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

by Emily Childs

  “It isn’t,” I say. “Less crowds and I really do want a drink before I get tackled.”

  “Good choice, sir. Good choice. You know they serve iced hot chocolate here. I always thought it sounded gross until—”

  “I forced you to try it on your twelfth birthday. And I was right, wasn’t I? Like I am about everything.”

  “Never mind. I was going to compliment you, but not now. Forget it. You’re full of yourself.”

  I tug her against my side at the door, my lips to her ear. She shudders and I love it. “Careful, Al. You’re supposed to be head over heels in love with me right now.”

  Her eyes pop; she swallows. I think I have control here, until Alexis drags her hand over my chest, around my neck, her fingertips rolling one of my earrings between them. I have no control. She could mold me to do anything right now.

  “That,” she begins, voice low and soft. “Will be incredibly hard to pretend.”

  I smile for show—people are starting to look our way—except what they don’t know is none of this is for show. Not for me. “Can’t say I mind watching you try.”

  She licks her lips and stumbles a bit at the door. “We, uh, we better get going.”

  There are a few people getting orders. Two guys at a raised table stare at us, eyes wide. They don’t say anything, but I assume they recognize me. They think I can’t see them snapping pictures, but they aren’t good at hiding. This is what we’re supposed to do. Gain positive attention. An older couple has no idea who I am and hardly looks our way, but the cashier sort of gasps as we give an order.

  She hardly says a word, but, clearly, wants to. She’s polite and professional, and I appreciate it as she hands our cups over the counter.

  “Um,” the girl says. She’s probably sixteen tops. “Are you . . . in Perfectly Broken?”

  I take the ice hot chocolates and nod. “I am.”

  The girl lets out a long breath. “Cool. My brother, he’s like a huge fan. Me, too, but he is like a huge, huge fan. I don’t want to be annoying, but he’s in the hospital right now and would freak out if I got your autograph and a picture.”

  “No problem.” I signal for her to join me around the counter, glancing at her nametag “I hope he gets better soon, Molly.”

  She blanches. “Yeah. He, uh, he’s got Leukemia, but the doctors think this next round of radiation will put him into remission. He’s responded really well, so fingers crossed.”

  My throat tightens. This isn’t for show anymore, simply a natural thing the guys and I said we’d do in situations like this. It’s my favorite part of the job. “What hospital is he at? If you don’t mind, I’d like to send some things from the band.”

  “Mind?” She lets out a little squeak. “He’ll flip! Yes, please. He’s, he’s just at the regional hospital. Dustin Barlow is his name. Oh my gosh, this is awesome. You’re awesome.”

  The older couple watches, a little confused, as the cashier hurries around the counter, hands Alexis her cellphone so we can snap a picture. We hold up rock on signs, then she hugs me. Alexis runs out to the jeep and finds a picture of the entire band, and a large Perfectly Broken hoodie. I don’t know if it’ll fit Dustin, but I sign both and hand them to Molly.

  “Thank you! I don’t believe all that stuff that came out about you, by the way. Neither does Dustin.”

  “Smart girl,” Alexis says like she simply can’t help herself. “Don’t trust everything you read.”

  The girl is a teenager, so the cynic in me wants to say she doesn’t know much about the world, but it means something hearing I’ve got support face to face.

  “Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse. “Tell Dustin when he’s feeling better you two will have backstage passes to the next local show.”

  She squeals again and I’m lost in the moment. This is what I always wanted from music. The smiles, the joy, that can be spread. Alexis takes my hand, and I give her a quick smile. She gets it. Then again, she’s always understood this dream of mine. Even if she told me I was a horrible human most days, she always told me I’d be one in a million more.

  “Want to stay here or take them to go?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “People are on your side here, I say we stay for a bit.”

  I sit at the table and we’re left alone. The guys stare, but keep their distance. Molly busies about, a grin on her face. The older couple doesn’t even care we’re next to them. I get to just be with Alexis. Like we used to be.

  “Times up,” she says with a sigh at her watch. “Education calls.”

  Drinks in hand, we wave at Molly, and head for the door.

  We don’t make it far.

  In the time we spent inside, a mob of cameras has built outside. Alexis presses to my side. I share a look with her. They’re surrounding my jeep. It’s a crowd large enough I’d have Quinn clearing a path for me. We’re alone out here, and they’re practically foaming at the mouth when we open the door.

  I hug Alexis against me, one palm covering her head. Cameras are swinging, hands reaching out recording devices, so many questions hit me all at once.

  “Bridger! What happened that night between you and Nadia?”

  “Who is the girl?”

  “Are you on the market again?”

  “Do you plan to be violent with her, too?”

  That one gets me to stop. I offer the guy an incredulous look, then keep shoving through.

  “Is this your girlfriend? Does she know about your drug use?”

  “What do you say to Nadia’s claims you’re reconciling?”

  We’re poked and prodded. There are so many people it takes me half a breath to realize at my next step, Alexis isn’t at my side anymore. My blood chills when I hear her quiet scream. She’s on the ground. Guys, women, snapping pictures. She must’ve stumbled in the frenzy, and now the sharks are devouring her.

  “Get back.” I swim through them, pushing back, trying to reach her. “Get off her.”

  I help Alexis to her feet. If I wasn’t seeing red right now, I might laugh. She sort of kicks her feet out, hair a mess, snarling.

  “You’re like animals,” she shouts back at them. “And you spilled my iced hot chocolate! I want apologies! Geez, is this what you all aspired to be in life—harassers? Dream bigger!”

  They’re not listening, only capturing her rant as I shove open the driver’s side door of my jeep and practically toss her inside. The pappos have a little bit of sense to back up when I roll forward and speed out of the parking lot.

  When we’re out of sight, I let out an angry breath and glance at Alexis. She’s dabbing her lip and holding her forehead. I curse, loud enough she lifts a brow. “They hit you?” I’m seething. About to turn around and give them something to write about.

  Alexis rests a hand on my arm. “Easy. I’m fine. I smacked my face when I fell, no one hit me. I think one guy was even trying to help me, but the wolves ate him up.”

  My jaw clenches until my teeth ache. “We’re not doing this anymore.”

  “Bridge, I’m okay. But I think . . . I don’t want to go to class bloody. I might need to call in a sick day. They don’t really have those in college, but I’m making it up.”

  I take her hand in mine and squeeze it. “You are. Not even a question.”

  Alexis smiles, but behind it all there is a bit of fleeting fear. This scared her, but she’ll pretend it didn’t. I relax a bit, though, when she leans her head against my shoulder. “Don’t think what I say next means I like you, Cole, but . . . thanks for saving me back there.”

  “Always, Al,” I say.

  Safety nets. I lost hers once. After I put my heart out there for her to take, I screwed up, and deserved for her to pull the net out from under me.

  I hadn't deserved her.

  Not with the life I was leading back then.

  But she’s here now. The more I think about it, she was always there. Even when she said she wasn’t. Alexis Knight has always been my safety net.

  I didn�
��t deserve it then, and truth be told, I’m not sure I do now.

  Chapter 21

  Bridger

  Summer—2015

  Alexis: Hey. The show was okay. I guess it’s sort of cool you’re not an opening act anymore. The door guy said there was over 2,000 people. Almost impressive.

  Alexis: Are you ignoring me? I need to talk to you, so if you’re not too busy being a cool rockstar, I have something to say. And you know how I get when I have something to say and can’t say it. My head explodes.

  Alexis: Bridger I can see that you’ve read these texts. Answer me.

  Alexis: I tried to call. Who do you think you are? You ignored my call. I NAMED YOUR BAND!

  Alexis: Fine. I’ll just get it out. I know you saw James kiss me at the show. Parker told me it bothered you. I’m sorry. I didn’t come to rub anything in your face even after I saw the pictures of you with that model. We said we wouldn’t let the doorstep scene change anything, but Parker told me you drank quite a bit after the show. Don’t go there, Bridger. Please. Don’t be the stereotypical rocker. It’s not worth it. This concern doesn’t mean I like you, Cole.

  A week later.

  Alexis: Really? Disorderly conduct? It’s all over the news. Snap out of it, you fool. You’re breaking your mom’s heart.

  Alexis: Fine. You want the truth, you big baby, you’re breaking my heart. This isn’t you. Parker says you’re spiraling. We both come from families of addicts. Don’t risk it. Talk to me. Talk to anyone. Safety net, Bridge. Please, call me.

  Three days later.

  Alexis: Your mom told me what you did. How was your night in jail? I’m here for you, but I can’t watch you do this to yourself. It’s breaking more than my heart. It’s breaking all of me.

  Two months later.

  Alexis: You won’t respond to this and that’s fine. I know you’ve seen my messages. I know you’ve gotten my voicemails. I’m sorry, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself. I know we always promised safety nets, but I can’t be yours anymore. You deserve more than this, Bridger Cole. I wish you’d see that. But you’re killing yourself and you don’t care. I won’t be at any more shows. I’m going to focus on school. Bye, Bridge. Please, use your brain and demand more of yourself.

  I shut off my phone in the greenroom. It’s our first Warped Tour and it’s been epic. I should be celebrating this, but honestly, my head is in a constant heavy fog, and I think I might get sick if I try to stand.

  I tip back a drink of whiskey from a flask.

  So much for a soft place to fall. Should’ve known she’d be gone. Like everyone, people you care about always leave. In my head, I know I’m the one who pushed her away. Something snapped when I saw her and that guy. They sat close together, kissing, laughing. Like a piece of my heart is poisoned, I shut down. I’ve stopped caring.

  I ignore her. Simpler to be angry at her than admit I’m to blame.

  “Hey, Bridge,” Tate leans around the doorframe, concern furrowed on his brow. “How about we head to the hotel for drinks? Just us.”

  Tate’s eyes take in the guys from another Warped Tour band called Bloody Days. They’re metal and harsh and wild. The perfect guys to help me forget the ache in my chest.

  “Nah,” Sean Haze, the lead singer says. He slings a skinny, clammy arm around my shoulders. “We’re just getting started with him. Stay if you want, drummer boy.”

  Tate’s jaw tightens. He gives me a pleading look, but I turn away.

  “Right,” Tate says. “We’ll be at the hotel if you need us, man. Oh, and Bridge? Alexis called me. I stood up for you, but I think she’s right. You’re being a complete idiot. Your dad would hit you upside the head if he were here.”

  I close my eyes against words, against what I’m going to do. I’ve already decided, but thoughts of my dad watching me break like this cut out my heart and leave it to rot on the ground.

  “Cole,” Sean says, holding up a plastic bag. There’s no need to guess what’s inside. “Join us?”

  I look to the empty doorway. I’m going to screw this up for Tate and Adam, but it’s a heady pull to drown out the noise in my head. I look once more at my phone, at her last words. She’s gone. The best way to get over that is to forget.

  I sit beside Sean as he opens the bag. Soon, I’ll be numb. I nod. “Yeah. I’m in.”

  Chapter 22

  Alexis

  They know my name.

  Not even a full two days after the smoothie encounter, online articles everywhere are shouting Bridger Cole’s new lover—Alexis Knight. Ninety-nine percent of them always add something like sister of Vegas Kings Pitcher, Parker Knight.

  Being an unemployed librarian is hardly interesting, I guess.

  The worst part are the pictures of me holding my face after I fell. The narratives, thanks to Nadia, are cruel toward Bridger. There was even a new hashtag #SaveAlexis that trended for most of yesterday.

  Another wretched consequence is Bryce. All evening he tried to reach out to me.

  The Ex: Lexie, what is going on?

  The Ex: Answer me. Are you with Bridger Cole? Are you safe? Call me. Please.

  The Ex: If I don’t hear from you in the next hour, I’m going to the police.

  Me: Leave me alone, Bryce.

  The Ex: What are you doing Alexis? You’re smarter than this.

  The Ex: Fine, don’t write back. But I’m going to call you tomorrow. Don’t ignore my call.

  After that, I had to escape last night and took Poppy on a lame walk around the yard because I was too afraid someone might recognize me at the nearby dog park. The only reason I was able to sleep at all was when Ellie Walker called me.

  “Hey girl, did you see the tweet?” she said.

  “Which one? The thousand that think Bridger’s holding me hostage?”

  She laughed. “No, from the kid. I’ll send you screenshots. Oh, and tell Bridger to stay off social media. It seems worse than it is. Pops is beaming—Perfectly Broken is bringing in more money than any of us right now, and revenue just shot up because of this girl.”

  I’ve been in the company of rockstars since the guys took off. But I’m still reeling that I text and call Ellie Walker as if we’ve known each other forever.

  This morning, I glance again at the tweet images she sent me yesterday. I smile. Molly shared the picture of her and Bridger at the shop. She told the story of how the cameras surrounded us, how the reporters knocked me down, and how Bridger Cole is the coolest guy ever.

  Turns out the guys in the corner of the café had unintentionally summoned the swarm by posting on their social media about the star sighting in real time.

  Even better than Molly’s first tweet defending Bridger, are the pictures of her little brother, bald and smiling, as he dug through a huge basket of signed pictures, guitar picks, drumsticks, posters, hats, and T-shirts for Perfectly Broken. But my favorite is the picture from yesterday afternoon when the entire band showed up at Dustin’s room. There’s a thirty second video of Tate teaching the thirteen-year-old how to use the drumsticks with his entire family crying happy tears in the corner.

  I think Molly at Juicie is going to start getting my carb-filled thank you baskets because her tweet is catching fire and has spread more than the speculation. A sixteen-year-old girl caught the eye of other stars—from Hollywood to Nashville—celebrities are calling for stricter regulations on feral paparazzi.

  The house is silent, dawn is still thirty minutes off, but I’m not entirely surprised when a knock comes to my door.

  “I know you’re awake because you have the earliest internal alarm clock I’ve ever seen,” Bridger says. “You decent?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  He pauses. “I would, and I also know you brought my mind to the gutter on purpose.”

  I snicker and cross my legs underneath me. “I’m decent.”

  Bridger steps inside wearing sweats and a tight black T-shirt. He should’ve warned me that even fully clothed he’s in
decent for making me think certain things.

  Something glimmers in his eyes when he studies me; he buries it straightaway, then slips into the opposite side of the bed. Memories of doing this a hundred times as kids come in a rush, mostly on his trampoline when we couldn’t sleep. We’d stare at the stars, pull out the safety nets, and simply talk.

  Life for the last two years hasn’t been easy, but he’s coming back to me. Slowly and surely.

  I scoot closer to him. Same as when we were teenagers, when we were positive no one would see, Bridger scoops an arm around my shoulders and I curl against his side.

  “Parker is getting more attention now that everyone knows your name.” His fingers draw soft lines up and down my arm. “He’s acting put out, but we both know the truth . . .”

  “He loves it,” we say together and laugh.

  It’s easy to fall into something peaceful; being like this is safe, comfortable. When I let my defenses drop, I let myself imagine what this might feel like all the time. It’s not fair to him, to me. We would hurt each other, no doubt. But after the hills we’ve climbed, the demons we’ve faced, Bridger Cole ruined anyone for me long ago. Even if he is my nemesis.

  “Did you come in here to talk about Parker?” I ask after a pause.

  “No.”

  He shifts down on the pillow so we’re forehead to forehead. A furrow tugs at his brow, and before I can stop myself, I start massaging my fingernails over his scalp. Bridger closes his eyes and sinks into me. The surefire ways to get this guy to relax are back scratches, scalp massages, and cuddling. He’d never admit to it, how much he’s a cuddler, but I figured it out a long time ago. Now this is sort of like our little secret.

  “Nadia called me,” he says. “My mom’s house is getting bombarded with paparazzi, and all I can think about is how I caused this. How mistakes I made are going to hurt people.” His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer. “You most of all.”