Seduction by Song Page 16

  I roll my eyes, getting my frustration out of my system now before I would have to pen it up for the rest of the night.

  Fortunately, it’s my dad that answers the door when I knock. He’s the same cheerful man who walked with me to the grocery store every Thursday night for a gallon of milk all throughout my childhood. His face lights up when he sees me, smiling that same infectious smile that always makes me smile as well.

  We wrap tight hugs around each other as he pulls me inside with a whispered, “Erin, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

  I hug him again, the warmth of a father’s embrace soothing away the ache of the drive. I kick off my shoes and follow him inside as he leads me down through the house, rambling about the feast he’s cooked up for the night. I smile and listen, knowing that he loves to go on about his cooking—he had retired not long ago and still missed his days as a culinary genius.

  “Dad, Dad!” I say, laughing as I hear him starting to get a bit out of breath describing (in such vivid detail that my mouth begins to water) the citrus grilled tuna steak he prepared.

  He stops in his tracks and looks back at me, surprised at the interruption for a moment before a slightly sheepish expression comes over his face. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”

  I smile and lean down a little to press a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Dad, but you know I don’t mind a surprise every now and then.”

  “You wouldn’t have to be surprised if you were here on time.”

  I jump a little at the sudden appearance of Logan’s stern tone. He had come up behind us silently—or at least quietly enough to be unheard by either of us. I try to offer him a smile, too, but the tension crackling in the air between us is practically physical.

  “Hi, Logan,” I say, stiffly. “Traffic was tight.”

  “I’ll bet it was,” he mutters under his breath.

  I roll my eyes internally and don’t even dignify that with an answer. That’s always what he said when he didn’t have a good response for something. Instead of letting him get me riled up or feeling like crap, like he always does, I turn back to Dad with an easier smile.

  “Dad, you were telling me about the wine you opened up?”

  He smiles, too, and brightens instantly as he waves for me to follow him into the kitchen. “Oh, yes—yes, it’s still breathing, but I can’t imagine sneaking a sip will hurt anything.”

  I can still feel Logan’s glare on my back as I head into the kitchen, looking over my shoulder once I’m sure he’s out of sight. He hasn’t followed us, thankfully, and I breathe a little easier as Dad pours a glass for me.

  “—but I’ve been rambling,” I hear Dad saying as I’m pulled out of my thoughts. “Tell an old man about his favorite daughter. How have you been, Erin?”

  I laugh and don’t bother reminding him that I’m his only daughter, instead taking a sip of the wine—which is a perfect blend, just like he promised. “Oh, you know—the usual. I’m still off on summer break, so I’ve been taking a few tutoring jobs to get some spending money in my pocket. Boring stuff, really.”

  I just barely manage to contain a cringe. It isn’t that I want to lie to my dad, but—this just didn’t seem like the right time to tell him about Romeo. I knew I would tell him eventually, maybe even later tonight, but it seemed like too heavy a topic to bring up so early in the evening.

  Too heavy? I think to myself, frowning inwardly.

  Since when did this become too heavy to bring up in casual conversation? A flash of Romeo’s perfect smile crosses my mind, making me sigh. Even though it had started as something like a casual fling, like summer love, I knew it was much more than that now. I knew I was falling for him, and that wasn’t something one could tell one’s father so easily. Especially my dad, the hopeless romantic. He would start making wedding plans in a second.

  Instead, I talk about my dissertation. My dad listens raptly even though I know only half of the words make sense to him, and I’m grateful for that. I’d have been grateful for anything to fill the silence as Logan paces around outside, as though guarding us.

  Finally, the oven dings and Dad claps his hands together once. “That’ll be the quiche! Would you help me set the table, Erin?”

  “Of course!” I say, springing into action and happy to have something to do with my hands.

  Logan comes in when Dad calls him once we’re finished arranging the impressive selection of fine dishes that have been prepared for the night. I never did feel right about letting Dad cook his own birthday dinner, but he always insisted and he was definitely happier preparing the meal himself than ordering in or having one of us cook. It wasn’t that we weren’t perfectly capable chefs ourselves, having learned a lot from him growing up in this house, but being able to go all out and cook such a lavish dinner was the high point of the day for him.

  Mom would always insist on cooking for Dad on his special day, but ever since the divorce—I shake my head to get rid of those thoughts. They were both happier these days, and that’s all that mattered.

  Dinner is, of course, a smashing success. Dad loves to talk during his meals, just like he likes to sing while he cooks. He launches into an animated speech about the new restaurants that are popping up in town, telling us which ones we have to try and which ones we shouldn’t be caught dead in. Logan, for once, is quiet. He focuses on his food instead of on me, and I breathe a little sigh of relief as it becomes clear he won’t be antagonizing me in front of our dad.

  And dinner, of course, doesn’t last forever.

  A strange, increasingly awkward silence stretches out over the minute after we all declare ourselves full. I clear my throat as I feel the tension in the air thickening once more, getting up after another second to begin clearing the table.

  “Oh, honey, no—,” Dad begins to protest.

  I shake my head firmly and smile as I take his plate. “Let me, Dad. Really. It’s the least I could do.”

  “Let her, Dad,” Logan says as he reclines back in his seat, picking at his teeth. “It’s her job.”

  My shoulders tighten and I grit my teeth, refusing to take the bait. I walk the plates to the sink instead, setting them down to pull open the dishwasher. Behind me, I hear Dad and Logan talking about the war in the news these days. Their voices disappear down the hall after a while as they head out, probably for a cigarette—it’s a bad habit they share and one of the only things they have in common. I’ve tried time and again to get them both to quit, but it’s one vice they haven’t been able to shake.

  I sigh and settle against the counter once I’ve got the dishwasher running. As much as I loved being home with my dad, being around Logan for hours at a time was exhausting. He was my brother and he wanted what was best for me—or for the family, at least—which I could respect, but he was ceaselessly judgmental and there was only so much of that a girl could take.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I put on a smile and make my way out to the porch to join them.

  To my surprise, neither of them are smoking when I find them out there. Logan looks like he’s about ready to kill someone, and Dad is smiling like Christmas has come at the same time as his birthday. I blink and look between the two of them a few times before spotting the package Dad is holding.

  “To Daniel Gouchet,” Dad reads out as he spots me. He beams, wide and bright, as he shows me the box. “Wishing a great birthday to a great man. Erin, did you have anything to do with this?”

  Logan makes a disgusted sound and storms into the house. A brief look of concern flashes over Dad’s face, but he pushes it away quickly—we’ve both gotten used to Logan’s tantrums at this point. They’d only been getting worse and more frequent since Mom remarried, and we both had to get used to them out of necessity if nothing else.

  Putting Logan out of my mind for now—and for as long as I possibly can—I take a closer look at the package. It’s signed by hand, the scrawl of a name a familiar one after the past few days: Romeo Ortiz. I had se
en that autograph so much lately that I knew it by heart.

  A smile pulls at the corner of my lips. The box seemed to contain very, very expensive cigars, and it warmed my heart to know that Romeo would do something like this for a man he didn’t even know.

  “You did have something to do with this,” my dad says, grinning at me as his eyes twinkle with mirth. He pulls me over to the rocking garden bench by the front door, sitting me down insistently. “Who’s this—Romeo, is it?”

  I blush through my smile and take Dad’s hands in mine, squeezing gently as we sit together in the cool night air. If earlier, in the kitchen, hadn’t felt like the right time to bring this up, now felt like the perfect time.

  “It’s Romeo, yes,” I start, focusing on a blooming plant over Dad’s shoulder to keep from letting my mind drift into my memories again. “He’s a—musician. We met only a few—only a little while ago, but he’s amazing, Dad. He—he treats me so well, and—.”

  Dad laughs, patting my hands. “Honey, you don’t have to convince me. Just tell me about him.”

  I blink, realizing that I had been trying to convince him. Logan’s opinions on my relationship with Romeo had made me so defensive that I couldn’t even turn off that instinct with my own father, who I knew would never judge me like my brother. I smile again and relax instantly.

  “He’s the singer in this band called the Rocks. We hit it off after one of his shows, and he’s been inviting me to all of his performances since. He’s an incredible performer, and—such a sweet guy.”

  I find myself going on for a long while after that, talking about everything I like—love about Romeo. My dad looks increasingly amused as I go on about his smile, his eyes, until I start to feel self-conscious.

  “Sweetheart, you sound like you’re gone over this boy,” Dad says when I finally stop myself, blushing again.

  I laugh and shake my head, not in denial but simply out of fondness. “I do, don’t I? I haven’t thought about it much, but—but, yeah. I do think I could fall in love with him.”

  Just as Dad opens his mouth to say something else, the door slams open behind us.

  “It’s late,” Logan says, voice firm and tight. “Dad, you should get to sleep.”

  “No, no, it’s barely—.”

  “It’s late,” Logan says again. His tone leaves no room for argument and Dad eventually sighs before pushing himself up, but not before leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead.

  “Happy birthday,” I whisper to him.

  “Thank you. I’m so happy to see you smile,” he says quietly before heading inside.

  Warmth spreads through my belly and I smile after him before getting up, too. To have his blessing—to have someone’s blessing—meant more to me than I thought it would. I never thought I would be the type to care what other people thought of me, of my relationships, but hearing that from my dad was more reaffirming than anything.

  I was filled with hope for this love that Romeo was leading me into.

  That hope, of course, crashes to the floor when I turn to find Logan glaring at me once more.

  “What the hell, Erin,” he says as soon as the front door is shut behind him, isolating us from our dad.

  I straighten up and frown as best as I can. “What is it now, Logan.”

  He scowls, crossing his arms and blocking my way inside. “You gave that son of a bitch our address? Our father’s address?”

  “No,” I say before I can think twice. I don’t realize it was the wrong thing to say until the word has already left my mouth, until Logan’s scowl is deepening as he balls his hands up into fists.

  “No?” he repeats incredulously. “Then he, what, stalked you to find this place? How else would he have sent a package?”

  I groan and throw my hands in the air. “We’re in the phone book, Logan! Maybe he just put in the effort to look.”

  “You’re not uncomfortable with him looking up your father’s address?” he asks, practically snarling.

  “No,” I say again, this time more confidently. “No, Logan, I’m not uncomfortable with that. It’s nice. It’s thoughtful.”

  “It’s fucking creepy!” He drops his hands to his sides, too, with his fingers still curled tightly against his palm. He takes in a deep breath when I flinch, trying to keep his voice even. “Look, Erin, I’m just concerned—if you don’t want me to worry about you, fine.”

  I scoff. As if that would ever be enough to get him to stop worrying, as he puts it, about me.

  “I’m worried about Dad,” he says, ignoring me. “You can put yourself in danger all you want, but you can’t drag our father into this.”

  “I’m not dragging him into anything!” I protest, the accusation that I could possibly hurt Dad hitting deep and hard. “There’s no danger. What do you think Romeo would do?”

  It’s Logan’s turn to scoff now, and he does it with a derisive roll of his eyes. “He’s capable of anything, Erin. Men like that—they think they can do anything and get away with it.”

  “He won’t,” I say, trying to smooth out my voice, too. There was no reason to have a huge fight here if it could be avoided, after all—we both knew that. “Look, Logan. I don’t know why you have to assume the worst, but he’s a good guy. What would it take for you to believe that?”

  Logan spins on his heel, slamming his hand against the front door as his shoulders shake. He takes several deep breaths before finally looking at me again. “You’ll see. You’ll see soon enough.”

  It sounds so much like a threat that all I can do is stand there, frozen, as he storms down the steps to his truck. He tears out of the driveway with a squeal of his wheels.

  I stand there on the porch, frozen in place, for what feels like hours until my skin is completely chilled. Shaking myself out of it, I throw one last look over my shoulder to make sure Logan isn’t going to be coming back anytime soon before opening the door and stepping inside.

  Dad is dozing on the couch when I pass through the living room on my way to my old bedroom, and I almost miss him slumped there against the cushions until he snores lightly. I frown and wonder for a moment why he hasn’t gone to bed before sitting down next to him, very carefully, and shaking him awake.

  “Dad,” I say, keeping my voice low and quiet as he stirs awake. “Dad, come on. Let’s get you to bed. The couch’s no good for your back.”

  He takes a while longer to come to, smiling sleepily at me when he finally does. “Hey, baby. Did I fall asleep?”

  I nod and wrap my arm around his shoulders to help him up. “Yeah, Dad. You feel up to moving to bed?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says in that sleepy drawl of his. “Wait, honey, I had something I wanted to tell you.”

  I blink as I help him up to start shuffling down the hall towards his room. “What is it, Dad?”

  “About your Romeo—.”

  I feel my blood freeze again. We stop in the hall and look at each other for a moment until Dad finally smiles.

  “When am I going to meet the strapping young thing, huh?”

  I relax, instantly, feeling silly for doubting him at all. Of course he wouldn’t change his mind about Romeo so quickly—even if Logan was his son, he wasn’t Logan.

  I smile back at him as we stop in front of his door. “We’ll see, Dad. Soon, I hope.”

  “Soon, you promise,” he corrects.

  I laugh and, feeling hope flood my body once more, I nod.

  I sleep fitfully that night. Romeo doesn’t respond to a text I send him after the time his concert usually ends. I try not to worry about it, really, because he’s probably busy—or tired, but it still takes me nearly an hour to convince myself not to keep checking my phone every few seconds for a response.

  Then, after I manage to keep my eyes closed for two or three hours, Logan slams the door on his way back into the house. I hear him moving around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets forcefully for no apparent reason aside from just causing a ruckus. It takes me even longer to
get back to sleep this time and it’s morning before I know it.

  Strangely enough, when I roll out of bed, I don’t feel at all tired. I dreamt of seeing Romeo lighting the stage on fire once more and woke up smiling, knowing that I could make that dream a reality in just a few nights.

  The boys are still asleep when I shuffle out into the kitchen, so I make myself a pot of coffee and get started on breakfast. Even though I still can’t stand the way Logan treats even the idea of my being with Romeo, I make enough for him, too—he is my brother, after all.

  And he’s the next to rise. I’m nursing my second cup of coffee when he finds me in the kitchen, looking like he’s slept even less than I have. He’s wearing the same clothes he had on yesterday and the bags that are always under his eyes are especially defined today.

  Feeling sympathetic, I pour him a mug of coffee.

  “So, I was thinking we could take Dad—,” I start to say.

  Logan interrupts, throwing something down onto the floor at my feet. I startle and stare at him for a moment before looking down, finding a new edition of a gossip rag I see at the shops sometimes.

  Frowning, I stoop down to pick it up. Logan stands silently a few steps away, watching me as I unfold the paper to reveal the headline.

  Romeo Ortiz and Louise Valdez: Reunited at Last?

  The texts blurs in my vision as I read the words, terror seizing my heart. Beneath the headline is a bright picture of Romeo at his latest concert, clutching his microphone as he launches into what must be “Why I Need Your Love.” Next to him is a beautiful, busty woman clinging onto him like she belongs there. She has her mouth pressed to his cheek and her hand pressed to his chest. On that hand—on her left hand—is a bright, golden band and a diamond that glints like a knife.

  I gasp and drop the paper. When I look up, tears in my eyes, Logan looks victorious.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  After a quick breakfast with Dad, I take off. My stomach is still twisted in knots over the paper Logan showed me earlier that morning. The article waxed poetic about the heated romance that existed between Romeo and this Louise Valdez woman. The sight of that golden band—obviously a wedding ring—brings back the memory of the girls joking about that old rumor of Romeo being married in secret.