She crosses her arms, daring me to argue. Daring me to suggest anything except that she’s right and everything she’s saying is one hundred percent true. I study her in silence because I can’t. Because I do understand. Because I fucking invented the concept of constructing obstacles to block off the things we want, and yeah, hers are iron-clad. You know what else?
“Says who?”
Her chin lifts in surprise. Her back straightens.
I shrug and cross my arms as well. “Says who?” I repeat. “Who says you can’t have everything too?”
“I just told you—”
“You told me everyone is going to judge you, and being with me is going to undermine your credibility as a female artist in this industry. That’s what I heard just now.”
She doesn’t move, except for a slight change in her expression that tells me I’m right and she’s also a little impressed at my perception.
“So why do they have to know?”
Her arms fall to her side. “What?”
I step forward and search her eyes. “Why is what happens in this room, or any time we’re alone, the business of anyone but the two of us?”
“Wait, what are you saying? You want to have a secret relationship?” she asks.
I shrug again. “I mean, I don’t want to, but I totally get the dilemma you face. You’re right. We live in a nosy, judgmental world filled with hypocrites who are quick to tear down others even though their own lives are a fucking mess. So yeah, keeping our private feelings private seems like a reasonable solution. Everyone already thinks we kind of hate each other. It shouldn’t be hard to pull off,” I add with a laugh.
She returns it before shaking her head in disbelief. “But that’s so… so… logical.”
I laugh again, and love the way her entire being seems to relax into relief. I pull her into my arms and close my eyes as her hold tightens around me.
“An amazing woman once told me no one gets to tell you what’s possible and what’s not.”
CHAPTER 19
It’s official! I’m a mom. 7lbs. 2oz. and she’s gorgeous. I wish you could have seen Mason when he first held her. He was so scared he was practically shaking, but of course he was a pro after a few seconds. Dad took a million pictures which was totally embarrassing because I looked terrible, but Mason kept saying I was beautiful. And maybe I am. I feel beautiful. I feel like a goddess when I look at that baby and consider the miracle she is. I’m the luckiest woman in the world.
LIBERTY
The guys wanted to be supportive, and I love them for it, but right now, they need to not be here. I’m literally sitting on my hands in the studio’s artist lounge to keep them under control.
“Dude, that run you did on ‘Shelter Me’? Whaaaa?” Mitch says, slapping Mason on the back.
“Yo, that was ridiculous. This record is gonna be sick,” Aaron agrees through a mouthful of pastry. He’s already scanning the tray for a third. Glutton. “These donut things are amazing, Lib, you want one?”
“They’re not donuts; they’re Danishes, dumbass. And no,” I mutter, trying to keep the glare from my face. After all, they have as much right to be here for Mason’s first studio session as I do. Technically, none of us are necessary while he re-tracks the vocals for the album, but not one of us considered missing out. The difference is, watching Mason slay song after song all day hasn’t turned all their lady parts into freaking bonfires that just want to tackle him in an iso booth… hmm that would be interesting.
As if reading my dirty mind, Mason shoots me a wink from the coffee bar.
“You want a cappuccino?” he calls over. “We still have fifteen minutes before they need me.”
I need you now. Right now, my lady parts shout back with their lame-ass humor.
My vocal cords say, Sure.
His brow creases in concern, and I force a smile. He needs to stay focused. He’s already had a long day, and we’ve still got a ways to go.
“Hey, question for you guys,” Mason says, addressing the pastry-hoarders on the other side of the room. “What do you think of Liberty singing backing vocals on the chorus and bridge of ‘Shelter Me’?”
I cough out a gasp, Mitch literally drops the plate in his hands, and Aaron’s mouth stops chewing food for maybe the first time in his life. Tivo? No, he’s good—if he even processed any of that.
“What the hell are you talking about, West?” I snap at him.
He doesn’t even flinch. In fact, his smile doubles. “You’ve heard her sing, right?”
“Yeah, she’s got a good voice, actually,” Aaron says, then shrinks at my glare. “What? You do.”
I roll my eyes and stretch out on the couch. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why?” Mason asks, moving toward me with a mug of cappuccino.
“Because I don’t sing.”
“Except you do.”
“I don’t sing publicly.”
I take the mug from him but don’t adjust my reclined position so he can sit. Now I’m mad at him and want to jump him. That’s a fun combo. Also, why does he insist on looking like an underwear model every day? Freaking annoying.
I take a sip of my drink and do everything I can to ignore his obvious smirk as he hovers over me waiting for me to move. Also not gonna happen.
With a challenging look, I indulge in another sip, stretching even further across the cushions. He shakes his head with a smile and finally gives up to join the guys. Also, I do not stare at his ass as he walks away. (The whole time.)
“Nice try, though, dude,” Aaron says, and they exchange a look that irritates me more. “How’s that other song you’ve been working on?”
“Pretty good. Lib has some of it on her phone if you want to check it out. She should sing that one too.”
Mason selects a raspberry filled pastry from the tray. He licks off a dab of jam along the edge, his gaze drilling mine the entire time. My lady parts aren’t even coherent anymore. Bastard.
“Can I talk to you?” I say, pushing up from the couch. I drop my mug on the table and grab his arm. “Leave that.”
“Oh boy. You’re in trouble,” Mitch snickers.
I glare at my guitarist and continue dragging Mason from the room.
“Yeah, dude. She really hates singing,” Aaron says in the background.
Ladies room. Only place the boys won’t go, and I push Mason inside.
“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I just thought—”
“Not interested.” I slide my hands into his hair and shove his mouth to mine. Raspberries, strawberries, boysenberries—all the berries explode on my tongue with his kiss. Huge mistake. Huge, huge, huge mistake, and now I’m screwed.
“So you’re not mad?” he breathes between kisses. I groan at the pressure of his lips on my neck, my body aching for his. Yep, there it goes, molding against him with magnetic force. Must. Devour. Mason. My body has the weirdest pretend monster voice.
“Actually, I’m pissed,” I gasp out.
His hands grip my ass and latch me into him at the most delicious angle. I sink down hard, loving the look of sheer agony on his face. I roll my hips and lock my leg behind his until he has no choice but to endure the pleasure. Again. And again. And—
“Liberty—fuck.”
“What?” Payback’s a bitch. His head tilts back against the wall, every muscle tense and charged. I just love owning this man. It makes me vicious. I slide one hand into his jeans and force his mouth back to mine with the other.
“I thought—”
“Shut it, West.”
His grin flashes for a second before I force it into something else. Squeeze. Friction. Body. Incinerating. Implosion in 10-9-8... He’s been killing me today. It’s his own fault for being so incredible. Yes, his talent turns me on, but watching this guarded man shatter—damn. It’s my own private record I now play on repeat. An addiction. A challenge—and I can accomplish a lot in ten minutes.
Shit, shit, shit! I rush to the control room about an hour
after they returned to work and signal Aaron through the door window. My brother gives me a curious look as he pushes up from the couch. Mason is still recording in the adjacent booth, and right now we need him hidden and distracted for as long as possible.
Aaron nods to the engineer at the board and sneaks out to join me in the hall.
“What?” he asks. “We’re in the middle of a take.”
I grab his sleeve and pull him further out of view.
“Sam just called. Rob Patrick is going after Mason again and this time it’s exploded.”
Aaron pales. Is that what my face looked like a second ago? “Fuck, seriously? That asshole didn’t get enough of him already?”
My stomach twists as I clench my jaw to control my emotions. “Yeah, and it’s bad. Like, really bad. The media is in a frenzy, digging up all that shit about the accident, his daughter—everything. They even tracked down his old place and life in Pennsylvania… And now there’s new stuff.”
I look away, forcing out a long breath.
“New stuff? What kind of stuff?”
Furious pacing isn’t working, so I bite down hard on my nail, hoping that will keep the panic under control. “I don’t know. All this bullshit about his childhood. Apparently, he’s originally from Brooklyn? They’re saying his parents were drug dealers, and he left home at fifteen.”
“What? No way that’s true,” Aaron scoffs.
“I know. Of course not, but…” I glance up at him. “What if it is?”
He shrugs. “Okay, so what if it is? Does it change anything about him or the band?”
No. Not even a little. If anything—
“What’s the label say?” he continues.
I inhale deeply and study the geometric floor pattern. “They’re releasing all the in-house propaganda they created after the last time. Remember those brutal interviews they made him do? Tragedy sells,” I mock. That thought sinks a new rock in my gut. “Why do they have to do this? Why can’t everyone just leave him the hell alone?!”
“Hey, it’s going to be fine,” Aaron says, pulling me against him. I wrap my arms around my brother and burrow into his chest.
“We did this to him, Aaron. If not for us…”
“If not for us, he’d still be scraping by fixing roofs instead of doing what he was born to do.”
I nod against his shirt. I know he’s right, I do, it’s just… “How are we supposed to tell him? How do we tell him his entire life has gone to shit again? He doesn’t deserve any of this. He deserves to be in that studio making incredible music.”
“He does. And he will once this blows over. You know it will. You know what else I’m hearing?”
I look up into my brother’s smirking face. “What?”
“I’m hearing, ‘You were right, and I was wrong about him, Aaron. I’m not always the smart one in the family.’”
“Shut up,” I mumble. And smile.
I don’t like that Mason insists on going home alone. I don’t believe him when he shrugs out of my embrace and says everything’s fine. I don’t trust anything about his reaction to what’s happening, which is why I’m standing at his apartment door a few hours after he cut out, listening for footsteps on the other side. It seems like days before someone finally slides the chain lock and opens the door.
“Oh, hello, dear,” Brooklyn’s grandmother says. Rose Holloway, I think?
“Hello. Is Mason here?”
“He is,” She glances to her left, emotion washing over her face. “But now isn’t a good time, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here. Please, I need to see him.”
She chews on her lip, casting another long look down the hallway.
I’m practically leaning into the apartment now. “Mrs. Holloway, please let me help him. Please.”
Her fingers tighten around the door as she considers my plea. After another pause, she finally steps back with a sigh. “Okay, but he’s been locked in his room since he got home. I don’t think he’ll talk to you. You’re welcome to wait on the couch while I check.”
“Thank you so much. That’s all I ask.”
I’ve never seen a woman look so heartbroken as she turns away. It’s then that I realize how hard all of this must be for them as well. Have they seen the reports? Read the stories exploiting their daughter’s death for click bait and dollar signs? The label’s versions are no better. Slick, effective marketing pieces with little regard for the subject they’re supposed to be protecting:
“I lost everything that night.” How Burn Card’s new leading man has pulled art from the ashes.
Mason West: Prince and Pauper
Click here for the tragic story behind rock heartthrob’s climb from rags to riches.
Then, of course, the mountains of total garbage courtesy of vipers who slithered up from the floorboards:
Father of the year: After death of teenage girlfriend, rocker Mason West abandons young daughter to seek fame and fortune
Burn Card’s new frontman a drug dealer?
“He was drunk!” Sources confirm rocker Mason West was intoxicated the night he killed his girlfriend Katrina Holloway.
Bad Apple: New reports that unemployed father turned rock star has strong ties to the New York drug trade
Those would’ve made me laugh if it didn’t hurt so much. What has he seen? I hope none of it, but probably all. Once that dark whirlpool sucks you in, it’s impossible to get out. Take it from someone who’s spent the last few weeks reading the speculation about Chris and me. The only reason it hasn’t been bad? The wolves had more attractive prey. Aaron and the guys wanted to come tonight as well, but we decided it was best not to overwhelm Mason. If I’d known how hard it would be to sit alone on his couch with my thoughts, I would’ve insisted differently.
Rose finally returns, and I deflate at the look on her face.
“Like I said, it’s not a good time, honey.”
I sigh and drop back to the cushions. “Can I wait here?”
She hesitates, looking surprised. “I wouldn’t advise that. It could be a long time.”
“Please? I’ll stay out your way. Is Brooklyn here? Maybe we could do a puzzle.”
Rose softens and lowers herself beside me.
“Brooklyn is in our room with Gary. They’re putting together her new princess tent.”
“Oh, fun.” At least she’s okay. A princess tent sounds amazing right now. I wonder if there’s room for a twenty-five-year-old keyboard player.
“Mason brought it home for her today. I think he…” She stops, her eyes filling with tears. “None of that garbage is true, Liberty. I hope you know that. That boy is the strongest, kindest, most selfless man you’ll ever meet, and he has been through hell over the last few years. You can’t even begin to imagine what he’s been through.” She sniffs and wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just…” She shakes her head, darkness passing over her features before it clears. “Would you like some tea?”
I blink back emotion of my own. “I’d love some, Mrs. Holloway.”
“Oh goodness, no. It’s Rose. Please call me Rose.”
I stare into my second cup of green tea, now cold. Rose hasn’t said much since we sat down together, and I respect her for keeping Mason’s secrets, even as I want to shake them out of her. All I know, that I didn’t know before, is that Mason never once wavered in his desire to care for Brooklyn after Katrina’s death. The petite woman almost slammed her fist through the table while refuting the “cockamamy” stories that suggested otherwise. Really, though, it wasn’t news. Anyone who’s seen Mason and Brooklyn together would know they orbit each other.
“Ms. Lie-berry!”
I glance up and immediately brighten at Brooklyn’s sunshine. “Hey, you! I hear you’re a real princess now.”
“I have a castle!”
“Wow, can I see it?”
Brooklyn bobs her head and grabs my hand, tugging me down the hall. My heart rushes toward the clo
sed door at the end where Mason must be, but I allow the little girl to pull me into another room instead. This one is cluttered with a queen bed, two dressers, and a large purple castle. Damn, that thing is massive. I really could fit in there. And is that a unicorn painted on front?
“Look, it’s Dizzy!” Brooklyn says, pointing at the creature.
“Dizzy?”
“It’s her imaginary unicorn friend. She’s also an actual lamp,” Gary explains, supervising from the doorway.
I toss him a smile before ducking down to follow Brooklyn inside. “Woah. This is really cool,” I say, inspecting the interior with awe.
She beams at the praise and drops down beside a pile of toys. “Grandma says I can sleep in here tonight because Daddy is sick. And look at all my stuffs! My book and my puzzle and Bill.” She hands me a giant, plush rectangle of some sort that I immediately squeeze against my chest. Not sure what it is exactly, but I definitely need a Bill in my life.
“Oh, and this is my mommy book.”
She holds up a small worn scrapbook that stops my heart.
“Want to see?” Scooting beside me, she carefully balances the book between us on our knees. “Daddy and Grandma read it to me lots, but I can read it too.” She opens the cover and smooths over the first page. “This is my mommy. Her name is Katrina. It’s a princess name.”
My chest compresses, blocking my words as I stare into the sweet smile of a woman barely more than a girl. God, she must have been a teenager when this picture was taken. Long, golden hair whips around her in the wind as she laughs toward the photographer. Did Mason take this picture? He must have, because she’s clearly in love with this moment.
“She looks like a princess,” I say quietly.
Rising West: A Turner Artist Rocker Novel (The Turner Artist Rocker Series Book 1) Page 16