Chapter 30

February in Nashville was usually pretty chilly—or chilly for the South, at least—but this week before Valentine's Day was frigid, icy winds blowing through the streets, made all the colder by a crystalline blue sky and a weak winter sun.

The weather was good for the bar business, though, sending patrons indoors, making them desperate for a little warmth via the company they kept or three fingers of bourbon. Either way, Brighton leaned against Ampersand's bar, looking out at a packed house. Energy sizzled down her arms to her fingertips, heat from all the adrenaline pumping through her keeping her more than insulated against the cold air that blasted into the room every time the door opened.

This never got old.

She'd been performing at Ampersand for a little over a month now, at least twice a week, and she loved every second of every show. The audience response was good too, and she even had plans to record a performance in a few weeks, use it as a demo for other venues. She was still in the hole with her roommate, Leah—she'd been to two potluck dinners since the new year—and couldn't quite afford a studio session yet.

Still, she was playing .

She was creating too. Five new songs in the last month, most of them about heartbreak and trying to move on and achy memories, but that was sort of her brand. At least, it was right now, and she was just fine with that.

"Hey, hey, Ampersand!" Adele said into the mic on the small stage. "Freezing your asses off?"

Cheers went up, hands in the air clutching liquor-filled glasses.

Adele laughed. "Well, we've got a local fave here to warm you the hell up with her tales of betrayal and woe."

"Excuse me," Brighton said, even though Adele couldn't hear her.

"Give it up for Brighton Fairbrook!"

Applause rippled through the bar, along with a few whistles from regulars who knew Brighton pretty well by now. She wove through the crowd, then hopped onstage and hugged Adele before sliding her guitar over her shoulder and launching into her first song, a tune called "Good At Falling" that made her feel like a badass. She always played something energetic first, then greeted the crowd after she had hooked them. It was a strategy left over from her Katies days, one of many.

As she played, the stage lights bright and warm in her face, she couldn't help but think about the Katies, about Emily and Alice. She always did, at least once a show, but it was just that—a thought.

There was no anger anymore.

No bitterness.

Last she checked—and she checked at least once a week—the Katies had removed "December Light" from their discography. There was a lot of speculation online as to why the song had vanished, but Brighton didn't care about that. She just cared that it was gone.

That it was hers again.

Still, she hadn't played it onstage. She was doing well, but she wasn't made of steel, and that song…it was just too much.

Too close.

She strummed the last chord of "Good At Falling," smiling as applause broke out.

"Thank you and hello, Nashville!" she said. More hoots and hollers, the best sound other than actual good music. She talked with the audience for a few seconds, then started another song. She went on like this for a good thirty minutes before she decided to slow it down. At this point, she usually employed the stool that lived onstage, loving the more intimate feel of just sitting around with friends. She turned, reached out to pull the stool toward her, and froze.

There was something set atop the cognac pleather of the stool.

She blinked, stepped closer.

It was a stone.

No…beach glass.

Turquoise and in the shape of a heart.

No, silly, you need a special name. A secret name. Brighton could feel the wet sand between her fingers, smell the mineral scent of the lake. A name just for us .

The stone was the most perfect piece of beach glass she'd ever found. Smooth and vibrant, that heart shape unmistakable, nonreplicable.

I've got it. She set the stone in Charlotte's palm. Lola.

Now, with the audience quiet behind her, she picked up the glass, held it in her own palm. It was the same one. She was sure of it. She whipped her head toward the crowd, eyes searching, but everyone was in shadow, their faces dark.

"Um," she said, pocketing the glass and managing to get her ass on the stool without falling off. "I'm going to slow it down a bit."

But her mind was blank, the song she was going to play just a blur of words in her brain. Her eyes still searched, darting through the room for a glimpse of silver hair, a black turtleneck.

She clutched her guitar, trying to focus on what the hell she was doing, trying to get her heart to slow down.

A song…a song…

"How about ‘December Light'?"

Brighton's head turned in the direction of the voice from the audience, near the left wall.

A familiar voice.

Brighton held up her hand to shade her eyes and could just make out her form.

Lola.

Leaning against the exposed brick wall, the dim lights just catching the silver in her hair, which was loose and long, waves tumbling over her shoulders.

And there, dangling casually in her hands, as though she carried violin cases everywhere she went, was Rosalind.

"Only if you join me," Brighton said quietly into the mic. Heads turned, murmurs rippling through the room, but Brighton couldn't play this off, get the audience laughing about a surprise guest. She could barely breathe as Lola stood still for one…two…three…

Then Lola pushed off the wall and made her way to the stage.

Breathing didn't get any easier as she got closer, black turtleneck and all, soft-pink lipstick instead of red. A million questions burgeoned in Brighton's mind about why Lola was here, why she'd brought her violin along, why she'd placed the glass on Brighton's stool. But there was only one plausible explanation.

Lola was here for her.

"Hi," Brighton said as Lola stepped onto the stage.

"Hi," Lola said back, smiling softly.

She was so gorgeous. Brighton still struggled to breathe properly as Lola set her case down at the back of the small stage, flipped the buckles, placed her violin on her shoulder. She zipped her bow over the strings, tuning.

It had been so long since they'd played together, just the two of them. Brighton felt an elation she'd only ever felt in such moments—Lola and Bright on a stage or in her bedroom or sitting around the living room. Anywhere, everywhere, as long as it was them, their instruments, their music.

Lola grinned at Brighton, nodding that she was ready, and the fact that they were onstage in front of at least a hundred people came flooding back into Brighton's consciousness.

"Um, hey, you're still here," she said to the crowd. They laughed. "Sorry for the delay. This"—she held out an arm to Lola—"is Charlotte Donovan of the Rosalind Quartet."

The audience clapped, and Charlotte bowed her head, ever the picture of elegance. Brighton didn't know how she did it—inside, Brighton was crying, screaming, throwing up.

"You're all in for a real treat," she said. "And this song…" She looked at Lola. Lola looked at her. Smiled so softly that Brighton's throat went a little thick. "This song is called ‘December Light.'?"

They didn't talk much at all in the car on the way to Lola's hotel.

But they did hold hands.

Right over the gearshift, fingers tangled, Brighton doing her level best to steer one-handed, as though if she let go, this whole night would end up being a dream.

She was still buzzing from the performance—after the awkward pause caused by shock and elation at Lola's presence, it was the best show she'd ever put on.

Lola stayed onstage for the rest of Brighton's set, adding her inimitable talent to her songs, even those she'd never heard, as well as playing a couple of her own pieces, violin solos that had left the crowd in hushed awe.

She was fire.

And she was water and air and earth.

She was everything as a musician.

Everything to Brighton.

Now, after talking a bit with Adele and a few enthusiastic audience members, Brighton tried to process what the hell had just happened. The whole night felt both crystal clear and like an emotional blur. She wasn't even sure how they'd ended up in her car, Lola's hotel on her navigation app. She wasn't clear on how they'd entered the lobby of the Graduate Nashville on Twentieth Avenue North, a colorful splash of pink and white and red, a giant portrait of Minnie Pearl behind the retro wooden desk.

"Wow," Brighton said.

"Yeah," Lola said, the only words they'd spoken since leaving Ampersand.

Still, Lola kept hold of Brighton's hand, and Brighton let her.

Lola's room was just as wild—pink-and-white-striped walls, a four-poster king bed with a mint-green chintz canopy, and a smiling portrait of Dolly Parton over the padded purple headboard.

Brighton had heard this hotel was kitschy, a truly unique Nashville experience, and the reality did not disappoint. Honestly, though, Brighton couldn't give two shits about this room.

She sat on the edge of the bed, watched as Lola slipped off her red heels.

Watched as Lola walked closer to her.

Watched, neck arching upward, as Lola came close enough to touch.

"Hi," Lola said.

"Hi," Brighton said back.

Lola smiled.

"You're here," Brighton said.

Lola nodded. "I'm here."

"I'm scared to ask why, but I guess I really need to know."

Lola sighed, set her hands on Brighton's shoulders, lightly, fingers twirling Brighton's hair.

"The simple answer?" she asked.

"Sure," Brighton said. "Let's start there."

"The simple answer is that I love you," Lola said softly, thumb swiping along Brighton's neck. "I always have. I always will. And I guess when you think about it, love isn't actually all that simple, but right now, I think it is. It's the best reason I've got. All the other complexities, our past, and New York, and the how of everything…I don't know those things, Bright. I don't know anything right now except that one thing."

Brighton curled her hands around the backs of Lola's thighs, her heart suddenly wild and free and young.

"You love me," she said.

Lola smiled, her eyes shiny. "I love you." She cupped Brighton's face in her palms. "And, actually, there's one more thing I know."

Brighton tilted her head. "What's that?"

"Love…it's a lot. It's powerful, but I'd love you whether I came here tonight or not. I'd love you in New York, and I'd love you in Paris, and I'd love you in Grand Haven."

Brighton stood so they were face-to-face, wrapped her arms around Lola's waist, pressed her forehead to Lola's.

"So the second thing I know," Lola said, "is that I want you."

Brighton lifted her head, stared into Lola's usually fathomless eyes, but right now, they were clear and bright and shining with tears.

"I want you, Brighton," Lola said, her lower lip trembling. "I'm so tired of pretending like I don't. Lying that I don't. I just want to be real and have…have something more than just okay. We've hurt each other. You left, and I left, and I didn't see you, and I know we have different lives, and we have a lot to work through, but I don't care about any of that right now. I just want you in my life. I want you as my partner. I want you as…as my wife. Someday. I never stopped wanting that. And if that's what you want too, I—"

But Brighton didn't let her finish. Couldn't. Because she had to kiss Lola right then, a seal, a promise.

Yes.

Kiss.

Yes.

Kiss.

"Yes," she said against Lola's mouth.

Lola smiled, then dragged in a shaky breath and kissed Brighton harder, opening to her, sliding her tongue against Brighton's, igniting her entire body.

"I missed you," Lola said, sneaking a hand under Brighton's denim button-up.

"God, me too," Brighton said, arching her neck to give Lola's mouth better access. Her breathing was so fast, she was nearly dizzy. "How…how was tour?"

"Later," Lola said, pushing Brighton onto the bed, fingers going straight for the buttons on her gray jeans. "Can I?"

Brighton laughed. "Please."

Lola didn't waste any time. Brighton's pants were off in a few seconds, her purple undies removed just as fast.

"Jesus," Lola said, pushing Brighton's legs apart. "You're gorgeous."

Brighton smiled, her hips already pressing upward, her need building. Lola grinned at her squirming, then slid onto the bed between Brighton's legs until they were face-to-face. They kissed like that for what felt like forever, perfect, entwined. Finally, though, their kisses turned more heated, and Charlotte moved south. She kissed Brighton's ankles first, sliding that mouth up Brighton's shins, tonguing her calves, making Brighton groan in pleasure and frustration.

When Lola reached her thighs, she bared her teeth, biting down on the soft flesh, gently at first, then hard enough to make Brighton gasp.

"God," Brighton said.

"Too much?"

Brighton shook her head.

"Good girl," Lola said, then bit her again, nibbling along one thigh, then the other, hard enough that Brighton was sure she was leaving teeth marks.

Good.

Brighton wanted marks.

Wanted the world to know she was Lola's and Lola was hers.

"Baby, please," Brighton said as Lola's teeth worked the tendon where her leg met her hip. It made Brighton feel wild, her pussy throbbing almost painfully.

"Please what?"

"I need you inside me," Brighton said, tugging at Lola's hair. "Please. Now. I need you."

Lola slid up quickly so they were face-to-face, her still-clothed hips pressing between Brighton's legs.

"You've got me," she said, kissing Brighton sweetly once, then twice, before the kiss turned less than sweet, teeth and moans, and then she inched down Brighton's body. She unbuttoned Brighton's shirt, sucking at her nipples through her cotton bra, making Brighton swear at the ceiling.

Finally, dear god, fucking finally, Lola's fingers settled on Brighton's cunt.

"Fuck yes," Brighton said. There was nothing like that first touch, the relief of it. She bucked into Lola's hand, but Lola would not be hurried. She never could be, and Brighton loved it.

Loved her.

Lola parted Brighton, fingers slipping between her folds, so wet that Brighton could hear her arousal.

"Please," Brighton whispered. "Please."

Lola smiled, kissed her way down Brighton's body to settle on her stomach between Brighton's legs.

"Beautiful," she said almost reverently, right before she slipped two fingers inside.

"Fuck," Brighton said, her hips lifting before settling again.

"Like that?" Lola asked.

Brighton could only nod, moan.

"Or like this?" Lola asked, sliding in a third finger.

"Oh my god, yeah. Like that."

"How about this?" Lola asked, then closed her mouth around Brighton's clit, sucking and licking, teeth grazing her skin.

"Jesus, fuck, yes," Brighton said, slapping the mattress with her hand. "Lola."

Lola hummed against her, her mouth too busy to ask questions now. Her fingers pumped in and out of Brighton's pussy, twisting every now and then, her tongue working Brighton's clit, building a scream in Brighton's chest. Brighton tried to be quiet, but she'd never been good at holding back with Lola, never wanted to be. She wanted to be consumed, decimated, ruined by this feeling, the love of her life, this woman who knew her inside and out, this person who'd been everything to her for sixteen years.

This person she'd lost.

This person she'd found again.

Nothing and no one would ever compare to Charlotte Rosalind Donovan, with all her talent and intelligence and flaws and her shy heart. Lola was love .

And Brighton had never felt so lucky.

To know her.

To get to love her.

"Lola," she said, because just that name made her heart feel as though it were made of fairy dust, all light and brightness. Lola hummed again, setting fire to Brighton's blood, her fingers still working inside her like magic.

This was one of those moments when Brighton was sure she was the only one in the world to ever feel like this, because if everyone felt like this, the world would simply implode from happiness.

"Baby," she said, getting closer, her whole body racing toward that peak. She dug her hands into Lola's hair but then pulled at her shoulders.

Lola looked up at her.

"Up here," Brighton said, her voice raspy with need and want. "I want to see you. Feel you."

Lola slid her fingers out, then undressed silently before crawling back onto the bed, settling alongside Brighton. They kissed, her hand back at Brighton's center, three fingers sliding inside again so easily. Brighton gasped, nearly coming right then, but she held herself off, wanting to feel this desperate as she touched Lola too. She pulled one of Lola's legs over her hip, exposing her perfect cunt, so wet and pretty. Brighton's fingers didn't waste any time, sliding between Lola's folds, circling her clit. Lola tilted her head back, moaning, and Brighton pressed her mouth to Lola's neck as she slipped her fingers inside.

Lola's free hand gripped her shoulder, and she nodded, whispering yes, yes, yes . They moved together, fingers fucking, mouths pressed together, breathing each other's air, murmuring words to urge each other on, both sweet and wild.

"Fuck," Brighton said, her orgasm building again. "Lola."

"Don't stop," Lola said, her own hips working with Brighton's fingers, her palm pressing against Brighton's clit.

"Oh my god," Brighton said, and Lola pressed hard, her face buried in Brighton's neck, Brighton's free hand tangled in her hair, pulling until she burst, body lighting up like stars, like a supernova. Lola followed her, tensing and then crying out against Brighton's skin.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, catching their breath, fingers still inside each other, joined and content and exhausted.

Happy.

Together.

Lola and Bright.

Later, after they'd taken a slow shower together, just kissing and sliding soap over each other's skin, they lay in bed, Dolly Parton big-haired and smiling above them.

Brighton's eyes felt heavy, drifting closed to the rhythm of Lola's breath on her neck as the big spoon. Still, every time she nearly fell asleep, she jerked awake, Lola's arms tightening around her.

She couldn't stop thinking about when the sun would filter in through the cherry-patterned curtains. About when they'd wake up, when their feet would hit the colorful plush carpet and they'd talk about what to order for breakfast, but after would be hovering in the air between them, her rooming with Leah and Lola's inevitable retreat to New York.

A question haunted her mind, one she knew she had to ask, even as she kept swallowing it down.

When the clock rolled over to 2:00 a.m. and Brighton stuttered awake for at least the fourth time, Lola sighed, pressed her mouth to Brighton's neck.

"What's going on, love?" Lola asked.

Brighton turned in her arms to face her. She could barely see her features in the dark, but it was enough. She traced Lola's cheekbones, her perfectly thick eyebrows, gathering courage.

Finally, she jumped.

"What happens next?" she asked.

Lola was quiet for a few seconds, long enough to make Brighton feel as though Lola were just trying to find a way to fight for New York. And it wasn't like Brighton was opposed to it—she just needed to be part of the conversation.

Needed to be seen.

She and Lola had a lot of things to work through—Lola surely had her own fears and insecurities about their relationship, about Brighton's ability to be frank, to stay, just as Brighton had hang-ups about standing on equal footing with their careers, with their dreams, and with what fit for both of them.

And Brighton also realized that was okay.

It was okay to have things to work through. They weren't perfect, no matter how fairy-tale-esque their story of childhood best friends turned lovers might be.

She just wanted to do that work together.

"Lola?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

Lola pressed her forehead to Brighton's, kissed the tip of her nose. "Whatever we want, my love. Whatever we want. It's you and me."

Brighton breathed out. Such simple words, and certainly not a plan at all, but right now, in the middle of the night, it was enough.

It was a start.

She kissed Lola once, whispered "I love you" against her mouth, and fell asleep.