Free Deliciously Obedient by Julia Kent Page B

else’s.
    Writing
a song for Lydia, performing it on stage, taking ownership of what
he’d done and how he felt about her was a bold—and probably
stupid—move. But he only needed to hide for another day and a half.
    After
that it was all out in the open. Everything would be revealed.
    Sitting
at his fire pit, the cold night a form of penance, his thin coat
aided by four layers of shirts underneath, he let the small fire die
down, the coals barely casting enough light for his fingers to find
their places on the blonde-wood guitar. The first few notes of old
classic rock tunes and country rock floated from his fingers. How
easily what he enjoyed came to him.
    Why
had he spent so many years driving himself to do what didn’t?
    “ Mike?”
Pete appeared, flashlight in hand, a friendly smile on his face.
    “ Too
loud? Is it quiet hours?” His voice rumbled in his throat, so
rarely used these days. The solitude made talking gratuitous.
    “ No,
actually, it’s beautiful. You’re good.”
    “ You’re
being far too kind. I suck.”
    “ Better
than me. Can’t play guitar to save my life. Or any instrument, for
that matter. The musician of the family was Luke…” Pete smiled
sadly. Mike knew the backstory on Luke now—the oldest, gone to
Iraq, now dead—but never asked details. Prying wasn’t his style.
    He
certainly didn’t want too many questions thrown his way, so…
    “ Did
he play guitar?”
    Pete
nodded. “And piano, drums—you name it. He loved it. So did
Claire.”
    “ Claire?”
    “ Our
daughter-in-law.” That was the first Mike had heard of a wife for
Luke. Hadn’t met her. Wondered what the backstory was, but
again…didn’t want to pry.
    Pete
sat down on a small log, knees cracking with effort. “Snap,
crackle, pop,” he joked.
    “ We
all get old.”
    “ If
we’re lucky.”
    Mike
winced. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”
    Pete
blew out a long breath. “No offense taken. Just being
philosophical.”
    Mike
strummed a few chords of a Led Zeppelin song. Pete began to hum
along. “You playing that in the show?”
    Mike
shook his head. “No. Something new I composed.”
    “ I’d
love to hear it.”
    Something
hard in Mike tightened further. “You will. At the show.”
    Pete’s
phone buzzed. He stood to dig it out of his pocket and looked at the
screen, then thumbed toward the shed. “Gotta run. Look forward to
hearing it!”
    “ Got
to finish, but you’ll hear it.”
    Pete
whipped through the dark woods faster than Mike would have expected.
He must know this place so well. Intimacy could be developed between
two people, but it hadn’t occurred to Mike that you could have
intimate knowledge of land. Of buildings. Of a shoreline or a
landscape, roots so deep they kept you in place.
    Lydia
had left all this behind to work in corporate droneland.
    To
work for him.
    Why?
The campground was so idyllic that it unsettled him to think that she
needed to escape it. What kept her from coming back, and what drove
her here this time?
    Why
here? Why now? Jeremy’s presence had something to do with it, but
he would have to live with so many unanswered questions.
    A
blast of wind sent a small spark flying, landing on the front of his
guitar. A good, solid poke of the fire with his marshmallow stick
confirmed it was mostly out. Mike got up and headed into the cabin.
It was time to hit the sack.
    Flashes
of light, like lightsabers, blipped through the window. Kids roamed
the woods late at night all the time. Ignoring it was the best
approach, but this time the beams had voices.
    “ Here?
Really?”
    He
froze in place, about to turn on the small lamp—the only light
source—in the cabin.
    Lydia.
    “ Why
not?” A man’s voice, persuasive and cocky.
    Jeremy.
    Jesus
Christ. What were they doing right here? Timing was everything, and
if he hadn’t come inside…
    “ It’s
buttfucking cold!” he heard her exclaim, followed by Jeremy’s
mumbles, then hysterical laughter from a loopy Lydia.
    Had
she