Page 10
Chapter 10
Meet the Family
Damian
T he second her head jerks up off my chest, all wide-eyed and flushed like she forgot where she was, like she forgot who she was leaning on, I know I’m in trouble.
Big trouble.
I don’t say anything, though.
Don’t need to.
I just let her straighten, let her mumble some soft apology like I didn’t like having her there more than I probably should’ve.
The plane touches down, and everyone starts that awkward shuffle, all elbows and phones lighting back up, like people haven’t survived without service for a whole ninety minutes. Me? I love the silence.
I grab our bags from the overhead and sling hers over my shoulder.
“What are you doing?” she asks, brow pulling tight.
I look at her like it’s obvious. “Carrying your bag.”
She opens her mouth, probably to argue, because she’s used to carrying baggage. But then she just blinks at me, cheeks still a little pink, and follows when I start down the aisle.
When we step off the plane, her guitar is waiting just outside the door. I grab it, too, and then I reach back and grab her hand. Not really thinking about it. Just … doing it.
She lets me. Lets me hold on all the way down the stairs, across the tarmac, through the tiny security checkpoint that barely requires more than a nod. But the second we round the corner into the waiting area? She lets out this tiny, surprised laugh, all light and breathless, and drops my hand like it burned her. Because she’s barreling toward her sister.
Harlan’s taller than D, beautiful, just like her, but she’s got darker skin—I assume her father is part black—and she got her momma’s blue eyes. Her dark hair is piled on her head and sunglasses are tucked into the collar of her oversized sweater.
Delilah practically launches herself into her arms, and Harlan catches her without missing a beat.
“There’s my baby sister, girl.” Delilah hugs her so tight she actually squeaks.
Watching her melt into that hug does something to my heart.
Fucked. I am so fucked.
Ty comes up beside me, bumping my shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “That’s your girl right there.”
“Yeah.”
Our SUV is waiting just outside at the airport. Delilah, Harlan, Ty, and I all get in as Ty answers a call.
The sisters don’t stop talking, and I catch pieces of their catch-up.
Harlan’s sharp, smart. Protective in a way that makes sense the second you watch her look at Delilah.
“So this is Damien Donovan,” she says after a beat, twisting around in her seat to look me dead in the eye.
I raise a brow. “Guess so.”
She grins, slow and knowing. “She talks about you.”
“She talks about you, too. She’s proud of you.”
“Harlan,” Delilah groans from beside me.
“Relax, I didn’t say what she said.”
Ty’s cackling.
By the time we roll up to the Trenton Grand, I see them.
My family.
“You ladies are about to meet Deke and Loretta Donovan,” Ty says. “Deke can fix everything with duct tape, and Loretta can fix anything he can’t with pecan pie, chicken and dumplings, and Jesus.”
“And the hottie with them?” Harlan asks.
“You didn’t tell her he has a brother who plays for the Jags?” Ty asks Delilah.
“Oh, she knows. She’s undoubtedly done a deep dive and can tell you his social security number and shoe size.”
I open the door and slide out as Harlan laughs.
“I didn’t go that deep, but if there’s a hot tub here, I may be able to find out the size of?—”
“You shush!” Delilah laughs.
“Did somebody say hot tub?” Mom shakes her head as she wraps her arms around me.
“Hey, Momma.”
She steps back and takes my face in her hands. “I love my boys, but I do not need to see their manhood on the damn internet.”
Ty and the girls laugh.
Dawson chuckles. “I’ll keep mine in my sock.”
“Just because the good Lord blessed you doesn’t mean the whole world needs to?—”
“All right,” I cut Mom off with a laugh. “Hey, Dad.”
Dad gives me a hug and announces, “Don’t let your momma kid you. We met at a party at Hallow Lake after a church barbeque and I was dared to jump in buck naked.”
“Jesus H.,” I grumble as I look back at Delilah. “So, this is my family.”
Delilah smiles. Then Mom grabs her and Harlan in a hug.
“Voice like an angel, the best on that internet show. You and that Rae were always my favorite. Blessed by the good Lord.”
“Easy, Mom,” I whisper, knowing I shouldn’t but also not wanting to hurt Mom’s feelings, because she’s got those in spades.
“And you are a stunner.” She looks Harlan over. “Same eyes. Sisters?”
She must have put all the devil inside that I met in her pocket, because Harlan smiles and nods.
“You sing, too?”
“She’s does, but she’s got more sense than I did. She’s going to be a lawyer,” Delilah boasts.
“Can we do this over a meal?” Dawson asks, rubbing his stomach. “I’m starving.”
Mom is in full Loretta Donovan mode. She hasn’t left Delilah’s side, and she’s got Harlan on her other side. She’s calling her baby and sweet girl like she didn’t meet her ten seconds ago.
Dad’s in rare form, asking her about fishing like he already decided to like her and would take her to his favorite fishing hole as soon as he can get her to Dusty Hollow.
And Dawson already admitted he remembered her and is sitting across from her, looking like he didn’t know whether to ask for her autograph or play it cool.
Ty’s posted up next to Harlan, talking about her summer plans and telling her that she should consider entertainment law.
Me? I’m just watching them all, but mostly her. Watching the way she fits. Not forced. Not fake. Laughing soft with my mom, grinning when Dad teases her. She’s even ignoring the fact that Dawson is stumbling through his awkward questions without making him feel stupid.
Feels a lot like she belongs.
As we finish up dinner, a couple I rightly assume are Sutton and Patrick walk in and introduce themselves to my parents and myself. They’re not only music moguls but part-owners of the Jersey Jags.
Then they ask Delilah, “Can we steal you for a minute?”
Business time.
“Go on, baby girl.” Mom waves Delilah down the table. “Handle your business.”
“Harlan, this affects you, too; come on.”
She does.
They sit at a table just two over, and I shouldn’t listen, but I can’t help myself.
They offer her a signing bonus of ten grand and an advance. She says she doesn’t like advances. She doesn’t want to owe anyone.
Fuck, that burns.
I catch just enough of Patrick’s steady, measured words to understand she’ll need it.
“Studio sessions through the summer in Nashville won’t be cheap.”
“I’ll make it work,” she assures them.
I feel some of the heavy lighten.
“We’re working on press in Nashville and LA.”
Sutton adds, “Rae replied to the travel email we sent. She says she has several songs you have written?—”
“We,” Delilah corrects. “Every song I’ve written, she’s been a part of—a huge part.”
“So, you already have a talented co-writer.” Patrick claps his hands together. “Perfect. She’ll get royalties.”
Sutton steps back in, “If your first single charts? Europe’s on the table.”
Europe?
Hell.
Ty slides into the empty seat beside me, nursing the last of his bourbon, and I know he’s hearing this, too.
“She’s gonna be everywhere but here,” I mutter.
Ty hums low. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when dreams come knocking. You of all people know that.”
Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
Doesn’t mean I have to sit back and watch it happen without a fight.
“Line up my schedule with hers. See when we’re in the same towns. Schedule a date on our off days. Public appearances,” I say, already dead set.
Ty snorts under his breath. “For publicity, right?”
“Of course.”
Because sitting here, watching her laugh across a contract like she’s this close to catching everything she ever wanted, I feel it low in my chest.
“Rae runs your socials?”
“She does, but Harlan’s really good, too.”
“Utilize them; they can coordinate with our team.” Patrick takes a drink and smiles. “It’s not often an artist comes fully loaded. You’re going to make the haters eat fucking crow.”
I see Harlan flinch, and Delilah looks at her, worry—no, fear—in her eyes.
“Just don’t look, Lala. Let Rae and I handle it.” She giggles. “Or your man. Hell, his response to the shit has over five thousand hearts.”
“His response?” she asks, confused.
“ She’s with me .” Patrick winks.
She looks over at me, and I don’t bother looking away.
When she looks away, I tell Ty, “Find out who fucked her up. The agent.”
“D …” he sighs.
“I’m going to ruin him.”
“You’re staying here, not at bae bros with your family?” Harlan asks as we ride the elevator to our floor.
“I stick to a strict schedule during the season.” I leave out the fact that I also stick to a pretty stern one during the off-season because it makes me sound like the dick I am.
“So, you go to your room and mediate or?—”
“Harlan, for God’s sake.” Delilah palms her face.
“I typically hit the gym as soon as I get to the hotel after a flight, then dinner. I’ll change and go there.”
“And then?”
“Harlan!”
“Shower, watch last year’s game against the Jags, bed,” I answer as I step back and wave for them to exit before me.
“Sorry,” Delilah whispers.
“Never be sorry that you have family who has your back.”
“No hot tub tonight?” Harlan calls back as she heads down the hall to suite 714.
“I am going to put my damn feet in your face when you’re asleep,” Delilah calls after her as she looks back at me, shaking her head.
“Your feet?” I ask, hitching her bag over my shoulder.
“She hates feet.”
“So you don’t have six toes or long, gnarly nails?” I ask.
“What?” She laughs as Harlan swipes the key card, walks in, and then squeals.
“I need something to fixate on, Delilah Monroe. Something off-putting.”
“Are you being serious?”
I slide her bag off my shoulder, hand it to her, swipe my key to my suite, directly across the hall, push the door open, and step backward into it. “Serious as a heart attack. Show me something that will stop me from thinking you’re perfect. I need it, Songbird.”
Before she can respond, I step in and close the door.
Hotel gym smelled like rubber mats, and the sound of bad pop music I ignored was coming from the headphones worn by the middle-aged man beside me. He was probably trying to stay up to date with his kids’ taste in music while doing his best to stay in shape.
Respect.
Most of the team’s either asleep or out drinking. Me? Head down. Wired. Sweating out nerves I shouldn’t even have.
The series opener is tomorrow at noon. Dawson’s in the other dugout, which is fucking wild. But none of that’s what stops me in my tracks when I turn the corner.
It’s her.
Sitting cross-legged right there in the damn hallway outside her room. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Hood up. Hair loose. Barefoot, toes painted hot pink, and I’m too far gone to pretend I don’t notice. Notebook in her lap. Pen tapping against her lip. So lost in whatever world she’s writing, she doesn’t even see me. Doesn’t feel me.
That doesn’t feel good.
I could say something. Could clear my throat. But I don’t. I drop into a squat right in front of her, elbows on my knees, and wait. Just watch.
This girl.
This damn girl.
Tongue peeking out between her teeth, scribbling half a line, only to scratch it out again.
A lyric, probably.
A feeling.
And then she glances up and damn-near jumps out of her clothes when she sees me … Wishful thinking.
“Jesus, Donovan,” she huffs, clutching her notebook to her chest like I’m about to steal it. “Stalk much?”
I just shake my head slow, smiling without meaning to. “Hallway’s public,” I murmur. “Didn’t know I had to clear it with you.”
She narrows her eyes, still breathless from being caught.
I glance at the notebook. “Writing?”
“Trying.”
“Want me to go?”
She hesitates, just long enough to give herself away. Then shakes her head, shy but not running. “No,” she says softer. “You’re … not loud.”
Something about that hits me dead center.
Me? Not loud?
“Too much noise in your room?”
“Harlan listens to music when she sleeps. I mean, so do I, but …” She shrugs. “Not when I need to write.”
“Understood.” I move and sit beside her.
She hugs her book and asks, “What’s your favorite song?”
I cringe.
“Do not tell me you hate country music.”
I shake my head and groan. “I don’t hate it, or any genre in particular. I just don’t listen to music because it … distracts me. Makes me feel.”
Her mouth is agape.
I continue, “Feelings fuck up my game.”
She turns her whole self toward me, facing me, knees brushing mine. “Who hurt you so bad that you don’t date or listen to music?”
I roll my neck.
“Oh no, you don’t. You know all my dirt. Spill it, Donovan.”
“No one hurt me,” I admit.
“I call bullshit.”
I scrub my hand over my face. “This is going to sound like a fucking hangnail compared to the breaks you’ve handled.”
“Spill it.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “Sally Sampson. Sweetest and prettiest girl at Dusty Hollow. My girlfriend from fourth grade to freshman year.”
She leans in, fully engrossed, and I haven’t even said much.
“She needed more attention than I could give.”
She nods. “Baseball.”
I nod back. “Baseball.”
That’s all I say, and she shakes her head.
“There’s more. Out with it.”
“I need a promise that you’ll never?—”
I stop when she holds out her pinky.
“I pinky promise.”
I wrap mine around hers. I love how it feels, love how it looks.
“She broke up with me for the new kid who thought he was gonna take my spot on the team.”
“He didn’t, though.” She nods once.
“Nope.”
“But he took Sally Sampson,” she states, and I nod. “Hussy.”
I choke out a laugh.
“Did you kick his ass?”
“We became best friends.”
“Smooth. Way to rub it in Sleazy Sampson’s face.”
Jesus , I think but don’t say.
“Tell me she slides into your DM’s and he’s?—”
“Hey, Ty,” I cut her off when I see him walking down the hall, arms full of bags.
Shit, shit, shit . I stand.
“We’re not done with this conversation, Donovan.” She laughs as she stands.
I give her a look, hoping she catches on.
She does. She makes an O shape with her mouth.
“Yeah, so, see you at the game tomorrow or …?”
“Oh yeah. Harlan wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She arches a brow, lovin’ that she has this little morsel of info, and I love that she loves it … but not how she’s gonna feel when I finish the story.
“And you?” he asks.
Harlon elbows me and gives me a look. A. Look.
I walk over and hug him, “Thanks big league. You’re the best,” I whisper fake. “Boyfriend ever.”
He chuckles.