Rockstar Baby (Crescent Cove 6)

“Lake.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I held out my hand. “I’m not in your will yet, Rory. You’re safe.”

“Nice to know there’s a few reasons to keep me around.”

I laughed. “Come on.” I held onto his arm a little more than I usually would. The cowboy boots were super cute, but not really cut out for the rocky path.

“Maybe we should turn back.”

“The view is worth it.” A distant roll of thunder heightened the moment. As if the sky was just as stirred up as both of us.

“All right, just hold onto me.”

It was a short path to the rocky beach. The water was a bit wild from the wind kicking up. Small waves held more whitecaps than usual, and the air was sharp with brine and the heaviness of impending rain.

We stood together looking out over the water. I could tell he needed to talk. Part of me still didn’t want to listen. It was easier to stay wrapped up tight in my anger and hurt.

But I had to give him a chance or tell him goodbye. It was as simple as that.

“Where have you been, Rory?”

He lifted our joined hands to his lips, but he didn’t look away from the water. “Home.”

“You ignored my calls.”

“I did. I wish I could say it was for a good reason, but it really was just because I couldn’t bear to let you go.”

“That is the definition of faulty logic.”

He gave a humorless laugh and drew me in front of him so we both faced the water. He linked his hands over my middle, drawing me back until we were flush. He brushed his cheek against mine. He had well past a bit of scruff after working with me for the last week. It was just long enough to be soft and not scratchy.

“When I left, I made you promise to let me go if you found someone. I didn’t believe I deserved a girl—no, a woman—like you. I still don’t, but I want it more than there are words inside of me. And for a man who lives by finding the right combination of words and notes, that was a scary thing.”

I stilled against him. I wanted to spin in his arms, to see the truth in his eyes, but the fact that he wasn’t looking at me seemed to be giving him the courage to talk.

“I went home to Ireland.”

I twisted enough to look up at him. “Ireland?”

“I’ve been a loner all my life, but I think it was self-inflicted now that I’ve done some soul-searching. I assumed that the life my parents had was full of duty and unhappiness. I didn’t want any part of that.”

“And your trip changed that?”

His voice was low in my ear. “So much. I think my glasses might be Ivy colored instead of rose. Or maybe it’s Ivy Rose-colored.”

I laughed. “Dork.”

He hugged me tighter, his fingers lightly playing over the curve of my belly. “And there it is. The venom I crave like a favorite wine.”

I elbowed him. “I only speak truth.”

“That’s the heart of it. I needed your truth, not the foggy and worn out prescription of my own.”

He told me about his brother and sister, about the new baby coming into his own family. The townsfolk he’d taken a little time to get to know again.

The music of his voice comforted. And there was no boredom in the telling.