Dirty Secret (The Burke Brothers #1)(44)
Author: Emma Hart

“Isn’t that how it happens? An epiphany from a break in the clouds as I stand on the beach?”

Kye coughs to hide his laughter.

“And this is why she’s mad at you.” Leila raises her eyebrows. “Honestly, for a guy that pens some of the best love songs on the radio, you’re like a bull in a china shop tryna navigate real-life romance.”

“All right then, you tell me what I gotta do if you’re so damn smart.”

“Something big. Something that will make her kiss you instead of the other way around. Something that will make her realize you’re really thinking about her.”

I frown, staring at her. Like fucking what? “I’m sure you think that’s helpin’, but it ain’t.”

My sister sighs heavily. “Something just for her, Conner. Do something for her. Give her something.”

“Orgasms count as something,” Kye adds.

“No, they don’t. Shut up,” Lei snaps. “You two are like a couple teen boys workin’ out how to get laid. You really are. I’m not standing here trying to sort out your shit if you’re gonna be a douche about it, Con.”

She turns on her heel and stalks out of the room. I stare after her. What the hell did I do now?

I lean my head on the back of the sofa and stare at the ceiling. Something big, just for her. Something she wouldn’t do for herself, maybe? Something she can’t do? Something she wants to but doesn’t have time to?

Fucking hell. Leila’s right. For a guy who writes love songs, I can’t do romance for shit.

Unless . . . “Kye! Where’s the laptop?”

“Here.” He grabs it from the table and hands it to me. “What are you doin’?”

I start it up and bring up the browser. You can find anythin’ on the Internet, right?

“She hasn’t decorated since she moved back,” I say slowly.

“So?”

“So she told me she’s stayin’. Mila’s in her dad’s old room and she’s in hers.”

“And Sofie doesn’t have the time or money to redecorate.”

“Exactly.”

Through dinner, we sit on opposite sides of Mila. We don’t speak a word. We barely even glance at each other.

We’re strangers who know each other in the most intimate way.

My foot taps with annoyance under the table. Dammit, we shouldn’t have decided to hide out here. We should have stayed at her house. At least then I’d be able to apologize for being a self-centered prick without an audience.

As it is, I can’t, so I don’t. We keep our awkward silence going as she and Leila help Mom clear the table.

We keep it going as I put Mila in the bath and Sof washes her hair.

We still don’t speak when we put her to sleep in the travel crib in my bedroom.

And we don’t say a word as I go down to the beach with my notepad tucked beneath my arm and a pen behind my ear.

I drop onto the still-hot sand. The grains scatter as I slam the pad down in front of me and flip to the lyrics I’ve been working on.

The words are burned into my brain. I’ve tried for days now to make them work, to get them to fit the melody, but a few are off. The timing is wrong and the tone isn’t fitting, but I can’t figure it out. No matter how long I stare at the words and scratch them out to replace them, it doesn’t work.

There’s still one word too many here, one beat too few there.

Still one person missing.

This, right now, is when I miss her most. When I’m sitting on the beach, staring at a notepad, my mind completely blocked. When the sea breeze is gently surrounding me and the water is lapping at the sad. When I’m wishing I knew what to say.

I’ve always been too close to the music. It’s always been my downfall, but it’s also been the best thing about me. If I’m close to the music I can feel it, really feel it, right down to my bones. If I can feel it I can sing it, and if I can sing it I can make millions of teenage girls believe it’s about them.

And that’s what sells music.

It’s also time-consuming. I’ve spent too many late nights hunched in front of a piece of paper trying to work the words out, and that’s why I agreed to lay off writing the songs for the band. Why now, on an album, only three or four are mine.

That’s why there’s sheet upon sheet of scribbled words that make no sense in a box under my bed.

Sofie always fixed it. She was never attached to the words the way I am, so she could look at them objectively. And, fuck, I wish she could look at this now. I wish I could shove the paper in her face and tell her to sort out my shit. I wish she’d snatch it and laugh before stealing my pen to fix it. I wish it was the way it used to be so fucking bad, because back then it was easy.

We were easy.

I tap the end of the pen against the paper, staring out at the water. To say Shelton Bay is home is right and wrong. Right because it is, and wrong because it couldn’t feel any further from the truth right now.

It doesn’t feel like home. It feels like I’m in hell, a place I’m trapped in, left to burn because of the past.

I dig my phone from my pocket and open the message from Kye. It’s a link, nothing but a link, and I click it. It takes me direct to a furniture store where they sell both adult and kids’ stuff.

There’s Peppa Pig for Mila, and there’s everything Sofie would love.

I stare at the site, my thumb hovering over the screen. I browse the Peppa things. I can buy for Mila without buying for Sofie because she’s my daughter. I owe her a world of things I don’t owe Sofie.

Owing means nothing.

You can give nothing while owing everything, and you can give everything while owing nothing.

I’m in the middle. I owe a lot and nothing at all, all at the same time.

Fuck.

I know I shouldn’t want to make Sofie smile. I know I should want to see her hurt. But love is stronger than hate, and if I have to choose, I’ll pick making her smile over making her cry. Every time.

Truth is, none of my brothers understand. Leila doesn’t really either. I know they don’t understand how I feel, because most of the time even I don’t understand. Most of the time, Sofie is a blur of memories and emotion, even when I’m staring into her eyes.

That’s the worst part—looking into her eyes. Her eyes are a path to her heart, and she’s unable to hide the slightest flicker of emotion. When she’s angry there’s sadness and when she’s sad there’s anger. There’s no one straight look from her. It’s always a clusterfuck of everything I wish I didn’t have to see.