Bittersweet Melody Page 6

  Truth be told, she’d helped open my eyes to so many news things. It was a blast listening to her talk on and on about all the different things she loved.

  Once, I had mistakenly called her a dork.

  “The term you’re looking for is a geek, Caylee. With enough time, I’ll turn you into one as well.” She’d winked then, taking my ineptness as a challenge.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t suck. So far, my education had been based on her love Arrow, Supernatural, and Doctor Who.

  Now that was a show I still didn’t quite understand—something about a doctor who regenerated, becoming a different person but still him, and traveled around the universe in a police box. She assured me that, given time, I’d become just as obsessed—a true ‘whovian’ or whatever term she’d used. I didn’t have the heart to tell her after a few episodes I’d started praying for a way to sleep with my eyes open.

  I liked hanging out with her. Life was never boring with her around.

  “Ummm.” Rebecca stretched out the sound. “No offense, but . . .” Remaining silent, I watched as her eyes darted to the ground before focusing back on me. “You need something extra special for tonight.”

  “We’re just seeing the band play. I was thinking maybe a nice pair of jeans and one of my new shirts.” There’d been a sale at Old Navy earlier this week, and I’d found some flashy tops that would be perfect for nights like this.

  Instantly, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. If there’s one thing I know—”

  “Rebecca,” I interrupted.

  “Wait, let me finish,” she countered, holding up her hand to silence me. When I didn’t resist, she gave me the best stern face she could muster. “What I was going to say was . . . if there’s one thing I know, it’s that it’s never just about seeing the band.” The almost scandalized expression she’d given me earlier morphed into a more knowing one. “Especially when Cooper Hensley’s involved.”

  “You do remember the lengthy discussions we’ve had about the type of relationship Cooper and me have, right?”

  She nodded as if she was humoring me.

  “We’re just friends. That’s all we want.”

  “Uh huh.” She’d disappeared back into her closet, answering from amongst the hangers. “You should wear this.” Her hand shot out with a short dress attached to the end of it.

  “Rebecca,” I warned.

  “Fine. Spoil my fun. Waste your opportunity and stop me from living vicariously through you. I’ll just have to find some way to be content with merely reading about rocker romances.” The exaggerated moan that followed was Grammy worthy. With theatrical skills this impressive, she’d be starring in her own blockbuster project in no time.

  “Love you!” I called out, slowly backing away so I could retreat to my own sanctuary, away from any more insinuations that I needed to hook up with Owen’s best friend. Rebecca knew how painful it had been losing my husband and the small flicker of hope I’d felt discovering someone from my past was here in town. It was a connection I wasn’t sure what to do with—only that I needed it.

  My meeting with Cooper had whispered he needed something as well. He was simply more reserved and reluctant to admit it.

  “Wait, Caylee Francesca Louisa George Sawyer!” While I was technically a widow and had chosen to not return to my maiden name, Rebecca had been appalled I’d gone through life without a middle name. One night, over a late meal of Italian takeout, I’d confessed my parents oversight, and it had immediately resulted in her assigning me . . . not one, but three.

  George had been a surprise. Even she hadn’t planned on it slipping out between mouthfuls. But it had stuck, and now she’d five-named me. “Yeah?”

  “At least let me do your hair and makeup. Puh-lease?” The cutely pathetic begging tone sealed the deal.

  “Sure,” I conceded. “Give me an hour to shower and dress, then meet me in my room.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” Saluting me, I left her to find her own fabulous outfit for the bar and get ready.

  Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

  In a small part within my chest, Rebecca’s words had struck their mark—it wasn’t just about seeing the band.

  Cooper.

  Was I ready to see where our newfound relationship could take us? We’d find out soon enough.

  Chapter Seven

  Cooper

  New lyrics danced just out of reach, teasing me. Inspiration had struck in the early morning right before dawn. Awake and trying to shake loose from the latest nightmare’s grip, I’d sat in the soft dark, mulling over the tinkling notes in my head. I’d managed to scribble down a few lines, but once the sun rose, the moment passed.

  With only thirty minutes before tonight’s show started, my only goal was to relax and let the mood take me wherever I needed to go. That and finish the drink the pretty, red-haired waitress had brought me. My nerves were still on edge, something I was accustomed to, and as the fiery liquid burned a straight path down to my stomach, I reached for the memories of last night’s entertainment.

  I was right in choosing the two friends—their enthusiasm to please had been more than impressive, certain moves bringing a smile back to my face. Mindless sex and one-night stands was proving to be the cure-all to what ailed me, and I hardened just thinking about which available female would grace my bed tonight. There was never a shortage.

  I had no problem burying myself between the legs of the willing.

  A faint, persistent voice—one I kept ignoring—reminded me there was more to life than this, that once upon a time, I’d frowned on this kind of shit. That was before Afghanistan, though. That was before it all went to hell and I realized life held no guarantees, no rhyme or reason—that crappy things happened.

  Bitter much? I barked out of a silent laugh, disgusted with myself. Draining my glass, barely tasting whatever I was drinking, I signaled for a refill. One more, and I’d need to go back stage with the guys and get ready for the show.

  It was another typical Saturday night, playing to the same crowd. My gaze darted out over the people already milling about, searching for familiar faces. Our hometown always treated the band and me good, word of mouth spreading around so there was never a shortage of work. Life kept me busy just the way I needed it. Between the band and working with my brother and his construction company, there was little time to dwell on the past.

  Pity I can’t switch it off when I sleep.

  I could avoid my demons awake. However, there was no escaping my dreams. I’d tried, but it had pushed me to the brink of insanity. I learned to adjust, to deal, to find those distractions and self-medicate. It may not have been much of a life, but I managed. Sooner or later, it’d either break or make me—fucked if I cared which one.

  Offering the waitress a thank you, I played with the tumbler, dragging my finger around the rim. There was an underlying restlessness I couldn’t shake, one that kept surging each time I forced it down. I faintly hummed under my breath, eager to get tonight’s festivities underway, when I caught sight of her.

  Caylee Sawyer.

  My ‘new’ friend. I’d forgotten about inviting her here. My memory was pretty much shit nowadays.

  Damn. The alcohol in my stomach churned as a slight annoyance rivaled the heated sensation buzzing through my system.

  Caylee Sawyer was here with someone, a cute brown-haired girl whose head had started craning about, maybe to see if she could spot a place to sit. Both of them looked like they were dressed to impress. Despite my irritation, it didn’t stop me from taking in the way her long, slender legs seemed to go on forever or the way her blonde hair flowed over her shoulders, begging for me to pull on it as I took her from behind.

  Sex. Everything came back to it.

  Then I remembered—off-limits. Caylee would always be the forbidden fruit for me.

  She was chewing on her bottom lip, clearly nervous as she scanned the bar from the entran
ce. She’d already caught the interest of a few locals, their heads turning as she stepped inside.

  “Easy, boys. This one’s mine,” I murmured, my own gaze tracking her movements. It sometimes amazed me how quickly I forgot decisions when faced with a pretty face. Some inner part of me whispered that flirting wouldn’t hurt—that there was no danger in it. I’d made myself clear and yet here she was, obviously interested in pursuing a friendship with me despite my better judgment. Sooner or later, I’d fuck it up. I knew it.

  The day was coming that she’d know it, too.

  The arrogant part of me chuckled, already placing the blame for the impending doom at her feet. She’d been warned. If she got burned, who’s fault was that?

  Owen deserved better than that, asshole. Owen may just be the saving element to this disaster. Even from the grave, he was reaching out, protecting me from my own foolishness and toxic habits.

  Or he was simply looking out for his wife. No doubt it was the later.

  Chuckling, I took another mouthful from my drink and prepared myself to go say hello. Our set was almost ready, but this wouldn’t take long. A few exchanged words, a chance to show her all the reasons why this wouldn’t work.

  A quick opportunity to see if she smelled as good as she looked.

  “Good, you’re here. We’re about to start.” A firm hand clamped my shoulder, squeezing it, as Marty leaned in close. “Aidan and Troy are ready, we’re just waiting for you.” When I didn’t take my gaze away from Caylee and her friend, Marty quit talking, instead trying to see what held my attention.

  “Ahhh, you already scouting for tonight’s after-party? See anything promising?” He perused the room with the kind of efficiency only a seasoned player could master. If there was anything fuckable within a five-mile radius, Marty could sense it. He said it was his gift, his talent.

  It was one he took seriously.

  “Damn, who is that?” His gaze was directed toward where Caylee stood. “Mark my words, bro. That fine, young thing will look perfect draped over my bed . . . bent over it . . . tied to it. Hell, I just want her beneath me.” Marty licked his lips and groaned deep with approval. The predator had chosen his prey—anticipation already reflecting in his features. “All that thick brown hair.”

  Anger had been rolling inside me, my stomach dropping at the thought of him even breathing on Caylee. It wasn’t out of any sexual territorial bullshit—at least, that was the new lie I told myself.

  I owe it to Owen. I repeated over and over. Think of her as a sister. You wouldn’t want Marty anywhere near yours. The more untruths I uttered, the stronger the queasy feeling became. I hated the thought of that being the connection between Caylee and me. I couldn’t be with her, and I sure as hell loathed the thought of anyone else having her but a ghosted memory.

  “She’s here with Caylee,” I murmured. My comment sounded strangled, and I coughed, clearing my throat. This was ridiculous.

  Marty’s head moved a fraction, and I saw the moment he recognized her. “So she came. You okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? This is what friends do, right? They hang out.”

  His laugh was loud and bark-like. “Absolutely. It’s bring-a-friend-to-work-night. Remind me to give you a gold star.”

  Flipping him off, I growled back. “Remind me again why I put up with your shit and don’t pummel you to the ground? I seemed to have forgotten.”

  “It’s my sparkly personality. Chicks dig it. You dig it.” Eyebrows wiggled as Marty winked. “I’m a pleasure to keep around.”

  “Then let me find my bliss and kick your ass.”

  “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Someone needs a nap.” Casting another sidelong glance toward Caylee and her companion, something he thought sobered him. “Okay, enough of me being a douche. Are you going to be all right with her here? I know you claim she’s no one to you—someone from your past—but I got your back, Coop. Just want to make sure you stay in a good head space.”

  “Will you stop already? You’re starting to resemble my old therapist from the VA, clucking around me like a fucking mother hen.” There was a tickle in the back of my throat—an all too familiar sensation that told me I was in desperate need of a drink. “I’m fine.”

  Lifting his fingers and gesturing for two shots from a passing waitress, Marty proved why I kept him around—why he wasn’t like the others I’d pushed away when they got too close. “Then let’s quit standing around and gossiping like chicks.” He passed me the glass filled with amber liquid, raising it in front of him before downing it in one go. A subtle shudder coursed through him, and I tipped my head back, feeling nothing as I swallowed my own drink.

  I always took it as a positive sign when I hit that glorious place where I was numb. Everything was manageable. Fuck the world and all that blah blah crap.

  Holding my fist in the air, I waited for him to bump it. “Maybe tonight will be the night we get discovered.” It was something we said before each show. I went along with it because that’s what I did—autopilot made it easy to go with the flow.

  “Yep . . . a recording contract and that girl in my bed. I got a good feeling, buddy.” Rubbing his hands together, Marty stepped away and headed up to the small raised platform that doubled as a stage, joining our drummer and bass guitarist. It was time. Time to get lost in the music and the seductiveness of the melody.

  Caylee caught my eye again, and she held my gaze. There was recognition and relief present, along with something . . . else. I didn’t have time to analyze it, however. And honestly, I didn’t care.

  Much.

  I didn’t like the direction this was already heading toward.

  Finally on stage, I pushed it all away and grabbed the mic, a smile curling my lips. This was what mattered—the music. This was what made a difference and helped drown out the other noise.

  “How’s everyone tonight? Are you ready to party?” I yelled out, the guys behind me starting our opening song. “I know I am.” As if to prove a point, I zeroed in on the group of tipsy women to the left of the stage, half-emptied glasses littering their small, circular table. Drunken girls made for fun shows as they danced about and sang at the top of their lungs, laughing.

  They also liked to show their appreciation afterward—over and over.

  This was who I was.

  This was the life I chose.

  And with that in mind, a plan formed, it taking hold as the opening note filled the air and signaled my cue to start.

  “Sing along if you know the words . . .”

  Chapter Eight

  Caylee

  “Damn, they’re good,” Rebecca hollered, her voice straining to be heard over the loud music. Swaying to the beat, I nodded, unable to take my eyes away from the stage. I’d seen Damaged Souls play before, but their talent continued to impress me. It was one thing to pick up an instrument and play—to sing a few tunes into the microphone. It was a completely different experience when you could tell someone actually enjoyed what they were doing.

  Passion was unmistakable when you discovered it. It lured you in, took you captive, and held you in its arms, taking you on a journey that left you somewhat altered after you returned. There was no denying it. The four guys currently performing were destined for greatness. It was merely a matter of time before someone came along and opened up the world for them.

  Just the thought of it sent a chill across my skin. There was a part of me who was excited to see Cooper find the success he deserved. While I didn’t understand the depth of his guilt or what he’d gone through with Owen¸ there was one thing I knew for certain.

  He needed a break. That much was obvious.

  He needed to know that it was okay to live and move on.

  He needed to believe that no one would hold it against him if he let go of the past and stopped punishing himself.

  Maybe I was wrong, maybe I misunderstood the conversations we’d had and misread the signs. He’d struck a nerve that day in the diner when he’d accus
ed me of trying to fix him, to make him a project for my psych class. That hadn’t been my intention, but hearing the anguish in his voice, the anger that stirred when I had unknowingly triggered some kind of memory, had awakened something inside of me.

  Heaven help the man, but I saw it as a challenge. It struck every protective instinct I held, raising that innate need to comfort and nurture. I didn’t care how that happened, only that he let me in enough so I could erase that pain.

  I understood grief. Owen was my first love, the one I had given myself to wholly and completely. He was meant to be the one I spent my life with, to make beautiful babies with, to grow old together, passing away after a lifetime of laughter, devotion, and happiness.

  I still didn’t believe that was a fool’s dream. I wasn’t naive enough to think that tragedy wouldn’t strike, unsettling the dreams of my young heart. Life threw curve balls and unexpected things would surface.

  But I wasn’t prepared for the devastation that came when I opened up the door to our small home on base and saw officials standing there, somber, compassion blazing in their eyes. Owen was meant to come home to me. We were going to start a family.

  We were meant to do a lot of things.

  So while I didn’t know exactly what Cooper had endured—we’d both lost someone we loved.

  I’d healed, somewhat.

  He hadn’t.

  Looking up at the stage, I could see through that facade he wore. I recognized it for what it was—denial.

  “Man, I feel the need to become their number one groupie, Caylee,” Rebecca laughed, sipping on her straw and finishing her drink. We’d decided to stand by the bar while the band played, the swivel chairs giving us a place to sit when we weren’t dancing to the music. “You ready for another?” she asked, nodding to my empty glass. We’d both agreed to watch out for each other and not go too crazy. It might’ve been the beginning to the weekend, but with the semester underway, homework stopped for no hangover.