Jaded Hearts

by Harper Sloan

  His shoulders continue to move, but he gives me his attention again. "You were right; what we have will always move at lightning speed. I've realized that now. You keep calling me hubby, making my dick hard, and one day when you have my ring on your finger, you can just roll with it. In my head, I don't need all that shit to know you're stuck with me for the next fifty plus years."

  My chin wobbles, and he glances down. "I'm not going to cry," I defend, my words coming out shaky.

  "You're right, you aren't. You're going to get naked, take my cock out, and show your not husband how much you love the idea of being stuck with him for the rest of your life."

  I don't even bother trying to come up with something witty after that. Too in love and way too turned on, I jump from the bed, keeping my eyes on him while he works his cock free--stroking it with lazy movements--and I strip down to nothing.

  I don't take a nap. I don't even get much sleep that night. Nor do I get a nap the next day before our show at the Pepsi Center. I did, however, wake up three days later to find a simple but the beautiful diamond band on my left ring finger. Chance never mentioned it, or how he was able to get it when he hasn't left my side once. He just continued moving around our hotel room, packing us up so we could meet the guys at the bus in thirty minutes to head out to Seattle.

  The almost twenty-hour, two-day drive didn't even dull my euphoric mood. No one said a word, even if they noticed, and when we arrived at our hotel for the next two days, I made sure to show my not husband but very real fiance just how much I love having his ring on my finger.

  Things went back to normal a few days after I slipped that band on Wren's finger back in Denver. I still haven't even said a word about it, but I don't need to. She's made no attempt to hide just how happy she is. Every time she would do something girly as fuck, like sigh in the middle of writing a song, her brother would look around until he connected with me. I'm not a stupid man; I know how important her relationship with Weston is. When I asked his permission to spend the rest of my life with his sister, he didn't hesitate. He took it a step further and arranged to have her band purchased and in my possession within the day's end. He might think she's being crazy--hence the meeting of the eyes with each sigh--but when I get an eye roll from him at his sister's antics, it's always with one hell of a smirk.

  It's been a month since we left Denver, and things with their tour have been as normal as can be. Well, as normal as it gets with Loaded Replay, thousands of fans, and Douchebag Dix still trying his hardest to throw his weight around. We've all gotten damn good at ignoring him, or in my case, putting him in his place.

  Dyllan hasn't come back out to meet us since she left Vegas. Wren explained it was normal for her to get stuck because her boss won't let her come out. Apparently, she's not a full-time stylist, but an intern with some big name back in LA. There's been a little strain between the two because Dyllan keeps brushing off Wren's concern. In the end, I told Wren she needs to just let it go. Whatever happens will, without her influence. She just needs to be prepared to support her friend whichever way things may fall. Of course, it took her almost until we left Seattle to stop punishing Jamison for her friend brushing her off.

  In the time that we've been bussing from arena to arena, they released their last record with Brighthouse, selling over a million copies in the first week. When they got the call that Black Lace went platinum, it was a bittersweet excitement. Even though they know they have no future with Brighthouse, it's still hard to leave a label you've been with since the start of your career.

  After a lot of consideration, they decided not to re-sign with a major label. Instead, they decided to start their own label, something so few artists have proven to pull off successfully. Loaded Records is in its infancy stages, but they've been working to build a team they trust while on the road--not something easy to do, so that's the first order of business when we get back to LA.

  In the time since I met with them back in New York, this world has become my home. It doesn't matter the location; this crazy bunch and the woman who has my band on her hand have become my home. It's funny now--looking back--but when I first told my old boss that I wanted to take this job, I never imagined that I would find all of this in the process. Hell, I never expected that I would find what I have with Wren, though, ever in my life, either. For years, I've watched as my friends fell in love and thought it was a crock of shit. Well, joke's on me because the love I have for Wren knocks me to my ass every single day I wake up to find her in my arms.

  I glance over to where Wren and Wes have their heads tucked close over a pile of papers. They've been working together since we left out of San Francisco to head to LA for the final three shows of their tour a few hours ago. They've been working every chance they can on some new material. They know now that they'll be going to their own label, so time is the most valuable tool in their next solo album. The steady climb of Black Lace will be the momentum they need to push off of.

  "Uh, guys?" Jamison addresses the room with a little unease in his voice.

  "What?" Luke asks, glancing up from the guitar he had been messing with--giving Wren a melody when she would ask.

  "Word got out about us leaving Brighthouse. People are going fucking nuts online wondering if this means we're splitting up."

  "Shit," Wes hisses.

  "Why would they announce us not renewing our contract before the tour is even over? Didn't they tell us that we couldn't say anything?" Wren asks, confused.

  "Those motherfucking assholes," Wes fumes. "They didn't want us to say anything because they planned to use the news to drive up sales. They're going to play this up for all it's worth. Fans will be scared that's our last album--buying them with no thought. Brighthouse will play the sad label that lost a long-standing act, and because we signed a NDA not to speak about leaving Brighthouse, but specifically, not to say anything until the end of the tour, we're sitting ducks for the next five days."

  "You're kidding?" I ask.

  "I wish I was. I hope you and your guys have things ready because I bet we're going to be driving into a madhouse."

  "I'll go call Hunter." I nod and walk from the front living room area of their tour bus to the back lounge area in the rear.

  I hear them talking, low murmurs full of worry about what they're walking into, and wait for Hunter to pick up. I have a feeling calling what we will be dealing with a madhouse is like calling a gunshot wound a paper cut.

  "Yeah," Hunter answers.

  "You in LA yet?"

  "We got here early this morning."

  I sigh. "How are things looking around there?"

  "Normal. The house was secure when we checked it out on our way in a few hours ago."

  "Do me a favor, Hunter. Head over there again and check on things. News got out about them not signing with the label again, so we need to be proactive with what is probably going to rain down on them. After that, meet us at the venue."

  "Got it," Hunter confirms, disconnecting without pleasantries.

  I've been waiting for Brighthouse to make a move. I knew they wouldn't let this go without a fight. I have to hand it to them; if what Wes says is true, they're smarter than I ever pegged them for. My gut has been telling me something is coming for a while now, but with this new bullshit, it's kicked up into overdrive. There haven't been any signs that the pictures and note that brought me here were something more nefarious. For the most part, everything points to it just being some fucked-up, isolated incident, but try as I might, I haven't been able to believe that's the case in all the time I've been here.

  Making a split decision, I pick up the phone and make a call to someone who can lend a helping hand as a sounding board.

  "Well, well ... I was starting to think we would never hear from you again."

  I smile, despite my unease. "Shut the hell up, Cohen," I gruff with fake annoyance.

  "Dani won't shut the hell up about you and your girl. From how she tells it, you've been in love with he
r since some concert back during my last tour."

  I huff out a laugh. "She's probably not wrong."

  "No shit?" he asks.

  "No shit. There isn't anything I wouldn't do if it meant a smile stayed on Wren's face." It feels good to tell Cohen about Wren. We've known each other for years now; we've served together, lived together--but with everything that happened with Dani before Owen was born, I pulled away. I hadn't realized how much I missed his friendship.

  "I'm happy for you, man. You deserve to have that."

  "Thanks," I respond, my voice thick with emotion.

  "There for a while, I was worried you would push it away when you did find it, though."

  "Cohen," I grunt, not wanting him to go down this road. Wren might have shown me the flaws in how I believed my role in his wife almost dying played out, but that doesn't mean I want to hash it out with him.

  "Just tell me; have you finally realized you wrongly carried that burden all these years? I'll drop it, but I just need to know where your head is now that you've got what I have with Dani."

  I look out the back window of the bus, seeing nothing even though the scenery flying by is far from unpleasant to look at.

  "Wren helped me get there," I tell him with a deep exhale. "She's my healer, man. Anything that used to eat at me--she healed those wounds, and when she gave me her love, she eradicated any possibility that something might have lingered to come back later."

  He doesn't speak right away. I hear him moving some papers around, and I picture him sitting in his office at Corps Security, knowing he's probably thinking about that day he almost lost everything while looking at the picture he always keeps on his desk of his family.

  "Dani will be as happy as I am to hear that." He does a good job at hiding it, but his voice wavers slightly, and I know I'm not alone in feeling the slight burn of emotion in my throat.

  "Now that we got girl talk out of the way," I jest, lightening the mood. "You got a second to let me run something by you?"

  He clears his throat. "Go for it."

  No-nonsense and all business. Just like my Cohen. He's a badass with a heart of gold. Not only is he the type of friend who would do anything he can to help someone he cares about, but when it comes to security concerns, he's also learned from the best. Aside from his father or his father-in-law, no one else would be able to see the holes I can't.

  "You know why I originally left, taking the job for security with Loaded Replay, right?"

  "Yeah. Something about them dealing with a series of issues?"

  "Yes ... and no. A few of those issues were easy to explain or knock off the concern list. The only one left that still sits wrong with me is the pictures and note."

  I explain to him what had been found, including the note, but even as fucked up as that situation was, nothing has happened since. Even the police would have brushed it off as nothing, but I just can't seem to let it go. We go over the label, them leaving, and the leak that hit the news today. And finally, I tell him what troubles me the most--that someone would go through that much trouble but then just end things without any other instances.

  "Tell me, how much time passed between those pictures and when you showed up, feed the pregnancy and marriage rumor, and turned a fake relationship into the real thing?"

  "Not even a full week. It happened in Tennessee, and then they were in New York for a week total. They had press set up for the beginning of that week; I showed up at the beginning of that, and then a few shows before we flew back to LA."

  "So assuming that it might be someone close to her, maybe when you showed up--not knowing the relationship was a sham at the time--it changed things for them. You guys haven't denied the rumors that she's pregnant--I mean fuck, man, you play up this marriage rumor with a smile. Even I thought it was real, and I've known you for a long damn time. If they see you as taking her from the band, her pregnancy or just relationship in general, it will make sense to why the shit hasn't repeated since."

  I think about what he's saying, feeling like this might be a key we had been missing. "Assuming I'm the reason it hasn't happened since, why wouldn't they make another move when it's clear she's still with the band?"

  "Tour was winding down. Maybe they thought once she had that rumored baby, she wouldn't come back."

  It doesn't make sense. I'm missing something here; I just know it. "And then what? Wren has a baby and leaves the group, so what does that person get out of it then?"

  "Fuck," he mutters under his breath. "What's her relationship with the other guys like? Aside from her brother, I mean."

  "They might as well all be her brothers, Cohen. Those four are thick as thieves. Known each other their whole lives pretty much. They have a closeness that rivals what you and the guys have," I answer, referring to the guys he's known since birth--all of their parents being best friends.

  "She's never had anything romantic with them?"

  "Never, man. Jamison might flirt sometimes, but hell, he flirts with me too. That man doesn't mean anything by it when he's picking on Wren."

  Cohen's silence is all I hear.

  "What are you thinking, Coh?"

  "Find out if someone is working that tour who might have had a relationship with Jamison. If you're right, and he's so open with his flirting, what if he had something with someone or turned them down, but flaunts his flirting with Wren in their face."

  "Then it would make sense why they would want Wren gone," I finish, feeling a chill run up my spine.

  "It makes sense," he adds.

  "It does, unfortunately. Thanks, Cohen. I haven't been looking at things from that angle at all."

  "There's nothing wrong with needing another head to see the part of the picture your blind side is facing."

  Before Wren, I would have thought exactly the opposite, but I know he's right. Sometimes, things just aren't visible to you, no matter how hard you look or how trained you are to spot them.

  "Hey, before I let you go, Cage or Axel around?" I ask, hoping he knows where his dad or father-in-law--also my bosses--are.

  "Ax is here somewhere."

  "Right, do me a favor and let me talk to him, so I don't have to make another call. And so you hear it from me, I'm about to tell him that my leave of absence will be permanent."

  "What the fuck, Chance! It isn't your fault you didn't see that shit. Don't leave because you missed it."

  I smile. "I'm moving out here to be with Wren, Cohen. She has my ring on her finger, and there isn't anything fabricated about that. I'm leaving so I can start my life with her."

  "Oh. Right. Let me go get Ax," he responds, making my smile get bigger. "Here he is, man. And Chance?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I'm happy for you. Real fucking happy for you."

  When I end the call ten minutes later, officially cutting all ties that I had back in Georgia, I don't feel the sadness I thought I would. It's the only place I had before Wren that even came close to feeling like home. When I made the decision to take the job Wren and the guys were offering, I knew this moment would come, but I just thought I would feel something other than ... relief. But with the blessing from two men who mean a whole hell of a lot, I know I didn't just leave good friends. They're always going to be there.

  I just took the steps to start really living my life.

  A life with a woman who loves me as much as I love her, free of the fear and pain I had been living with, knowing this was the last destroyed piece Wren had promised she would put back together.

  And fuck, does it feel good.

  "Sound check go okay?" Dyllan asks when I walk into the dressing room at the Staples Center.

  "Yeah, always does here."

  "What's up with you?" She moves to my side, looking at me with concern.

  "Nothing. I'm just tired and stressed. I had hoped we would be able to go home for a while. I miss my bed. But Hunter called Chance before we even got close and said home was a no-go. Media circus there and it was easier to move us on
ce here than have to get here, get there, and then get back. Too many moves for them to do on the fly or something."

  "Things will die down. If not, just tell them you're having twins and not one baby like they assume."

  I swat her, feeling some of the stress and exhaustion dissipate.

  "Where is Chance?" She looks around, apparently just now figuring out he isn't with me. "God, you almost look weird without him attached to you."

  "Oh, shut up. He's just outside in the hallway talking to the guys."

  "About what?"

  I shrug. "I'm guessing something about security. I stay out of it."

  "Wouldn't that be a conversation you should be having with them?"

  It did cross my mind, but I trust Chance, and if he felt the need to talk to them alone, then I wasn't going to argue with him. Instead of telling her all that, though, I just shrug. I would rather channel my inner sloth and put forth minimal effort at life until our show tonight.

  Ten minutes later, the guys walk in. Wes and Luke look pissed, but Jamison almost looks dejected. I shoot my eyes to Chance, concerned, but he just holds up his hand, silently asking me to wait.

  "Tell her," Chance demands, looking at Weston.

  "Tell me what?"

  "Fuck," Wes spits, kicking over the empty trashcan in the corner before looking at me. "I wasn't exactly truthful about why we needed to bring security in back in New York."

  I look at Chance, my eyes wide. "What do you mean?" I ask when I'm finally able to look away from his steady gaze.

  "I left out some shit that I didn't want to scare you with. I knew if I could just get you to agree to security, then you wouldn't need to know. I could share it with whomever we hired. You seemed so miserable, Wren. I didn't want to give you another reason to want to throw in the towel."

  "I would never have thrown in the towel," I venomously defend.

  "I did what I felt what right. I asked Chance to keep it from you because I knew he would protect you, even from the whole truth of what brought him there."

  I narrow my eyes at Chance. He holds his hands up and points at Wes. "You can yell at me later. Let him finish."

  "The pictures, they were bad, Wren. I didn't want you to know someone had violated your privacy that bad. You already looked at our lives cynical of everyone and everything. I hadn't seen you smile freely without lines of unhappiness. I didn't want to add to that. But they left a note too."