Second Chance At The Riverview Inn Read online

  It was all very wholesome, but the auction had gotten some press, and because it was for a charity for single moms, some of that press took the cheeky route and…well, The Haven House Bachelor Auction was now a thing. And she would have stopped it, if that had been necessary to preserve the integrity of Haven House. But she was glad it hadn’t been necessary, because it raised a lot of money. And it was fun.

  And, as she was trying to remind herself on a daily basis—not everything needed to be serious all the time.

  “An hour music lesson with Micah Sullivan?” she said. “An hour private concert?”

  “I’d bid on those.”

  “Everyone will bid on those.”

  The song switched and Band of Outlaws’ biggest hit, the song Micah had sung with Juliette St. James four years ago, filled the truck. Helen had to imagine that there were ten thousand couples who’d planned to use that song for their weddings–she and Evan had been one of them.

  The second he realized what it was, Jonah fumbled for the phone.

  “It’s all right,” she said, when he accidentally turned the music off instead of just fast-forwarding the song.

  “I’m sorry. I forgot I put it on there.”

  “It’s a good song,” Helen said. “Go ahead and play it.”

  “Helen.”

  “You think they won’t be playing it today?” she asked.

  “I could ask him not to.” He was joking, but not really. Jonah would ask one of the biggest music stars in the world not to play his biggest hit because it reminded her of Evan and made her cry.

  Her diaphragm unseized and she laughed. She laughed harder than his little joke warranted, but she was just barely hanging on. She was white-knuckling this whole thing. A semi truck passed on the left and their truck did that little shimmy in its wake. She gripped the seat belt so hard the edges cut into her skin.

  “Helen,” Jonah said in that quiet voice she’d heard so often in the last couple of years and she shook her head.

  “Don’t want to cry, Jonah. Just play the next song.”

  Band of Outlaws’ guitars and drums filled the car and then so did Micah Sullivan’s voice, not a great voice, probably, but somehow perfect all the same.

  Perfect for songs about loss and love and waking up every morning hoping shit would get better.

  It was no wonder she loved the music so much; it spoke right to her soul.

  As Jonah drove five miles per hour below the speed limit behind an SUV, hurtling toward a rehearsal space in White Plains, she closed her eyes and clung to Micah’s voice and his lyrics the way she had for the last few years.

  Chapter Two

  Micah

  Danny was off. He wasn’t just off… he was…playing an entirely different song? Micah could feel his brother Alex staring death arrows at him. Micah turned slightly and looked over at Danny, sitting on top of the speaker, looking down at his bass, like they were in conversation.

  Which was lovely. And classic Danny.

  It was just the wrong fucking conversation.

  “Stop!” Micah yelled into the mic. “Stop. Danny? You all right, mate?”

  Danny Singh looked up through his long dark hair and blinked. His smile was the exact smile of a kid getting a bike for Christmas. He was barely twenty-one. It was absolutely criminal that the guy was so young and so talented. Micah knew bringing Danny in on bass was a risk, but he’d expected the kid’s talent and personality to win over the rest of the band.

  He was wrong.

  “If we slowed it down…” Danny said.

  “Oi!” Sean MacNee on the drums shouted. “We’re not slowing down any more songs, Danny! We’re a rock band, not a…”

  “But listen, if we slowed it down it’s a riff on Handel’s Messiah—”

  “What the hell, Micah?” Alex, Micah’s half-brother and whole pain in the ass, and the lead guitar player for the band, came up on his left. He didn’t even bother to lower his voice and Danny could hear him. “I know you like the guy, but this—”

  “Shut up, Alex.”

  “Micah?”

  “I’m serious.” He turned to face his brother and saw what he always did. They shared the same eyes. Mom’s eyes. They shared Mom’s musical ability, too. And her quick temper.

  But Alex had his father’s black hair and shit-eating grin.

  And cruel streak.

  Alex was seven years younger than Micah. Eons younger. Worlds younger. They’d had very different versions of the same mother growing up, and that had made all the difference.

  “We’ve been over this,” Micah whispered to his brother, his hand over the microphone. “Danny stays.”

  “He was amazing in the studio with the new album. And in that online shit you were doing. I can’t argue that. But live?”

  “He’ll be fine. We just need to practice and that’s what we’re doing.”

  “What is going on with you, Micah?” Alex asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ve been a fucking pill since the lockdown. You’re pissed all the time.”

  “I’m not pissed.”

  “At me, you are.” Alex’s eyebrows lifted, daring him to say different. Micah couldn’t argue. “Right. And now, bringing in some unknown bass player? The tone of this whole album—”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the album.”

  Alex sighed. “We’re Band of Outlaws, Micah. We’re not your band and you’re treating us like we are.”

  “Micah?” Jo, the band manager, approached the stage from the door. The rehearsal space was huge and it took her minutes to get to a spot where she could talk to him without yelling.

  “What’s up, Jo?” he asked, once she was close enough. Jo was terrifying. Half drill sergeant, half high school principal, she took no shit and kept them all in line. And they, like the children they were, loved and resented her for it.

  “The Haven House people?”

  He blinked and felt that spike of adrenaline.

  “They’re here?”

  “Just parked outside. An older man and a young woman. I have their names…” She paged through her phone.

  Jonah and Helen. He knew their names.

  “Okay, great. Thanks.” Micah turned back to the band who were watching him with furrowed brows. “It’s a charity thing,” he said by way of explanation, and really that was all he was going to say.

  “Let’s take ‘Now or Never’ from the top. Danny?”

  “I’m good,” their new bassist said with an awkward smile.

  “Just play the fucking song, yeah?” Sean said.

  “You bet!” Danny gave an awkward thumbs-up that Micah found completely endearing. Sean rolled his eyes and Alex, to his left, swore under his breath. Danny did not fit anyone’s idea of a rock and roll hero, but the guy was a virtuoso. Like, a legit musical genius. And since Miguel, their original bassist, still wasn’t cleared to go on tour, Danny would be a fine replacement for a few months until Miguel got back on his feet.

  Behind him, at the door, he heard the murmur of voices, Jo welcoming people into the rehearsal space. Micah felt the tingle of dread and excitement. That delicious buzz of what might be amazing or might be disaster. Chaos. The unknown in all its complexity.

  Fuck. He loved it.

  He kept his back to the door and caught the eyes of his band. Sean lifted his stick, gave it a twirl and counted them in to their newest song. Danny, watching Sean, came in with that bass line that felt like sex and flight all at the same time. Then it was Alex, with those high runs across the top of the scale.

  Micah came in, steady and loud. He wasn’t a great guitar player, but he was steady and loud.

  He kept his back to the door, focused on the band. But he was aware. So fucking aware. Of Jonah.

  Helen.

  The past he’d spent the last fifteen years running from, and now he was inviting it in.

  Somehow, in his darkest moments, Helen Larson had reached into his life and pulled him back from an abyss. Twice. And she didn’t even know.

  This is only going to go bad, he thought with that same reckless joy fighting gave him.

  And he started to sing.

  Micah felt that curtain get drawn around the band. There was something that came from surviving the dizzying climb to stardom and then clinging to it with everything they had. It was trial by fire and they’d nearly lost their grip a dozen times. They’d spent the last six years singing into the screaming faces of fans, leaving their blood, sweat and tears on stages around the world.

  And they sounded fucking great.

  And Helen was here. Seeing it.

  No lie, it was enough to get a guy hard.

  “Jesus, Danny!” Alex shouted as the music fell apart like a half-built house coming down around their ears.

  “No,” Sean said. “That was me.”

  The spell broken, Jonah turned and found himself staring at the two people next to Jo at the door.

  Jonah looked the same, a little older, but still tall and trim and serious-eyed. He’d been a runner, Jonah remembered that about him. And asthmatic, the kind of contradiction Micah could get behind. And next to him…

  Helen.

  She was blond and small. Freckled. She looked nervous. Unsure. She tucked hair behind her ear in exactly the same way he remembered about her, and it was like being kicked in the balls.

  Look at me. Remember me.

  She turned away.

  And that was like being kicked in the balls.

  “From the top,” Micah shouted and they went into it again. Drums, bassline, guitar. Voice.

  What did he think was going to happen? Really? She’d take one look at him and remember everything?

  Helen

  “This is first s
ong on the new album,” said the very nice but extremely businesslike woman with the phone and the clipboard, shouting over the guitars and the drums being played on the stage a hundred feet away.

  “It’s awesome,” Jonah said.

  Helen nodded but…well, it wasn’t awesome. It was loud. And it felt sharp. She could feel Jonah looking at her, waiting for her to say something about Haven House. And Micah’s donation. But the music was making a mess of her head. She felt like the five top layers of her skin were gone and her nerves were exposed. She couldn’t actually look at the band.

  “I’m Jonah,” Jonah said, stepping into the conversational gap. “One of the executive directors of Haven House.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Jo Hayes, manager of the band.”

  “That must be quite a job,” Jonah said with a laugh. He glanced Helen’s way, waiting for her to kick into gear. “This is my daughter, Helen. She’s in charge of well, basically everything.”

  “Sure. I understand that job,” Jo said, with a tight smile. “Nice to finally meet you.”

  She and Jo had been emailing back and forth over this visit.

  Helen wasn’t sure what her face was doing. Was she smiling? She nodded but then couldn’t seem to stop.

  “Band of Outlaws start a North American tour in three months,” Jo said over the guitars. “They kick off the tour in Madison Square Garden.”

  “I got the update,” Jonah said. “So excited. I’m a huge fan. And I’ll be taking my wife to the show.”

  “We’d be happy to provide you some tickets.”

  “Oh!” Jonah looked so thrilled. So shocked. It was sweet. Oh my god, am I still nodding? Helen wondered. “That would be so kind. We appreciate it! “

  Jo smiled. “We’d love to give you two tickets, too,” Jo said to Helen, and the tears came out of the blue. Hot and mean at the back of her eyes, and bile was suddenly thick in her throat.

  I don’t need two tickets.

  “Helen?” Jonah whispered and she saw this scene from outside her body. Jo, oblivious, was looking at her phone, but then catching some strange vibe in the air, looked over at Helen. Her eyes grew wide with awareness that something was wrong. That Helen was, in fact, about to cry or vomit or both.

  “It’s all right,” Jo said, putting a hand on Helen’s arm that felt terrible. “Lots of people get starstruck.”

  Oh, God. That was worse. Infinitely worse.

  “Can you point me in the direction of the bathroom?” Helen asked with a smile that felt more like a grimace.

  “Third door on the left,” Jo said, pointing right outside the doorway. “Just past the closet.” The rehearsal space was sort of round so the hallway curved out of sight.

  Helen left, the music becoming indistinct as she put some distance between herself and the instruments. She just needed a breath. Some cold water on her face. Some dark and some quiet.

  She was fine. Totally fine.

  Behind her, the music stopped and she heard Jonah’s laugh. Awkward and too loud.

  He’s meeting Micah, that’s why he’s laughing like that. It made her feel incredibly tender toward her stepdad, but nauseous all the same.

  Third door. She pulled it open and found a big dark closet. It held a bucket and four hanging coats.

  “Helen?” Jonah shouted.

  And it wasn’t the smartest thing she’d ever done. It made very little sense. But she went into the closet and closed the door behind her, the dark slipping over her like cool, refreshing water.

  I’ll be fine. I just need a second.

  She closed her eyes and repeated that like a mantra.

  Minutes later the door to the closet opened, cutting a slice out of the darkness and she undoubtedly looked like a mole person blinking into the light and the familiar face of Micah Sullivan.

  Well. Shit.

  Chapter Three

  Micah Sullivan was beautiful. Like, for real, beautiful. But a different kind than the pictures of him in magazines.

  This real-life version of him was infinitely more interesting. His sandy blond hair hung down in messy waves to his shoulders and those famous blue eyes were darker than she’d thought. Dark blue. Like old denim. But he had wrinkles around them, like he’d spent some time squinting into the sun. There was that infamous scar that ran down through his right eyebrow, that came from a beer bottle smashed against his head when he was twenty-one.

  His nose had been broken a time or two. And his jaw was covered in a patchy beard that gave him the look of a Civil War soldier.

  The effect, all in all, was very serious. Nearly stern. A man who’d seen some shit.

  But his lips. His beautiful, thick, puffy lips. The lips were a law unto themselves. Too much, really. But they gave his rather beaten-up face a softness.

  An almost outrageous sexiness.

  “Hi,” she said, stupidly, because she was in a closet. Thinking about Micah’s lips.

  “You okay?”

  “Totally,” she lied. “You?”

  He smiled.

  Helen had seen some things. Some beautiful things. But, good lord forgive her, her child’s first smile was NOTHING on Micah Sullivan’s grin. It was so beautiful it robbed her of brain cells.

  “I thought the closet was a bathroom,” she said.

  “You’re not using it as a bathroom, are you?”

  “No!” she said. “Just…taking a second.”

  She pulled the edges of her denim jacket down and took a breath. She wasn’t ready to get out of the closet, but clearly the time had come.

  “I’m Helen,” she said.

  “Micah.”

  She laughed. “I know.”

  “Micah?” Jo’s voice came around the bend of the hallway.

  “I think that’s our cue,” Helen said and stepped around the bucket to get out of the closet, but to her surprise, Micah stepped in and shut the door behind him.

  “You’re not…you’re not using it as a bathroom, are you?” she asked. And then wanted to die. You just asked Micah Sullivan if he was going to pee in a closet.

  “No. Those days are behind me,” he said. “I gave up tequila and I stopped peeing in closets.”

  Laughter kind of burbled out of her. There was a bright line of light coming in from under the door, covering them in shades of shadow.

  “You do this a lot? Hide in closets?” he asked, his voice dropped to a whisper.

  “No. Not really. It’s new,” she whispered back.

  “Just something you’re trying out?”

  “Yeah. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Aren’t you hiding in here, too?”

  “I guess so.”

  Someone walked past the closet, making the light under the door go dark for a second.

  “Micah!” Jo yelled again in the hallway.

  “Are you—”

  “Shhhh,” he said.

  “Are you scared of your manager?” she whispered.

  “Very.”

  She laughed, as silently as she could, and in the light coming up from under the door she saw his smile.

  The corkscrew of anxiety slowly unwound, sped up, maybe, by the sheer shock of her current circumstance.

  I’m in a closet with Micah Sullivan.

  She glanced down and realized her fingers were just a few inches away from the fingers that had written “This Is Forgiveness,” and “What Happens Next” and “When I See You.”

  “I had a panic attack,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t. “I mean…that’s why I’m here. I had a panic attack and went looking for the bathroom and found the closet.”

  “Close enough?”

  “Something like that.”

  In the dark he was silent and the quality of his silence was…well, it was excellent. Some people’s quiet felt like pressure. Or worse, judgment. His was…neither.

  “Do you have them a lot?”

  “Panic attacks?”

  She felt more than saw him nod.

  “More than I’d like,” she said, as if it was a joke.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asked.

  “I am. Thank you.”

  “I hope it wasn’t caused by me?” he asked. “The panic attack?”