Page 15 of Fractured Trust

She looked like what you’d expect a Beth to look like, all sweet and innocent. She was young, but not too young, probably early twenties. He could see by the sparkle in Devon and Beau’s eyes that they were having fun, making her blush prettily while they joked with her about preferring him and Zac to them. But of course, with them sitting there smiling at her with those charming grins, she asked them to sign her notepad too. He was sure if she gave the slightest indication she was up for anything more than innocent flirting, one of them would be more than happy to fulfill her rock star fantasies.

After thanking them for the autographs, she took Devon and Beau’s order, and with one more smile over her shoulder, left them alone. Watching her walk away, Noah tried not to think too hard about why he didn’t have the same urge to mess with shy, pretty Beth.

A flash of rose-gold hair. Green eyes looking up at him through long lashes, a too-long beat of his heart before his voice started working. “You’re Summer, right?”

Hard on the heels of that memory came a far more painful one.

“How could you do it? I thought you loved me!” Then the broken whisper, “We’re done, Noah. We’re over.”

Familiar tension knotted Noah’s back. Even now, he hated remembering that damn message. He hated remembering that he’d lost Summer and not even realized it until the next day.

In the hazy, drunken months that followed, he’d often beaten himself up about letting her call go to voicemail while he sat in that damn post-concert debrief. He’d dwelled far too much on why he’d allowed himself to get distracted by the PR shit their manager had lined up for them afterward.

Maybe if he’d kept up with calling her every night before bed the way he’d intended, things might have turned out differently. He’d started the tour out that way—wanting her to know he was always thinking about her. But the further into it they’d gotten, the more the long days on the road and the endless PR events they were expected to attend took their toll. Meaning, the more often he’d crash into bed, too late or too exhausted to call.

He should have known her anxiety would be skyrocketing. Should have realized she was being pushed to her limit. His only excuse was that he’d been young and dumb and riding on top of the world. And apparently far too confident in her love for him. Because regardless of how he might have screwed up—regardless of how he might have let his priorities slide—he never,neverwould have believed she’d end up doing what she had.

“Man, take a break from the drumming. Don’t you get enough of that every night?” Devon’s voice broke into his thoughts. Noah looked down. Without even noticing, he’d picked up his knife and fork and was tapping out a staccato beat on the table while getting lost in his memories.

He wrestled his trademark easy-going grin into place. “You don’t get as good as I am at using my hands without constant practice. I mean, that’s why women prefer drummers, right?”

Devon snickered. “I guess you’ve been doing a lot of solo practice this tour. Not that I mind. That blonde you knocked back last night ended up being a real good time. She might have missed out on your drummer’s hands, but she seemed to appreciate how fast a guitarist can move his fingers.”

Noah shrugged, relaxing into the banter, his smile becoming more genuine. “I’m sure she did. She probably needed something to make her feel better after not getting to experience how well a drummer can bang.”

“You got it wrong, man, she was loving how well I handle my axe.”

Beau snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, she might have appreciated it for the five minutes you handled it. But you know guitarists don’t have the same stamina as drummers. I can keep pounding all night long.”

Devon opened his mouth for another comeback, but Noah dropped his voice, made it low and husky as he continued. “And after I’ve kept it up for hours, that’s when I find that perfect tempo. The one where you feel my beat throbbing like a pulse, deep inside you. That’s when I build it higher and higher, taking you with me as I hit it harder and harder and harder. Until the tension is strung so tight that you just. Can’t. Take. It anymore. That’s when,”—he smacked his hands down on the table, making the other three jump—“you hit that climax.” He grinned, seeing the faces staring back at him with wide eyes. “And then, just when the sweat is starting to dry on your skin. Just when your pulse is finally starting to slow back down. The beat starts right… back… up again.”

Devon cleared his throat. “You’re right. She would have had a better time with you.”

Beau chimed in. “Hell, man, I think I just came in my pants.”

All four of them laughed, and Noah relaxed back against the seat. Things were good. He was wasting his time thinking about Summer. There was nothing between them anymore.

Nothing.

She’d made sure of that.

Chapter 8

Summer had been in her new job for a little over two weeks, and she was loving it. She hadn’t realized until now just how important having meaningful work was to her. There was nothing wrong with being an admin assistant, but the job had never fit her. She’d only ended up there because she’d been Deacon’s wife and it had made sense at the beginning for her to work with him at his father’s company.

Her plan had originally been to reapply to college after… well, after everything had happened; but it hadn’t worked out that way. Deacon had liked having her close and had never seen the point in her taking time off to study when they both had stable jobs. Thinking back now, Summer wasn’t sure why she hadn’t pushed harder for what she wanted while she was with Deacon. Except for maybe, when you end up lost at sea, it’s easier if you just try not to rock the boat. And shehadbeen lost. Looking back now, she could see that. Lost and with no clue how to find her way back to solid ground.

But regardless of why she hadn’t done more about it back then, she realized now that her dissatisfaction with her job had chafed at her, contributing to her eroding sense of self over the years without her even noticing. Like a rock slowly worn away by the ceaseless tides. But now, working for Eden, she knew every day what she was doing was going to make a real difference to someone. And it filled her with happiness.

Eden had been true to her word. No more mention of Noah; she’d said her bit and taken Summer’s response at face value. Summer had always liked Eden, but Noah’s sister had only been ten years old when she’d seen her last. They’d been at completely different stages of life. Now, although eight years still separated them, they were both adults. And while Summer didn’t have a music background like Eden, she was finding herself to be just as passionate about the work they were doing. When they weren’t on the phone talking to record labels, band managers, or charities, they were chatting to each other over lunch, sharing bits and pieces of their lives.

Becoming friends.

This morning, Summer had been flat out fielding calls from charities inquiring about what their service entailed. After hanging up from another call, she started typing out a response to the agent of a well-known recording artist who’d been thinking about getting involved.

She didn’t bother to look up when someone knocked on the office door. Eden was coming out of their tiny kitchenette and was close enough to grab whatever package was being delivered. It wasn’t until the surprised yet happy tone of Eden’s voice—followed by a far-too-familiar masculine laugh—broke through her concentration that Summer realized the visitor wasn’t a delivery person.

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