Chapter 2
Aspen
Irecognized Reid Keely the moment he strode through the door. Not because of his notoriety as lead guitarist of Whisper Me Nothings. Not because of his online presence being photographed out at clubs with multiple women. Or engaged in some sort of brawl, sometimes even with his own friends.
But because he’s the one who gave me this very guitar, made sure I had food to eat every night before I went to bed so I didn’t wake up with a stomachache, and the one person who ever made me feel protected in my life.
He’s my foster brother.
And he left me behind without a second look.
He walked in today and I swear my heart stopped beating for a moment.
Sound ceased to exist as time seemingly paused.
My lungs ached for air as I felt a phantom punch delivered straight to my gut.
When I moved to LA, I always knew there was a chance I’d see him again.
Maybe even fantasized about it when I was eighteen and still clinging to some sort of childish hope of him coming back for me.
But as time went on and I created my own life, his presence in my mind got smaller and smaller. He had forgotten about me, after all.
And when he sat down at the bar, eyes briefly taking stock of me as disinterested as if he was scanning the aisles of a grocery store, I realized he truly did forget about me.
Yes, I’d grown up and looked a hell of a lot different than I did when we last saw each other all those years ago, but maybe the last little naive part of me that I clinged to thought that there would be some intrinsic part of him that would know it was me.
That he would take one look at me and feel that familiar tug I did every time I saw his photo online or heard one of his songs playing on the radio.
Wrong.
I was so very wrong.
All previous notions of what some sort of reunion would look like between us were smashed the moment he opened that mouth of his and shut me down, thinking I was some fangirl trying to flirt with him.
His voice is the same, though. I knew it was, having heard him do interviews and of course listening to his music. But still, the shock of it almost sent me teetering back into the shelves of liquor bottles behind the bar and right back into our old house in Pittsburgh.
He clearly took my shock at seeing my old foster brother for the first time in ten years as being starstruck.
Well, now it’s his turn to be surprised.
His jaw is slack as shock washes over his handsome face. No longer is his nose up in the air like he’s above everyone and everything around him like it was when he walked in, and that frown buried deep between his dark brows has morphed into slight confusion.
Good.
He maybe didn’t recognize me, but of course he’d recognize the gift he left behind.
That and the song. It was one of his favorites to play.
I’d listen through the thin walls of our bedrooms for hours as he softly sang the words to it over and over again, and I finally wore him down enough to teach me.
Still to this day, I can’t hear it without thinking of him. It’s not one I usually play, even though it’s one of my favorites.
Because it was always one of his, too.
He’s drifted closer to the stage, but stands out of reach.
His hair was wet when he came in, but it’s dried into effortless waves that he’s brushed back from his forehead.
The sides are shorter, which only seems to accentuate the razor sharp line of his jaw.
I’m sure if I dragged my finger along it, it’d come away bleeding.
He’s dressed in workout clothes with the sleeves of his T-shirt hugging his muscled arms. Even poorly fed as a teenager, he always had a little bit of muscle to him. Now, a grown man with access to money and proper nutrition, he’s filled out.
Tattoos pepper his arms and I see one peeking out from the band of his shorts midthigh.
I wish I could stare longer, catalog each of them and find out why he got them, but just as I’m ending the song, he snaps to attention.
Like he’s been under some sort of spell and the glamour has suddenly lifted.
His eyes find mine, and the storm behind the blue of them sets my nerves on edge.
My stomach does a little flip. We hold contact for a breath, then another, before a scowl overtakes his brows and he takes off toward the exit.
My fingers falter on the next chord as he swings open the door and steps outside without a glance back.
The momentary triumph of surprising him, the shot of excitement at seeing him, comes crashing down.
I know his past better than anyone else, so I understand why he would want to forget about it. But there was a part of me that held onto the hope that maybe I wasn’t something he wanted to forget.
He didn’t stick around then, why would he now?
Typically, I’ll play for about an hour or so, but tonight I cut it fifteen minutes short. My fingers grow clumsy and the lyrics of songs I know from heart get jumbled in my brain. No one seems to care when I wrap up the last song and bid everyone a good night.
I don’t play because I’m looking for any sort of warm reception from the typical clientele here. It just makes the days go by a little bit faster doing something I actually enjoy.
Kevin, the owner and my manager, gives me a silent wave as I grab my guitar and head toward the entrance to the kitchen.
Everyone takes trash out when they leave, no matter what you do here or what time you get off.
So as I grab my purse and carefully tuck my guitar back into its battered case, I grab a bag of trash that’s sitting by the back door and swing it open to the alley.
The sun is setting, but the air is still warm.
A pleasant breeze dances through the alley, picking up a few strands of my hair and tickling my cheeks with it.
I swing the bag back a little to get some momentum before tossing it up and over the lip of the dumpster.
It falls with a heavy thud and releases an unpleasant odor as I stride away.
Old brick buildings line either side of the alley. I dig around in my purse for my headphones for my walk home, and just as I’m about to connect them and step out on the sidewalk, a gritty voice comes from my right.
“What the fuck was that about, Penny?”
I yelp and swing the guitar in my hand. If it wasn’t for Reid’s quick reflexes, it would’ve hit him right in the gut.
Part of me would’ve liked to have seen that I think.
He pushes off of the wall in a spot that was partially hidden from view by a stack of boxes waiting for recycling to come through later this week. Standing here like this, with him towering over me and no bar separating us, I fully take in his height.
I always remember him being tall, but he’s also seven years older than me, so he always seemed bigger. But Christ, he’s gotta be almost a full foot taller than me.
“So you do know my name,” I snip, raising my chin in an attempt to rally some confidence back.
“Why didn’t you say anything when I walked in?” He glares at me.
“Do you mean before or after you thought I was some fangirl of yours trying to fawn all over you?”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I didn’t—” He cuts himself off, as if knowing I won’t believe the lie. “You should have told me. Did you think I wouldn’t remember you?” His voice is full of steel, but there’s an undertone of something else…
I mean, he did leave me behind without a second look when he moved, so yeah, I wasn’t sure if he’d remember me. If I had as big of an impact on him as he did on me when we were kids.
But we were just that. Kids.
And we’re not anymore.
I shrug and stuff my headphones back into my bag. “It’s been awhile,” I say.
“Yeah,” he murmurs as his eyes dance back and forth between mine, like he’s searching for something.
He has a few frown lines marring his forehead and creases at the corner of his eyes like he’s spent too much time squinting against the sun.
His skin is tanned with a healthy glow, so unlike the pale pallor I remember on him.
The summer air between us grows thick with nostalgia and a small kernel of pride settles in my chest. We both made it out.
If only we could’ve known it then. Maybe it would’ve made the dark days less lonely.
He clears his throat. “What are you doing here?” Then he clarifies, “In LA.”
I set his—my—guitar down between us, and he shoots a longing look at it.
“I moved here a few years ago. You know, or maybe you don’t remember, but I always wanted to live by the beach.
” When you grow up in a snowy, cold state, the idea of living within walking distance of the sand and water feels like a dream.
And when everything seemed too far-fetched for someone like me, I figured I might as well make one of them happen.
A small smile tugs up at my lips. “I always wanted to get away from Pittsburgh just as much as you did.”
And sure, maybe there was always the possibility in the far recesses of my mind that maybe, just maybe, one day I’d see him again out here.
His face remains stoic and the line of his shoulders rigid. “You never tried to contact me.”
Not a question. A cold statement.
It’s so ridiculous I can’t help but laugh right in his face. Or chest.
“And how exactly was I supposed to do that?” I snort. “It’s not like you exactly left a forwarding address when you left.”
Or even really said goodbye.
He pointedly ignores that. “How long have you been working here?” His lip curls up at the mention of the bar. Maybe he’s forgotten where he came from, his tastes more expensive now.
“A few years,” I answer again. “Kevin gave me a job when I was going to school.” He overlooked the fact that I wasn’t yet twenty-one and hired me anyway.
“You’re in school?”
Dodging that one. “What are you doing here?” I ask, the fact that I’m standing here, talking to Reid, still not fully sinking in.
He looks off down the alley and swallows, the bulge in his throat working with the movement. Dark stubble covers his neck, giving him a slightly messy look that still somehow works for him. “I work out at the gym down the street. Figured I’d stop by for a drink before heading home.”
“Unemployment boring for you?” The question is out before I can stop it. Heat rushes to my cheeks as Reid swivels his eyes back on me. One brow raises in what I’d like to be amusement but I think is actually annoyance. That was rude, but I don’t really feel like apologizing.
“Well I guess that answers if you’ve kept up with me at all,” he deadpans.
It’s hard not to. Whisper Me Nothings breakup news was plastered everywhere last year.
Even if I didn’t search him on the internet a few times a year, I still would’ve heard about it.
I tell myself that it’s just to check in and make sure that he’s alright, but it was unhealthy those few first years after he left.
Once I started seeing him photographed with multiple girls at clubs on a regular basis, I scaled it back.
“It’s not like I ever had to look very hard,” I say. “Your face has kinda been everywhere the past ten years.”
A solemn look flashes on the harsh plains of his face but is gone in a blink. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
He nods to the guitar. “Play.”
“Yeah, Kevin lets me do it a few times a week once I’m done with my shift.”
“Hmm.” He hums and crosses his arms across his broad chest. There’s a tone to it that raises my hackles.
“What?” Is he about to critique my technique? My vocals? I’m nowhere near the musical talent he’s probably used to, but I’m decent enough for being mostly self-taught. Once he left and couldn’t continue to teach me.
“It’s just convenient.”
I blink. “What’s convenient?”
“You, that.” He nods to the guitar again. “Living in this city now.”
“What exactly are you trying to ask me?” I say, tone covered in ice to match his.
“I’m asking why exactly you moved to the same city you clearly knew I lived in, and if you played tonight because you wanted to try to impress me and get in with some of my connections, which I’m sure you are well aware I have.”
My jaw goes slack at his audacity. Is he serious?
By the hardness on his face, I’d say yes, he is.
And he’s also a fucking asshole.
He thinks that I’m still that same, poor, sad, foster sister that he had to feed and help with her homework and now that he’s famous, I’ve been searching for him to cash in on a little bit of his success.
Fire burns at the back of my throat at the implication, and I can’t believe I ever hoped I’d one day run into him again.
Held out hope that maybe I’d still have some semblance of a family that I never had.
Yanking the guitar off the ground and throwing it over my shoulder, I stop to stare at him dead in his cold, unyielding eyes. “You can fuck right off with that. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need anything from anyone.”
And with that, I take off.
“Where are you going?” he calls out like he’s surprised by my exit.
“Home.”
He glances at the street outside of the alley. “Where are you parked?”
I roll my eyes. “Why? You want to walk me home?”
“You walk home at night like this? You shouldn’t be out here on your own.”
Like he fucking cares?
“Penny!”
Penny. The nickname scratches my brain differently.
“No one calls me that,” I yell, stopping to glare at him.
“I do.”
“Yeah, when we were kids,” I scoff. “I’m not a kid anymore.”
He strides forward until only a few feet separate us again.
With the way his eyes dance over the dips of my waist and chest beneath my fitted shirt, I can practically hear him say, I’m well aware.
But the momentary curiosity in his gaze from drinking in my body snuffs out, back into cool reservation when he meets my stare again.
“It’s not safe to walk home alone.”
I point to the setting sun. “There’s still light out.”
He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t be on your own. Let me give you a ride.”
Part of me wants to accept it. To get off my feet after a long day of work and avoid the backache I’m going to have from carrying my guitar over one shoulder. To get to spend a little more time with him, because isn’t that what I’ve always wanted? Just a little more time with him?
But the other part of me, the one who saw how he talked to me when he didn’t realize who I was to him, wants nothing to do with him.
And the way that he assumed that I played tonight to try to get some sort of connections out of him?
Like I’m some sort of leech trying to suck him dry of his hard-earned success?
Ire burns through me at the thought, and I move around him to step out of the alley.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say. “I can take care of myself just fine.”
He lets out a frustrated sigh and starts after me but stops in his tracks as I toss over my shoulder, “You made sure of that.”