Page 68 of To Bring You Back
“We’ll be watching for this car.”
“I understand.” Tracking the only exotic sports car in Lakeshore wouldn’t take much effort. “Am I free to go?”
Officer Cullen shined the light over the car, then gave a nod and stepped back. Gannon let himself in and started the engine. The officer moved the cruiser so Gannon could get the car out. With a glance to the right, he grabbed the shifter. Wedged between the seat and the center console was a tightly folded square of wax paper.
If it’d been visible from outside the car, Matt would be in cuffs right now.
Gannon set his jaw and pulled away from the curb.
Out of respectfor her roommate, Adeline wouldn’t try her bass so late, except that an episode of one of their favorite shows sounded through Tegan’s closed bedroom door. She was still awake and would wholeheartedly second Gannon’s request she play again.
Upstairs in the guest bedroom, the bass leaned against the wall where she’d left it after visiting the music store. She flicked on the light. This was the front of the house, and anyone watching from the street would see the glowing window. Were photographers still out there? She wouldn’t part the curtains to check because if she saw them, they’d see her, and what she was about to do needed to be private.
We’re free and forgiven. We don’t have to let a nine-year-old mistake define us.
Free and forgiven.
Free and forgiven, despite the undertow of attraction when Gannon had hugged her.
“God, give me a clean heart so I can please you.” Speaking the words aloud should’ve made them feel more real, but the sound evaporated.
She tugged the zipper of the case, revealing the scroll, a rich chestnut brown, and then the pegbox, the fingerboard, and the table, a face as familiar to her as Gannon’s or John’s—maybe more so, since they’d grown up in the years they’d been apart while the bass had remained unchanged.
“I’ve missed you.” And she hadn’t realized how much until now. Holding it felt like embracing a friend.
Maybe Gannon was right. Maybe she never should’ve given this up. Maybe she had something to offer that not only brought her joy, but would benefit her church too. She’d told Gannon talking wouldn’t bring back Fitz. It hadn’t, but avoiding music wouldn’t bring him back either.
With a deep breath, she placed the fingers of her left hand on the strings. Had it always felt this awkward to get her hand in place?
With no music before her, she determined to attempt a scale.
A thud sounded against the house. A voice hit one surprised beat, and a murmur followed. Had photographers come into the yard?
She abandoned the bass and crossed to the window. Parting the curtains, she could see the roof of the porch. Shadows—people, she was pretty sure—fled from the side of the house out toward the road, but the neighbor’s trees blocked a clear view.
The paparazzi should’ve seen Gannon leave and wouldn’t have had a reason to come near the house. At least the fans, whoever they were, had left now. She watched another minute. Spotting no further movements, she returned to the bass.
Before hesitation could turn into surrender, she plucked a note and then depressed the string with her left hand and plucked another. The cord felt tough against her skin, the fingerings awkward, and the notes not quite in tune with her intentions. She’d kept the instrument in working order, never realizing how her talent would deteriorate.
On the other hand, being out of her depth felt right. She didn’t deserve what she’d once had. Did she want to do the work it would take to gain it back?
She struggled to complete the scale. Up and down, with mistakes each time. By the end of the third attempt, her fingertips had turned tender. When she missed her mark with the last note, she didn’t retry. Instead, she wrapped the bass in its case once more.
As she lay in bed, trying to sleep, snatches of Gannon’s song haunted her. If she could find it somewhere and listen again, she would, but he’d said he hadn’t shared it publicly.
He had, however, shared other songs. Years’ worth of them.
Her phone glowed in the dark as she downloaded all of Awestruck’s music, dating back to the first album. She wouldn’t get through the hours of songs tonight, but she’d listen until she fell asleep, and if she could concentrate on work well enough, she’d play more in the office tomorrow. Maybe along the way, she’d absorb his way of thinking about God, which was as different from her current perspective as her halting scale was from his moving living room performance.
With the bass, if she practiced enough, she could get back what she’d lost, what Gannon still had. But God was a being, not an instrument. If she showed up, would He do for her what He seemed to have done for Gannon? Would He do for her the things Gannon had asked?
One of his requests in the song had been for God to hold her as she fell asleep. She didn’t feel any divine presence—she hadn’t in years—but for once, she didn’t miss the connection. How could she when she had Gannon’s voice?
When Gannon pulledinto the garage, the headlights revealed Matt. Gannon let the car roll within inches of his legs before he shut off the engine.
“I’ll take those.” Matt extended his hand and waved his fingers toward the keys.
“You’re done for the night.”
