Soft Wild Ache_A Small Town Rockstar Romance Read online

  I spend all day cleaning up other people's messes so usually I left mine alone.

  Not today.

  "Come on," I mumbled as I turned the sponge over and attacked the stain with the scouring side. "I'll get out the bleach if I have to." The pink ring had lived happily in the bathroom sink since Everly and I had moved into the place, but not anymore.

  The mysterious fluorescent mold around the drain was not the first casualty this morning. I'd been at it since I woke, flustered and breathless after some very confusing dreams, at five AM. On my day off. Lying in bed and trying to go back to sleep had only brought frustration, and the third time Beau's hazel eyes popped unbidden into my head was when I finally propelled myself out of bed and right to the cleaning supplies.

  Hard labor was part of the penance for fornication. There was no one here to flog me - except myself, with my own mind - but maybe if I cleaned my house, I could clean my soul in the process. First I'd opened all the windows and doors, letting in the fresh smell of early summer. But the fresh air wasn't enough to blow away the thoughts of Beau from my mind.

  What would my parents say if they knew that I had kissed him? A debauched rockstar, the very definition of a worldly sinner? "Come on," I snarled at the stain, ignoring the way the cleaner burned my hand. I scrubbed so hard that my finger knocked against the faucet, opening a scrape on my knuckle. I ran the water and let the tinge of pink swirl down the now sparkling drain. The sink was whiter than it had ever been, and all the battered nickel fixtures gleamed like they were new. I lifted my knuckle to my lips and absently sucked on my knuckle then spat into the sink. "Guess I need gloves now."

  I padded out into the kitchen and was pulling on the bright yellow dishwashing gloves that lived under the sink when a sharp rat-a-tat-tat jolted me out of my mumbling-to-stains reverie. "Oh!"

  Beau was there on my sunken porch, just on the other side of the screen door. I blushed in immediate guilt, certain that I had somehow managed to conjure him from thin air just by thinking about him non-stop.

  "Sorry, are you busy?" He was looking right at the bright yellow gloves.

  "Uh." For some reason, my fingers went right to my lips. Where his kiss still lingered.

  The dreams I'd had last night came flooding back, overloading my senses and heating my cheeks. As my heart rate sped up, I ducked away from his hazel eyes, wanting to feel anything but delight at seeing him here. Even though I was wearing one of my old Chosen undergarments, loose and shapeless, tucked into a pair of ripped and paint-spattered jeans, I still felt beautiful the second his gaze heated my skin.

  And that's when I knew that my cleaning had done nothing. My soul was still tainted with the memory of his kiss. And what's more, I liked it.

  "I just wanted to ask you something." He was still on the other side of the door, unaware of the turmoil he'd unleashed inside of me.

  "We wanted to ask you something." Claire popped out from behind her brother, startling me out of my introspection, and opened the door to let herself in. "It was my idea in the first place, wasn't it?"

  Beau followed her in with his lips screwed up like he was trying not to smile. "Sorry." He glared pointedly at Claire. "We probably could have called but—"

  "Man, this place looks fantastic!" Claire looked around appreciatively and took a deep breath. "Smells amazing too. Like... bleach and pine trees."

  "I was cleaning." I held up my gloves as if they needed a deeper explanation as if they couldn't see that every cupboard was open, every dish was out on the counter and the floor was still wet in some places. "So, um..."

  Beau picked up on my confusion immediately. "Claire and I were out looking for houses when I had an idea."

  "It was my idea!" Claire stepped in front of him. "So I want to say it. Rachel?" All that brash, little-sister confidence drained from her face and she looked suddenly shy. "You have such a pretty voice. Can I give you voice lessons?"

  I dropped my sponge. "What?" Crouching down to grab it again hid my blush of pleasure. At least I hoped it did. I was suddenly reminded of the time our barn dog had puppies, and the way they'd tumble around, tails wagging, basking in the pleasure of being loved and petted. If I had a tail right now, it would be wagging just like that. "You want to teach me?" I repeated.

  "I'm not a professional like my brothers." She punctuated that statement with a hefty eyeroll. "But I helped my friend Ruby with the school play last spring and I really enjoyed teaching those kids how to sing."

  "My sister was in that." At their shocked expressions, I straightened a little and took off my gloves. "My parents started sending her to secular school this past fall." And I had been more jealous than I wanted to admit, that she'd been given the opportunity to do something I'd so desperately wanted for myself. Those same bad feelings had sent me into a cleaning spree at the hotel I'd been living at when I heard the news. "She loved being in the play."

  At least I thought she had. Lydia hadn't been allowed to contact me since I left the compound. My mother's last letter had mentioned it in passing, buried in news about the children being born or fostered in the community and a whole paragraph about one of the cows getting stuck in the mud by the creek. I'd had to read between the lines.

  Claire's eyes had widened into saucers. Then she snapped her fingers. "Little Lydia!" I smiled when I heard my little sister's name and Claire nodded. "Oh my God! It makes so much sense now! You guys have the same color hair, like, exactly. She's a mini-you, why the hell didn't I see that? Anyway," she grabbed my ungloved hand and squeezed. "That means it’s fate. You have to let me teach you. You have such a talent."

  I half-nodded before I even thought to distractedly worry about the vanity laced in that statement. My sister had been allowed to sing in a play and bow to the audience's applause.

  Why not me?

  I wanted it. I wanted to learn, to get better. I wanted to do something I was good at, something I loved, and I didn't want to feel bad about it.

  "Yes."

  She and Beau froze in place and looked at each other. I took a deep breath. "Okay yeah, that sounds great." As soon as I said it, I felt a spark inside of me. Like a match struck and held to a wick, it flickered and then burned bright to life. I squeezed my sponge and then set it deliberately on the counter, then blinked confusedly at the fury of bleach and scrubbing that surrounded me, as if it had been done by someone else. The only connection I felt to the penance I'd designed for myself was the way my knuckle throbbed dully. Distracted, I exhaled. "I think I'm done cleaning."

  The Kings sprang into action. "Here." Beau grabbed a stack of plates. "Where do these go? I'll help you put them away."

  "Singing while you work helps pass the time, you know." Claire was shoving my colander into the wrong drawer, but I didn't stop her. I just cleared my throat and started humming the melody of an old hymn that was as familiar to me as the lines on my palm. "Breathe from your diaphragm," Claire said idly. Then reached out and pressed the flat of her hand just below my ribcage. "Make my hand go up when you breathe, in. See? See how that brings the tone down from your head? Yes!" Her smile was wide and proud. "Listen to you!"

  "Listen to you," Beau echoed. His fingertips were pressed to his lips. I'd only glanced over at him for a second, but his hazel gaze seemed to trap mine in a snare and suddenly I was singing right to him as I watched his face transform into wonder. "You have to do this," he said. "You have such a beautiful voice."

  I closed my eyes. I could feel it, the compliment, how it traveled through my body right to my tingling fingers and curling toes. This flush of pride was something I had never allowed myself before because it was a full-on, open defiance of the way I'd been raised.

  Rebellion.

  It was seductive and sudden, and I knew I should fear it, but I was too busy smiling proudly. I opened my eyes again. "When can I start?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Beau

  It felt like there was a balloon in my chest. It inflated every time I was within fift
y feet of Rachel and I was practically floating now.

  But when we walked back into my parents' empty house, it popped. "Where is he?" Claire spoke my thoughts aloud.

  "Bed," I grumbled, not even needing what Jonah and Gabe called my "scary twin sixth sense" to know that that was where my brother was now. Wrapped in a blanket - in spite of the warm June afternoon - and staring at the wall.

  Claire turned to look at me, cheeks white, "You want me to go?"

  "I've got it." I was already climbing the stairs.

  His door was shut all the way, latch though hopefully not locked. I knocked hesitantly, then called myself a pussy and knocked louder. "Yo, Finnegan. I've got news."

  There was no reply, but I heard the sound of his bed creak, so I knew he was awake. "Hey, I'm coming in." I tested the handle. Not locked. I opened it slowly, giving him time to get used to the idea of me intruding. "How are you doing in here? Jesus." I paused and fanned the door. "It's hot as balls in here, how are you not sweating to death under those blankets like that?" I strode to the window and made to open it, but it was stuck. "Jeez, this is bad, why didn't you tell me? I could have fixed this for you, I think the wood must have swelled or something. All that rain last month." I couldn't seem to stop making stupid observations. He was my own twin brother, but his silence made me feel awkward as hell. "Hey, you know, when we have our own place, we can turn on the A/C without Dad having a coronary, wouldn't that be awesome?"

  Finn gave me no sign that he was listening. His dull eyes were fixed intently - but disinterestedly - on the ceiling.

  His room it smelled... sad. The air was heavy and stale, and the faintly acrid odor let me know that he'd stopped showering, probably days ago. It hit me all at once that him coming downstairs and having breakfast with us was just him going through the motions. His laughter was false, his participation was just for show. Nothing was reaching him anymore, except...

  I could. "Speaking of which. We found a house," I said, plopping myself at the foot of his bed. He obligingly shifted his feet to give me space, but he didn't say anything, not even when I started telling him all about the secluded place Claire and I had found. "It's so quiet there, Finnasaurus Rex. Exactly what you're looking for. It's even got this little fishing pond and I think we scared some ducks. There's definitely a frog, a loud little fucker too, so you most likely could hear him from the big wrap-around deck that overlooks his habitat."

  "Cool."

  One word. He didn't even lift his head. Gritting my teeth, I pressed on. "We can schedule a showing, but we should do it soon. I doubt a place like that is going to stay on the market for long. You're probably not the only pseudo-hermit in the Crown Creek area." I waited, giving him time to collect his thoughts, and as I did, I couldn't help but do a sweep of the room. Was he taking his meds and this was just a normal downturn? Did he need a higher dose? Should I be badgering him to go see his shrink? Oh Christ, there was another fight I'd have to gear up for. "Finn?" My brother was still silent, but I knew he was listening, I could feel his tension and knew that the only thing that was keeping him from bolting from this room was the heavy weight of his depression that kept him lying down. "So the only problem is that it's a bit out of our price range, but that's to be expected since it's a pretty kick-ass house." I swallowed and then nodded to myself. Yes. This was the right move. "But I know where we can get the money, man. Easy-peasy. I just have to make some phone calls. Sounds good, right?"

  I waited in the deafening silence for him to give me something. Anything. Hell, even a sarcastic comment shooting me down would be preferable to this apathetic silence. "Finn, where are your meds?"

  "Fuck off." My brother rolled back to the wall.

  I stood up. "You're taking them, right?"

  "Fuck off, I said."

  My chest tightened in a snarl of anger. I tried to push it back down again. This isn't him. "I'm going to schedule the showing though. So is there a time that's bad for you? Like maybe you have a doctor's appointment coming up?"

  "Beau, I swear to God if you don't leave me the fuck alone I'm going to..."

  He drifted off in mid-sentence, already bored with threatening me. I would have taken it. I was used to Finn's temper but this apathy...

  I couldn't take it. I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, burning with the need to move, to run. The tight bud of anger was blooming, and the rushing heat of my blood thudded in my ears. "So?" Claire was right in my path as I stomped into the kitchen, but I veered around her and made a beeline straight for the door off the kitchen that led into the garage.

  I wasn't even fully aware of what I was doing or why I was grabbing the hand-axe until I was running full tilt through the yard and straight down to the creek.

  Last month's flood had left our yard a mess that my father was only just starting to tackle. The tangled mass of branches and debris was dry now thanks to the string of warm, sunny June days.

  And that made it easy to start hacking.

  The first thud of the axe into one of the branches unleashed something. I blinked away the sudden blurriness in my eyes and then grunted as I split the log in two. "Fuck!" Yanking and heaving, I wrestled the unruly mass back up the hill to the fire pit. I wiped the sweat out of my eye and then went back in again.

  Thunk. Yank. Thunk. Yank. The rhythmic sound of the axe and the hard labor went a long way toward soothing my soul and letting me think clearly again. Clearly enough for the both of us since my brother was in no shape to be making decisions at the moment. It would be up to me to find a way to get the money together. I could do it.

  I just had to make a few phone calls.

  As I hacked away at the fallen underbrush, the plan solidified in my brain. One appearance. That was all we needed. Call it a King Brothers Family Reunion, yeah, that had a nice ring to it. Maybe a festival or a one-night only event down in New York City. That was all we needed. It would kickstart our sales, start the royalties flowing again.

  Re-fill Finn's checking account and get him on his feet again.

  The pile in the fire-pit was getting bigger now. I paused, and wiped my forehead again, wishing I had thought to bring out a glass of water. The brush was nearly clear, and the banks of the creek were visible again. I only needed to cut up a few more branches.

  As I split the last big, sprawling oak branch, I tried to keep my misgivings away. This was a good plan, a solid one. And it didn't matter if I actually hated playing pop music.

  Yeah. There it was. My dirty secret.

  I hated playing pop music. I loved classical, the swooping grandeur, the meaningful silences. But I had never said a word because being in a pop band was how I spent time with my brothers, how I kept a watchful eye on Finn. I had sucked it up, believing that it was better that three people were happy and one person was unhappy, rather than make all three of them unhappy just for my sake. When we'd broken up, I'd been sad about losing that closeness, but I hadn't mourned the loss of the music at all. Those simplistic little songs did nothing for me.

  But they paid the bills. And that's what I needed them to do again.

  With one final heave, I sent the last of the branches up to the top of the pile. I paused and massaged the stitch in my side. I definitely needed water now, I'd damned near sweated myself into mummification, but it was hard to pull myself away from the mindless, comforting toil and head back into the house. I knew what I would find there. A worried sister and an uncommunicative brother. And me back in the middle again, trying to make everything right.

  As I trudged back up to the house, my steps got lighter before my brain registered the reason why.

  Music. The sound of my piano drifting out of the house, a simple little chord progression and then—

  My heart quickened. "Rachel?"

  I ran full-tilt - not even sparing a thought for my aching muscles - up the sloped lawn. The door off the back deck was closer to the living room where the piano sat, so that was the one I burst through just in time to hear Rachel bel
t out a perfect high C. She turned at the noise of the door slamming shut, and the corner of her mouth quirked ever so slightly as a happy blush spread over her face.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips. I wasn't going to interrupt. Not this. Claire was working on scales, taking Rachel through a series of warm-up exercises. It was nothing I hadn't heard a million times before, but somehow the silly little "ah ah ahs" and "ee ee ees" sounded like something rare and beautiful when they came from her mouth. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin up as if she were singing right up to the angels she sounded like. The tips of her fingers grazed the top of my piano and I resolved never to polish it again.

  I swore I was only standing there for a minute, maybe two, when Claire closed her book. "We'll leave off there. I don't want your vocal cords to get fatigued."

  "Okay," Rachel said, kneeling down to gather her things.

  "Stay!" I blurted, like the biggest, lamest asshole in the world.

  The two of them looked at me, Claire scoffing, Rachel confused. "What for?" my sister asked, and I wanted to smack her.

  "We're having a bonfire."

  "We are?”

  "Yep. To celebrate the beginning of summer."

  "We are?"

  I glared at my sister, sending her silent 'not helping!' vibes with my eyes. She widened hers dramatically - and completely obviously. "Oh! Yes! We are! Definitely, yes, we are definitely having a bonfire to celebrate the beginning of summer. As we do. It's a thing that we do."

  "You're invited," I said, raising my voice over Claire's fumbling. "We'd love to have you."

  The pink was still there in her cheeks, the dreamy expression. I would be kissing her right now if my sister weren't standing there, I knew it. My fingers itched to hold her. I wasn't above begging. "Please say yes."

  She licked her lips. "Yes."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rachel

  The eastern sky was a band of turquoise, growing deeper blue by the second. But if I stood in the middle of the Kings' expansive lawn and tilted my head upward, the sky slid back to faded pink and then orange. Deep magenta clouds hugged the western edge of the sky where the sun had just finally slipped down to sleep.