Page 106 of Worth the Fight

“I like the song you’ve been working on,” he says softly, and I can’t help but wonder if this is his way of changing the subject he unexpectedly shifted to.

“It’s been a hard one to get right.”

“Maybe it’s because you secretly don’t want to leave,” he jokes and laughs without a clue as to how close his words ring true for me.

“Maybe,” I murmur.

“I’ve only heard it in bits and pieces. What’s it about?”

“Love.” I chuckle. “Isn’t that what most songs are about?” It’s the only way I can answer without telling him the song is about him. If he hears all the lyrics together, he’ll know.

“I’m still waiting to see you write one of those songs for yourself.” If he only knew. “And sing it in public.”

“And I’m still waiting for you to fight a fire that isn’t in your fireplace,” I tease.

“Touché,” he says and links his fingers with mine. “Am I supposed to go outside and light a fire just so I can hear you sing?”

“You’ve already lit one,” I murmur as I look up and then brush my lips over his.

His chuckle is deep, and it rumbles against his lips and onto mine. “Then maybe it’s time I play with it awhile before I help put it out.”

Just like that, we slip into whatever this is with each other.

And later, when Grady is cuddled against me, the heat of his body against my back and his arm holding me possessively as he does in his sleep, I pretend this will become something. A future. A tomorrow.

Our tomorrow.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

DYLAN

I stare at my computer screen—at the completed set of lyrics for my last song—and a part of me wants to purposely forget to save it.

Because if I don’t save it, I’ll have to rewrite it.

And if I have to rewrite it, I’ll get more time here.

More time means more Grady.

More Grady means less heartache.

Less heartache is always better.

I close the lid of my laptop without saving. Almost as if I’m asking fate to make a decision for me—lose the song and tell me it’s worth staying. Save the song and let me know it’s time to move on.

Jesus, Dylan. You’re going out of your mind.

I flop back on the bed, sigh, and try to forget about the ten emails from the label I need to return. The ones verifying that I will be present for the studio time booked in five days. The time that can’t be pushed or rescheduled because it’s with the hottest producer in town.

Then there are the texts and voice mails from Jett asking me why I haven’t sent him the last two songs. The songs that are about getting over him and falling back in love again, only it’s him instead of me who’s going to be singing about it.

I put my arm over my eyes and try to shut it all out.

“You okay?” Grady’s voice from the doorway scares the crap out of me.

I bolt up from the bed with a little yelp. “Argh! I didn’t know you were home yet.”

He laughs. “Yeah. I’m off shift and on time. It’s a miracle.”