“I’ll go show her how to get back here,” Mac offers and exists the studio.
The converted carriage house sits back behind the house, which makes it a perfect studio. Easily accessible to the house if I need to get to Gunner but far enough away that we can have privacy to work.
“I need to finish getting my own house put together.” Kade stretches and moving forward, slings an arm around Rule’s shoulders. “C’mon. You can hang with me. Later, I can take you to this malt shop Mac keeps talking about.”
“I think I’ll head into town to see what your brother’s working on,” Gideon says. Then frowns. “We gonna have to fumigate this studio before we use it again?”
“Shut the fuck up and let’s go.” Kade barks out a sharp crack of laughter. “And they callmethe asshole.”
Shaking my head, I watch them go, and as soon as the door closes, I turn around, thrusting my fingers through my hair. What is Lennon doing here? My pulse beats in my temples, and I hear nothing over its incessant drumming. My heart keeps time with it like an ominous percussion line.
Shit.
Eagerness to see her mingles with dread about why she’s shown up here. There can be nothing good about Lennon seeking me out. I don’t try and fool myself into believing there is—the time for fairy tales in my life—and my belief in themdied with my mother.
Minutes later, the door opens and Lennon steps in.
A week.
That’s all it’s been.
But it might as well have been another decade. My heart thrust against my rib cage as if recognizing its owner, and it’s willing to throw down and battle to get to her. How did I endure a decade staying away from her? From rehab, I know there were several factors that went into my using. Loss, abandonment, low self-esteem, fear of failure. Numbing the pain had become a way of existing for me. And she was part of that pain. Pain I had caused and had inflicted on myself, too.
But now, after only weeks in her orbit again, I recognize something else I tried to bury with the drugs.
The loneliness.
The terrible, gnawing loneliness that has eased just being in the same town as her. Being with her, touching her, tasting her. It fills this hole that had been as dark, as bottomless as an abyss.
This is the fear that I confessed to Mac, Kade and Gideon. I can’t make her my happiness, my crutch. That’s exchanging one dependance for another.
And yet, as I stare at her, I wonder if I’m too late. Am I already addicted to seeing those chocolate brown eyes glaze with pleasure? Or to those lush lips parting on a scream or spread so prettily around my cock? Or watching her beautiful dark brown skin mist with sweat from the arousal I’ve stirred within her? Or seeing her come apart as her slick, tight as fuck pussy pulls and squeezes my dick?
Or feeling her heart beat against mine as passion cools and she curls around my body, holding onto me?
Yes. It’s too late.
Which is why I should gently turn her around now. Tell her I might’ve been cruel ten years ago, but in the end, it was the best thing for us.
That’s definitely what I should do
“I’ve missed you.”
She hesitates on the threshold, blinks.
Well, fuck.
Mentally groaning, I step back, granting us both physical and emotional space. And time for me to get my shit together.
“Come in.”
She enters, closing the door behind her as she appraises the studio. I’m quiet as she takes in the overstuffed furniture, the recording equipment, the booth and comforts to make this our home away from home. Crossing my arms, I watch her as she finishes her study of the area, fighting not to fidget like a fucking schoolboy.
And I loose the fight.
“As soon as I closed on the house, I had builders out here to immediately begin work on the renovations. Soundproofing.” I wave a hand towards the walls. “We converted the living room and kitchen into a live room where we perform and record. That smaller booth in there,” I point toward the studio where an enclosed cubicle stands, “is an isolation booth for Mac’s drums and Gideon’s amplifiers and speakers. It’s also for those occasions when we include acoustic guitar on the record. And then this,” I spread my arms wide, also indicating the sound boards, mixing consoles and computers, “is the control room. It’s where the engineers record, mix, add vocals or effects.”
I manage to stop myself from giving her a guided tour of the hall and the bathroom, bedroom and another bedroom we use for storage.