Chapter Ten
An hour and a half later, Drew paid the taxi driver and stepped out with Ashley’s hand in his. They hadn’t spoken during the drive, but just being with her was enough. He’d made sure to put on his baseball cap before leaving the venue and had asked the driver to take them to a deserted stretch of beach that his friend Nicola Harding—Nicola Sullivan now—had told him about the last time he’d seen her. She’d scoped out lots of great places to get away while playing shows in big cities. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who needed to get off the bus and away from the crowds from time to time.
“I’ve always loved the sound of the ocean,” Ashley said after taking a deep breath of the sea-salt air. “The way it’s never the same beat, never the same rhythm, and yet I can always count on it to make everything better.”
“Just like I can count on you.” Still holding her hand, he stopped their progress across the sand. “Thank you—not just for what you said in Robert’s office this morning, but for noticing the way fans have been reacting to the song in the first place.”
“They all really do love it. And maybe one day,” she added with a tiny quirk of her lips, “I’ll figure out how to listen to it without crying the entire time.”
He reached up to brush the thumb of his free hand over her cheek, right where her tears had been after the show. “Is it bad that I’ll take any excuse to touch you?”
In the slight ebb of the ocean tide, he heard her breath hitch. “It doesn’t feel bad.”
Jesus, the urge to kiss her tore at his insides, it was so strong. But that wasn’t why they were here. They were here because after this morning, he owed her the truth.
“Everyone says I’m living the dream,” he began, then shook his head. “I hate to sound like I’m complaining.”
She put her hand on his arm. “That’s not what it sounds like.”
“I know how lucky I am.”
“Yes, you’re lucky. But luck wouldn’t get you where you are without talent and hard work. I’ve seen how much you do every day. It’s not like you’re lounging on the beach between shows.” The little smile she gave him was so beautiful as she added, “Well, most of the time, anyway.”
Maybe it was her smile, maybe it was the moonlight shining over her like a halo, or maybe it was just that he’d kept it all bottled up too long, but before he could stop himself, he was saying, “This morning, at my label, it was like you saw through the act I’ve been putting on for everyone. That’s why I shut down on you afterward. Because I knew I was finally going to face the truth. I kept trying to tell myself that maybe I wouldn’t have to face it if I just pushed you away instead. But you’re the last person I ever want to push away.”
She held his gaze, as fiercely strong and passionate as she’d been that morning with the executives. “What’s the truth, Drew?”
His mom would have asked him that same question, just like that. No pauses. No trying to make it all easier.
“The truth is that I’ve always loved writing and playing songs. I never had to think about it, never had to try, it was just always there. I knew the sound I wanted to make and I made it. And it was great when I found out other people liked it, too. Liked it enough to come out and see me and download my demos online. When the label wanted to sign me, it was just another thing I didn’t have to think about. But maybe I should have.” Though she was frowning, she waited for him to continue his thought. He liked that about her, how she knew when to push and when to pause. “It’s great most of the time, but sometimes...sometimes it’s like being in a cage. A really nice one, with plush leather seating and a built-in coffee maker.” He was glad when she smiled at that, and it made it easier to continue. “Back when my mom was alive, she would ask me, ‘Are you happy?’”
“Are you?”
“Right now? Here with you?” He stroked her cheek again. “Yes. I’m happy.”
When the pad of his thumb brushed over her lower lip, she closed her eyes for a moment, and he could feel the ragged breath she inhaled. But a moment later she was opening her eyes and asking, “What about tonight, on stage? Were you happy then?”
“I tried to be. I wanted to be.” He pulled away, hating that he didn’t know how to put words to it. “Those songs, my songs—like I said, I never had to think about them. They were just there and they felt right. But now... Now they don’t feel totally right anymore.”