Page 80 of Opening Strain

She touches my hand. “You always were slightly different. You were with the band, but not. I often wondered about your distance. I even discussed it with Darren, who blew me off. Was I wrong?”

The million-dollar question. “I’m honored to be part of UC. Wehave a blast performing. It’s different now, with Tris.” My eyes flick to hers. “I enjoy being on tour.”

“Never putting down roots.”

How can I answer her? I do what I do best. Deflect. “I’m in this mansion right now, aren’t I? Considering purchasing it.”

“Seems like you are. But if it weren’t for your injury, you wouldn’t be, though.”

My bravado flees. “You’re probably right.” About all of her observations. Dare I share one of my secrets? Her nose tips toward mine, her eyes searching for more. I can give her this. Ineedto. “You weren’t wrong. I’m friendly with all of the guys in the band, but I wouldn’t call them ‘friends.’”

She bites her lower lip. “You’ve said this before. Why?”

I rub two fingers over my own nose. How to explain this so she understands? “From a young age, I was taught people would let me down. I had a girlfriend my junior year in high school—the only one I’ve ever had—who dumped me like a bad song lyric the minute a senior sniffed around her and invited her to the prom. I was devastated. Then my father died. When I was invited to join UC, it was an escape from my ugly reality.” I slam my lips shut. Not going into Curtiss. Or worse, my so-called “sister.”

“I’m so sorry. But”—she brushes the hair off my forehead—“Those things happened years ago.”

“Years of writing songs and performing, winning awards.” Hooking up. “It’s been a ride.”

“But not a blast?”

“I’ve enjoyed myself,” I correct her.Never fully let loose. “There have been some excellent times, for sure. Lots of laughter.” Which I never participated in with abandon, but I did join in the hoopla. “I know I’m blessed.”

“You deserve to be there as much as the rest of them.” When I rear back, she adds, “Not more than. You are all in it together. Untamed Coaster is a band. You’re one of the brothers.”

“UC wouldn’t exist but for the team around us. Our label, manager, PR team. None of us could do it without the others.”

“Exactly my point. Your group is intertwined.”

I pop my chin in the air. “Good way of putting it.” Intertwined, but not friends. We get along, enjoy each other’s company. Nothing wrong with that. I still maintain enough distance in case it all falls apart. Like it almost did when Darren died.

“Enough about me, Jenna.” I stroke her hand. I need to understand what’s going on between us. “What are you doing here with me?”

Her eyes track my fingers. “Your physical therapy.”

I push, “Nothing more?”

“You’re my patient. There are rules.”

I draw a treble clef on her hand. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much of a rule follower.”

Her eyebrows rise then lower. “Hashtag truth.”

Our contact—my finger to her hand—scorches me now. The same way it almost blew my head off during our first kiss. The all-encompassing feelings I felt during our—way too short—make out sessions. What is going on here? I kiss her hand. “Do you feel it?”

My question hangs over us.

The doorbell blares.

She announces, “Food’s here.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Instead of answering “no,” Jenna scurries toward the door, which serves to convince me that my feelings aren’t one-sided. What to do with them? Can we get beyond the ghost playing the keys between us?

I walk to the dining room to set the table and stop. This room is too big for the intimate conversation we need to have. So, I return to the kitchen, glance toward the island and then spot a small banquette tucked into the corner. Perfect. I make quick work of setting a couple of placemats down before she returns with the bags.

Handing her a plate, I take mine and slide the chicken parm onto it. If I were alone, no way would I bother with such niceties. With Jenna, I want to be more civilized. At least for dinner.

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