Chapter Fourteen
Seems the only time the brothers aren’t bickering is when they’re making music.
We’re gathered around the firepit at Nash’s that night.
My ass is slightly numb thanks to sitting in the wooden Adirondack chairs for hours.
The combination of cold bottles of beer, stars up high in the sky, and the whisper of the nearby river more than make up for it. Life is good.
There’s absolutely no need for me to be fixating on contracts or the past or whatever.
And yet my brain won’t leave it alone. At least I don’t know what’s happening online.
People are no doubt still having big feelings about us.
My worthiness to stand at his side and sleep in his bed, etcetera.
Living according to other people’s opinions doesn’t make sense to me. Seems best to stay right the hell away.
Charlie plucks at a banjo while the brothers both play acoustic guitars. And it’s obvious they did just this for years because they sound amazing. Then Nash sings…
She found the light switch and lead the way,
And I don’t want to slow her down, but I think she should stay,
Cause I know about nothing and everything and that’s what’s inside.
When you close your eyes are your dreams like mine,
Are you lost and wandering and left behind,
Do you think you could be my compass and my map and my reason why.
I said sharpen your teeth on me, if you need to,
But she doesn’t work that way, and we can see through,
Times good and bad, and the best we ever had, is right here.
“I want to work on the intro some more,” says Nash.
Angus nods. “Good idea. Though the basic riff is solid.”
“Yeah.”
“The lyrics sound a bit codependent really, don’t they?” asks Grandma, with the last of her gin and tonic in hand. Charlie raises a brow and she shrugs. “Just an opinion.”
Nash’s frown is fierce. “It’s my art, Audrey.”
“Yes. Of course. But is the song modeling a healthy relationship?”
“I just want to make music. You can’t hold me responsible for how random people might interpret things.”
Grandma cocks her head. “You don’t think so? Interesting.”
“Stop messing with him, Grandma, before you break his brain,” I say with a smile. “It’s a beautiful song.”
“You like it?” asks Nash.
And I nod. The smile is so wide it doesn’t feel like it fits on my face.
Which is when Charlie gets to his feet and cracks his neck and says, “Must be about time for bed.”
“Oh.” And immediately Grandma is out of her chair. “Good night, everyone!”
Hand in hand, they head toward her house without another word. They seem so in tune. Just her and him.
“They’re like geriatric rabbits. How are they having more sex than us?” mumbles Nash. “I mean, the man had a hip replacement a few years back.”
“You’re being ageist,” I say. “I’m just happy they’re happy. Though Grandma also had a frozen shoulder for a while not long ago. I don’t want to be thinking about this. Why are you making me think about this?”
Angus sets his guitar aside. “I guess where there’s a will there’s a way. And since I don’t want to be a third wheel here, or listen to Charlie and Audrey go at it, I’m going for a drive.”
“See you later, brother,” answers Nash.
As soon as we’re alone, I turn to the man who has my heart on a string and say, “We need to talk.”
He immediately frowns. “What have I done?”
“Nothing. We just need to clarify some things.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says. “If you’re leaving me, can I come too, or would that make things awkward?”
I snort. “There are no plans at present to leave you or The Bend.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
“This is actually what we need to talk about. I haven’t heard from your lawyer.” And while I do my best to settle back comfortably in the chair, this is in no way, shape or form a comfortable conversation. I do, however, need to make peace with the topic.
“I haven’t contacted them yet,” he says.
“So, you’ll do it tomorrow?”
He nods and strums his guitar.
“I was thinking…since I’m maybe living with you for a while—”
“Maybe?” He raises a brow. “Your belongings are in my bedroom, my sweet. What’s this maybe?”
“Since I’m living with you for a while—”
“For a while?”
“Can I finish this sentence?”
He presses his lips together. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Your lawyer should probably have something made up regarding our situation, to make sure you’re covered.” My hands twist and turn in my lap. Such a sure sign of nerves. “To protect your money and house, etcetera.”
“You’re being awful serious tonight, Junebug. Can’t say I like it.” He sighs. “There’s a document you can sign if you want to.”
“One that your previous partners signed?”
“Yes.” And he starts playing “Babydoll” by Dominic Fike.
Flames from the firepit cast shadows over his face.
He really is beautiful. “It would be the smart and sensible thing to do. You’re right about that,” he says.
“Just wasn’t sure how either of us would feel about our relationship being reduced to legal speak and a contract. ”
“It’s a valid concern. I know you left that world and want to start over. I just don’t want you to ever have to worry about these sorts of things. Me making money off knowing you or claiming you owe me something.”
He nods again and stares at my right hand. The one where I am now wearing the diamond ring. Because we’re not engaged. We never really were. He just gifted me an amazing piece of jewelry for which I am immensely grateful, but yeah.
“Want to tell me about the ex who sold you out?” I ask. “The one your brother mentioned?”
“There were a few of them.” His smile is bitter. “From the early days…”
“I’m sorry that happened.”
“People fuck up now and then, right? It’s part of being alive.
” And all the while, beautiful music keeps flowing from his fingers.
It’s some sort of magic for sure. The way it wraps around my heart and squeezes tight.
Then he says, “Someone sold photos taken in Mom’s hospital room the day she passed. ”
My mouth opens, but I have nothing. What an asshole thing to do. And it doesn’t seem like making a mistake so much as deciding to do something heinous. “I am so sorry that happened.”
“It’s why my brother feels strongly about this,” he says. “There’s a definite downside to fame and shit can fuck you up.”
“Makes sense why you hesitated today in the kitchen…when he talked about it.”
His fingers still and he cocks his head. “I hesitated?”
“Yes.”
“Ah,” he says with sudden understanding. “That’s why you’re being all weird and unduly serious.”
“It’s a weird and serious situation. There’s nothing unduly about it. You have a real estate portfolio and I have college debt. We are not the same.”
“Wouldn’t it be boring if we were?”
I smile, and it’s a distracted, halfhearted sort of thing. Mentally rehearsing this conversation for hours has not helped. My emotions are a mess, and my mind is all over the place. “Being honest and caring with each other is how we build trust, right?”
He nods.
“It hurt when you hesitated. But I know this isn’t personal. That you’ve been burned in the past.”
“And you got evicted from your home by your dick of an ex. We both have baggage when it comes to trust.”
“Very true,” I say. “Is the document you’re talking about a cohabitation agreement?”
“That’s what they call it,” he confirms.
“What’s in it?”
And he hesitates again. Yikes.
“Nash…”
“You have to understand,” he says. “I haven’t lived with anyone in the last five years or so. My life was very different back then and so were my relationships. Shit. I don’t know what to say that isn’t going to sound fucking awful.”
“Now you definitely have to tell me what’s in this document.”
He winces. “Some of it was just expectations around living together. How many people they could invite to the house and what notice they had to give me. Substances allowed on the property. Noise limits and general tidiness. And absolutely no touching the AC control. That’s a big one for me.
Then there was a more involved section on what they were permitted to discuss with other people or post to social media about the relationship. ”
“Permitted, huh?”
“Which living expenses I would cover and the amount of the monthly stipend. The fidelity clause, of course. Mandatory forty-eight hours’ notice by text of any serious discussions. Especially those concerning an exploration of feelings and-or the future of the relationship.”
“You cannot be serious.”
He keeps on going. “A minimum of an hour and a half was to be spent together each week. Either by phone if I was on tour or in person if I wasn’t.
How public appearances would be handled.
Any gifts given were theirs to keep, however, other purchases I made during the period were solely my property.
That they would pack their stuff and leave as soon as possible in the event of my requesting them to do so.
There was information regarding the final payment, which would be made by myself to help with resettling elsewhere.
The amount is based on how long we last, with a bonus sum included if I cheat.
And of course, what restrictions there are regarding contact post-breakup. ”
I blink.
“That’s a general sort of overview.”
“Huh,” I say. “How many pages is this document?”
“Sixty or so.”
And I stare at him in slack-jawed wonder.
“You still want to sign it?”
“This sort of thing is standard, right?” I ask, rising from my chair and going to him. He sets his guitar aside so I can straddle him. We’re alone here. There’s no need for us to be in separate chairs. Why, it could be viewed as wasteful to take up the extra space. “For the rich and famous?”
“Safe to assume,” he says. “Though it’s not something I really talk about with other people.”
He grips my hips as I trace the hard line of his jaw. “And this document made you feel safe and protected?”
“Yeah. But like I said…it’s been a while and things were different.”
“This document seems to really put you in charge of things.”
“It could be taken that way. Sure.”
“I don’t think that’s right…you having all the power.” Being this close to him, having this intimacy, is sublime. “There needs to be a balance, right? So here are my initial thoughts on the contract.”
“You have my complete attention.”
“Cheat on me and we’re done. There won’t be a discussion, and I won’t be hanging around waiting for a payment.”
“Understood.”
“Serious discussions will happen when they need to, excepting work and prior commitments within reason,” I say. “I’m not warning you about shit.”
He laughs. “Why am I not surprised?”
His muscular neck just gets to me. The need to kiss and lick and bite it.
And I love the heat of him. How warm his skin is against my hands and lips.
Then there’s the soft, smooth lobe of his ear.
A small rumble comes from his throat and it’s honestly such a turn-on.
My nipples seem to harden on his command these days. To be honest, I don’t hate it.
I breathe him in deep and ask, “Seems like the big question here is…do you want me to treat the house like it’s my home or am I just a guest there?”
“Let me be completely clear on this.” He slips his hands beneath the skirt of my dress to stroke my thighs. “It’s our home.”
“And we’re adults in a relationship showing consideration toward one another, yes?”
“Mm. Yes.”
I rock my hips against him, making him groan.
This is absolutely how these sorts of discussions should be held.
So much more fun than a boardroom. “We don’t make a bunch of noise late at night if the other is sleeping or trying to work or whatever.
And we don’t throw impromptu parties without notifying each other. ”
“You’re willing to text me about that?” he asks with a smile.
“I am willing to text you about that.”
“Okay.”
“What else was there?”
His fingers dig into the skin of my thighs as I keep rocking against him. I have the worst feeling my panties are wet. The burgeoning hardness of him beneath me is making it tricky to think straight. My hormones are afire. And his hands slide around to grab my ass cheeks, encouraging me onwards.
“Have we covered tidiness and substances?” he asks, breathing heavier than before.
“We can both pick up our shit, and I like some weed now and then.”
“Agreed.”
“About the hour and a half together per week…”
“Yeah?” he asks, as I rub myself against the hard length of him. “Fuck that feels good.”
And I’m so swollen and wet. My insides tense tight in the sweetest way. There’s no way this is stopping now. “If we’re only spending an hour and a half together per week, something has gone wrong.”
“I agree.” His hot mouth sucks at the side of my neck. Then his teeth nip at the delicate skin, making sensation race up my spine. My whole body from top to toe is focused on him. On what we’re doing to each other.
“Though we’re going to have to fight it out over the AC controls.” And I don’t say it so much as pant it.
He grips my hips tight and grinds me against him. So damn good. “If we don’t stop I’m going to come,” he says.
“I would certainly hope so.”
How he groans as I press down with my hips.
The feel of him so hard and right the fuck there.
This pressure is exquisite. Every nerve in me awake and alive and ready.
And only I get to do this to him. And only his hands are allowed to touch me this way.
Money and contracts and the outside world don’t matter.
I swear my sex is throbbing, bloody beating hard behind my ears.
The sound so loud it can probably be heard for miles.
Wouldn’t surprise me if there were noise complaints.
We might both still be dressed, however, raucous outdoor sexual activity of this nature has to be against the law.
And meanwhile the ridge of his zipper and hard material of his denim jeans is making it all so much more.
Pressure and pleasure surge through me with a strangled gasp. And he’s pressing up brutally hard against me with his hips. All I can do is wrap my arms around his neck and hold on tight.
It takes a minute for us to catch our breath. Then bugs and frogs and birds are the only noises I can hear.
“So,” I say, making conversation. As you do.
And he’s laughing quietly, his face pressed against the side of my neck. “Your next plan involves the shower, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s good,” he says. “Dry humping, huh?”
“I just thought, why not?”
He holds my face in his hand and smile. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You make me happy. It’s been a while since I felt that way, you know?”
“I know,” I say, and he presses his mouth against mine.
“You and me…our life here…this is going to work, Junebug.”
And I hold him tight and wish so hard.