All the time.
Here, the simple crackle of a burning log, the hum of tree frogs, cicadas, and crickets were . . . food for his aching soul.
He was quickly falling in love with the spot.
He strummed the guitar, tuning it as he went, watching her out of the corner of his eye as Maddie sat in the Adirondack chair beside him. It still had a blanket on the seat—she’d brought it out for Audrey earlier.
Maddie wrapped the blanket around her shoulders now, then curled her legs onto the seat beside her.
They didn’t have to speak. She leaned back and closed her eyes as he continued to strum, not saying a word. The melodies of several of his songs blurred together, a continuum of the notes that had defined the last decade of his life.
But something about sitting here outside by the fire, with just her as company, was . . . oddly freeing. Like he was just a teenager sitting on the carpet of Mom’s apartment.
The carpet.
His fingers tumbled over the strings.
He tore himself from the image and focused his gaze on the fire. The memory he’d worked so hard to forget was pressing closer.
The guitar had also been Dad’s favorite way of relaxing in the evenings. They’d been too poor to live in a house with a fireplace, but one year, Mom had scrimped and saved and bought one of the standing units with an electric heater that looked like a fireplace so they could have it for Christmas.
“For Santa to come in,”she’d said.
His last clear image of his parents together was the three of them sitting in front of that red electric glow while Dad strummed a Christmas tune.
Bloodstains on the carpet.
He sucked in a deep breath, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut.
Maddie opened her eyes, her brow furrowing. “Why’d you stop playing?”
He set the guitar down like it was burning his palms. “That’s enough.”
“You were really playing bea?—”
“I said I’m done,” he snapped.
Hurt flashed on her face.
Good. She needs to leave.
She stood, staring down at him. The log of the fire sizzled, sending sparks in the air.
Here, they were surrounded by all the symphony of nature and more beauty than seemed fair, and he’d gone and thought ofthat.
Maddie sat on the arm of his chair unexpectedly, then slipped her hand into his. “Brooks, you’re trembling.”
Am I?
He hadn’t even realized it.
He swallowed hard, pulling his hand from hers. “You should go.”
“I know it’s not my business?—”
“You’re right. It’s not. Go.”
She didn’t budge. “You know what I think? I think this tough-as-nails shtick is just an act. You’re a softy deep down. Just look at the way you treat Audrey. As though she were your own daughter.”