Back To You (In Tune Book 1) Page 3

  Shoving my hands deeper into my pockets, I watched Aunt Rose throw her second ball. She made hitting that last pin look easy.

  High-fiving her teammates, she whooped, and I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on my face. Then, to my surprise, she marched over to me and put her hands on her hips, giving me a once-over. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Not the greeting I was expecting. “Nice to see you too.”

  She pursed her lips. “You know that’s not how I meant it.”

  I shrugged. “Why don’t you let me take you home?”

  “I have my own car, and besides that, why would I leave now? We’re winning.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Who told you?”

  Aunt Rose was stubborn and persnickety, but she’d never been stupid. It wasn’t surprising she’d figured out the reason for my visit in a matter of seconds.

  “Does it matter?” I shot back. “The point is that you didn’t tell me. How bad is it?”

  She shrugged. “Not bad.”

  “Jesus, Aunt Rose. It’s can—”

  She put her hand over my mouth to silence me. “Quiet, boy. Don’t go blabbing my business. These old-timers gossip more than a tween girl.” She removed her hand, her expression softening. “The big, bad rock star finally comes home.”

  “I’m sorry I stayed away so long.”

  She patted my cheek. “I wasn’t going anywhere. But you, on the other hand… you’re going places.”

  “Still, I should have—”

  “Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Why don’t you go on home and wait for me there? This game is almost over.”

  That was probably a good idea, considering we were starting to attract curious stares. I doubted that crowd was up on the latest music, but they probably knew me regardless. Not many celebrities hailed from Cedar Creek.

  “Sure,” I agreed. “Just one question first. Who’s that guy?” I nodded toward the bald ass-smacker.

  Her brow wrinkled. “Who? Frank? You know him—he was your middle school bus driver.”

  Ah, so that’s how I know him. “Are you”—I gulped—“dating?”

  Her eyes widened, and she burst out laughing. She gently shoved me toward the door. “Go home. I’ll be there soon.”

  It was only when I’d reached my car that I realized she hadn’t answered my question.

  Chapter 3

  Gabe

  Aunt Rose’s house was exactly the same as it had always been, right down to the threadbare quilt slung over the back of the couch. The woman didn’t like change.

  Not for the first time, I realized how difficult it must have been for her to take me in when I was twelve. She’d already been in her sixties by that point and should have been looking forward to retirement.

  My mom never had much interest in being a mother, but at least she’d kept me fed and clothed. Then, when I was ten, my dad took off, not that it was a big loss other than his paycheck. He’d been even less interested in being a parent than she was. Something snapped in my mom when he left, though, and she could no longer keep her shit together. It didn’t take long for her to start using. She lost her job, and we got evicted from our apartment. Sometimes, we’d sleep in her car, but more often than not, she’d find some guy to shack up with. My presence was barely tolerated.

  By that point, I was a bitter little punk with no respect for anyone or anything. A chance meeting with Aunt Rose at the grocery store, where I’d been attempting to steal a bag of Doritos, changed that. Though she hadn’t seen me for years, she’d recognized me. Instead of turning me in to the store manager, she paid for my snack and took me home with her.

  I only saw my mom a handful of times after that. She skipped town on the back of some guy’s motorcycle, and I hadn’t seen her since. I suspected she might be dead. Because if she wasn’t, I would have expected her to come crawling out of the woodwork now that I was rich.

  I was better off without her.

  I opened the door to my old bedroom, and my nose wrinkled at the slightly musty smell. It looked like Aunt Rose had simply closed the door when I left and hadn’t opened it since. Everything was just as it was—a battered drum set in the corner, scraps of paper with scribbled song lyrics shoved into the corners of the mirror, and a pile of guitar picks on the nightstand. My gaze traveled to the bed, and memories slammed into me of Leah lounging on the bed and humming along while I strummed on my guitar, her laughter as she tried to wriggle out of my reach when I tickled her toes, and her making a much different sound as I touched other parts of her.

  The memories would have been pleasant, except I knew how the story ended—with her gutting me. I’d thought I’d put it all behind me, but being there reopened a wound that had never fully healed. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I pushed the memories into a deep corner of my mind, refusing to let them have power over me.

  After opening a window to air out the room, I stripped the sheets off the bed and headed to the garage to put them in the laundry. I’d expected to find the ancient washer and dryer that Aunt Rose had fixed multiple times, but in their place were two fancy front-loading machines with tons of buttons. I was immediately overwhelmed by all the choices. And where the hell did the detergent go? Feeling like a moron when the machine started beeping angrily at me, I finally managed to get the thing going. Jesus. I hadn’t done my own laundry in years.

  Aunt Rose arrived a few minutes later. “I’m going to shower, and then we’ll talk,” she said as she breezed in the door. “Make some coffee, will you?”

  “Sure,” I called. I headed to the kitchen, but there was no Keurig machine. Aunt Rose had one of those old-fashioned coffee makers that brewed a whole pot at a time. I’d never paid attention to it when I’d lived there because I hadn’t been a coffee drinker then. I pulled the glass pot out and opened the top of the thing, hoping there were instructions written inside the lid. No such luck.

  I rolled my shoulders. I might have lived a charmed life by not having to do my own laundry or make my own coffee, but I could figure this out. I opened the cabinet above the machine and found a red tub of Folgers and a stack of filters. I stuck the filter in the top and dumped some coffee grounds in. Step one—done. But shit… where does the water go?

  There was a solution to my quandary, and it was right in my pocket. I took out my phone and opened YouTube. Anyone could learn anything on YouTube. I was in the middle of watching a coffee-making tutorial when Aunt Rose came up behind me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making coffee,” I muttered.

  She peeked at my screen then shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You don’t know how to use a coffee maker?”

  “I have a Keurig,” I protested. Or at least, I assumed I did. I hadn’t actually been to my house in Malibu since it had been renovated. “You should get one.”

  She snorted as she nudged me out of the way to complete the job. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

  I shrugged. As long as it was full of caffeine, I didn’t care too much. As soon as the coffee maker was bubbling, I pulled out a kitchen chair for her. “Now, sit so we can talk.”

  She raised a brow. “Isn’t this a role reversal?” I half expected her to stand on principle, but she dutifully sat.

  I sank into the chair across from her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the million-dollar question. Aunt Rose had always been a loner, but this was serious, and she was the only family I had. It wasn’t about me, but I couldn’t help but feel hurt she hadn’t confided in me.

  “Because there was no need to worry you.” She held up her hand to ward off my protests. “It’s only stage two. Very treatable.”

  “Thank God.” I knew fuck all about cancer, but even I recognized the lower stage as a good sign.

  “We could have had this conversation on the phone, you know.”

  I met her gaze. “You would have told me not to bother coming.”

  She opened her mouth then clamped it shut because there was no sense denyin
g it. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll have a mastectomy. Worst-case scenario, I’ll need some radiation or chemo after, but the doctor doesn’t think so. Problem solved.”

  “Why are you brushing this off? It’s a big deal.”

  She sighed. “Worrying only makes things worse. My doctor is confident I’ll be fine. So I’ll do everything she tells me. But if it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go. And if that’s the case, I’m not going to spend the final bit of my life in a panic.”

  I assessed her, looking for signs that she was putting on a brave face for my sake. She’d never done that before, though. She was the most practical, no-nonsense person I’d ever met. “I’m glad you’re upbeat about this, but I don’t think the fix is going to be easy.”

  She laughed. “Oh, it’s going to be terrible. I have no delusions about that. But again, there’s no sense getting in a tizzy about it. It’ll be what it is, and I’ll deal with it like I always do.”

  “But you don’t have to deal with it alone.” My words came out louder and harsher than I’d intended. Her dismissal of me stung. Except it wasn’t even a dismissal—she hadn’t even considered me.

  Reaching across the table, she squeezed my hand, a rare showing of physical affection. “I’m so proud of you. You were a skinny little juvenile delinquent when I took you in, and I told myself I’d consider raising you a success if you didn’t end up an unemployed drug addict.”

  I snorted. “Glad you had such high hopes for me.”

  “That’s not a reflection on you—it’s a reflection on me. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I just figured you’d be better off with me than my deadbeat niece.”

  “I was,” I agreed. “I definitely was.” Aunt Rose and I had never talked about this. She’d taken me in one day, and that was that. No nonsense, no sentiment.

  “I know how hard you worked to get where you are and how hard you’re still working,” she continued. “If I was on my deathbed, I would have told you. But I’m not.”

  “Still, you should have told me.”

  “Probably.” That was as much of an admittance of wrongdoing as I was going to get. She released my hand and rose to pour the coffee.

  “When is the procedure?”

  “Next week.”

  “I’m staying. I’m going to see you through this. All of it.”

  “What about your crazy schedule? Aren’t you supposed to be recording an album or something?”

  “That fell through.” That tended to happen when you told a record exec to shove things up his ass. Was that only this morning? It felt like days had passed.

  Sighing, she handed me a cup of coffee. “I can’t talk you out of it? You know I don’t like being fussed over.”

  “Don’t act like an old lady, and I won’t have to fuss.”

  “And don’t you go acting like a rock star in my house. I saw what you did to that hotel room in Miami.”

  “Jesus. It was one time five years ago. And it wasn’t just me.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” She gave me an appraising look. “I’m not happy about the reason, but it’s good you’re here. You look like you could use a break.”

  “Is that your way of telling me I look like hell?”

  “If the shoe fits,” she called over her shoulder as she trailed down the hall to her bedroom.

  Leah

  I hefted the full bucket of soapy water out of the sink with a grunt.

  “Whoa.” Strong hands took the bucket out of mine and placed it on the floor.

  I glared up at Tyler. “I’m not sharing my pay with you.”

  His mother had called me in a panic at seven that morning. Her in-laws were coming for a surprise visit, so she needed an emergency house cleaning. It wasn’t how I’d intended to spend my day off, but I didn’t turn down the chance to earn extra money. Besides that, Tyler’s mom was a sweetheart. I would have helped her even if she wasn’t paying me.

  Tyler took his seat at the kitchen counter. “I swear I didn’t remember you were working last night.”

  My glower deepened. “Lie. And now you feel guilty about it, so you’re keeping me company while I clean.”

  He looked like he was going to continue to claim innocence, but then his shoulders slumped. “Okay, I did know you would be there. Is it so bad that I want my two friends to bury the hatchet?”

  I scrubbed vigorously at the floor with the mop. “What exactly did you expect would happen?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought that maybe if you saw one another in person, some of the tension would defuse.”

  I snorted. “It’s a good thing you aren’t a hostage negotiator because you obviously don’t understand how to defuse tension.”

  “It’s been five years—”

  “That doesn’t matter. Some things aren’t forgivable.” I paused my mopping and looked up at him. “For the record, I’m talking about him forgiving me.”

  “Do you want him to?”

  “Does it matter?” I shot back. “He won’t. I might not know Gabe anymore, but I doubt he lost his stubborn streak.” He was nothing if not tenacious. Once he set his mind on something, it was impossible to change it.

  “If you just explained—”

  “To what end? Nothing has changed. I made my choice, and I’m sticking with it. He has his life in California, and I have mine here, with Lacey.”

  “Lacey isn’t here anymore.”

  I made a face. “Thanks for the reminder.” I missed my sister fiercely.

  “Aw, come on. I didn’t mean to rub your face in it. But she’s off at college now. She’s an adult. She doesn’t need you like she used to.”

  “She’ll be home for breaks and summers. Look, Tyler, I know you mean well, but you’ve got to let this go.” I shot him a sidelong glance. “Did he say how long he’d be in town?”

  “See?” Tyler exclaimed triumphantly. “You do care.”

  I rolled my eyes. It had never been about me not caring. I would care about Gabe until the day I died. “I just want to know how long I need to be on alert. Why is he in town, anyway?”

  “Aunt Rose has breast cancer.”

  I gasped. “What? Oh no.” All through high school, Aunt Rose had been a surrogate aunt to me as well. Without my having to tell her, she seemed to understand how shitty my home life was. Despite how things had gone down between Gabe and me, she had continued to be kind to me after he left.

  Tyler cursed. “I’m as bad as my mom. Don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s not public knowledge.”

  “Of course,” I assured him, though I shouldn’t have needed to. I wasn’t the one with the loose lips. “How far along is it?”

  “I don’t know the specifics, but it’s treatable.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  He hopped off his stool. “I gotta go take my cruiser to the mechanic. The check-engine light came on.” He paused. “I know you have your reasons, and I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I wish you’d reconsider explaining things to Gabe. It might make you feel better to clear the air.”

  I gave him a look to let him know what I thought of his advice. “Goodbye, Tyler.”

  He sighed. “Take care of yourself, Leah. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  “I won’t!” I called after him. Moments later, the front door opened and closed.

  I got down on my knees with a scrub brush to work on a stubborn stain on the floor, grateful to have something to work out my frustration on.

  Telling Tyler the truth about my supposed betrayal of Gabe had been a mistake. It had happened about a year after Gabe had left, and an entire bottle of wine had been involved. I usually wasn’t prone to self-pity, but it had gotten the better of me that night. At the time, Lacey had only lived with me for a month, and it had been a long, hard battle to get her out of my drunken father’s house. When she started getting in trouble at school, I felt like a failure. In addition to airing my woes about Lacey, I’d poured out the whole sordid story abou
t what had happened between Gabe and me.

  I’d made Tyler swear on his life to keep my secret, and frankly, I was surprised he’d managed to, but I supposed he didn’t have many opportunities since Gabe wasn’t the best at keeping in touch. Had Tyler told Gabe back when I’d first told him, would it have made a difference? Maybe. Gabe had already been gone for a year at that point. But now, five years after the fact, there was no point dredging up the past.

  It would only cause pain.

  It took longer than expected to finish up at Tyler’s mom’s house. In general, I had a strong work ethic, but I always went above and beyond for clients I knew personally. I wanted them to know I was grateful for the work.

  As I loaded my supplies into the trunk of my car, I decided not to make the trip to Richmond to shop for new work shoes because I’d probably wind up stuck in rush-hour traffic. In truth, I was grateful for an excuse to put it off. I was one of those rare girls who didn’t particularly enjoy shopping. Of course, that might have been because I’d never had money to spare. It was a no-brainer when it came to deciding between buying a new outfit or paying my rent.

  When I got home, my landlord, Mrs. Hannigan, was pulling in the trash can. I rushed to take it from her.

  “Oh, stop,” she protested. “I can get it.”

  “I know you can, but I use it too.”

  She chuckled. “True enough.”

  I wheeled the can to the side of the house then walked back over. “How’s Mr. Hannigan?”

  She sighed. “Cantankerous.”

  It was my turn to chuckle. Mrs. Hannigan had been my seventh-grade English teacher, and her husband had been a high school gym teacher and the baseball coach. Now, he was laid up, recovering from knee-replacement surgery. “Just a few more weeks of physical therapy, right?”

  “With any luck. Oh, no!” she said suddenly. “I forgot to call someone about that leaky faucet.”