by Emery Rose
I raked my hand through my hair and blew out a frustrated breath. “Nothing about this is okay.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
I looked over at Phoenix. Shiloh moved closer to me and put her hand on my chest right over my heart. “I don’t want to hurt you, I swear.”
Yeah, well, it fucking hurt. But right now, I was more pissed off than hurt. “Let’s just get this straight. Every time Dean comes up with an amazing song, you’ll drop everything to record it with him? Every time Dean asks you for something, like opening for you at a concert, you’ll roll over and say yes? What more will you give him when he asks for it, Shiloh? Will you spread your legs because he asked you to?”
“That’s not fair and no. It’s not like that.”
“You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it’s exactly like that.”
“If Lila asked for your help, you would drop everything and run to her side. I know you would.”
How could she even compare them? “That’s different. She’s been my best friend since I was ten. And she’s the mother of my child.”
“I’ve known Dean since I was seven years old. He’s the father of my child. And he’s my brother’s best friend. So how is this any different to what you have with Lila?”
“I was never Lila’s boyfriend. And I never abused her… not mentally or physically or emotionally. That’s how it’s different. Worlds apart.” I strode away, leaving her behind.
“Brody,” she called after me. “You think I don’t know you’re in love with her?”
I stopped in my tracks. “I’m not in love with her.”
“But you were. When did that change?”
“When I met you.”
Without turning back to look at her or see the impact of my words, I strode out of the barn, across my backyard and into my house.
Fuck love. I rubbed my hand over my chest to ease the ache. I would never be enough. She’d made that clear when she agreed to record a song with Dean. I didn’t have to meet Dean to understand what he was doing to her. He was trying to win her back, using every weapon in his arsenal to draw her in. Today it was one song. In three months, it was a world tour. They’d be seeing each other every day. In each other’s space.
And where would that leave me? I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a glass from the kitchen and carried them into the living room then sank down on the sofa. Pouring myself a glass of whiskey, I flipped through the channels. I stopped at a documentary about African elephants being hunted for their ivory. It fucking killed me that people were so corrupt and greedy, caring more about money than the lives of these majestic animals. Buster rested his head in my lap, and I stroked his thick fur.
About twenty minutes into the show, I was on my second glass of whiskey when Shiloh joined me. I lifted the glass to my lips and took a swig, not even turning my head to look at her. She took off her boots and tucked her legs underneath her in the corner of the sofa. I could feel her eyes on me, not on the TV. I had four days with her, and this wasn’t how I wanted it to go. But you can’t always get what you want. We sat in silence as I drank my whiskey and watched the show all while she watched my face.
“Will you come with me on tour? If you do, you’ll see there’s nothing between me and Dean.”
My jaw clenched. “Can’t.”
She sighed loudly. “I know. But if there was a way—”
I turned up the volume, effectively drowning out her voice. She moved next to me, grabbed the remote from my hand, and muted the volume. “Brody. Talk to me.”
“I’ve got nothing left to say. Why don’t you read my fucking mind?”
She took the glass out of my hand and helped herself to my whiskey. What next? Just cut off my balls while you’re at it. I reached for the bottle. I didn’t need a glass.
“I’ve missed you so much. I dream about you. I’ve been counting down the days until I could see you again. I don’t want to lose you, Brody. It would break my heart.”
I huffed out a laugh then took a swig of whiskey from the bottle like the classy bastard I was. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you agreed to sing a duet with the douche. Because as far as I’m concerned, it’s the same as cheating on me. Probably worse. Because that music… it will always be out there. It will live longer than you and me. A constant reminder that you don’t give a shit about my feelings. It’s all about the money. When will it ever be enough?”
“It’s not all about the money. I don’t care about the money.”
“Let me ask you something. If you were me, how would you feel?”
She took a few seconds to think about her answer. “Jealous. Angry. Hurt. Worried.”
“Well, there you go. So no, I don’t have a fucking thing to say to you right now.” There was only one thing that could fix this. She had to tell him she wasn’t going to do it, that it was out of the fucking question. And even then, it would be more like a Band-Aid on a gaping wound.
The words had to come from her, it had to be what she wanted, not because I was forcing her to choose. But she didn’t say a goddamn word.
A few minutes later, the front door opened, and Ridge appeared in the living room in a hoodie and jeans, a backward baseball cap on his head. He read the tension in the air and raised his brows at me, but it didn’t stop him from pulling Shiloh off the sofa into a big hug.
I left them together and strode out of the room without saying a word. Was I being unreasonable? Fuck if I know. This was my first real relationship, and I didn’t have a clue how to navigate this uncharted territory.
All I knew was that what she’d done went against my moral code. Where was the loyalty? Shouldn’t she have put me first? Instead, she’d gone behind my back and made a deal with the devil.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Shiloh
“What happened?” Ridge asked.
It had only been four months since I’d last seen him, but he’d gotten more muscular, bigger somehow, and he seemed more mature. Or maybe that was what I told myself because I was about to confide in a seventeen-year-old boy. I told him about Dean and how I’d promised to record a duet with him.
“Shit,” Ridge said, pushing his hand through his hair and replacing his ball cap. “I get why he’s pissed.”
“I know. I screwed up. I never meant to hurt him…”
“But you’re doing it anyway,” he said, cutting right to the heart of it. “Why?”
It was so hard to explain but I tried. “To me, music is sacred. And Dean wrote a song that nobody else could sing except for us. I think, maybe, if Brody heard the song, he might be able to understand it better. It’s not a sweet song. No hearts and flowers. It’s …” I stopped to think about it for a moment, trying to find the best words to help him understand. “I wrote a song called ‘Damage.’ It was about me and Dean. And the song he wrote was almost like an apology letter.”
“Why couldn’t he have sung it himself?”
Good question.
“He’s an addict, right?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, well, he’s manipulating you. It’s what they do. It came through loud and clear in all your music. I’ve been there. So has Brody. We know how an addict can twist the truth and lie and make excuses and make you feel like shit. They make you feel guilty for just being alive, for not doing enough to make their shitty life better.”
God. Ridge was so smart. And he and Brody had been through so much in their lives.
“And you fell for it again. So yeah, I get why Brody’s pissed. And I think you’re great but if you go through with this, you’ll be fucking up. Big time.” He stood up from the sofa. “Make it right or you’re gonna lose him. Catch you later.”
I watched Ridge’s back as he walked away from me. Then I sank back into the sofa cushions and tried to figure out how to fix what I’d broken. Brody’s trust. Maybe his heart. I’d put my music and my career first. In his eyes, he probably thought I’d put Dean first too. And I really
couldn’t blame him.
Was it really worth it? If we recorded that duet and the song climbed the charts, would it be worth what I’d sacrificed to achieve that?
Dean had played me. Again. God, I was such an idiot. He’d brought Ari Bell in on purpose, knowing my ego would never allow me to let her sing a song written for me. She was the new lead guitarist and backup singer for Acadian Storm. She’d taken my place. And not for the first time either.
The first time I met Ari Bell, she had Dean’s dick in her mouth. She’d been the guitarist in a band that opened for us on our third and final world tour together. And now I’d agreed to let Acadian Storm open for me in North America.
Why did I keep allowing myself to be manipulated by Dean? But he wasn’t acting alone. My brother had played his part. I didn’t want to acknowledge the truth about Landry. I wanted to believe he was better than that and wouldn’t stoop to this level. But every time I spoke to him, it was getting harder to do. He kept reminding me that I owed him and I owed Dean.
When would it end? When would my debt be paid?
I didn’t know who to trust anymore. No, that was a lie. I trusted Brody. I trusted every single person in his family. But I didn’t trust my own family.
It had to stop. I called Landry first. He answered on the second ring. “Landry. We need to talk.”
He laughed. “Whoa. That sounds serious. I just saw you yesterday.”
“Yeah, I know. And you and Dean… you did it again, Landry. You made me feel guilty for saying no to him.”
“If that’s how you feel, I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Just tell me the truth. Who asked Ari Bell to join the band?”
“Why?”
I knew the answer. Dean couldn’t have done it because he was in rehab at the time. “Why did Gus really leave?”
“Shy…”
“I know it was you, Landry. What I don’t get is why you would do this.”
“Are you fucking serious right now? You left the band. You destroyed us…”
“I didn’t destroy the band. I left because I couldn’t take it anymore. We always said it was about the music but little by little it stopped being about the music, Landry. When did everything change? When did you start caring more about making headlines than putting out good music?”
“Now you’re saying our music is no good?”
“It’s good. You know it is. But music took a backseat to all the other shit. You were chasing after the fame and money. I’m not going to record this duet with Dean. And when we’re on tour, I’m going to keep my distance. I don’t want to get sucked into that world again.”
“You’re blowing everything out of proportion. Just like you always did.”
I gritted my teeth. “For once, I wish you would put me first. I wish you would have stood up for me and fought for me. But you never did. You always took Dean’s side. And it took me a long time to figure out that I have to fight for myself because nobody else is going to do it for me. I love you, I really do, but I hate the things you do and the way you make me feel like I owe you. So I think it’s better if we don’t talk for a while.”
“Shiloh… Jesus Christ. Where is all this coming from? You were fine yesterday.”
“I’ve had some time to think about things. And I hate how much success has changed you, Landry.”
He barked out a laugh. “Are you shitting me? You’re the one who changed. You’re the one who got all high and mighty and started acting like we weren’t good enough for you anymore. Why do you think Dean fucked around? You made him feel like he was never good enough.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a few deep breaths, trying to center myself. I’d spoken about all this with my therapist after I left Dean and she’d given me good advice, but I hadn’t wanted to hear it at the time. I hadn’t wanted to face the fact that my own brother was trying to sabotage me. To bring me down to a level where he could control me like he did when we were kids and I followed him wherever he went, always believing he knew best.
Instead of arguing with him, I said goodbye and I hung up. Then I sent a quick text to Dean and told him he could do whatever he wanted with the song, but I wasn’t going to sing it with him.
My eyes drifted shut and I leaned my head against the sofa cushion, a crushing weight on my heart.
The cushion dipped under his weight and he pulled me into his arms and stroked my hair. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“How much did you hear?”
“Enough.”
We were quiet for a while and he kept stroking my hair, his touch so soothing it made the tears well up in my eyes and my heart ache.
“I’m not going to do it. I’m not going to record the duet. I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry I ever—”
“Stop beating yourself up.”
I forced a laugh. “You’re singing a new tune.”
“Nah. I got my feelings hurt. I was jealous and angry and yeah, worried that you’d rather be with the douche.”
I pulled back to see his face. “He’s not half the man you are. After being with you, how could I ever go back to the life I had before?”
“I can’t be with you the whole time. But I’ll try to arrange my schedule so I can see you as much as possible. A few days at a time…” He shrugged one shoulder. “Better than nothing, right?”
“It’s everything. And so are you. I wasn’t thinking straight, Brody. I … God, how could I have ever agreed to that?”
“Easy. The people you love and care about don’t always have your best interests at heart. And it’s hard to accept that. You don’t want to believe it so you make excuses for them. Try to justify it.”
“He’s my only family and I just feel so betrayed, you know?”
“I know. But you’ve got me now. And the McCallisters. Like it or not, they’re not gonna let you go. They’re big on family and already consider you a part of it.”
I could barely see him through the blur of tears. “I’m so lucky I found you.”
“Damn straight. And don’t you forget it, baby.”
I smiled through my tears.
“Next time, talk to me first.”
“There won’t be a next time. But I will. I promise. Why isn’t love ever easy?”
“In my experience, love has never been easy. It’s messy and complicated. Like people. Like life. Nothing worth having ever comes easy. You have to fight for the things that matter.”
“Am I worth fighting for?”
“If you have to ask, I’m thinking you’d better get naked.”
“And why’s that, Brody?”
“Because I obviously did a shit job of showing you that you’re worth fighting for.”
“And you need me naked for that?”
“Uh huh. I find that my words sink in better when I’m buried deep inside you.”
“How convenient.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brody
The week before Christmas, I flew to New York to see Shiloh. It was her last concert for this leg of the tour, and after this she had a six-week break before she hit the road with Acadian Storm. So she was spending the holidays with me.
“Holy shit,” Gideon said. He sounded impressed. Which was rare for him. But how could you not be impressed when you were watching Shiloh perform on a stage in Madison Square Garden?
It was the first time I’d ever sat in the audience for one of her concerts, and she’d hooked us up with floor seats. We were four rows from center stage, surrounded by her most avid fans. The view was different from here. When I’d watched her from backstage in London and Paris, I’d been impressed. In awe of her talent. But that feeling was amplified a thousand-fold when I was surrounded by twenty thousand screaming fans who knew every single word to every single song she performed.
“How in the hell did Brody McCallister end up with a rock star?” he mused, his eyes still on the stage, Shiloh holding his rapt attention just like every other person in this
stadium.
“That’s the question for the ages. It’s a goddamn mystery.” I didn’t mention Shiloh’s belief that we were each other’s destiny. I didn’t tell him about her grandmother who had supposedly predicted that we would find each other. Gideon was too logical, too cold and cynical to believe in the mystical or unexplained phenomena.
When she finished the last song of her setlist, the lights went down, and she was gone. The crowd chanted for two minutes straight and I knew what would happen next. Time for an encore. That was all part of the show business of a rock concert. She always gave her fans more, never held back, and left it all on that stage no matter how exhausted she was or how much it strained her voice.
Tonight, though, when the lights came up again, she was sitting on a stool, cradling her acoustic guitar. She was dressed in black. Her skirt was short, her bustier was leather, and her stockings were fishnet. I didn’t have a fucking clue how she’d strutted across the stage in those sky-high heels of her ankle boots, but she’d done it for ninety minutes. By now, she must have been exhausted but her smile was bright.
“I want to sing a song that’s very special to me. It’s not one of mine. But back when I was a teenager, playing in dive bars or anywhere that would give us a gig, I always finished the night with this song. So tonight, I’m going to sing “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls.” She waited for the cheering to stop and her eyes found mine. “This song is for a man who speaks his own truth and always fights for the things he believes in. My life would be so much emptier without him in it.”
“Well, damn,” Gideon said.
Well, damn was right. I sat back in my seat and I listened to the girl I loved singing “Iris” for twenty thousand people. But she held my gaze and it felt like she was singing just for me.
“What if every song I sang was for you…”
What if… what if…
It had been almost ten years since the first time I saw her perform this. Her voice had changed, improved, was more mature, but it hadn’t lost any of its magic.