I don’t answer. He turns on the light and looks at me. I don’t want to admit I read that song. “I went to see your mom. She looked at me the way you did this week—like she’d seen a ghost. She showed me the picture of Abby.”
He jumps out of bed. “She what?”
I sit up and wrap myself in the covers. “I didn’t know what to do. The way you’ve been acting lately, I thought you were going to break up with me. As soon as I saw the picture, though, I knew it was my fault, not yours. I’d made myself look like her. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how it must have felt. And she was a singer, like me.”
“Jesus,” he says, pacing around the room. “What the hell did she tell you?”
“Nothing. She showed me the picture and told me Abby died a long time ago. I asked her to tell me more, but she wouldn’t. She said you needed to tell me in your own time.”
He puts on his underwear. I think he’s going to get dressed and leave. Instead, he looks back at me. He runs his hands through his hair, clearly frustrated. Then he sits on the edge of the bed. “It’s not your fault you colored your hair. You had no idea. And I liked it, I did, but …”
I scoot over and wrap my arms around him. “It’s okay. I get it.”
He tenses, then relaxes. He turns off the light and lies next to me. I lay my head on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll wait for you to tell me.” I glance at him. “As long as you don’t act like a douche anymore.”
He kisses my head. “Deal. I’ll try to dial down the fucked-up.”
“We’re all fucked up, you know. You don’t own the rights.”
“I know.”
I give him a squeeze. “You didn’t really want me to move in with you, did you?”
“I don’t know. It’s no secret I don’t like you living here by yourself, and it would save us a ton on rent, but—”
“But those aren’t the right reasons.”
“No.”
He rubs my back, and I start to drift off, his heartbeat strong and steady under my ear.
“Bria?”
“Mm?”
“Did you fake an orgasm the other night or was that a dream, too?”
I chuckle. “That really happened. You were drunk and …”
“And what?”
“You wouldn’t look at me.”
He flips me over so I’m under him, and he turns the light back on. “I’m looking at you now, and I swear you’ll never fake another one again.”
He slips a hand beneath my panties and keeps his promise.
Chapter Thirty-four
Crew
We stick around after rehearsal. Ronni hired a photographer to do a shoot. No matter how much she complains about the barn, even she had to admit it has a great rustic feel.
As we wait for Ronni and the photographer to arrive, Bria tries to help Liam with a melody for a new song. He’s been in a slump lately. She sits at the keyboard, trying different variations as he strums his guitar.
I watch her. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. She’s so easy to look at. Our eyes meet, and she smiles.
Something has changed between us since last Friday. And it’s not just her hair. Ever since she found out about Abby, she’s been acting differently. More accepting. She asks fewer questions. She gives me more space.
I pick up my notebook and attempt to work on the song Mom suggested I write. I’ve made some progress this week. I even feel like it might be finished someday. But a part of me doesn’t want to finish it. It would somehow make things so final.
Dirk comes into the barn with an armful of food. “Thought you kids might be hungry. I hear you have a long day.”
Garrett and Brad race over to him. The rest of us hang back.
“You’re not hungry?” Dirk asks Liam.
Liam ignores him.
“Or just not grateful,” Dirk says. He crosses to his nephew. “It’d do you good to remember who supported you when no one else would.”
“Can we not do this here?” Liam says.
“Why not here? You never talk to me at home. At my home.”
Liam sees us watching. “Jesus, Dirk.” He gets up and leaves. Dirk follows, slamming the door so hard it pops back open. We pretend to eat as we listen to their argument.
“What the hell is your problem, Liam?” Dirk shouts.