“No,” he told me. “I think the vortex is going to help me with my album.”
“You know what,” I said instead of screaming, because now I was going to have to hurt him with my news and then deal with the fallout of him breaking my mother’s heart when he decided to leave without giving her a chance to nurture him. “I’ll see you guys sometime tomorrow, but I’m going to pull over at one of these motels and––”
“No.” His tone was flat and hard, and he said the word implacably, as though he had a say.
I scoffed. Loudly.
“Loc,” he murmured, and I was tired and not myself, vulnerable when I usually was not. “Please, just come home.”
“But you’re gonna want to know stuff, and I––” My voice cracked, because there had been the adrenaline spike that was gone now, and I was simply spent. “Just—I’ll come home like––”
“You can’t run away,” he soothed me. “It’s me and your mom, baby. You have to come home to us.”
It took a second to process his words. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Loc,” he said, his voice deep and sultry, a promise of sweetness. “Come home.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“I need to see you, so come home.”
“Fine,” I growled and hung up, trying to figure out what in the world I was going to say.
Parking the car in front of the house, I sat in it for a few minutes before I finally turned it off and got out. The front door was closed, but since it was glass, I could see the dogs lined up, waiting to greet me.
When I got out and walked to the front door, once I had it open, they came out, surrounded me, and then followed me back in. I took my time petting them all and then pacing the entryway between the door and the living room before I finally took a deep breath and walked in.
Nick was sitting on the overstuffed burlap couch, and I was surprised to see him with a guitar and a notebook in front of him on the enormous coffee table that had once been my great-grandmother’s hope chest. My mother was sitting with her legs curled under her on an enormous burnt orange leather wingback chair, wrapped in a raw silk shawl, watching me as I came in.
“You look exhausted,” she apprised me softly, lifting the teapot on her end of the coffee table. “May I pour you some oolong?”
I nodded and cleared my throat, looking at Nick. “That guitar is older than you are.”
He rested his arm on the curve of the instrument as his gaze met mine. “Yeah, I know, but it’s a Gibson, so it’s still in great shape. Once I tuned it, it’s got a wonderful sound.”
“That’s amazing that you can just do that by ear,” I commented, moving over to my mother and taking the mug from her.
He shrugged. “Well, you know,” he teased, smiling at me. “Musician and all.” I shot him a look, and he lifted a hand in defense. “Sorry, sorry, that was douchey.”
I wanted to take the easy way out and sit on the other end of the couch from him, near her, but I felt like if, after I made my confession, he wanted to hit me, I needed to make that easy for him. I took the seat close to him in the recliner. Once there, I took several sips of tea and then put the mug down on one of the many romance novels that were scattered about.
“We should buy some coasters,” I said absently.
“Yes, we should,” she agreed. “Something really tacky and kitschy.”
I nodded.
“Hey.”
I lifted my eyes and was caught in all the warm peaty brown of Nick Madison’s gaze.
“I couldn’t sleep knowing that you weren’t here, and your mother very kindly kept me company and then found me the guitar.”
I glanced at her. “Where did it come from?”
“My friend Jim left it before he went to serve in Desert Storm.”
“I’m sorry he didn’t come back for it,” Nick told her.
“So am I,” she said gently. “But he left it with me instead of having me ship it, along with the rest of his things, to his sister, so I think perhaps he knew that it had another path.” She smiled warmly at Nick. “At least I like to think so.”
“I really appreciate you gifting it to me,” he told her, his voice low. “I’ll treasure it.”
“I think Jim would be so pleased that it has a home where it will be played, and enjoyed,” she cooed, gazing at Nick fondly.
He nodded and then put the instrument down gingerly beside him before he turned and faced me. “I think I know where you went.”
I took a breath, crossed my arms, studying him. “Tell me.”
“No,” he replied hoarsely, lips parting, his tongue darting out to wet them, eyes wide and round as he stared at me. “You talk. You’re the one who messed up this time.”