She laughed. “It feels like a lifetime ago. As if it happened to two people we once knew.”
“I still think about him, what he would have looked like, and what kind of person he would have been.”
“When I think about having kids with Chaz, it scares me. What if I lose another one?” The buzz from the cigarette fizzled. Jesus, the regret. We both were drowning in it.
I turned to meet her stare, and said, “You won’t. You want to know how I know this?” She nodded. “I know this because you’re with someone who makes you happy, now. I’m talking truly happy. I would have tried for a while, but we both know it wouldn’t have lasted. You deserve this and so much more.”
“So do you, Sander.”
“Can I ask you something? If this happened to Chaz, would you—” I swallowed before continuing, “could you ever forgive him?”
“If he explained the circumstances to me, you better believe it.” Her huffy undertone made me smile.
“Wynne is different. She’s . . . unjaded. I’m not sure she’ll see it that way.”
“Then we’ll just have to make her.”
“Olivia,” Chaz called from the open doorway. He held his hand out to her. A feeling of loss lanced through me as she left my side for his. A sadness for what could have been. As she took his hand, Chaz looked at me, and said, “There’s hope for you yet, James.”
I’m glad that someone was holding out hope, because it sure as hell wasn’t me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
“CITIES IN DUST”
Wynne
Shortly after discovering that I was on Sander’s team, I looked him up on the internet. At that point, I really knew nothing about the man. I was familiar with a few Indigo Road songs, but knew zilch about the lead singer or the members of the band. The search gave basic information: Sander’s name, age, information about his career with the band, songs he’d written, the names of the band members, and so on. It also touched on his drug addiction and the fallout with his manager and fellow band members. It said nothing about Olivia Marshall, but then again, I wasn’t looking for that.
This time, instead of searching for information on Sander, I went straight to Olivia. It was all there: How she’d worked as Indigo Road’s road manager and how she was a big part of the band’s rise to fame. It also gave basic details of her personal involvement with lead singer, Sander James. There were pictures, not many, but enough for me to know that they’d been in love. I studied them, studied him—how he was always touching her, holding her, looking at her. Two words came to mind, adoration and possession. He’d never looked at me that way. Ever. Carrie helped me to widen the search, in which we learned that Olivia was well-regarded in the industry and that her decision to leave the band was sudden. There was no mention of either a pregnancy or a baby. This left me wondering, had Ferris lied? I certainly wouldn’t put it past him. It also left me with a gazillion questions, such as: What happened? Why did they break up? Did she leave because she was pregnant? That was Carrie’s guess. I didn’t know what to think. I just knew how it made me feel. Even though it happened years ago and Olivia was now with Chaz, it bothered me. As in, a lot. I was jealous.
Over Christmas in Aspen, we’d talked about our exes. Sander never once mentioned Olivia’s name. Did they still talk? Were they friends? Did they share a secret love child together? There were so many unanswered questions. And then there was this little matter of Happenstance. What in the hell was I supposed to do about that? The woman was my new boss, or one of them. Once again, Ferris had managed to screw with my life.
The blast from the Sander and Olivia bomb was nothing compared to that of the video. Everywhere I turned I saw Sander in a threesome. Sander doing that with a man. To say that I had trouble grasping this was an understatement. The Sander that had been in my bed, inside my body, was definitely not gay. So what? There was a woman involved. Did this make him bisexual? If so, how had I missed it? How did I not know? As I reflected back on our time together, I began to see things in a different light. I was the one who’d shared. Oh, he’d told me a few things, but nothing deep or revealing. No, that was all me. Too talkative. Too trusting. Easily manipulated. Sander had given me amazing orgasms, but when I thought about it, that was about all he’d given me.
My family had plenty to say about the video. Mom was shocked. Walter was disgusted. My father wasn’t in the least bit surprised by it. He said it happened all the time and that it probably didn’t mean anything. How could it not mean something? It sure as hell looked like it meant something. The worst part, the part that I would never admit out loud, was that, as disturbing as I found it, I also felt slightly turned on by it. What in the hell was wrong with me? The man I loved was having sex with another man and I was aroused by it. The only thing that stopped me from seeking out therapy was that Carrie felt the same way. She thought it was hot. I may be tweaked, but at least I wasn’t the only one. One thing was for sure, Sander James was not the man I thought he was.
The night before I was due to leave for Austin, I made the decision not to go. My life was spinning out of control. I’d signed a contract with a woman who may or may not have a child with the man I loved—or used to love—I wasn’t entirely sure anymore. I’d been seduced, manipulated, and lied to. Was Olivia part of this? I didn’t know. Was Sander somehow involved? I didn’t know. Was anything real anymore? I wasn’t sure. I had no idea what I was walking into, therefore, I wasn’t going. My mother agreed with me. She and Walter went as far as to offer to hire an attorney to get me out of the contract. I had to admit that I was seriously thinking about taking them up on it.
When I told Carrie about my decision not to go, she freaked. “Have you lost your mind? It’s over half a million dollars, Wynne! So what if the bitch had a child with Sander? For all you know, she could have Chaz’s kid, too. Hell, she could have fucking Mahatma Gandhi’s kid for all we know, and you know what? It doesn’t mean dick. You signed a contract. You get paid the big bucks to play your music. This is what you wanted, what you’ve always wanted. More than that, this is what you deserve. Why are you going to let them ruin it?”
“You don’t get it!” I shouted.
“What don’t I get? That you’re mad because he didn’t tell you about his past relationships? When was he supposed to tell you, while he was boning you? Or better yet, while whisking you away for what, four whole days? Somehow, I don’t think that hearing about his past relationships and progeny was high on his list of things to talk about while trying to get into your pants, do you?” As much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. “The two of you were together for about three seconds, girl. Why are you letting him ruin this for you? You owe it to yourself to go. If it’s not what you think, then walk away, but you’ll never know if you don’t go.
***
“Welcome, Miss Benfield, may I offer you a drink?”
It was Friday afternoon and I was on the plane. Not just any plane either, but Meltdown’s official jet. The last time I’d been on a private plane was when I flew to Aspen with Sander. And just like that, my mood plummeted.
“Water, please,” I told her. I stared out the window and thought about my mother. She’d hugged me as she headed out the door for work this morning. I could tell she was disappointed. She said she wasn’t, but her pursed lips and stiff posture gave it away. Walter pulled no punches about his feelings on the matter. He thought I was making a huge mistake. They may be right, but what if they weren’t? It was this thought that kept my butt firmly planted on that plane seat. Carrie wasn’t wrong when she said that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Tonight I would be performing with Meltdown.
As we sped down the runway and shot into the sky, I prayed for patience and strength and that everything would work out for the best.
A car was waiting on the tarmac in Austin. A giant of a man by the name of Sampson introduced himself as a member of Meltdown’s security, before grabbing my bags and escorting me in tha
t direction. Sampson made small talk on the drive to the studio. This was good, as I was nervous. I’m talking hands-sweating-and-butterflies-swarming-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach kind of nervous. I knew things. Things I was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to know. What I did with this knowledge was up to me. I should be comforted by this, but I wasn’t. I didn’t have the whole story. It was those gaps of missing information that worried me.
Happenstance was located at the end of a dirt road. We pulled up in front of two massive black iron gates, and I spotted the studio.
“Holy shit,” I whispered. Before us sat a mammoth two-story stone house with one of the coolest wraparound porches I’d ever seen. It looked nothing like a recording studio.
“It was an old Texas B&B when they bought it. Other than adding the two mixing rooms and three sound booths, they pretty much kept the rest the same,” Sampson informed me.
“What is it made of?” I asked.
“That would be Austin stone, which is basically white limestone pulled from local quarries.” One thing was for sure, if I ever had enough money to buy a house, it would be made of Austin stone.
The car circled around the drive and slowed to a stop in front of the building. Sampson shifted into park. His head turned, and he gazed over his shoulder at me.
“Girl, you look like you’re about to jump out of your skin. I saw you on that show. We all did. What happened to you was wrong. Now, it’s gonna be made right. Your bags will stay put in the car, unless you need them for some reason.” I assured him I was good, before grabbing my purse and guitar, and exiting the car. As I followed him to the door, I smiled at his back. Sometimes, all it took was a pep talk from a complete stranger.
The inside reminded me of a spa that Carrie and I once visited. The first thing that caught my eye was the gorgeous chandelier hanging from the ceiling. After that was the stone fireplace, followed by the tile floor.
“Welcome to Happenstance,” a woman behind a large marble desk greeted. “You must be Wynne. Everyone’s waiting in Studio A.” I tensed at the thought of having to find studio A on my own.
“I’ll show her,” Sampson said. The breath that I’d been holding shot from my lungs in a gratifying whoosh of air.
“Thanks,” I muttered as he steered me through a door and down a long hallway. Pictures of the band lined the walls and I made a mental note to check them out later.
At the end of the hall stood a frosted glass door. Sampson pulled it open, and announced, “This is Studio A.” I heard voices and then I saw them: Chaz, Olivia, Grant, some people I didn’t recognize . . . and Sander.
“Go on, they don’t bite,” he teased, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare at Sander through the glass. I could feel them all watching me. Studying me. I felt exposed. I felt . . . stupid. My eyes dropped to Sander’s mouth as he said my name, but all I could think was that I’d been played again. He started for the door, and that was all it took.
I made it down the hall, through the entry, and out the front door. On discovery that the car doors were locked, I kind of sort of came unglued.
“Fucking motherfucking shiiiiiiiiit!” I screamed at the tops of my lungs. How was I back here again? How? Would I never learn? I beat myself up for at least five more minutes before pulling it together. I needed Sampson, and I needed to get the hell out of here. That decided, I pivoted around and started for the door, only to stop when I discovered Chaz leaning against one of the porch posts.
“Where’s Sampson?” I asked.
“Inside.”
“Can you get him?” I knew I was being snappy, but I didn’t care.
“No.” This guy may look hot, but he was kind of a jerk.
“I want to leave.”
“Why?” Christ, did I have to spell it out?
“Because he’s here!”
A dark, pierced brow shot into a frown-creased forehead. “Did you read your contract, because if so, then you knew he was going to be here.” Shit! I knew I should have gotten a lawyer. His lips twitched with humor. “You didn’t read it, did you?” He wasn’t a jerk, he was an ass.
“I read it,” I snapped.
“Good, then here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk back inside with me. I’m going to introduce you to everyone, and then we’re going to practice.” I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know.
“And Sander?”
“What about him?” His lips quirked and I wanted to punch him in the face.
“He’s here because?”
“I’m sorry. I forget you’ve never done this before. As your manager, Sander will have full access to all decisions made concerning your career.” Of everything he said, one word stood out—manager. Please God, tell me it wasn’t so. “Olivia would like to speak to you later. Now, if you’re done with your hissy fit, we can go back inside and get some work done. Sound good?” It took me a moment to realize that he was actually waiting for a response.
“Just dandy,” I snarled. The jackass busted into laughter and I decided right then and there that I did not like Chaz Jones.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
* * *
“GONE DADDY GONE”
Sander
I lasted for two hours. Two painfully long hours of watching Wynne struggle. Two hours of being ignored. Whenever I gave suggestions she looked right through me. I found her body language—her stiff shoulders and clenched jaw—infuriating, and her flat tone as she politely thanked me for my suggestions, downright annoying. The video was bad, but a small part of me hoped that she would be able to look past it, that she would understand that it happened years ago, years before we met, back when addiction ruled my life. Wynne was anything but okay with it. She was repulsed. I could understand why it bothered her, but the decision to freeze me out instead of talking to me, that, I did not get. She’d asked, no she’d begged for me to share myself with her, but I knew deep down in my gut that she would never be able to handle the real me. I was right.
As I watched her miss lines and flub chords, I came to the realization that I was going to have to let her go. She deserved better, and honestly, so did I. By the time Alex texted that he had news, I was more than ready to leave. On the way out the door, I caught Olivia’s eye.
A few minutes later, she met me in the outer room. We talked while Wynne glared daggers at us through the glass.
“She’s upset,” Olivia murmured.
“No, she’s just trying to contain her excitement at discovering that I’m her new manager,” I dryly replied.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she responded back in the same dry tone.
“Now that she’s seen the video—”
“I don’t think it’s the video. Did you tell her about us?” Olivia interrupted.
“No.”
“Look at the way she’s watching us, Sander. I’m telling you, she knows something.” At this point, I didn’t really care what Wynne knew. It no longer mattered, because she was never going to forgive me.
“Look, I don’t think this is going to work out.”
Her head turned and her eyes flared in exasperation. “You knew she was going to have a hard time with this.”
“With this, yes, but now with the video in play and all of the other bullshit,” I shook my head, “it’s too much.”
“This is an opportunity. Not just for you, but for us as well. We’ve seen what you can do and we want you on our team. Wynne will come around.”
“That’s just it, I don’t think she will.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“And say what? That I used to engage in threesomes? That I sometimes like cock? Wynne is so fucking innocent. Why do you think I haven’t told her? You can’t make this right, no one can. I thought I could do this, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” she hissed, and I took a step back, which was pointless because she wasn’t about to let me go. Her pointer finger speared my chest as she growled, “For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve
chosen the easy way out. “Not”—chest poke—“This”—chest poke—”Time.” She punctuated her statement with a flat-handed smack to the center of my chest, which set me back a foot or so.
“Olivia—”
“No. Seriously, Sander, please let me talk to her.”
In the end, I capitulated. I told myself it was to shut her up, but a part of me hoped that she could change Wynne’s mind, or at least make her see the video for what it was.
As for Alex’s news, he’d reached out to Andy at Rolling Stone and the interview was set for this coming Wednesday in New York.
***
Later that evening, we met up with everyone at Chaz and Olivia’s house, where we split into two SUV’s. Along with Nash and his wife, Rowan, I was also in the car with Chaz, Olivia, and Wynne. I had a feeling this was Olivia’s doing, and because I was who I was, I couldn’t help but make the most of it. It took a little strategery on my part, but with the help of my conspiratorial car mates, I managed to secure a seat next to Wynne. With my dry mouth and hard dick, I felt like a teenager again. All Wynne had to do was look down and she would notice. I wanted her to notice. While she did everything in her power to ignore me, I did everything in mine to crack that ice-cold heart of hers.
Somewhere between the second hair sniff and fourth leg bump, she broke her silence and told me to stop. I was surprised she could manage to unclench her jaw long enough to say the word.
Like a dick, I pretended not to hear her, and pressing deep into her side, I lowered my lips to her ear, and asked, “Did you say something?” Her head shot up and she stabbed me with an angry glare. Fuck, but she was gorgeous in her fury. I wanted to kiss her, to lick the bitterness from her lips. Her gaze dropped to my mouth and I could tell that she knew what I was thinking. She knew me, the real me, she’d just forgotten. Maybe all wasn’t lost. We sat pressed against each other for the rest of the ride, neither of us speaking, but also neither of us wanting to separate. My balls may have been a nice shade of blue and my cock hard enough to hammer nails, but at least she was no longer fighting me. I considered this progress.
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