Blind Attraction

by Eden Summers

  “Guys, settle down.” Mason murmured from his position beside Ryan.

  Mitch gave Blake the bird and backed it up with a bing sound effect.

  “Real mature.” Blake rolled his eyes.

  “You think I want to leave her?” He pushed to his feet and Blake followed suit.

  “Guys,” Mason warned.

  “I think you’re being a pussy and need to man up. Try taking the hard road for once. Life wasn’t meant to be easy.”

  Mitch scoffed. “Like you know anything about taking the hard road.”

  Blake’s shoulders straightened, and his eyes flashed, this time not with anger but with anguish. “I know enough.” His nostrils flared. “What about Alana and what she wants? Are you just going to break her heart and forget about her?”

  A lead balloon settled in Mitch’s chest and expanded with every breath. “She doesn’t know what she wants.” He stepped around the coffee table, getting in Blake’s face. “This is her first time in the real world. What she feels is infatuation, nothing more.” He’d convinced himself of the truth overnight...when he’d spent every minute lying awake, smelling the floral scent of her hair.

  “She loves you, jackass,” Blake spat.

  He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. No. Alana had never been in a relationship before, she wouldn’t have a clue what love was. He wasn’t sure of it himself. All he knew was that what he felt for her was the closest he’d ever come to the emotion. Evidently not close enough to want to settle down.

  “Yeah, well, I’m sure she’ll feel the same about the next guy who pays her attention too.” The harsh words burned his throat, and his self-loathing tore at his insides. There were too many reasons to make a clean break and move on with his life. He didn’t want to end up like Ryan—bitter and resentful of his marital status.

  “Quit it!” Leah hissed from the far side of the studio stage.

  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and ignored the anger radiating from her direction. She jerked her head toward one of the cameras and shook her head at them in disgust.

  Great. Another fucking PR nightmare.

  He sat back down and glared into the camera lens in the hopes the man behind the machine would stop taping. No such luck.

  “Good job, bro.”

  Red flashed through his vision and with all his might, he held back from decking his best friend. He clenched his hand, bit his tongue, and ground his teeth. He’d never hit anyone in his life, probably never would, but Blake was getting pretty damn close to being on the receiving end of his fist.

  Mitch had no choice but to make the hard decisions so Alana didn’t have to. He made the choice’s to better her future. To save her heartache.

  And the choices were shredding his soul. Couldn’t Blake see that?

  Kate had said it herself—Alana was only starting to live. She would yearn to experience other men, other heated situations. The pressure of not being enough for her would be too much. His job provided enough anxiety. He didn’t need more.

  No, it was best for both of them to make a clean break. His lifestyle didn’t allow for relationships. The separation, easy women, and paparazzi always tore them apart.

  They both sat in silence, the other guys speaking amongst themselves until the female interviewer stepped onto the stage platform. Middle-aged, dressed in a pants suit, and smothered in make-up, she glanced at Blake, then toward Mitch, as if calculating a plan in her mind.

  He wished he didn’t have to do this shit. He lived for music. Not for never ending questions which had nothing to do with their songs. Who they screwed and where they chose to spend their spare time shouldn’t be up for discussion.

  The woman introduced herself, Sarah or Sally or something. He didn’t care. He zoned out of the speech on how things were going to run and turned his thoughts to Alana and how he would say goodbye without breaking her heart. Chatter echoed around him. Mason did most of the talking as usual. Then everything became uncomfortably quiet.

  “Mitchell?”

  He raised his gaze from the coffee table to the woman requesting his attention. “Yeah?”

  “I was just saying, I overheard a conversation between you and Blake earlier. I wanted to know—and I’m sure your female fans are dying to find out too—who is the mystery woman you’ve been seen with lately. First there was the newspaper article, then the mention on the radio. Are you officially off the market?”

  Mitch sank into the role of a deer in headlights. His brain was still there, inside what felt like a puny little scull, but no helpful thoughts were bursting to break free. “Ahh...”

  He glanced at Blake who had a superior smirk on his face, then to Mason whose frown deepened, then back to the interviewer. “No, not at all. My fans know I’ll never settle down. It’s not in my blood, and relationships in the music industry rarely last these days. I’m just having a good time.”

  She nodded her head solemnly. “Yes, there always seems to be celebrity breakups in the news, however, Ryan’s happily married. Doesn’t his relationship give you hope that you can settle down someday?”

  He held back a snort, and Sean cleared his throat beside him. First of all, he wanted to tell her “happily married” was an oxymoron, and Ryan’s “relationship” was far from wedded bliss. Instead he gave a lazy smile. “Ryan’s marriage has affected us in different ways. But his relationship with Julie is always in the back of my mind when I’m with a woman I find myself caring for. Our lifestyle is hard to put up with, and temptation isn’t only around the corner, it’s in our dressing rooms, on the tour bus, and even in our hotel suites.” He shrugged. “I’ve given up a lot for the band. We all have. And being in a relationship isn’t a distraction I need.” He noted Blake shaking his head in annoyance from the corner of his eye. “At the moment anyway,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Distraction, my ass,” Blake threw in.

  Mitch breathed through his nose, his jaw now pounding in anger as he turned to Blake. He gave him a death stare. One that said, “Oh, no, you fucking didn’t” and “You better shut your mouth,” all in one hard squint of his eyes.

  The studio fell silent, until Sean started to whisper in a barely audible tone, “dah, dah, dah, dahhhh.”

  Sarah or Sally, whoever she was, cleared her throat. “What do you mean, Blake?”

  Mitch’s nostrils flared, and he gave an indiscernible shake of his head. If the bastard said anything about Alana, he would find himself in a world of hurt as soon as they were alone.

  Blake rubbed his chin in a lazy fashion. His chest rose with a deep breath, and he turned his focus to the woman. “I was commenting on Mitch’s choice of words.” He flashed one of his trademark bad boy grins. “Being on the road is tough. The food’s crap. Sleeping on the tour bus, and in and out of hotels is a pain in the...it’s a pain. I couldn’t think of anything better than knowing you had someone you—” Blake turned his gaze back to Mitch, “—loved waiting for you at home. I’d take the distraction over the loneliness any day.”

  “Ohh.” The supposedly professional breakfast show interviewer melted in her seat, practically sliding to the floor in a big puddle of sympathy.

  “It ain’t all bad.” Blake turned back to smirk at her. “There are a lot of lovely ladies out there.” He winked at her, and Mitch rolled his eyes. “I just think it’s time for my boy Mitch to suck it up and give it a try.”

  “So, you’re looking for a relationship?” She raised a brow, now on the edge of her seat.

  Mitch held his breath, his heart beating overtime as he waited to be sent back into deer-headlight mode. This shit made him nauseous.

  “Not exactly looking, but if I found someone who made me happy, I wouldn’t throw it away.”

  Mitch leaned into the couch and sighed in relief when she directed her attention to Mason and some of the erotic lyrics in their upcoming album. The voices began to fade again and he settled into his own thoughts, concentrating on leveling out his breathing. H
e fucking hated interviews. He hated the horror which filled his gut when he was asked a question. Blake knew that, and still his friend couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  When performing live, confidence consumed him. The stage was his home. His guitar an extension of his body. The songs a part of his soul. Nothing dragged him down.

  Places like this were different. The atmosphere was sterile. The questions intrusive.

  Quiet descended again, and the bright lights burning his retinas snapped off, leaving them with the dimmer house lights.

  “Thanks for everything, guys.” The woman rose to her feet, and the five of them followed.

  He grabbed his cell out of the back pocket of his jeans and turned it on. He’d promised to call Alana when the interview finished, and damn it, he needed to see her. He stepped off the stage and began searching his contacts for her number. Not only did he want to speak to her, but he had to get away from Blake. He didn’t have the restraint to confront him.

  “I thought you liked her,” Sean asked from behind him.

  Mitch heaved an impatient sigh and continued to move around the cameras to the back exit where their bodyguards waited. “I do like her, but as I said, I don’t need the distraction right now. None of us do. It’s hard enough for me to remain focused on promotional shit without obsessing over a woman twenty-four-seven.”

  Sean clapped him on the shoulder. “Seriously, you need to pick up some tampons next time we go shopping. You’re starting to sound like a chick.”

  “And yet I’ve still got a bigger cock than you.” He shrugged off Sean’s touch and pressed Alana’s name in his phone index.

  Sean chuckled. “Are you heading off to see her?”

  He placed the phone to his ear, listening to the ring of the connecting call as he turned to Sean. It was already after lunch, and he’d expected they would’ve been finished earlier. He hoped she had the patience to wait around and not go without him.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “No need to get aggressive, sugar plum. I thought you might want some back up. I can come with you and help out if she goes all psychotic-fan-girl.”

  “She won’t.” He was sure of it. She didn’t have an irrational bone in her body. He pushed open the exit door, squinted at the bright midday sun, and made his way down the back entrance stairs toward the waiting car. Fans screamed from behind the mesh fence and called out his name. Their excitement grew when Sean followed him outside.

  The call connected and he paused, his chest clenching the slightest bit at the sound of her voice.

  “Hey, Allie. The interview’s finished. Did you get in contact with the Bowens?”

  “Yeah, I did. I’m actually standing out the front of their house right now.”

  He hated that his heart began to pound. He was too damn protective of her. “You said you’d wait for me. Where are you?”

  “It’s all right. Kate and I did our research this morning. Mr. Bowen is a retired lawyer from one of the biggest firms in Richmond. I’m no longer concerned about his sincerity. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t feel safe.”

  “Give me the address and I’ll head straight there.”

  With a sigh she relayed the details, which he spoke aloud in the hopes Sean would remember. “All right, I’m on my way.”

  They said their goodbyes and he disconnected the call. “Can you give me directions?”

  “Do I look like the type of guy who memorizes the street directory?”

  Mitch let out a huff and turned his back to Sean. The car would have a GPS. He stalked forward and opened the driver door to the hired car.

  “Doesn’t mean I can’t help,” Sean added, speaking over the roof of the car. “It’s the same suburb where Mason’s parents live. I might not know the roads, but I know how to get there.”

  Mitch eyed the computer screen in the middle of the dash, then glanced up at Sean. He didn’t need anyone holding his hand, yet if Sean came with him, he’d be sure to stick to his mantra of making a clean break. Nothing made a guy man up more than having a friend watch.

  “Fine. Tag along. But you’re staying in the car.”

  Alana sat on the Bowens’ sofa, sipping coffee from fine China.

  Whiplash from her rubbernecking left her reeling. Originally she’d expected a dilapidated house from a couple who planned to con her out of a non-existent fortune. Reality didn’t come close to her assumptions. Theirs was an immaculately clean, two-story mansion with extravagant furniture.

  She came prepared though. Once she left Mitchell this morning, Kate had driven them back to her house with research being one of the top items on their agenda.

  First, Alana made an optometrist appointment, which the receptionist kindly scheduled her in within the hour. Then she’d called the Bowens who encouraged her to come over after the appointment to save Kate driving back and forth.

  That left little time to snoop into the Bowen’s lives. Kate had searched the Internet, finally coming up with an image of Mr. Bowen on the Channing, Slater & Bowen law firm website. Alana hadn’t expected a wealthy, highly educated man. When they first met she hadn’t even been able to determine if he dressed in cheap clothing. Thanks to the World Wide Web she found out he was a retired criminal defense attorney who lived in a wealthy neighborhood with his wife and two Maltese terriers.

  “Is there anything you would like to discuss, Alana?”

  Mrs. Bowen treated her with fragility, keeping her distance, not asking too many questions or holding eye contact for too long. Her soft smile and gentle gaze added to the wholesome appeal of her friendly nature.

  Alana gave a derisive laugh. “I want to know everything… How did you know my mother? Had she met your son before the…incident? And how did he die?”

  Mrs. Bowen’s mouth gaped and she turned her wide-eyed expression to her husband whose face was set in a deep frown.

  Had she said something wrong? Husband and wife stared at one another for endless seconds, communicating on a level Alana couldn’t decipher. She could only assume the death of their son—her father, still affected them. Maybe the reminder of their son’s actions wasn’t a topic for discussion.

  “There are many things we need to discuss.” Mr. Bowen turned his attention back to her with a grave smile. He scooted forward on his recliner, leaning toward her, and clasped his hands in his lap. “Most of which will be hard for us all…but, child, your father isn’t dead. Chris is alive and still living in Richmond.”

  Her lungs restricted, cutting off her oxygen. She dug her nails into the soft leather sofa and swallowed, again and again, trying to alleviate the pain. “No.” The word rasped from her throat. She shook her head. “No.” Her mother wouldn’t have lied about something this important. There had to be a mistake.

  The bright blue of Mr. Bowen’s eyes turned gray. “I’m sorry you’ve been misled, Alana. Your mother went through a lot of mental trauma because of our son’s actions, which resulted in her leaving town. But he is still alive.”

  Her eyes burned, and she blinked away moisture. Her whole life was a lie. She’d been led to believe she had no family, no grandparents, no father. Yet what the Bowens said contradicted everything she’d been told as a child.

  “Did he rape her?” Her voice cracked. Emotion engulfed her. Panic, despair, and the hopelessness that came with realizing her mother was not only protective, but suffering from mental problems beyond Alana’s grasp.

  Mrs. Bowen sniffed and dabbed her nose with a white lace handkerchief.

  “That much is true.” Mr. Bowen stared at a spot on the cream carpet. “Chris and Susan used to date in high school. She spent a lot of her youth here, studying and playing in the pool. They were inseparable.” He gave her a quick glance; his eyes filled with tears, then turned his gaze back to the floor. “We weren’t aware that he’d been experimenting with drugs until the night the police turned up on our doorstep. They’d been at a friend’s party. Chris had been drinking and also stole some Valium from my m
edicine cabinet. The combination of alcohol and drugs altered his perception and emotions.”

  Alana’s head nodded of its own accord. She was empty, completely devoid of sensation, except for the big gaping hole where her heart used to be. Her mind, her soul, her emotions, all numb.

  “Your mother noticed his change in mood and wanted to go home. On the drive back to her parent’s house—”

  She held up her hands, unable to hear anymore. Her arms shook, her vision blurred, then the doorbell rang and startled her to the point of retching.

  They remained silent; all of them unmoving for long, loud heartbeats until Mrs. Bowen rose from her seat and strode from the room. When she returned, Mitchell was by her side, his frantic gaze searching Alana’s face as he approached.

  She stood on shaky legs and sunk into the warmth of his arms, needing his strength and protection.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered into her hair, clutching her body to his chest. “You’re trembling.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. She rested her palms against the muscle of his chest and closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry to have upset you, Alana.”

  She pulled back from Mitchell’s embrace, glanced at Mr. Bowen and nodded in response. “I-I know.”

  Mitchell lifted her chin with a delicate finger, gaining her focus. His gaze scrutinized her features, his eyes pleading for answers while he held her upper arm with a gentle grip. “Tell me, Allie. What’s happened?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and winced at the pain that followed. “M-my dad.” She shook her head, breathed deep. ‘Dad’ was the wrong word. ‘Dad’ implied a familiar bond, a connection, something she had never, and would never feel for the man. “My father. The man who raped my mother, is alive.”

  His eyes widened, and he recoiled as if he’d been struck. “You were...”

  She hadn’t mentioned the attack on her mother before. Shame kept her from admitting how she’d been conceived. Every day of her life had been a constant reminder of the traumatic event. Every time she stared into her mother’s eyes she glimpsed the pain of remembrance.