Page 103 of Speak of the Devil

“I don’t know. Both probably.”

“Why haven’t you had it looked at?”

He releases a sigh, then looks down as shame weighs down his brow. “I’m the third member in a band. Number one spot goes to Nikki. Two is her twin. There’s no slacking. There are no off days allowed. I have to earn my spot every time I walk onto that stage.”

“I thought you guys were close.”

“We are. Laird’s my best friend, and I love Nikki like my own sister. But they’re moving on with their lives. Tours are scheduled around what’s best for them while I’m given scraps. It’s not their fault. They’d never get rid of me. I can’t show weakness, though. They have families now. Music is all I have.”

There’s so much to unpack, but he’s been silently suffering, making the injury worse because he believes he’s replaceable. I hug him. I don’t know how to fix this, but I do recognize that he’strusted me. Over his cousins and managing team, he told me. I hold him tighter. “You have me. We’ll get it looked at, and we don’t need to tell anyone.” When he lifts my chin and our eyes connect, I’m glad he can’t tell my tears from the water raining down on us. He doesn’t need to worry about me. I’ll be there however he needs. “Tonight, though, let’s get some rest. I’ll make some calls after the holiday weekend.”

“I’d havea big garden with flowers overflowing the beds in the front and back of the house. Fruit trees to pick our own lemons and limes, oranges, and figs. Avocados, of course.”

Standing at the edge of the pool, looking over the property, he turns back and smiles. “Of course.” His mood has shifted this morning. A spark resides in his eyes as if a weight has been lifted. I’m glad he’s allowing me to take on some of his burdens. That’s what partners do. Though the sex this morning could have played a part in improving his mood as well. It was amazing.

“Lots of vegetables in raised beds.” His beautiful backyard has a stunning view, but there’s not much space to do what I’d like to accomplish with my home. I sip my coffee, knowing I’m getting ahead of myself. “And lots of kittens.”

“Kittens turn into cats.”

“That’s why I want them. I could never have a pet growing up. We moved around too much.”

He returns to sit in the chair next to me. “Why is that?”

I shrug, something I generally do when people ask about my parents. It usually works to distract them, but he’s still staring at me like he’s genuinely interested. “Why did we move so much?”I repeat, giving myself time to determine whether I want to talk about this.

“Yeah, you never talk about them. All I know is you moved to La Jolla to live with your grandmother.”

“I was close to her. She had a lot of health problems that she didn’t take care of and passed away before she saw me graduate. That was hard because she encouraged me to go to college and inspired me to go into gerontology. If she would have had the support of a nurse or doctor, I know she would have lived longer.”

His attention doesn’t divert from me even when a bird starts singing from the roofline above us. “She’d be proud of you. I am.”

“You are?” My heart clenches. Swoons. I’m tripping over myself in love with this man, determined to protect what we have at all costs.

“Absolutely. You’re incredible and giving. You care about others and save lives.”

I reach over and cover his hand resting on the table. “I appreciate that, but you do the same in a different way. You may not realize it, but you do. You make people happy by creating music that touches hearts and helps people through hard times. Your songs are played at weddings and baby showers. Music is universal. It’s an art form for a reason. It evokes emotion.”

He covers my hand with his other. “I love you, Cat. It means a lot when people relate to the music, but I want to tell you something. It doesn’t always have to be even, fair, or tit for tat. It’s okay for you to shine your brightest without me needing the spotlight. You don’t need to take the credit away from you by giving it to someone else. You’re amazing. That’s a full sentence. Full stop.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.A tear slips free despite my objections. I tip my head and wipe it away. His words are healing, a balm I didn’t know I needed.

He trusted me with his secret. I can trust him, not only with my heart but with the past that shaped who I am.

“My dad walked out of my life when I was nine and never looked back. It’s like I never existed. Last I heard, he had a new family—two daughters and the son he always wanted—with a woman out in Yuma, Arizona. It’s been a few years, though, so I don’t know if they’re still there.”

The sympathy clouding his eyes is the last thing I wanted. “This is why I don’t like talking about my parents.” I attempt to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let me. “It makes others feel bad for me, and I feel worse.”

“It wasn’t you, babe.”

“What wasn’t?”

“He left because he’s an asshole. You don’t need to keep dragging his weight around like it’s yours to carry. That’s on him. He’s an asshole, but someone else’s problem.”

“I understand I’m not to blame. I was nine, though. That doesn’t change the hurt I carry. He walked away because I didn’t matter.” I hate the shame that rushes my veins. Logic doesn’t lessen the pain. “I wouldn’t make a sound when he was home to avoid his temper. I had to be perfect because I understood the consequences.”

I take a breath to prevent the mix of anger and frustration from rearing their ugly heads. It doesn’t help. I say, “I’m not carrying that pain around because I want to, but it’s instilled and embedded into who I am. So I don’t talk about it. I don’t think about him or his family in Yuma, my half-siblings. I think about my grandmother who loved . . .” I choke on the grief as it comes rushing back. Struggling to swallow, I lower my head, needing out of his concerned gaze.

The feet of his chair grind against the concrete as he slides it back from the table. He wraps around me from behind, resting his head in the crook of my neck. “He fucking missed out on someone extraordinary. His loss.”

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