I’m not going to confirm it directly—because I don’t want to face the fucking emotions that it sends rolling through me—so I slam one of my pillows into place and shrug. “Shit happens.”
Kylie lets go of her legs and stretches them back down to the floor. She rakes her hand through her short, black and blue hair and presses her lips together into a thin line, working them back and forth. Trying to come up with what to say to make me feel better. It only makes me uncomfortable.
I sit on the side of the bed facing her, gripping the mattress tightly. “Don’t you need to go check on Brenna?”
Nodding, my sister rises to her feet. She smiles one of those smiles that won’t reach her eyes. I’m used to seeing her look like that when it comes to Wyatt, but never with me. “Pull your shit together, big brother. You want her. You’re in love with her. So do something about it.” She walks to the door, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. “Besides, you’re not exactly playing the part of Mr. Innocent. Just calm the hell down and fix things, okay?”
I give her a tight-lipped smirk—and I’ve been doing a lot of that lately—and I nod my head. “Thanks for the advice.”
She lifts her shoulders slightly, and my gaze drops to her giant cluster of blackbird tattoos. Even though she knows I’m looking, she doesn’t move to cover them up like she used to. “You’re the one who wasted your ten days with her and got only eight because of your stupidity.”
“And thanks for shooting me in the balls. Anything else you want to hurl at me while you’re being a shithead?”
Her eyebrows draw together in sympathy. “I’ll come tomorrow to do, you know, actual work.”
“Trying to tell me something?”
She walks backwards into the hallway, her hands still in her pockets. “That it would be nice for you to get off your ass and make music and give me some errands to run so I can get paid.”
Noted. I wait until she and Brenna are gone, and I see her tiny car leave my driveway, to go downstairs. I’m in the middle of ordering lunch when I realize just how important Kylie’s words to me are. How they’re what I’ve been looking for.
I forget about lunch, forget everything else, as I write the first two lines of Sienna’s song. A song that I don’t know if she’ll ever hear, but one I’ve got to write so I can get her the fuck out of my system.
“I’m the one who wasted ten days, trading it in for eight
And I know you’re probably saying, fuck me right now . . .”
Before I grab my guitar and put music to the words, I send Kylie a text.
11:08 AM: Be here first thing tomorrow. Shit to do.
She takes awhile to respond, but when she finally does, there are no words on the screen. Just a few symbols in the shape of a heart.
Chapter Seven
Kylie Wolfe
I’ve spent enough time with my older brother to know precisely when he’s lying to me. Lucas is usually too direct for his own damn good, so it’s easy to pick up when he’s being an evasive bull-shitter. When Brenna and I left his house yesterday afternoon, I was certain that he came home after drinking the night before—and after seeing Sienna with another man—by himself. Even if he’d wanted to get Sienna out of his system, or get back at her, he hadn’t slept with someone else.
Lucas is a lot of things—an asshole, a liar, and secretive—but he’s not a cheater.
Plus, I’d seen it in his eyes when he told me that she moved on, and that along with hearing the break in his voice had made my heart skip a beat.
My brother is in love. Chaotic, painful, heartbreaking love with a woman who loves him back, and they’re not doing shit about it.
And I hate that they’re not—hell, probably just as much as Lucas himself. It’s ate at me since the time I left Lucas’s place yesterday to this morning, and I’m on the verge of calling him out the moment I show up to work. I’ve got my rant prepared. I’m even ready to hear him throw my own shit into my face.
Except, after I let myself into Lucas’s house, and I find him in his infamous music room with his notebook beside of him and his acoustic guitar pulled out, I find the words I was going to say getting caught in the back of my throat.
I stand in the doorway, listening intently as he strums his Gibson and sings along, his voice so quiet that I can’t hear just what he’s saying. What I do know right away is that it’s a love song. And I can almost guarantee that it’s for her.
Lucas plays a few more notes and then sits the guitar to the side. He scribbles something—probably lyrics—inside of his notebook and then lifts his gaze to mine, staring me down with expectant hazel eyes. “You’ve got something on your mind, Ky.”
“You’re writing her a song.” I walk inside the room and sit down across from him. I lean closer to the ottoman that’s separating us in hopes that I’ll be able to get a good look at what he’s working on before he tells me to fuck off. He places the notebook in front of me and slides it in my direction until it bumps against my knees. My mouth literally drops open. “You want me to read it?”
One of Lucas’s dark eyebrows jerks up, and he shakes his head slowly. “No shit.”
Keeping my gaze on his, I grip either side of the notebook. “Are you finished with it?”
At first he nods, but then he pauses and shakes his head, causing his messy dark hair to fall into his hazel eyes. “Just about. Made a few calls this morning. Trying to get it on the solo project, so I’m going to bust my fucking balls finishing it up.”
The last time Lucas had me take a look at one of his songs before it was finished he scrapped the entire damn thing claiming he’d finish later. I absolutely refuse to let this song receive that same fate, especially if he plans to release it on his solo album. I push the notebook back toward my brother. “Then maybe you should wait and—”
Shaking his head, he grabs my hands. “Just read the fucking song, Kylie.”
I keep my eye on him as I sit back in my chair until the cushions mold against my back. When I don’t look away, he jabs his finger at the music I’m holding.
“Ten Days,” I read aloud. It’s a fitting title considering the terms of Lucas’s agreement with Sienna, but I don’t offer any useless commentary as I read the lyrics carefully. My brother’s written plenty of angsty songs that have completely pulled me in, but this is the first time that I feel physical pain in my chest. He’s apologizing, and it’s raw and real, but he’s also making demands.
He’s telling her that they’re not finished, no matter what has happened between them.
When I’m done, I lean forward and carefully place the lyrics down on the ottoman. I remain sitting like this, with my elbows on my thighs, staring down at the hastily written words on the page until they all blur together.
“Wow,” I finally murmur.
“You sound surprised.”
I drag my brown eyes up to his. The look on his face is familiar. It’s not the cockiness that usually makes me want to knee my older brother in the groin but confidence that I haven’t seen often since he returned from Atlanta without Sienna. No, I’m not surprised.
“I’m impressed,” I tell him.
He grins. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”
While Lucas gets back to work, he gives me the first bit of work I’ve done in days: verifying the flight and hotel arrangements for an awards show that Your Toxic Sequel is supposed to be presenting at next month. I don’t tell him that I checked up on the details of the event not even a week ago because I don’t want a repeat of any of the bad luck we’ve had this year with traveling.