Our Secret Song: A sweet brother's best friend, rockstar romance (For Love and Rock Book 1)

by Emily Childs

  He blurts it all out. My fists clench. Parker grovels and begs, and he doesn’t need to know I’m already driving in the opposite direction of my house.

  “Parker,” I say. “You owe me for this. Big time.”

  I toss my phone and drive. This is a terrible, terrible idea.

  I can’t stop smiling.

  Chapter 3

  Alexis

  I now have twenty-one dollars. The smoothies are delicious, and the guava-peach with a spritz of energy blast broke me.

  I’m starting to get a few curious glances from the employees, but they’re friendly enough. Always asking me if I need more water, another smoothie. I don’t want to think of the new reality, not after two more tweets have come in.

  Cam Bam Cam @camiluv4

  To hyphenate or not to hyphenate the last name. That is the question? #marriedlife

  Cam Bam Cam @camiluv4

  When you know, you know. So happy! #newwifey

  Bryce is dead silent. Not a text. Not a tweet. Nothing. He’s officially gone dark and I hate him. My stomach turns in knots, and I must be in a bit of a daze when my phone rings and I answer without looking.

  “Alexis.”

  Ugh, stomach knots turn to waves of hot sick. “Mom.”

  “What are you doing?” she asks sharply.

  “Drinking a smoothie.” My voice cracks. “They’re really good, actually. Nice and sweet—”

  “I don’t care about the smoothie! What did you do? How did you let this happen?”

  I scoff, eyes wide. “How did I let this happen? I don’t know, talk to Mike’s daughter and the cheating scumbag.”

  My mother clicks her tongue. She always clicks her tongue. “Men don’t wander if they’re satisfied.”

  And like that we’ve hopped back fifty years.

  I ought to remind her about her ex-husband and how it was rarer than snow in Las Vegas for him to come home at night. But that seems petty, and what’s the point?

  “I’m not responsible for him,” I say after a long pause.

  “You had something really going for you. He could’ve taken care of you. Now what? Am I supposed to give up the spare room?”

  “I’m not moving home, and I like to think I had more than Bryce going for me. You know I’m here to get a graduate degree. Sort of cool.”

  She chuckles, and I hate that it sounds so bitter. “A library degree. What sort of career will that bring?”

  Uh, more than drinking and drifting through men. Again, petty, Alexis. “It’s been a long day, Mom. I’m going to go now.”

  “Work this out, Alexis. You won’t find better. He’s stable. He’s not a screamer. He’ll provide. Your brother does nothing to help me, but at least Parker has money. You need to get your act together. If Bryce needs it, then loosen the boundaries. There are plenty of women who let their guys keep side pieces, you know. What you don’t see doesn’t hurt you sort of thing.”

  I’m not sure what’s more depressing: that my mother is giving me this as genuine advice, or that she’s settled for the same thing time and time again.

  “I’ll work it out, Mom. Without Bryce, though. Talk to you later.”

  I hang up before I can get another dose of wonderfully terrible motherly wisdom. My smoothie refuge all at once is suffocating. I stand and toss my drink cups. The lights of the Strip are starting to brighten the dusk. At least it’ll be cooler, right?

  The air is heavy in hints of red sand and grilled onions and something sickly sweet. I don’t make it far, hardly five feet, before I plop onto a bench and let my roller suitcase topple to the side.

  Two years. Two flipping years I devoted myself to Bryce Hall.

  In a way, I run from romance. The real, messy, under-the-skin kind.

  It seems painful when it falls apart. I suppose that’s why I stick to safe and secure.

  But, no mistake, my heart has wanted to love before. Wanted it fiercely, and that’s what’s terrifying. To want someone to the point it hurts. I’ve seen enough to know when you love hard, when it’s gone, the shattered pieces hurt worse.

  So imagine my relief when I met Bryce Hall. Handsome, smart. Safe. He wasn’t needy, but made my heart patter from time to time. He respected my love of books. He didn’t date me to get close to Parker. It’s happened, y’all.

  Turns out even the safe ones can be the deadliest of them all.

  It might be time to drop some pride and either head to the night club, or call Parker back. I hate the idea of stealing my brother from his life with the Kings. It’s contract negotiating season and he’s worked so hard. I don’t want anything to hinder his chances of a big chunk. He’s earned it.

  I like to think his coaches would understand, but I don’t know. Coach Hewitt is kind of a drill sergeant. I’m not sure if he knows what family emergency means. I doubt his family ever has a crisis, and if they do, he’d tell them to buck up and deal.

  All at once, I jump back when a guy sits next to me. Too close.

  He wears hoodie, a ball cap. His face shadowed. My creep alert is off the charts until he says, “You know, I think books like Jane Eyre are knock offs of ultimate classics like Beauty and the Beast.”

  “I beg your pardon?” I splutter, yes, splutter. How dare he. “There is a difference between a fairy tale and a historical gothic—”

  “No there isn’t.”

  My eyes widen. I’m going to go away for murder. Until he smirks that annoyingly handsome smirk I know all too well.

  Those golden green eyes find me and my pulse quickens, heat floods my face. All those dangerous symptoms of visceral chemical reactions to another person. Those things I run from.

  I sneer. “Should’ve known. Is it wise to be out in public? Am I about to be swarmed by crazed girls asking you to marry them?”

  “Not at the moment. But if you take off my hat, I can’t make any promises, Al.”

  Bridger Cole. My brother’s oldest friend. The only person who has ever called me Al. My nemesis from the day he insulted Little Women.

  Funny how both Parker and Bridger are now heartthrobs for the women of America. As if they planned it. I guess they kind of did. Always dreaming of making it big, of leaving our small town behind. I haven’t seen Bridger outside of media for what feels like forever.

  But this, him showing up here, is a little too convenient. “Why are you here?”

  “Really? That’s all I get? No, ‘hey, it’s been forever, wow, you’re so much sexier now’.”

  “I don’t lie, Bridger. And there is no reason I can think of that would make me want to see you right now, so . . .”

  “Yeah? Not exactly how I planned to spend my evening, either. Good thing I don’t listen to you, and when a buddy needs me, I’m there.”

  I glare at the sky, mouth tight. “He called you?”

  “Al, come on. Obviously.”

  “Well,” I start, lifting my chin, “I’m sorry you took time out of your day to come down here. I’m fine, really. I was just about to go find a hotel.”

  I hate how my voice trembles. It’s been a long day, and showing my life disaster in front of Bridger—who’d never be abandoned two days before a wedding—is mortifying. My head is reeling, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rambling out the entire situation. Doubtless he already knows.

  Did the thought of calling Bridger cross my mind? Yes. For a fleeting, desperate moment. I simply figured he’d be too out of reach. He’s not exactly a typical couch to crash on. And I’m pretty sure we’d kill each other. Which is why this is such a problem.

  I clasp my hands in my lap, knee bouncing, and turn away before he can see the sudden glisten of tears in my eyes. I’m not fooling anyone.

  A sharp breath hitches in my throat when Bridger inches closer, his lips next to my ear. “Al, you’re not staying in a hotel. Come on.”

  “No.” I wipe at my eyes. “No, I’m fine—”

  “Alexis,” he says, dropping the demanding act. Now, he sounds despe
rate. “Let’s go talk in private.”

  For the first time I notice a few gawking eyes have spotted us. They’re wondering. They’re staring. They’re pulling out cell phones.

  I nod briskly, and shoot to my feet. Bridger curls his shoulders like a pro, takes my suitcase, then fades between the smoothie shop and the laundromat next door. I stay tight on his heels, head down. I’m not blind to know with a few unwelcome pictures his face could be on the front page. Me, behind him.

  “Do you have a car?”

  I shake my head, an unwelcome bite of tears in my eyes. “I sold it.”

  “Why?”

  “To pay for a stupid wedding that isn’t happening! Stop questioning me.”

  He holds up a hand in surrender and points me in the direction of a back parking lot. A bright blue jeep is parked at the far end. I pick up the pace and hurry to the passenger side. If Bridger smelled good, his car is even better. The leather seats are polished with a musky hint of something smooth, like caramel or vanilla. I’d like to lick the console to find out.

  Bridger drops my bag in the back, then hops into the driver’s seat. He tosses back his hood and flips his Kings cap backward. Ah, there he is. The guy I’ve always known. His hair is a touch longer, his face scruffy. I grin at the silver rings on his fingers and the chain around his neck. Always one for sparkly things. Like the shiny onyx studs. The colorful tattoos.

  “I’ll admit I’m impressed,” he says, as we pull out of the lot. “No questions, you just got up and bolted.”

  I snort and dangle my arm out the passenger window. “I’m prepped for this. Parker is starting to get his fair share of swarms. Get this, last time I went to his place we went out for tacos, because who doesn’t like tacos, and I guess I dawdled too long. The next morning an online article posted a picture of us, naming me his new fling. Talk about awkward.”

  Bridger doesn’t bat a lash when I go on with my tangent-filled stories, but he never has. One point for him, I suppose.

  “Not that it matters, but, uh, thanks.” He rolls down his window, too, and lets his arm dangle out. “I don’t like being smashed.”

  What he means is he doesn’t like being crowded. How he’s survived as a rockstar I’ll never know.

  I fight a smile. “Didn’t do it for you. I hurried to save face and not get slapped into one of the gossip columns with you.”

  “Right. Wouldn’t want cultured Alexis to be caught having a life.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Just shut up and drive, Cole.”

  Some things never change. Like our endless bickering. Our one-upping each other. Like the way my heart betrays me and warms when he smiles. How he teases me about books, but at least he’s talking to me about books when no one else will. Or when he saves me from sleeping at a night club.

  “Thank you,” I say. A moment of truce. But only a moment. “For coming, I mean. I didn’t want to get anyone dragged into my mess and—”

  “Al,” he says, silencing me. “I’m going to say this once, so listen. That guy isn’t a man, understand? He’s a coward, and clearly, doesn’t have a brain.”

  I do not need to feel a flutter in my stomach right now. He doesn’t want me here as much as Bryce didn’t want me in a chapel and white gown.

  “Full of compliments,” I say a little snidely. “This day keeps getting weirder.”

  “Wasn’t really a compliment.”

  “Still,” I say. “I doubt you wanted to be saddled with your friend’s little sister when you have a million things to do. I didn’t miss the billboards, big shot. Concert weekend?”

  He shoots me a swift glance; his eyes peel back my ribcage and spear my heart. “I have the concert, but this matters too.”

  What is there to say to that? My speedy tongue goes numb, and I simply nod and look back out the window as he drives.

  Chapter 4

  Bridger

  Fall—2006

  Parker tosses a new baseball from the drugstore at the fence. He better watch it or what’s-his-name inside will probably come out and scream at him. I don’t know who Mama Knight brought home last night, but it’s set Parker up in knots.

  “Want to go swimming?” I ask, slurping the last of the juice from my popsicle.

  Parker lobs the baseball at the fence, hard enough the wood splinters.

  The window glides open in a hurry. “Kid, shut up or I’ll make you shut up.”

  I grimace. Mama Knight’s date has three chins and a stupid mustache.

  “Hey,” I say because I can’t keep quiet. “It’s his yard, fatty.”

  His eyes are sort of crazy. The kind Dad warned me about. He points one of his sausage fingers at me, then disappears from the window. Parker’s mom shouts something, a lot of nasty words, and something topples inside.

  Parker grins, eyes bright. We live to torment Mama Knight’s dates and we hit the jackpot on this one.

  “Run!” he says.

  We bolt out the front gate, right as the scumbag fumbles through the screen in his skivvies and stained tank top.

  “Get back here you waste of space!” He calls me other names. A lot of other names.

  Oh-ho, wait until my dad finds out. Keep ‘em coming big guy. My dad is the Hulk. Six foot four, and two hundred pounds of muscle. A firefighter in one of the driest places in the United States. Enough said.

  Creep Monster follows us through the fence. We’re already on our bikes. Tate and Adam are across the street. Tate waves at us, then sees the charging maniac, so they beeline it for their bikes too.

  “Meet you at the pond!” Tate shouts. He gets it.

  Parker laughs as he mounts his bike. But when he glances back at me, his eyes go wide. I don’t have time to look around before a fat hand curls around the collar of my shirt and yanks me to the desertscape front yard. The small rocks scrape down my back and knock the wind out of my lungs.

  “Not so tough now, kid!”

  “Tony!” Parker’s mom shouts through the window. “What are you doing? He’s not mine.”

  “Shut up Lila! I’m dealing with it.”

  Holy—this guy is going to hit me. He smells. Like the weirdly sweet smells on the Strip after dark. We went for my birthday and I came home with a stomachache.

  “Let him go!” Parker shouts.

  From the corner of my eye, I watch him pedal faster to reach me. He won’t make it.

  “Next time, you’ll shut your mouth.” Big Guy lifts his fist.

  I don’t want to be a wimp, but I close my eyes, bracing. Next thing I know, Big Guy curses, groans, and his big, sweaty body staggers off me.

  “You stupid little—” He curses again, calling someone else a heap of really dirty names. Things that start to bring the interest of the neighbors. Man, I wish my parents weren’t at work. This guy would be roadkill by now.

  The scumbag grunts again, crying out in pain. Then a loud thwack slaps off his skin.

  “Alexis Marie Knight! You get down outta that tree!” Mama Knight shouts. “I’m gonna smack you, girl. No! Stop it!”

  I peek at the queen palms tucked in the corner of the yard and see Al. She’s wearing her usual satchel that I think belonged to her dad, hi-top sneakers, stupid knee-high socks, and two long braids over her shoulders. She lifts the slingshot again and lets a pebble fly.

  She’s a terrible shot, but it distracts this tool long enough I roll out from under him.

  “What are you doing, dummy? Get lost!” she shouts. Her lisp loud and proud since she got her braces put on.

  When her mom’s date stumbles toward the base of the tree, Alexis leaps out into the street. He’s going to kill her. Already two welts are forming on his forehead. Parker skids to a stop, torn between saving his sister, or me. I race to my bike. We’re definitely saving Al.

  “Hey, you leave that girl alone!”

  A grin spreads on my face. Old lady Morgan is tromping out of her house in her bathrobe, armed with her twelve gauge. She’s nicknamed the cop of the street.
No one, and I mean no one messes with Old Lady Morgan’s kids. And every kid on this street is hers.

  Scumbag holds up his hands innocently. “Whoa, whoa, lady. Just trying to get her out safely.”

  “Lila!” shouts Old Lady Morgan. “Come get your trash.”

  I don’t hear Mama Knight’s response, we’re already halfway down the road.

  “Hey guys!” Tate calls. “Let’s go.”

  I look over to the tangle of palms and pomegranate trees that grow a little wild at the end of the block. She thinks she’s awesome at hiding, but she sort of sucks at it. Her bright red sneakers are poking out, and she dropped her bag on the outside.

  “Hang on, guys,” I say and drop my bike. “Hey, Al.”

  She peeks out from behind one of the palm leaves. “He gone? Because if he’s not gone, I think I ought to stay put. You know, in case he decides he didn’t like my shot. I got him good, though, didn’t I?”

  “Ah, not Chatty Kathy,” Tate groans. “Come on, Bridger. We’re going to the pond. No girls allowed. Park, help me out.”

  Parker sighs. “Lex, why don’t you go to Old Lady Morgan’s until we get home.”

  Her shoulders slump. “Yeah. Sure.”

  I don’t know why I do it. I don’t want to be a baby in front of the guys, but I hold out a hand. “Hang on. Al’s coming.”

  Tate and Adam moan and groan, but Parker hides a smile. This isn’t for him, though.

  “I’m coming?” Al looks to me.

  She’s only eleven and she’s a girl, so it’s sort of lame to invite her, but I shrug and snatch the slingshot out of her hand. “Just this once, Al. Got it? You stink at shooting this thing, and you better learn because if Smelly is still back there when we get home, I’m not coming to save you.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I saved you. Just like that scientist who saved the astronaut in that space book you gave me.”