"Did you hear me, Kennedy? I said go upstairs and wait for me there," he grumbled.

  No, I hadn't because I'd been massaging my bruised ego, but I nodded affirmatively anyway. I turned and did as I was instructed, something that had me stewing angrily on the inside. "Whatever, Mr. Bad Moody Pants."

  "I heard that," he growled from the bottom of the steps.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I called back down to him. When he didn't respond, I hiked the rest of the way to the door, punching the numbers into the snazzy keypad.

  I tried desperately not to want to know what had happened to his father because I shouldn't care. I really shouldn't, but I did. And as I crossed over the threshold into a luxurious apartment that no doubt was a bachelor pad, I blamed the inability to let it go on being a writer. I lived for a good story, loved to sort through the tiny details about something or someone that I could so often turn into a song.

  "Back before my brain stopped working," I mumbled, blaming that entirely on the Callahan's.

  I scanned my immediate surroundings, lush couches, shiny surfaces and modern edges meeting me at every turn. Although masculine and in need of some feminine touches here and there, it was somewhat of a hidden gem. No one on the streets below could possibly imagine such luxury sitting directly above their heads. I walked towards the window, curtains drawn open to a view of The Hard Rock Café across the street and the Cumberland River, big and beautiful, forging its way through the city to my right.

  I gave thought to what I was going to do, seeking first to find solutions to things that needed immediate attention and tabling other things for the future. There was no manual on life - definitely no manual on how to resurrect and navigate a floundering musician's career. It wouldn't present near as much of a problem if I had some sort of skillset beyond music. But I didn't. I hadn't wanted to go to college, much to my father's dismay. In fact, I had turned down a partial scholarship to Florida State University because I'd been so dead-set on chasing this dream.

  I sighed aloud, frowning at my reflection in the glass. Somewhere between gawking at Griff's crotch and contemplating my future, the city had begun working its magic on me. Nashville's lights and neon signs twinkled at me, luring me forward, stirring up something inside me that made me want to take them in. I had half a mind to do just that - go navigate the streets, blend in with the crowds, but released a frustrated chuckle instead. Juvenile, irrational decisions like that were precisely what had landed me here. Was I crazy? I'd been on the front page of the newspaper, caught in a compromising position with their golden boy.

  I leaned forward, inspecting the street immediately below. There was quite a crowd down there. If that was the line to get into Callahan's, then Griff would be pleased with the turnout. Maybe it would help to cure his extreme case of The Highs and Lows. I'd decided that his problem was either directly linked to that, or else he had a serious, medication-worthy bipolar disorder.

  "I'd like to think that crowd was here just because they like the place. Or, better yet, that they were regulars just waiting to get into their favorite bar," he said from behind me.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin, banging my forehead on the glass. I yelped, cupping a hand over the areas that throbbed.

  "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he apologized, setting my things down right inside the door. "The crowd below," he said motioning towards the window. "I'd kill for Callahan's to pull clientele like that on a regular basis."

  "So, if the crowd's not for Callahan's, what's it for?"

  From the look that he shot me, I knew that his answer wouldn't be something that I wanted to hear. It had everything to do with Mick…or me…or both of us. I swallowed hard, feeling the air gush out of my lungs.

  "Well, to be honest-"

  "Never mind. Don't answer that," I said, halting his words with outstretched hands. I didn't want to hear it, knowing that what he'd say would solidify this nightmare. "I already know, I think. I mean, just say it…" I said hastily, getting to the couch in two strides before taking a seat.

  "You-"

  "Wait-"

  "Kennedy-" His eyes reached for his hairline.

  "It's about the newspaper, right?" I said hesitantly, already certain of the answer.

  He nodded. "Yes, they're all interested," he confirmed. "Mick being in town set to perform a few blocks down doesn't help matters. They're all looking, wondering."

  I snapped my eyes shut. "Christ," I mumbled, pulling my legs beneath me, my hands settling into my lap. I sucked in the side of my cheek. "I'm sorry. I-I…" I began, my voice fading because I didn't know what else to say.

  Griff took a few steps forward, his body hesitating as if to rethink what he meant to do, but decided to continue. He grabbed the remote from the end table that hugged the large, chocolate leather couch and flipped on the television. "I suppose that this doesn't help matters either," he mumbled, changing the channel to the intended station.

  "Jiminy-fucking-crickets," I groaned.

  There I was on the screen, the main topic of some entertainment television news program, one photograph being quickly replaced by another. Photographs that began with me getting onto Mick's bus. Photographs that showed steamy embraces, tangled limbs and locked lips. The last photograph - one particularly flattering shot of me straddling Mick on the couch of his motor coach in nothing but my skirt and bra, nibbling his bottom lip - really put the nail in the coffin.

  "I think I'm going to be sick," I whispered. I gripped the edge of the couch, fearful that I was going to faint. I had drug my legs out from under me and planted them onto the plush berber, my elbows resting on my knees as my hands held up a very swimmy head. Tears stung at the edges of my lids. This was it. I'd fucked up - worse than ever. There was no turning back, no way that Mick's team could spin this in any other direction besides what it had already been.

  "It's not like you didn't want this, Kennedy," Griff said from beside me, cutting into the silence.

  I felt the sudden shifting of emotions, from dread to anger, as I brought hesitant eyes up towards him. He lifted his hands out to his sides, shrugging as if to say What? You know it's true. He was serious. He was completely fucking serious. After he had practically attacked me on the hood of his truck.

  "You better explain what in the hell it is that you mean…quickly," I fumed.

  "Look, you're an up-and-coming singer - singing backup on tour and lugging around a guitar case like you know how to use the thing," he said shrugging. "You can't not expect me to believe that this isn't some publicity stunt. Some way to-to," he said, thrashing his hands around wildly.

  "-to what?" I questioned, surprised that I was able to manage a word, much less two considering my teeth hadn't unclenched since he'd spoken the insult.

  "Oh come on! A way to get noticed," he answered, his hands making their way to his narrow hips. "You know the saying, 'No publicity is bad publicity', right?"

  "Oh, I know it all right," I ground out. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to cry, laugh or strangle him. Considering the sudden itch that I began to notice in my hands, I had to assume that it was the latter. "Your brother pursued me," I spit out, not completely sure why I felt the need to explain. "Not the other way around."

  He laughed, a cruel callous sound that escaped from his lips and seeped through the pores of my skin, wiggling themselves underneath and worming their way straight to my heart. It wasn't like I'd thought I had stumbled upon some kind of love connection with Griff, but knowing now the type of woman that he truly thought I was, I'd have gladly taken back my reaction towards him from earlier.

  "Oh, I'm sure he did," he said, nodding his head. "And the more you resisted, the more he turned on the charm. Hell, if you resisted for five minutes it was five minutes more than any of the others. Which I'm certain made it that much more worth it when he finally got into your pants."

  I leapt from the couch, certain I'd never been spoken of so negatively. He was insinuating things about me that just weren't true, not even close. "You have no clue what you're saying. You don't know me," I insisted, sinking a finger harshly into my chest.

  He crossed his arms together in front of him, his eyes icing over as they had whenever Mick was near. "I don't have to know you, Kennedy. You see, I know my brother…And I know the types of women that he chases after and beds."

  I knew I shouldn't, but my pride stepped directly into his trap. "And what type of woman is that?"

  "Loose ones," he deadpanned, before turning and heading out of the door, slamming it on the way out and grumbling over his shoulder, "Good riddance, Kennedy."

  *****

  "Do you think she's dead?" I heard from above me.

  I was hesitant to wake, considering how long it had taken me to cry myself to sleep the night prior, but knew that I'd have to face the music at some point. Why not now? And why not start it on a good note, with a person who hadn't insulted me yet?

  There was a laugh from across the room. "No, Hannah, she's breathing. Can't you see the rise and fall of her chest?"

  The couch shifted before a small hand came to rest on my chest, testing and proving her mom's theory. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Momma," Hannah said sounding a little disappointed.

  I opened one of my eyes, startling her, but instead of running like most kids would do, a full-on grin slid across her face revealing a toothless front that I hadn't noticed the day prior.

  "Hiyah!" she said, waving delicate fingers at me.

  "Morning, Hannah," I said yawning, throwing in a perfunctory stretch as I mirrored her smile with one of my own.

  "Momma's cookin' bacon and eggs. You do eat bacon, don't you?" She asked the question with the implication of it being a crime if I didn't.

  I laughed. "Of course I do. What kind of person doesn't eat bacon?" I teased, wrinkling my nose up at her, earning a giggle.

  "Felicia doesn't," she pointed out. "Momma don't like Felicia though. Only real women eat bacon. Ain't that right, Momma?" she beamed, lifting a blonde eyebrow towards the kitchen.

  Sutter turned away from the oven where I could hear the bacon sizzling. One sniff of the air and I could smell it too. I was done nursing my hangover and my appetite had returned, rolling over as if to prove its point.

  "That's right, baby."

  "See?"

  "Yes," I agreed. "You better watch that one," I whispered, nudging her in the side. "If she says she doesn't like rainbows or you catch her kicking a puppy, you better let someone know."

  "Who doesn't like rainbows or puppies?" Hannah questioned, my comment confusing her.

  "Exactly," I grinned. "Those are the one's you gotta look out for." I winked at her before standing, the smell luring me into the kitchen.

  "She's right, Hannah," Sutter agreed. "She's a smart one, that one right there," she said, hitching her head in my direction.

  I smiled, glad to have at least someone's vote of confidence. My feet marched towards the smell of freshly brewed coffee as I rounded the corner and began contemplating my cabinet options. For a condo, this place had a ton.

  "So, which Uncle do you like?" Hannah questioned from behind me, my feet gluing themselves to the marble tile beneath them. "Neither one of them has a woman who eats bacon," the little girl pointed out.

  "Hannah!" Sutter admonished, turning around sharply with a horrified look on her face.

  I laughed, despite the prying question. "Neither…And your Uncle Griff has Felicia," I pointed out without thinking. I opened a cabinet and stuck my head inside, attempting to mask my embarrassment by looking for a coffee cup.

  "Oh, he's not with her," Hannah answered. "That's his friends with benefits."

  Shocked by her response, I nearly smashed my forehead into the cabinet in front of me.

  "Hannah!" Sutter shrieked for the second time in a handful of minutes.

  "That's what you said-"

  "Some things don't bear repeating," she said, clearly a bit flabbergasted. "I'm so sorry, Kennedy. We're working on deciphering between what is appropriate for only adults and what's okay for children. It's not going so well apparently," she mumbled, shooting a glance towards her daughter. Hannah blushed, embarrassed.

  "It's fine, Sutter…really. I have a nephew who's about her age so I get it," I said, opening another cabinet and finding success. I pulled a cup from the shelf and frowned. I knew I shouldn't say what my lips were about to, what my brain knew it shouldn't, but low and behold…"I'm guessing that Felicia is putting more stock into the relationship than Griff then?"

  My reasons for being so damned interested in the raven-haired man who had all but called me a slut and written me off as he slammed the door the night prior, were beyond me. Normally I could give two shits about a man's background or their opinions about me. As someone who didn't believe in love, I typically left the personal things at the door. No use learning things about people that were temporary.

  "It's pretty obvious, huh? And here I thought that maybe it was just me," she said, the last sentence more of an afterthought. "I don't like the woman. I'm sure that's pretty obvious too." She lifted her eyes from the pan, shrugging through an innocent smile.

  "Nah, not too bad," I teased, earning a chuckle as she returned to her chef duties. I found a canister of powder creamer sitting beside the coffee pot and dumped a healthy dose into my cup before drowning it with the morning elixir.

  "It's just-" she began, setting her spatula to the side before resting a frustrated hand on her hip. "I'm a little protective of my guys - Griff especially - because he's always getting the short end of the stick," she said. She picked the spatula back up, stirring three more times before pulling the eggs from the hot eye and setting them to the side. She turned her attention towards the bacon. "And there's something off with her. I can't figure it out, but there's something. She's too-" she stopped, searching for the right words. "It's like she doesn't want me coming around. She wants him all to herself and it stems beyond clingy. It's just…weird."

  "Griff seems fairly adept at holding his own," I pointed out, thinking of all the words that he'd used to cut me so deeply with the night before.

  She smirked. "That he is. But as the older sister, I still try to mother them both." She placed breakfast on the island, turning to produce three plates from a cabinet to the left of the stove. "Listen, don't let Griff's rough exterior alarm you. He's a big ol' softy at heart." She doled out the plates, motioning for me to sit.

  Yeah, right. A big old softy. Not hardly. He was about as soft as the erection that had been pressed to my front as his lips nipped at my bottom lip. The unnerving thought caught me off guard, reminding me of all the things about Griff Callahan that weren't soft at all - like his forearms, his body on top of mine and the confusing looks that he gave me.

  I did what was in my best interest by remaining quiet, instead filling my plate with eggs and bacon. I wasn't sure how I'd earned the kindness from Sutter, a woman who I hardly knew, but I was enjoying the breakfast too much to let my curiosity get the best of me. Food first, questions later.

  We ate in silence, Sutter finally rising from her empty plate to refill her coffee cup. She instructed Hannah to begin piling the dirty dishes in the sink, sipping from her steamy mug. "I suppose you're wondering why we're here this morning," she mused over the mug.

  I shrugged, shooting her a validating glance. "Well, I'll admit that it did cross my mind."

  "Griff said he'd left you here and he told me about the motel," she said, her eyes conveying her disapproval of the situation. "Don't worry, he got an earful for leaving you here and Mick will too," she said smiling, "for the idiocy of leaving you somewhere like that."

  "Momma said four letter words to Uncle Griff," Hannah announced.

  "She's right, I did. Words that we will not repeat, right Sweetie?"

  Hannah nodded. "Yes ma'am."

  "Thanks, I think," I said softly, embarrassing heat creeping up my neck and settling onto my cheeks.

  "Griff means well most of the time, but he's got a bad temper - something we both got from Dad," she acknowledged. "It's more towards Mick than you, I'm sure."

  "I don't know, Sutter," I admitted. "He said some things yesterday that I'm certain were aimed squarely at me," I added, thinking back, again, on the accusations to my character.

  "His anger is misplaced." She reached across the island, laying a reassuring hand on my arm. "Mick lives a little carelessly and Griff and I both - mainly Griff," she corrected, "are often left to clean up his messes."

  "Which would explain the stray comment," I mumbled, hating myself immediately afterwards.

  "What stray comment?" Her back stiffened as she brought her coffee cup down onto the countertop suddenly.

  "Listen, it's nothing," I attempted to backtrack.

  "Doesn't sound like nothing."

  "It was," I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "Nothing," I repeated. "Water under the bridge."

  "Mick wants to stop by," she said quickly, studying my face to gauge its reaction.

  "Mmmhmm," I mumbled.

  "He's probably feeling guilty about leaving you-"

  "Uncle Mick," Hannah squealed, dropping a dish into the sink as she ran with soapy hands towards the door.

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Seven

  Mick pulled Hannah into his side and gave a gentle squeeze before his eyes quickly settled onto me. I noted the disappointment in Hannah's eyes. He hadn't spurned her, but there was a difference in his greeting and Griff's and it hadn't been the excitement that she'd been hoping for.

  Oil and water. Yin and yang.

  "I brought your paycheck," he said producing an envelope from his back pocket, my brain assessing that he wore another pair of the form fitting variety. "There's a little extra on there…for the trouble. I hope it helps."

  Great, now I was a charity case. I didn't like the idea - not one bit - but considering my stash was quickly dwindling and I'd need to find a place to stay soon with no immediate future plans, I accepted. I intentionally ignored my trembling hands because I couldn’t process the reasoning behind them, taking the paper from his hand instead, fully expecting peanuts to fall from inside. I gasped when I saw the amount. "Mick, there's five thousand dollars on here…It's too much."