Saving Kylie

Her body ached a little, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Because she was finally safe and happy and…

Delusional.

The sounds of a guitar filtered into her consciousness, and she reached out for the man who should’ve been at her side.

Justin. Only Justin.

As soon as she looked at the navy walls and the hunter-green bedspread, she knew she wasn’t home. She didn’t have a home anymore. But she had the soft strum of strings from behind her, the music a caress over her heated skin. She didn’t recognize the song, but she knew the low, lilting voice singing about a little fishing boat that was taking on too much water to make it to shore.

She rolled over and stared at Justin, whose attention rested solely on the battered guitar he stroked as patiently as a lover. His fingers moved with precision, the song sweet and haunting and all the more memorable for its simplicity. His gritty, sandpapery morning voice told the story of the sinking ship with a sort of sad finality that made her throat swell.

By the time he finished, she was dashing away tears.

He glanced up and smiled, but the expression faded at the sight of her face. “Hey, what’s the matter?” He set aside the guitar and rose fluidly, then crossed the room to her in a few strides. “Bad dream?”

“No.” Feeling foolish, she snatched a tissue from the box on the nightstand and tossed him a weak smile. All at once, her body had started to ache again, probably in a race to keep up with her heart. “It’s a beautiful song.”

Cocking his head, Justin sat beside her, bringing her gaze to his bare abdomen. He wore a pair of flannel pants and no socks, and somehow even the sight of his long toes made her own curl. “You liked it?”

“Yeah. I’ve never heard it before.”

“That’s because I wrote it.” He scratched the back of his neck and stared out the window, bathed in the milky pink light of morning. “I’ve written a few of them. This is the only one I’d sing for you.”

“You were singing it for me?”

His sheepish smile endeared her more than words ever could have. “Well, yeah. But you slept through most of the concert.”

She laughed and reached over to ruffle his messy hair. He gripped her forearm and ran his lips down the inside of her wrist. “Sorry,” she said, already breathless. He had that effect on her. “I’m kind of on a night owl’s schedule.”

“All those late nights at the bar.”

His lips were still moving, making teasing sweeps down her arm. Suddenly stringing together words had gotten a lot harder. “Nights that you often stay with me.”

“I don’t stay until closing.”

“Close enough sometimes. And I know you have school early in the morning. Besides, it’s not your job.” She didn’t know why she tacked the flippant remark on to the end, because she liked that he stayed late with her so often. His presence during her shift always made the night go by faster, and the idea of him not being there to tease her or shout out game plays with her was beyond depressing.

“Enjoying myself with you isn’t my job?” He lifted an eyebrow, his lips still warming her skin. “Thanks for letting me know, Fish.”

She grinned at the rare use of the nickname he’d branded her with in college. “You haven’t used that in—” She broke off, remembering his song. “The man bailing out water from the boat, even knowing it wasn’t going to make it, that he was wasting his time.”

“Yeah.”

“It was a fishing boat.”

“Full of the catch of the day, but he wouldn’t get to eat it that night. Or any other.” His smile was bittersweet. “Gotta love my cheery creations.”

Much as she hated to pull her arm away, his mouth was too distracting. “That song isn’t about me, is it? The fish thing, the leaky boat…” She shook her head and clamped her lips together. “Never mind.”

He looked at her for a long moment and laced his fingers in his lap. “Sometimes a fish is just a fish.”

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “Sorry. Mind’s working overtime, and I haven’t even woken up fully yet. I didn’t know you played guitar,” she added, rushing ahead to fill the silence. He was watching her too closely, and she felt exposed under his stare.

For all she knew, he was thinking about her broken sex life again and maybe even wondering if she was broken too. Sometimes she wasn’t sure that was a wrong assessment.

“Or wrote songs,” she added.