Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (166 page)

“
Since when did life come with guarantees?”

Her lips readied for the perfect retort. But nothing came out.

Brighton grabbed her right hand. He thumbed her knuckles, careful not to touch her stitches.

Jocelyn’s stomach knotted when she noticed the hurt in his eyes. She yanked her hand away, causing Brighton to flinch. Tucking her hand inside her pocket, she watched his chest expand.

“
It could have been a lot worse.”

“
How so?” she asked, jumping to her feet. “Getting them completely severed? If this surgery didn’t work, won’t it be the same?”

“
No.” Brighton pushed away from the piano. “Hating life won’t change anything. You have to suck it up and keep going. This didn’t just affect you.”

“
You walked away without a scratch.”

“
Maybe on the outside,” he patted his chest. “Knowing I’m the reason you were in that car…that eats me alive.”

“
You didn’t cause the accident. I wanted to go with you to the audition.”

“
No, you didn’t. I begged you to go. You cancelled your plans for me.”

Jocelyn grimaced. How could she respond to such a statement? Could she be so caught up in her own suffering that the pain blinded her from her brother’s anguish? Her stitches itched, as if answering what she couldn’t admit.

The grotesque image of her lacerations made her stomach knot. Frankenstein’s was put together better than her.

“
If we’re both finished with our pity parties,” Brighton said, tugging on the frayed strings around a hole in his jeans, “will you follow me to the store room? I have something I want to show you. Something that might help put this in perspective.”

Nodding her head, she answered, “I’m right behind you.”

* * *

Jocelyn’s eyes trailed over a flute on the workbench in the store room. The instrument lay in pieces, broken down for repair. Just like her. She stroked the silver plated brass, wondering what unfortunate musician waited patiently for its return.

She eased back on a stool, waiting for Brighton to finish pilfering through a pile of boxes. What could be in those boxes that would make her view her situation any differently?

Pushing aside a miniature set of screwdrivers, she checked the clock on the wall, anxious to get home. While her friends made plans for Valentine’s Day dinners, she looked forward to a steamy date at home—with Calgon. Maybe her e-reader if she could keep her eyes open long enough.

Brighton’s tennis shoes squeaked against the floor, warning her to push aside thoughts of her pathetic love life. She faced him, meeting his outstretched arm.

“
Are you going to take it or not?”

Staring at his hand, Jocelyn debated on whether or not to take the instrument from him. Why on earth would he be handing it to her, anyway?

She gave in, cradling the neck in her hand. The ebony fretboard reflected the light above her. As the bottom rested on her knee, she peered up at her brother.

“
Is this new?”she asked, waiting until he nodded. “Where did you get it? It’s beautiful.”

“
Adam’s mom gave it to me during my last visit.”

Jocelyn’s heart sank, knowing it was another victim of the car accident. Now she understood why he had brought out the guitar. “How’s he doing?”

Brighton shook his head. He grabbed one of the flute pieces off the bench, tinkering with a screw. He tried clearing the thickness from his voice. “They don’t expect him to make it.”

Goosebumps spread over Jocelyn’s arms. If Brighton started crying, she would, too. Why hadn’t she taken the time to meet her brother’s friend? She knew all their wild and crazy college stories, but she’d never bothered to get to know the guy. Even after she came home from Juilliard.

“
Think you can play it?”

She gazed down at the nylon strings, then back to her brother. “Are you kidding?”

“
All you need is your thumb. Your other hand works just fine.”

“
I don’t know, Brighton. What if strumming makes my hand cramp?”

Dark eyes narrowed on her. “You’ll never know unless you try. We’re musicians, Jocelyn. Music is therapy for our souls.”

“
I know, but…”

“
No buts.” Brighton replaced the flute piece on the table. He rounded the corner, standing in front of her. “You could be lying in a coma, like Adam. And what about the people who died? You survived a fifteen-car pileup. Don’t sulk.
Live
.”

Jocelyn fought back a wave of nausea. An elderly couple. A pregnant woman. A father of three. And infant twins. All dead. She was alive, had all her fingers, damaged or not, and had a chance at making a full recovery. Guilt burned her cheeks.

“
Brighton…” Both turned in time to see his store manager, Dave, standing in the doorway. “I have two customers out here. Think you can grab one?”

“
Be right there,” he promised, turning his gaze back to Jocelyn. “Try playing. That’s all I’m asking. I’ll be back in a few.”

“
Go wait on your customer.”

Once Brighton disappeared through the door, Jocelyn’s eyes dropped to the guitar. Adam’s guitar. Curling her fingers around the neck, she lifted the body with her good hand, using her other to guide the strap over her neck. She hugged the rosewood frame, trailing her eyes over the quality craftsmanship. The mother-of-pearl Gibson logo. The gold engraved tuners. This guitar belonged with a rock and roll god.

Her fingers throbbed, but she shook off the discomfort and found the C-chord. Strumming across the plectrum, she closed her eyes as the notes resonated from the chamber. Pianist or not, the sound of a guitar still moved her.

The light above her dimmed. Brighton must be getting one of the customers a repaired instrument. She opened her eyes, waiting to see his I-told-you-so smirk. But she didn’t recognize the man standing in front of her.

His intense eyes roamed around the room before landing on her. Their icy blueness adding an extra nip to the air. Not a discomforting chill. More like stepping out into the fresh air of an early spring morning.

“
Are you looking for Brighton?” she asked, releasing the strings. “If you go back through the door, you’ll run right into him.”

His mouth parted. She waited for the last chord to fade from the room. But when it did, so did the stranger.

Jocelyn blinked. What in the world? Where did he go?

Coming to a stand, she walked over to the spot he once occupied. She took a quick peek behind a mountain of boxes. Maybe he was a new employee, looking for a customer’s instrument.

She shrugged it off.

The weight of the guitar pressed against her thigh as she set it back on the stool. She thought about her brother. This wasn’t about them being musicians. Brighton was worried. He knew how much the accident had affected her. How much her life had spun out of control because of it.

He also knew how much music grounded her. That’s why he wanted her to play. This was his attempt at an intervention without getting professionals involved.

Placing her fingers back on the strings, she released a deep breath and strummed a few more chords. She closed her eyes, again, wishing she could remember some of the songs Brighton had taught her. Maybe with some more practice…

The lights in the store room flickered. Jocelyn’s eyes flew open, landing on a broad chest. Her eyes trailed upward, noticing a square jawline. She continued further up, taking in his pouty lips. But those piercing eyes burned into her.

“
Oh, you’re back,” she said, her voice trembling.

His brow creased. “I never left.”

Perfect. He must be drunk. He’d have to be to make such a bizarre statement, though he didn’t smell of liquor. More like fresh rain.

“
Have you been playing long?”he asked.

Jocelyn followed his eyes to the guitar in her lap. The cushioned back rest gave as she pressed against it. “Not really,” she chuckled. “My brother gave me lessons years ago. I’m having a hard time remembering them.”

Why did he look so familiar? Maybe he wasn’t a new employee after all, just someone she’d noticed around the store. Lord knows she came here almost as much as Brighton. She’d never paid much attention to his co-workers, except Dave. That was only because she and Dave alternated teaching music classes at Westside’s afterschool program.

“
If you ask me, it sounds like you’re off to a good start.” A note of humor resonated in his voice, chasing away the rush of blood pounding at her fingertips. She loosened her grip on the guitar, allowing the base to slip to her knee.

“
Do you work here?”

He rubbed his fingers through his goatee, releasing a sigh. “No.”

“
Oh.” She gazed down at the guitar, fumbling with the tuners. “Are you here to see—”

Raising her eyes to meet his, she laughed to herself when she noticed he’d disappeared, again. Guess her brain had figured out a way to deal with all the stress the accident had caused.

“
Who are you talking to?” Brighton’s voice made Jocelyn jump. Surprised to see him standing right beside her, she wondered how he had sneaked in without her hearing him.

“
Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said, patting her chest.

“
You okay?” He squeezed her shoulder.

She nodded, her eyes moving back to the spot where the stranger had stood a second ago.

“
I’m fine, but I think it’s time I head home.” She stood up from the stool, handing him the guitar while she buttoned up her coat. “I think I pushed myself too hard in therapy today.”

“
Talk to me, Jocelyn. Are you upset about what I said earlier?”

“
Of course not. I’m tired.” Grabbing the guitar from his hand, she made her way around him toward the door. “All I want is to go home and relax.”

“
I’ll be finished with my shift in half an hour,” he said, falling in step with her as they walked out of the store room and into the front. “We could go have dinner.”

“
Not this time, Brighton.” She reached the door, turning to meet his eyes. “I can’t be your Valentine. Too much has happened. I’m not in the mood to celebrate.” Especially a holiday revolving around love.

“
Jocelyn.” He reached out for her, his eyes pleading with her not to leave.

“
Hey, Brighton,” Dave called from behind. “Mr. Hensley’s here to pick up his bass. Can you grab it?”

Her brother nodded his head, his eyes still fixed on hers. “I’ll call you later.”

Once he stepped away, she grabbed the door, pulling it toward her as the brisk air swirled inside. Pushing back the few stray curls from her face, she wrapped her scarf around her mouth, gripped the guitar, and walked out the door

* * *

The snow crunched with each step Jocelyn took. She climbed the steps to her porch, fumbling with the keys. With the frosty air nipping at her fingers, she gave up on using her right hand. She maneuvered the keys in her other hand until she found the one to her front door.

Once inside, she shook her head until most of the snow fell onto the doormat.

She pushed the keys into her purse and made for her bedroom. The guitar brushed against her leg with each step. She flipped the hallway light on, allowing her eyes to roam to the door on her left. Her music room. Her heart panged at the thought of all the instruments locked inside. Instruments she’d never play again if this surgery didn’t work. Gazing down at the guitar, she wondered if it would end up in that room like the rest.

The bedroom door bounced off the wall-stop as Jocelyn slipped inside. She dropped her purse beside the bed, then laid the guitar across the down comforter. Her shoulders wriggled as she shrugged out of her coat and scarf.

Her bed seemed to whisper comforting promises of warmth and rest. Two things she needed. The mattress contoured to her body as she kicked off her boots, watching as a glob of snow dropped from one boot, hitting the carpet with a plop. She peeled
the socks from her frozen toes. Rubbing them into the carpet, she allowed her shoulders to slump

With a thump, she fell against the bed, releasing a long sigh. Ice-cold fingers escaped her gloves and moved to her temple, applying pressure where her brain seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heart. Maybe she should grab the Motrin before she started seeing dots and color auras.

The guitar caught her eye. Snowflakes melted into tiny drops of water. She swiped the rosewood with her sleeve. A tiny jolt had her belly fluttering. Strange, the guitar wasn’t plugged up to an amp, so where did the energy come from? Must have been the static from rubbing her feet on the carpet.

The longer she gazed at the guitar, the more she wanted to hold it. She slid it toward her, ducking her head inside the strap until the body sat perfectly in her lap. The nylon strings gave as she found C major, strumming gently with her thumb.

This wouldn’t be easy, no matter what Brighton said. Her thumb would only get her so far. To get the best music, she’d need to use her index finger, which wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.