This Is Our Song Read online

  Thank you for purchasing this eBook.

  At Sourcebooks we believe one thing:

  BOOKS CHANGE LIVES.

  We would love to invite you to receive exclusive rewards. Sign up now for VIP savings, bonus content, early access to new ideas we're developing, and sneak peeks at our hottest titles!

  Happy reading!

  SIGN UP NOW!

  Copyright © 2016 by Samantha Chase

  Cover and internal design © 2016 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by John Kicksee

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  A Sneak Peek at One More Kiss

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  Eighteen years ago…

  Silence.

  Riley Shaughnessy let the last notes of the song fade until he couldn’t breathe. Looking down from where he stood at the front of the church, he stared at his mother’s casket and prayed he’d wake up from what he was certain was a bad dream.

  When the priest thanked him, Riley realized it wasn’t a dream. This was truly happening. His mother was gone. His father and his brothers were all sitting in the front pew, tears streaming down their faces. He went to rejoin them but refused to cry.

  His twin brother, Owen, reached over and held his hand. They were ten and well beyond the age where they should do it, but right now it was comforting. He squeezed Owen’s hand and felt his brother’s head rest on his shoulder. There was no need to ask if he was all right; Riley already knew the answer. None of them were.

  But Riley wanted to be strong for his mom. It was one of the reasons he was holding on to Owen right now and why he had chosen to sing “Over the Rainbow” at her funeral.

  It was their song.

  She had helped him choose it when he’d wanted to perform in his kindergarten talent show, and ever since then, hearing him sing it had always made her smile.

  He hoped she was smiling in heaven right now.

  The priest was reading scripture, but Riley didn’t hear it. For a few minutes, he allowed himself to think about a time when everything was perfect.

  Lillian Shaughnessy stood and clapped louder than anyone in the room. She looked around and nodded to Ian and her four sons—Aidan, Hugh, Quinn, and Owen—to join her. On the stage, five-year-old Riley Shaughnessy took his first bow and straightened and smiled. It was exciting. All these people were clapping for him. Him!

  Looking around, he felt a sense of pride. He’d done this. He’d practiced and practiced and practiced until his throat hurt because he didn’t want to mess up, but he’d never expected to like it this much!

  When Mrs. Maddox—his teacher—came and took the microphone, she thanked everyone for coming and encouraged them to stay for cookies and punch. Riley walked off the stage with her. “You were fantastic!” she said to him when they were backstage. “I know you were nervous about going out there by yourself, but you did a great job, Riley.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Maddox.” He smiled.

  “There you are!”

  Riley turned and saw his family coming toward him. His mom was practically running, and when she reached him, she scooped him up in her arms and swung him around.

  “That was so beautiful,” she cooed as she put him back on his feet. “Look at my face! I’m crying! Your voice was so magical, it made me cry!”

  Behind her, his older brothers snickered. “Yeah, you’re adorable, Riley,” Quinn said with a roll of his eyes.

  Lillian shot him a warning glance and turned back to Riley. “Do you want to stay for the cookies and punch or would you like to go home and have the super-secret dessert surprise I made for you?”

  His mom made the best super-secret desserts and Riley was kind of torn. Looking up at her, he said, “Could we maybe stay for a little while? Mrs. Maddox said we should all stay and thank the parents for coming.”

  “Aren’t you the sweetest,” Mrs. Maddox said as she ruffled his hair.

  “Yes he is,” Lillian readily agreed. Then she took Riley by the hand and let him walk her around the room to meet his friends and their parents.

  When it was time to leave, Riley asked his mom to wait by the classroom door. His dad and brothers had already started to head out to the car. He ran over and whispered something in Mrs. Maddox’s ear and when she smiled and nodded, Riley thanked her. Quickly, he went over to the table that was decorated and loaded with food and took a giant sunflower from the centerpiece. Then he skipped over and handed it to his mother.

  Lillian smiled down at him. “What’s this for?”

  “’Cause you helped me pick my song, Mom, and everyone loved it. So I wanted to give you something to say thanks.”

  Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she lovingly cupped his cheek. “That’s very kind of you.”

  “It sounded good, right?” he asked eagerly as she took his hand and led him down the hall toward the exit.

  “Riley, it was better than good. It was the greatest song ever.”

  He smiled and looked up at her and began to sing it again. This time Lillian joined him and together they slowed their pace and made their way out to the car.

  Yeah, it was their song.

  Riley looked around and noticed everyone was standing. He and Owen joined them and that’s when he saw it. They were wheeling the casket out of the church. His chest tightened, his throat hurt. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye. Not yet. It was too soon.

  Ian Shaughnessy stood back and let his sons walk ahead of him and then began the long walk up the aisle. Riley turned around and looked at him and saw how his dad looked older all of a sudden. Sadder. Lost. He knew the feeling. Beside him, Owen openly sobbed and Riley squeezed his hand again. It wasn’t going to change anything or make anything better, but he needed to do something.

  At the door to the church, Riley could see through to the outside. It had been cold and cloudy when they went into the church, and now it looked as if the sun was trying to come out. Not that it would matter. The gray sky matched his mood.

  They stood as a family, holding on to one another as the white casket was gently placed in the hearse. Once the door was closed, Ian stepped forward. “Come on, boys,” he said softly and led the way to the limousine that
would take them to the cemetery.

  Beside him, Owen gasped and elbowed him. “What?” Riley whispered. Owen pointed up to the sky, and Riley couldn’t help but smile.

  A rainbow.

  Yeah, it was their song, and she had heard it and was smiling.

  And he knew right then and there, he would never sing it for anyone but her ever again.

  Chapter 1

  The sounds coming from his guitar seemed rough even to his own ears. Disgusted, Riley Shaughnessy put the instrument aside and raked his hands through his hair. Head lowered, he stared at the ground in defeat.

  “Something’s got to give, Ry.”

  Riley didn’t need to look up to know his manager, Mick, was standing in the corner of the room. The man was like some sort of ninja—you never seemed to see or hear him coming or going, and yet there he was.

  “Yeah, I know,” Riley said quietly.

  Stepping farther into the room, Mick stopped and sat down on the sofa opposite Riley’s. “We’ve all been patient. We’ve given you time. This album has been at the halfway point for far too long. You need to finish it.”

  Riley’s head snapped up and his eyes narrowed. “You think I’m not trying, Mick? For crying out loud, I’ve spent every minute of every day trying to come up with something—anything—to make it happen! I…I can’t seem to get what I want from here”—he pointed to his head—“to there.” He pointed to the guitar.

  “Maybe it’s time for us to bring in someone to write the music for you and you just…you know, sing it.”

  For a minute, Riley felt like he was going to be sick. It wasn’t an unusual suggestion and in the past, when he was still playing with his band, they had done it. But this was his solo project—his chance to prove to the world that he had the talent to stand on his own. The rest of the guys were doing well with their solo work; Riley didn’t want to be the lone failure.

  “No,” he said firmly.

  Mick relaxed against the sofa and looked at him with what could only be described as pity. “Dude, you need to know when to call it a day. No one’s saying this is a bad thing. We’re just trying to speed up the process a bit. You wanted some time off, we gave you some time off. You wanted to do this solo crap, we were happy to let you do it. But now? Riley, come on. You’re asking too much. The label is getting antsy and you’re not giving them anything to work with. Take the gift. Take the damn songs, record them, and let’s wrap this thing up. Maybe once you get on the road and tour a little bit, you’ll get your muse back.”

  If only it were that easy.

  The look on his face must have conveyed that because Mick sighed and leaned forward, his tone a little gentler.

  “Look, Riley, I get it. I do. I know what you’re trying to do here and I think it’s great. And no one was cheering louder for you than me. But it’s not happening the way we thought. No one’s going to think less of you because you’re using some songs written by other people on this project.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” Riley said a bit defensively. “Just like the people from the documentary—”

  “Man, you have got to let it go!” Mick snapped. “It wasn’t even that big a deal! Quit harping on it and move on!”

  “I can’t!” he shouted and jumped to his feet. “I was on top and everything was going freaking great, and then this documentary comes along, and the next thing I know, rumors are starting to swirl that I’m not relevant enough or talented enough or…whatever the hell else people were saying! It’s not so easy to pick up and dust that shit off!”

  Slowly, Mick stood and walked over to Riley. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He paused. “The thing is, the label is going to cut you loose if this project isn’t wrapped up in the next three months.”

  “What?”

  Mick nodded solemnly. “I did everything I could, Ry. I really did. They’re tired of waiting.”

  “There’s got to be something…something I can do to show them I’m trying—I’m really working hard at this because I want the album to be a success.” Damn, he was almost begging and he hated it. “Mick, there has to be some sort of goodwill gesture to show them I’m good for this.”

  “Well…there was the other songwriter…”

  Riley shook his head vehemently. “No. Something else. There’s got to be another option on this one.”

  “Dude, you’re killing me.”

  Riley was about to say the same thing when Mick’s phone rang and he stepped away to take the call. This whole thing was a nightmare. His whole life, he’d never had a problem writing songs. Whether it was rock music, ballads—he’d even written a couple of country music songs—but nothing was coming to him for this particular album.

  For so long he imagined how he wanted this project to go and once he’d gotten the green light, the first few songs flew out of him and then…nothing. And Mick could say whatever he wanted; the documentary was a big deal and the rumors about him that went around afterward—like how he was the least talented of his own band—had seriously affected Riley’s self-esteem.

  He sighed and walked over to the window looking out on the city. His house on the hill had become his prison. Even though it had a great view, it still felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He was afraid to go out—didn’t want to risk hearing people talk about him. Hell, he’d even taken a break from seeing his family because for some reason, his insecurities seemed to be right at the surface whenever he was around them and they were all starting to call him out on it.

  It sucked.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mick heading for the door. He put whoever he was talking to on hold and looked at Riley. “I’ll be back at three. We’ll finish up then.” And then he was gone.

  Shit. Now what? He basically had a few hours to either come up with six songs to complete the album or admit defeat and take on someone else’s music. No, that wasn’t an option. He needed to get his head straight and figure out what to do. He needed…

  His phone rang and when he saw his twin brother’s face on the screen, Riley nearly sagged with relief. Before he could say hello, Owen was talking.

  “As a scientist, it’s hard for me to accept this twin telepathy, and yet I found myself driven to call you because I felt you were really sad. Are you okay?”

  Riley smiled and sat on the couch and relaxed. “Come on…you mean to tell me after all these years you doubt the telepathy thing? I would have thought you’d be anxious to run experiments on us.”

  “I don’t know if it would really prove much. We know each other so well there’s hardly any science involved. We’re siblings, we grew up together, why shouldn’t I know what you’re thinking? Besides, the whole twin telepathy thing is less common in cases like ours.”

  “Wow, did you just oversimplify something, Owen?” Riley asked with a chuckle.

  “I am capable of doing it from time to time.”

  Even as fraternal twins, they were as different as night and day. Where Riley had always been an extrovert, Owen was an introvert. Riley was a singer and a performer, Owen was an astrophysicist. He was scary smart and it tended to make him socially awkward, but there wasn’t another human being alive who understood Riley like his brother.

  “So you felt compelled to call me, huh?”

  “I did,” Owen said simply. “I was in the middle of teaching a class and you were just there so strongly—it was almost as if you were standing right there.”

  “Sorry about that. How did the rest of your class go?”

  “Oh, they’re still in there. I gave them some work to do and stepped out into the hall to call you.”

  “Owen Shaughnessy!” Riley mocked. “Now you’re telling me you ignored your job because of this telepathy? That tells me you really are beginning to believe it’s a thing! Come on. Admit it!”

  Owen groaned. “Are you going to tell me w
hy your negative thoughts and feelings are interfering with my life or am I supposed to guess?”

  “You tell me. Can’t you read my mind?” Riley couldn’t help but tease.

  “So they’re still giving you a hard time about the album.”

  Damn. “Okay, now you’re freaking me out.”

  “It really wasn’t that hard a conclusion to draw, Riley. This is hardly new information. Why are you still struggling with this? Music comes as easily to you as breathing.”

  “It used to. I don’t know, Owen. It’s like I can hear the music off in the distance and I just can’t reach it. Like it’s behind a closed door and no one will let me open it.”

  “Have you thought about talking to a therapist?”

  “Hell no. The press would have a field day with that.”

  “So? Seems to me if it helped unlock the music, it shouldn’t matter if the press finds out. It’s all for the greater good.”

  Riley stopped and considered his brother’s words. “What’s going on with you? What… Why… You’re not talking like yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Owen said.

  “Bro, normally you would have quoted all kinds of statistics about mental blocks and therapists and named a couple of renowned doctors and scientists to back up what you’re saying. But you’re not. What gives?”

  Owen sighed loudly. “You know, sometimes there is no pleasing everyone. I get criticized when I talk like a scientist and then I get criticized when I don’t. Honestly, Riley, I didn’t expect it from you!”

  Uh-oh. Something was definitely up with his brother. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Sorry. And for the record, I wasn’t criticizing. I was merely making an observation.”

  “Whatever.”

  Riley burst out laughing.

  “What? What’s so funny now?” Owen demanded.

  “Nothing,” Riley said, instantly sobering. “Nothing at all. Look, go back to your class. I’m just trying to work this stuff out. Mick came to me and suggested using someone else’s songs to finish the album. The label’s getting pissy and basically everyone’s losing faith in me. They gave me three months to finish things up.”