Page 34 of Song Bird Hearts
I freeze, my mug halfway to my lips. “What do you mean?”
He shakes his head. “I see the way he’s lookin’ at you. It’s trouble. Hell, that’s what I should call you. Trouble.” He growls in frustration and shoves his hand through his hair. “You think just because you sing pretty and crow on camera, it makes it okay? That it’s all gonna balance out in the end?”
My fingers curl around the mug tightly. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” I say, voice quiet and shaking. I don’t know where this is coming from, but he can’t stand there and talk to me like this. Even if he somehow knows what happened between Gilden and I, it doesn’t give him the right to?—
Knox scoffs. “Don’t I? You let him in. That snake pretending to be a wolf. You’re letting him too close, and it’s gonna get you killed.” His gaze sharpens. “Or was that just another performance?”
Oh. This isn’t about Gilden at all. It’s about Wolf. Again. Despite the relief that he’s not addressing my interaction with Gilden, his words land, punching me square in the stomach and making it hard to breath. He thinks so little of me. Of course he does. What reason have I given him to think otherwise? But still, I thought we might have been connecting, that the tension between us is mutual attraction instead of hatred. I thought maybe we’d reached a point where we can be friends at the very least, or. . .
What am I gonna do? Sleep with all of them? God, I’m a fucking idiot. Maybe he’s right after all. Maybe I am playing games I have no business playing.
I don’t yell at him for his words. I don’t cry. I just set my mug down and grab the guitar where I’d set it against the wall. I glance at him sadly, not knowing what words will make things better. I don’t even know if there are any words that could make things better. If I’m the person he thinks I am, I don’t deserve a chance to redeem myself anyways.
“I’m sorry you got me as your paycheck,” I tell him. “I’ll try and be more compliant from now on.”
Something flashes in his eyes, something like regret, but I don’t care to look any deeper into things. Knox has made it clear that he’s not a fan of mine. No apology comes. I don’t expect it to. Knox always meets these things with silence.
Which is why I need a break from it.
With my guitar slung over my back, I head out back of the cabin and slip down a trail through the trees, needing some time to myself. The evidence of animals using the trail is everywhere, the prints in the dirt telling me there are deer that frequent the area. I don’t plan to go too far, not when the cougars are having cubs this time of year, but I need to at least not be able to see the cabin so I can clear my head of the three men there.
The three men who are here to protect me.
The three men who I’m definitely thinking about as more than just protectors.
Fuck. I’m getting too comfortable with these men, especially when it’s all temporary.
Especially when I could die tomorrow if the Foundation finds me.
I wander along the trail until the trees swallow me. The thick pines, the soft moss under my boots, the smell of bark and old leaves; it all grounds me just enough to breathe again. After a few minutes, I find a clearing where the light filters through, warm and golden, and settle onto a mossy downed tree. I pull my guitar into my lap, but my fingers hesitate over the strings, my body still heavy with things I can’t say.
So, I let the music say it for me.
It starts soft, wistful even, barely a whisper of melody. But the longer I play, the more it grows. It’s not sad, exactly. Just honest and raw. Like what I used to be able to play. I haven’t felt like myself for so long now that it’s almost alien, until it isn’t, until it feels like the most natural sound in the world.
How dare the record label tell me this isn’t country. This is what the genre is all about. Did they think Toby Keith and Garth Brooks were out there any less raw in their careers? Or is it just rules they reserve for the women who break out?
I don’t know how long I play, how long I just sink into the melodies in my heart. It isn’t until a quiet rustle reaches my ears that I pause.
I look up and meet the eyes of two deer, both standing at the edge of the clearing I sit in, one doe and one young buck. Their ears twitch, their heads tilting curiously toward me. They’re not even a little bit afraid. My fingers start to move gently again and they take a step forward like they’re listening.
My breath catches, a slow smile spreading across my lips. “You guys don’t care who I am, do you?” I whisper. “You’re just here for the show.”
I play a little louder, confident they won’t run away from me. This time, I play something sweet and old and wild, the kind of song that feels like it comes from the marrow, not the radio. And for a moment, I’m not hiding. I’m here.
Free.
The deer tense, both lifting their heads in awareness, before they turn and bolt, leaving me to frown after them as my fingers slow. They’re gone in a blink as if they were never there.
Awareness skitters across my skin, and I understand that I’m no longer alone. A predator is watching me. The air changes, goosebumps rushing along my skin in answer.
I know before I turn around.
Wolf steps into the clearing like he’d been conjured, his black t-shirt stretched across his pectoral muscles, his eyes gleaming golden beneath the trees, his body too still to be human. It never makes sense how animalistic Wolf is, how in tune with his wildness he is, but it does remind me that he’s not safe. Not really. Even if my instincts tell me that he’s safe for me.
“The bouquet seems to be coming back to life,” he murmurs, his eyes on mine. “It makes me hungry.” He tilts his head. “It makes me eager.”
Carefully, with shaking hands, I set my guitar aside. “You scared the deer away.”
