Without missing a beat, the keyboardist started the opening strains of Bad Company’s title song. Deacon shook his head and stood. Like any good bar band, the guy knew how to extend an intro.
He slapped hands to those that held them out as he walked through the tables and followed the singer to the stairs. He was pretty sure the dude’s name was Rich, but he didn’t want to fuck it up.
Once they got on stage, Deacon flipped his hair back. He accepted the guitar from one of the guys on stage. Instead of trying to make the strap work—he had to have custom straps made—he sat on the stool off to the side and settled the guitar into his lap.
He automatically fell into rhythm guitar, following the lead guitarist in the band. Someone from the side of the stage flew out with a mic on an adjustable stand.
The words poured out of him as natural as if he were with his own band. And when the solos became a jam and the violin came in with another richer layer, Deacon nodded in approval. It felt good to play again. Harper was right about that. Everything had become about the studio and writing and figuring shit out for the new album.
How long had it been since he’d actually just let himself play for the pure joy of it? All the things that pulled at him to create bubbled up. As if he’d simply been corked. It came out in the long drag of fingers down the fret board. On the feel of the strings under his fingertips.
These were the songs he fell back on. The ones that echoed and resonated in his chest and his gut. Pieces of him that had been drawn to the guitar and the bass from the very beginning.
One song flowed into another as “Simple Man” drifted out on the quiet crowd. He found her in the wash of faces. A magnet quick click of souls. They’d been like that from the start as well. Her name had been on the tip of his tongue for years, never knowing it was going to be Harper.
The moment he’d heard her name and felt it curl around his mouth he’d known it would be branded on his heart. They may have fought it for a while. Both of them wondering if this was supposed to work. Miles of road and infinite heartbeats later, he’d finally found what he’d never imagined to look for.
His other half.
She was exactly what he’d needed. Exactly what he’d been longing for before he’d even known what it was like to love.
Her eyes were riveted to his, but as he got a bigger picture of her in the shadows, he took in the way her shoulders slumped forward over her drink. Like she was protecting herself. He blew out a breath. His instinct was to dump the guitar and get out there. Back to her.
Why wouldn’t she tell him what was wrong?
Was this what fighting with your spouse was like? He figured cranky arguments would feel different. He knew about being with people too much and how that could make you want to snarl. But everything about this felt wrong.
And when she lowered her eyes to look at her lap, breaking the contact, he felt it like a slap.
As the song wrapped up, he made his apologies when they tried to convince him to do another song. The boos were well meaning, and he gave a surprised start with the crowd clapped in thanks. Not just a polite smattering of applause, but genuine enjoyment. He couldn’t even take that moment to enjoy it.
Not when he saw Harper shrink back into her chair then get up and go for the door. Rushing down the stairs, he caught Becky at the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m sorry. Is she mad at me? I had to tell my best friend and Rich heard me in the kitchen. I swear I didn’t mean for anyone to know you were here.”
“No.” Deacon patted her shoulder. He dug into his pocket and came out with money, pressing it into her hand. “It’s fine. It’s not you. She’s just not feeling great, and I think the crowd was too much for her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” He didn’t have one fucking clue, but he knew that whatever was going on with Harper had nothing to do with the impromptu set that he’d played.
Somehow it had everything to do with him.
Nine
Hard Truths
“Harper!”
She didn’t slow. Couldn’t slow down. His face, full of love, and wonder and that pure heart-on-his-sleeve passion he had for his music tore at her.
All of the things that were true and honest and important to him, and she was going to blast every single one out of orbit. They were still so new. Still finding their footing as a married couple, for God’s sake.
She lifted her dress to step over the short cement divider that sectioned off the road to the access path to the beach. Cool sand sifted under her strappy sandals, spilling over her toes. She reached down and flipped off her shoes, grabbing them as she headed further down the packed sand to the water.
She needed to be away from people, from the noise and chatter of happy voices. How could everyone be so happy around her when she was so very confused?