When the Storm Breaks (Lost Stars)

by Emery Rose

  Shiloh

  Later that night after the concert, when I was starting to come down from the adrenaline rush of the crowd, the music still vibrating through my body, Brody pulled me against him in the elevator. With my back arched against his chest, his teeth grazed the side of my neck and my eyes drifted shut.

  “There are cameras in here.” I could feel his warm breath on my neck, his hard length pressed against my ass. I didn’t really care about the cameras.

  “Let them watch.” His hand cupped my breast, his fingers pinching my nipple through the fabric of my silky shirt, his other hand coasting up my thigh and under my short black skirt. When he reached the spot between my thighs, he reared back.

  “Jesus Christ. You’re not wearing any underwear.”

  I almost laughed at how scandalized he sounded. “Oops. Must have lost them somewhere along the way.”

  “Fucking hell.” His fingers glided between my slick folds. I was always so wet for him. So needy and ready. “Don’t tell me you were up there tonight without underwear.”

  “Okay. I won’t.” I’d changed after the show, but he didn’t need to know that. I liked that he got jealous. I gasped when two thick fingers slid inside me, curling and reaching for a spot he knew so well. Lifting my arms above my head, I looped them around the back of his neck. When he added a third finger, I ground my ass against his erection as he fucked me with his fingers, his thumb rubbing my swollen clit.

  “Oh God.” My chest was heaving, and I was chasing this high, nearly there but not quite. I barely noticed when the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. But I did notice when he slid his fingers out.

  “Brody.” My frustration had me whimpering.

  He grabbed my hand and strode down the hallway, his strides so long I had to jog to keep up with him.

  Once we were inside the room, he dragged me over to the sofa.

  Standing behind me, he slid his hands down my arms and clasped my hands in one of his, pressing his other hand against my back and folding my body over the arm of the sofa. He extended my arms in front of me and pushed my hands onto the sofa cushion. “Don’t move,” he commanded in a rough voice.

  Then he pulled up my skirt so it was bunched around my hips and he kicked my legs apart. Behind me, I could hear him unzipping his jeans. I looked over my shoulder as he fisted his hard length. I was soaked, my clit throbbing, my nipples straining as I writhed against the sofa cushion, seeking the friction. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Brody. I need you. Now,” I said through clenched teeth.

  That earned me a slap on the ass, causing me to cry out. Grabbing my ass cheeks in both hands, he squeezed them and glided his dick between them, so hard and thick and swollen. “One of these days I’m gonna fuck this sweet ass.”

  “Why not today?” I asked boldly.

  He growled. “We don’t have that kind of time. One day soon. That’s a promise.”

  I didn’t have time to think about that promise. With my cheek pressed against the sofa cushion, my hands clawing the fabric, he finally gave me what I wanted. Brody slammed into me from behind and sweet baby Jesus, he filled me so completely I nearly wept at how good it felt. He pulled out of me then drove into me again, breeching my tight walls, so hard and so deep, it hurt. Thrust after thrust, our moans and heavy breaths and the sound of his balls slapping against my ass, filled the silence.

  “Is that enough for you?” he growled, his hands gripping my hips, his fingers biting into the soft flesh.

  “Too much. But never enough.” My chest was heaving, and I was panting as he pulled out, leaving just the tip inside me. “I want more,” I gritted out.

  I loved the pain he gave. I wanted more of it. I wanted everything he had to give me.

  He fisted my hair and pulled my head up off the sofa cushion, sinking his teeth into my shoulder while his thumb rimmed my ass and he pounded into me from behind. Punishing. Relentless. Pure fucking heaven. I pushed back against his finger, wanting to feel him everywhere. He pushed his thumb all the way inside me and I clenched around his cock, eliciting a deep guttural groan from him that reverberated in my core.

  I was floating, I was flying, chasing a high that no drug could ever give me.

  My whole body was quivering, shaking uncontrollably and I didn’t even know how I was still standing.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he brought his hand down to my clit and pinched it between his fingers as he rammed into me, stealing the breath from my lungs. The orgasm crashed over me, and came in waves. Weightless. Floating. Soaring. Light splintered behind my closed eyelids, a slew of curse words flying from my lips as he slammed into me one last time, our orgasms so powerful he collapsed against my back, covering my body with his. My cheek was pressed against the sofa cushion again, and he buried his face in the crook of my neck, lacing his fingers in mine.

  After a few moments of silence, our breathing ragged as we came down from the high, he said, “Fuck. If this was my last night on Earth, I would die a happy man.”

  Much later, I would remember those words. That was the trouble with flying high. When you crashed, you burned.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Shiloh

  On Saturday afternoon before my final show in Miami, Brody and I ordered room service and ate a late lunch on the balcony.

  “Cat’s out of the bag. They know your name,” I said, scrolling through my phone. There were a few photos of us on social media. Yesterday afternoon Brody and I had gone jet skiing. What struck me about the photos was that I was smiling in every single one of them.

  He took the phone out of my hand and set it on the table, screen down. “Stop searching the Internet for information about me.” His tone was light and teasing. But there was a tightness in his jaw that made me think he wasn’t as cool about it as he was letting on.

  “I’m sorry, Brody.”

  “Not your fault. It goes with the territory. Finish your salad,” he said gruffly.

  I took a few more bites of grilled chicken and mango then pushed my plate away and closed my eyes, basking in the sun for a while. Chilled out. Relaxed. My bare feet propped in his lap while he kneaded them in his big, strong, healing hands.

  “You’re cool with Dean, right?” I asked, eyes still closed against the sun, my face tipped up to it.

  “I’m cool with it.” I cracked one lid open. He squeezed my foot. “Stop worrying about every little thing.”

  “Okay. But if he gives you any trouble, you’ll tell me, right?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle your ex or anything else thrown my way.”

  His tone of voice, so confident and certain, reassured me that it wasn’t a big deal, so I stopped worrying about it. As far as I knew, Dean and Brody had stayed out of each other’s way. There hadn’t been any drama, and for once Dean was sticking to his word. He was clean and sober, and focused on the music. Whatever he got up to before and after the show was of no concern to me.

  Later that night after the show, Brody had given me four orgasms and now we were lying on top of the white Egyptian cotton sheets, the warm sea breeze floating through the open windows. I kissed his lips and placed my hand over his beating heart. “I love you, Cowboy.”

  He placed his hand over mine and tipped his chin down to look at me. “You’ve infiltrated the cracks in my heart, and I’ll be damned if I know how to get you out.”

  “Don’t even try. I want to live there forever.” He pulled me closer and I draped my leg over his. Brody’s heart was beating sure and steady under the palm of my hand, his chest rising and falling, each breath he inhaled and exhaled in sync with mine, lulling me into a sense of peace and security.

  “How do you do it?” I asked while his hand coasted down my side and over the curve of my hip, settling there.

  “Do what?”

  “Make me feel so calm and peaceful, even in the midst of a chaotic world tour.”

  “Guess I’ve always had a knack for handlin
g wild things.”

  I smiled a little and lifted my hand to his face, tracing his squared jaw, the stubble rough under my fingertips. “You think I’m wild?”

  “In all the very best ways.”

  A few moments later, he looked over at the bedside table. “You’re popular tonight.”

  I glanced at my phone. I’d silenced it earlier, but it was lighting up with messages. “Turn it over so we can’t see it.” I was pleasantly drowsy and too lazy to move.

  He flipped my phone over and stroked my hair. My eyelids were too heavy to keep open and moments later I drifted off to sleep.

  I was woken by pounding on the door. “What the hell?” Brody muttered.

  I snuggled against him, my back against his chest, my body fitting into the curve of his. “Just ignore it,” I mumbled. “Security will deal with it.”

  I was starting to drift off again when the pounding on the door grew louder. “Shiloh! Open the door.”

  That was Landry’s voice. “It’s my brother.”

  “Shit,” Brody said, sitting up in bed and taking the warmth of his body away from me.

  “What time is it?”

  “Three in the morning.”

  “What the hell could he possibly want?” I sat up and scrubbed my hands over my face.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Brody said. “Be right back.”

  “He’s my brother. I should—”

  “Just stay here. I’ve got this.” He pulled on his jeans from the floor and closed the bedroom door behind him. I sat up in bed and pulled the sheets higher to cover my body.

  A few seconds later, I heard Landry’s voice. “You son of a bitch. I knew you were trouble,” Landry spewed.

  “What the hell are you doing here at three in the morning?”

  After that, their voices were muffled, too low for me to hear no matter how hard I strained my ears. What could they possibly be talking about?

  I heard a scuffle, it sounded like they were fighting followed by the sound of something shattering. Yanking the top sheet off the bed, I wrapped it around my body and stood up, ready to intervene. Just then the bedroom door burst open, a crazed-looking Landry filling the doorframe, his chest heaving, fists balled at his sides.

  “What are you doing, Landry? Are you high?” Why was he standing in my bedroom at three in the morning looking like he was ready to murder someone?

  “Shy…” Landry’s face crumpled and for a minute I saw the boy, not the man. I thought he was going to cry. His voice was soft, his face so sad. “Get dressed, boo. There’s something …” He stopped and took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

  Boo. It was that term of endearment, spoken so tenderly, and the expression on his face that made me start shaking. He had that same look on his face when he came into my bedroom all those years ago to tell me Maw Maw was gone. He’d been the one to find her and it had been left up to him to break the news to me. I never wanted to see that look on his face for as long as I lived, yet here he was again, the bearer of bad news. “Landry? What’s happened?”

  “Just get dressed.”

  The door closed and I quickly threw on a tank top and cut offs, my hands trembling. Something bad was headed my way. I could feel it in my bones. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, gearing up for whatever shit storm was headed toward me.

  Please God, don’t let it be anything I can’t handle.

  When I walked into the living area on shaky legs, my gaze darted to the door of my suite. Marcus stepped inside, James right behind me. James stood by the door, although I had no idea what he was guarding me against.

  “Does she know yet?” Marcus asked Landry. He shook his head no.

  My gaze found Brody. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head down. “Brody,” I whispered. I wanted to go to him, wrap my arms around him and hang on tight. I wanted him to tell me everything was going to be okay, even though I knew it wouldn’t be. But something stopped me from doing it.

  He lifted his head, the expression on his face so bleak, I lost it. I began crying without even knowing why. But a part of me, the part I’d inherited from Maw Maw that turned out to be a curse not a blessing, knew. He made no move to erase the distance between us or to comfort me and wipe away my tears like he normally would.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was no louder than a whisper. “You have no idea how fucking sorry I am.”

  “Come and sit down, honey,” Marcus said, patting the sofa cushion next to him. Marcus never called me honey. His face was serious, and not even he could spin this into something better. Because whatever I was about to hear, I knew it was bad.

  My legs carried me across the room, and I took a seat on the sofa, perched on the edge of it, my fingers spinning the silver feather ring around and around. Landy took a seat on the other side of me. Brody was across from us, still leaning against the wall, looking like a man about to face a firing squad. I kept my eyes on him. Shirtless and barefoot, wearing faded denim. His hair messy and disheveled, made worse from running his hands through it. He didn’t say a single word. He couldn’t even look at me.

  Landry held his phone in front of me and I dragged my eyes away from Brody and took the phone from Landry’s hand. In the first photo, Brody was punching Landry. It looked as if they were in the hotel lobby. The headline read: Shiloh Leroux’s Boyfriend Has a History of Violence.

  “You punched my brother?” I asked Brody.

  He stared at the floor and didn’t respond.

  “Landry,” Marcus said, and it sounded like a reprimand.

  Before I could even react to this, Landry told me to keep scrolling. So I did. Although I wished I hadn’t. My breath got trapped in my lungs. I stared at the photo of a man who looked so much like Brody that for a second, I thought it was him.

  “Your boyfriend over there. His father killed our mom,” Landry said. “He shot her in cold blood and left her there to die while we sat in a car outside, waiting for her to come back. Only she never did.”

  “I… how…” My eyes sought out Brody again. Only this time instead of seeing the man I loved, I saw a murderer. I saw the man who had taken away our mother. I’d never even gotten the chance to know her. I’d never heard her voice singing me to sleep. Reading bedtime stories. Tucking me in and telling me she loved me. I’d been robbed of all that because of an addict who had been trying to rob a convenience store. He’d shot three people. A cop. The convenience store manager. And my mother. The cop lived. The store manager died instantly. My mother died in the hospital twenty-four hours later.

  Anger bubbled up inside me, red hot and blinding. I stood up from my seat and hurled the phone at Brody. He didn’t even try to duck out of the way. It hit him square in the chest and fell to the floor at his feet. I flew across the room and then I was on him. I struck. My fists pummeling him, my hands smacking and shoving his chest and his torso and shoulders-- everywhere and anywhere I could reach.

  I was blinded by my fury, fueled by rage. Why did it have to be him?

  “You knew about this, didn’t you? You were trying to hide it from me.” My voice was a whisper, scared to say the words louder in fear that would make them real. I smacked his chest with the heels of my hands. My wrath knew no bounds.

  His hands wrapped around my wrists and he tried to pull me against him, but I resisted.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Get your filthy hands off my sister,” Landry roared.

  Brody released me and I took a step back, my chest heaving, tears streaming down my cheeks. “How could you keep this from me? How could you not tell me that your father killed my mother?”

  “I didn’t know. I swear on my life, I had no idea—”

  “Bullshit! I told you. I told you my mother’s name. How could you not know the names of your father’s victims?”

  “I didn’t know,” he repeated. “Do you think I would have kept something like this from you?”

  I laughed harshly. “You told me your parents were
dead. Is that true?”

  “My mother is dead. The man who—”

  “Your father,” I seethed. “Are you going to deny that he’s your father?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled a breath. “He’s in prison for life. Louisiana State Penitentiary.”

  “That’s not the same as dead, Brody. Being in prison is not the same as being dead.” My voice sounded shrill, beyond hysterical. “My mother is dead, and your piece of shit father is still alive. How is that fair?”

  “It’s not.”

  “I hope he lives to be a hundred so he can spend every single day of his life being reminded of what he did.”

  Brody’s eyes met mine. “You think I don’t want the same thing? You think…” His voice cracked on the words and through the blur of my own tears, I saw that he was crying. “Fuck, Shy, I never… I didn’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you. I think you knew it all along. You were there, Brody. You were there, weren’t you?”

  He wiped his hand over his face and nodded yes.

  I wrapped my arms around my body and tried to stop the shaking. My stomach was churning, and I felt like I was going to throw up. None of this seemed real. “Where were you when my mother was shot?”

  “In the car. He told me... to wait in the car. Fuck, Shy. I never… I’m not him,” he gritted out. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying but I couldn’t feel any sympathy for him.

  He would have been eight and a half at the time. He had to have known. How could he not have? Nothing made any sense.

  And in that moment, I knew there was no coming back from this. We were over.

  I lifted my chin and looked into the eyes of a murderer’s son. “I never want to see your face again. It’s just a reminder of everything me and Landry lost.” My voice sounded so cold, so unlike me that for a moment I wasn’t even sure those words had come out of my mouth. But they had.

  His eyes drifted shut and then he nodded. I turned my back to him as he walked away. My brother pulled me into his arms and held me, the two of us hanging onto each other, a reminder that all we had in this world was each other. We were family. Nothing would ever change that. My brother had been there for me when Maw Maw died. Had tried his best to look after me when we were kids.