by Jayne Rylon
“I’m not saying this because of some sort of bro code. If Devra says he deserves a swift kick or three I’m sure he does.” Trevon winced. “But Jordan is overall a good man. He risked a lot to help us. The only reason he would do something that hurt you both is if he thought it was for the greater good. I see that it wasn’t, but sometimes men are dumb when we’re in love. I made some pretty bad assumptions about what I thought Devra needed out of our marriage before Quinn helped me pull my head out of my ass.”
“That’s a very good point.” Devra turned to Trevon and kissed him sweetly, proving that she didn’t hold any grudges.
Quinn nodded. “I hate to pile on, but I think they’re right. I’ve seen the way Jordan looks at you. And he’s repeatedly told me to take care of you like he wishes he could. He loves you. I can see he did a piss poor job of showing you that and handling the shit in your past. I’m sorry. I bet he freaked the fuck out when your…”
“Boyfriend,” Wren supplied. She might as well be totally transparent. It felt good to finally have someone to talk to about this. People who could understand the complex dynamics of an even more complex relationship. It made her feel better that they didn’t automatically bash Jordan. Like just maybe she hadn’t been wrong to give him her heart and soul after all. “They were both mine.”
“But not each other’s?” Trevon asked with a raised brow.
She shook her head. “At least not when Johnny died. Maybe in time things could have been different…we’ll never know.”
Ollie sighed from where he leaned against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other. “Jordan flat out told me he’s been in love with you forever, but that he’d ruined his shot with you. He’s a hard man. The kind who might not be able to forgive himself if he thought he hurt someone he cared about.”
“He did hurt me. He took my heart—which was broken from losing Johnny—ripped it out of my chest, and stomped on in until it exploded.” She couldn’t help but cry then, even if she told herself they were angry tears. “He abandoned me when I needed him most. I’m glad he stays the fuck away from me because I despise him.”
Ollie cursed then and banged his hand on the wall. “Never mind. I’m going to beat the shit out of him next time I see him.”
Trevon shook his head ruefully. He took the edge out of the air when he stood and rounded the table. He saw through Wren’s rage to the pain beneath it. “Nah, you don’t hate his guts. You wouldn’t still be crying over him if you did. I think it says a lot about you that you still care about him even though he screwed up so spectacularly.”
He held his arms out, open. Wren didn’t think twice before leaning into him and resting her cheek on his abs. Even he, a man she’d only known a few months and certainly had never slept with, comforted her when the one who had supposedly been her soulmate had not.
Some things were unforgiveable. That didn’t mean she could change her own feelings, which had been and always would be genuine. “I wish I could hate him.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine the person you’re describing is the same man who fought so hard to help Trevon, Quinn, and I stay together. He risked everything for us.” Devra, always the optimist, acted like this was a fairytale with the possibility of a magical ending instead of real life. “Maybe he’s matured. There’s still hope. If you love him and he loves you…”
“Not gonna happen,” Wren insisted as she pushed away from Trevon and sat up straight again. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough.”
That bitter truth soured her stomach.
Wren stood, fingering the backstage ticket in her pocket again. At least that made her feel better. Kason had made her smile again.
“In that case, I definitely think we should hit up that concert.” Devra winked at Wren. “It’s time to find someone who makes you happy, don’t you think? Even if that person is yourself.”
Now that Wren could agree with. It was time to stop letting the past drag her down.
“Yeah, okay. I’ll go if you will. Call Kaelyn, Sabra, Sally, and Nola too.” Wren shrugged at the guys. “Sorry, but I’m feeling like a ladies’ night is in order.”
“Don’t worry about us.” Quinn grinned. “We’ve got Kason’s sweet ride to play with. We’re going to do such an awesome job on it that he brings all the rest of his collection here too. I hope you end up liking the guy, because I have a feeling he’s going to be spending a lot of time around the shop.”
Great, no pressure.
Wren had barely found a place she felt at home and another man had the power to wreck it for her. Fuck that. She thought of his gorgeous eyes, fast smile, and his willingness—unlike Jordan—to admit when he was wrong.
Maybe she should text him once, just to let him know they were coming after all.
Maybe, if she could work up the nerve.
But first, she had something more important to do.
7
Wren hated this place. She almost never came here. Hadn’t even when Johnny had first been killed. It wasn’t that the cemetery creeped her out or made her even more miserable than she already was. It just seemed so cold. So quiet. So devoid of life. Everything Johnny had never been.
Usually when she wanted to feel close to him, she went for a walk at the lake. Today, she would make an exception.
She stuffed her hand in the pocket of her ripped jeans and fingered the thick paper there as she climbed up the grassy hill to Johnny’s grave. It was in a pretty spot, tucked beneath a massive, gnarled oak tree that was raining crimson leaves at the moment.
Wren spent a few minutes tidying things up, dusting off the area around his headstone and tracing his name with her index finger. Eventually, she gave up as more leaves skittered around, settling over his plot like pools of blood, reminding her that she could never change what had happened. So she dropped from a squat to her ass on the ground, wrapped her leather jacket tighter around her and pulled out her phone.
She couldn’t say what made her do it, but she flipped open her music app and poked the label for Kason Cox. His timeless voice rang out, chasing the chill out of the air and her bones. Maybe a few other places too.
As she sat with her back leaning up against Johnny’s tombstone, her legs out straight and crossed at the ankles, the memory of Kason’s intense green eyes and his easy laughter did something to her that was as potent as the effect his voice had on her. Was it because those attributes reminded her of Johnny’s similar features or because she might finally be coming alive again inside?
Wren listened to the music and closed her eyes. She imagined dancing with Johnny in the moonlight while Jordan watched, which inevitably led to having sex with both of them under the stars. She knew why Jordan had been willing to share her, but what about Johnny?
He’d once said, “I love that I get to see you like this. When you come for him, you’re living with abandon. Those are the times I think I know you best. This is who you were meant to be and I’d hate for you be anything less.”
Wren was letting Johnny down.
These past years she’d been imposing extreme restraint on herself, her emotions, and her life. It was everything he’d tried to encourage her not to do. Very similar to the mold her parents had tried to force her to fit into. She’d been screwing up.
Now that her wounds were scarred over, because she couldn’t imagine they’d ever heal entirely, it might be time to try again. To honor Johnny by being the woman he’d recognized within her.
Wren withdrew the autographed backstage pass from her pocket. She kissed the foiled paper, then tucked it against Johnny’s stone, using a rock to hold it in place close to him or at least as close as she could get these days.
Of course that brought to mind new visions. Ones where Johnny morphed into Kason. It felt weird, but also sort of natural. She imagined what it might be like to kiss him, feeling the prickle of his scruff against her cheek while they swayed together.
It wasn’t long before another vision joined the first. What if Jordan
was there? What if he sandwiched her between them and finally gave her what he’d been withholding? Or better yet, what if he was the one kissing Kason?
Wren gasped as she imagined how hungry he would be.
Because if she felt like a starving woman, how much worse would it be to have never tasted what you craved so desperately?
She shuddered, hating that even now she gave a fuck about Jordan and his feelings.
This was pointless. Dwelling on the past forced her to relive her agony, over and over. It didn’t bring Johnny back; it only made her miserable.
Wren bolted to her feet before knuckling away a tear. She patted the top of the marble marker, letting her fingers drag all the way to the edge before they fell away, leaving her empty handed once more. “Goodbye, Johnny. I promise I’m going to dance enough for us both.”
8
A few days later
“Agent Mikalski, get the hell out of here already. Don’t you know you’re on vacation?” The director propped his hands on his hips.
Both of them knew that vacation was a fancy word for mandated leave. The higher ups hadn’t been pleased with Jordan lately, especially given the outcome of Devra Russell’s case, though they couldn’t prove it had been him who’d destroyed key evidence against her. He figured it didn’t really count as evidence when it had been maliciously trumped up by a bigoted asshole. Others clearly wouldn’t have seen it the same way.
At the end of the day, he’d done what was right even if it had meant breaking a few rules. Okay, a lot of them. If he wasn’t protecting innocent people, then what the fuck was he doing in this job? What had he risked his life and sacrificed so much for, if not that?
Things were getting muddy. He was confused.
The director was right; he needed time away.
Jordan saved the file he’d been working on, then shut his laptop. Spending several weeks out at the cabin on the lake, fishing and reflecting on his priorities, might be exactly what he needed. Maybe he’d return refreshed and reinvigorated. Or maybe he wouldn’t come back at all. He had some serious decisions to make about where his life was headed.
“I do, sir.” He shrugged into his jacket, then brushed past his supervisor and headed for the door. For light. For fresh air and freedom. “See you next month.”
Jordan wished he had a motorcycle like Quinn Daily and his husband, Trevon. Or Gavyn or Alanso from Hot Rods. Maybe he’d have to stop by Hot Rides and ask for some advice on finding a bike of his own. It would make the ride out to the lake even more enjoyable.
He wondered what Johnny would have thought of that, and chuckled. The guy wouldn’t have believed Jordan capable of doing something so reckless. But times were changing and Jordan needed to learn to live more like his friend had, loving every minute in case it was his last.
Thinking of Johnny, he stocked up on his best friend’s favorite beer. He piled it, along with the rest of the supplies he needed for one last visit to the cabin before it got too cold to stay there this year, into his car. Out of habit, he stopped at the cemetery on his way out of town, snagging a can out of the plastic six-pack holder before he climbed out of the driver’s seat.
He popped the top and crouched down, tipping his hand to pour the beer into the dirt when something caught his eye. A black rectangle embossed with silver was wedged under a stone right on the spot he’d been about to douse in shitty beer.
“Shit!” He sloshed a few drops over his knuckles before he could stop the stream. After licking his hand, he shook it off, set the beer on the flat top of the marble marker, then nudged the rock aside.
The paper beneath blew away.
“Shit! Shit!” Jordan lunged for it, crumpling it in his fist as he caught the damn thing before it could escape for good. When he took a closer look, it seemed like a phantom fist punched him right in the gut.
It was a ticket. No, better than that. It was a backstage pass.
How the hell had it gotten there? And why?
Silver marker pen scribbled on top of the black rectangle was messy enough to be an actual signature but not so convoluted that he couldn’t clearly read it. Kason Cox.
“Son of a bitch!” He brushed his finger over the script. Johnny would have absolutely lost his shit over the memorabilia, never mind an opportunity to see Kason Cox perform live. If he’d met him backstage, he probably would have crapped his pants. He’d adored that guy’s music and…more. The sentiment behind his emotional songs had resonated with Johnny.
Jordan blinked a few times as he thought of Johnny riding down back roads in the truck they’d shared, shout-singing every word of Kason’s first album into the wind whipping through the open windows. It was only when the memory faded and Jordan scrutinized the ticket some more that he realized the concert was that night. Right there in Middletown.
In fact, it started in less than an hour. Barely enough time for him to make it given rush-hour traffic and the horde of people that would no doubt be swarming the local college football stadium. If that wasn’t some kind of sign from Johnny that he needed to get out more, he didn’t know what was.
Jordan decided to start his vacation off right before heading out to the lake.
“I’ll bring this back, I swear. Maybe I’ll even get him to personalize it to you.” Jordan smiled and shook his head at the weird way the universe worked sometimes. He’d learned not to question it and to be more like Johnny had been, to go with the flow every once in a while.
His gut was telling him this was one of those times.
So he turned his car around and headed back to Middletown.
9
“You’re not going to chicken out, are you?” Devra asked as she clutched Wren’s wrist and dragged her toward the door. “I’ve never been to a concert and I really want to see one. I checked out Kason’s music online and it’s really great. Come on, please. Trevon and Quinn wouldn’t like it if I went alone, but they’ll be fine if we have a girls’ night out.”
“The Hot Rods ladies are going. Whether or not I’m there, you won’t be alone.” Wren laughed despite her trepidation. “Mustang Sally by herself is enough to scare off anyone who’d bug you. Sabra, Kaelyn, and Nola are way tougher than me, too.”
“Blah blah, whatever. Get your ass outside.” Devra grinned. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to see Kason again. He invited you, not us. Besides, you look incredible in that dress.”
“I still say I should wear jeans,” Wren grumbled.
“No way. You look amazing. I mean you always do, like when you wore that silky jumper thing to our wedding. But when’s the last time you put on an actual dress?” Devra asked.
That was exactly the problem. “Five years ago, give or take.”
“I know you’re comfortable in your usual get up, but don’t tell me you don’t love the way you look in this. I saw your face light up the moment you tried it on.” Devra shook her arm, covered in zillions of thin gold bangle bracelets. She looked pretty hot herself, sporting dark eye liner and a burgundy V-neck top over a black leather mini-skirt she had to have borrowed from Nola or Sally.
Devra wasn’t lying. Wren did feel spectacular. Like she was reclaiming a piece of her she’d thought was gone forever. “It’s just…kind of…freaking me out, okay?”
“I know.” Devra hugged her. “It’s hard to change. It’s scary to stop being comfortable and reach for what you really want. But it’s so worth it.”
Wren smiled at her friend. “Yeah, when you end up married to two hot-as-hell men who think the world of you and shower you with love and affection.”
“Is that what you want, too?” Devra wondered. “Because if it happened to me, it’s possible, you know?”
“I’d settle for one guy who really loves me. But if it worked out that way…” Wren nodded. “I wouldn’t say no.”
Devra shot her a disbelieving glance. Thankfully, she didn’t push the issue.
Okay, fine. Wren admitted it to herself. She wanted to be in another ménage relati
onship more than anything, she was just realistic enough to acknowledge she wasn’t likely to get that lucky twice in her lifetime. She’d found her perfect matches—Jordan and Johnny—only for them to be ripped away from her.
It was terrifying to think of exposing herself to that kind of agony again.
“It’s just a concert, Wren.” Devra tugged her some more, dragging her toward the door. For such a small woman, she was strong as fuck. “Listen to the music, daydream a little about the hunk on stage, have a drink or two, and we’ll be home, hanging around in our comfy PJs before you know it.”
“Okay. You’re right.”
“I know I am.” Devra grinned. “Nola will be here to pick us up in two minutes. Get your shit together, and let’s go.”
10
Kason paced his dressing room before the show. It was kind of weird doing this stone-cold sober. He remembered why he’d started drinking and occasionally doing drugs in the first place. Chemicals dulled his nerves. He wasn’t scared that he wasn’t a good performer or that his songs weren’t up to par. He worried that people would see through him and the endless ballads he sang to women now that he suspected the reason he’d only ever found heartbreak was because he wanted something different from what he’d been singing about.
The stress of acting like someone he wasn’t anymore, and feeling like a world-class liar, had eaten at him until he’d started leaning on substances, gambling, and other distractions a little too much. Okay, a lot too much.
He swiped his hand over his damp forehead.
“You doing okay?” Van asked from his post near the door, though his job was more like babysitter than bodyguard lately.
“I will be once the lights come up and I can sing instead of waiting.”
His drummer, Kyra Koda, poked her head in the dressing room. Her pixie stature and the cute curls bobbing around her face, complete with big green eyes, were a total mockery of the beast she became when she rocked the drums for him or any other front man. He was lucky to have her.