Rock Your Heart Out (Sinful Serenade #3) (31 page)

I shake her hand. "I'm Willow."

"Drew's little sister," Tom adds. "You remember Drew?"

"Please, Thomas. You think I'm going to believe that you're spending time with a beautiful woman, and you aren't sleeping with her?"

Tom cringes. "Is this the time?"

"Sex is life, sweetheart. It's always the time. I've fucked plenty of beautiful women. It's not going to shock me that you're sleeping around," Ophelia says.

Fucked women? "You're gay?" I cover my mouth with my hand. Shit. It's not like she has spots. But no one mentioned it.

"Yes. A good thing too. Men can't handle a nipple-less fake tit."

Pete and Tom turn various shades of red. Ophelia motions to their embarrassment as if it's proving her point.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," she says. "This isn't appropriate getting to know you conversation. I'd love to blame the twelve hours without food or water or the pre-surgery jitters, but—"

"She's always like this," Tom says.

"I hope you're not that rude to your girl... what are you kids calling it nowadays?" she asks.

I bite my tongue.

Tom is equally unable to get words out.

Pete and Ophelia exchange a knowing look.

She raises a brow. "Peter, you should keep a better eye on him."

Pete laughs. "He moves too fast."

"I'll bet." Ophelia shakes her head. She looks to me. "What do you do, sweetheart? You don't strike me as the groupie type."

"I'm a photographer," I say.

"Any good?" she asks.

"Don't be rude," Tom says.

"No, it's fine. I'm pretty good," I say.

"She's going to start a business. Doing headshots. And boudoir." Tom smiles.

He looks proud. He shouldn't be speaking for me, but he looks so fucking proud.

Everything is light again. I press my heel against the wall for balance.

"Boudoir, really? How much do you charge? I'd love to immortalize my one good tit."

Pete and Tom turn even darker shades of red.

I jump in before one of them dies of embarrassment. I like Ophelia. A lot. "I'd be happy to do it as a gift to your family. Tom and Pete have been really great to me. But there's a good chance I'll be out of town for the next six months."

"Oh?" she asks.

"I was offered a job as an assistant photographer on another tour. It starts in two weeks," I say.

Tom's expression darkens but he doesn't say anything.

"With Hazel?" Pete asks. "That's great, Willow. She's a legend."

"You should schedule a session with her before she leaves," I say. "She's dying to shoot nudes of you. I bet she'd do it just for your personal collection."

Pete smiles smugly.

Ophelia is not at all embarrassed. "You should, Peter. It's important to be proud of your body, even when it's..." The joy falls off her face. She reaches for a tissue. "Excuse me."

Both the guys rush to her side to comfort her. She waves them away.

"Stop fussing." She folds the tissue into a tiny ball and drops it in her lap.

I press my back against the wall, unable to come up with any words of comfort that don't feel hollow. Tom and Pete shift the conversation to easier topics, memories of silly fights and non-sexual band antics.

I add to the conversation when I can. Mostly, none of the attention is here in the room. We're all off someplace full of dread and worry.

By the time the nurse arrives to finish prepping Ophelia, we're down to discussing crime TV shows.
The Closer
is a favorite of Ophelia's. I've never seen it, but Tom assures me I'd like the take no shit lead detective Brenda.

"Five minutes, Ms. Steele." The nurse steps out of the room.

Ophelia keeps up a strong facade but the worry is written all over her face. She pulls Tom close enough to whisper. I'm not family. I need to give them space.

"Excuse me. Good luck." I take a step towards the door.

"Thank you, sweetheart." Her face floods with relief. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Depends on how well Tom treats me this afternoon."

She smiles.

T
en minutes later, the nurse takes Ophelia to surgery. Tom and Pete go with her. I play with the pockets of my jeans to keep my mind occupied. She seems like a wonderful woman. I hope she's okay.

The mood is tense when the brothers arrive. Tom paces up and down the hall, tapping his feet frantically. Pete sits next to me, his dark eyes filled with concern.

He looks to me. "You want something to drink?"

"Coffee," I say.

"Sure." He pushes out of his seat and nods to Tom. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Not offering me a drink?" Tom taps his fingers impatiently.

Pete shoots Tom a stern look. It's heavy with the weight of mutual history. Whatever it is, it works. Tom nods and plants in the chair.

He's no more relaxed. He taps a beat against his thigh. His eyes go to the bright walls. They fill with deep concern.

"Don't take Hazel's offer," he says.

I swallow hard. "Why?" Half of me wants it to be because he needs me nearby. The other half wants to punch him for the presumption that I'd rearrange my life for him.

"It's not what you want."

Oh. It's not about us at all. If there is an
us
.

Tom makes eye contact. "You want to set up your own studio. You're good enough. You must have enough money after what Hazel was paying you. I learned a lot about business acting as de facto manager. I can help with anything you need."

"I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Then when? I heard you and Hazel talking. She wants an answer in two days."

"You shouldn't eavesdrop."

"You were avoiding me. Tell me why."

I press my lips together. "I don't want to talk about that now."

"Then what the fuck do you want to talk about, kid?"

"I don't know." I swallow hard. "Pete convinced me that you needed me to be here. Maybe he was wrong."

I go to push myself out of my seat but Tom stops me.

He runs his thumb over mine. "He was right. I need you here."

Now or always? Is this forever? I want it to be forever
.

Deep breath. "I'm not sure I have the energy to start a business."

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Run away from your ambition. You're smart. Talented. You work hard as hell. I know you can do it."

"Good for you, Tom, but you don't get to decide what I do."

"Not what I mean."

"What the fuck do you mean?" I pick up his tapping habit. Coming here was a bad idea. My emotions have been running high all month. Then yesterday... I can't do the supportive friend thing. Not around Tom. It’s too hard wanting to be his everything.

"I was showing Mom your photos last night." His voice is soft, sweet. "You're an amazing photographer. You could be shooting magazine editorials if you wanted."

His expression is earnest. He really believes that.

"I'm thinking about it," I say.

"I'm not going to let up on this one." He squeezes my hand. "You don't have to be shy. You need more models for your boudoir. I volunteer."

A laugh breaks up the tension in my shoulders. "Do you?"

"Absolutely."

"And you'll sign a model release?"

He nods.

"What if I sell the photos to TMZ?"

"Won't be anything anyone hasn't seen before."

I motion to his crotch. "What about your piercing?"

Tom smiles. "I trust you."

"Do you?"

He nods with all this openness and affection.

My heart beat speeds up. My thoughts crash into each other. One thing at a time. Waiting for Ophelia to get out of surgery is nerve-wracking enough without adding heartbreak to the mix.

***

P
ete does a thorough job distracting us. First the coffee. Then he breaks out a deck of cards and teaches a trick taking game. He's masterful. Tom and I have to team up against him to keep him from running away with it.

We have lunch in the cafeteria. No one is paying much attention to their food. Still, we play round after round of the card game. For a while, we're laughing, teasing.

Around two, we find spots in the waiting room. No more laughing, no more joking. No levity at all. Pete sits by himself. There's something scary about how calm his expression is. Like he's raging under the surface.

Tom isn't hiding anything. He paces back and forth, frantic. Nervous. I can't watch him this upset. I have to get up and wrap my arms around him.

He softens. Slows. He squeezes me and runs his hands up and down my back. We stay close for minutes.

"Thank you for being here." He whispers in my ear.

Then he pulls back, and he's as good as gone. The nerves swallow him whole. He leans against the wall, tapping his toes or his fingers.

"I'd kill for a drum kit right about now," he says.

"Would it be inappropriate to make a joke about how you're welcome to bang me?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "But Mom would love it."

"You are. Welcome to bang me."

He shakes his head. "Not right now, kid. Not with everything..."

"Yeah."

But he does wrap his arms around me. I'm scared too but it feels amazing knowing I can bring him some comfort.

When Tom releases me, he stays close. He keeps his hand intertwined with mine.

We stay like that until a woman in scrubs comes up to us. She nods to Tom with familiarity.

"Where's your brother?" She asks.

Tom motions to the nearly still Pete. It takes the bassist a minute to move—he must be terrified. Slowly, he makes his way to us.

The woman looks Pete in the eye. "Your mother is in recovery. The surgery went well, but she'll need some time under supervision because of the anesthesia."

No one breathes.

She looks to Tom. "She's going to be okay. The tumor is benign."

"She's okay?" Pete asks.

The doctor nods. "The cancer isn't back. That doesn't mean it will never come back, but for now, it looks good."

Tom's hand squeezes mine. "Thank you."

"It should be about an hour before you can see her. The nurse will call you when she's ready." The doctor nods a courteous but emotionless goodbye and returns to her work.

Tom releases my hand. He turns to his brother. They exchange a meaningful look. Then they're in one of those guy hugs where they're barely touching.

Pete steps back. "I'll make the calls." He motions to the hospital entrance. "Get some fresh air."

Tom swallows hard. "Pete—"

"Go."

Tom takes my hand and leads me through the lobby. "Not used to taking orders."

"Is he always that bossy?"

"Yes." Tom laughs. "Bossier. Don't tell me you're interested."

"Intrigued maybe," I tease. I'm desperate to lighten the mood as quickly as possible.

We step through the first set of double doors. Then the second.

All my senses fire at once. The air smells of salt. The sun is warm. Beautiful blue flowers line the walkway.

And Tom's hands are on my skin.

He pulls me into another hug. No, it's more than a hug. It's an embrace. His body presses against mine. My cheek presses against his neck. He smells good. He's warm.

When he releases me, he looks into my eyes. There's so much relief in his expression. It's my relief. All the happiness he's feeling flows into me like it's my own.

It
is
my own.

I stare back at him. "Tom, I love you."

T
he wind rustles the bushes. The freeway hums with the steady flow of traffic. A car pulls into a parking space and its engine turns off.

Tom stares at me.

Silent.

My heart pounds against my chest. It's so loud and he's so quiet.

I pinch myself to check that I'm awake. Still in the sunshine, on the concrete outside some clean Orange County hospital.

Still breathing.

"You should probably respond, or I'm going to start to believe what Drew said about you playing me," I say.

Tom blinks. "You can't love me."

It's like I'm punched in the gut. Air rushes out of my lungs. I have to dig my heels into the concrete to manage any balance. How can he believe that, much less say it?

Still, he stares at me, silent.

"I do love you," I say.

"You just think—"

"I don't think anything. I know I love you. I feel it everywhere. I can't breathe without feeling how much I love you. It knocks me over. Hell, look at me. I can barely stand up straight and I'm wearing Keds. There's no thinking involved."

"Willow..."

He looks sad. Like he pities me. My stomach clenches. Anything but pity. Even hate.

"I..."

I stare back into his eyes with as much strength as I can muster. "I want to stay and help with your mom, but I can't be around you unless I know you love me, too."

"No one has ever loved me before."

"That's not true. Your mom, Pete, they both love you so much. Drew and Miles, too."

He stares into my eyes. "You can't go. I'll be worried sick."

I take a step backwards. "I love you, Tom. I want to be your friend. But I can't do it right now. It hurts too much not being your everything."

"I don't know what to say."

"That's a first."

He half-smiles. "Willow, I want to. I do. But I—"

"Please don't finish that sentence. Just think about it and, whatever it is, tell me later." I step backwards. "You should be with your family right now. I'll see you—"

He reaches for me. "Don't go."

"I have to. If you care about me at all, you'll respect that."

"I do care about you. I just—"

"Stop. Please."

He nods with understanding.

My eyes sting. I squint, turn away from the sun. It doesn't help to keep the tear from rolling down my cheek.

The automatic doors swish open behind me.

"Tom, the nurse needs your—" Pete's voice drops as he spots me. He clears his throat. "Your number. Go give it to her."

"Not the best time," Tom says.

Pete shoots him a stern look.

Tom makes eye contact with me. He opens his mouth. It takes half a minute for him to speak. "I'll let you know how Mom is doing."