Page 78 of Under One Roof

By the time I finish the hash browns, bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, and toast, she’s made her way downstairs, still in my T-shirt, with a pale face and pillow crease across her cheek. I greet her with a kiss on her temple. “You look good.”

“Yeah, feel great too.” She folds her arms on the table and places her head down on them, moaning something about a headache.

“Did you take the pills I left out for you?” She answers with a hum that I assume means yes, and I set the plate of food in front of her, along with a fork and napkin. “Eat, Andi. You need some protein.”

That gets her to sit up, a half-coy, half-still-waking-up smile aimed in my direction. “Yes, Captain.”

“It would be more effective if you weren’t hungover.”

She aims a cute little growl at me then digs in, and I join her with my own plate. I wait until she’s gotten through most of her breakfast to ask, “So, what happened yesterday?”

I’ve been over this a few times this morning while jumping rope, and I don’t think she went and bought herself a bottle of wine because of mylove youslip, especially when I know she feels the same for me, so I can only guess whatever is bothering her is something big. Maybe something with her family or her friend back in LA.

But with how she won’t meet my eyes now, I think maybe I’m wrong.

She scratches the tines of her fork in the egg yolk smeared on her plate, and the longer it takes her to answer, the itchier my skin gets.

All these fuckingfeelings.

I’ve had so many since meeting Andi, but none like this…dread.

She’s safe, whole, and unhurt in front of me, and yet there’s a pit in my stomach. A whisper of foreboding, like right before my SEAL team walked into that operation in the mountains, the silence heavier than a loaded gun, filled with the weight of the unknown and the loss that could come from it.

That’s what it feels like now, sitting across from her. Waiting for the axe to fall.

She puts me out of my misery when she takes a deep breath and pastes on a smile that isn’t her real one. “Dahlia called me yesterday, and the record company wants me to come out to LA with her as soon as possible. They’re willing to bring me on to her team to write the album.”

This is it.

Her dream.

And the last thing I want to hear.

“Wow,” I finally spit out. “Congratulations. That’s…huge for you.”

She nods, setting her fork down to use her hands while she talks, though her eyes stray around the room. “I spoke to the A&R rep yesterday, and she really believes that Dahlia needs me on the album with her. She said our songs have something special that she’s not sure Dahl would have with someone else since I already understand who she is as an artist, you know?”

No, I don’t know, but I nod anyway. “Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

“After I got off the phone with Cynthia—that’s the A&R person—then I talked to someone in HR about payment and contracts, and it’s not a huge amount of money, but it’s…a good amount. Plus, I’ll have my name on the album and writing credits.” Andi tucks her hair behind her ears, rambling now. “Dahlia said she would push for me to get producing credits, but I’m not sure about that. I mean, I’ve been in a recording studio before, but I don’t have a ton of experience. Besides, like, working with her for all those years. So, I mean, I guess I am the person who could advocate for her or whatever, if she needs it, but when it comes to actually making the decisions with the songs, I’m not sure they’d let me. And that’s a lot of pressure.”

Her nervous energy is palpable, and I stop her by reaching over to catch her hand, holding it in mine, stroking my thumb over her knuckles. “Are you happy?”

This offer is her dream. I want her to be happy.

And yet, all I can think about is how much I want her to stay here with me, with us. I’m a selfish bastard, plain and simple.

She licks her lips and finally meets my gaze, her brown eyes the tiniest bit bloodshot and watery. “I don’t think I should go.”

“What?” I don’t think I heard her right and shake my head. “You aren’t going to go?”

Did I say all my inner thoughts out loud? Does she know my most selfish, awful hopes?

Oh my fucking god. I swallow past the giant rock stuck in my throat—the one threatening to bring up my breakfast—as she shakes her head.

“Andi, sweetheart.” I take her hand in mine. “What are you talking about?”

She shrugs, face crumpling. “I don’t know what to do.”

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