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This wasn’t a song meant to convince her to come back. It was a list of his regrets, a private flagellation made public. And yet, after so long of thinking he didn’t care…

She pressed her hand to her mouth, blinking back tears.

He’d written back.

Chapter Thirty

“Back to you, Charlene,” the balding host said into the camera with a car-salesman grin that made Beckett want to punch him. As soon as the cameras lowered, the host turned back to the band, extending a hand towards Logan. “Thanks, guys. That was really great stuff.”

“Does it seem hypocritical to anyone else that we’re promoting an event to end hunger while wasting a shit ton of food?” Nico asked, gesturing to the mess of ingredients strewn across the TV studio kitchen set, the bowls of butter cake batter that would never be baked alongside the trays piled high with the gooey confection.

The host waved away the concern. “That’s just the way these things work.”

Beckett rubbed his palms together, a cloud of flour rising into the air. “Is there somewhere we can wash up before the next segment?”

“Of course. You’re not back on for another half hour or so anyway.” The host gestured to a PA on the sidelines, a tall, gangly kid with the kind of shaggy blonde hair Beckett thought had gone out of style in the 80s. “Steve, show these guys back to the green room so they can get cleaned up.”

Steve led them back through the maze of plywood walls to the green room on the other side of the studio, but not before Zach swiped a square of the butter cake. “This is actually pretty good,” he said, holding up the cake.

“You’re getting powdered sugar everywhere,” Beckett said, ducking out of the way of the trail of white powder falling from Zach’s hands.

“Worth it,” Zach said around a mouthful of cake.

Steve pushed open the door to the green room and Beckett’s eyes immediately latched onto Kat standing at the edge of the room, one ear bud in her ear, her gaze fixed on her phone. But there was something in her face that gave him pause. Before he could ask, she looked up at him and tilted her head towards the hall, then turned on her heel and marched out the door.

“Looks like somebody’s in trouble,” Jackson teased behind him.

Beckett followed her out the door and down the hall of offices they’d passed on their way into the studio that morning, anxiety forming a ball in the pit of his stomach. She rounded a corner, glanced around, and then seemed to try a handle at random. The door opened, surprising them both.

“We breaking and entering now, Luna?” he asked as he followed her into the darkened conference room.

The door closed behind them and she held up her phone, her eyes blazing. On the screen, the music video for “Weathering the Storm” silently played. “You wrote this?” she demanded. He scraped a hand over his jaw, nodding. “For me?”

He frowned in confusion. “I told you I tried to write back.”

She stalked towards him, the phone still held high. “This isn’t trying. There’s a music video. You wrote a song about me.”

“You wrote books about me.” He shrugged. “I thought we’d been over this. Wait. Is this the first time you’ve heard this song?” She nodded. “Fuck. Turn it off,” he said, reaching for the phone.

She spun around, clutching the phone to her chest. “I will not! You wrote a song about me.”

He came up behind her, his front pressed to her back, and tried to reach around her for the phone, but she had it in a death grip. “It’s not a good song. It didn’t even chart. I’ll write you a better one.”

She shook her head, her hair flying in his face. “Better than thunderstorm eyes and sunshine smile?”

He snorted and tried again for the phone, though if he was honest, he wasn’t trying all that hard—her ass wiggling against his groin as she squirmed away was way more fun than actually stealing her phone.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said half-heartedly. This time, he missed the phone but his hand landed on her chest. He gave her a squeeze that had her squealing in surprise and spinning in his arms to face him.

She glanced down at her chest and the flour handprint covering her breast. Her mouth fell open in mock outrage, and she pointed a finger at the mark. “What did you do?”

“Here. I’ll fix it.” Before she could stop him, he planted his hand on her other breast, giving it an equally firm squeeze. “Now they’re even.”

She tipped her head back and laughed, the sound rushing through his veins like champagne, fizzy and bright and making him a little light-headed. He wanted to drink down that laugh. He stepped closer and planted both hands on her ass, plumping the firm curves, and pressed his cheek to hers. “A matching set,” he said as he patted her ass once more for good measure.

Kat wrapped her arms around his neck, her body melting against his. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“Oh yeah?” He couldn’t hide his grin as he slipped his hands into the back pockets of her pants and used the leverage to slot her against him, his thigh fitting perfectly between her legs. “What did you have in mind, love?”