Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,68
stilled when awareness prickled at my senses. I turned to look behind me, eyes huntin’ the street when I got an unsettled feeling that someone was watching us.
Discomfort and dread curled in my stomach.
When I didn’t see anything, I gathered everything back up and passed it to Richard so I could drive.
He cut me a look when I slipped into my seat.
I ignored him, turned over the engine, and took the short drive the rest of the way to the house.
Did my best at playing it cool when I helped Maggie back out.
Pretended like I didn’t notice her tight ass swaying in her black cut-off shorts as she bounded up the steps with the drinks.
I wound around to Richard’s side to help him get the rest.
He started to hand me a bag then jerked it out of my reach, his voice a low growl. “The fuck are you doin’, man?”
A frown pinched between my brow while my heart shifted into overdrive. “Taking in the coffees you wanted to get?”
“Don’t bullshit me. Know you.”
“Do you?” I challenged.
“Yeah. And I’ve only seen you look at one other girl like that before. Ever.” This time, his voice was sympathy laced in a warning.
Grief nearly dropped me to my knees, and my words were seething out between clenched teeth, “You’re seein’ things.”
“No, man, I’m not.”
His gaze swept to the house, in worry, in contemplation, before he shifted it back to me. “It’s time, man. Like I said, it’s been written all over you, and I might have missed its true meanin’ a minute back, but now it’s plain as day.”
“It’s nothing.”
The lie just spewed out.
“Yeah? Well it sure as hell looks like somethin’ to me,” he hissed, jabbing a finger at my chest, “and you’d be wise to check what you’re gettin’ in, who you’re affecting, before you start fuckin’ around. She’s not some groupie.”
“Would never look at her like that.”
Richard nodded hard. “Exactly.” He blew the air from his nose. “Just…be sure what you’re runnin’ toward, man. That you’re doin’ it right, before someone gets hurt.”
Resolution bound with the fear. “Last thing I want to do is hurt her.”
His lips pressed together as he pushed the bag into my hold and took a step backward. “Looks to me like she’s not the only one at risk of it.” He took two more steps backward, talking while he did, “You deserve to be happy, Rhys. But until you stop condemning yourself? You’re going to take everyone you care about down with you. Don’t take her down, too.”
Without saying anything else, he swiveled back around and jogged up the steps, disappearing inside.
“Fuck,” I grated, nearly bendin’ in two with the impact of what he implied. I struggled to get it together, to pin on a smile when the door blew back open and Daisy came rushing out.
Shit.
“Oh, Uncle Rhys, did you brings me something goods to eat?”
She was already halfway to me by the time I took in a shattered breath and gathered myself enough to keep from tumbling when she slammed into my legs.
Full force.
All light.
She wrapped her arms as far as she could around my knees and grinned up at me.
Love burst.
So intense it hurt.
All that I was missin’.
All that I was never gonna have.
“Course, I brought you somethin’.”
“’Cause you loves me?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, Daisy Mae. Because I love you.”
Seventeen
Rhys
I plucked at my bass where the four of us had gathered in the studio practice room in the basement.
Band doing our thing.
Richard strummed through the chords, Emily hummed low in her sultry way, and Leif thumped lightly at his drums as he vibed on what we were offering. Softly banging out the beat and adding his own unique style.
Same as me where I had my head rocked back on the chair and my fingers pluckin’ along the thick strings. As I twisted that heavy thrum into the backdrop. As I gave the song something for our listeners to bob their heads along to.
Emily had been leaned over the table, scratching lyrics onto a pad, before she suddenly broke out in song.
Miles away
Years apart
How many days
’til you unbreak this heart
Till this weakened spirit
Stops fallin’ apart
“Like it, Ems. Think you should dig deeper. Make it raspier. Not so much melody,” Richard told her as he continued strumming chords on his acoustic guitar.
“Yeah,” she agreed, still bobbing her head as she leaned over and made more notes.
I followed suit, shifting the style of my playing to accent the sensuous threads of Emily’s voice.