“They don’t need extreme luck.” She beamed her silver-green eyes at me. “They have you as their manager.”
“Right.” I nodded. “I stand corrected. They’re on their way to becoming an extreme success.”
“They would skyrocket there with the right leader. With you as lead vocalist. The harmony with you, Logan, and Chance was really something.” She gave me a firm look that made me wonder how tired she really was.
“Cam, I gave up that dream a long time ago. Not going to toss aside everything I have right now to start over again.”
“It’s never too late to reach for the stars.”
“In your stories, it works that way, babe,” I said sternly. “Not in real life.”
“You’re right, of course.” The teasing tone disappeared from her voice, and the light fled from her eyes. “Not many happy endings for real, are there?”
She returned her head to my chest and hugged me. I couldn’t tell if she was comforting me or herself, but it didn’t work with a new tension tightening her frame.
“There are some happy endings. Incredible, miraculous ones.” I stroked my hand down and then up the sexy curve of her spine. “I’m holding mine right now.”
She snuggled closer. Eventually, as I continued to stroke her, her tension eased.
But did she understand what we’d found together? What she meant to me?
Cam had been through so much upheaval and needed someone steady, someone settled and strong. I was determined to give her steady and strong. That meant this life, my current life, with only the business side of me.
The man I saw in the mirror with his soundtrack cranked low? That needed to be the only me.
But could she accept that?
Chapter 51
* * *
Camaro
Once I had breakfast made, my heart sped up as I plated the eggs. Brad would return from his run any minute now. The beautiful ocean and the sunshine outside the window over the sink beckoning, I decided it would be nice to eat together on the deck. As good a place as any to try to renew my efforts to get him to reach for what I knew he needed.
Balancing our plates on one arm, I passed through the living room, unlatched the glass doors, and rolled them back. As I smiled up at the sky that reminded me of his eyes, when they weren’t shadowed by clouds, I didn’t notice anything new at first.
When I did, I nearly dropped the plates.
Roses. Pots and pots of them.
Their beauty and the familiar sweet fragrance slammed into me, taking me back to another time. Frozen in place, I blinked hard as tears like ice crystallized in my eyes.
“I was going to suggest eating out here,” Brad said from behind me, and I whirled around.
He was dripping wet with sweat, his gray Manhattan Beach-emblazoned tank plastered to his hard chest, and his black cutoff sweats stuck to his powerful thighs. But even sweaty and red-faced, he was gorgeous to me. The cold retreated as I searched his handsome features and noted that most of the tension that had marred them earlier was gone.
“There are potted roses on the deck.” After setting the plates down on the table, I turned in a circle, gesturing. “A lot of them.”
“Yes, there are.” He stepped closer. “Cherry Parfait, super-fragrant ones.”
“These weren’t here yesterday.”
“No.” He shook his head. His hair was soaking wet, darkening the gold in his hair to brown. “A lot of beautiful things happened since yesterday.”
Was he alluding to my declaration? He hadn’t mentioned it directly since I’d made it.
“When did you get them?” I asked.
“Ordered them from a florist shop between meetings, and scheduled them to be delivered while we were out. Got some for each of the decks upstairs too. I thought it would be a nice surprise and remind you of the good times with your mom.”
It would, but he didn’t know she was buried in her garden at the estate.
“Thank you.” I crossed to him and threw my arms around his neck. It was the sentiment that counted, even if the gift was bittersweet.
His arms wrapped around me, so solid, steady, and warm. Rolling up on my toes, I kissed his cheek. It was scruffy, and he tasted salty.
“I want you to feel at home here, Cam.” Shadows clouded his eyes again, darker ones than before. “I want you comfortable, secure, and safe.”
“I do feel comfortable,” I said to assure him, but my stomach started to churn. He put such a high price on the safety and comfort of those he cared for, to the exclusion of his own.
Yes, my things were in his room. I was a part of his life. This life, the life he’d settled for. The roses were a thoughtful gift, but in my current state of mind, I couldn’t appreciate them properly.
“I love them. I love you.” I thought my words would reassure him, but they seemed to have the opposite effect.
He eased back from me. “I need to go upstairs to shower. I have an early meeting. I might have to just eat and run.”
“That’s fine,” I said, but it wasn’t. I needed more time alone with him to figure out exactly what was bothering him. I had a pretty good idea it was the past we hadn’t fully addressed the night before.
But I didn’t get that time. Brad’s cell blew up with messages when he came back downstairs.
He managed a few bites of his omelet between answering texts. But eventually, he scooped up his phone and pushed back from the table.
“Delicious breakfast, but I gotta go, babe.” He stood. “Sorry. I hoped I would have time to help you clean up.” His brow creasing, he shrugged on the dark blue suit jacket he’d draped over the back of his chair.
“It’s okay. I can do the cleaning up. It’s not a big deal.”
I stood and placed my hand on his sleeve, going up on my toes. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to my lips. His lips were firm and warm. It was a beautiful kiss, soft and tender, and curled warmth and certainty inside me.
“What’s on your agenda today?” he asked, his gaze searching mine.
“The usual non-excitement, I guess. Some cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping. Writing. My appointment with Dr. Jacoby. Modeling. Lace Lowell and Ernie Caballero like my look, and there are some other designers Maurice mentioned. I’m going to do more photos.”
“Call the car service. I want them to take you wherever you need to go.”
“All right,” I said, wishing Brad could drive me instead. I loved that we were settling into a routine like a real couple, but what I craved the most was time with just the two of us.
I watched him stride to the kitchen island to grab his keys. When he turned back around, his darkened expression chased away the certainty his kiss had given me.
“Are you bored here, Cam?” he asked.
“No, of course not.” I shook my head. “I just meant my day is dull compared to yours.”
He nodded, but the shadows remained.
“Will you be able to have lunch with me?” I asked. Maybe I needed to do a better job of letting him know how much I enjoyed spending time with him.
“Unlikely. I’ll be in the studio across town all day with Logan and Chance. They have rhythm guys to try out, and half an album to redo.”
“Recording with you doing the vocals?” I asked the question with hope brightening my tone. The way I saw it, loving him like I did, this was the perfect opportunity to bring both sides of him together into a cohesive whole.
“No. Not me. Logan.” Brad’s brows drew together. “I’m just staying close to guide the process. I’m their business manager. Managing is what I do. That’s my life, not being a vocalist. I’m not a rock star like Rush, babe.”
“I know that,” I said, but he could be. Didn’t he see that? “You sing so well, and you seemed so happy onstage last night.” He’d been a bright, blinding presence at center mic. The shadows had appeared later. “They need a lead singer, and you used to be one. It’s seems like a good fit.”
“I’m happy bec
ause I was with you. Because of you, Cam.”
“Thank you,” I said, but he didn’t look happy. And I thought about that long after he had gone.
• • •
I thought about it the next day, and the next one too.
My things remained in Brad’s room. I was in his bed, and he did amazing things to me in it. But our lives weren’t meshing like I wanted them to.
The two divergent parts of him—the one part he wanted to keep, and the other he continued to deny—seemed to be the root of and represent the problem.
And I was determined to solve it.
Chapter 52
* * *
Camaro
“You seem distracted today, Cam.” In his chair across from my usual spot on his couch, Dr. Jacoby narrowed his kind gaze.
“I’m sorry. I guess I am.”
“Is it something bothering you? Something with Mr. Marshall, perhaps?”
I nodded. He knew the basics about Brad and me, but we talked most about my past. We’d been over and over it. Dr. Jacoby seemed to think it was critically important, but I just wanted to put it behind me.
“Things are good between us. Brad’s perfect, sexy, thoughtful, and incredibly caring.”
“No one is perfect, Cam.”
“I know, but compared to me.”
“The bad things that have happened to you don’t make you a bad person.”
“I know that.” But the mistakes did, and I couldn’t undo them. There was no remaking me. But if I could prove to Brad somehow that I could be a good partner, wouldn’t he love me the way I loved him?
“But do you truly know it?” the doctor asked, his brow creasing. “Have you shared the specifics of the rape with Mr. Marshall like you have with me?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Hmm.” He shook his head and tapped a note on his iPad.
“I have in generalities. The first time we were together physically, he made adjustments to make me feel comfortable. I trust him.”
Since that first time, I didn’t even think about the rape when Brad and I were together. I knew why. It was a big thing.
“That’s good to hear,” Dr. Jacoby said. “Very promising.”
But did Brad trust me? Trust was one of his central core issues. Bree had broken it, and he’d gotten rid of her just like that.
A sudden unease seized me.
“How about your father?” Dr Jacoby was watching me closely like he always did. “The circumstances that caused you to leave home so young, have you shared those details with Mr. Marshall?”
“I told him about my mother. About my father withdrawing from me. About Chris. The abuse. Everything that led to me being on the street.”
“You’ve shared some selective things. Some difficult ones. That’s good. But does he know how deeply your father’s rejection damaged your sense of self-worth?”
I shook my head, hoping Brad didn’t know that.
“Why do you so zealously avoid sharing the specifics of your lavish upbringing and your father’s identity from Mr. Marshall and your closest friend, Miss Anderson?”
“What would it change if they knew?” I asked.
In my mind, it would only make my descent seem sadder. From princess to prostitute. My father had all the wealth in the world, but wouldn’t even talk to me or throw a few pennies my way when I’d needed him the most.
“It’s part of who you are, Camaro. An essential element. A secret you guard closer than any other.”
“I’m not that little girl anymore.” What I didn’t say was that I wanted Brad and Jewel to see only my resilience. I didn’t want their pity. I needed to see only that, to look forward, stand on my own, be strong.
“Until you acknowledge and come to terms with it, a part of you will always be frozen back when the trauma in your life was the most damaging. When you lost your mother.”
That sounded worse than not being remade. But I’d made progress since then, hadn’t I?
Tears threatening, I swallowed hard. “I don’t think it’s that important.”
“You need to trust Mr. Marshall and Miss Anderson with all of you, not just certain parts. Trust is built on truth. I think it’s very important that you talk those things through with them.”
• • •
“No, no, no.” Later that afternoon, Frederick the photographer frowned at me.
“I’m sorry.” This modeling session would net me a thousand dollars cash, so I wanted to do it right. I certainly didn’t want to upset a fashion photographer who Maurice said was the best. “What am I doing wrong?”
“You have a tiny crease between your pretty little eyebrows, my darling.”
“Oh.” My mouth rounded. I’d been thinking about what Dr. Jacoby had said.
“I can photoshop it out, but not your eyes, my dear. Your eyes are magnificent, but troubled and sad isn’t the mood we want for a wedding gown photo. Correct?”
“No, of course not.”
My cell rang from my bag on a nearby stool, and Frederick frowned. Well, his brows drew together, and his thick salt-and-pepper mustache dipped. “Ringer off during a photo session, baby.”
“I forgot. I apologize.”
“Hmm. If you weren’t so beautiful, so enchanting, I would be cross with you. We’ll take a break.” He lowered his lens, his camera dangling from the strap around his neck, and lifted his chin to his handsome assistant. “Henry, smokes, please.”
Henry pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning and reached in his jacket pocket. Pulling out a crumpled pack, he exited with his boss through a side door.
Holding the full white skirt up off the floor of the garage that housed Frederick’s photography studio, I stepped away from the green screen tacked to the wall behind me and went to the stool on the opposite end.
As I unzipped my bag, my cell stopped ringing, but the missed call notification remained on the screen. I didn’t recognize the number, but the location was in West Hollywood, where Brad was supposed to be today with Logan Black.
I redialed it.
“Hey, Camaro. How’s it going? This is Chance, the good-looking drummer from Aces High. I’m sure you remember me. Chicks always remember me.”
A grin ghosted my lips. “Is everything okay? Is Brad with you? Is he okay?”
“Funny you should ask. He’s not here anymore. He just left. He and Logan got crossways again. Brad’s actually the reason I’m calling.”
“Why? I don’t have anything to do with his business.”
My words didn’t ring true. He did include me and listened to my opinion. He just didn’t listen when it came to him and his own potential music career.
“I think you do. It’s obvious he loves you.”
“How is it obvious?” I asked, desperate to know.
“It’s how he looks at you. Couldn’t give a shit about the other chicks with their tongues hanging out for him at the club. He could have crooked his finger at any of them after killing it onstage, but he only watched you while he sang, only wanted you after. You’re all he talks about here. When he’s not butting heads with Logan, that is.”
All of that was good, encouraging, but it wasn’t love.
“Logan won’t ask, but I will. Could you put in a word with Brad about doing vocals for us?”
“I tried.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He shut me down. He has his management business, and says the music part of his life is over.” The words sounded even less truthful coming from my mouth than they had from his.
“It’s never over. He’s a musician, a fucking better one than any of us thought. He put it all there the other night, and I think it was because of you. You’re his muse.”
I pulled in a deep breath, wishing that were true.
“Responsibility comes with that, you know,” Chance said.
“How so?”
“Let me put it like this. He says you write stories.”
“I do,” I said warily,
not sure where he was going with this.
“You’re creative. It’s a big part of who you are. If you’re like me, it’s how you deal with stress, how you cope, how you process life. But what if that was gone? If all you could do was sit around and watch other writers write. Help them write. Watch them write. But never pen another word. Never share the creative truths inside you with anyone.”
“I would die,” I said instantly, and then was struck with a thought. Was Brad dying inside?
“I gave up that dream,” he’d said. For his sister. Dylan. His parents. “For you and me to eat in fancy restaurants . . .”
“I don’t need fancy,” I whispered, just for him to be happy, to be the best version of himself he could be.
“What’d you say?” Chance asked. “I’m not following.”
“Nothing. I mean, how can I help?”
“The gala on Friday. He’s been threatening to scratch Aces High from the lineup if Logan doesn’t sing lead. Convince him to keep us. He won’t say no to you. Once we’re there, I think we can talk him into fronting the band another time. At a big gig like that, everyone will see how good he is, how good we are together.”
“You hope he’ll do it.”
“We have to try, don’t we? If you don’t reach for the stars, how the hell are you ever going to pull one down?”
“Yes.” Chance was right. His argument was almost exactly the same one I’d used with Brad the other night. It seemed like a sign.
But Brad was stubborn. Bossy. Used to having his own way. Convincing him to do something he was so opposed to was far from a sure thing.
But him on that stage was. I knew it in my bones.
Chapter 53
* * *
Bradley
“I have the guest list. Thanks for emailing it over.” I flicked on my blinker and switched lanes, squinting against the afternoon glare. Even with shades on, the Cali sun today was bright.
The Right Wish Page 28