“But he also sang a brand new song for us, one that’s not on any of Shaken Dirty’s albums. In fact, it’s never been recorded before. So, with no further discussion, here’s Ryder Matthews singing, ‘Pieces of You.’”

Confused, Jamison froze as the opening chords of a song played on acoustic guitar filled the cab. She knew it was Ryder playing—she’d heard him often enough to recognize his style—but the idea that he’d stopped by a radio station today made absolutely no sense. Not when Wyatt was in the hospital. And not after everything that had happened.

Unless he’d been trying to do damage control, to get the word out that Shaken Dirty was just fine, despite the disasters that were recorded in that damn dressing room. But then, why the song? Surely a quick interview would have been enough to at least start on the damage control.

She was still trying to figure out what was going on—while feeling like she’d fallen down a rabbit hole—when Ryder’s dark, husky tones filled the car. Only it was a Ryder that few people ever got to hear, one even she and the other band members didn’t see very often. Somber, languid, heartbroken, the gravelly roughness of his voice worked its way down her spine before arrowing straight to her heart.

Silent tears slipped down her face as the wounds she’d spent all evening cauterizing tore wide open.

“Please,” she choked out. “Please turn it off.”

“Listen,” the driver told her. “Listen.”

She didn’t want to listen. Only she didn’t have a choice, because he was making no move to turn off the radio and she was in no shape to do it herself.

Though she did her best to block Ryder out, it was only a matter of seconds before the words he sang sunk into her consciousness.

“Pieces of you,

Like a puzzle in my mind—

fitting together

In a pattern I just can’t find.

The freckles on your cheeks,

A perfect dot to dot

The words at your fingertips

Painting pictures that I’ve sought.

Little pieces hold the secrets,

little moments hold the clues,

to the whispers deep inside yourself

and the truth I couldn’t choose.

The sweetness in your touch

skimming down my back.

The glitter in your eyes

that won’t see all I lack.

The fire in your heart,

before we turned to frost.

The roses in your lips

for the kisses that I’ve lost.

I want to hold you

I want to kiss you

I want to love you

Can’t stand to miss you

Cuz, baby, needing you is oh-so-easy to do.

The pieces all asunder

The puzzle a scattered mess

Your smile a fading memory

Your love a broken test.

Little pieces hold the secrets,

little moments hold the clues,

to the whispers deep inside yourself

and the truth I wouldn’t choose.

I want to hold you

I want to kiss you

I want to love you

Can’t stand to miss you

Cuz, baby, loving you is oh-so-easy to do.

Yes, loving you is the only thing I know to do.”

By the time the song drew to a close, Jamison was a mess. She didn’t understand, didn’t know what it meant. How could he say things like that, how could he sing that song, mere hours after ripping her heart out of her chest?

“It’s okay, miss. It’s okay.” The driver handed her a box of tissues. She grabbed a few, used them to wipe from her cheeks tears she hadn’t even been aware of crying. So much for putting herself back together again.

Of course, the driver chose that moment to pull up to the curb. She reached into her purse to pay him, when she glanced out the window and realized her hotel was nowhere in sight.

She glanced down the street, in case she’d just gotten the address wrong and he’d dropped her further up the block. But nothing looked familiar—this was definitely not the right street.

“This isn’t my hotel.”

“It’s okay,” the driver repeated.

“No. It’s not okay. I need to get to—”

“Here. You need to get here.” The driver nodded encouragingly, pointed to the door. “You need to get out now.”

“No. I need to get to the Marriott. It’s on—”

She broke off as the cab door swung open to reveal Ryder standing there. “Come with me,” he told her. “Please.”

For long seconds, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. A million questions clamored in her head, but she couldn’t ask any of them. Her tongue was tied into too many knots.

He reached for her hand and like a moron, she gave it to him. How could she not when the lyrics of that beautiful song were crashing through her brain over and over again?

She’d barely climbed out of the cab before Ryder was closing the door and it was speeding away into the night. It didn’t even occur to her that she hadn’t paid the driver until he was already gone.

Ryder moved her slowly down the sidewalk to a concrete and glass bench that was nestled up against the side of a building. Above it were the letters of a Houston radio station. The same radio station she had just been listening to.

“How?” It was the only question she could ask, the only syllable she could force from her tight throat and trembling lips.

“After spending two hours looking for you, I decided to get crafty. I paid off every dispatcher in every cab company in Houston so that when one of their cabbies picked up a woman dressed in a pink blouse with long red hair, they would call me. Finally, when I was on the brink of ripping out my own vocal chords—not to mention every hair on my head—one of them did.”

Jamison nodded like she understood, but she didn’t. She knew he was speaking English, but nothing he said made any sense. Nothing had made any sense since she’d heard that song playing on the radio. Because if she listened to the lyrics, if she let herself believe them—

“Why?” It seemed monosyllables were all she was capable of.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes searching every detail of her face. And she knew no smile in the world was going to hide the fact that she’d been crying.

“Why?” Ryder asked, his voice even huskier than it had been while he was singing. “Because I’m an asshole. I’m sorry, Jamison. So, so sorry.”

Hope swelled inside of her, but she forced it back down. Instead, she swallowed convulsively before whispering, “For what?”

“For breaking your heart.”

That was what she’d been afraid of. He felt guilty. Ryder thought he was such a badass, but when it came to people he cared about, he was notoriously softhearted. And she knew he cared about her. Too bad it wasn’t in the way she needed him to. But still, she couldn’t let him feel guilty. Shaking her head, she pressed a hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle the sobs that were ripping at her throat. “I broke my own heart, Ryder.”

“No. No, you didn’t.” His hands closed convulsively over her shoulders. “I fucked up. I got scared and I fucked up and I hurt you. I’m so sorry that I hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Oh, it matters. It matters because you matter. More than anyone ever has.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t lie to me because you feel sorry for me.”

“Feel sorry for you? How could I feel sorry for you? You’re strong and smart and kind—”

“I’m not a damn dog!” The words burst from her before she knew she was going to say them. But she was so sick of being described like less than a woman just because she wasn’t sexy enough or beautiful enough.

He stared at her, obviously baffled. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m a woman, Ryder.”

“Believe me, I am well aware of that.” He lowered his head, brushed his beautiful mouth over hers. And fool that she was, she let him. She hated herself for it, but she was powerless to stop him. “I thought we covered this the other day. You’re beautiful to me, Jamison. The most beautiful person on earth.”

“Then why did you dump me like that? In the middle of Wyatt’s hospital room? Why did you let me feel like nothing?”

“No, baby, no. You’re not nothing. I am.” He pressed tender kisses on her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, her mouth. “I’m the asshole who let all the baggage I carry around get twisted up in my head. I thought you’d be safe if I let you go. Thought you’d be better off.”

Her heart thawed out despite her best intentions. How could it not when he was looking at her like that, baring his soul to her in a way she knew he hated. “What about now?”

“Now, I’m just plain terrified that I fucked up what we could have. I love you, Jamison. I love everything I know about you, even the way you organize your damn recipes alphabetically. I want to spend the next fifty years learning everything there is to know about you, so that I can love you more every day.”

“Ryder—”

“Please,” he told her. “I know I should step back, give you time to think, to make an educated choice. But I can’t. Please, Jamison. Please say you’ll give me another chance.”

Oh God. Her heart was breaking all over again. He was saying everything she needed to hear, everything she’d wanted him to say for days, for years. But she didn’t know if it was real. Didn’t know if she could trust him or his feelings for her. How could she when he was Ryder Freaking Matthews and she was just the girl who’d loved him most of her life?