pieces of glass holding your whole world.
December light, those colorful shards,
you think it’s all broken, but that’s not your heart.
December light, snow mixing with sand,
it’s you and it’s me at the edge of the land.
“A love song,” Adele said, nodding her head. “Different for them, but I like it.”
But Brighton couldn’t respond. Couldn’t nod, shake her head, breathe, anything. She tapped on the song in the play window, the full lyrics popping up. She scrolled through them fast, hoping for something different, but no. That melody, the chorus, the verses, the bridge—it all speared through her chest, pushing her back, back, back five years…no.
Seven years.
She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep in a sob, emotions she’d just resolved to get a grip on swirling like a windswept sea. Only music could really do that—bring everything to the surface, make the memoriesalive, sharpen the time-dulled pain to a point.
“Baby girl, it’s just a song,” Adele said softly. “Tell yourself that—it’s just a song. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
But Adele didn’t understand, and Brighton couldn’t form the words, not with this song in her ears, her fingertips, her heart.
She jammed her thumb at the screen to stop the tune, but the notes continued somehow, now muffled but louder, filling the entire house. Brighton dropped her phone on the mattress, scooted off the bed, and flung open the bedroom door, “December Light” swelling in symphony now. She rushed down the stairs to find Elle and Manish slow dancing in the living room, but in a cheesy way, Manish laughing as Elle attempted to dip him. Wes was there too—he must have shown up while Brighton was sobbing upstairs.
“New Katies song!” Manish said when he straightened and saw her on the stairs, Adele behind her.
The song played through the house via Nina’s Bluetooth speaker.
December light, snow mixing with sand…
Nina herself was on the couch with Sloane, both of them smiling and listening intently, each with a glass of wine in their hands.
Only Lola stood apart from everyone.
She was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, her arms folded over her chest, Snickerdoodle lying at her feet. A muscle ticked in her jaw, her eyes fixed on Brighton as the song Brighton had written the day they’d gotten engaged, a song meant to be played at their wedding, echoed through the house.
Chapter 13
Charlotte couldn’t believe what shewas hearing.
It was their song.
The one Brighton had written while lying in bed with Charlotte the day they got engaged seven years ago, tucked away just for them. The one she and Brighton had never played anywhere publicly other than the recording studio session Charlotte had booked, Brighton on guitar and lead vocals, Charlotte on violin and harmonies, laying down the version that was supposed to play as they walked down the aisle.
The version thatdidplay as Charlotte walked down the aisle, then turned to face her mother and the smiling faces of Brighton’s family, waiting for her bride to appear.
And waited and waited until—
She squeezed her eyes shut, her throat aching, and yet this goddamn song played on, someone’s voice she didn’t even know singing her own story.
This winter love, this December dream.
This winter love, you don’t have to be
alone anymore…alone anymore…alone anymore…
She had to get out. Had to get away.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said to no one, anyone, didn’t care if they heard or not. She headed for the mudroom, then shoved her feet into her boots. She found her still-soiled coat on a hook, grabbed a hat—it wasn’t even hers, but she didn’t care—and all but flung herself outside.
