Hearts Collide (Infinity Prism Series Book 1)

by Kylie Walker

  “Yeah,” Asher agreed. “Maybe we should tell Burt to calm down.”

  “He’s like a Chihuahua,” Roman laughed. “There’s no stopping him. His hyper level is off the charts. That’s why he’s the best in the business, and he’s all ours.”

  Burt was good; there was no disputing that. But he didn’t hesitate to do what he thought was best for the band yet was quick to dismiss ideas from anyone else. Trevor’s food was set in front of him, the smell going through him with a sickening aroma. He had been an idiot to think he could eat.

  After his little run-in with Emelia last night, he had drank, even more, to forget what a dick he’d been to her. Hadn’t worked. She was still the first thing he had thought of when he’d gotten woken up this morning.

  “Speaking of Burt, are we going to revisit the issue of getting our shit in front of movie people?”

  Trevor looked at Roman, curious about the smooth tone of his voice.

  “Yeah, I’m not giving up on that.”

  Everyone plowed through their food, except for him. He moved fries around on his plate instead.

  Roman finished chewing. “Not sure how well you remember Emelia from school, but—”

  Asher perked up. “You knew the sound check girl in school?”

  “Briefly. Sort of. I don’t really remember her.” Lie. Big, fucking lie.

  “Anyway, aside from her brother that was, you know, the other brother moved to LA. Any idea who he is?”

  Irritation crept up Trevor’s spine. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “Both.”

  “No, I don’t know who he is.”

  “Campbell Greene of Nightshade Productions. His studio produced that big hit Tom Cruise movie last summer.”

  The fork slipped from Trevor’s fingers. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

  “No. I’m not.” Roman continued eating like he hadn’t just dropped a massive bomb. There was silence in the conversation as everyone resumed eating, but Trevor’s mind was racing too hard. Too damn hard to consider putting anything in his mouth.

  “Well, it’s obvious what you need to do,” Logan said around a mouthful. “You get after her for a piece of ass and for an introduction to her big shot brother.”

  Trevor’s jaw clenched. “Don’t make me fucking punch you. No more of this conversation.”

  Everyone finished up in silence, but he knew what they were all thinking. This was an open door, a freaking offering on a sliver plate. All he had to do was grab it. But he wasn’t going to use Emelia like that. His interest in her was a double-edged sword. Plus, if he outed himself that he did know her, that he did remember her, it would open the whole Pandora’s box surrounding her younger brother’s accident. He couldn’t afford that kind of spotlight on him and could never let her know what he knew about that night.

  Unless she offered up her movie producer sibling on her own, he wasn’t going to revisit it again. No matter what.

  The band filtered out the back of the restaurant to the waiting tour bus. Trevor was the last to get on, took his time going up the heavily polished chrome steps. The decked out, blacked-out bus was a tiny city, offering everything they could possibly want while on the road. He tossed his bag in his private room in the back before grabbing a soda and taking a seat by Roman who was looking out the window.

  “I guess I’ll take the aisle,” Trevor joked as he plopped down beside his best friend.

  Roman smirked. “There are plenty of other seats on this tour bus you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Trevor sighed and rubbed his arm, the one with the tattoo of an Eagle soaring over a snowy mountaintop. He had chosen it because it represented the freedom to be who he wanted to be and go where he wanted to go in this life.

  “This bus is the bomb,” he mentioned, glancing around.

  There was a full out kitchen with top of the line, stainless steel appliances. There were leather couches and huge flat screen tv’s. Bathroom with a tub and a shower. Private sleeping rooms.

  “Can you believe all this is ours?” Roman looked down at his phone.

  “I tell you what, man.” Trevor adjusted in his seat, getting comfortable. He tossed a neck pillow around his head and leaned back, sighing contentedly. “If you had told me this would be my life, you know, back then—I would have never believed you.”

  “Yeah, me either.” Roman chuckled. “I thought you were full of shit when you said we were going to make something of ourselves back then.”

  “My guitar was the only thing that used to soothe me and calm me down in those days,” Trevor reminisced.

  Roman grinned. “My parents are just as proud of you as they are of me.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Trevor scoffed.

  “It is true,” Roman protested.

  Trevor groaned. “I never felt like I belonged.”

  “You belonged more with us than those shitholes, alcoholic, sorry excuses pair of parents you had,” Roman countered.

  Trevor glanced at his best friend, who knew his history, inside and out. Roman was the only person on earth who could get away with talking like that about Trevor’s past or his parents.

  It was a sore subject in Trevor’s life, a wound that he rarely wanted to tear open or revisit. But it was times like this when they were on a tour bus filled with luxuries and heading to another city with adoring fans that Trevor just had to take a step back. He had to relish in his fortune, and it made him appreciate the pain and struggle and poverty of his past life that much more.

  “Your parents were the kind that every kid should have,” Trevor confessed.

  He cringed at the memory of his early middle school days. He had wander home from the bus stop secretly dreaming that he would get home and be met by a family that loved him.

  Instead, he was usually met with parents passed out drunk in the middle of the day. He’d peel beer bottles from their unconscious grips and clean up the cigarette ashes from the coffee table and whatever mess they’d made. He would comb through the help wanted ads in the newspaper, attempting to aid his father in snagging up a job. Even when his father managed to land a job, he never held it for more than a month, two at the most.

  The only thing that had gotten him through those times of turmoil and prevented him from derailing on a path of destruction himself was music. He had played guitar and sang until he wanted to collapse from exhaustion.

  Mr. Bailey was his early music teacher at school, became a mentor for Trevor, someone he could look up to and depend on. Up until that point, Trevor had never experienced what it was like to have an adult in his life who wouldn’t hurt him, emotionally or physically.

  He had looked forward to those guitar lessons week after week. It was the one thing in his life that brought him of joy, up until Trevor went to live with Roman his senior year in high school. By then though, Trevor had mastered his natural talent and decided to offer to teach his own lessons for some extra cash on the side while he and Roman pulled together the best band they could.

  He glanced over at Roman. His best friend had been through it all with him. Roman’s parents were the best and always had his back. He should have been more grateful to them, should have tried harder to be a good kid and not do what he’d done.

  Instead, he rebelled. Bucked against his new school and everything that came with it. He had tried focusing on his music, but with the system putting his parents in jail and the courts trying to stuff him in foster care, he just snapped. If not for Roman’s parents offering to take him in until he was legal age, he might have done worse than what he had.

  Though, the pain and suffering he had caused was horrible enough.

  God, poor Emelia. Dumpling. He had called her Dumpling. It was a vague memory, but there none the less. He’d been an total fucking asshole to her, to her brother. To a lot of people

  Was she in his life again for something crazy, like redemption? Or, a second chance? Maybe it was a reminder that things could have been much, much worse.
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  Trevor studied Roman. His blonde facial scruff had been growing in for the last several days. Usually Roman preferred to stay clean shaven, just like Trevor.

  “What do you think would have happened if I never moved in with your family?” Trevor pondered.

  Roman sighed and stared out the window as the trees and the world blurred past them. The bus was on the move now, gaining speed. The miles blended into one another as they rode along.

  “Fate plays mind tricks,” Roman said. “Who knows how either one of us would have ended up. I’d like to think that somehow, we’d still be here, on this tour bus together.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m always right, you know.” Roman quipped.

  Trevor didn’t respond.

  The pair grinned at each other. “I’m going to get some shut eye,” Roman declared.

  “Good idea.” Trevor leaned his head against the back of the seat. The hangover in him demanded sleep. Maybe it would keep the dreams away — the memories. Perhaps, for once, with Roman beside him, he would shut the demons down and dream up a way he could take back the past.

  And make everything right.

  Chapter Eight

  She loved morning the most. And Santa Fe mornings were beautiful.

  The air was hot and dry as Emelia leaned back in her café chair and propped her legs on the balcony railing. The view from her hotel balcony was terrific, and she wanted to soak up every moment.

  Grant’s snores dwindled down from inside. She had left the door cracked so she could hear when he woke up. A moment’s disappointment went through her that he’d wake right now and put an end to her quiet moment.

  This was their fourth city, and the tour was going well. She was tired. All the travel wore her down more than expected. Still, she had managed to keep up with her freelance clients and get her social media work done, as well as business management for Shark Productions so Grant could keep doing what he loved. She lent a hand when he needed help packing or moving stuff around. And for the most part, she’d stayed out of the band’s way.

  Tonight’s concert center had a massive floor with a raised level near the edge of the state. The “pit” as the front was called, offered an excellent view of the band. Hadn’t Trevor said he wanted her there, looking up at him, watching him where he could see her? The memory heated her skin. Avoiding him had been hard. But she had stayed just out of sight, where she could hear them practice and watch them going through their routines without being in the way. For the most part, she sat somewhere in the empty auditorium and worked on her laptop. City after city, it was as immersed as she’d let herself be in Trevor’s day-to-day.

  Anything more would just be asking for trouble.

  Her phone buzzed. Glancing at it, she saw a message from her older brother Campbell.

  How’s the tour going?

  She smiled and responded. Great!

  Her brother had an extremely successful movie studio; had popped out huge money-maker movies in the past ten years. He had offered her a job several times, but she would never let herself seriously consider it. She didn’t want a hand out from her brother; she wanted to make it on her own.

  Another message came through. Found this while going through an old stack of papers yesterday.

  A picture popped up. Tears hit her eyes, a small gasp escaping her lips. It was an image of their brother, Kyle. He stood in his hallmark twisted way; his shoulders slanted to the left, his hip jutted out to the right. His heavy glasses were perched halfway down his nose, and the smile on his face, oh the smile! Trevor had his arm around Kyle, a guitar in his other hand.

  She’d completely forgotten this day! Trevor had played at a local park, and Kyle had begged to go see him. So she had taken him, and he had gotten a picture with the band.

  I miss him so much. Thanks for sending it.

  I miss him, too, sis. You’re going to stop when you’re in LA?

  Absolutely. My friend Chole is going to meet us there and finish the tour with us.

  See you in a week!

  She lay her phone down and clenched her eyes against more tears. She missed Kyle and his crooked smile, his infectious laugh. That night they had been run off the road— had lost control. To this day, the entire incident was a massive blur.

  They had walked away. Kyle hadn’t.

  “Good morning.”

  Emelia jerked. “Oh.” She smiled up at Grant as she tried to subtly recover from her emotions. “Good morning.”

  “Did I startle you?” Grant’s brow furrowed.

  “No.” Emelia shook her head fervently. “No. I was just um...relaxing out here on the balcony while I sipped my morning coffee.”

  He stretched and yawned, leaning against the side of the sliding glass door. “It looks like it’s going to be another miserable day.”

  Emelia frowned and made a mental note to count how many times throughout the day Grant said something grouchy. She didn’t want his sour moods to ever rot into her own core.

  “I hope not,” she countered.

  “I suppose.” He shrugged. “I’m going to hit the shower.” His eyes lit up with mischief, and his lips curled into a devious grin. “Care to join me?”

  “No thanks. I already showered.” She pointed to her still-wet hair.

  “Oh.” Grant’s expression of happiness fell as he spun to head towards the bathroom. “Suit yourself.”

  Emelia sighed as she walked back into the cold hotel room, sorry her contentment was gone. She tried to re-center herself while Grant dressed and sprayed on cologne. By the time he had taken twenty minutes to put on socks and decide which shoes to wear, she was irritated and grouchy. She pulled her hair into a messy bun, dressed in joggers and a tank top, flip-flops and no makeup. Screw it. That picture of Kyle had taken the wind right out of her.

  “Let’s go eat.”

  They headed downstairs to the free continental breakfast. The band probably had room service ordered up, as had become a habit. Fine, it just meant she wouldn’t see Trevor until rehearsal. She didn’t want to see him right now. The image of him beside her brother had her emotional center in knots.

  They helped themselves to piles of steaming eggs, sausages, potatoes and fruit and found a seat next to the production crew.

  Emelia found herself tuning out the boring conversation going on around the table. Everyone was talking about the tour. Like strobe lights, or sound equipment. Nothing that interested her. She glanced around the cafeteria, and her heart flipped.

  Trevor walked into the room. A few people turned their heads to stare at him subtly and whisper to their friends and family sitting at their tables. Nobody bothered him though. Either that or the hotel patrons were either too shy or too respectful to approach him.

  He strode to the buffet, inspected it and then as if knowing she was behind him, glanced over his shoulder to catch her eye.

  She wiped her mouth with the napkin that had been sitting in her lap.

  “Excuse me,” she said and abruptly stood up.

  Grant gave her a glance. “Where are you going?”

  “I uh...need more orange juice.” She scratched the side of her cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hoped that Grant couldn’t see the little white lie etched across her face or the way her cheeks heated. She casually walked in Trevor’s direction. Why she was doing this, she had no idea. Just the sight of him compelled her out of her chair. He grinned when he saw her move to the counter next to the buffet.

  “Morning,” he bid.

  “Good morning. Just need some more toast.” She plucked a slice of bread from the tray and popped it in the toaster, shoving the handle down harder than necessary.

  “Where’s the rest of the guys?” She inquired casually. Why was the damn toast taking so long?

  He shrugged. “Still in bed, I guess. I don’t know. I had to get out of my room, into civilization.”

  She smiled, not sure what to say. The picture of her brother and Trevor was fo
refront in her mind. Her toast popped up, and she hastily grabbed for it. It burned her fingers, so she dropped it onto the counter with a little smile.

  “Oops, it’s hot.” She buttered it quickly. Too quickly, the force of the knife flipping the toast off the counter and butter-side down onto the floor.

  “Shit,” she grumbled, hating herself for the scatter-brained effect that Trevor had over her.

  “Don’t you hate gravity sometimes?”

  Emelia glanced up and blinked. Why couldn’t she get the image out of her head?

  “Huh?”

  “It seems like the toast always lands butter side down.” He crouched and picked the bread off the ground, tossing it in the trash.

  “Oh.” Emelia chuckled and shook her head with embarrassment. “Sorry, but I need to ask you something.”

  Trevor shrugged, still grinning at her with such enigmatic glow that she trembled.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you... do you remember me? From high school?”

  His smile fell like she had just ran over his puppy, a slightly stricken expression taking over. Immediately regretting the question, she scrambled for something to say.

  “I’m sorry, it’s okay if you don’t. I just found a picture of you posing with my brother from about ten years ago, and I thought maybe—I mean, I know it’s a long shot—but I thought you might... you might remember us.”

  He started at her, the corners of his eyes turned down, his forehead furrowing as a flicker of grief or something washed over his face.

  “I’m sorry.” The words were thick, full as if he were apologizing for something beyond simply not remembering her. “It was, um, a long time ago.”

  Emelia rubbed her hands together. It was time to change this tide. “Oh gosh, yes it was. Anyway, it was cool to see how far you’ve come since that picture was taken. You’re not playing at park festivals anymore, that’s for sure.”

  “Right. Not until I’m like 70 and my career is over, anyway.”

  She selected another piece of bread and made new toast. Trevor grabbed a plate and filled it up, both of them doing their thing in silence that had become comfortable. She was glad for that.