Page 54 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

Without thinking, my fingers touch the keys again, and I play. Not my usual scales this time, butSoldier On.The lyrics dance on my tongue, but I don’t sing, still not quite awake enough for that yet. But my fingers move, the warm muscle memory taking hold, new memories carving deep enough to hit bone.

Logan’s hand brushes mine again, but this time we’re standing on my doorstep. The moon sits high in the sky. A desert wind blows past as I part my lips, his tongue a welcome invasion. His arm curls around me, his other hand possessively cupping my face, drawing my lips toward his.

I shift on the piano bench, the hard surface suddenly uncomfortable against the nagging heartbeat between my thighs.

Do you want to come in?

Yes, I do.

But I won’t.

I pull my fingers from the keys again, and the room falls into silence.

“God, what was I thinking?” I say. “I wasn’t. That’s the answer.”

Freddie hums slightly, a note echoing softly within.

“Logan was right, wasn’t he?” I ask, exhaling hard. “I’mnotthinking straight.”

I haven’t for quite a while now. I’ve been very much sticking myself in the moment, not wanting to think about what’s coming next, not wanting to consider the consequences of what I’m doing.

I tilt my head. “Itwasfun, though.”

Freddie stares.

I gulp down some of my morning coffee, hoping to suppress the smile on my lips, but it curls right back up when I’m done swallowing.

I’mlovesick, he said.

“Maybe he’s right about that, too,” I murmur. “Maybe my heartisbroken, and that’s why I’ve been the anti-Katrina lately. Maybe I am losing control, Freddie, but dammit... I kinda like it.” I look down at the row of keys in front of me. “Is that bad? Am I a… bad kitty?”

I tap middle C.

Freddie hums back.

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I think so, too.”

I touch the keys again, stroking from top to bottom, hearing a note between my ears. I play it, then another. And another. Until a melody I’ve never heard before forms.

I flinch toward my music journal, nearly knocking over my mug. I slide it to the other side and grab my pen, flipping open the journal and jotting the notes down before I forget them.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I ignore for another minute as I get down every little vivid detail of the song-in-progress in my head before looking at it.

Jordan

EMERGENCY BAND MEETING. ASAP. GUEST HOUSE.

“Jeez, who died?” I mutter before closing my journal. I give the piano a quick pat as I rise and say, “Gotta go, Freddie.”

I reach Botsford Manor about thirty minutes later, parking my car in the circle drive behind Knox’s car. It looks like everyone else is already here, too, and I’m the last to arrive.

Carve another notch in the anti-Katrina belt with that one.

I hit the garden path around the main house, angling toward the guest house across the lawn. The double doors are wide open, letting in the light and fresh air. As I walk inside, I spot the band seated in chairs around the sitting room where we usually practice.

The band... and only the band.

No Harmony. Not even Harvey.

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