Page 91 of To Bring You Back
“Or I don’t fit in your life and never will. If your schedule’s that hectic, how would our relationship work? You’d want me to move to LA? Or go on tour with you? Or you’d fly here once in a while? None of that sounds practical.”
“I can afford impractical.” His exasperation had spilled into his tone. He paused and measured his next words carefully. “The question is whether you can forgive imperfect—in me and in yourself.”
Her back straightened. “I do forgive you, but I can’t act like it didn’t hurt to find Harper here. I care about you. I love your faith and how you stand by people, but what else about you am I going to find out that’s going to end up hurting?”
“Does it matter? You’re taking shots in the dark, trying to hit an artery and kill this so you can go back to life without me and ignore or avoid anything that makes you uncomfortable. Is that what you want? To run back to your comfort zone?”
She blinked rapidly.
What if she started crying and wouldn’t let him give her a hug? He was being too rough, in danger of nicking that artery himself.
“Look.” He infused his voice with tenderness. “I know this isn’t ideal, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”
She sat on the foot of the bed, shoulders rounded as if they were still weighted down by the luggage she’d carried.
“You’re one of the few people who doesn’t judge me by my fame or my reputation, someone who truly knows me. Hearing you say you don’t know me …?” He pulled a flash drive from his pocket and laid it on the writing table. “For me, there is no going back to a life without you. Since the day we met, you’ve been a huge part of my life, even during all the years we spent apart. That’s when I wrote these, except for the last one, which I wrote this morning.”
Adeline’s eyes fixed on the small black drive. “Lyrics?”
“Recordings.” Maybe he should give her the whole notebook, go all in. But if she wouldn’t accept what she heard in the four recorded songs, having the whole collection wouldn’t make a bit of difference. “I promised you music last night so you could practice. You’ll find an electric bass downstairs in the studio, if you want it.”
“Matt’s? He wouldn’t like that.”
“Matt waltzed into Havenridge with little but the clothes on his back. Except the drums, what’s in the studio is mine, and you’re welcome to it, whether or not you like what you hear.” He stepped back into the hall.
She stared at the drive without moving.
“You have the say over whether we can use these. If you let us, I can’t say which songs, if any, will make the cut—we offer a lot more than what makes the album—but they have potential. My most successful work has always come from my most personal experiences and emotions, and it doesn’t get any more personal than that.”
If she listened to them and rejected him anyway, she’d be rejecting the best he had to offer. He’d never win her over.
“Okay.” She studied her hands, picking at the nails she still hadn’t trimmed.
“Okay.” He pressed his palm against the doorframe, waited another beat, and left.
24
Adeline dug her laptop from her suitcase. Once it powered up, she loaded the flash drive and hit play.
She returned to the bed, lay back, and let the comforter cradle her.
The quality of the recording was good—no noticeable white noise, just guitar and Gannon’s voice—but her laptop speakers playing from ten feet away should allow her to listen without feeling immersed. It would be like getting a voicemail message. Removed. No immediate reply expected.
The theory washed away when she teared up during the first song, the one he’d performed for her last night. As beautiful as it was, the idea of God holding her seemed so much less important than that He might direct her in what to do. When she spoke with Harper, she’d made it sound so simple to determine what God asked of a person, but that wasn’t the case at all.
If His guidance were easy to discern, she’d know what to do about Gannon.
Gannon was right about one thing: pursuing a relationship with him would put her far outside her comfort zone. Security details, paparazzi, fans, hectic schedules. Harper. Taking their connection deeper would also mean trusting Gannon the way she had last night when she’d told him about the rift in her relationship with God. A romance meant risking that he’d hurt her again, and worse.
The second song started. Though he used no names, the song said enough for her to recognize he’d been missing her when the lyrics came. He sang of hoping to spot her face in the crowd, of how she followed him everywhere but was never there when he turned around. The song gave no indication of when it had been written. From what he’d said, this may have come to him any time over the last nine years—or even before that—but had he honestly thought of her that much?
She’d thought of him often, but he was famous. Reminders of him were everywhere. Once in a while, she’d done what his song described—mistaken someone else for him and done a double take, heart pounding. She’d felt foolish each time, assuming he had forgotten her the way she had told him to.
She’d spent so much time blaming Gannon for what happened to Fitz that she’d considered herself the one who’d been rejected. But that wasn’t true. Gannon had wanted her to pick him and had only stopped calling when she’d told him she was staying with Fitz. He’d called again when he somehow heard—maybe through John?—that she and Fitz had broken up.
Again, she’d rejected him.
And then, at Fitz’s funeral, Gannon found her sitting out behind the funeral parlor and tried to comfort her. She pushed him away. What had she said? Something about how they’d killed him.
