into our next album.
Chapter Six
Graham
“Hi, Quinn!” Colin waved wildly as he ran down the aisle between pews.
She was on stage, at the piano, and her eyes widened as she took him in.
It was the cowardly thing to do, bringing my kid to our practice. But damn it, I couldn’t sit on that seat beside her with no one else in the room. With Colin here, I wouldn’t be tempted to ask her personal questions. Her life was none of my business and getting involved would only cause trouble.
Yesterday had proven that. I’d asked questions. I’d eaten up every word of her answers. And a part of me had softened toward her. I’d let a fraction of my resentment go, and when she’d touched me, I’d almost caved.
Her lips, soft and pink, had been so alluring. Her nose ring was shamelessly sexy. And her hand on my skin had been thrilling. I’d almost lost my fucking mind and given in to that magnetic pull.
Quinn hadn’t deserved my asshole remark. We’d both be better off if she hated me.
Besides, she clearly had something going on with her best friend Nixon. I had no interest in competing for her attention. My life was complicated enough as it was. I had my business to run and a son to raise. Rock star drama was not my thing.
“Dad said you guys are playing a church song.” Colin plopped down on the bench beside Quinn. His knuckles immediately went to the keys and he rapped out “Chopsticks.”
We’d started piano lessons with Ruby about six months ago, but he didn’t love them, not like he loved the drums, so I hadn’t pushed. When he asked me if he could play football instead, I’d agreed. If he wanted to learn piano someday, Ruby said she’d be happy to teach him. But I’d had a front-row seat to the disaster that could happen when you forced one type of art upon someone passionate about another.
Bradley’s insistence that Quinn uphold a certain image, that she’d play certain music, was the reason she’d left town. No way in hell I’d ever risk ruining the relationship with my son over something so trivial.
“Why aren’t you playing a Hush Note song?” Colin asked her.
“Um . . . it’s complicated.”
“Why?” He’d ask over and over until he got a real answer.
“There’s going to be a lot of church friends of Nan’s here. I don’t think most of them like Hush Note music.”
“Yeah.” Colin shrugged. “They’re kind of old. And you don’t have Nixon or Jonas. But Dad could sing.”
Quinn’s gaze lifted, pleading for me to intervene. But my son was right.
What Nan would have wanted was a Hush Note song. “We could take a Hush Note song and sing it as an acoustic.”
“No.” She frowned. “Let’s just stick with ‘Amazing Grace.’”
I stepped on stage, nudging Colin out of my seat. “Find a pew, buddy.”
“Okay.” He jumped off the stage and shuffled to our regular Sunday seats. His was normally right in front of Nan’s and as he sat, he glanced over his shoulder, giving her space a long stare.
It was Wednesday. Nearly a week since she’d passed. So far, he hadn’t asked me much about her death. We hadn’t talked about the funeral because . . . well, no one was talking about it.
Walker had gone into overdrive at the Bridger project, working so hard I’d had to push myself to keep up as we’d framed a bedroom and bathroom today. My parents were avoiding the funeral subject because Ruby was avoiding the funeral subject. When I’d dropped Colin off with her this morning, she’d acted like today was any normal day, not one where she’d be finalizing details with the florist and caterer.
But in the church, Nan’s passing was impossible to ignore.
On Saturday, we’d dress in black and pay our respects. We’d say goodbye to a woman who’d not soon be forgotten. A woman my son would remember for years to come.
If all I could do to repay her for the love she’d given Colin and me was convince her granddaughter to play a Hush Note song on Saturday, I’d do my best. Yesterday I’d given up on the song without a fight.
Not today.
“‘Torchlight.’” I put my hands on the keys. “Want me to fumble through this or do you want to play since you actually wrote the song?”
Quinn glared. “I don’t want—”
“So I’ll play. What key?” It was B-flat. I knew the song and could play the melody in my sleep, but I butchered the opening notes intentionally, baiting Quinn to take over. Maybe what she needed to play was some fire and a shove. I hit three wrong chords in a row. “Oops.”