 
Starstruck

JADED

#

#

# ELLE J ROSSI

Jaded

Copyright © 2015 Barbara Justen Hisle

Cover Design © EJR Digital Art

Stock photo © Gino Santa Maria | Bigstock.com

Stock photo © Gabriel Georgescu | Bigstock.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,

or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic,

photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written

permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents are either the product of the author's imagination

or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is

entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1505600810

ISBN-10: 1505600812

ALSO BY ELLE J ROSSI

The Brennan Coven Series

THE LUMINARY

THE SOOTHER

The Josie Hawk Chronicles

ALABASTER NIGHTS

CRIMSON BEAT

INDIGO DAWN

MIDNIGHT MASQUE

Angels of Punishment

BROKEN FLIGHT

Other works

CHASING FATE

For an extensive booklist, visit Elle's website

www.ellejrossi.com

ABOUT THE SERIES

Welcome to STARSTRUCK, a showplace for talent, a

playground for love. A contemporary continuity series by

Beth Ciotta, Cynthia Valero, and Elle J Rossi.

Three authors. One world.

Indulge and enjoy!

***

(novellas sold separately)

OBSESSED by Beth Ciotta

WRECKED by Cynthia Valero

JADED by Elle J Rossi

***

# One

Whether we like it or not, Earth rotates endlessly.

Birds spread their wings and fly.

Wounds don't always heal.

Internal scars seldom fade.

Blood is red. The sky is blue with moments of grey that cloud our vision.

Facts are facts that can be argued but not disproved.

Sooner or later everyone dies.

And so do dreams...

Brooklyn Mathews had no misconceived notions she'd be bombarded by a round of robust cheering and jovial hugs when she opened the front door, but she sure as hell didn't expect to walk straight into the line of fire.

"You need to get your shit together, Sarah."

"Screw you."

She recognized her mother's voice and the slurred phrase she'd heard her entire life, though she barely recognized the woman. Mom, or Sarah as she preferred to be called, had lost at least ten, maybe fifteen pounds since Brooklyn had last been home. The dark circles under her eyes mimicked a fighter who'd gone twelve hard rounds and lost. Her opponent, on the other hand, was a complete stranger.

Eyes narrowed under thick brows, he stood with one hand on his hip and pointed a shaky finger at her mother. As if ashamed of the tremble, he made a fist and dropped his arm, slapping his thigh with a loud thwack.

Familiarity swooped in. Brooklyn had seen that look before. This man, like the others before him, was on the verge of snapping. She slid her hand in her pocket and grabbed her phone. Just in case.

A heavy breath. Collected now, he jabbed the air in time with his words. "I'm done. Done."

A hissed, "The hell you are." Sarah screeched like a banshee and lobbed a beer bottle across the room. He didn't so much as blink when the bottle sailed past him and bounced off the wall, leaving a trail of beer running down the dingy paint.

Brooklyn winced and sucked in a sharp breath as another bottle whizzed by. Like live wires, her nerves tingled. Neither of them noticed her. Nasty words flew between the pair with hurricane speed, as vile and vicious as they were unique. She shook her head and looked around the disheveled mess formerly known as her home. Inch-thick dust clung to every available surface. Not that there was much of that. The living room looked like a cross between a flea market and laundromat. Was there any wonder she'd stayed away? Where were Devon and Nat? A glance at the clock reminded her they'd still be in school for another two hours. Thank God. They didn't need to hear any of this. The profanity spewing from her mother's drunken mouth would make a trucker blush.

Who was she kidding? They'd heard this and probably worse. She's the one who'd been out of the house for four years. She's the one who'd escaped. Devon and Natalie didn't have anywhere else to go.

She considered turning around and heading back to the bus station. Devon's innocent face popped into her head, permanently squelching the idea. It had taken a lot for her little brother to call her and ask for help. His changing voice had broadcasted more than embarrassment. A quiet desperation had come through the line loud and clear. For him and Natalie, she'd stay.

"This is my fucking house, you bastard." Sarah kicked an empty whiskey bottle across the room.

Brooklyn slammed the door. Two heads swiveled her direction like rubber-necked turkeys. The motion caused her mother to wobble on her feet. Lucky for her, the couch cushioned her fall. She reached across the coffee table and snagged a pack of cigarettes, her bloodshot eyes never leaving Brooklyn's. A flick of a lighter. Once...twice before the spark became a flame.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sarah laughed. "She's nobody."

Razor-sharp words cut. Brooklyn hid the emotion that swelled in the pit of her stomach as a stream of smoke and memories choked the air. Metaphorical hands squeezed her throat. Tighter. Tighter. They'd never been close, but she'd always held out hope she and her mother could have some sort of relationship other than one laced with bitterness and accusations. She turned away from the piercing green eyes and offered the man her hand. "I'm Brooklyn. Sarah's oldest daughter."

His gaze bounced between mother and daughter. "Yeah, I guess I see the resemblance." A deep breath and then, "It's nice to meet you."

She bit her tongue. God, she hoped she didn't resemble her mother, but she'd hold back her ugly comments and be the bigger person... again. The fact that he'd managed manners despite, or perhaps in spite of, the tension in the room had Brooklyn sighing. A weak smile. "And you are?"

"Tom. Tom Hall. If you'll excuse me..."

She did just that, nudging her heavy suitcase to the side with her leg. Holding the door open, she nodded when he walked out and leaned against the doorjamb until she was certain he wouldn't be returning. Turning back to her mother, she prepared herself for battle. But Sarah didn't scream. She didn't make snide remarks about how Brooklyn thought she was superior to everyone else, or how Kramer, Illinois was better off without her. Hard to go toe-to-toe when you're passed out cold.

Welcome home, she thought to herself. Except nothing about these four walls or the nearly comatose woman sprawled on the couch evoked any sense of peace. This wasn't home anymore and Brooklyn had to wonder if it ever really had been. Other memories, the kind that were so raw and deep they threatened to paralyze, crowded in.

"Marry me."

A whispered, "No."

"Marry me, Brooklyn."

"I can't." A tear falls, silent yet screaming.

She firmly shoved them to the recesses of her mind, though they refused to sit anywhere other than center stage in her heart. Leaving had come with a high price. Coming back had been even harder, and she hadn't seen anyone other than her mother yet. She hadn't seen him.

"You can." A knuckle across her cheek. "Marry me."

Brooklyn swallowed hard. She'd told herself no regrets. Four years later and she still felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest. The guilty hands were her own.

Standing around wouldn't do her any good. She wheeled her suitcase to the room she shared with Nat, which was surprisingly clean in comparison to the living room, stripped the sheets from all the beds and started her first load of laundry. She grabbed a box of trash bags and began the process of cleaning the house.

Two hours later, she was drenched in sweat but at least the place looked better. And admittedly, she worked out some of the stress she carried in her shoulders. Every window in the house had been shoved open, but the gentle breeze did little to dissipate the permeating stench of smoke. She had a feeling nothing short of a bulldozer could fix that problem. She'd just finished washing the last dirty dish in the kitchen when her mother stumbled in.

"Why are you here?"

Brooklyn stared out the window, her knuckles whiter than the porcelain sink she clenched. The lawn needed mowed. The bus would pull up soon and all the kids would see the tall grass. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would mow the lawn.

"Answer me, Brooklyn Marie. Why are you here?"

She opened her hands, one at a time, stretching her fingers, reaching for strength. She turned. Green eyes sparkled back at her as if excited by the possibility of an argument. Hair bleached to within an inch of its life curled around the nape of her mother's neck. "Devon called me."

No response. A little less sparkle. Sarah used to be pretty.

The words tumbled out, smooth, calm. "He said you lost your job again. He said there's never any food in the house. Natalie's clothes are too small. He didn't mention his, but I can only assume—"

"You know what you can do with your assumptions and superior attitude, Miss New York." Sarah stood, knocking over the chair. She stepped over it and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator.

No food. Plenty of beer.

Groceries. Tonight. Tonight she would buy groceries.

She mentally calculated her bills, refusing to show any sign of the panic racing through her veins. Didn't matter. Devon and Natalie came first.

"What's the matter? Fashion world don't want ya?" Half the bottle drained. "Well, here's a news flash for ya... Neither do we."

Part of that was true, no doubt. The other part was saturated in booze and self-pity. Brooklyn didn't respond. She glanced out the window as the bus rumbled by without stopping. Her stomach twisted into knots. "Where are Devon and Natalie?" Still calm. On the outside. Inside, she screamed and bellowed, raging against the bars like a caged gorilla.

A clink of a glass. A splash of dark liquid. Down the hatch. A shrug.

"Seriously, Mom. Where are they?"

"I've told you before about calling me that."

"Okay, Sarah... where are they?"

Sarah lifted a bleached brow. The sparkle was back. "What day is it?"

"It's Friday."

The smile came quick. "They're at their grandmother's until tomorrow afternoon." She threw back her head and laughed. "It's Friday and I'm going out."

Brooklyn should have been angry. Instead, all she felt was relief as Sarah danced her way out of the room, whiskey bottle firmly in hand.

"I don't know how long you plan to stay in town," she tossed over her shoulder. "But you can't stay in my house."

How could one respond to that? She waited in her room until she heard the front door slam before she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her mother had gotten ready in record time, she'd give her that.

She hadn't told anyone she was coming back. Not even Jenna. They'd been inseparable since seventh grade. The fact that they'd drifted apart in recent years wasn't for lack of trying on Jenna's part. Brooklyn was the one with the issues.

HEY GIRL. I'M HOME.

Instant reply. STOP PLAYIN

NOT PLAYING.

*SQUEE* HOME AS IN HOME?

YEAH.

BE THERE IN 10

Unless things had drastically changed, Jenna's ten would be at least thirty. In desperate need of a shower, Brooklyn grabbed her toiletries and headed for the bathroom.

Forty minutes later, Jenna breezed through the front door looking gorgeous and carefree. She smiled a full on smile that had both won and stomped on many hearts in Grundy County. Her mile long legs and brilliant blond hair didn't hurt either. She wore a pair of skinny jeans, a snug blue t-shirt, and four-inch wedge sandals. A walking, talking fantasy.

"You're late," Brooklyn teased.

Jenna shrugged. "I was busy." A creeping blush started at her neck and spread across her cheeks.

Brooklyn doubted the blush had anything to do with embarrassment. "Busy getting busy?"

Another shrug. "Maybe." She tossed her purse on the floor. "Get up off your pretty ass and get it over with."

"Get what over with?"

"The mush. You know I'm about to mush all over your ass."

Brooklyn bit back a smile. True. She hated the mush but technically it wasn't her fault. Hugs and love hadn't been a part of her life. Not until Jenna forced her way in. Not until...

As if sensing the emotion simmering, Jenna gave her a quick squeeze and a smacking kiss right on the lips, making it as painless as possible. "Soooo?"

"So, what?"

Jenna lifted one sculpted eyebrow. "Have you seen him yet?"

No use in playing dumb. Brooklyn knew exactly who he was. Emmett Tyler. At one time she had known Emmett better than she knew herself. Knew every hard line of his body. Every nuance of his kiss. Blood heating, she plopped on the couch. Jenna perched on the arm next to her.

"Nope. I haven't seen anyone but Sarah, some dude named Tom, and you."

Jenna pouted. "I'm third? I hate being third."

Brooklyn laughed and damn if more of the tension didn't fade away. Jenna was good at that. She had a knack for lightening even the darkest room. "You hate being anything other than number one."

"You know it. Hey, where are the cute brats?" Jenna shook her head before Brooklyn could answer. "Never mind. It's Friday. They're with Grams."

Closing her eyes, Brooklyn sighed. She'd nearly forgotten the inner workings of small towns. The word secret didn't exist. Never had. Never would. "I need a job."

Jenna slid off the arm of the couch and shoved Brooklyn until she scooted over. "Job? Did you just say job? Here? You're staying?"

Biting her lip, she nodded. Staying was the last thing she wanted to do. Staying would tear down the walls she'd spent the last four years building.

"Um, okay." Jenna said. "My heart is exploding right now, but my mind is refusing to believe it. What about New York?"

"I'm needed here." Three words that changed everything. Devon calling her hadn't been the only reason she'd left New York, but no one needed to know that.

"If I can be blunt..."

"Ha! When are you ever not blunt? Don't hold back on me now. Spill it." Her tone was light, but part of her didn't want to hear what Jenna had to say. She braced for it as best she could.

"You, Brooklyn Marie Mathews, were needed four years ago." Jenna patted Brooklyn's thigh. The words swirled in the air for a few seconds before Jenna said, "But that was then. Let's move forward shall we?"

Grateful for the reprieve, she nodded. "How are you?"

Jenna laughed. "Dumb question. I'm good. I'm always good."

Brooklyn narrowed her eyes. The words seemed legit but something about the way Jenna had said them sounded a little off. Maybe...

Jenna cut off her thoughts with a high-pitched squeal.

"What?"

"Oh my God. I have the perfect job for you," Jenna's clear blue eyes gazed at Brooklyn intently as if she'd just offered water to someone dying of thirst.

"I'm afraid. Very afraid."

Jenna punched her in the arm. "Shut up. When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Are you serious?" she asked, laughing. "Let me count the ways. I clearly remember that time—"

Jenna slapped her hand over Brooklyn's mouth. "Uh uh. We're moving forward, remember? Nod if you remember."

Brooklyn nodded and waited for Jenna to remove her hand before saying, "Forward. Right. So tell me about this job." The sooner she could start making money, the sooner she could get out of this house. If she had to, she'd take Nat and Devon with her. Would Sarah even fight her for them?

"Well, rumor has it the house band at Starstruck is looking for a temporary new lead singer."

An ice-cold chill gripped hard. Brooklyn swallowed. Starstruck was the huge bar and concert venue smack dab in the middle of town. Too young at the time, Brooklyn had never been inside, but she'd stood outside listening, trying to touch a piece of fame. She'd envisioned singing there, being invited to headline one of the monthly concerts. That was then. Before... "I don't sing anymore."

Another shrug, as if Brooklyn's statement didn't warrant much of a response. "But you can—shit, better than can—and you need the job. Thanks to me and my connections, I'm sure I can get you an audition tonight." Jenna beamed.

Too fast. Too much. Brooklyn shook her head. "You have connections? Of course you have connections." Still shaking her head, she said, "I can't do this."

Jenna took a moment, craning her neck, inspecting the living room.

Though Brooklyn had done her best to clean the house, the tell tale signs of neglect were still there, would always be there.

"It's temporary, Brook. You're good at temporary."

Ouch.

"Jesus," Jenna said, barking out a laugh. "You look like you just swallowed prune juice and Jager. I didn't mean it like that. But you need a job and by the looks of it, Devon and Nat are worse off than even the rumors flying around town tell."

"People are talking?"

"Don't they always?"

She knew first hand what that felt like. "Temporary?" She refused to acknowledge the part of her that was excited to be on stage again. Singing in itself had always been a rush. Singing in front of a crowd was better than any drug out there. Fashion was her true passion, but singing had always run a very close second.

She'd just have to shut down the emotions that accompanied the memories singing provoked.

Jenna flashed a smile. "Yep. So long as you haven't lost your chops."

Brooklyn had never been afraid to compete and Jenna knew that. She'd expertly and seamlessly forced her hand. Brooklyn nailed her with a hard stare. Hmm... Jenna was wearing an expression like the cat who'd just swallowed the canary. "What aren't you telling me?"

Smiling, Jenna stood and pulled her up from the couch. "You have major trust issues. Hurry up and get dressed. And look hot. Hot singers have a better chance. Oh, and hook me up. I want to wear a Brooklyn Mathews original tonight."

The thought of someone other than herself wearing a piece from the line she'd created was too big a rush to turn down. "Come with me, sista. I've got just the thing."

# Two

Brooklyn hopped out of Jenna's Jeep and smoothed her hands over her shirt. She wore a black leather mini skirt and a red halter-top that showed off more cleavage than she'd normally expose thanks to Jenna's insistence and hands-on treatment. Good thing she loved Jenna or someone would be sporting a very black eye.

They'd parked in the back between two older pick-up trucks. The bar was open, but wouldn't start hopping for a couple more hours.

"You ready?"

Brooklyn cocked her head and studied her friend over the hood of the truck. Maybe if Jenna had been her model during finals, her final grade would have been better. "That dress looks good on you." As soon as Jenna had tried on the baby blue, strapless sundress, they'd both known it would never hang in Brooklyn's closet again.

Jenna flashed a one-hundred-watt smile. "Of course it does. You give good design, girl."

"You have to say that. You're my best friend." Her instructors had raved about the quality of her pieces. "Your attention to detail is exquisite, Miss Mathews. Your seams are perfect. Your eye for design, however..." She shook away the last of the memory.

Jenna crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't have to say anything." Sighing, she rounded the Jeep and stood directly in front of Brooklyn before narrowing her eyes. "Something you want to tell me?"

The seriousness of Jenna's tone had Brooklyn wanting to take a step back. Instead she shook her head and asked, "What do you mean?"

Jenna poked her lightly in the forehead. "You would suck at poker."

"Don't make me break your finger, and no I wouldn't."

Jenna nodded. "Yeah, total suckage. You've got tells. Lots and lots of tells."

Did she? She was saved from responding when the back door of Starstruck opened and a petite woman with bright red hair poked her head out. Brooklyn instantly recognized her. Her heart stuttered a bit. She'd seen more than her fair share of celebrities in New York, but none that had the kind of charisma oozing from this woman's pores. Rusty Ann Baker. Famous country singer, owner of Starstruck, and possible savior of Grundy County.

"Either kiss or get your asses in here."

"How did she—"

Jenna gave her a nudge and lifted her chin toward the roof.

Security cameras.

Brooklyn pinched her lips together and nodded.

"Hey, Rusty!" Jenna yelled. "Momma said to tell you that you still haven't delivered the goods, whatever that means."

Rusty barked out a laugh.

Brooklyn followed Jenna and tried not to gape as Rusty led them through the back hallway that dumped into the main room. The dance floor was huge, the stage nearly as big. She looked up, marveling at the amount of lights and speakers and willed her heart to slow down. She could do this. She'd dreamt of doing this.

They walked past the handful of patrons parked at the larger of the two bars. Brooklyn tried to listen to Rusty and Jenna's conversation—something about Jenna's momma needing to get her ass over here to visit Rusty more often—but her mind was already in competition mode.

They trekked up the spiral stairs and before Brooklyn could look her fill, Rusty ushered them into her office and shut the door.

"You sure are a pretty thing. Got a name?"

Brooklyn felt the heat in her cheeks. She hadn't even introduced herself and an audition was basically the equivalent of an interview. Pulling it together, she offered Rusty her hand. "Brooklyn Mathews, ma'am."

"Just call me Rusty." She gestured toward the couch. "Please, have a seat. I don't know how much Jenna has told you, but I'm not one for false pretenses or expectations, so I want you to hear it straight from me."

Some would be offended by Rusty's directness, but Brooklyn had heard far worse from her mother and true New Yorkers. "I appreciate that."

"We've got a five piece house band that plays four nights a week from nine to two. Todd's our lead singer. Got a hell of a voice. He's also got a pregnant wife who rules the roost. He adores her. We all love Tammy. Starting next week, she's forcing him to take six weeks off. Paternity leave."

"Is that even a thing?" Jenna asked.

"It is, especially if Tammy says it is."

Brooklyn smiled, already liking Tammy. "Six weeks. Got it."

"The boys have auditioned a couple of fellows," Rusty continued, "but I won't accept mediocre. I don't even want good. I want great."

Brooklyn lifted her chin. "I can be great."

Rusty laughed softly. "Can you or are you?"

She mulled the question over before responding. Fake it 'til you make it. Wasn't that the mantra of successful people? "I am great." Too bad she hadn't adopted this mantra a few months ago.

"We'll see in a moment. Tips here are okay, but nothing to call home about, so I pay a fair salary. We can discuss that after I hear you sing."

"I'm telling you, Rusty. She can sing."

Brooklyn looked over at Jenna. Always her supporter. No matter what.

"I'd hoped to have the band here so they could play for you, but I didn't have enough time to pull it together." Rusty crossed one scuffed cowboy boot over the other. "This one," she jerked a thumb toward Jenna, "insisted I see you right away."

"That's okay. I can sing a cappella."

"Let's hear it then." Rusty turned to Jenna. "I probably don't need to ask, but you planning on staying for this?"

Jenna gave them both a wry stare. "Hell yeah, I'm staying. I haven't heard Brook sing in over four years. You'll have to have your meatheads pull me out of here. But, as I'm sure you noticed," she said, kicking out a leg. "I'm wearing my kick-ass heals. Emphasis on the kick ass."

"When are you not?" Rusty asked with an affectionate laugh.

And just like that, Jenna had found a way to soothe Brooklyn's nerves. Before Rusty could ask her again, Brooklyn opened her mouth and sang her heart out. She sang for the thrill of it. She sang for Devon and Natalie. She sang for Jenna. She sang for the good memories swirling in her head. Before she and Emmett had ended in one disastrous moment. But most of all she sang to prove she was good enough.

Her eyes were open but they may as well have been closed. She didn't see Jenna or Rusty. She didn't see the office. No. In her mind, she saw the one person who'd taught her how to fly. Little had he known that in the end she would leave her wings to run as fast as she could. Run away.

From him.

From them.

From herself.

She held out the last note until it was nothing more than a whisper. A deep breath. Two. Three. Then she was ready to look at her audience. Jenna was beaming, but that didn't count. Jenna always beamed brighter than the North Star. She couldn't read Rusty's expression, though. She gave nothing away. Not in her eyes. Not in her mouth.

Not until she slapped her thigh and said, "The boys will never know what hit them."

Jenna squealed loud enough for both of them.

"I got the job?"

Rusty lifted a finger. "Not yet."

"Oh." She tried to hide the disappointment, but the soft look in Rusty's eyes told her she'd failed miserably.

"Let's say you've officially made it through phase one of the audition process."

"Aw, come on, Rusty. She's good," Jenna said.

Rusty nodded then turned back to Brooklyn. "You can definitely sing, but that doesn't mean you'll gel with the boys, or be able to sing with a band. I don't even know if you have a lick of stage presence in you. And Jenna, you're a photographer. You know not every pretty face photographs well. It's the same deal here."

All of that made sense. Brooklyn knew that. She'd made it through phase one, which went a hell of a long way in boosting her confidence.

Rusty shoved off the desk and gave her an enthusiastic hug. "For what it's worth, I'm pulling for you."

Brooklyn tried to relax her body but as soon as Rusty had wrapped her arms around her she'd stiffened up.

"Full disclosure, Rusty," Jenna said. "Brooklyn is anti-mush."

"I'm not."

Jenna tilted her head. "You are."

"I'm not."

Rusty laughed hard. "Girl, I hope you don't play poker."

Jenna snorted and doubled over in laughter.

"What is it with everyone and poker? I don't have tells." No one answered her. They were too busy laughing and wiping tears from their eyes. Brooklyn didn't care. Not right now. She could do this. She'd been back in Kramer for less than six hours and she'd already almost secured a job, albeit a temporary one. Didn't matter. As people were fond of pointing out, she was good at temporary.

***

Brooklyn made her way downstairs to meet Jenna in the bar. Rusty had gone over the salary should she get the job. She wouldn't be rich by any means, but at least she'd be able to feed and clothe Natalie and Devon. If she squeezed hard enough, she might be able to eek out enough for a tiny apartment. Of course, that meant there wouldn't be a dime left over for Brooklyn to eat, but her needs ran a distant second.

"Well?" Jenna asked, sliding a bottle of beer toward her. "Took long enough. You guys come to an agreement?"

Brooklyn wasn't much for beer anymore, but back in the day, it had been their go-to. For memories sake, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took a long pull.

"It's good. If I get the job, I'll take it."

Jenna laughed. "You'll get it."

Brooklyn thought so too. Or at least that was the only direction she would allow her thoughts to go. She'd struggled her last semester of school. God, she could at least be honest with herself. She'd more than struggled. She'd barely passed. She'd asked herself a million times what went wrong, but so far not a single answer had come to mind. She'd lived and breathed fashion for as long as she could remember. She'd worked two jobs all through high school, saving her money so she could pay for college. Sarah sure as hell hadn't offered to give her a dime to help out. She'd worked nights and weekends in New York just to survive. Then, when all her dreams had been within reach, she'd crashed and nearly burned.

Another swallow. Two. Three.

"Slow down there, Brooky Brook. You've got to perform in a few."

Brooklyn smiled at Jenna, then took a moment to scan the bar. The band wouldn't start for at least another hour, but the patrons were streaming in and quickly snatching up all the barstools. She didn't mind the crowd. Easier to sing in front of a crowd than one. Unless that one was... No, she wasn't going there. Except she kept watching the doors just in case that certain someone decided tonight would be a good night to hang out at Starstruck. If that happened, she didn't know what she would do.

"I'm good." And she really was. Mostly. "Just enjoying the company."

Jenna snorted. "Bitch, please. How long have I known you? Something is going on with you, and if it takes liquor to get you to talk about it, so be it. Hey, Ben!" Jenna shouted.

Brooklyn didn't comment. Instead, she watched the sexy bartender flash Jenna a smile. He walked over to them then leaned casually against the bar, eyes locked on Jenna's baby blues.

"What'll it be, Blondie?"

"Two lemon drops. Extra sugar, because, you know, I'm sweet like that."

"You sure are," the bartender said with a wink before stepping back to grab the vodka off the top shelf.

Now it was Brooklyn's turn to snort. "You're so bad. You slept with him, didn't you?"

"Ha! I wish. That's Ben, Rusty's son. Momma would have my ass if I screwed with him and messed up her friendship with Rusty."

Brooklyn cocked her head. "Who says you'd mess it up with Ben?"

One brow, high on her forehead. "Trust. I always mess it up."

Before Brooklyn could respond to Jenna's nonsense, music filled the air.

A strum of a guitar.

A voice.

One note.

Sustained.

The exhale to her inhale.

Years' worth of tension uncoiled. For a moment, just a blip of time really, she could breathe again.

A new kind of tension tightened her muscles to the point she almost couldn't move. But she had to see what she already knew. She turned toward the stage as another note rang out, pure, strong, and sexy as hell.

Everyone else in the room faded away as her gaze took in one man and his guitar. He wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't prepared for him. For these feelings.

Even if his song wasn't meant for her, the intimacy of the notes, his voice, melted her bones. God, those lips. She wanted to be the microphone. Wanted to feel his lips move across her mouth in a song as old as time. Her pulse hammered in rhythm with the strum of his guitar, quick, heavy.

Emmett Tyler.

In the flesh—in all his glorious flesh. He wore jeans and a dark t-shirt that hugged a torso cut from lean muscle. She zeroed in on the tattoo covering his right bicep. She wanted to trace the lines, to know the story, but from this distance she couldn't make out the design.

He looked like she remembered, only sexier, more mature, rugged, harder. So much harder. She searched his face and gasped when his eyes met hers. Something flashed in their depths. Brooklyn nearly chewed through her bottom lip.

She took a step forward before she caught herself. Emmett stopped playing and turned to walk backstage. The vortex that had sucked her in slammed closed, jarring her heart and her soul.

Brooklyn whirled around and swallowed the shot of vodka as if her life depended on it. Then she got up close and personal with Jenna.

"You set me up." So many feelings were wreaking havoc on her system. Anger, betrayal, confusion...lust. And more. So much more. What the hell was she going to do?

Jenna had the nerve to smile sheepishly and offered Brooklyn her shot. "You'll thank me someday."

What could she say to that? She had no effing idea. So she said nothing, tipped her head back and let the alcohol sear her throat.

Three

Damn. Hand braced against the wall, Emmett steadied himself and willed his heart to slow the fuck down. One look at those haunted eyes had sent a shock straight to his heart and a rush of blood to his groin.

He shouldn't have been able to see her so clearly from the stage, but she'd always stood out in a crowd. To him, Brooklyn Mathews was a diamond in a sea of lackluster glass.

Part of him wanted to throw her over his shoulder, take her somewhere private, and show her just how much he'd missed her, show her what she'd lost when she'd run away. The other part, the saner part, wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing here, invading his world—a world she'd wanted no part of.

He unhooked his guitar strap and settled the acoustic on a stand. Ignoring her wasn't an option. Never had been. Brooklyn had always demanded his attention without ever saying a word.

He moved into the main room, nodded hello to a handful of regulars, and headed straight for the bar in time to see Brooklyn knock back a shot. She wasn't much of a drinker. Christ. He hadn't seen her in four years. She could have turned into an alcoholic nun for all he knew.

Had the circumstances been different, he would have had a good laugh at the guilty look on Jenna's face. Even after Brooklyn had moved away, he and Jenna had remained friends, though their discussions always steered clear of the past. She could have warned him. Surely there was a rule about this sort of thing written somewhere.

He slid his gaze to the woman who'd stolen and broken his heart. Shit. He'd never seen her dressed like this. Cleavage and legs. Someone shoot him now. He was done. Her cheeks flushed to a shade of red brighter than the scrap of material she'd chosen for a shirt. Apparently, Jenna hadn't warned her either if the daggers were any indication.

"Hey, Jenna," he said, eyes on Brooklyn.

"Hey yourself, Emmett. You sounded great, as usual. I like how you're the only one who showed up for sound check. Can I get you a drink?"

He shook his head. The rest of the band wasn't late. Like so many other aspects of his life, Emmett had shown up too early.

"Brooklyn." He didn't say her name out loud often. Her lips parted at the sound. He still had an effect on her. That shouldn't please him, but it sure as hell did.

"Hi," she said, her voice barely audible over the drone of the piped-in music and the chirping of the growing crowd. "How are you?"

Maybe he shouldn't have turned down Jenna's offer of a drink. Throat dry, he swallowed hard. "I'm good. You?"

Seriously? They use to be able to talk for hours. Now they were uttering two and three word sentences as if the effort of speaking cost more than either could afford. Maybe it did.

Brooklyn smiled, but the sentiment didn't reach her eyes. He signaled Ben for a beer and another round for the ladies.

"I'm good, thanks. How's your family?"

More small talk. He felt like a teenager, sweaty palms and all. "They're really great. Yours?"

"Yet to be seen."

A spark of pain flashed in her eyes. Brooklyn's family life had always been less than ideal. Her father had never been in the picture. Sarah had run him off like she'd done the dozen or so other men who had stuck around for more than a one-night stand. He'd wanted to change that for Brooklyn. Wanted to show her that loving families existed. "How long are you in town?" No matter her answer, she had the power to twist him up. If she said forever, he'd have to breathe the same air as her and know the future he'd planned out for them didn't exist. If she said a day, he'd... Fuck if he knew what he'd do.

"Brooklyn's auditioning to be the singer in your band tonight," Jenna announced in a cheerful voice, clearly enjoying the tension.

Emmett nearly choked on his beer.

Brooklyn coughed and added a little fire to the daggers she shot Jenna's way. "Maybe. I'm not sure about that."

Undeterred, Jenna smiled. "Yeah, right." Turning to Emmett, she said, "She already sang for Rusty. It's practically a done deal."

Emmett set his beer on the bar and drew in a long breath. "You sang for Rusty?"

One nod. Not a word.

Emmett's mind flashed to four years ago, as it often did. Brooklyn lying between his legs in the bed of his truck, her back to his front, while he strummed his guitar. Their voices had gelled every bit as much as their bodies had. The sound of their harmonies had him flipping her over and devouring her on more than one occasion. His blood heated at the memory. Mentally extinguishing the fire beneath his skin, he asked, "You want to sing in the band?"

Brooklyn chewed on that plump lower lip. "I have to."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? She turned from him and sipped from her shot glass. At least she didn't toss this one back. Emmett eyed Jenna but she only shook her head.

He dragged a hand through his hair just as Quinn walked up and stole his beer.

Quinn drained the bottle and tossed it into the trash. "Nice, Emmett. You got two lovely ladies tonight? I didn't think you had it in you."

Emmett heard Jenna groan and saw Brooklyn flinch before she turned to face Quinn. Quinn sized her up, head to toe, and flashed the smile he used on every woman aside from Jenna. Emmett fought the urge to punch him. Q had been his best friend and the drummer in their band for three years now. They'd met on the road and been playing together in Bathwater Funk ever since.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Jenna?"

Jenna glared.

If looks could kill, Q would be six feet under and swimming with worms right now. Emmett wished the two of them would just hook up and get it out of their system.

Jenna pursed her lips.

"I'm Brooklyn." She offered her hand to Quinn and flashed Jenna a confused look.

Quinn lifted a brow at Emmett and immediately killed his come-hither smile. "The Brooklyn?" he asked, pulling her in for a hug as if they were longtime friends.

Emmett noted how Brooklyn's body stiffened at the contact. Some things never changed. She didn't like receiving affection from anyone. Except him, after a while, anyway. One more thing he could easily blame on her mother. Q must have noticed her reaction. He released her and stepped back.

Brooklyn looked from Quinn to Emmett as if she were trying to figure out how much he'd shared with Q.

"This is Brooklyn Mathews," Emmett said. "She's an old friend of mine." Q knew exactly who Brooklyn was. Emmett had spilled his guts over tequila more than once. So many times, he'd packed his shit, dead set on heading to New York to be with her. Q had stopped him. His parents had stopped him. Brooklyn didn't need to know that. They'd said if it was meant to be it would happen without him forcing it. After two years he'd given up hope she'd come back.

Yet, here she was and he didn't know what the hell to do about it.

Jenna poked Q in the side. "And she's my best friend, so don't even think about going there with your diseased self."

Brooklyn barked out a shocked laugh. "Jenna!"

"No need to come to my defense," Q said with a wink. "Jenna's the one who gave me the disease."

"Oh my God. You are such a dick." Jenna said, shaking her head. She slammed her shot glass down on the bar. "I'm hitting the ladies room. Come on, Brook."

Brooklyn smiled politely at Quinn then glanced at Emmett. She paused as if waiting for something. When he didn't say anything, she blew out a soft breath and followed Jenna.

Emmett watched her walk away. He held back a groan at the sway of her ass. She wasn't his anymore. He had no claim to her ass or any other part of her, for that matter. Q clapped him on the back.

"You alright, man?"

Not even close. Emmett leaned against the bar. "I'm cool. Why wouldn't I be?"

Q looked disappointed. "It's me you're talking to. I know the history."

"I know." Emmett jammed his hands in his pockets. "Jenna said she's auditioning for Todd's spot tonight."

Quinn held Emmett's gaze for several beats. "I didn't know Jenna could sing."

"Not Jenna, dumbass. Brooklyn." He eyed the shot Jenna had left s on the bar. Maybe Brooklyn had the right idea. Numb it all with alcohol. He reached for the glass, but Q beat him to it.

"Too slow, bro." Q laughed and downed the vodka. He squinted and turned up his nose. "Sissy drink." He shrugged and licked the sugar off the rim.

Emmett heard the woman next to them sigh. She had to be at least sixty and twelve hundred packs of cigarettes old. Q had that effect on the opposite sex, no matter the age. Except Jenna. "That's why I bought it for you. Sissy-ass drummers can't handle the hard stuff."

"And bitch-ass guitar players can? Stop avoiding the subject. I know Brooklyn can sing. From what you've told me, angels weep when she belts out a tune. But can she perform?"

Hell yeah she could perform. She was made for the stage. But she'd preferred the runway. "Doesn't matter," he answered with a shrug. "She's not singing with Bathwater Funk."

"Why not?"

His timing had always sucked. Q shook his head and quietly laughed. Emmett closed his eyes.

"Answer the question, Emmett. Why won't I be singing in your band?"

Emmett turned slowly and met a pair of brown eyes that threatened to undo him. Because I can't sing with you again. Because I can't stand next to you on stage knowing I can't have you. Because you fucking left me. Because you made every woman since you nothing but a poor substitute. Emmett wanted to say all those things and more. But he wouldn't do it. No way in hell was he telling her how he felt. So he said the only other thing he could come up with. "Because you're a chick."

# Four

It wasn't a dare, per se, but damn if Brooklyn didn't take Emmett's comment as just that. Because she was a chick? Since when had he become such a sexist boar? Instead of arguing with him, she'd grabbed Jenna and pulled her to the other end of the bar, leaving one very angry guitar player and one amused drummer behind.

An hour had passed, the crowd had grown and the band had started. They were good. Really good. So good the dance floor was packed tighter than a can of sardines. The scent of sweat and alcohol mixed, permeating every available molecule of oxygen.

The ghostly hands she'd become achingly familiar with squeezed. Tighter. Harder. Closing off her throat. Brooklyn had counted every single exit sign in the building. Ten times. But she wouldn't run. Couldn't. Not this time. Not yet.

Jenna nudged her. She turned to see Rusty approaching. It took awhile for Rusty to make her way to them. Brooklyn admired, envied even, how the woman made everyone she came into contact with feel important. The patrons of Starstruck adored her.

"You ready?" Rusty asked, all business.

Very. "Yeah, I'm ready," Brooklyn answered.

Rusty nodded, and her bright red hair bounced around her shoulders before once again settling into a timeless style. "Good. I'll head up and tell the boys which song we decided on. Then I'll announce you."

"Okay. Sounds good." Brooklyn swallowed, then wet her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

Rusty leaned in. "You only get one song. Give it everything you've got."

She would. And then some. Devon and Natalie had already been motivation enough. But now she felt like she had something to prove to Emmett. Which was really stupid. Surely, he hadn't said what he'd said to goad her. That wasn't his style. And she highly doubted his reason for not wanting her in the band had been the truth. She'd hurt him, and Emmett had never been the forgive-and-forget type.

She waited until Rusty announced her to an enthusiastic crowd before donning her game face and climbing the stairs to the stage. Each step sent a charge of adrenaline through her system. Q winked at her while keeping the beat going strong. Brooklyn offered a quick smile to the rest of the band who eyed her warily. Maybe Emmett hadn't made up the whole chick singer thing. Didn't matter.

Up here she could breathe. The grip around her neck loosened.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Q counted off the intro and the band kicked it into gear. Closing her eyes briefly, she let the music move through her, the groove swimming through her veins.

Intoxicating. Alluring. She grabbed a microphone and yelled, "Come on!"

The crowd cheered. Brooklyn danced, stomped her boots and sang Good Girl by Carrie Underwood. She'd sung it a million times before. But never on stage. Never with a live band. Never with Emmett singing harmony. The chorus came and she sidled up next to him, sharing his microphone, conscious of his every move. They blended as well as they always had and the crowd ate it up like starving babies, eager for more.

Remembered words, saturated with desires and promises, spilled into her mind.

"Marry me."

A whispered, "No."

"Marry me, Brooklyn."

"I can't." A tear falls, silent yet screaming.

"You can." A knuckle across her cheek. "Marry me."

"I want more, Emmett I can't stay here. I'm suffocating."

"Marry me and I'll help you breathe. I'll give you the stars."

A kiss full of life. A kiss full of goodbye.

She breathed in his scent, masculine and spicy. Heat shot through her body and she briefly considered melting into him. It didn't take much to take a stroll down Memory Lane and peer at the sign on the side of the road that read "PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE". The sign pointed straight at Emmett.

Brooklyn shook her head, flinging her hair around. To the crowd, it was all part of the show. To her, it was a firm denial. She couldn't travel that road again. She and Emmett couldn't work.

Pushing the confusing thoughts away, she poured her energy into the song, giving the music something she could never give Emmett.

Everything.

The song ended and the band quickly transitioned into the latest hit by Miranda Lambert. Rusty had said one song but when Brooklyn glanced her way, Rusty gave two thumbs up. So she stayed. And she smiled at the men on the dance floor. And she high-fived the women. And she worked the stage. And she sang. And she remembered. And she craved. And she practically combusted when Emmett let the guitar scream and looked at her with eyes so intense she nearly orgasmed on the spot.

Before she knew it, the set was over. Surely the crowd's reaction would have Rusty offering her the job, but Brooklyn knew well and good nothing in life was guaranteed.

Turning, she introduced herself to Todd and congratulated him on the upcoming birth of his child. He seemed nice enough, but careful with his words and a bit standoffish.

"Don't worry. He's just worried he won't have a job when he gets back from maternity leave."

"Screw you, Q," Todd retorted, punching Quinn's shoulder hard enough to knock him back a few steps. "It's called paternity leave, and I'm not worried."

Brooklyn smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion. Smiling wasn't something she'd done much of lately. "I'm sure you're not worried, but this is just a temporary thing for me anyway."

A harsh laugh behind her. Brooklyn turned and looked at Emmett. His body language spoke volumes. Now that the lights were off and the curtains were closed, he'd let his own version of game face slip away. He looked all kinds of pissed off. And something else. Something she couldn't define.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm good."

"Don't mind him. I'm Ray and you were really great."

Brooklyn smiled at the keyboardist. "Thanks. You guys are all incredible."

Connor, the bassist, nodded once and walked off the stage without saying a word.

"Well, look at that," Q said. "You just blew into town and you already have half these pussies' panties twisted up nice and tight. I think I've fallen a bit in love with you."

She couldn't help but laugh. Q reminded her of Jenna. He had a way about him that put others at ease. "As long as it's just a bit, I think we'll be okay. When you start to lose your mind over me, let me know. I can find you a self-help group. Matter of fact, remind me to give you the name of my psychiatrist."

Quinn barked out a laugh. "Damn, girl. I like you." He leaned in and whispered low enough only she could hear, "No wonder my boy fell so damn hard."

Brooklyn felt her cheeks heat.

"Now go tell Rusty Ann you deserve a raise," Quinn said while tucking a pair of drumsticks in his back pocket.

"I didn't get the job yet."

"Sure you did," Emmett said. "She'd be a fool not to offer it to you, and Rusty will never be anyone's fool."

She waited for the others to leave the stage before she crossed to Emmett. He didn't move. Not so much as a flinch. "Are you okay with this?" she asked. "I know I'm not your favorite person. If this is too much, I can find another job."

"Too much?" he asked, jamming his fingers in his hair. "When have you ever been anything less than too much?"

"I'm—"

"Jesus, Brook. I'm not a kid anymore. I can handle it."

He moved in close. Eyes sparking.

Before Brooklyn could so much as breathe, his lips were on hers, his fingers sliding through her hair.

Pulling.

Pulling,

Until her body was flush with his. Until no air moved between them. Until they were one. A continuation. A fusion of body and confused minds.

Dueling tongues, fighting out years' worth of pain and resentment.

Taking. Taking. So much. Too much.

His air belonged to her. Breathing. Breathing.

Swallowing back tears, desire, need.

Emmett broke the kiss and jerked away.

Fingers dancing across tingling lips. Tingling body. Tingling mind. Lodged heart. Beating. Beating. She blew out a long breath, let her hand fall away. She'd given too much. Taken even more.

It wasn't enough.

It was so much more.

"Like I said. I can handle it." His words clear and strangled all at once. "Can you?"

Could she? She never got the chance to answer. Rusty flew up the stairs and Emmett disappeared.
Five

Brooklyn had wanted to leave about two hours ago. But Rusty had given her the job and it felt rude to leave before the band had finished. Besides, Jenna never left a party before last call. And really? Where would she go? Back to Sarah's house? She wasn't supposed to be staying there. Unless her mother had already passed out, she'd have a hard time sneaking in.

"I'm gonna get one more beer before we go. You want one?" Jenna set her purse on the bar and waved Ben over with a sexy crook of her finger. The bartender smiled and grabbed a beer from the cooler.

Brooklyn shook her head. "No, thanks." She hadn't had a drink since the shot of vodka. Alcohol could never compete with the intoxicating effects of Emmett's kiss. It had come out of nowhere. Yet, when she really thought about it, she should have seen it coming. If they had nothing else, they had desire for each other in spades. Four years did nothing to douse the inferno that consumed them. If anything, the time apart had added dangerous amounts of fuel to the flame.

"Aw, come on. It's your first night back. I was thinking we could pull an all-nighter." Jenna crossed her arms and pouted.

Those pouty lips and puppy dog eyes might work on every man in town, but they didn't work on Brooklyn. "I don't do all-nighters anymore," she said, smiling, all the while trying to figure out how to get her hands on Jenna's keys. She eyed her friend's purse and when Jenna turned to talk to Ben, Brooklyn went for it, sliding her hand in the side pocket.

"Looking for these?" Q asked, holding a set of keys above his head behind Jenna's back.

Brooklyn blew out a relieved breath. Jenna had passed sober at least three drinks ago. "Yeah, I was."

Emmett stood next to Quinn, his guitar case slung over one shoulder.

Sexy.

Guarded.

Silent.

"I grabbed them before the last set. I'll drive you guys home."

Brows creased, Brooklyn forced her gaze away from Emmett's mouth and asked, "You do this often?" Jenna had always liked a party. Brooklyn studied her best friend, searching for signs of trouble. No way would she let Jenna turn into another Sarah.

Q touched her arm and smiled. "Not really. But whether she agrees or not, Jenna and I are friends. I take care of my friends."

"Well, thank you for that. For taking care of her, I mean. You don't have to drive me home. I'll just grab a cab." Again she calculated her dwindling funds. She really shouldn't spend money on a cab ride, but she didn't want to inconvenience Q either. She didn't even know him.

"Wait," Jenna said, turning away from Ben, a giggle in her voice. "What are you guys talking about? I'm taking Brooklyn home." She swayed on her feet, laughed and grabbed the bar before she fell. Q steadied her with a hand on her back. Jenna swatted at him.

"That's okay, Jenna," Emmett said. "Stay and have your drink. I'll take her home."

"No," Brooklyn said, maybe a little too quickly.

Jenna arched a brow and grinned so big Brooklyn was shocked her cheeks didn't crack wide open.

"Oh, that's really nice of you, Emmett. You two can catch up."

Subtlety wasn't Jenna's strong suit. Brooklyn might have to tape her mouth shut if this kept up.

"Really, that's okay. I can get a cab. It's no big deal."

Emmett shifted the strap of his case. "Why would you do that? It's on my way."

He knew exactly why she'd do that. She cleared her throat when his gaze lingered on her mouth. "Since when?"

A shrug. "Since I bought the farm down the road from your house."

The farm. The fields. The house. The barn.

"The one with the red barn?" Duh, Brooklyn. Why had she asked that? They both knew Emmett would have only purchased one farm in Kramer.

He nodded.

"You bought it?"

"I did. You ready now? I have to help my dad at six."

Emmett's father owned Tyler Builders, the one and only company in the county that built houses. One day Emmett would take over the company. If that's what he wanted. Mr. Tyler had always said people should have their own dreams and not live in the shadows of others. Brooklyn tried to swallow past her thick throat. But it was closing. Closing off.

"I'm ready," she squeaked out. She had to get out of here. Away from the reminder that Emmett lived in a world she would never understand. A world so different than her whiskey-saturated existence.

She let Jenna hug her and appreciated the fact that Q didn't. Once Q promised her he would make sure Jenna got home safely, Brooklyn headed out. She didn't wait for Emmett to tell her where he'd parked. She had her eyes on the closest exit and she couldn't get there fast enough.

"In a hurry," Emmett asked once she shoved through the door.

She whirled. "You're the one who has to work in a few hours."

"So, you're worried about my wellbeing? That's something new."

Bright, neon lights. An illuminated parking lot. Gravel. Pain. Hurt. Grief.

"Really, Emmett? Do you want to do this now? What do you want me to say?"

Silence rained down on them, battering, pushing at her on all sides.

Emmett tilted his head. "I'm parked over here."

Brooklyn followed him to a truck that had probably been light blue at some point—vintage, rusted, loved. "You still have her." She ran her fingers along the side of the bed. Memories cascaded from the sky as if each of the stars held a portion of the story titled Emmett and Brooklyn. So many pieces. Some fractured. Some whole.

"Can't seem to part with her."

"You said you were going to fix her up." She hoped he never did. Some things were better left beautifully tarnished.

"I'll get around to it eventually."

Emmett opened her door and Brooklyn slid into the cab, appreciating the creaking sound of the bench seat. She breathed deeply. Emmett's truck smelled like him. It smelled like life and light.

When he got in on his side, words weren't spoken. Not one. The silence that had been so oppressive moments ago settled around her comfortably. Outside, in the open air, she should have been able to breathe. In here, inside the small cab with the windows up and Emmett so close, she should have been suffocating.

Contradictions.

So many of them.

She'd ridden in this truck a hundred—maybe a thousand—times before. They'd laughed. She'd cried. They'd sang. They'd talked. They'd dreamed. They'd made love. He'd proposed. She'd crushed him.

He knew her better than anyone, even Jenna. Maybe that's one of the reasons she'd run. Emmett knew too much.

A mile from her house, he spoke. "Jenna said you made the dress she had on tonight. It's nice."

"Thank you. It's all hers now."

Emmett laughed softly. "Well, it's not like it's your only one. I'm guessing you designed a ton of stuff while you were in New York. Eventually you'll start selling your designs, right?"

She avoided eye contact when he slid his gaze to hers. Part of it was the fact that he remembered the details of her dream. The bigger part was that she'd totally failed to achieve them. "Maybe." She honestly didn't know if she had it in her to try to design anything else. Not after what her instructor had said.

Brows furrowed, he asked, "Maybe? I'm guessing there's a story there."

Brooklyn shrugged. "Not really. Just at a crossroads."

"Yeah. I get that."

Neither elaborated.

Emmett pulled into her driveway. The house was dark. Dark—like life ceased to exist inside the sagging walls. And that was the truth. Had been for as long as she could remember. Brooklyn opened the door and quickly slid out. She didn't want him to think she was waiting for him to kiss her again. Even though that's exactly what she wanted him to do. Kiss. Touch. Breathe. "Thank you for the ride."

She lifted her gaze to the clear sky, silently counting the stars. Real stars. You didn't see these kind of stars in New York. The lights were always too bright. But isn't that what she wanted? To be one of those bright lights? God, she just didn't know anymore.

"You're welcome. I'll swing by and pick you up at three tomorrow."

His statement jarred her, pulling her back to the present. To him. "Pick me up? Why?"

"We need to rehearse. Rusty put me in charge of getting you up to full speed."

That shouldn't have bristled, but it did. Why should she care if rehearsing together hadn't been his idea? Because you're a glutton for punishment, she thought to herself. Always had been.

"I can't. I'll be with Devon and Nat."

Emmett smiled. 'They can come to. Hang out on the farm. Get dirty."

Her insides twisted. She looked at the rundown house with its too-tall grass, its crooked shutters, its chipped paint, dark windows that saw too much. Get dirty. Oh, they were dirty all right. If she didn't want to stay here, why would she expect her sister and brother to? "Okay. Three o'clock. We'll be ready."

He didn't pull away until she let herself into the house and closed the door.

"What did I tell you, girl?" Slurred words filled with hatred.

The night just kept getting better and better. "I'm not staying, Sarah." Where was she going to go? How could she take care of her brother and sister if she couldn't be with them?

A lighter sparked to life. Haggard eyes mocked behind the flame. "Then what the hell are you doing here?"

Brooklyn shoved away from the door. "I'm getting my stuff."

"Hurry up. Then get yourself gone."

Gone. Brooklyn was so far gone she didn't know if she'd ever find her way back.

Then she remembered Emmett's kiss, and though she wanted to deny it—to kill it with vehemence—her fingers touched her still tingling lips and she felt the first flicker of hope.

Six

At five-thirty in the morning, Emmett stood on his front porch, choking down his second cup of coffee. Scalding hot and burnt. Maybe someday he'd learn how to make a decent pot. Dad would be picking him up in a half hour, and he doubted he'd be able to do anything other than drag his own ass around today. He hadn't slept. Brooklyn had his mind and his cock's full attention. No. He hadn't slept, but he'd dreamed.

Damn, that girl had always twisted him inside out. But this was different. She was different. A complexity he was determined to figure out. A wiser man would leave her the hell alone. Not Emmett. He still wanted her with a fierceness even beyond his comprehension. And that had everything and nothing to do with how her tongue had tasted or how her body had melded perfectly to his.

The kiss had been a knee-jerk reaction. A way to shut her up. He didn't want or need the pity he'd seen in her gorgeous brown eyes. He didn't want her to feel bad about leaving him. He wanted her to... Hell, he had no idea what he wanted her to do.

He did know one thing, though. If Brooklyn so much as offered a hint that she still wanted him, he'd stop at nothing to have her back in his life. Permanently.

Emmett studied the land around him. His land. He'd been eyeing this farm for more than ten years, somehow knowing even then that he would claim it. Six months ago he'd signed the papers. Eventually he'd get around to gutting the inside and putting his stamp on it. Then the exterior. Then the barn.

He cocked his head at the dew-covered grass next to the gravel driveway, then stepped off the porch and followed a trail that hadn't been there yesterday. Drag marks stretched all the way to his barn.

It briefly crossed his mind that he should maybe grab some sort of a weapon, or at least his boots, but he didn't. Shit. This was Kramer. Not much happened other than the occasional bar fight. One bare foot in front of the other, hot coffee sloshing over the rim onto his hand, he trekked through the yard.

He set his mug on the ground, slid the door open and stepped inside. Dappled sunlight illuminated the main floor. Old pallets lined the East wall. Other than that, the barn was empty. Eventually he'd fill it with something. Always eventually, he thought. His gaze scanned the interior before zeroing in on the squatter. What the hell?

Brooklyn, sound asleep, on a pile of clothes in the first stall. He eyed her enormous suitcase, the tiny wheels covered in grass and gravel, and instantly knew what had caused the marks in the grass. His heart flipped over in his chest. She'd slept here. Damn it. Why hadn't she knocked? Why hadn't she said anything when he'd dropped her off?

He knew the answer to that, and it burned like acid in his gut.

Sarah. The bitch had struck again. How Brooklyn and her siblings had come from that woman, he'd never understand. Women like her shouldn't have children. Fuck. If she hadn't, he'd have never met Brooklyn. As messed up as their relationship—or lack thereof—was, he couldn't imagine not knowing her.

He should let her sleep. She looked peaceful. And exposed. She slept in a white t-shirt and shorts that barely covered the curve of her tight ass. Pale, smooth legs. Raspberry-stained lips. Long, dark hair. He'd known every inch and desperately wanted to get reacquainted. Creeping toward the open stall, he crouched and pulled some black fabric that might have been a dress, or maybe a long shirt, over her legs. If he didn't, he might end up crawling into her makeshift bed and sinking into her heat.

Her eyes fluttered open and she smiled up at him. He smiled back. Waited. Then, as if she'd just realized where she was, she jackknifed, eyes wider than a deer caught in headlights.

"I'm sorry," she said, fumbling to stand and getting twisted up in the pile of clothes.

Emmett reached out, gently grabbed her wrist and held on. "Stop." When she settled, he said, "There's nothing to be sorry for other than the fact that you didn't knock and let me know you needed a place to crash. You know you're welcome to share my bed anytime." He was shooting for casual, something to lighten the mood. He instantly regretted his words. Nothing about this situation was casual for her. This was real for Brooklyn. Real and fucked up as hell.

Still, fire shot straight through his veins when she stared at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes, chewing on her lower lip. "I didn't think you would know I was here. I'd planned to be gone before you got up." She extracted her wrist from his fingers. "I'll just get my stuff and go."

"Go where?"

"What?" she asked, gathering handfuls of clothing and stuffing everything into her suitcase.

Eyes glued to her wiggling ass, he asked, "Where will you go? I'm betting Sarah's up to her usual tricks, which is why you're here and not there."

She looked over her shoulder and shrugged. "She'll get over it."

"I doubt that. Look," he said, dragging a hand through his hair, "come inside with me. You can stay here today. Dad's picking me up in a few minutes, so you can use my truck if you need it."

"Oh my God. I can't let him see me here." She tried to bolt past him, awkwardly pulling her suitcase behind her.

He almost told her she'd missed some things. He didn't. Once she'd realized she'd forgotten something, she'd have to come back. Maybe that made him a dick. So what?

Palm on his chest, she pushed.

He didn't budge.

"Just let me through, please."

"Stop, Brook." He got it. She was embarrassed. And for some reason, she'd always felt awkward around his parents, no matter how many times they'd tried to reassure her. "Let's just get in the house. He'll never know you're here. Take a shower. Fix something to eat. Whatever you want." Always. "Use the truck. Pick up Devon and Natalie. Go do something fun." Somehow he knew she hadn't had any fun in a very long time.

Tears brimmed her eyes. His fingers itched to brush them away. But she wouldn't want that. She'd been in town for less than twenty-four hours and he'd already fallen back in love with her. Hell, he could at least be honest with himself. He'd never fallen out of love. Maybe that made him a punk. He'd been called worse.

"They don't have any food at the house. I have to buy them food. They need to eat. I have to feed them. I have to..."

Emmett pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and holding tight. He heard one hitched breath and knew the tears had spilled over, but he wouldn't mention that. He'd never say a word about her tears. "You remember how to drive the truck, right?"

She nodded against his chest. He lifted her chin with one finger and pressed his lips to her tear-wet mouth. She sighed, leaning into him. He could have taken it further, his body wanted to. But his heart told him to stop. She wasn't his, no matter how much he wanted her to be. Not yet, anyway.

"Give me your suitcase." When she hesitated, he said, "Hurry up, woman. We've got to get you inside before Dad pulls up. He'll think we've been messing around in the barn."

She stepped aside and offered him the handle. 'Thanks, Emmett. I just need to get them some food. Then I'll figure it out."

"Sure thing," he said easily, even though anger coiled in his gut like a snake ready to strike. They both knew food wouldn't fix all the problems. What kind of mother spent her money on alcohol rather than food and clothes for her children? "Just don't mess up my truck, all right?"

Brooklyn laughed. Weakly. But at least she wasn't crying anymore. "Don't worry. I'll take care of your baby."

She had no idea how very much he wanted to take care of her. Of course she'd be upset about how Sarah treated Devon and Natalie. He suspected it was more than that, though. Maybe New York hadn't been everything she'd thought it would be. Maybe she'd realized living the small town life didn't have to be so bad. Maybe his timing had been wrong before.

That was the younger Emmett. This Emmett understood the power of patience...

***

They'd only made it halfway across the yard when Brooklyn heard the sound of a truck barreling down the road.

Frantic, her gaze ping-ponged between the house and the barn, trying to figure out which she could get to faster.

Too late, the big black truck pulled into the driveway, and Mr. Tyler stepped out, a wide grin creasing the corners of his eyes. Emmett reached back and grabbed her hand, squeezing. She pulled away.

Emmett looked a lot like his father, both fit from the years in construction. Both wore jeans and a black t-shirt with the Tyler Builders logo across the front. Brooklyn wanted to pull an ostrich move and stick her head in the sand. Heat spread across her cheeks so fast she felt as if she'd just gone warp speed from Antarctica to the tip of South America.

She shifted until she stood behind Emmett.

"Morning, son." Mr. Tyler enveloped Emmett in a warm hug.

Jealousy swam through her veins.

"Well, lookie here. Is that you, Brook? Of course it is. Come over here."

Before she knew it, she was wrapped in arms so tight she couldn't have gotten away if her life depended on it. Mr. Tyler didn't care that she froze, that she didn't return the hug. Eventually, he stepped back and appraised her with smiling eyes.

"It's great to see you. How's New York treating you?"

Brook swallowed. "It's good, Mr. Tyler. Thanks for asking."

He chuckled. "I think we're past the Mr. Tyler stage, don't you? Please, call me Bruce."

Taking a deep breath, she did her best to relax her shoulders. The grass tickled her toes, reminding her she wore nothing more than a t-shirt—sans bra—and a tiny pair of black shorts. Shit. He must think...

"How's Mrs. Tyler?" Manners. She had them. If nothing else, those would get her through this awkward situation. Emmett wasn't helping the situation at all. He slid his hand over her hair and rested it at the small of her back. Support. Comfort. She didn't want it or deserve it. But she didn't move away, either.

"Susie's great. She'll be thrilled to know you're back."

"I'm—"

Bruce barreled on, purposely ignoring her attempt to decline an invitation before it was issued.

"We'll have you over for dinner tomorrow night."

No. That wouldn't work. Natalie. Devon.

"That sounds great, Dad. Ask Mom to make enough for Devon and Natalie, too," Emmett said as if reading her thoughts.

"I'll do that. Natalie will love our new pup. I'll fire up the grill. Bring your guitar, Emmett. You and Brooklyn here can entertain us while the burgers are cooking up. Just like old times."

What? No. "Tomorrow night is a school night. I don't think—"

Bruce waved a hand in the air. "Come at five. That'll give us plenty of time to catch up."

At a loss, Brooklyn nodded, already trying to come up with another excuse. "Okay." When the Tyler family set their minds to it, mountains moved.

"Great. It's settled then. I'll be in the truck, Emmett. See you tomorrow, Brooklyn. And welcome home."

It wasn't. She wasn't.

"Just gotta grab my boots."

Rooted in place, Brooklyn watched the man who'd wanted to be more of a father to her than any of the men walking through Sarah's revolving door. What was wrong with her that she could never accept what he offered? What Emmett offered?

Emmett tugged on her fingers, and she followed him up the steps and into the house.

"It's not much," he said by way of apology. "But it will be eventually."

Brooklyn studied the interior. The floral wallpaper in the foyer was peeling in the corners. Dark paneling covered the bare walls of the living room. Maybe it was outdated, but it was clean. Uncluttered. Uncomplicated.

Unlike her life.

She turned around and hugged Emmett. He didn't hesitate before returning her embrace, tangling his fingers in her hair. Yeah, her life was screwed up. Completely. But that didn't mean she had to let it stay that way.

She'd come here to help her brother and sister. Maybe, just maybe, she could finally swallow her pride and let someone help her, too.

She looked up and met dark, nearly black eyes. Could it be Emmett? She realized how very much she wanted it to be, had always wanted it to be. Wanted him.

He lifted a brow, a slow smile tugging the corners of his lips.

Yeah. Apparently the ball was in her court.

Seven

Brooklyn indulged in a steamy shower, feeling only slightly guilty that she'd slathered every inch of her skin with Emmett's body wash. Sleeping in the barn had left her with stiff muscles, but the hot water eased some of the tension away.

Hot water and thoughts of Emmett.

Then.

Now.

Rummaging through her messy suitcase, she grabbed a pair of jeans and another t-shirt. After she finished with her hair and make-up, she dragged her suitcase back to the front room and pushed it up against the wall. Emmett had told her to make herself at home. She couldn't do that.

She'd just have to beg Sarah to let her stay at home for a couple of weeks. Once she started singing at Starstruck, she'd find a cheap apartment.

She unplugged her phone and stuck the charger in her purse. Keys in hand, she locked the front door and stepped onto the porch. This house had been abandoned for probably fifteen years or more. She and Emmett had snuck in a hundred times over the years until this had become their one and only go-to spot. How funny that she stood here now.

Breathing.

Hoping.

It only took a couple of tries before the truck turned over. She pulled out and turned right. If luck were on her side, Devon and Nat would still be at their grandmother's house. God, she'd do anything to avoid Sarah for as long as possible.

Ten minutes and three country roads later, she cut the engine, gathered her nerve and knocked on the door.

A boy—scratch that—a teenager she hardly recognized answered the door. He cracked a smile and there was no denying this was her baby brother, already taller than her. When did that happen? A thick lock of jet-black hair covered one of his striking blue eyes. He shook his head but the hair fell right back into the same place.

"You came," he said, his whispered voice cracking on the last word.

Brooklyn swallowed and returned his infectious smile. "Of course I did," she answered through the screen door.

"Who is it, Devon?"

"It's Brooklyn, Grandma."

Technically Grandma was only Devon's biological grandmother on his father's side. His dad had been in the picture until about the time Devon had turned two, then he'd hit the road and no one had seen him since. Brooklyn thanked God everyday that this woman had been kind enough to treat Natalie, who was six years younger than Devon, as her own.

Devon shoved the door open and she stepped inside, her short heels clacking on the tile. Ellen Steven's décor was about one white wall away from being considered cold, but somehow the older woman managed to pull off the stark, contemporary look.

Natalie shot through the living room and straight into Brooklyn's arms, all hair and skinny limbs. Too skinny.

"Hey, Nat," Brooklyn said, spinning her sister around. At nine years old, she should have been taller, heavier. "I missed you." She pulled Devon close and hugged him hard, knowing neither one of them had been hugged enough. She might not be comfortable with affection, but she'd be damned if she couldn't get past herself to give some to her siblings.

Ellen approached, wiping her hands on a dishtowel before setting it down on the console. She'd always welcomed Brooklyn into her home. Brooklyn was the one who'd kept the distance. Same game. Different face. When she really thought about it, she'd kept a lot of good people at arm's lengths over the years.

"Hey there. Happy to see you back. You staying long?"

Wasn't that the question of the hour? Brooklyn tried not to let it bristle her. "For the foreseeable future."

"That's good. That's real good." Ellen glanced at her watch, brow creased. "I tried calling Sarah this morning, but she didn't answer. I don't mean to be rude, but I have an appointment in Chicago today. Otherwise, these gems," she gestured to Nat and Devon, "could hang out with me all day."

Of course Sarah hadn't answered. "That actually works out perfectly. I was going to ask you if it was okay if I stole these rats for the day."

"I'm not a rat," Natalie whined.

"Nah," Devon said. "You're worse than a rat. You're a brat."

Natalie socked him in the gut. Devon laughed.

"Oh, yeah," Ellen said, "they're all yours. They've been at it all night."

"Lucky me," Brooklyn said, meaning it. "You two go get dressed. Hurry up. We have a lot to do today."

No need to ask them twice. Both let out a whoop and disappeared.

Ellen cocked her head and Brooklyn noticed for the first time how kind her eyes were. Striking blue. Just like Devon's.

"So, what do you have planned?"

"Groceries to start." Brooklyn laughed, trying to soften the bitterness of the words.

Ellen nodded, stepped a bit closer. In a hushed voice, she said, "I made sure they had a good meal last night and again this morning. Still, it's not enough. I'll tell you, I've been trying to get Sarah to let me have them more, but that woman has her heels dug in and she's not budging."

"I appreciate that—everything you've done. I've got other plans, too," she said, having no idea why she was divulging this. "It'll take me a bit of time to set things up." She stopped when Natalie stepped into the room in a pair of jeans three inches too short and flip-flops so small her heel hit the floor. Her gut clenched.

"Let me know what I can do to help," Ellen said, gently touching Brooklyn's arm. "I mean that."

Gotta keep swallowing that pride, Brook. "Thank you. I will."

Devon joined them and Brooklyn was thrilled to see his clothes actually fit. Why was that? She'd have to ask him about it later.

She held the door open, and held back tears when Devon leaned in and whispered, "Thank you for coming, sis."

They hit the grocery store first, stocking up on a good mix of healthy and junk. A lump the size of a golf ball lodged in her throat every time one of her siblings asked if they could get this or that. The look in their eyes would have been enough to twist anyone's heart.

Brooklyn had always known Sarah was a screw up, but this blew her mind. Her own childhood had been bad, but somehow there'd always been food on the table. Sarah simply no longer cared about anyone but herself.

She still wasn't answering the phone, and while Brooklyn shouldn't worry, she did.

"Stay here for a sec, okay, guys?"

Natalie was too busy digging in to a bag of grapes to respond. Devon gave her a wary stare. He knew what she was doing. He glanced at Natalie, and then lips tight, nodded at Brooklyn.

Yeah. One look at Devon and she knew he had already seen too much.

At the door she paused, vivid scenarios playing through her mind. Chances are Sarah was just passed out. But what if she wasn't? Brooklyn's breath kept catching in her throat until she could do nothing more but take fast, shallow breaths.

She opened the door and waited until her eyes adjusted. Every curtain was closed, leaving the place shrouded in gloom.

She heard giggling coming from her mother's bedroom. A mix of relief and anger washed over her.

She should knock first.

No.

Sarah didn't deserve the courtesy.

Brooklyn shoved the door open and nearly choked on her tonugue. Well, this was one moment she could never unsee. Sarah in bed with two men. Doing things that would eventually require bleach to clean up.

The relief and anger she'd felt vanished. Shame. Embarrassment. Nothing more.

"Hey, Sarah," one of the men said. "You invite someone else to the party?"

Sarah looked over her shoulder. Sparkling eyes instantly lost their glimmer.

"Devon and Natalie are outside."

The men continued touching her mother, presumably high or drunk or both. Brooklyn didn't watch. Her gaze didn't waver one millimeter from Sarah's. Surely, the woman would stop her sexual antics and send these men away so she could see to her children.

"You think I care?"

Guess not. "No. You've never cared."

Sarah cackled. "Just send them to their rooms and get the fuck out of my house."

Brooklyn stood her ground. "No."

"I can call the cops, you know? You're not staying in my house."

"Do yourself a favor, Mom. Don't forget that I can call the cops, too. Someone should have done it a long time ago. I can't believe you. You're a real piece of work, you know."

One of them men barked out a laugh. "I'll take another piece."

Brooklyn squeezed her hands into fists. "I'm not staying here and neither are they."

Sarah shoved the men aside, stood naked in the center of the bed. As if the height advantage would give her the upper hand. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Little Miss Uppity New York swooping in to save the day." Sarah clapped her hands. "Go ahead then. Take them. Just remember that once you decide to leave again, they won't be welcome back."

Brooklyn marveled at how easily Sarah had relinquished her children. Actually, she should have done it the day they'd been born. Maybe then they all would have had a better life.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not leaving." The truth of those words struck Brooklyn hard.

Sarah laughed coldly. "Yeah, we'll see about that." She waved a dismissive hand. "Get yourself gone. I'm busy." She flopped back on the bed and resumed her orgy.

Brooklyn could have puked. She didn't. Instead she shut the door, grabbed a couple of garbage bags from the kitchen and packed anything she thought Devon and Natalie might want.

This time when she shut the front door behind her, she knew it would be the last time she ever stepped foot in the house.

She tossed the bags in the back of the truck and slid behind the wheel.

"Is Sarah okay?" Natalie asked, eyes cast down.

Sarah. Not Mom. Brooklyn slid her hand over her sister's light hair. "She's as fine as she always is."

"Should we go in now?" Devon asked.

Brooklyn shook her head. "No. If it's okay with you guys, I thought you could stay with me from now on."

Natalie's head popped up. "We're going to New York?"

Brooklyn laughed softly. "No, Nat. We're staying in Kramer."

"Where?" Devon cracked his knuckles, shooting dark looks back to the house.

"Well, I'm not sure yet," she answered honestly. "This is a bit of an adventure for all of us. But for today, how about we head over to Emmett's. He and I are going to work on some things this afternoon and you can hang with us. After that, we'll just have to figure it out."

Devon's small smile gave her even more courage to slam the gas pedal and speed away from the house.
Eight

"Hey, bud. How come your clothes fit okay? You've probably grown at least a foot just this year." Brooklyn said, tugging on Devon's dark hair as they finished putting the groceries away. Though she had no clue where to go tonight, she'd reminded him and Natalie twice that they weren't staying at Emmett's. Then why did stocking his kitchen seem so natural? Not natural, she told herself. Practical. If she left the food in the truck it would go bad.

Shrugging, Devon gave her a shy smile. "Emmett gave me some stuff. He said he'd bring some clothes for Natalie later this week."

Brooklyn didn't know what she'd expected him to say, but it sure wasn't that. "When?"

He slid her a look, brows creased in confusion. "When did he give them to me?"

"Yeah." She opened drawers until she found a knife to cut up vegetables for a salad. As if it was no big deal that Emmett had helped Devon. As if Emmett didn't continue to amaze her.

"Thursday, I think. Sarah wasn't home after school and the door was locked. Emmett drove by and saw us outside. He took us to his house for a while. I mowed the lawn with him while Nat did her homework on the front porch. He ordered pizza for dinner. He said it was no big deal. Are you mad?"

Thursday. Before anyone had known she was headed back to town.

She blinked. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be?" Emmett had taken care of Devon and Natalie. Sarah hadn't. No, she wasn't mad. She was furious. And grateful.

"I don't know. You have this look on your face. I thought maybe we'd done something wrong."

"Sarah gets mad a lot," Natalie said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Hey, you two. I'm not Sarah," she said, turning to face them. Nothing like her. "If I ever get mad, it'll be for a really good reason, and then we'll talk about it. Sound okay?"

She could almost feel the thick tension leave the air as Devon and Natalie exchanged a secret look before nodding simultaneously. If nothing else, Brooklyn was glad the two of them had always had each other. And apparently, they'd had Emmett, too.

The front door creaked. "Hey. Smells good in here. Who's cooking?"

Speak of the devil. Or should she say angel? Actually, Emmett had always been an equal mixture of both. That's what had attracted her to him in the first place. Just hearing his voice now heated her blood. She reached for her ice water and took a big gulp.

Natalie hopped off the chair and ran to the front of the house. "Hi, Emmett. Brooklyn and I are making a salad. Devon's supposed to be making the spaghetti, but I think he burned the water."

"Shut up," Devon called after her. "You can't burn water."

Emmett walked into the kitchen laughing, Natalie one step ahead of him. "Trust me, dude. You can. I did this morning."

Brooklyn put the knife down and leaned against the counter. Watching. Learning. Emmett seemed more comfortable around her siblings than she did. She had a feeling Thursday hadn't been the first time he'd come to their rescue. She'd tried her best to get to know them better throughout the day. It wasn't enough, though. She wished she were a sponge that could absorb four years in one afternoon.

"Truck work out okay?" Emmett crossed to the sink and washed his hands.

Strong hands. Hands that built houses, and played guitar, and helped kids who had messed up mothers. Hands that used to touch her in ways no other ever could. His clothes were covered with flecks of sawdust and he smelled of the outdoors and sweat. Still, she wanted to wrap her body around him and get all up close and personal. Damn, he wore the construction look well.

Conflicting emotions twisted Brooklyn's stomach into knots. She forced herself to smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

Emmett moved closer. She sucked in a breath, forced her eyes to stay open when they wanted to flutter closed in anticipation. He gave her a half smile and snagged a carrot from the counter. "You don't have to do that, you know?"

"Do what?"

"Smile."

"I don't have to smile?"

He bit into the carrot with an audible crunch. "Nope," he answered around bites. "Not unless you can't help herself. Those smiles are accepted and appreciated."

"Like this one, Emmett?"

Brooklyn stood on her tiptoe and peeked over Emmett's shoulder. Natalie had a goofy grin plastered on her face. This time Brooklyn's smile came easily.

"Yep." Emmett said. "Just like that." He turned to Brooklyn, touched her cheek with his knuckle. "And this one."

She shivered at his touch.

"You are such a nerd," Devon said, razzing Natalie.

But Brooklyn noticed Devon was smiling too. The only person not grinning was Emmett, who'd moved in so close she doubted you could slide a piece of paper between them.

"Eww," Natalie whined. "They're going to kiss."

Emmett laughed. "No we're not. I'm just trying to smell her better. I think Brooklyn here uses the same soap I do, guys."

Her face heated, remembering how she'd purposely used his body wash because she'd wanted to surround herself with his scent. Absolutely nothing, though, could compare to the real thing. Her mind told her to keep her distance. Her body, on the other hand, had completely different ideas. Before she could stop herself, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to his neck.

His quiet, ragged moan was for her ears only.

"You use man soap, Brooklyn? Why? Don't you want to smell like flowers or something?" Natalie tapped a finger against her chin.

Brooklyn maneuvered herself away from Emmett. "Well, I must have run out of the girlie stuff. Maybe you and I can get some more soon. Then we can both smell like roses."

Devon mock-gagged. "I'm gonna puke."

"For the record, Miss Natalie, I like how your sister smells."

If she thought her cheeks were red before, it had nothing on the tomato face she surely sported now. But she couldn't contribute the blush solely to embarrassment. Emmett's words might have turned her on. Just a little bit.

She had to get control of the situation back. She cleared her throat, refusing to look in Emmett's eyes, knowing she'd see an equal amount of heat there. "I know it's early for dinner, but we're hungry, plus we wanted to pay you back for letting us hang out here today. After you and I rehearse, we'll get out of your hair."

"Two things," Emmett said, a bit of ice in his voice. "I'll take the dinner because I'm starving, but none of you ever have to pay me back for hanging out here. I live alone on a ten-acre farm. It's kind of nice having people around." Emmett made sure to hold the gaze of every person in the room.

Brooklyn didn't miss how he'd held hers the longest. She'd offended him. Again. Maybe someday she'd figure out how to stop doing that.

"You said two things," Natalie reminded him.

Emmett leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. "Right. Number two. Where are you guys staying tonight?"

Most would assume Natalie and Devon would go home. How did he know they weren't staying at Sarah's? Oh my God. Word had already gotten out that Sarah didn't want Natalie and Devon. They'd be the talk of the town. Again. What would this do to them? This is exactly why she hated small towns.

"Hey, Dev?" Emmett said. "I've got some video games in the living room. Why don't you and Natalie play for a bit? Brook and I will finish up dinner."

Brooklyn remained silent, let Emmett handle the situation. Had she messed up by taking them from Sarah? No. She couldn't think like that.

"Come on, Nat. Let's go."

She heard the hesitation in Devon's voice. Felt him staring at her. She swallowed hard. "Go. Have some fun. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes."

Devon released a slow breath and left with Natalie.

Brooklyn dropped into a kitchen chair, laid her head on the table. "Who told you?"

Chair legs scraped across the wood floor. "It doesn't matter."

She looked up. "It does. You know how people are. I'm sure they have a hard enough time at school already. This will make it worse. God, Emmett. How could a mother not want her children?"

Emmett squeezed her fist. Not even thinking, she flipped her hand over and laced her fingers through his.

Emmett stared at their joined hands. "Just because Sarah gave birth to you three doesn't make her a mother. People will talk. They already are."

She slowly pulled her hand away.

"This is Kramer, Brooklyn," he said, eyes now locked on hers. "There's no stopping the grapevine from growing."

"I know," she croaked out.

"But give Devon and Natalie some credit, okay? They've dealt with a lot of bad shit. They'll deal with this and come out the other side stronger. Just like you did."

Brooklyn stared at him, blinking. "Strong?"

"Yes. You're one of the strongest people I know."

She shook her head. "Hardly. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"But you're figuring it out, right? Plan A didn't work. Now you're trying Plan B. There's twenty-four more letters after that. Just keep trying. That's all any of us can do."

"When did you get to be so smart?"

He leaned back in the chair. "Ouch, woman. I've always been smart. You're just getting around to noticing."

She bit her lower lip and fought the urge to crawl into his lap like she used to. "I noticed then, too, Emmett." She felt she owed him an explanation, but the words got clogged in her throat.

He stood and held out a hand. "Look, I've had a lot of time to think. We'll either get there or we won't. I'm not about planning out the future anymore."

She slid her hand into his again and let him pull her to her feet. Could it be as easy as that? Take what comes and deal with it? Throwing caution to the wind, she leaned in and kissed him softly on the lips. He didn't take it any further, and right now, she appreciated him for that. "That's good, because I don't know what's going to happen. All I know is that I didn't find what I expected when I left."

"I'm here when you're ready to talk about New York," he said, and then smiled when he heard laughter coming from the other room. "Hey, you guys wanna stay here tonight?"

A resounding yes sounded.

"That's okay. I was going to call Ellen. She said she'd help."

"And she will. But it's Saturday night and Devon told me Ellen doesn't have video games at her house. Stay here. They'll have fun."  
She narrowed her eyes. "When did Devon tell you that?"

"The other day. He helped me out around here for a couple of hours. Why?"

Just the segue she needed. "Yeah, about that..."

Nine

Sleeping under the same roof as Emmett was wreaking havoc on Brooklyn's hormones. Yet, here she was in the guest bedroom four nights longer than she'd agreed to stay. Emmett had been a perfect gentleman and Heaven help her, she didn't know if she loved him or hated him for it. Each night she dreamed of his hands on her, their bodies connected flesh to flesh. She'd dreamed of him while living in New York too, but having him this close brought a new dimension to her fantasies.

They'd rehearsed until her throat was raw, reminding her that she really needed to get her chops back. She'd forgotten how much she liked singing. With Emmett. It had just been the two of them so far. She knew she needed to get back to Starstruck to hear Bathwater Funk, but so far she hadn't figured out what to do about Devon and Natalie, and she couldn't bring herself to leave them alone. Next week, she'd figure it out and start rehearsals with the full band. She looked forward to it, but she could admit to herself that she was really enjoying going through the songs as a duet. Just like before. Before she'd run.

It was getting harder and harder to keep her hands off of him, and for the life of her, she didn't know how much longer she could control herself. The tension between the two of them was so thick, she was surprised they hadn't burned the place down.

Nat and Devon had sat in on a couple of the rehearsals, which had definitely helped cut some of the tension. They'd all laughed at Nat giving them what she deemed professional critiques. When Devon had shown an interest in learning guitar, Emmett had supplied him with beginner books and one of his older guitars and told him they'd work on it together.

Damn if her heart didn't sigh a little at that.

The four of them seemed to have settled into a semblance of a routine and a smooth one at that. She honestly didn't know how she felt about all of it. It shouldn't have been easy to be here. But it was and she couldn't help but worry and wonder when it would all blow up in her face.

Jenna had texted her several times, wanting to know if Brooklyn and Emmett were Brooklyn and Emmett again. Didn't matter that she'd told Jenna she wasn't looking to pick up where they left off, which technically was not exactly a lie. It didn't matter because Jenna believed it would eventually happen anyway. She'd labeled it Fate and called it a done deal.

Brooklyn turned her head and stared at the clock, already knowing which numbers she'd see. Two in the morning. Like clockwork, her body woke up around this time every morning. Anticipation zipped across her nerves. He'd be home soon.

Home?

Not hers. His.

Still, she was here. For now.

Just temporary, she reminded herself.

She slid out of bed and pulled on a pair of thick socks to ward off the chill from the air conditioner, then tiptoed across the creaking floors to check on Devon and Natalie before she remembered they weren't here. She'd taken Ellen up on her offer to help. They seemed truly happy and she was glad for it, but guilt gnawed at her gut, and in turn she gnawed off her fingernails. They couldn't stay here forever no matter how much they liked the farm. What would another move do to them?

She chose then and there to adopt Emmett's mentality. Don't assume the worst. Wherever she, Dev, and Nat ended up would be a hell of a lot better than where they'd been. She'd make certain of that.

Downstairs, as she made her way through the living room and into the kitchen, more thoughts of Sarah whirled through her mind. Brooklyn's nerves crawled, anticipating the fight that would inevitably come when Sarah decided she wanted her children back for some reason or another.

Then she thought of Emmett's mother and the difference between the two. Dinner at the Tyler house hadn't been as bad as she'd expected it to be. She'd actually had fun and let her guard down for once, going so far as to confide a little in Mrs. Tyler about how she'd sold her sewing machine before leaving New York. Sue, she corrected herself. Emmett's parents insisted on being called by their first names. Somehow that seemed to help make her more comfortable around them. Seeing Sue fuss over Nat's hair and hearing Bruce talk sports with Devon showed Brooklyn what their lives could have been like if they'd grown up around loving parents.

Just thinking of the burgers Bruce had whipped up on the grill reminded Brooklyn how hungry she was. She'd skipped dinner to rehearse with Emmett before he'd left for Starstruck. Snagging a bag of chips from the cabinet, she hopped up on the counter and dug in.

Which is exactly where she was when she heard Emmett's key in the front door. She had two choices: She could make a run for it and get upstairs and in bed before he saw her. Or she could don a pair of big girl panties, sit here and enjoy her chips, and see if maybe she could convince one very sexy guitar player to kiss her again. She'd probably regret it, but option two held more appeal.

Emmett came to a dead stop at the kitchen doorway. She felt the heat of his gaze as it skimmed over her body, from the tips of her sock-clad feet to the top of her head. Maybe her shirt was a little snug, her shorts a little tight. That didn't mean she'd dressed this way with Emmett in mind. Except she had.

His smile came slow and screamed sexy as hell. She tried to contain her shiver and failed.

"Cold?"

She shook her head, popped another chip in her mouth.

"Wanna share?"

"Nope."

He leaned against the doorframe. "Let me get this straight. You're in my kitchen, sitting on my counter, devouring my chips, and you're not gonna share with me."

"Three out of four. Not bad, Tyler." Licking the salt from her lips, she stuck her hand in the bag and grabbed as many chips as she could hold.

"You sure about that? Only three? Which one did I get wrong?"

"Number three. I wasn't devouring. I was savoring." She crammed a handful of chips in her mouth. "Now I'm devouring." She could hardly get the words out around the mouthful of chips.

Emmett shoved off the wall and moved toward her, his movements precise and deliberate.

She tried to scoot away, but had nowhere to go. He placed his palms on either side of her bare thighs, caging her in. Her fault. Totally. She'd bated him.

A slow grin. "You're positive you don't want to share?"

His voice did things to her body that should be illegal. Shaking her head, she swallowed hard. For the life of her she couldn't remember why she'd left him, why she'd turned down his proposal.

"Maybe I can find a way to convince you."

"I doubt it. I love these chips."

He reached for the bag and Brooklyn jerked it over his head.

Emmett laughed. "I could reach that if I wanted to."

"You don't want any chips?" she asked, gaze focused on his lips.

"Not when I can have this instead."

The moment his mouth claimed hers, she dropped the bag of chips and threaded her fingers through his hair. Her body exploded with need. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she pulled him as close as she could. His palms kneaded her thighs, inch by agonizing inch, moving closer to the spot she desperately wanted him to touch. She moaned into his hot mouth, her tongue sliding across his, angling for more. More of him. How had she ever pushed him away?

"Shut up."

Emmett leaned back, and she groaned in protest.

"Who are you talking to?" He slid his thumb across her lower lip.

She trembled at the touch. "What? I'm not talking." She tilted her head.

"You said shut up."

Brooklyn laughed, tugged on his hair. "Oh, just ignore that. I was telling my mind to shut up. I didn't realize I'd said it out loud."

Emmett smiled. "Do you need to say anything else to your mind?"

She crossed her ankles and squeezed tight. From this angle, she couldn't seem to get close enough. "Not right now. Nope. Nothing to say."

"Good."

Then it was all teasing tongues and soft moans. Desire licked a fierce trail of fire from her mouth to her core. She wanted to touch more of him, to feel his skin against hers.

A gasp.

Fevered hands touching.

"Emmett, please."

She didn't have to explain what she was asking. Emmett slid his hands under her ass, and without breaking the kiss, lifted her off the counter. Bodies flush, she unlocked her ankles and slowly slid against him until her feet touched the floor.

Brooklyn bit down on his lip and whispered, "Race you." Then she took off, a chuckling Emmett hot on her heels. She didn't think—much—before choosing his room over the one she'd been sleeping in. She'd been in every room in the house except this one.

Before she could look around, Emmett tackled her, sending them both flying to the bed. She squealed.

"Shhh, baby," he said, brushing her hair away from her face. "Don't want to wake anyone."

Brooklyn chewed on her lower lip, containing the moan that nearly escaped when she felt his erection against her core. Her body arched off the bed to meet his. "They're not here."

"Where are they?" he asked, brows drawn in concern.

She smoothed a finger across his forehead, erasing the tension. "Ellen's. She wanted to help out."

"We're alone?"

"Completely."

Emmett held still, his eyes focused on hers. The depth of emotion she saw there was overwhelming. She nearly turned away, but she couldn't. "I'm sorry." And she truly was. If she could do it all again, she'd do everything differently.

The corner of his mouth turned up. "Don't be. You weren't ready then."

"And you think I am now?"

"No, I don't."

She could always count on Emmett to be honest with her, no matter how much the words hurt. "Then why—"

He cut her off with a finger to her lips. "Stop thinking. Shut it off for just a little while. This isn't about the future. This is about what we want right now."

Nodding, she licked the tip of his finger, sucked it into her mouth and felt him grow even harder.

"What do you want, Brooklyn?"

He'd been honest with her. She could at least, for once, return the favor. "I want three things."

He lifted a brow and she could tell all kinds of wicked thoughts were whipping through his gorgeous head.

She laughed and with his face cradled in her hands, pulled him close. "I want you." She kissed him slowly, nipping, teasing him with her tongue. "This." She kissed him again, this time adding a little more fire. "Us."

With a ragged groan, Emmett took control of the kiss and Brooklyn nearly shattered when his fingers slid beneath her shirt and palmed her breast. Their hips rotated at the same time, sending sparks of feverish electricity along her skin. She grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head. He nuzzled her neck, nipping at her ear. Running her fingers up and down his back, she smiled when his muscles bunched beneath her touch.

Emmett slid down her body, his mouth hot on her stomach, her thighs, her calves. Tucking his fingers in the waistband of her shorts, he pulled them off. "You're fucking beautiful."

His hot gaze traveled up her body and slammed into hers. She was sweating, her body practically humming with need. "Pants off. Now."

Emmett smiled, a flash of perfect white teeth she wished he'd use on her. "I like when you're bossy." He pulled off his jeans, reached past her head and opened the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a condom.

Irrational jealousy perched dead center in the middle of her chest. She tried to shake it off, but she couldn't. Of course he'd been with others after she'd left. So had she for that matter. But none had even come close to making her feel like Emmett did. None of them had made her feel at all. She didn't even know if... Oh my God. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

He stilled, eyes turning darker than she'd ever seen them. "I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask that."

She swore she was a hamster on a wheel. No matter what she did, she always seemed to be offending him. "I'm sorry. It's just..." Sarah was a home wrecker and Brooklyn had vowed to never be anything like her.

She turned her head and stared out into the night. The crescent moon sat nestled between what had to be a million stars. So many stars. If she reached out she could almost touch them.

Emmett leaned close, turning her face to his. "I haven't been in a relationship that mattered since you left."

"I—"

"Let me finish. I've been with other women, but never for more than one, maybe two nights."

Brooklyn closed her eyes, unwilling to let him see how his words affected her. That's not what she'd wished for him, but she couldn't deny how imagining him with someone else tore her up inside.

"Yeah, it sounds bad, I know. But I've never brought anyone into my house. Not until you."

She opened her eyes then, watched, listened, heard. He didn't have to explain any of this to her. She'd rejected him.

"I wasn't a saint, Brooklyn. Far from it. But my heart belonged to you. It always has."

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, choosing instead to show him what his words meant. She held his gaze as she ripped the condom packet open and rolled it down his length. His erection pulsed under her fingers. She licked her lips and guided him to her. Her head fell back on a sigh, when he slid into her, slow, hard, hot.

So hot.

He held her there for a long time, pulsing, torturing. Tears scorched her eyes. She'd missed him so much. Then he moved and she was lost in memories. Old and new.

Emmett slid a hand to the nape of her neck and kissed her deeply, his tongue sliding rhythmically against hers. Her hips rose to meet his. Over and over again. Skin against skin. Never breaking rhythm. Never skipping to the next song. They had to finish this one, but God help her, she wished this song would never end.

Not tonight.

Tonight belonged to them.

Not the past.

Not the future.

Just now.

Emmett's fingers skimmed along her body, seeking, searching. He found the spot that throbbed and stroked her with his thumb. She wanted him to speed up. She wanted him to slow down. Breathless, she tore her mouth from his and gasped his name. "Emmett."

"Right here, baby. Not going anywhere."

She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him down for another kiss. She pulled her legs back, allowing him to go deeper. And that was their undoing. His body tensed, every muscle going rock hard as she cried out, shuddering beneath him.

Seconds, maybe minutes later, her body went as limp as a rag doll. Emmett disappeared to the bathroom. He came right back to the bed and kissed her thoroughly, then rolled to his side, taking her with him.

She focused on the wings of his tattoo, tracing the feathers with one finger. For a while, Emmett had chased the darkness away, breathed life into her world. Earlier, she'd wondered why she'd left him. Now those reasons came racing back, slamming into her full force. It had never been about not wanting Emmett. She'd left this town and all the baggage and embarrassment that came with it. She'd wanted him to go with her, but she'd never told him. His life here was good. Always had been. How could she have asked him to leave his family behind? But she didn't want him to be her savior. She wanted to be that for herself. She still hadn't figured out how to do that and that was an obstacle she doubted they could get past.

"You're thinking again."

His rough voice caressed her skin and she shivered. He pulled her closer, tucking her body flush to him.

"I am. I can't seem to shut it off." God, how she wanted to shut it down. Get past her past and decide where to go with her future.

He stroked a hand over her hair. "Plan A, we talk about it. Plan B, I distract you."

Brooklyn smiled against his chest. Yeah, she wanted—needed—the escape. Plus she was simply too chicken to have a real conversation with him. She rolled until she straddled his body. "I vote for Plan B."

Emmett chuckled. "Somehow I knew you would."

"Think you know me pretty well, huh, bud?"

He reversed their positions, laced his fingers through hers and locked her arms in place above her head. "Better than you know yourself, Mathews."

"In that case, I changed my mind. I vote for Plan C."

He dipped in for a quick kiss. "Which is?"

She moaned against his mouth. "Chips and chocolate."

"Later, babe. Much later."

Ten

Emmett wasn't the least bit surprised to wake up in his bed alone. Last night had been a big step for the two of them, but it hadn't, by any means, been a game changer. No, that would be when Brooklyn decided to open up and actually talk to him.

He showered, dressed, then stared at the rumpled sheets, trying to come up with a way to convince her to join him in his bed again before he left for work.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while frantically writing in a notebook. All thoughts of sex left the building. Her body language told him the Brooklyn who'd shared her body and heart with him last night wasn't with him this morning. Patience, he reminded himself.

"Morning." He leaned down to kiss her cheek and noticed she had her bank account pulled up on her phone.

She quickly turned the screen off and flipped the notebook over. But he'd already seen it. He knew she needed a job, but he hadn't realized she needed one this bad. If the numbers were correct, she was a breath away from the negative zone.

Damn.

He could help her. Help all of them. If she'd let him.

She turned wary eyes to him. "Do you mind if Jenna comes over today?"

"Of course not. You don't have to ask, you know."

She fixed her gaze somewhere over his shoulder. "Yes, I do. This is your place."

So they were back to that again. He could have predicted it, but it still chafed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. He knew she expected him to say something, but he held silent. He poured himself coffee and stared out the kitchen window, refusing to acknowledge that her coffee was a hell of a lot better than the sludge he brewed.

He'd lied to himself. In his mind, last night had been a game changer. A long overdue one. That it wasn't had him feeling like he was being sucked back in time. To the moment she'd said no and then ran.

"She's bringing her laptop over to help me set up some accounts. We're going to try to sell some of my designs from school online. It's Jenna's idea," she said, laughing nervously, "and I'm just desperate enough to try anything."

He shouldn't compare himself to Brooklyn's financial status, but fuck, he wanted her to be desperate for him. He'd told himself to be patient. To slow the hell down. He obviously wasn't smart enough to listen to his own advice.

"If you need a loan or something—"

"What? No. You've done so much already. Between this and the money I'll make at Starstruck..."

"You'll be able to rent an apartment?" he asked, eyes locked on the barn.

"Yes. And other things."

He turned then, and though his anger wasn't really warranted, it was there front and center. Maybe it was because instead of feeling closer to her like he had last night, he felt like he was standing on the other side of a canyon that stretched wider every time he took a step forward. She'd distanced herself again and he didn't know what to do to bring her back. "Like what?"

She rubbed her thighs, then tucked her hands beneath them. Shrugging, she said, "Like clothes for Natalie to start."

Now didn't seem like the right time to tell her he was already working on that. "Why don't you make her some?"

"What's with the twenty questions, Emmett?" she asked. Gone was the nervous tone. Her voice held bits of shrapnel.

His mother had told him she'd sold her sewing machine. What he wanted to know was why? For money? Or was there another reason? As long as he'd known Brooklyn, she'd had her sights set on the fashion world, never without the latest fashion magazine nearby. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard her mention one designer name since she'd been back. "Why is that question so hard to answer? What happened in New York? Why are you really back?"

She stood, fists clenched at her sides. "I came back for my brother and sister."

"That the only reason?"

She shoved her hair away from her face. "What's wrong with you? Do you want me to say I came back for you?"

Her face was flushed, but he didn't know if it was anger, or if he was finally getting some truth out of her. He lifted a brow and waited her out. In his mind, she didn't need to come back for him because she had never really left. Physically, she hadn't been in Kramer, but over the past four years, he'd seen her over and over again. Everywhere he went reminded him of her and what they'd shared. Damn, he couldn't drive down any road out here without remembering her sitting beside him in his truck, pulling over when they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

"Look," she said, sighing. "We both know that whatever this is, it's only..."

"Temporary? That the word you're going for?" He slammed his mug down, not caring that the action chipped more of the Formica countertop and sent shards of ceramic flying across the kitchen. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around Brooklyn's wrist and tugged her forward.

"What are you—" She lost her balance and fell against him.

Good.

He was glad she was off balance. She'd knocked him off kilter the day she'd walked into his life and he hadn't been the same since.

He braced his hand on the nape of her neck and kissed her hard. She stiffened briefly before giving every bit as much as he took. Tongues tangling, they fought for the upper hand, neither breaking the other down. In this at least, they were evenly matched. When they broke apart, they were both breathless.

"There's nothing temporary about us, Brooklyn. Never has been."

"I just—"

"Don't," he whispered. "I don't want to hear it. It's time to stop running. Aren't you tired of being alone? Keep distancing yourself, and you'll be standing in a crowd and still feel lonely. Haven't you had enough of that?"

Brooklyn jumped at the sound of a horn blowing twice outside. His dad was here to pick him up. "The keys to the truck are in the drawer."

"I don't need them."

"Just use the damn truck. And be ready at six tonight."

"Ready? For what?"

"Todd's wife had the baby early this morning. Ready or not, you're singing at Starstruck tonight. I'd offer to have my mom come over and sit with Devon and Nat, but I'm sure you'd prefer to figure all that out by yourself."

He left her standing slack-jawed. He'd wanted to kiss her again, to pull her close and make her understand what they could have if she would just relent. What good would that do him? Then he'd always wonder if she was really with him because, like him, she couldn't bear to be apart any longer, or because he'd convinced her this was the best thing for all of them.

It took every ounce of willpower he could muster not to slam the door. He stepped off the porch and gave a nod to his father. Without a backward glance to the house, even though he felt her eyes on him, he hopped into the truck.

Bruce turned down the radio. "Everything okay, son?"

He thought about lying, but his dad would see right through him. "I don't know if I can do this again."

"I was afraid of this," he said, reaching over and patting Emmett's hand. "She's different this time though."

Emmett turned, facing the man he'd looked up to for as long as he could remember. He wanted what his mother and father had. A life full of love, laughter, and fire. "Is she?"

"She is," he answered, shifting into reverse. "Your mom and I both noticed it the other night. Let's go get a cup of coffee before we hit the site."

Emmett stared straight ahead, nodded.

Bruce headed into town. "Those kids have been through hell. And I'm counting Brooklyn as one of the kids."

"I know that."

"I know you do, but try to put yourself in her shoes. The bad memories of this town overshadow the good ones you two made together. You had three years together. She lived with Sarah in that piece of shit house for eighteen years, watching one man after another walk through the door as if the place was a convenience store rather than a home. And God knows what else she went through. I've known Sarah a long time, son. She's part of a cycle. Her mother and father had an ugly relationship." He pulled into a spot outside Blackbirds Country Café and turned off the engine. "It's gotta be hard to believe in happy when you come from the equivalent of hell."

"I know she's happy when she's with me, Dad. I can see it. Shit, Devon and Natalie are happy, too. They're completely different now that they're away from Sarah."

"I don't doubt that for one second. If I had to guess, I'd suspect Brooklyn's just waiting for the happy moments to come crashing down around her."

Emmett took off his hat and swiped a hand through his hair. "Got any advice for me?"

Bruce smiled. "Well, there's more at stake now than just you and Brooklyn. She's got her brother and sister to take care of."

"For the record, I want them too." He hadn't realized how much until the words were out. The farm seemed like a home with all of them around. Already, he'd been thinking of renovations with them in mind.

"I thought so, just wanted to hear you say it," Bruce said, nodding in approval. "If I were you, and I know this won't be easy, but I'd back off. Let her take care of herself and those kids for a bit."

"What if she needs my help? I can't just sit back and watch them struggle."

"You might have to, Emmett. If she needs your help, let her come to you and ask for it."

"And if she doesn't come around?"

Bruce blew out a long breath. "Then, as much as I hate to say it, maybe it's time to move on."

Emmett knew his dad never spoke lightly. Could he take his advice and back off? Did he really have a choice?

All he knew was that being on stage with her at Starstruck night after night knowing she might never share his bed again could very well kill him.

Eleven

The Thursday night crowd at Starstruck wasn't nearly the size of what she'd seen on Friday, but the number of people who'd come out still surprised Brooklyn. She'd forgotten that Starstruck served dinner, not to mention, the live music pulled in people from outside of Kramer. Chicago was only an hour away and Rusty had told her they brought in busloads from time to time.

Jenna had given her outfit for her first official night with Bathwater Funk the seal of approval. Jeans, boots, a Johnny Cash tee-shirt and a long crocheted sweater vest she'd made herself seemed to fit the bill. At least she was a hell of a lot more comfortable than she'd been in the get up she'd worn for her audition. Maybe her instructors had been right... She shook her head, refusing to go there.

The guys, sans Ray and Emmett, of course, had greeted her enthusiastically. She knew why Emmett was pissed at her, but she'd yet to figure out what she'd done to Ray. Other than the fact that she was a woman, which she could do zero about.

They'd run through as many songs as they could before Rusty had shut their rehearsal down about an hour before show time. She vowed to win Ray over, but she honestly didn't know what to do about Emmett.

"You ready for this?" Q asked her from behind the drums. He tightened the tension rods on his snare.

Butterflies danced in her stomach. "Not really, but I'll figure it out."

"You'll do fine. By the way, let me be the first to officially welcome you to the exciting world of Bathwater Funk."

She laughed. "Yeah. I've been meaning to ask. What's up with the name?"

He looked up over the top of his drums. "Emmett and I were playing at a club once, and some old dude walked up to us and said our funk was so dirty, he felt like he was soaking in day-old bathwater." He laughed. "We're pretty sure it was meant to be a compliment, so we rolled with it, right, Emmett?"

Emmett barely looked up from tuning his guitar to give a nod. He'd been quiet since he'd picked her up at his house. She'd noticed the change in him even before he'd spotted her suitcase. Asking Ellen if they could stay with her hadn't been easy and not a decision she'd come to lightly. Ellen had been so nice about it, Brooklyn had cried for an hour after they'd hung up.

Q lifted a brow at Brooklyn. She shook her head and turned away. Someone had taped a set list to her monitor. She studied it, trying to mentally pull up the lyrics to all ten songs. They'd added several female leads into the mix, but most of them were still what she deemed guy songs.

She turned to ask Emmett about raising the key to one of them and bumped right into him. She swayed.

Falling.

Falling, into the depths of his dark eyes.

He steadied her with a hand on her elbow, a guitar pick pinched between his lips. Electricity zipped through her veins at his touch. He released her and she bit her tongue to keep in the sigh. She'd done this. She'd made a conscious decision to push him away. Maybe she'd made the wrong choice, but she had to know she could succeed on her own.

But right now, as if his earlier words had been precognizant, on a stage with four other people and a crowd just beyond the curtains, Brooklyn felt utterly alone.

"Did you need something?" she finally asked.

He bent down and picked up something from the side of the monitor. "Extra batteries," he said, holding up the package.

His voice held none of the cadence it had all week. His tone was flat and unfeeling. She'd never seen this side of him before. Hurt quickly morphed into pissed. She hadn't made him any promises. Matter of fact, he'd said he didn't want any. So why the ice? "Can you raise the third song a half step?"

"Of course we can."

"Will you?"

He gave a sharp nod and walked away.

So this was how it was going to be? Fine. He'd called her distant. Well, he hadn't seen anything yet.

"Alright, Mathews. Time to roll."

Brooklyn looked over her shoulder and smiled at Q. "I'm ready."

She shook out her hair as he counted off four beats. The curtains opened and bright pink and blue lights blinded her. She'd adjust. Just like with everything else. She needed a little time to settle in. She kept the smile on her face. Emmett's guitar screamed and she couldn't help but wonder if the sound was an echo of his soul.

Connor and Ray joined in on bass and keys and she realized she'd missed her intro. Damn it. She glanced at Emmett, then turned right back around. She could do this on her own. Except she didn't have to. Maybe she was imaging it, but she swore Quinn hit the snare drum a little harder and counted her back in.

Brooklyn nailed it this time and kept going. She lost herself in the music, in the performance. Here, on stage, she could be who she wanted to be. A confident woman. Someone without secrets and baggage. Someone who didn't give up. She shoved away all her financial problems and worries about the future.

Head tossed back, she let the high note roll up from her belly and carry across the room. Exhilarating. Emmett's harmonies twined with her lead and her heart jumped in her chest. His voice, the way it blended with hers, as if the two of them had been created to make music together, got her every single time.

Breathing. Living.

The song ended and morphed right into the next one. Her vision had adjusted to the bright lights. She scanned the dance floor and fed off the energy of the small crowd already up and dancing. A couple of blondes held fruity drinks over their heads while dancing seductively against one another. Both were dressed in jean skirts so short, she was surprised she couldn't see their asses. They had their eyes fixed on Emmett and Q.

Brooklyn swallowed back the jealousy and refused to turn to see if Emmett noticed them. But when the refrain rolled around, she couldn't stop her feet from walking over to his mic and singing right alongside him. Just part of the show, she told herself.

But it wasn't. She had no right to lay claim. No right to pretend he belonged to her. She tried to pull up the anger she'd felt before, but all she could muster was sadness. With each song it became harder and harder to get lost in the music. All she could hope for was that it didn't show. Showing equal amounts of stage love to Connor and Ray had been easy. The right side of the stage oozed tension. The left side seemed a lot more carefree and she'd even managed to get Ray to smile.

By the time the set was over, she was worn out, emotionally and physically. Only three more sets to go. And six more weeks of torture.

***

Emmett left the stage as fast as he could. Being up there with her was tearing him apart. She'd stumbled a couple of times but overall she'd kicked ass. As much as he'd wanted her to need him, maybe his dad was right. Call him old fashioned, but he'd wanted to swoop in on his white horse and save her. Was that so wrong?

He disentangled himself from an overzealous blonde outside the restroom and headed straight for the bar. It would have been easy to encourage her, to have a little fun after work. Been there. Done that. He wasn't the least bit interested in one night stands anymore. Emmett grabbed a stool just as Ben slid a bottle of beer his way. "I appreciate it, man."

Ben pulled a towel from his back pocket and wiped down the bar. "You look like you could use one."

"That obvious?" He tore the label off the bottle and rolled it between his fingers.

"Not up there, no. But you rarely head this way before midnight. Q, on the other hand," Ben said, twisting off another cap and setting the beer on the bar.

Quinn snagged the stool next to Emmett. "Thanks, Ben."

"You got it."

"Need a hug, Tyler? Ben and I here could make you feel better."

Ben laughed.

"Fuck both of you," Emmett said.

"On that note, I'm outta here." Ben nodded to a group of women at the far end of the bar.

"Pussy," Q called. "What gives, bro? I thought you and Brooklyn were doing all right."

"There is no me and Brooklyn." That should end the conversation, but knowing Q, it wouldn't.

"That's a shame. You've been happier than I've ever seen you these past few days. I was actually starting to like you."

"I repeat. Fuck you."

"Yeah, yeah. I get that you love me, but I don't swing like that. I mean, you're cute and all, but..."

Emmett laughed under his breath. Leave it to Quinn to lighten the mood. "A couple shots of Jager and I could change your mind."

"Ah, there he is. Thought I'd lost you for a minute." Q clapped him on the back.

"She doesn't need me, man."

Quinn rested his arms on the bar. "So what? Need and want are two different things."

Emmett lifted a brow and took a swallow of beer. The cold liquid did nothing to cool the fire burning in his gut.

"Don't take this the wrong way, or do, hell, I don't care." Quinn shrugged. "You've got a hero complex."

"No, I don't." But hadn't he just told himself the same thing earlier? White horse and all that?

"You do. Don't forget I've sat with you, drunk and sober, while you poured your heart out to me. I'm just sayin', man, there's nothing wrong with trying to be a hero unless the damsel doesn't want to be saved."

"Maybe the damsel needs to be saved."

"Says who? You?"

Emmett nodded.

"That's the thing, bro. You don't get to decide."

"Damn. You sound a lot like my dad."

"Bruce and I are smart men. You could learn a lot from us." Quinn tilted his head back and finished off his beer. "Seriously though, have you told Brooklyn?"

Emmett stood. They had to get back on stage. "Told her what?"

"That you need her?" Quinn didn't wait for an answer.

Emmett saw her then, up near the stage sipping from a bottle of water, going over lyrics. As if she knew she was being watched, she looked up. Their eyes collided, held for three heartbeats. She broke the contact and once again, though they were so close, he felt like she was a million miles away.

Twelve

"Please tell me you have more."

Brooklyn offered Jenna a weak smile then twisted her lips. "I don't. I still can't believe you sold everything."

"What do you mean me? I didn't do anything but snap some pictures and upload them for you. You did all the hard work. This is your clothing line."

This couldn't really be happening. In three weeks time, she'd sold every piece she'd ever made in school. And the amount of money people were willing to pay blew her mind. She'd told Jenna they'd set the prices too high, but Jenna wouldn't hear it. She'd said they could always lower them later. They hadn't had to.

"You should be thrilled, girl," Jenna said, blue eyes shining with triumph.

"I am. Really." She did her best to smile wider.

Jenna rolled her eyes. "If that's your happy face, you need to practice in the mirror."

Ellen walked into the kitchen and poured a glass of lemonade. She topped off Jenna's glass. Brooklyn hadn't touched hers. She swirled her index finger in the condensation.

"Sounds like an exciting conversation in here. You two celebrating something?"

"We sure are," Jenna answered. "The Brooklyn Mathews clothing line is a success."

Ellen clapped her hands. "That's wonderful!"

Brooklyn shook her head. "She's exaggerating."

"I am not. We are officially sold out. And when I say we, I mean her," she said, pointing a manicured finger at Brooklyn.

"So what are you waiting for, fashionista? Make more."

"I..."

Ellen pulled out a chair and sat next to her. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "What's wrong, dear?"

Brooklyn covered her face with her hands. "I don't even know."

Jenna pulled her hands away. "Brooklyn Marie Mathews," she said using her best mom voice. "For as long as I've known you, all you've talked about, dreamed about, shit, worked for." Jenna gave Ellen an apologetic glance. "Excuse my language."

"Pfft," Ellen said, waving a hand in the air. "Keep right on going."

"Okay. Where was I? Right, you've worked your ass off to be a fashion designer, but since you've been back you've had your head in the sand where that's concerned."

"I—"

Jenna held up a finger. "I'm not done. I'm mad at you and you're gonna hear me out."

"She sounds serious," Ellen chimed in. "I'd listen to her if I were you."

Brooklyn pinched her lips together and tried not to get angry about being tag teamed.

"I get that you're spending the bulk of your time trying to make things better for Natalie and Devon, which you are. But Mrs. Tyler dropped off that sewing machine for you weeks ago," Jenna pointed to the small table in the corner of the kitchen, "and all you've done is make a couple of dresses for Natalie. And she had to beg just to get you to do that."

"You don't understand."

"No," Jenna said. "I don't understand because you're not talking about it."

Brooklyn closed her eyes. "Believe it or not, I really do want to be happy." Making enough money to buy Nat clothes and to give her brother and sister at least three meals a day should have made her ecstatic. She'd even been able to give Ellen some rent money, though she was certain Ellen hadn't taken it out of the envelope yet. Proud? Yes. Grateful? Yes. Lucky? Yes. Happy? Not even close.

Ellen squeezed her hand. "You deserve happy."

Jenna sighed heavily. "No one can do it for you, hun." She stood. "I've got to get to work. Text me if you need a ride to Starstruck tonight." She wrapped her arms around Brooklyn's head and squeezed.

"I will, thanks."

"In the meantime, figure out what makes you happy. You, Brooklyn. Not someone else's idea of happy or successful or whatever else it is you have twisted up in that over-thinking mind of yours. What matters to you? When you figure it out, do something about it."

Brooklyn could do nothing but nod and swallow back tears.

Jenna kissed her cheek and left.

"Anything I can do to help?" Ellen asked, her eyes damp.

"You've done so much for all of us. I'll never be able to repay you."

"Don't you understand, you already have. All I've ever wanted was for Devon and Nat to be happy and safe. Thanks to you, they're getting that."

Brooklyn shook her head. "But for how long? What if Sarah decides she wants them back?"

"Then we fight her. We're stronger together than we are apart. Everyone in this town isn't like your mother. Surely you understand that."

"I'm beginning to, Ellen."

"Well, take as long as you need."

"Thanks," Brooklyn said. But the clock had already started ticking in the wrong direction.

***

Starstruck was jam packed. Brooklyn could hardly make her way through the crowd to the stage. She'd been stopped three times by women asking her where she got her shirt. Instead of shying away, she'd proudly told them she'd designed and made it. The tee-shirt was frayed around the edges with graphics that said Dirt Roads and Old Trucks. She'd paired it with a pair of holey jeans and unlaced combat boots.

She passed Emmett who was talking to a redhead by the steps leading up to the stage. She forced a smile and kept right on going. A sick feeling settled in her stomach, the last threads of hope for happy barely hanging on.

Brooklyn had watched Emmett change over the past three weeks. He'd gone from angry to hurt to indifferent. The last killed her more than anything. She'd done her best to make him comfortable around her, but she'd failed. No big surprise there. How could she expect from someone else what she couldn't do for herself?

Jenna's words had hit her hard. Brooklyn was tired of trying to be somebody she wasn't. Tired of immersing herself in the negative rather than believing in what she knew to be the truth in her heart. She needed to find her happy, but what if she'd already let it slip from her fingertips?

"That's Tonya," Q told her with a nod toward the voluptuous woman all up in Emmett's ear. "She's a—"

"It doesn't matter." She barely managed to get the words past the clog in her throat.

"Want some advice?" Q offered. He squeezed her shoulder.

"Sure."

"Just talk to him."

"I've tried."

"Try harder and this time make it a real conversation." Q rounded the drum set and grabbed a pair of sticks.

Brooklyn didn't understand Quinn. She and Emmett had had lots of conversations. Hadn't they?

"I've been meaning to tell you you've been doing a great job filling in for Todd," someone else said.

She whirled and nearly collided with Ray. "Um, thanks." He hadn't spoken more than two words since she'd started singing with them.

"You're welcome. Anyway, just wanted you to know I appreciate it." He stepped away and flipped switches on his keyboard.

She had no idea what had brought that on, but she'd take it. It felt nice to be a part of something. She glanced to the left and saw that Emmett had made it up the stairs. His groupie hadn't gone far though. She'd maneuvered her way from the stairs to stand right in front of the dance floor, as close to Emmett as she could get.

Brooklyn couldn't blame her. Being close to that man was a wonderful thing. And something the inner bitch in her didn't want Red to have the pleasure of experiencing.

She turned to let Quinn know she was ready. He mouthed the word talk to her and then gave the crowd the drum roll they'd been waiting for. She kept her back to the audience until the verse kicked in. Then she did a one-eighty and fell to her knees. The crowd cheered. Brooklyn thrashed her hair around and belted out Kerosene by Miranda Lambert.

Free.

Alive.

She didn't slow down once over the next four hours. Pouring all of her emotions into the songs she sang became her bandage. Adrenaline kept her going even when she felt her heart start to splinter into tiny pieces.

Emmett had spent his breaks with Red. Brooklyn spent hers acting as if she didn't care. The lie weighed her down.

Crushing.

Suffocating.

So she kept going. Kept singing. Kept lying.

When the lights went out at the end of the last song, she busied herself cleaning up the stage.

Until she saw Emmett leaving with his adoring fan.

Something broke inside. Snapped.

All she heard was white noise, a roar that threatened to blow out her eardrums.

"Quinn, can you—"

He took the cord she'd been wrapping and said, "I've got this. Go."

She ran off the stage and slammed through the back door, dead set on making it to Emmett's truck before he and the bimbo did.

She whipped around the corner and crashed right into a brick wall. Or the equivalent of. Emmett dropped his guitar case and reached out to steady Brooklyn. Red giggled.

"Jesus, Brooklyn," Emmett said. "You scared the shit out of me."

She almost apologized. "I just... I need..." Red slid her palm up Emmett's arm. "Um, that, that right there," Brooklyn said pointing to the two of them. "That's not happening."

Emmett arched a brow. "What's not happening?"

As if he didn't know. "The two of you." Except if Emmett really wanted it to happen, there was nothing she could do about it. She wanted to scream. She couldn't get the vision of Emmett's hands on this woman's body out of her mind.

He shook his head and laughed under his breath, though there was no joy in the sound.

Red slowly extracted her claws from Emmett's arm. "Pretty sure it's time for me to go. I'll call you and we'll set something up for another time."

"I'll walk you to your car."

"No need. It's right there," she said pointing to a little red car.

Emmett moved fast, his nose inches from Brooklyn's. "Mind telling me what that was all about? Is this the whole I don't want you but nobody else can have you either game, Brook? If it is, I don't want to play."

She stepped back as if she'd been slapped. Is that what he really thought? "I never said I didn't want you."

"Yes, you did. In a hundred different ways."

"That's not true. I've always wanted you."

"Sure have a funny way of showing it."

"Why her, Emmett?"

He jammed a hand through his hair. "Not that it's any of your business, but she's a guitar rep from Chicago. She came by tonight to show me a new pedal. I wasn't going to sleep with her. But again, it's really none of your business." He picked his guitar case up off the ground and walked away.

She slumped against the wall. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer. Find your happy. She shoved off the building and followed, sliding into his truck the same time he did.

Any second he'd tell her to get out. She waited for it, ready to refuse. Instead he started the engine and hit the gas. Tires squealed on the asphalt as he took the corner way too fast. Brooklyn fell against the door. Eyes straightforward, he kept driving.

Faster.

Faster.

"Stop, Emmett."

Too fast.

"Pull the damn truck over."

Jaw clenched, he pulled off the main drag and onto a dirt road without slowing down.

She held onto the dashboard with both hands, knuckles white. "You're scaring me."

He slammed on the brakes. The truck fishtailed and gravel flew until the wheels finally stopped. Emmett wrenched open the door and disappeared.

Echoes of metal slamming against metal as the door slammed closed floated across the surrounding fields. Fields where memories had been made. With Emmett.

Brooklyn sat there, sucking in breath after breath. Once her hands stopped shaking, she joined him on the tailgate.

"You said I scared you. Welcome to my world."

Loud. So loud. He'd never yelled at her before.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she challenged, her volume topping his.

"I've lived in a perpetual state of fear for more than four years now." He turned toward her but all she saw were shadows playing across his face. "You were it for me. Once you were gone I had to learn to live again, knowing I'd never find what we had."

Were. Had. All past tense.

"When I left here it had nothing to do with you," she screamed back. She couldn't help it. This, all of this, had built up for so long. "This place is—was—a place I couldn't be anymore. Don't you get that?"

"What was so bad that the two of us couldn't overcome?"

"God, Emmett. Do you really have to ask? My life, aside from you and Jenna was horrible. And when I was around you guys, I was eaten up by jealousy. I wanted normal. All I got was Sarah. Do you have any idea what it's like to live in this town when you come from someone like her? People talk. People stare. People judge and assume you'll turn out just like her. I'm not her."

Throat raw, she laid back and stared up at the stars. "I wanted to be different. I wanted to be someone else. I wanted to ask you to come with me."

"Why didn't you?" No more yelling. This question, asked so softly, barely made it to her ears.

"You were happy here. You had everything. Your mom and dad. A family business that you actually like. I couldn't ask you to leave all that."

Emmett leaned back on his elbows. "That wasn't your decision to make."

"I get that now." She swiped at a tear. "But all I kept hearing was the lovely citizens of Kramer telling me to leave that good boy alone."

He slammed his fist against the truck. "You think I give two shits about what the small minds of the world think?"

"I don't know. I didn't know what to think."

"What happened in New York?"

A deep breath. She followed the points of the big dipper with her eyes. "I barely passed. The quality of your work is stellar, Miss Mathews," she said, imitating her instructor. "But your designs are uninspired." The stars blurred as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"They called me small-town," she said, her fist slamming into the truck like his had. "Which is exactly what I didn't want to be."

His hand brushed against hers. Emmett laid back and tucked his arm under her head. She rolled to her side to face him.

"The thing is, I was inspired. I couldn't get you out of my head. Us. The music. The back roads and the barns. The bed of this truck. I missed it. I missed you. When I presented my work, I thought they'd rave. When they didn't I lost it, lost my dream. But it didn't really matter because I'd already lost everything. Then when Devon called, I used that as an excuse to come back, when I'd already planned to come anyway."

"Because you'd deemed yourself a failure?"

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at him. "Maybe. Yes. I don't know. I guess that's part of it, but mainly I felt like I needed to be here."

"I can't be your fallback plan."

"I wouldn't want that either."

"What do you want? From what Jenna says, your small-town designs are selling. Guess the big city people don't know all that much."

She laughed.

"What I'm getting at is that you're good. You can work anywhere."

"I'm staying here."

"Why? You said it yourself, you don't want to be small-town."

She sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees. "That's a label I put on myself. An unfair one. There are Sarahs everywhere in the world. I let her taint my views. I'm done with that, Emmett. I just want to be me, doing what I do, around people I love."

Emmett hopped off the back of the truck. She sat up as he stood in front of her. She couldn't read his face. Maybe that was a good thing.

"So who are you and what are you going to do?"

She swallowed hard. "I'm Brooklyn Mathews. I'm a fashion designer who focuses on heart. I like dirt roads, vintage trucks, and old barns. My clothing reflects that."

"Sounds like—"

"Hold on, please. I'm not finished. I'm going to keep taking care of Natalie and Devon. Whatever it takes. I can do this."

"What I don't get is why you think you have to do it alone. I'm here for you. I've always been here for you."

"I know that, and I appreciate it. But I can't have you save me."

He paced back and forth like a caged lion. "What the hell is so wrong with me wanting to take care of you? Wanting to help you, Devon and Natalie? It's not like I'm trying to take over your lives."

She reached out, laid a hand on his arm to stop him. "I love that you want to. I really do. But you have to understand that I have to know I can do it. That when things are tough, that I don't have to run. That I can stay right here and make it better."

"I get that, Brooklyn. And I'm all for independence, but I also understand the value of a relationship. I want to know that when times get tough, I won't be going through them alone."

Another tear slid down her cheek. Emmett brushed it away. His knuckle lingered and she leaned into his touch. Brooklyn nodded. "You're right," she admitted. She hadn't really thought of it like that, had thought that leaning on him, letting him help—Jenna, Ellen, Bruce and Sue, Rusty, all of them—that that somehow made her a failure. Pushing them away wasn't helping anyone, least of all herself.

"I don't have to do it alone. I get that now. I said I wanted to be around the people I love. That includes you, Emmett."

He moved closer. "What are you saying?"

Brooklyn laced her fingers behind his neck. "Jenna told me I needed to find my happy and then to do something about it. I'm happy when I'm with you. Always have been. I just didn't think I deserved it."

"In what capacity?"

Brow furrowed, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I can't do temporary anymore. Not when it comes to you."

She leaned closer. "So it's all or nothing. That what you're saying?"

He nodded.

"I want everything with you. I want to fall asleep in your bed and wake up next to you. I want to argue with you. And make up. I want to share dreams with you. I want to stop being jaded. I want to breathe."

She swore she felt his body shudder.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I've waited a long time for this."

"It won't be easy."

He laughed. "Nothing with you ever is."

"You sure you can handle all my baggage? The good and bad kind?"

A breath.

A touch of lips.

He slid his hands up to cradle her face. "Always."
Epilogue

One month later...

Starstruck

"We really get to stay and hear you sing, Brooklyn?" Natalie asked. She sucked ranch dressing off a fry and dipped it again.

Brooklyn stole a fry, but avoided the condiment that had been double-dipped in one too many times. "You sure do. It's my last night singing with Bathwater Funk, and Miss Rusty made an exception just for you two." Rusty hadn't batted an eye when Brooklyn had asked. It probably helped that it was Wednesday night, the deadest night of the week. Whatever the reason, they'd been asking and Brooklyn was thrilled she could make it happen.

Natalie had picked the table closest to the stage. She'd said she'd wanted the full experience. Other than a few patrons scattered here and there for dinner, they had the place to themselves.

Devon beamed. "This is so freaking cool. Wait'll I tell my friends."

"How about we give you something better to brag about?" Emmett asked.

Brooklyn looked over at Emmett, brows creased. What was he up to?

"Trust me. Nothing could be cooler than this," Devon proclaimed.

Elbows on the table, Emmett leaned in. "Trust me, bro. I can top it. How about you sit in with the band?"

"You're joking?"

Emmett eased back in his chair. "Am I joking, Q?"

Q laughed, pushed his empty plate away. "Naw. You said he's got skills. Might as well put them to use."

Devon jumped out of his chair. "Brooklyn, is he serious? Like for real serious?"

Brooklyn laughed, which came out sounding a little choked. Hard to laugh around the lump in her throat. Shrugging she said, "It's their band, Devon. If they say you can play, then I guess you get to play."

"But I've only been playing for a couple of months." His blue eyes sparkled. So excited. So hopeful.

"Yeah, like all day every day," Natalie chimed in. "Don't they make silent guitars?"

Brooklyn rubbed the top of Natalie's head. "Be supportive."

Natalie rolled her eyes. "I am. He's pretty good." She turned toward Devon. "Fine. You're good. I just wish you'd learn some new songs."

"Thanks, sis. I'll work on that. And..." He turned back to Emmett. "I was thinking. Maybe, you know if it's okay with you, we could use some of the barn for like a studio or something."

Emmett smiled. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I've had similar thoughts. Since Brooklyn here took over more than half of our music room with all her fabric and mannequins and stuff—"

"—Hey, it has better lighting and you said to take any room I wanted." She caught the gleam in his eye. Leaning back, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I want that one."

Emmett lifted a brow at Devon. "That is exactly why we need our man space. How about you and I build it together? Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a really good plan." The smile on Devon's face lit up the entire room.

"You aren't leaving me out," Q said. "I want in on this man cave you're building. I'll oversee the construction." He reached over and snagged one of Natalie's fries.

Natalie wasn't paying attention, her gaze focused on something behind Brooklyn.

"Everyone is here," Natalie said, her voice bright.

Brooklyn turned, blinked back tears. Her last night filling in for Todd and it looked like they'd have a crowd after all. Ellen, Jenna, Bruce and Sue had just walked through the door. Rusty greeted them and escorted everyone over. They had to push two tables together to make room.

"Got room for two more?" Connor asked.

Brooklyn turned and saw Ray and Connor had come down off the stage to join them. She reached for Emmett's hand. Squeezed hard.

Any lingering suffocation she might have been feeling drifted away. Brooklyn pulled in a long breath. She'd petitioned for custody of Devon and Nat. So far, Sarah hadn't responded. When she did, Brooklyn would be ready for whatever answer she gave, and if the matter had to go to court, so be it.

"Brooklyn?"

She turned to Natalie. "Yeah?"

"What does guardianship mean?"

She and Emmett had tried to keep the particulars quiet, but small-town living being what it was, she wasn't surprised Natalie had heard whispers.

"It means Brooklyn wants us. Sarah doesn't," Devon answered, his tone matter-of-fact, "but she doesn't want anyone else to have us either."

Brooklyn wished she could tell him he was wrong, that their mother did want them for all the right reasons. "He's right. Sarah needs help, but I don't think she'll ever let anyone close enough to figure out exactly what needs fixed. But we're not like her." She reached across the table and grabbed Devon's hand. "We have lots of help if we need it. All these people here tonight. They're our real family. And from now on, no matter what it takes, we're going to be together."

Everyone chimed in with their support.

"What if Sarah says no?" Natalie asked.

Devon sighed. "She can try, but I'm not living in her house again."

"No, you're not." Brooklyn squared her shoulders. "She can say no all she wants, but I'm not giving up."

Natalie stood and inched her way between Brooklyn and Emmett. "What about you?"

Emmett tugged her hair. "What about me, short-stuff?"

"Do you want us too?"

Brooklyn watched, heart in her throat, as Emmett lifted Natalie off her feet and onto his lap.

"I'm sorry you feel you have to ask that, Nat. But the answer is yes. Always yes. No matter what, yes."

Natalie sniffed, offered a watery smile. "Good." She tilted her head and batted her eyes. "Um, if Devon gets to have man space, can I get a puppy?"

Brooklyn laughed. Kids were resilient, that was for sure. "We'll talk about it."

"What's to talk about?" Emmett asked. "I think we should get a couple of them. Maybe a horse too."

Natalie squealed and ran to hug Ellen. "I'm getting a horse!"

Brooklyn listened to all the laughter. The laughter of her immediate family and the ones who'd adopted them all. If this was being small-town, she'd wear the label proudly.

Emmett reached for her, pulled her close. "You okay?"

She kissed his neck, breathed deep. "I'm better than okay."

Emmett groaned, pulled her into his lap and held tight. Brooklyn lifted her face and Emmett brushed his lips against hers. She wanted more. Needed more. Always more. As if sensing her desire, Emmett deepened the kiss, and Brooklyn lost herself in the sensations—in the world of Emmett. Their world.

She heard whistling, but lingered, completely ignoring the fact that they had an audience. She would never get enough of this.

"Hey, you two lovebirds?" Rusty called. "This is a music establishment. Can you break it up long enough to provide these good folks with some entertainment?"

Brooklyn let herself sneak one more kiss before nodding. This might be her last night singing with the band, but she had forever to make music with Emmett. All kinds of music.

"I wanna dance with Grandma and Jenna! Play something fast." Natalie pumped her fist in the air.

Emmett knocked his shoulder against Devon's. "Your guitar is already tuned and plugged in. You ready?"

Devon nodded. "I'm ready."

Devon trailed after Emmett and Quinn to the stage. Brooklyn stood next to Jenna and followed the direction of her gaze, which happened to be zeroed in on one very handsome drummer.

She bumped her hip against Jenna's. Jenna turned her vivid blues on her and smiled.

"I see you've done it," Jenna said, nodding.

"Done what?"

"Found your happy."

Her eyes met Emmett's and he winked. She touched her tingling lips. "Yeah, girl. I did."

MORE STARSTRUCK

Starstuck

OBSESSED

BETH CIOTTA

A Fallen Star...

A hot-mess of controversy and scandal, Dakota Breeze—

tarnished pop star of fading fame and fortune—accepts a

friend's offer, taking refuge in a small Midwestern town in

order to rehearse her comeback concert in secret. Starstruck

is the perfect venue however rehearsals are marred by

Dakota's reluctance to resurrect her former bad-girl persona

and complicated by an anonymous death threat.

A Haunted Bodyguard...

Enlisted by a mutual friend, Wyatt MacDermott—a seasoned

protection specialist—agrees to act as Dakota's temporary

bodyguard. Forced to set aside a personal grudge in order to

fulfill his duties, Mac's stunned by his fierce and instant

attraction to the reckless celebrity he's long associated with

his greatest regret.

Obsessed with conflicting needs and united passion, Dakota

and Wyatt spin out of control, indulging in a whirlwind affair

and tempting an avenger's wrath.

* * *

TEASER FROM OBSESSED

"Slow down for chrissake."

"I could carry you."

"Or you could slow down."

Scoping the perimeter for lurking photographers or

suspicious characters, Wyatt kept the pace, tightening his

hold as he whisked Dakota through the shadows and into his

car. All the while, aware of his surroundings. Aware of her

scent. Aware of her luscious curves tucked tight against his

hard body.

"Enjoy that, did you?" she asked with a smirk, shoving

aside his hand when he tried to buckle her into the passenger

seat.

More than he should have. More than he'd braced for. He

should have locked down his libido along with his emotions.

His untimely arousal was a damned brain buster. He

harbored a longtime grudge tied to the detrimental influence

she'd had on his sister. Dakota wasn't directly to blame for

the incident that had altered Kerry's life, still... Yeah. There

was that. Plus, she wasn't his type. Not in looks. Not in

temperament. He'd never been a fan of her music so he

couldn't even attribute the unexpected boner to a shallow

talent crush.

What the hell ?

He keyed the address of the country estate she was

renting into his GPS.

"Uh, uh," Dakota said. "Not yet. There's an all-night café

back toward town. I'm starving."

So much for calling it a night. So much for low-profile. In

a brightly lit café, she'd be the focus of every red-blooded

man and green-eyed woman. He raked his gaze over her

body then raised a brow telegraphing his thoughts regarding

her attention grabbing attire.

"Don't worry about it," she snapped as he put the car in

gear. Dragging her tousled hair off her face, she whipped it

into a messy half-knot/half ponytail then dug in her designer

purse and shoved on a pair of blue-tinted glasses.

"Nice disguise."

"He speaks!"

Wyatt deflected her sarcasm by focusing on the road. She

probably ate like a bird. With any luck they'd be in and out of

the café in twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes of hell.

He'd curse Rusty if he weren't so fond of her. If he didn't

owe her. If he didn't...

"You don't talk much, do you, Mac?"

"Only when I have something to say."

  * * *

Starstruck

WRECKED

CYNTHIA VALERO

A Secret Crush...

Talented songwriter, Sunny Burnett, shelves her dream of

Nashville when her older sister is killed in a car wreck and

helps her mother pick up the pieces of her shattered life. Two

years later, her mother's still struggling and Sunny is

desperate to help her. Dusting off her guitar, penning a new

song, and marshaling her courage, she enters a duet contest,

hoping to use the prize money to turn her mother's life

around. She'll do anything to win. Even if it means

partnering with the last man she should ask—her sister's exboyfriend,

a gifted singer and Sunny's longtime secret crush.

A Clandestine Choice...

Curtis Bliss blames himself for Tuesday Burnett's death. And

so does her family. Haunted by regret, he forfeits his musical

dreams for years, until he's challenged by a most unexpected

source—his ex's younger sister. Sunny Burnett blows him

away by asking for his help and, in turn, offering him a

tentative forgiveness. Even more surprising is the burning

attraction that ignites and consumes them both.

Can the new lovers make their dreams come true after all?

Or will the secrets they keep wreck them forever?

TEASER FROM WRECKED

"I'd give you anything else, Sunny. Anything in my power.

I'd cut my heart out and hand it to you, what's left of it, if

that's what you wanted. But I can't sing, and I especially

can't sing on that stage."

"It's not for me. It'd take more than that for me to ask you

for anything." She gripped her handbag again, almost like a

lifeline. "It's for my mother."

Krista. His gut twisted tighter. Her house had been like a

home for him. She'd been the mother he'd lost at fifteen. The

last time he'd ever felt taken care of. The last time he'd eaten

a home-cooked meal. And he'd appreciated her caring way

more than she could ever know. He hadn't exactly paid her

back in the way he'd planned.

"It's been a year and she's not getting better." Sunny

smacked the hat again. "I need that prize money to start a

cafe. I think it might bring her back to life. It has to."

His mouth worked, but he couldn't shove out any words.

"You want to give us something? You want to give us that

last little piece of your heart? Give us this."

He almost asked when she'd grown so fierce, but he knew

the answer. He also knew he couldn't say no, even as he

wanted to run fast and far away.

"You're so grown up." The whisper slipped out.

"Tuesday's death didn't stop my bones from growing."

He noticed her long legs, her graceful neck, the gentle

arch of her back. He noticed the way her hip jutted when she

planted her hand on it. She reminded him of a warrior queen

braced for battle. She was braced for him to say no. She was

braced to launch another attack to change his mind, to

remind him why he would indeed do her bidding.

And, to his absolute disbelief, his fingers left the hand

truck and reached out to touch a lock of her hair.

It was as silky-soft as he remembered.

He curled it around his index finger, and she closed her

eyes. Her chest rose and fell with sudden, labored breaths.

He felt himself slipping under a strange, dangerous spell.

She smacked away his hand. Her eyes glinted again. "I'm

not Tuesday."

"No, you're not," he said and her cheeks flushed red. "I'll

sing on that stage with you just this once, Sunny. When

you're contest is done, so am I."

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thank you to Beth Ciotta and Cynthia Valero for

making the music come to life. To Melissa Norr of Brazen

Pen Editing for all the check-ins, brainstorming, and

fantastic edits. Much love to Erin McCarthy and Kathy Love

for the sprints that kick me into high gear. As always, mad

love to my Gypsy Crew!
