Resonating Souls (Bermuda Nights #1)(2)

My response was automatic. “But if Jeff had -”

She laughed out loud. “Lord, Amanda, we’re going to have to break you of that habit. Jeff’s jealous streak was just one of his many flaws. You’re free of him now, girl!”

It was still hard to take in. I was free. I could talk with a man for more than thirty seconds without fearing Jeff storming in on us. Each time it had been the same routine. First Jeff would say something obnoxious to drive away the intruder. Then the rest of the evening would be a non-stop harangue about my lack of control.

I gave a wry smile. “It’ll take me a while to get used to this,” I admitted.

She nudged me in the ribs. “You’ve got one night,” she instructed. “After that, I’ll be taking drastic action. You’re going to enjoy this cruise, no matter what it takes!”

The next few hours floated by in a pleasant blur. The music played, we soaked in the hot tubs, and we lounged on the tiers of beach chairs, basking in the sun-drenched afternoon. Men drifted by to flirt with Kayla with regularity. Some talked with me as well, but that frisson of nervousness still triggered each time.

I was patient with myself. My reactions had been embedded in me throughout the two long, soul-draining years of my relationship with Jeff. They would take some time to undo - but I would get there. I would recover, heal, and move on.

There was the deck-side BBQ with juicy burgers and buttered corn-on-the-cob. The band kicked into high gear for the sunset dance party, and Kayla and I swirled joyfully in the mob.

At last the breezes became too brisk to ignore. Kayla rubbed her hands on her arms, shivering. “OK, I need something warmer,” she called out as the band bowed and waved their farewells. “Head in with me?”

In a few minutes we were down in our snug room which was already littered with tins of make-up, flocks of high-heeled shoes, and a kaleidoscope of short dresses. I slipped on a pair of tight black jeans, a crimson top, and black leather boots. Kayla was going with gold this evening, with a shimmering shirt and clinging white leggings. She winked at me as we pushed open the door.

We could hear the rock music thumping long before we reached the club. We rounded the corner, and Kayla stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with delight. There on stage, dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans, was her Viking god. His blond hair shone in the stage lights, and he had his head thrown back, belting out the song.

Kayla was off like a shot, wriggling her way through the throng to dance right in front of Thor. His eyes swept down to hers, a wide smile spread on his lips, and I shook my head. It looked like she might be getting her wish after all.

A waiter was by my side, balancing a round tray of at least ten Champagne flutes with the ease of a ballet dancer. “For you, miss?”

I put my room card down on the tray, took up two of the flutes, and nudged my head toward an empty table at the left side of the dance floor. He nodded and headed back to the bar to make the charge. I pushed my way through the noisy throng to take my seat. The waiter was right behind me, handing back my card and receipt to sign.

The task done, I turned my attention to the band. They were a four-piece, blasting the room with rock tunes. The drummer was an ape of a man, bald, muscular, with tribal tattoos down both arms. The bass player was tall, reedy, with stringy brown hair. The lead singer had descended from Valhalla to sing down to Kayla, his eyes drinking in her gold cleavage.

My eyes swung left to the lead guitarist. The stage lights angled to dazzle my eyes, and all I could see was his guitar and hands. The guitar was a gorgeous instrument with a natural wood finish. Was that mahogany or something more exotic? My grandfather would have known. He had loved carving wood. Some of my fondest memories were sitting by his side while he carefully worked on a piece, causing the roundness of a Bufflehead duck to magically surface out of a formless hunk of pine framing lumber.

I missed him dearly.

My arm was jostled, and Kayla was grinning down at me, taking up her glass to slug down half her drink in one pull. “Are you off in the weeds again,” she teased. “Whatever it is, stop it!” She put down her glass and grabbed my hands, drawing me to my feet. “Live in the now!”


The music shifted, the guitar growled, and I was transfixed. Somewhere in my mind I knew Kayla had gone back to her station before her Norseman, but it was the guitarist’s fingers which had my full attention. They were the music. They were the coursing beat throbbing through my soul, the energy which surged into my feet, setting me in motion. It was as if the fingers were playing me, filling me, and when he cranked the neck up to slide up a key it was as if he lifted me, spun me around, and -

The lead singer leapt into the air, the drummer’s sticks crashed into a finale, and the wall of sound snapped into an ending blast. The crowd roared in approval, and Kayla had me by the waist, spinning me around in excitement. Her mouth moved near my ear to be heard over the cacophony.

“Mardi Gras beads are going on the door handle,” she called, her eyes bright with anticipation. “Give us an hour.” She squeezed my arm, then she had vanished again.

I turned to look back to the stage. The drummer was wiping his shining pate off with a towel, the bass player was digging into his equipment bag, and the guitarist -

The guitarist was gone. Only his guitar remained on a stand, the polished wood gleaming in the lights.





Chapter 2