but us. He takes a bold step forward and I manage to shake my head, stopping him in his tracks. His eyes feast on me, scouring every inch, his expression pained like me stopping him from coming to me actually, physically hurts him.
Welcome to the club, buddy.
I clear my throat, lick my suddenly dry lips, and look away, back to the others.
“I’m back now and I’m ready to finish this album. Thank you for being so patient while I was away and for believing in my vision enough to stick with me. It truly means so much to me. We have six more songs and a month to get them done in. Should be cake.”
“Pie, babe,” Gus says. “We southern boys like our pie.” He gives me that charming smile he’s perfected and then picks up his electric guitar, looking directly at his brother. “Wanna jam out some tunes? My wife starts fertility treatments today. To say I have enough pent-up nerves in me that need to be expelled is an understatement.”
“I hope your kids look like Naomi,” I quip and watch as Gus’s lips twitch.
“Me too.”
I laugh and because we actually have three songs that are completely bare of instrumentals, I tell Gus and the guys that they can go jam for an hour as long as it’s productive and they pick a song from this album to work on.
Henry doesn’t follow them into the booth.
Henry sits on one of the loungers the way he did what feels like forever ago while I sit at the soundboard twisting knobs and pushing dials with a bit more gusto than necessary, doing my best to ignore him. It’s not easy. I know he’s staring at me. I can feel his eyes burning into me, making the back of my neck hot and the hairs stand at attention.
“You went back to purple.” He reaches out and for one awful second, I think he’s going to touch me before he thinks better of it and lets his hand drop to his knee. “I can’t decide which I like better on you. The blue or the purple. Maybe black would be pretty too. Make your skin glow and your eyes pop.”
I hold in a breath, willing my heart to slow and for him to follow the others into the booth. I don’t respond because not only is there nothing to say to that, I have my headphones on and am listening to the guys. I didn’t pump the music through the room for this reason.
I don’t want to talk to him.
“How’s Jess doing?” he continues amidst my silence.
“She’s as well as can be expected,” I finally reply, if only to get this part over with. “Thank you for taking care of all the arrangements. And for sending the plane for us.” I glance over my shoulder for a half-beat before turning back to the mixer, my heart now hammering so hard I’m positive he can hear it. “That really meant a lot to her.”
“Just to her?”
Shut up, Henry. Don’t fucking do this.
I let out some noncommittal humming sound and return to ignoring him, adjusting the mixer to the sound of Gus’s guitar.
“Do you want to know why your brother hasn’t killed me?”
“I don’t care.” This time I reply instantly because this isn’t happening. I’m glad Keith didn’t kill him and I’m sure he has his reasons and I’m fine with that. I don’t need to know the inner workings of men, their relationships, and this band. I only care about the work they create, and I produce.
“Dragonfly, I have so much—”
“Don’t,” I snap, ripping the headphones from my ears and chucking them on the soundboard. I spin in my chair to face him because I guess we’re doing this after all. “Don’t call me dragonfly. Don’t even call me Eden. I am nothing to you. Remember? I was a fling that’s over so now we can go back to hating or ignoring each other. That’s what I’m trying to do! If you had half a heart in there, you would stop trying to mess with mine and let me do it.”
His gaze locks on mine as he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. He inhales another, this was slower, and then he just stares at me. Like he has a million things he wants to say and is torn. He leans forward, his hand reaching out, attempting to draw into my space. The scent of his cologne hits me with such potency, I