All The Wild Ones | Wildfire Series

Warm-Up

NESSA

"What are you going to do during my gig?"

What a crazy, ridiculous thing to ask. Someone would literally have to drag me out of a room where Grayson was performing. I wasn't about to give up the chance to hear that kind of music. Or the opportunity to see this kind of a man playing it.

"I'm going to come listen, of course."

An unsure frown worked its way onto his face. "You don't have to."

"What else am I going to do? Sit in the room by myself?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged, eyes staying on the road as we drove into Monterey. "Reading a book on the balcony with a drink in hand sounds like something you'd enjoy."

He had me there. "You're not wrong. I do want to read Anthony's book before the next season of Bridgerton comes out."

"Did you bring it with you?"

I shook my head. Reading wasn't exactly what I was thinking about when I'd packed a bag for this weekend. "No, but even if I had, it wouldn't matter. I want to hear you play."

He sucked in a breath, thumbs fiddling on the steering wheel. "Just don't expect anything too impressive."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as we pulled into the bayside resort. I quickly took in the beachy blue siding with white trim before turning my attention back to Grayson. He never downgraded his talents. It was one of the things about him that drove me crazy and secretly turned me on all at the same time. He oozed confidence.

Not right now.

"Are you nervous?"

"Yes," he admitted, sounding annoyed by it. "My right hand can't keep up with my left one no matter how much I practice." He sighed as he put the car into park. "I've been going to therapy, but the progress is so slow."

"The stroke...it was on the right side of your brain?"

He shook his head. "The left. It's the opposite. One of the last things I really remember is losing feeling in this stupid thing." He flicked his hand, taking out his irritation on his palm even though that heart of his was the real culprit. "I dropped my phone. I'd been about to—"

Grayson let his hand fall into his lap, his eyelids lowering like they suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. My pulse ticked up.

"About to what?"

He looked at me slowly, mulling over some words in his mouth. His lips looked like they couldn't decide if they should open and let the words out.

"Call you. Let you know I made it home."

Tears instantly pricked the back of my eyes, but I willed them away. I hated hearing of everything he went through when I had no idea. It destroyed me every time. But Grayson didn't need to see me cry again.

So I swallowed the urge, grabbed his hand, and spoke with as much confidence that an insecure person like me could muster.

"You blew me away the first time I heard you play, Grayson. And I know you'll do the same tonight."

For the first time since I jumped in Grayson's arms a few days ago, he looked like he might shed tears. And so I promised myself that I would never, ever get annoyed with his cockiness again. Because the self-doubt in his eyes right now was so heartbreaking and so out of character.

Eventually, he got to the point where he could give me a small smile. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I squeezed his hand. "If there's one thing I know about my boyfriend, it's that he's really—I mean, really—good with his hands."