Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2)(74)

anger has become a dangerous ally.

I haven’t been drinking away my emotions like I thought I might. I couldn’t do it after I saw Ember had gone through the trouble

of putting all the liquor in my house into a box on the back porch. She knew. Instead, I broke things. And punched things. A lot of

things. Ember and I were both better off with her leaving that day. She didn’t need to see some of the ugly shit the last few

months have brought me.

Sneaking in a side door, I pull the brim of my Bruins hat down a bit as I scan the room. She’s not at the bar, so I slide onto a

stool, order a beer, and continue my visual hunt. I just want to see that she’s good. Ember lost a lot of weight early in the

summer, and then after Rae died, the life just drained from her eyes. God, “Rae died” rolls off my mind’s tongue so easily some

days.

There she is.

Ember’s sitting at a table right in front of the stage, slowly tracing the rim of her wine glass with her middle finger. Christ,

she looks amazing—better than ever. She seems to have put back on the weight she lost. I can’t see her shoulder blades from

across the bar like I would have been able to three months ago. Her auburn waves shine past her shoulders—her newly muscular

shoulders.

I can’t believe it’s been three months.

Just when I think she’s about to turn around and spot me, the MC steps up to the mic to introduce the first act. The lights dim,

and for the first three acts I stare at no one but her. She sways to the music and claps enthusiastically for people she’s clearly

come to know over the last several weeks—that’s how long Josh tells me she’s been playing here.

I waited until I couldn’t take it anymore before giving in and calling Josh, fishing for information. I know David talks to her a

couple times a week, but I made it clear that I didn’t want to go there with him. All Josh would tell me is that she was doing

better. That I can see, as those gorgeous emeralds she calls eyes shine through everyone she speaks with. The MC approaches the mic

once more.

“And now, for the last act of the night, November Blue.”

My heart pounds through my chest as she takes the stage. People around me whisper their praises of her, this woman I love. Shit. I

love her. I’m trying not to—someone shouldn’t be in love when their whole family is dead. But, it’s her. It’s November. I was

breathless the first time I ever saw her, but seeing her now fills me with more life than I’ve had in months.

“Thank you, Dex.” Her voice. God, her voice...“I actually have something really personal to share with you tonight. I’ve worked

on it for a long time. My friends were supposed to be here to support me, but, they bailed last-minute, so, here goes ...” She

laughs into the mic, and I think I’m about to come apart at the seams.

I shift on my stool, contemplating my escape. I don’t think I’m ready for this, to watch her sing when we haven’t even spoken in

three months. Then, she grabs her guitar. I choke on my beer a little when I see she’s wearing the leather cuff—the one Rae got

me for my birthday a few years ago—that I left at her apartment the day after she let my drunk ass sleep it off at her house.

My feet anchor into the foot rail beneath the bar as she tunes the guitar and her voice. The world around me disappears as she

starts singing. Her tone is full—full of soul, full of life, full of her. She’s back.

“Sit me down, tell me no, sweep the pieces as I go

Turn up lost, that’s where I was, fighting for you

when I was gone ...

I never left, yeah, I thought it through

My heart has built a room for two ...”

Goosebumps take over the damp skin on the back of my neck as I watch her sing through our sordid history. She’s breathtaking,

exuding confidence as her fingers glide effortlessly across the guitar. I’m so f*cking proud of her. I want to run up on stage and

sweep her off her feet, like she deserves. Instead, I jump off the stool and breeze back through the door I came in.

I’m out of breath when I reach my car, ten feet from the door. She still loves me. Thank God, she still loves me. My phone rings.

It’s Josh.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I try to sound composed.

“You.” It’s Monica.

Sweet hell, can Josh not keep a secret to save his life?

“Uh, hi Mon.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she laughs. Phew. “Did you see her play yet?”

“She’s on right now.”

“What the hell are you doing talking to me?”

“I left.”

“Men,” she scoffs.

My heart’s racing faster. “Listen, Monica, please don’t—”

“Oh get ahold of yourself, Cavanaugh, I’m not going to say anything to her.” She sounds as if she’s scolding a child.

“Then why’d you call me?”

Her tone lightens dramatically. “To hear you. You sound good—are you?”

“I will be.”

She sighs. Heavy and long. “All right, Bo. Here’s my thought ...”