Between Heaven and Rock (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 3)

Too Personal

"It's snowing," Ulla said.

He lifted his head off the pillow and looked at the window.

"That explains the pain," he said and rubbed his right wrist with his left hand. He pointed at her arms folded over the afghan with his eyes. "How's yours?"

Ulla shrugged. "I'm used to it."

She was sitting her back against the headboard, he lay near, on his side.

"You said you broke it three times," he said.

"First the left one, in a monocycle crash, and then the right one, twice. First time, it was an accident. I slipped on stage." She paused. "On a puddle of beer of all things. Too cliché to be put in a book even," she said venomously. "I'm not sure how me and my mates are still alive, considering what we'd gotten up to through those years. So much vodka, so little brains." She tapped her temple with her index finger. "Perpetually bladdered teens and sharp objects or fast vehicles don't go well together."

"What about the second time?" he asked softly, and she looked down at him.

"My last boyfriend - the last one," she said, intonating purposefully, "broke it. I said I was leaving him - and his band - because I was fed up with being his bassist and his token 'rocker chick.' And he broke my arm. So I couldn't play, you see."

She stared at the window over his head.

"But you still did," he said quietly.

"I'm very stubborn." She looked at him. "You know those exercises your doctor told you to do, and sometimes you slack and do fifteen instead of twenty?" He nodded. "I did thirty," she said with a chuckle. "I thought that's what I wanted to do then, you know? To play, to tour, and such. I found three blokes - well, actually, I stole the rhythm guitarist from his band - and we started performing as The Devil Gate Drive. It took me three years to start stealing his gigs too. I was so hellbent on doing better than him." She shook her head, lost in the memories. "I specifically chose the covers to compete with him. I just wanted to prove he hadn't broken me. Seems so trivial now. I could've enjoyed it more, written more of my own songs, but I was obsessed with doing the same covers as him."

"Did you play any of your own songs at Will's wedding?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Too depressing," she said and gave him a humourless smile. "It's all about scars and proving the men from my past wrong. I look back at them and think, 'Well, that's just daft.' As long as you let your past determine your present actions, you're still allowing it to control you."

"I could quote quite a few verses on the power of forgiveness to you," he said, "but I feel you've mastered it."

"Well, I wouldn't go as far as say I've forgiven them. I still keyed their cars every time I could," she deadpanned, and he chuckled. "I'm just not letting their voices in my head push me to act a certain way. I have nothing to prove." She twirled the laptop cord in her fingers. "It's still hard, you know? Ask anyone from my past, and they'll tell you I sold out. I was fifteen when I started. First, I was told a girl couldn't have a successful band. The first man I dated, the older bloke I ran away with, he kept saying, 'You aren't Suzi Q, Ulla.' He arsed up my mind for years, kept me around as his groupie, but I got out and started playing on my own. The last one literally smashed a guitar over my back and broke my arm to keep me from becoming Suzi Q." She shook her head again. "Eventually I got where they said I never would - and then I gave it up. I'm now wearing trouser suits! I straighten my natural hair, go to the office, and drive a Honda! It's properly mental!" She laughed loudly. "I go to bed at eleven, and I've been sober and celibate for six months!"

He watched her face silently for a few seconds.

"Why?"

"Because– Because at some point I realised, I don't want to be Suzi Q," she said and gave him a smile. "I want to write and publish. I do have a book, as you've so perceptively guessed. I actually have four. After I got my degree, I asked my Uncle - he's married to Clementine's agent - to help me get a job in a publishing house. They didn't hire me at her agency, which I was fine with, since that would be favouritism, but he arranged an interview for me in your brother's company. I was so shocked when I got the job! I didn't know if I could do it, you see? But it seems to be going well. I've been sending my books to different publishing houses, and I keep getting rejected, but that's normal," she dismissed lightly. "I'll figure it out. I'm learning what I need to do to get published, and I'll get there."