Fame And Secrets (Lords Of Lyre Book 2)

by Cora Kenborn

  Avoiding my eyes, she gently pushed me into the car. Throwing the gear shift into drive, she peeled away with a lead foot that’d give any race car driver pedal envy. Obviously, she had no intention of acknowledging the elephant in the car, so with an unsure voice, I broke the silence.

  “You knew?”

  Manicured hands gripped the steering wheel. “Of course I knew. I may be many things, but oblivious isn’t one of them.”

  Guilt stabbed me. “How long?”

  Finally turning, she raised an eyebrow. “You might as well have ‘I have a secret’ written all over your forehead.”

  “Oh.” I had no other words.

  She flipped the turn signal to merge onto 134-East. “Besides, I gathered laundry in your room, and you left your rings sitting on the dresser. Seeing them only confirmed my suspicions.”

  “We wanted to tell you before it was printed by some trash magazine, I’m sorry.”

  I was sorry. Everything spiraled out of control.

  Letting her bottom lip fall in a characteristic movement I’d seen many times in her eldest son, she blew out a soft breath. “The last thing that you need is to hold all of this stress inside. I’m worried about you. You just look…off.”

  “I’m fine, Eliza.”

  With a small shake of her head, she snuck a sideways glance before turning her eyes back toward the road. “So you keep saying.” After a small pause, she turned and faced me after exiting the freeway. “I don’t know everything about you, Phoebe. But I know your childhood wasn’t ideal. I’m here if you need to unload.”

  Emotion welled up in my eyes, and I faced the window. Bringing a hand up, I swiped at the corners of my eyes. My chest burned with regret, knowing no amount of apologizing would make up for opening her family to a killer.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Julian

  My mom left after another week, and Ryker went back to his place with Zane and Ty. I loved them, but anymore family togetherness and I would’ve dragged Phoebe to some seedy Hollywood motel to be alone with her. The obligatory six-week abstinence time had passed since Iris’s birth, and my cock knew it. It was starved for attention, and I couldn’t take anymore cold showers.

  Two months without sex. I’d been the longest I’d ever gone without a woman.

  But I didn’t want just any woman. I needed Phoebe. And this new version of her felt like a taboo version of cheating on my wife with my wife. Somehow that made it so much hotter.

  She’d just put Iris down after a particularly long feeding. Jealousy wasn’t my thing; I could share. It just hadn’t been my turn for an extremely long time. Closing the nursery door, she stood with her ear against it as if listening for a cry she knew would eventually come.

  I wouldn’t wait that long.

  Wrapping a hand around her waist from the back, I nuzzled her neck, pushing back the long hair I once loved, which now barely fell below her shoulders. The change took some getting used to, but as long as I could wind it around my fingers, I was happy.

  “I’ve missed you,” I murmured into the curve of her neck. The scent of coconut infiltrated me, and my cock stood at attention.

  “I don’t think she’s asleep yet,” she moaned, tilting her head against my shoulder. Peering up at me with those clear blue eyes of hers, she had to know she’d already lost the battle. No way could she look at me like that and not know I would fuck the daylights out of her.

  “I hear nothing.”

  “Julian…”

  I didn’t give her a chance to say anything else. With lust at an all-time high, I turned her around and lifted her so she had to wrap her legs around my waist. The heat coming off her spurred me on as I fused our mouths together in a kiss and pushed down the straps of her bra. As I carried her into our bedroom, she pulled back and tilted her head to the side.

  “What?” I had no patience for conversation right now. Slowly, she released the hold her legs had on my waist and slid down my body, the friction eliciting another low groan from my chest. Her feet hit the floor, and she nervously ran her palms up and down her thighs. “Talk to me,” I said softly, lifting her chin toward me.

  “It’s been a while.” She tried to pull her chin away, but I wouldn’t allow it.

  “The doctor said…” She stopped me with a finger against my lips.

  “I didn’t mean medically, Julian. I meant we haven’t had sex, and me not pregnant. It’s kind of strange, don’t you think?” Her eyes widened, and she chewed her cheek. A nervous hand rose, reaching for the hair on her waist that no longer resided there.

  Taking a wrist in each hand, I pulled them behind her back. She folded herself willingly into me, and I transferred her wrists into one hand, cradling the back of her head with the other.

  “Not strange,” I mumbled against her lips again. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

  “I’m still fat.”

  I chuckled. “Perfect. Your body, your face, your hair. Perfect.”

  She sighed as I lowered her onto the bed. I didn’t know how long I could last, so I immediately removed any clothing in my way. Within seconds I had her naked beneath me.

  Perfect.

  Neither of us needed much foreplay. It’d been too long, and if we did, it’d sure as shit be over too early. I wasn’t into embarrassing myself, so I positioned my body to reclaim my wife. As always, my mind went blank, and I fisted her hair as I drove home.

  She stopped me with a hand on my chest. “Wait…”

  I pulled my face out of the crook of her neck. “Does it hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just…” Taking a deep breath, she curled the hand on my chest around my neck and pulled me closer. “We’re always so intense. I know that’s us. It’s the way we are, and I like that, but…”

  “But?”

  “With everything going on, I guess I want something I know won’t ever hurt me.”

  “Baby, I’d never…”

  “Make me feel it.”

  No one twisted my soul like Phoebe. Nobody ever had and I knew nobody ever would. I cradled her face in my hands and kissed each cheek. “Tell me what you need.”

  “Just love me.”

  We’d spent the last few days arguing and fighting hard.

  But that night we made love slow.

  ***

  My life spun into reverse. Just like the months I spent in a push and pull with Phoebe—finding her, having her, losing her, winning her, pushing her away—the cycle rewound itself and pressed play.

  Two days after our night together, Kristina booked us a two-week gig in mid-fuck America. The shit hit the fan with us, and I spent the rest of my time in LA making it up to her.

  We’d only spoken once since I’d left. The last place I wanted to be was on a goddamn tour bus with my brother and friends. They weren’t the family I needed.

  Although Phoebe and I made up over the phone, things were strained. Now that all our cards were on the table, our only release seemed to be taking our anxiety out on each other’s bodies. After that initial time, the remaining days with Phoebe resumed as usual—exhilarating and exhausting.

  My wife.

  The words lingered on my tongue like they didn’t belong there. Since the local paparazzi broke the news of our marriage, word spread like a disease. Every tabloid worth its gossip ran a story. If Jaxon Hough didn’t get his ass to Los Angeles soon, I didn’t know how long I could protect her on my own. I had the money to provide the best security technology allowed, but for a man like Daniel Dalton, security seemed to be an annoyance he barged through as he pleased.

  I’d waited a lifetime to be a rock star. I held it in my hands for the taking. We were becoming the biggest hard rock band in the world. But I had a family now. And I’d be damned if I’d lose them to that motherfucker.

  The thought dominated my head as I belted out lyrics and drew in a deep breath for the howl Ryker thought sounded cool at the end of our newest song. I had to hand it to him—as green as he was—the kid had
an ear for what would drive the crowd wild. I hit the note, held it, and they lost their goddamn minds. As usual, panties, keys, and notes started flying on stage. I side-stepped quickly, dodging thongs and bras like I was at a strip club.

  I welcomed the distraction. I wanted it. Anything for just a moment of normalcy. For a split second, I was Julian Bale, rock star of Lords of Lyre…cheered by thousands. I allowed myself a reprieve and closed my eyes to soak it all in.

  Then it hit the top of my toe.

  Soft. Purposeful.

  I didn’t want to open my eyes, but I had to. I knew what I’d find before the light chased away the darkness behind my lids. The turning of my stomach told me all I needed to know.

  I gripped the mic stand with force and glanced down. Resting on the top of my black boot was a brown teddy bear the size of half of my arm. All the fur had been worn off to a threadbare finish. One eye was missing, and a tongue that once stuck out was gone, only to be left with a crooked, crude wire.

  But that wasn’t what almost made me puke on stage. The bear had been dressed in a white newborn onesie. Pink cursive lettering across the front spelled out the message clearly.

  Little Princess.

  I shielded my eyes and frantically scanned the crowd. “Where are you, motherfucker?” The words echoed into the microphone, and the crowd cheered as if I’d called out to them.

  Nothing.

  I’d seen pictures. He looked nothing like Phoebe, except for his eyes. I had no idea what he looked like now, but in the picture Hough showed me, he looked like he’d spent a few nights under an overpass in need of a coat and a shave.

  But his eyes couldn’t lie. Unlike Phoebe’s, they were cold. Evil. Dead.

  “Yo, Jag.” Zane nudged my shoulder with the headstock of his guitar. Jolted out of my thoughts, I realized I’d stood silent on stage. The crowd had grown quiet, staring at me in a mix of confusion and wonder. Without missing a beat, Zane kicked the bear behind us. I watched it glide across the stage and wedge beneath Ty’s snare drum stand.

  With all eyes on me, Zane launched into the next song, and I pushed everything downward, determined to finish the set.

  Just finish the set.

  Afterward, I could lose it.

  Strumming chords released some of the anger resting underneath the surface of my skin. I punished the strings of the guitar, abusing them without giving a shit. Each rehearsed song met the same stone cold expression. I coiled my hand around the microphone stand and drew the last note of the song to a quiet hum. Zane’s eyes shifted toward me, and I kept my eyes on him, praying for the end of the set. I’d begged him before we’d gone on stage to end after Hell to You. I could only take so much.

  Instead, his hands went for the strings again, the intro to Seventh Sin exploding against his instrument.

  Goddamn him.

  I smirked. My cue to come in with the first verse passed without me singing a word. I rocked back on my heels and let Zane play a second intro. Under the hot stage lights, Zane’s pissed off face took on an ominous glow. He looked up from his guitar, his hand still poised over the strings. I returned his stare, locked in some stupid male ego challenge.

  Sighing, he raised the guitar pick to his head and scratched his temple with the edge of it. His rings clanged against the mic as he covered it with his hand and leaned toward me. “Do you plan on singing, or is this gonna be an instrumental version?”

  Without care for the five thousand people screaming my name, I lifted a middle finger in Zane’s direction and held it high. The crowd went wild as if we’d scripted it. Fans were weird like that. But I refused to back down. I’d started this pissing contest with Zane, and I sure as hell would win it. He’d gone back on his word. To me, that justified my retaliation.

  After a few seconds of weird melodies that didn’t mesh coming from our guitars, I knew I’d won. I glanced back at Ty, his large shoulders hunched over his drums in disappointment.

  Damn.

  That dude had a knack for making us all feel like prepubescent teenagers getting caught with our dicks in our hands. He was our walking conscience. I both hated and loved him for it. Ryker stood beside him, shaking his head and walking to the other end of the stage.

  If this kept up, I’d just witnessed the beginning to our end.

  ***

  “What the hell was that?” Kristina demanded, following us backstage. “You have some childhood fear of teddy bears?” She waved the bear in front of me and smirked.

  “Back off,” I warned, throwing my guitar on the couch.

  Everyone followed behind her, and she continued as if I hadn’t even spoken. “You knock shit around, practically ripping your strings in two, and the whole time, you and him,” she pointed at Zane, “are giving each other looks like you just hid a body.”

  Zane cut his eyes toward me, his mouth turned downward in an insolent sneer.

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind, Kristina,” I said, eyeing the bear clutched in her hand. “It’s none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” Rocking back on the heels of his scuffed boots, Ty turned his head sharply toward me. “She’s our manager. It’s her job to be in our business.”

  “Are you on her payroll now?” I smirked.

  He looked uncomfortable for a moment, then the emotion was gone. “What do you always tell me?” He stroked his beard in thought. “Something like, ‘Stop letting shit turn you into a pussy on stage, Ty. Whatever it is, leave it in the dressing room until the final encore.’”

  I turned my head away. “I’m not in the mood for this shit, Lachner.”

  Ty refused to back down. He was just as much of an unwavering ass as Zane. “That’s too bad, Jag, because I’m not in the mood to play dick games with you anymore. You’re going to apologize to Kristina for being an asshole and then you’re going to tell us why that bear freaked you out on stage.” He motioned to everyone in the room. “None of us have ever seen you act like that.”

  I turned to Kristina. Everything around me muted as they waited for something I rarely did—apologize. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. But I’m not sorry for overreacting. No one could blame me if you knew why.”

  “That’s just it, Jag. We don’t know why. Or at least they don’t.” Zane wrapped his fingers around a bottle of Jack Daniels. “I have a good idea what that bear meant, but you owe them the same. Bro, we’re family. Have you forgotten that since pussy took over your life?”

  “I don’t think rehearsal is necessary tomorrow. Let’s just do it raw.” As I said the words, I knew they were a cheap shot, although my reasoning was solid. Kristina allowed VIPs into sound checks. I couldn’t run the risk of Dalton getting that close. Not for myself, but for the family Zane swore I didn’t care about anymore. I had to protect them from the danger they didn’t know existed.

  But Zane was a perfectionist when it came to rehearsals. As the musical director of the tour, he meticulously micromanaged every song, every arrangement, and every rehearsal. By refusing to sound check, I waved a red flag in front of an already irate bull. Grabbing his guitar case with both hands, Zane squeezed his fingers together, the fire in his eyes almost generating a heat of their own.

  “Tell them, Jag.”

  “No.”

  “Look, I’m tired, and I’m about three seconds away from putting my foot up your ass until you sing soprano. Either you tell them, or I will.”

  “I’m sorry,” I smirked, “for a minute it seemed you forgot whose name got the contract that signs your paychecks.”

  Zane ripped his guitar strap off his body. Pulling his booted foot back, he kicked a chair and sent it sprawling across the room. “Nice serve, now here’s mine. You want to play the brooding rock star? Fine. Isolate yourself. But don’t expect me to sit by and watch you self-destruct for the second time. I did it once. I won’t do it again.” He paused as he grabbed a change of clothes for the meet and greet. “And have a damn blast playing tomorrow without me.” He threw h
is guitar on the side chair and stalked toward the door.

  Cursing, I pulled at my hair and stomped toward the back door.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Kristina yelled after me.

  “To get drunk.”

  I had no idea where the hell I was going. I knew the streets of Salt Lake City like I knew a secluded village in Mexico. But before anyone had a chance to stop me, I’d power walked two city blocks. My chest burned with exertion, so I rested behind a building, I closed my eyes and ran my hands over my face in sheer irritation.

  Well, that was the opposite of everything I meant to do.

  Somehow, I had to fix this. I had to fix everything.

  And I had to start with a phone call to Jaxon Hough. Time for delays were over.

  Daniel Dalton had amped up his game.

  It was time for him to know I could too.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Phoebe

  “What in the hell is he doing?” A mix of shock and anger blew through me as I turned the television off and threw the remote across the room. Faith stopped cuddling Iris long enough to raise an eyebrow at me. She didn’t say anything. She knew better. My mood swings were still stratospherically unpredictable.

  “Is Karli Waters on the warpath again?” she asked, awkwardly holding Iris like a bowling ball.

  “Yes. That stupid bitch from Access Daily who blindsided me on the red carpet in New York. They ran footage from the Utah show. I guess Julian had a meltdown on stage over something. As usual, her stellar reporting couldn’t verify what happened, just that it was ‘out of character and dangerous.’ How the hell does she know what’s out of character for him?” I let out a frustrated scream, causing Iris to wail. “Jesus Christ!” Stomping over to Faith, I held out my hands. “Give her to me.”

  She gave me a hesitant look. “Are you sure? When was the last time you slept?”