Page 7 of Heart Strings
“You have a vivid imagination. Most of my fans only ask for a hug,” I say, stepping onto the raised platform. “Besides, I’m not at a hotel. I’m staying with Mam and Da. You know that.”
Fionn scoffs. “I know Mam has been running around the place like mad and had me up on a ladder to clean the gutters for your visit. The gutters, Aidan. As if you would notice. I told her rockstars prefer to trash hotel rooms anyway.”
“Oh yeah, this one’s Jimi Hendrix reincarnated.” Saoirse snorts.
I smile. Some rockstar I am. Turning down a night with a beautiful woman to stay at home with my mam.
“How long are you in town?” Saoirse asks.
“Till mid-October. Going to Callum and Lark’s wedding in two weeks, of course,” I answer. That’ll give me about a month to spend with my family and write some new material. “Come on, let’s get at it. Fionn, will you join us this time?”
He scans the crowd for the fans from earlier. He’s a lot like I was at twenty.
“Don’t worry about them.” I wrap an arm around his shoulders. “I want to enjoy a ceílí with my brother.”
Fionn’s brow bounces as he picks up his bodhrán drum. “Women love a musician, don’t they?”
Not the one I wanted to love me back. I force my mouth to mimic his smile. “Sure do.”
Saoirse starts us off, drawing the bow across her fiddle in a tune from my latest EP. Fionn thumps the painted skin of his bodhrán in time. Under my fingers, the mandolin is soft and pliable, filling the pub with sweet notes.
It’s simple. It’s brilliant. It’s home.
Caught in the electric buzz of performance, I grin at Fionn.
“Ah, look.” He gestures toward the bar with his chin and mouths, “There’s yer wan.”
Can’t he focus on the music for a bit, instead of women? My gaze drifts across the bodies packed in front of the stage to see what he’s on about now. My jaw drops when I notice who is seated at the bar.
“Lo,” I murmur, my hands on autopilot through the familiar song. But I can barely hear it now.
Even sipping a drink at the local, Cielo Valdez carries herselfwith a sense of sophistication and confidence. Lush, shoulder-grazing brunette hair frames her full cheeks, and an elegant top hints at her dangerous curves. She’s a gorgeous mirage. If I dare blink, she’ll disappear. Countless times before, I’ve spotted her in an audience, but it was only a trick of the stage lights and wishful thinking. This time, she’s real.
Our eyes meet and I nearly lose my place. Arched brows raise in surprise, then form a scowl. If looks could kill, Cielo would cremate me on the spot. Unflinching, she stares me down, lifting her glass to the juicy lips that had kissed me softly and cut me deep.
Emotions knot in my chest. Nostalgia, the ache of longing, the pain of rejection…regret.
Two years have passed since we’ve spoken. I knew I’d see her soon what with the wedding, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be tonight. Her life has been a mystery to me since we broke up. Callum never mentions her, good man, and I’ve never worked up the courage to ask. It’s over; Cielo cuts ties to anyone who hurts her.
The way I really feel about her remains unspoken, but maybe I can put it into music for the sake of my own sanity. Not one of my original songs, that’s hitting too close to home. Something else. After we finish the song, I lean close, whisper the next title to Saoirse.
Her attention darts to Cielo at the bar. “It’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Maybe it is. So?”
Lo will know it’s for her. She won’t forgive me, but maybe she’ll remember what it used to feel like, coming here together.
Chapter 4
Lo
Being the inspirationfor a hit love song is my villain origin story. It’s been said that if a man writes you a sonnet or two, he loves you. If a man writes you a dozen sonnets, he just loves writing sonnets. Aidan is a man who just loves writing love songs. With lyrics so beautiful, it’s easy to assume he feels more for his muse than he actually does.
Our eyes lock mid-song and I hold my breath. That voice, resonant and earnest. I used to believe the romance he’s singing about was true. It sounds so genuine. Those blue-green eyes somehow always feel so warm when his attention is on you, but what is that worth when you’re left shivering and alone in the end?
Aidan is devastating, if slightly different than I remember. Longer auburn waves hang over his forehead. A dense new beard covers his square jaw. A snug band tee stretches across his chest and broad shoulders, cotton softened by countless washes. His usually light, freckled skin is tanned, which is weird, but Celtic ink still twists up the corded arms that used to hold me tight.
Those days are long over.
