Sarah was alone. Had always been alone in many ways. Even when she’d been married to Abe.
The realization was a gut punch that crushed all the air out of him.
“How’re the wedding preparations going?” David said to Molly.
Molly beamed. “I’m so glad you asked!” Running back into the hallway, she returned with a giant bakery box. Inside were at least ten tiny boxes. “Cake.”
“I love cake,” Abe put in, trying to get into the mood of things—he wasn’t about to ruin Molly and Fox’s excitement because he was sick to his stomach over his fuckups.
“Charlotte’s going to make the cake,” Molly told them after pressing another kiss to Fox’s dimple, pure delight in her expression as she spoke of her best friend. “She arrived in the country two days ago without telling me, and today she gave me the surprise of my life by turning up at the house with two sets of handmade cake samples.”
A pointed glance at Fox. “Funny how she had the code to open the gate when I hadn’t yet given it to her since she was meant to arrive tomorrow.”
Fox just whistled.
Laughing, Molly kissed him again, then pointed to the box. “This is the second set. I’m taste-testing the first set with the women tonight. I need you all to tell me your favorites since Fox is being no help at all. When I ask him what flavors he prefers, he shrugs and says, ‘Cake is cake.’”
“Swap out cake with pancakes,” Fox drawled, “and I’d be your man.”
She put a little notepad on the coffee table on which she’d left the muffins and cakes. “I’m going to let you taste the samples in peace,” she said. “But if you don’t give me some real feedback, I’ll stop bringing you muffins.”
As a threat, it was effective.
After she left, they decided to get some coffee and try the cakes before working on another piece.
Fox made notes for Molly. “See?” the lead singer said. “I’m being helpful.”
The four of them were proud at being able to narrow things down to a rich vanilla cake with chocolate-buttercream frosting; a cake that was labeled as “champagne,” with a frosting they couldn’t figure out but that tasted hella-good; and a passion fruit cake with cream cheese frosting.
Happy for his friend but still pissed off at himself, Abe was glad to get back to the music. It had always given him firm ground on which to stand. A little while later, after they paused so David could fix something that was out of alignment on his drum kit, Noah said, “Um, so…”
Schoolboy Choir’s guitarist never sounded like that. He usually projected an image of not giving a shit about anything—the rest of the world might be happy to go along with that, but his close friends all knew it was a front, Noah a man you could count on to be there when you needed him.
“Are you going red, man?” a wide-eyed David asked as all three of them focused on Noah.
“Shut up,” was Noah’s pithy response, and yeah, there was a hint of red on his cheekbones.
Not a blush though, Abe thought with a frown. This color seemed to have more to do with a surge of emotion. Whatever he wanted to talk about, it was important to Noah. Staying quiet, Abe let Fox handle this—the other man knew all Noah’s secrets, though David and Abe had witnessed his demons, could guess terrible things underlay them.
“Hey,” Fox said, staying relaxed in his chair. “This is us. Blood brothers forever.” A reminder of the promise they’d made on a boarding school playground after getting involved in a fight against a group of bullies that had left them bloody but victorious. “What’s up?”
CHAPTER 8
“I HAVE THIS THING,” Noah said at last.
Blowing out a breath, he shoved a hand through the golden blond of his hair. “A song. It’s not Schoolboy Choir material.”
“If it’s yours,” David said, “it’s Schoolboy Choir material. We’re not a threesome—” He groaned as the rest of them, even Noah, cracked up.
Fox was the one to say it. “Sorry, David, you’re a nice guy, but ain’t no ménage à trois happening here.”
Rolling his brown eyes, David said, “You idiots know what I mean. Schoolboy Choir has four members. It is whatever we bring to it.”
Abe nodded, his grin fading as Noah’s expression turned nervously hopeful. Even with friends, the guitarist didn’t often show emotion so openly. “Play it for us,” Abe said. “If we don’t like it, you know we’ll tell you.”
Others might not have understood why that made Noah’s shoulders relax. Those people hadn’t made music together for over ten years, from the time they first started the band way back in boarding school. They didn’t understand what it was to put your soul out there and hope people didn’t kick it. Having friends who had your back? It was everything.