Deacon flipped his hair back out of his face. The water was bracing, but it helped to clear his head. He wasn’t the type to sleep into the middle of the day. Waking to find Harper gone had also thrown him off. Her note had been cryptic as hell.

Had he done something wrong?

They’d been a little off since the beginning of the trip, but he’d chalked it up to them being tired. The studio and her schedule was doing a number on their alone time, but they were making it work.

At least he thought they were.

He waded inland, relieved to see a familiar shape on the beach.

Harper’s sun streaked hair was blowing around her face. She had a sweatshirt on with her little white shorts. The breeze was misty with the leftover rain showers, but not exactly sweatshirt weather. He slogged through the waves that beat against his thighs, trying to push him back into the ocean.

The flex of muscles had been just what he needed. He’d certainly been using a goodly amount of muscles with his more than active wife, but he’d missed exercising. The burn of a hard swim out in the current had wiped the last of the cobwebs from his brain.

He smiled, cupping his hand over his eyes to get a good look at her. She held up a blue beach towel, meeting him at the ankle deep waves. “There you are. I missed you.”

She smiled up at him, but the crinkles at the corners of her eyes were missing.

Her polite smile.

He knew that face. Knew every curve and freckle.

He took the towel from her, swiped it over his face and chest, then his hands before tossing it over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

She put her hands on his sides and tipped her face up to him. “I love you.”

He cupped her face, his thumbs skimming over her slightly sunburned cheeks. “What’s going on?”

Her fingers tightened on his ribs, but she didn’t move closer to curl around his back like she usually did. “What? I can’t say I love you, now?”

“No, of course not.” He lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was about as reciprocal as kissing a doll. He brushed her nose with his and tried again. Finally, she sighed into his mouth, her lips softening for his, her arms sliding around to his back. She rose on to her toes, opening for him. Drawing him tight to her. Suddenly, she broke the kiss and pressed her cheek to his chest, burrowing into him.

“Hey, hey. Baby,” he crooned into her hair. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head.

He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew upset Harper signals. Sharing wasn’t always her default reaction. Sometimes she needed to be held before she gave up the goods on whatever was bothering her. The tide rippled around their ankles and the sun was cresting into the horizon.

Content to wait her out, he simply held on. When she was like this, questions only made her clam up more. When a few minutes turned into more than ten, he started to worry.

Had he done something stupid? Had she gotten a call from Annie?

Had something happened to her parents?

Questions rolled around his head until he couldn’t bite them back any longer. He pressed his cheek to her temple, brushed his lips over the crest of her cheek. “Baby, you gotta give me something. I can guarantee the stuff I’m making up in my head is worse.”

She turned her face into his and he tasted the salt of her tears.

“Harper.” He pulled back and cupped her face, bringing her eyes up to meet his gaze. Red rimmed blue eyes filled up with tears, starring her eyelashes. He brushed each one away as it rolled down her cheek. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I’m just tired and I feel like crap. I don’t know why I’m so out of sorts.”

“Let’s get you back to the cottage. There’s a huge clawfoot tub that is calling your name. I’ll wash your hair and we’ll re-hydrate with that kickass flavored water you make with frozen raspberries. Because I am an awesome husband and went to pick up groceries while you were gone.”

She gave him a watery laugh.

His chest loosened a little. That was more like it. “We can watch a crap movie and be bums.”

Harper feathered her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Or, we could go home, get cleaned up, and go out to that little club you wanted to go to.”

“Lawless, if you’re feeling like crap, that’s not going to be any fun for you.”

“It’ll get me out of my funk. Music always does.”

“Are you sure?” He really did want to hear some music. Get out of his own head, hear someone else play. But not at the expense of Harper. She liked music, but it wasn’t the heart of her like it was for him.

She hooked her arm through his. “We’ve been holed up here for days now. Time to go on a date, huh?”

He let her drag him up the beach to their cottage. Her smiles were still strained. Maybe they could find an intimate table, share some food, and listen to some music. It had been a long time since they’d caught a show together.

Johnny Cage’s show was the last one he could think of. That night had gone remarkably well, especially when Johnny’s candor about the music industry and its pitfalls had been the catalyst for so much change in his—in their life.

She tangled her fingers with his for a minute at the door then slipped away. “I’m going to shower off this sand.”

“Want company?”

“Is it okay if I say no?”

Hurt bloomed in his chest, but he made himself smile. “Sure. Go use up the hot water. You know I like it cooler anyway.”

“Thanks.” She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

He dropped into one of the club chairs and tipped his head back. Everyone was entitled to an off day. Even on a honeymoon. But they’d had such an amazing evening. What had happened between then and now? He just wasn’t sure if he was the cause or if she was just in a funk.

There was no reason for it as far as he could tell. They’d been laughing and then things had gone a bit downhill at the bar. Well, except for the whole booth thing. Christ, Harper had nearly put him in the ground with the dirty talk. She wasn’t normally like that. He shifted in his seat, hardening at the memory. If he didn’t know better, he was pretty sure she would have gone under the damn table. Then they’d seemed to go back to normal, a bit of much needed romance.

When the door to the bathroom opened, Deacon stood. Wide blue eyes that seemed bruised stared back at him for a moment before she broke contact and tucked her towel tighter around her. He crossed to her, coming up behind her in front of the wide mirror over the entertainment console along the side wall. Again, she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead of saying anything more, he kissed her shoulder and went into the bathroom.

By the time he washed the sea off of him, she had dressed and pinned her hair up. This was the rare date night Harper. Gold jewelry flashed from her wrists and ears, and she had an extra layer of makeup on she only wore when they had to entertain. Tonight, she’d done something with her eyes, making them look smoky and sophisticated. Her lips were slick with clear gloss that made him want to wipe it away and leave them wet from his mouth instead.

Thin straps teased her sun-kissed shoulders, leaving her arms bare then covering the rest of her to ankles. The black and white dress looked like it was created for the beach. Loose and forgiving for skin that had seen too much skin and sand.

“You look amazing.”

She smiled softly at him as she pushed one of the bangle bracelets high onto her forearm. “I’m glad I got the excuse to wear this. Jazz and I found it last month when she dragged me downtown.” She turned to her cell when it chimed and Deacon swallowed his tongue. The dress was completely backless, coming to a deep U-shape at the base of her spine.

She was bound and determined to kill him today. They were social people so whether it was a meeting or a dinner to schmooze, he was used to going out with her. He wasn’t used to feeling so overbearing and protective. Like he wanted to tell everyone to go to hell and keep her to himself.

He snapped out a pair of jeans from their bag and unrolled a black linen shirt. He dressed and took the extra five minutes to blow dry his hair. He didn’t want to embarrass her by looking like a beach bum next to her tonight. He put down the hair dryer and smoothed his hair back. “Are you sure you want to go out tonight?”

“I’ve got my party dress on, don’t I?”

“I can have it off you in five seconds.”

“We’re going out.” Her voice was steady and her eyes were nearly unreadable.

Why was she trying to convince him she wanted to go out so much when it was so obvious that wasn’t the case? Unwilling to push and cause a fight, he grabbed the car keys off the console. “Let’s go then.”

Fifteen minutes later, they navigated the small parking lot of The Muse. Murals overlapped each other on the front of the building like gang tags. Slashes of paint in bright colors over muted, dark oils mixed with spray paint making an interesting mess of pure art.

The sign over the door were letters made out of gear parts and found metals. All of it looked old and modern at the same time.

Deacon laced his fingers with Harper’s and walked through the front door. No bouncer. It seemed that they were a little early. He was hoping to catch a bit of the early practice. The band was local, but very tight.

Inside, the mural motif was still going strong. The walls were much more structured. Caricatures bumped up against realistic paintings, which then manipulated dark corners with moody silhouettes depicting musicians in various moments. A trumpet player with bruised lips, but a deep and abiding love for the brass. A vocalist with a busted microphone and heart ripping out of his chest, a drummer with a kit that rivaled Neil Peart’s.

“This place is awesome.” He turned back to see Harper messing with the gold chain around her neck. This was completely her type of place. From the vaulted ceilings and the mismatched furniture to the old bar lining the back wall…all of it was exactly the type of place she geeked out over.

Instead, she looked almost lost. She was stunning and somehow so separate.

He drew her to him, draping his arm around her shoulders. She smiled up at him with a distracted look. She was checking out the space, and yet her eyes never lit anyplace long enough to seem to truly take it in.

Deacon led them to a small table at the edge of the dance floor. The stage was set up to oversee the dance floor. Either it would be a general admission crowd or a laid back drinks and dancing set up. He wasn’t sure which one.

A waitress glided over to them, her smile bright and polite, then slid immediately into recognition. “Oh, God, you’re—”

Deacon held up a finger to his lips. “My wife and I are just looking to enjoy some music tonight.”

“Sure.” The petite redhead in all black looked over her shoulder then back to their table. She flipped over her order booklet. “Do you think I could have your autograph?”

Deacon smiled. “Absolutely.” She was totally going to tell the entire staff. Ah well. Maybe they’d leave them alone after the initial hit up for pictures and signatures. Deacon scrawled his name across the back of her pad and returned it.

She sucked on her bottom lip for a few seconds then leaned in. “Do you think you could sign it to Becky?”

Deacon’s smile widened. Look at that, a signature not going on eBay after her shift. He took it back and wrote her name carefully and legibly, then drew a devil tail for the y.

“Oh my God, my boyfriend is going to shit.”

He sat back and slid his arm along the back of Harper’s chair. She instinctively turned into him, giving their waitress a polite nod. Harper was used to people interrupting them and never made a fuss. Even better, she always made the fan feel welcome. Even the rude ones that treated her with contempt.

This had to be the first time she didn’t react at all.

He brushed his lips along her temple. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Nothing with tequila, that’s for sure.”

Deacon grinned then looked up at the girl. “Do you have flavored seltzer?”

Harper rested her hand on his thigh absently and he finally relaxed a bit. At least she was actually touching him, finally. They were out of sync, and he hated it.

Becky nodded. “Raspberry, peach, and lime.”

Harper lifted her shoulder. “Raspberry.”

“And I’ll have whatever dark beer you have.”

Becky nodded and slipped her pad into her pocket, ruffled around in another pocket, coming out with a well used one. She scribbled down their order and disappeared.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“Hmm?” Harper clicked back in, leaning on his shoulder.

“I figured you’d be babbling about the decor. It’s something you’d normally be taking pictures of.”

She glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Again she shrugged. “A bit too busy for my taste, but it’s definitely rocking the multi-genre music vibe.”

“It’s like Jazz opened her notebook and it exploded all over the wall.”

“Our manic pixie would definitely be all over this place,” she said.

He bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “We’d find her in the corner, cross legged with a box of markers, drawing on the wall.”

“Right.” She rested her elbow on the table, tucking her chin on her hand. Again, conversation fell away.

It wasn’t like he needed constant chatter. He and Harper had never been the types to fill every silence, but he’d never sat next to her and felt like she was in the next room either.

The band started unloading. Microphones, guitars, keyboard, and brass were set up in a semi-circle. When he noticed the electric violin, he sat up straight. That had been one of the additions to “The Becoming”, their biggest song to date.

Maybe they needed to hit on that sound again. It brought a symphonic flavor to their music that he liked playing with. So close to the guitar and yet, so totally different.

Another layer.

He pulled his phone out and made a note and caught Harper shredding a slim, braided bracelet on her right wrist. Her rings flashed in the low light and she stopped, tucking her thumb under her ring finger to straighten her diamond. Then she curled her fingers into a fist and put it under the table.

Deacon frowned and chased her hand under the table, linking their fingers. Startled, she swung her gaze to his. The flash of something in her eyes made him lay his phone down.

It looked like…hurt.

God, had he done something? He opened his mouth to ask her again if something was wrong, but the waitress came back with their drinks and the drum tech picked then to test the skins. Harper’s sudden stiff posture shut him up as well.

Instead, he gently swiped his fingertips down the smooth skin of her back, paying special attention to the dip of her spine. He kept his strokes light and soothing, but rather than calming her like it usually did, she seemed to tighten up all the more.

“I’ll be right back.”

Deacon sat back in his chair. “Where are you going?”

“Bathroom. Is that allowed?”

He frowned and held up his hands. “Sorry.”

She shook her hair back and grabbed her purse. Her ankle length dress flowed around her as she melted into the crowd. As she practically ran away from him.

What in the holy fuck?

He lifted his beer and downed half of it in long pulls. Harper had never been the type of woman to get in shitty moods for no reason. Especially when they’d been nothing but close for the last few days and nights. Ever since she’d disappeared that afternoon, everything had gone to shit.

Letting the music distract him, he realized it had been well over fifteen minutes since she’d gone to the ladies room. He stood, using his height advantage to scan the crowd for her.

Finally he spotted her along the side wall, her face lit up by her cell phone. Who the heck was she talking to? Neither of them had even looked at their cell phones since they’d gotten to Galveston and now that was twice she’d been distracted by it. He dug his phone out of his pocket to see if she’d texted him, but nothing.

She must have felt his eyes on her, because she suddenly looked up, shoved her phone in her bag, and headed back across the room to him. Had Annie contacted her? He got the impression that Annie was going on a family vacation for the holiday since they didn’t have any jobs lined up for their catering business.

When she was closer he realized he’d crossed his arms over his chest. Her shoulders were stiff and thrown back. He forced himself to relax and lifted his beer. “Everything okay? You’ve been gone for a while.”

“Sorry. I was bored.”

Deacon snapped his beer down on the table. “We didn’t have to come tonight. I told you I was more than happy staying at the cottage with you.”

“You know, we can do more than fuck like rabbits on our honeymoon.”

He raised his brows at her biting tone. “I’m not sure if you remember who’s been attacking who.”

“What, are you complaining?”

His fingers curled tighter around the bottle. “No. Jesus, Lawless. What the hell? You’ve been stiff and defensive since you got out of the shower.”

“I told you I was out of sorts.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“What, is that not allowed either?”

Deacon leaned into her, his voice low. “Who were you talking to?”

“I was just checking email. Afraid I’m talking to another guy?”

Baffled, he wiped his hand down his face. “No. That didn’t even occur to me. Why the hell are you trying to pick a fight?”

“I’m not.”

“Coulda fooled me.”

She huffed out a breath and took a sip from her glass. She turned to him and brought her hand up to his face. Smoothing her thumb along his beard, she closed her eyes and pressed her face into his neck.

Not sure what to do, Deacon slid his hand around her back. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong. I know something’s up.”

“We’ve got a celebrity in the crowd tonight.”

Deacon’s back stiffened as a spotlight hit the table.

Crap.

“I know we’re kinda putting you on the spot, but we’d love if you came up for a song. For those of you that don’t know who this is, Deacon McCoy from Oblivion is here.”

Deacon waved off the light. He raised his voice to be heard. “Nah, man. I’m just here to enjoy the music.”

“C’mon, just one song.” The guy was probably a decade older than him, but he was utterly shameless. He hopped off the stage and headed their way.

“Shit.”

“Go on. You know you want to.”

Deacon frowned at Harper. “We—”

“Go on. You gotta be missing your bass.” She leaned into him, her eyes sad, but a little more present. “I love watching you play.” She lifted her finger to the space between his eyebrows. “Quit frowning. Play me some Bad Company. You know how it twists my panties.”

He almost believed her. She was smiling, but it seemed forced.

The lead singer to Burning Branch stood before him. “We can play nearly anything.”

“The wife requests a little Bad Company, man.”

Without missing a beat, the keyboardist started the opening strains of Bad Company’s title song. Deacon shook his head and stood. Like any good bar band, the guy knew how to extend an intro.

He slapped hands to those that held them out as he walked through the tables and followed the singer to the stairs. He was pretty sure the dude’s name was Rich, but he didn’t want to fuck it up.

Once they got on stage, Deacon flipped his hair back. He accepted the guitar from one of the guys on stage. Instead of trying to make the strap work—he had to have custom straps made—he sat on the stool off to the side and settled the guitar into his lap.

He automatically fell into rhythm guitar, following the lead guitarist in the band. Someone from the side of the stage flew out with a mic on an adjustable stand.

The words poured out of him as natural as if he were with his own band. And when the solos became a jam and the violin came in with another richer layer, Deacon nodded in approval. It felt good to play again. Harper was right about that. Everything had become about the studio and writing and figuring shit out for the new album.

How long had it been since he’d actually just let himself play for the pure joy of it? All the things that pulled at him to create bubbled up. As if he’d simply been corked. It came out in the long drag of fingers down the fret board. On the feel of the strings under his fingertips.

These were the songs he fell back on. The ones that echoed and resonated in his chest and his gut. Pieces of him that had been drawn to the guitar and the bass from the very beginning.

One song flowed into another as “Simple Man” drifted out on the quiet crowd. He found her in the wash of faces. A magnet quick click of souls. They’d been like that from the start as well. Her name had been on the tip of his tongue for years, never knowing it was going to be Harper.

The moment he’d heard her name and felt it curl around his mouth he’d known it would be branded on his heart. They may have fought it for a while. Both of them wondering if this was supposed to work. Miles of road and infinite heartbeats later, he’d finally found what he’d never imagined to look for.

His other half.

She was exactly what he’d needed. Exactly what he’d been longing for before he’d even known what it was like to love.

Her eyes were riveted to his, but as he got a bigger picture of her in the shadows, he took in the way her shoulders slumped forward over her drink. Like she was protecting herself. He blew out a breath. His instinct was to dump the guitar and get out there. Back to her.

Why wouldn’t she tell him what was wrong?

Was this what fighting with your spouse was like? He figured cranky arguments would feel different. He knew about being with people too much and how that could make you want to snarl. But everything about this felt wrong.

And when she lowered her eyes to look at her lap, breaking the contact, he felt it like a slap.

As the song wrapped up, he made his apologies when they tried to convince him to do another song. The boos were well meaning, and he gave a surprised start with the crowd clapped in thanks. Not just a polite smattering of applause, but genuine enjoyment. He couldn’t even take that moment to enjoy it.

Not when he saw Harper shrink back into her chair then get up and go for the door. Rushing down the stairs, he caught Becky at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m sorry. Is she mad at me? I had to tell my best friend and Rich heard me in the kitchen. I swear I didn’t mean for anyone to know you were here.”

“No.” Deacon patted her shoulder. He dug into his pocket and came out with money, pressing it into her hand. “It’s fine. It’s not you. She’s just not feeling great, and I think the crowd was too much for her.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” He didn’t have one fucking clue, but he knew that whatever was going on with Harper had nothing to do with the impromptu set that he’d played.

Somehow it had everything to do with him.