Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

41

The scentof coffee and the sound of a guitar engulf me before my feet even hit the staircase.

I step into the living room and find Sav and Brynn sitting on the couch, Mabel perched cross-legged on the coffee table, and Cameron sprawled on the loveseat. All eyes fall on me, and one by one I’m greeted with various levels of enthusiasm.

“Mornin’, Daddy,” Brynn says with a smile.

Before I can respond, Mabel and Sav cut in.

“Mornin’, Daddy.”

“Good morning, Daddy!”

I arch a brow at them. Sav is smirking impishly, and Mabel is trying not to laugh. I shake my head once, and that tips Mabel over the edge until she’s giggling so hard, she might fall off the coffee table.

“Um, good morning, Mr. Cooper,” Cameron says, and I nod.

“Good morning.” I glance back at Mabel. “When did you get here?”

She grins and sits up straighter.

“‘Bout an hour ago. Ham and the guys should be here soon.”

That’s right, the meeting. I forgot about it. Mabel is here most days, but she usually stumbles in around eleven after her morning hot yoga class. The meeting explains why she’s here so early.

“There’s coffee made, babe,” Sav says before strumming her guitar strings.

Savannah has a fancy espresso machine and prefers her morning lattes, but I’m not sold on them, so we bought a regular drip coffee pot online. She makes me use her imported coffee beans and grind them myself, though.

When did you become a coffee snob,I’d asked her.

When I had to stop being a whiskey and cocaine snob, she’d quipped back.

Touché.

“Thank you,” I tell her, and I lean down to kiss her head before moving to the kitchen and pouring myself a cup of coffee.

I lean on the counter and drink it while looking out the window and listening to the giggles coming from the living room. Guitar chords. Laughter. More guitar. More laughter. Savannah has been scribbling in her lyric notebook every chance she gets, and she rarely goes anywhere without the acoustic right now. Her creativity and passion amaze me, and I have a hunch this album is going to be their best yet.

The front door opens, and Ziggy barrels into the room with Sharon and Red trailing behind her. Sharon’s been taking the dog for walks in the mornings and afternoons, and Red has been joining her.

“You’re still in your pjs?” Sharon says to Cameron and Brynn, then she checks her watch. “That thing you wanted to go to is in an hour, and it will take us thirty minutes to get there.”

“Oh, shoot,” Brynn says, jumping up from the couch and darting up the stairs with Cameron on her heels. “Be right back!”

“Is this the 3-D paper craft thing or the comic book thing?” I ask Sharon.

She does a better job than I do of keeping up with Brynn’s newly packed and ever-changing social calendar.

“It’s the skate park thing.”

I cock my head to the side.

“Skate park thing?”

Brynn comes bounding back down the stairs dressed in shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes, with a skateboard hauled under one arm. I look from the skateboard to Savannah and find she’s already smirking at me. This is her doing.

“Don’t worry, Daddy. Boss will be wearing a helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

“Call me Daddy again,” I threaten, and she giggles and waggles her eyebrows at me in a way that suggests I’ll definitely be following through with the implied threat later.

“Dad, I need you to sign this waiver, please,” Brynn interjects, slapping a form down on the counter in front of me. “It’s so you can’t sue them if I break my arm or leg or, well, anything else.”

I choke on my coffee, and laughter bursts from Sav and Mabel. I flick my eyes toward them, then glance at Brynn. She’s bouncing from foot to foot, obviously excited to go to this skate park and do things that might cause her to break one or more bones.

“Why am I just learning about this?” I ask as I scan the safety waiver.

“We just found out about it last night,” Sharon answers. “It was in the local library newsletter. We printed the waiver this morning.”

Hm. A safety waiver. A skateboard. A potential broken bone. I look at Red.

“I’ll be there,” he reassures me, and I hear Brynn sigh dramatically.

I glance at Cameron. “And you?”

“Oh, um, I’m not skating. I’m just going to watch and play with Ziggy.”

I look back at Sharon.

“You’re bringing the menace?”

“Hey!” Sav says on a laugh. “Be nice to my baby. She’s not a menace. She’s just misunderstood.”

“She’s a menace,” I say in unison with Red and Mabel, then Mabel grunts when Sav smacks her with a throw pillow. I smirk at them before Brynn groans.

“Dad, puh-lease, hurry. Red drives like an old grandma, and we’re gonna be late.”

Sav snorts and Sharon smiles, but Red doesn’t so much as flinch. The man deserves a raise.

I make eye contact with my daughter. Her eyes are bright with excitement, and the California sunshine has brought out freckles on her cheeks that weren’t there a few months ago. It makes her look more like the kid she is and less like the teenager her attitude suggests. With all the shit she’s been through in her eight years of life, it’s a relief to see her with an unbidden smile on her face.

It used to be a struggle for me to get Brynn to leave the house. She never wanted to try new things or meet new people. She never really wanted to be a kid, and selfishly, part of me was okay with it. I liked that my daughter would rather hang out at the office with me than with kids her own age. At least that way I knew she was safe.

Since moving in with Savannah, Brynn’s comfort zone—which once only had space for me, Sharon, and video chats with Cameron—has expanded to include all of Los Angeles. And even though I know this change is a good one, it’s been a difficult adjustment for me.

I smooth my hand over Brynn’s dark brown curls.

“I liked it better when all you wanted to do was play Scrabble with me,” I say honestly. “That didn’t require a safety waiver.”

Brynn grins.

“Yeah, but you can’t teach me how to do a 360-kick flip.”

I laugh and nod my head, then pull a pen out of the drawer next to me.

“Good point, Boss.”

I sign the waiver and hand it to Sharon just as there’s a knock at the front door. Brynn throws her arms around my waist, and I pull her into a tight hug.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards,” I say as she steps back, and she rolls her eyes. I raise my brows and hit her with a pointed look.

“Helmet, knee pads, and wrist guards,” she repeats with a nod.

“Have fun, kiddo.”

Brynn smiles.

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Boss.”

I watch as Brynn, Cameron, Red, and Sharon walk out the front door at the same time Jonah, Hammond, and Torren come in. They all exchange greetings, and I don’t miss the way Red’s hand moves to the middle of Sharon’s back as they leave. I quirk a brow and take a sip of my coffee.

Interesting.

They have been spending more time together lately. Is it a protective habit, or more?

I lean on the counter silently as Savannah’s band members sprawl themselves out on the furniture, and Hammond, in a fucking bespoke suit at nine in the morning on a Sunday, stands in the middle of the living room scrolling through his phone.

This “meeting” is to discuss plans for the next The Hometown Heartless album. The one Sav’s already started writing for. When I asked her if something like this should be discussed more formally, perhaps in an office or a studio boardroom, she barked out a laugh and patted me on the head like I was a naïve child.

I’m not naïve, though. I just want this to work out. I want this new era with The Hometown Heartless to be perfect for Savannah. She needs it, and she fucking deserves it. I don’t want anything or anyone to take away her happiness ever again.

I scan the people sitting in my living room.

My gaze stops on the petite, pink-haired drummer first.

I’ve come to know Mabel quite well in the months since the fire. She’s pretty much Savannah’s only friend, and while I know there was a rift between them for a while, the two seem just as close as they did all those years ago in Miami. Mabel was at the hospital the moment she heard about the fire, and she’s been here almost every day since we moved back. Mabel, I’m not worried about.

But Torren...

I let my eyes drift over Torren King, and from the way his body tenses, I know he can feel my gaze. Good. Broody fucking bastard. He thinks I can’t see the way he looks at Sav from the corner of his eye. The way he’s always watching her. But like recognizes like, and as someone who knows exactly what it feels like to be captivated by Savannah’s chaos, I can spot it from miles away. And Torren? He can deny it all he wants, but he’s not fooling me. Fucker is still hung up on my girl. It almost makes me feel bad for him. Almost.

I trust Savannah when she says nothing will ever happen there again.

Hell, I even trust Torren not to try and win her back.

What worries me, though, is whether he’ll actually be able to move on, or if he’s going to end up fucking everything up for Sav. I wouldn’t put it past him to brood himself into irreparable heartbreak and then leave the band mid-tour.

As if he can hear my thoughts, Torren turns his head toward me and locks his gaze with mine. I bring my mug to my mouth and take another drink of coffee without breaking eye contact. His jaw pops and his eyes narrow, but neither of us look away. It’s not until Hammond says Torren’s name that the connection is cut, and he has to bring his attention back to the meeting.

Briefly, I let Hammond’s voice filter into my head—something about possible album titles, vibes, visions—before I tune him back out and look to Jonah.

Jonah is an enigma, and therefore, the most dangerous wild card.

He’s absolutely nothing like the guy I met in Miami. The Jonah I met in Miami was responsible and charismatic. Friendly. Witty. Caring.

But this Jonah? I don’t know.

I know he usually only speaks when spoken to, he rarely smiles, and I’ve never heard him laugh. I know the only time I see him show an emotion other than frustration or apathy is when he’s playing music.

And I know he wouldn’t leave the band willingly.

I run my eyes over him. He’s slouched in the armchair, but he’s awake and alert. I know from Sav that he’s going on five months sober. He wouldn’t be allowed in the house at all if he was using—we don’t even keep alcohol here—and that’s a house rule no one is willing to compromise on. It’s safer for Brynn. It’s better for everyone. Jonah is no exception, and everyone’s trying hard not to act like they’re tiptoeing around him as if he’s a ticking time bomb. But they are. They’re handling him with kid gloves, and I can tell he can tell.

I watch his face as he listens intently to Hammond’s voice. He turns his head to face whoever is speaking within the group. But he never speaks.

Jonah is the one who makes me the most nervous, and my instincts are in overdrive trying to find a solution. To protect Sav. To keep her safe and happy. To help and to fix.

I smirk at myself as Sav’s voice floats through my memory. She calls it my savior complex. Says it’s a trauma response. Maybe she’s right. She usually is.

It’s kind of surreal when I think about it.

The hottest rock band in the industry is hanging out in my house—hell, I’m in love with one of the most famous celebrities in the world—but it’s as normal as breathing. It feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be while also being the furthest thing from how I imagined my life.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, reminding me that I have a business call scheduled with Dustin on the east coast. We’re getting the hang of the time difference.

I finish my coffee and set my mug in the sink before turning to look into the living room one more time. When I do, storm gray mischievous eyes capture mine. Her plump lips turn up at the corners and she puckers them slightly, sending me a kiss. I smirk and copy the gesture, then wink at her before heading back upstairs to call Dustin.

Two hours later, I glance up from my computer screen to see Savannah waltz through the doorway with a smile.

She crosses the room toward me, and I turn my body in invitation. She accepts, sliding onto my lap in the desk chair without hesitation. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her slowly, savoring every second of it.

“Mmmm. I missed you.”

I chuckle against her lips. It’s only been a few hours, but I missed her, too.

“How did the meeting go?” I ask as she rests her forehead on mine. “Have you planned your magnum opus?”

I say it teasingly, but her excited smile is all the confirmation I need.

“I think this is going to be the best one yet,” she whispers, almost like she’s afraid to say it too loudly. “I can feel it. I think this will be the one we’re known for years after we’re done.”

I kiss her once, and I feel her lips trembling on mine. I pull back slightly and try to make eye contact, but Savannah’s eyes are clamped shut.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I smooth my hand up and down her back. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Her inhale and exhale are shaky, and she worries her lower lip with her teeth before speaking. Her mouth curls into a small smile, and she huffs out a quiet laugh.

“I’m just scared, is all.”

I run my palms over her hair, then trace her jaw and cheekbones with my fingertips. I kiss her lips once more.

“Scared why?”

She takes another deep breath, then opens her eyes and knocks me on my ass with the emotions I see swirling in them.

My strong, brave, fierce girl—usually hard as steel—is nothing but vulnerability and fear.

I’ve seen her look like this twice before, and both times absolutely gutted me.

“Promise me you’re not going to leave if this gets hard,” she whispers, her voice cracking with desperation. “I’m going to fuck something up. I always do. Please, Levi, promise me. Promise me you won’t leave.”

I take her hands in mine and press them to my chest, right above my heart, then hold her eyes.

“Nothing could make me leave, Savannah. Nothing.”

I mean it with every single fiber of my being. I’m not losing her again. To nothing and no one.

She whimpers and closes her eyes again.

“Nothing ever stays good for me. Everything good ends up ripped away or burned to ash, either by my own stupid mistakes or something I didn’t see coming. I’m so fucking scared this is too good to be true.”

I move my hands to her shoulders and massage gently, working at the tension with my hands. Her words hit me right in my chest. I know how she feels. I’ve felt the same way. Like I was fighting uphill. Like I couldn’t catch a break. Like I was holding everyone above water while letting myself drown.

But I know, with my whole body, that it’s going to be different now.

“I understand why you feel that way,” I say softly. God, do I ever fucking understand. “And I can’t promise that we won’t be thrown more bullshit along the way. But I can promise that whatever happens, we will face it together. We’re a team now, you and me. We’re endgame. You will never, ever, have to go through the hard shit alone again.”

She’s quiet for a moment, but I don’t stop tending to her shoulders until I can feel the tension melting away. Finally, she opens her eyes and meets mine, then nods.

“Okay,” she says. She sniffles and forces a smile when I move my thumbs to her cheeks, wiping away tears. “Okay, Levi. Endgame. Me and you.”

“Endgame. The universe fucking owes us.”

She laughs, and I laugh.

“It does, doesn’t it.”

I press a kiss to her lips. I taste the salt from her tears. I breathe her in. And then I smirk.

“Maybe bad things happen for a reason, after all,” I say, half-heartedly, referencing an old conversation from years ago, whispered in my dark bedroom through angry tears.

Savannah pulls back and purses her lips. She considers me for a few breaths, then arches an eyebrow.

“Nah,” we say at the same time.

She laughs again and rolls her eyes.

“Just random shit piles for random people. You just have to trudge through and hope you eventually make it to a wildflower field or whatever.”

I smirk.

“The analogy could use some work,” I joke, and she snorts.

“Shut it.” She stands, then grabs my hand, tugging me out of the desk chair. “Now come on. Cameron has to fly home tomorrow, so we’re going to meet everyone for lunch.”

I follow her out the door, hands clasped, until we’re down the stairs, then I sling my arm over her shoulder. We walk through the door to the attached garage, but when we walk past her Porsche, I slow my steps.

She smirks at me as she slips out from under my arm, then walks to the wall where her motorcycle helmets are mounted.

“Absolutely not,” I say slowly.

She pulls down two helmets wordlessly and walks back to me. She hands me a helmet, and like an idiot, I take it.

“I’m not getting on that thing. I haven’t driven a motorcycle since college, and even then, I was terrible at it.”

She twists her lips to the side in amusement.

“Who said I’m going to let you drive?”

Slowly, she pushes her helmet onto her head and walks to the Harley, then throws her leg over the beast of a machine. She flips the visor of her helmet up and hits me with that familiar, troublemaking look in her eyes.

She looks so fucking sexy, and I’m already giving in, but I don’t budge. I wait for it.

“C’mon, Levi,” she croons, “don’t be such a weenie.”

I smirk and shake my head, then just like always, I cave.

I put on the helmet and walk to her, already deciding I’ll have to hone my motorcycle driving skills. This is the only time I’ll ride behind her. After this, it’s always beside her.

Because I’ve never been able to resist Savannah Shaw.

A little reckless. A little wild.

A lot mine.