Because of You

Three months later.



Flipping on the light switch as I walk into the office, sorting through a pile of mail, I smile to myself when the room is bathed in florescent lighting. I've managed to take on steady work in the last few months which means Gwen has been able to pay the electric bill on time. It’s a little thing, but right now the little things are all that’s keeping me together. I could have cashed the final check that the board of directors for Hummingbird Records sent to me and I wouldn't have needed to take on every single job thrown at me the last three months, but I refused. I couldn’t take the money. Even though I said the words, cashing that check would mean that Layla really had been just a job. Her life was worth more than some stupid check the company sent me as their way of saying “thank you” and persuading me not to sue them.

“It’s about time you got here. The phone has been ringing off the hook, as usual,” Gwen complains as she sets the receiver back in its cradle. “That’s the fifth call I’ve gotten from Dateline. You really need to do one of these interviews they keep begging for so people stop calling.”

I throw the pile of mail on Gwen’s desk and walk over to my own, flopping down in my chair.

“I’m not doing any interviews, Gwen. We talked about this,” I argue with her.

Everyone already knows what happened down in that basement, and my name has been linked to the news story. Because the tragedy involved a national music sensation, the story hit worldwide. Luckily, since I’ve avoided the interviews so far, no one knows about Gwen. I’ve still been able to keep her whereabouts a secret for now, and I need to keep it that way. The most anyone knows is that I have a woman with short, dark hair with blue and purple streaks working for me. They don’t know she used to be a blonde and is the wife of one of the most renowned plastic surgeons in Manhattan or that he used her for a punching bag. They don’t know that every time someone knocks at the door, we hope to God it isn’t him. It’s the reason I lied to Layla, the reason I ruined everything that could have been between us. To go back on that now would make everything I did pointless. It would mean that I hurt Layla for nothing. She'd suffered enough. That day in the basement of Hummingbird Records, her pain finally ended. She was at peace, and I wasn’t going to talk to some stupid television show and f*ck all of that up.

“Brady, I can’t hide from him forever. Sooner or later, he’s going to find out where I am. Mother isn’t stupid. She knows I’m here with you,” Gwen says softly.

“What the hell do you mean she knows you’re here? How does she know? Did she say something?” I fire at her angrily.

“No, of course not, calm down. You know how she is. I only talk to her from your secure phone line, but she always says little things like, ‘The next time you talk to your brother, tell him I said hello.’”

Resting my head in my hands on top of my desk, the worry that has consumed me since the day Gwen and Emma knocked on my door overwhelms me. I need to keep them safe. He can’t find out where they are. I won’t let him take them away from me or hurt them ever again.

I feel Gwen’s hand on my back, and I lift my head up to see her standing next to me looking stronger than I’ve ever seen her look.

“It’s time for me to do this the right way, Brady. I need to file for divorce. I can’t really start living my life until I’m free from him, and you can’t start living yours until you can stop worrying about me all the time,” she says softly.

I open my mouth to argue with her but she quickly stops me.

“I know why you said what you did to Layla the last day you saw her. I’m not stupid either. You’ve paid your dues, big Brother. You’ve more than made up for any wrong you think you might have done to me. I know you love Emma and me, and I know you would do whatever it takes to keep us safe, but you can’t hide from your own life to do that. Do you plan on spending the rest of your life turning down love out of some twisted sense of duty?” she asks.

Yes. Because the only person I will ever love is gone. None of that matters any more.

My chest physically hurts when I think about her. I have to rub away the pain that feels like heartburn only ten times worse when I think about our last moments together and the smile on her face when she told me she loved me, when she told me she tried to be strong like I taught her.

Even though I pushed her away, even though I was the one who put that first crack in her heart that day and the rest of the events that followed shattered it, she still loved me. She still lay dying in that basement hoping that I would come for her, believing in me.

Gwen leaves me alone to my thoughts as she grabs her purse from her desk drawer and leaves to go get some coffee.

I know everything she's said is right. I can’t keep her and Emma hidden away here forever. Even though that a*shole hurt Gwen, he never laid a hand on Emma. He doted on that child, and he has to be going crazy not knowing where she is. It’s not like I give a f*ck if he’s hurting, but Emma deserves to see her father. She still asks about him almost every day. It’s not right. None of this is right. Working my ass off day and night so I don’t have to think about how much I miss the touch of her lips, the smell of her skin, and the sound of her voice isn’t right. Forcing myself to go days without sleep because when I close my eyes all I see is Layla’s broken body in my arms and all I hear are the sounds of her gasping for breath is not right.

I miss her so f*cking much I feel like if I didn’t have Gwen and Emma here with me, I would curl up in a ball and let myself wither away. Just let myself fade into nothing so I don’t have to feel this pain anymore.

Reaching into one of my desk drawers, I pull out the file with her name on it. I trace the name Layla Carlysle with the tips of my fingers and wish it was her face I was touching instead of a cold piece of cardboard. I flip open the file and stare at the document right on top.

When I was released from the hospital that day, my lungs clear from all the smoke inhalation after running through the burning building, I found her room and sat by her bedside even though there was no reason for me to be there. Her broken body still under the covers, hospital equipment and discarded wrappers from gauze, syringes, and oxygen tubes scattered all over the room, everything was in the same spot from when they were working on her. No one had cleaned up the mess after they finished.

They assured me she was no longer in pain. They promised me that they did everything they could. I sat there staring at her for twelve hours, willing her to open her eyes and look at me, to make it all stop being real, but she never did. She never moved and she never woke up, and I was finally asked to leave so they could move her. It took the strength of both Gwen and Austin to drag me from that room, to tear me away from her so I could go home, get some rest, and shower the soot and Layla’s blood off of me. This never should have happened to her. She should have never walked out my door with Finn, and I should never have made her feel like she wasn’t worth it. She was everything to me. She was my heart and my soul and my reason for living and now she was gone.

I read through the document in the file three times as I remember the day I left the hospital and Layla behind. I went back to my house and tore the place apart because of the unfairness of it all. It wasn’t right that she was there in my arms one minute and gone the next. It wasn't right that I couldn’t have her when I needed her so much. I ripped curtains from windows, broke picture frames that hung on walls, and shattered half of the dishes in the kitchen, and no matter what they did, Austin and Gwen couldn’t stop me. The only thing that did was the object resting against the nightstand in my room. All of the rage and sadness drained out of me when I saw Layla’s guitar next to my bed. I thought about the soft, raspy timbre of her voice when she sat in the middle of my bed and sang me that song—one of her originals that she’d never sung for anyone before me.

I picked up the guitar and held it in my arms like she did. I awkwardly strummed my fingers over the strings before the memories of her overwhelmed me, and I angrily tossed the guitar across the room, watching it bang against the wall and fall to its side.

I was ashamed of myself and immediately regretted my actions. This was Layla’s most prized possession, and I just took out my grief on something she cherished. I crawled over to the guitar and gingerly picked it up, noticing something white hanging down behind the strings in the sound hole. The knock against the wall must have jarred something loose. Gently setting the guitar on its back on the floor in front of me, I carefully pried apart the strings and reached in with two of my fingers to pull a folded up piece of paper out from the inside of the instrument.

When I saw what it was, I closed my eyes and cried like a f*cking baby in the middle of my room until Gwen finally came in to check on me. When she asked me what was wrong, besides the obvious, I soundlessly handed the letter over to her and listened to her gasp as she read it. The look on Eve’s face that day when she saw the guitar case by my front door suddenly made sense. She knew what was in that guitar. She’d known it all these years but in her foolishness, she assumed the guitar was lost in Jack’s accident. She never knew Layla had kept it hidden from her all this time.



My sweet hummingbird,

Soon, you and I will have a much better life than the one we have now. You won’t have to walk around in fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, and you’ll finally be able to live your dreams. I’m taking you away from here, my beautiful girl. We’ll build a log cabin in the woods, just like you’ve always wanted. You can play this guitar out under the stars, and you can finally be happy. If for whatever reason, something happens to me before I can make this a reality for you, this letter serves as legal and binding proof that sole ownership of Hummingbird Records transfers over to you immediately. Your mother’s stake in the company was never legally binding; it only existed on paper, and only for the length of our marriage, so she would let me keep you. You are the sole owner of your life and the decisions you make about your future. No one can tell you what to sing, what to play, or who to be. It’s all up to you, hummingbird. If I’m not around and you ever forget for one moment how much I love you, just take out this letter and you’ll always be reminded. Sing what you want to sing, write what you want to write, and play what you want to play. Be amazing and be free. Let the music take you where you want to go.

Love,

Dad



My fingers trace Jack's handwriting as I read through the letter one last time. It was signed and notarized by Jack Carlysle’s private attorney who coincidentally passed away from a heart attack the week before Jack died. By making a few copies, I was finally able to set Layla free. Sitting here in my office, I look around at the emptiness and realize that I’m not ready to be free of her. I don’t know how to be free of her. I don’t know how to move on without her in my life, and I don’t think I’ll ever learn. Shutting the file and shoving it back in my drawer, I jump up from my desk and run towards the door, opening it quickly and running right into Gwen.

“Jesus, it’s about time. I was wondering how long it would take you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself before you finally got your head out of your ass,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

“I thought you went for coffee?” I ask her, staring down at her empty hands.

“Nope. I knew what you would do as soon as I walked out the door. You read that letter every time I’m not in the room. I was standing out here with my fingers crossed hoping this time it would finally sink in,” she explains.

“Hoping what would sink in?” I ask her dumbly.

“Duh. That you can’t live without her. And that Emma and I will be okay. You’ve done more than enough, Brady,” she replies softly, reaching into her purse and pulling out her cell phone.

I stand there staring at my sister with a look of shock on my face as she dials the phone.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all under control,” she tells me as she puts the phone to her ear. “Good thing I’m the smart sibling in this relationship and kept in touch with June.”

I continue to stare at her in wonder, but she keeps right on talking without waiting for a reply.

“I’ve been talking to her every couple of days to see how things are going and I swear to God, it took everything in me not to punch you in the face for staying away, making both of you completely miserable. June’s going to be so happy that we won’t have to talk about what an idiot you are anymore. Hi, June, it’s Gwen,” she says into the phone, no longer talking to me.

I stand there not saying a word as I listen to Gwen making plans and arrangements for me, laughing and joking with June about how I’m finally finished being pig headed. I’d scoff at her, but she’s right. I’ve been an a*shole. I’ve made so many mistakes that I don’t even know where to begin making amends. Thank God I have Gwen.

I’ll do whatever she tells me because I want this to work. It has to work. I can’t go on living like this anymore.

“Pack your bags, Brother. You’re going on tour,” Gwen tells me with a huge smile a few minutes later as she hangs up the phone.





It’s been three months, three weeks, and six days since my world turned upside down. I don’t remember much of my time in the basement of Hummingbird Records, and I guess that’s a good thing for now. The doctors and my shrink have all told me that it’s my brain’s way of trying to protect me and that, in time, I will most likely start to slowly remember everything when I’m ready. From the bits and pieces I do remember, and what I’ve been told by the police, the lawyers, the media, and my entire management team, I know enough to keep me wide awake most nights.

When I woke up in the hospital two days after Hummingbird Records burned to the ground, I had a concussion, a fractured cheek bone, a dislocated shoulder, a small fracture in my clavicle, bleeding in the muscle tissue of my thigh from the kick I sustained, and a depressed skull fracture. Due to my blood disorder, that skull fracture quickly turned into bleeding on my brain that required emergency surgery. I woke up to a room full of people: my band, my agent, my lawyer, and June; I had never felt more alone in my life. My eyes searched the room for the one person I had hoped would be there, but I never found him. Later that night while I lay in bed thinking about everything I’d lost, June quietly walked in the room, climbed into bed with me, and held me while I cried. Everything changed that day. My heart was broken by each and every person in my life, and I wasn't sure if it would ever fully heal.

For a few short hours, I had a brother. A brother who I always thought of as my best friend, the one person I trusted and thought I could always lean on. He let jealousy and hatred cloud his judgment and allowed a man obsessed with revenge to corrupt him even further. In the end, from what I've been told, he tried to make up for his sins by killing the man who hurt me and then taking his own life right next to me. I'm thankful that is part of that day I can’t remember. I don’t know if I ever want that memory to surface. He turned on me and tainted every good memory I ever had of him, and that’s not something I can ever forget. But he was still my friend. He was still my brother, and he died trying to make amends with me.

Apparently, my mother had admitted to hiring Billy to tamper with the brakes on my father’s car. She claims my father was the love of her life, and she’s regretted the decision every single day since then, but who knows. Just like her son, she was filled with jealousy. She knew my father never really loved her. She was never the love of his life. That role belonged to June. Something that still amazes me when I think about it, but deep down I think I always knew. My father and June were high school and college sweethearts. After graduation, June went on a backpacking trip across Europe. Time and distance got the better of them and they broke up. A few years later, my father started Hummingbird Records and met my mother. Not long into their relationship, June came back to town and opened up The Red Door Saloon, and my father found it impossible to stay away from her. Right when he was getting ready to break it off with my mother and spend the rest of his life loving June, my mother told him she was pregnant with me.

She had always known about June, always known my father’s heart belonged to someone else, and after a while she just couldn’t take it anymore. She wanted him out of her life, but she didn’t want to lose the money and social status, so she hired Billy, her one-time lover.

Under Tennessee law, her actions would have gotten her charged with solicitation of first degree murder, which is a class B felony and punishable by no less than eight and no more than thirty years in prison. Fortunately for her, the statute of limitations for class B felonies in Tennessee is eight years. She was one year past the expiration date when she confessed, so she never went to prison. I haven’t spoken to her once since I got out of the hospital. She had called when I was still out of it and spoke to one of the nurses to check on me, but I’m sure it was only for show. She may have admitted to all her wrong-doings, and she may have apologized, but deep down, she’ll always be the same cold, calculating person she’s always been. I don’t care how much she tries to make it up to me, I will never forgive her for taking my father away from me.

I never really had a mother, just someone who was in my life that took on the name but never the role. I've always looked at June as a second mother, and who knows, maybe in another life, she could have been my real mother. She has always loved me, always looked out for me, and she loved my father. I couldn’t really ask for anything else. She’s been by my side through every step of my recovery, and she’s been helping me heal my head and my heart one day at a time.

I haven’t seen Brady since the day he told me I was just a job and pushed me away. I have a few wonderful memories of him telling me he loved me, but I have no idea if those memories are real or just part of my brain mixing things up from that day. June told me during one of my many crying fits over the last couple of months that he was out of his mind with worry trying to find me that day. She told me he stayed by my bedside until I went into surgery, and Gwen and his friend Austin had to forcibly remove him from the hospital because he put up such a fight about leaving. None of that makes any sense though. Aside from the letter that came in the mail a few days after I got out of the hospital, I haven’t heard a word from him. If he was so broken up about what happened to me, why wasn’t he there? Why didn’t he stay?

I push thoughts of Brady from my mind and try to concentrate on what I’m about to do. Thinking about the man who is still taking up residence in my heart will make me want to curl up in the corner and cry, and that wouldn’t be good. I’m here to say goodbye to one chapter of my life and hello to a new one.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. I’m nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. The kind that excites me and makes me want to push through it until I come out on the other side, proud of myself and what I’ve accomplished. Pulling the note from my father out of my back pocket, I read through it for the hundredth time without any tears for once. I smile as I fold it back up and stick it inside the sound hole of my nineteen-sixty Gibson Hummingbird guitar and tighten the strap that holds the instrument around my neck.

Tonight is the first stop of my farewell tour. It's not a long tour, just a small handful of cities. I don’t have the energy to travel the globe, and thankfully, after what I’ve been through, my fans have understood.

I’m beginning this tour of saying goodbye at the place that started it all: The Red Door Saloon. For the first time in my life, I’m doing things my way, singing the songs I want to sing and playing the music I want to play. I’m taking my father’s advice and letting the music take me where I want to go. I want to be a songwriter, not a performer. I don’t have the heart for performing anymore.

June did a few renovations in the last few months, and the bar finally has an actual stage instead of just a platform in the corner. Now there’s room for a guitar player, a piano, a set of drums, and a singer, and I couldn’t be happier to be christening the stage for her tonight.

Standing off to the side of the stage behind the curtain, I watch as June walks to the middle of the stage and taps the microphone a few times.

“Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Nashville’s very own, Layla Carlysle!”

The small crowd of around two hundred and fifty people, the most The Red Door Saloon has ever seen in its lifetime, all stand up from their seats, clapping, shouting, and whistling as I take a deep breath and walk out on stage.

I take a few moments to thank everyone for coming and introduce them to my band before adjusting the guitar around my neck and strumming a few chords to warm my fingers up.

My arm and shoulder are still a little sore, and my physical therapist advised waiting another week before starting the tour, but I can’t do that. It’s now or never. If I want to truly heal, this is something that I have to do, right now, before each day that I’m away from Brady makes me forget what it is I’m fighting for and why I’m happy to be alive.

I open my set with one of the first songs I ever wrote when I was a child, back when I had my whole life ahead of me and nothing to fear but the unknown. It’s a song about growing up and moving on and not being afraid. I sing with my heart and I can tell that the crowd senses the difference. They clap along with the rhythm of the drums, and they sway to the beat of the music. I’m not just going through the motions performing like a robot. I’m performing like I love it. And I do.

I sing eight original songs tonight and I mix in a few covers to get the crowd up on their feet and singing along with me. I smile easily and talk to the fans happily in between songs, but even though there’s a feeling of freedom and peacefulness that flows through me tonight, there’s still something missing. There’s still someone who isn’t here that should be. My heart is full of pride in myself and love for what I’m doing, but there’s a huge chunk that remains empty: a piece of myself that has broken off and lives in someone else now, someone who saved me but then walked away.

“This last song is something I wrote not too long ago. It’s called Your Breath on Me,” I tell the crowd with a smile as they whistle and cheer some more, and I place my hands where they need to go on the frets. Maybe singing this song isn’t the best choice to close with since it cuts my heart open all over again, not the brightest idea when I’m trying to heal, but I’m pushing through and I’m doing it. I’m not going to let my fears control me anymore.

I close my eyes and begin the song, singing from the heart and pushing my voice as far as it will go, hoping just like I have every time I’ve practiced it the last few weeks that maybe he’ll hear me.



When you’re wrapped around me,

my soul feels alive.

Maybe this is a fairytale,

and not meant for my life.

I need you to hold me in your arms,

and chase my fears away.



Your breath on me

makes me sigh your name out loud,

gives me warmth when I feel cold

Your breath on me

makes me ache to touch your skin

gives me strength to live again.



When the morning sun comes in,

I’m not afraid of what the day will bring.

Your fingertips that touch my face,

and your eyes that know the truth,

show me that I’ll be okay,

as long as I have you.



Your breath on me

makes me sigh your name out loud,

gives me warmth when I feel cold

Your breath on me

makes me ache to touch your skin

gives me strength to live again.



This dream of mine has finally come true.

I’m living every day just how I intended to.

But there is something missing, and I just can’t let it go,

that piece of the puzzle, that I need to feel whole.



Your breath on me

makes me sigh your name out loud,

gives me warmth when I feel cold

Your breath on me

makes me ache to touch your skin

gives me strength to live again.



Gives me strength to live…

Gives me strength to live…

without you.



I slowly open my eyes when I hear the roar of the crowd, and I smile despite the ache in my heart that singing this song always brings. I take a small bow and clear the emotion from my throat so I can push the man this song is about from my mind and accept the crowd’s praise without breaking down.

An hour later, after the bar has closed and everyone has gone home, I sit alone on the stage with my legs hanging down off of the edge. The only lights on in the place are the ones directly above me; the rest of the bar is swathed in darkness, and I can barely make out the tables and chairs that fill it. I quietly strum my guitar and hum softly to myself, thinking about all the ways my life has changed in the last few months.

“Hey, Layla. The band is all packed up and ready to leave when you are.”

My hand stills on the guitar and I turn to face Dylan, my new bodyguard as of two months ago. He’s twenty-eight years old and probably could have made more money as a male model than a bodyguard, but he loves his job and he’s good at it. He came highly recommended to my management team. I have a feeling Brady was the one who suggested him. When I questioned Dylan about it, he explained it was better if I didn’t know. I ignored the feelings of disappointment knowing Brady would rather send someone he knows to keep me safe instead of doing it himself. Dylan has stuck to me like glue since his first day, even though in the beginning I was a total bitch to him because he wasn’t Brady. He’s extremely professional and does everything by the book, but every once in a while he’ll let his guard down and show me a fun, playful side of himself that puts me at ease.

“Thanks, Dylan. I’m just going to enjoy the peace and quiet for a few more minutes before I have to get on the bus with a bunch of rowdy boys,” I tell him with a smile as I move the guitar off of my lap and set it down on the stage next to me.

Dylan crouches down next to me and searches my face for any signs that I’m not okay. He knows better than to come right out and ask me anymore after the last time he did it and I told him I would shove my foot up his ass if I heard that question from one more person.

“You need me to stick around in here?” he asks softly.

I stare at his handsome face, and I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at him. My heart doesn’t speed up from his gorgeous brown eyes, and my stomach doesn’t flutter with butterflies when I watch him lick his lips as he waits for me to answer him. He’s never come right out and said that he wants me, but sometimes a woman just knows. Sometimes, all it takes is a look, and right now he’s giving me that look. It would be so easy to just close my eyes, lean forward, and let him help me forget. Let him kiss me and touch me and help me fill in the gaping hole in my heart with new memories. I feel myself leaning towards him as I stare at his lips, willing myself to feel something, anything. I pause, an inch away from his mouth and pull back quickly with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid,” I mutter as I stare down at my hands in my lap.

I see him rub his hands over his face out of the corner of my eye and I’m filled with guilt. Dylan is a good man, an honest man, and he’s slowly becoming my friend, and here I sit, thinking about using him just to help me stop remembering someone else. It’s not fair to him.

“It wasn’t stupid. This was a big night for you, and you’ve got a lot of shit going on in your head right now. I’m not going anywhere,” he explains as he stands up. “When you finally get that jerk out of your system, I’ll be here. In the meantime, I’m going back out to the tour bus to make sure the band hasn’t mooned anyone or snuck any groupies on.”

We share a laugh and I watch as hops down off of the stage and turns to look at me one last time. As I sit here staring at him, thinking about the huge mistake I almost made, I hear the buttons of the jukebox being pushed and the click and slide of a record falling into place. Within seconds, the soft sounds of piano music fill the empty room.

My heart stutters in my chest, and I hold my breath, not really believing that this is happening, that this song is playing right now. It’s a song that will always be synonymous to him. It’s a melody that will always remind me of dancing close to him, our bodies pressed up against each other as we swayed to the erotic beats in the club what seems like a lifetime ago.

“I have a confession to make,” Dylan says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “There’s no way I would have taken advantage of you like that. Not when I know your heart belongs to someone else. I just wanted to make sure HE WASN’T GOING TO p-ssy OUT ON THIS WHOLE THING TONIGHT,” he explains, shouting the last part of that statement so his voice would carry through the bar.

Dylan winks at me and I watch him in bewilderment as he walks to the side door and pushes it open, disappearing into the parking lot.

After the door slams closed, I slowly slide down off of the stage and stand still right in front of it, barely breathing, feeling every emotion this song brings out of me as the beat of the drums and the soulful voice belts out the hypnotic words. As the man sings about words being like knives and cutting you open, Brady walks out of the shadows with his hands in the front pocket of his jeans like something out of a dream. His hair has gotten a little longer, and his face looks tired and sad, but otherwise, he’s exactly as I remember him: tall and commanding as he strolls towards me, the long-sleeved T-shirt he wears molded to his sculpted chest and arms. I can’t believe it’s only been a few months since I last touched him. As he closes the distance between us and the subtle, masculine scent of him surrounds me, my mouth waters and it suddenly feels like years since I was this close to him.

The music continues to play and the words flow through me as he stops directly in front of me. He doesn’t smile, he just stares. He searches every inch of my face like he forgot what it looks like and he’s busy memorizing every feature. His eyes pause when they get to my lips and I nervously wet them with my tongue. He lets out a shuddering breath and pulls his hands out of his front pockets, holding one out in front of me, palm up.

“Dance with me.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and I don’t even hesitate before sliding my hand into his and letting him pull me against him. His body is just as I remember it: rock hard in certain spots and soft and warm in others. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer and within in seconds of being enveloped in his arms, I feel like I’m safe. I feel like I’m home.

My nose and lips are right against the skin of his neck, and I can’t help but breathe him in. I’ve missed this so much. I’ve missed the clean smell of his skin and the strength of his arms. We aren’t really dancing, more like gently rocking to the music, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but the fact that he’s here with me right now. It’s easy to forget about all of the bad memories when the one shining light in your life is back and brighter than ever. It’s easy to forgive the hurts and disappointments when the only thing you’ve ached for is standing right there in front of you.

Brady pulls his head back and looks down at me, giving me that half smile that I love so much, and I stare at the dimple on his cheek as we continue to rock back and forth together. I force myself out of the daze I’ve been in since I heard the first notes of this song echo through the room and finally find my voice.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper softly.

“I can’t believe you sang your own songs tonight,” he replies back, the smooth timbre of his voice forcing shivers down my spine. “They were amazing. You’re amazing.”

I look away from him for a second in embarrassment, not because he heard all of those songs, but because he heard the song. The last song. As much as I dreamed about him hearing it, it’s an overwhelming feeling to know that it actually happened.

“It was about you,” I admit softly to him when I look back into his eyes, not specifying which song I’m referring to but seeing from the look on his face that he knows.

“Oh thank God,” he says with a sigh. “I really didn’t want to have to kick someone’s ass tonight. Especially Dylan. That a*shole promised me he would never dream about touching you. I was only going to give him one more second before I came out here and f*cked up his pretty face.”

I laugh and shake my head at him, not even caring that he just admitted he was behind Dylan being hired. My elation at his words quickly sobers.

Once again, I find myself putting my heart out there on the line for him. But right now, staring up at his handsome face, I don’t care if it’s been trampled on or if he threw it away once before. I will give it to him time and time again because it’s his. It’s been his since the first moment I saw him, but I still need more from him.

“Why are you here?” I ask him softly as our rocking stops and we just stand together, his arms tight around my waist and my hands resting on his chest.

“Well, Gwen said I needed to do something huge to get you to listen to me once I got my head out of my ass. She actually suggested I get up on stage and sing a song for you. I thought something a little more low key was more my style. Did it work?” he asks uncertainly.

“I’m listening, aren’t I?” I tell him with an encouraging smile.

He tentatively reaches his hand up and brushes my bangs that are now almost the same length as the rest of my hair off of my forehead. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, starving for it after all this time.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me quietly as I move my cheek back and forth against the palm of his hand.

I can see the sadness in his eyes as he searches my face for a sign of forgiveness, but I can’t give it to him. Not just yet. I stay quiet and let him go on as the song ends and begins softly playing again from the beginning like a soundtrack to a movie.

“What we had wasn’t just a thing. What we had was everything. I lied to you, Layla. If I could take back everything I said to you that day, I would. I would take it all back and tell you that I love you more than my own life. I would tell you that I was stupid and scared and trying to keep the people in my life safe by pushing away the one person who meant the world to me,” he admits, leaning his body closer to mine so I can feel every inch of him. “Running down into the basement that day and seeing you on the floor, tied to that pole, bleeding and struggling to breathe, almost broke me in two. I could barely do what I’d been trained for because all I could think about was how much you were hurting and how I could have prevented it if I’d just been honest. But walking out of that hospital and leaving you behind, thinking that I couldn’t have you and keep my family safe, almost killed me. I can’t live without you. I don’t want to live without you.”

With his hand softly framing my face, he leans forward until his forehead is resting against mine.

“I don’t care if we come from two different worlds or two different planets. I love you, Layla. If you let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how much, every single day. Please tell me it’s not too late. Tell me I didn’t f*ck everything up with you,” he begs.

Reaching both of my hands up to cup his face, I pull it up so I can look into his eyes.

“Because of you, I am stronger than I’ve ever been. Because of you, I can finally live my own life and make my own choices. You sent me that note and you gave my father back to me. You gave my life back to me. Because of you being here right now, coming here tonight, even though it took you long enough,” I tease him with a smile, “I know that I never want to be without you again.”

Brady lets out the breath he was holding and quickly closes the distance between us, his lips finally against mine after so long. I breathe him in and I savor the taste of his mouth and tongue, and in an instant, it’s like we were never apart. All of the hurt and pain and sadness is gone, and there’s only Brady loving me and holding onto me, never letting me go.

Just like always, our kisses never remain innocent; they never stay gentle. We’ve been apart too long and our hearts are too wide open right now to do anything other than devour each other. Brady lifts me up and sets me on the stage as I wrap my thighs around his hips and pull him closer, instantly feeling how much he needs me when he pushes himself between my legs. The song starts over for a third time, and now the words affect me differently. I’m burning with need for Brady, and I can’t get close enough, touch fast enough. We break the kiss long enough for me to quickly slide my hands up his stomach and chest, taking his shirt off as I toss it to the side, then our mouths immediately fuse back together. Brady’s hands slide around my ass and pull me closer to the edge of the stage and closer to him.

“F*ck, I need you so much, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he speaks against my lips, glancing down at my shoulder and my arm and all of the places where I was hurt. I run my hands down to the button of his jeans and unsnap it.

“I’m fine, you won’t hurt me. Please,” I beg him as I get his pants unbuttoned and slide my hand inside and wrap it around his hard length.

Brady buries his face against the side of my neck and groans as I slide my hand up and down him, loving the feel of how smooth he is against my palm. After a few seconds, he curses and moves away from my hand before quickly sinking down to his knees between my legs. He pushes my skirt up to my hips and slides my panties to the side, and before I can even blink, he places his mouth on me. I let out a cry of pleasure as his tongue slides back and forth, over and inside me, bringing me so much pleasure that I want to cry at how much I’ve missed this, how much I’ve missed him. His fingers join his mouth and they glide through me and inside me as his tongue flicks against me in rapid circles. He quickly brings me to the edge with his skilled mouth and fingers. I clutch onto the back of his head and hold him in place as he tastes me and pushes me and soon has me spiraling out of control as I come against his mouth and shout his name from my lips.

While my orgasm is still pulsing through me, he stands up and in one swift, hard movement buries himself inside of me and we both gasp and clutch onto one another.

“Jesus, you feel so good. I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed your taste and I’ve missed how good you feel wrapped around me,” he tells me softly against my ear as he slowly slides in and out of me.

“I love you, I love you,” I repeat over and over, in the same rhythm of his thrusts, as I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him close. He rocks his hips against me and echoes my words until we’re both chanting them together, not willing to stop letting the other know what we feel.

It doesn’t take long for Brady to ignite the fire in me, and once again, I’m hurdling through another orgasm and taking him with me. He pulses inside of me as we pant and mumble more words of love through our release until we finally stop moving and sink against one another, holding each other up as best as our exhausted bodies will allow.

My legs are still firmly wrapped around his hips, and my fingers lazily slide through his hair as he pulls back slightly and looks into my eyes.

“You’re wrong you know. About what you said before. I’m not the one who made you stronger. You always had it inside of you. It was always because of you.”