Wycked Crush (Wycked Obsession Book 1)

by Wynne Roman

  It takes a few seconds, and then Mom asks, “Why didn’t you tell me then?”

  Real tears form in my eyes, and I struggle to blink them away. “Oh, Mom, I was mad and scared and all kinds of stuff! I didn’t want to ruin our relationship, and I didn’t want to ruin your marriage. You seemed so happy with Gabe, and I didn’t want to spoil it for you.”

  “Oh, baby.” The sorrow in Mom’s voice cuts me deep. I can’t keep the tears back now. “You should not have carried this alone, Breeanne. It should never have been your burden. Never.” She says the last word with an emphasis that surprises me.

  I try to speak around the tears. “I had Knox, Mom. And Ajia.” I don’t know why I add his name.

  “Ajia.” She picks up on it right away. She doesn’t smile, but the corner of her mouth quirks. “So he finally noticed you?”

  “Yeah.” But that’s all I can say about it. I’m crying for real now and trying to talk at the same time. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I…should have handled things…differently. Better.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “Don’t beat yourself up, sweetie. Of course, I wish you had said something before, but you did your best. I know that.”

  “How can you say that?” It comes out more like a sob. “I just told you something really bad. About your husband! And I—”

  “Bree!” Her voice is sharp, and I try to sniff my tears back. “One thing your father’s leaving us taught me was that we’re all responsible for our own choices. You, me, Knox—and Gabe.”

  I nod, remembering my conversation with Ajia. “Yes. I believe that.”

  “Sometimes we make great ones, sometimes not so great. And sometimes—” her gaze goes unbelievably hard “—they’re worse than bad. Now I have a choice to make, and it’s going to be the best one for my family. You can believe that.”

  I do. She’s always done that. “What’re you gonna do?”

  “Don’t you worry about that.” Mom’s gaze softens. “The rest of this is on me.”

  “Mom—”

  “Bree.” She cuts me off. “Let’s not say anymore now, honey. Just believe that I’m going to take care of this—and you. No one will hurt you that way again, if I have anything to say about it.”

  “It never went far enough that he physically hurt me or anything.” The frantic explanation pushes itself from me.

  “It isn’t about that, sweetie, and you know it. He hurt you emotionally, and he damaged our family. I can’t forgive that.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I try to swallow the fresh tears. “I’m so sorry!”

  “It’s not your fault, sweetie.” Her smile is tender enough, but the steely resolve in her eyes doesn’t match it. “You let me go now, and I’ll call you tonight. Okay, sweetie?”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She nods decisively. “Go spend some time with the boys and Ajia. Forget all this. I’ll take care of things and talk to you later.”

  “Okay, Mom.” I sound five again, but it’s the best I can do. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, baby.”

  She’s gone then, and I do the only thing I can. I throw myself face down on the bed and cry all the ugly tears I haven’t shed in longer than I can remember.

  I give myself ten, maybe fifteen, minutes to cry. No longer, or I’ll be a wreck all day. It feels kind of good to get the emotion out, but I don’t want the whole red eyes, stuffy nose, and hung over feeling that follows a long, ugly cry.

  With a deep breath, I force myself to my feet and into the bathroom. I wash my face, apply cold compresses to my eyes, and redo the small amount of makeup I wear. I drink a glass of water—I feel so damned dehydrated—and finally work up the stamina to call Ajia. I need to share my—what? Can I actually call it an accomplishment? I feel more like a failure.

  I broke my mother’s heart and probably ruined her marriage.

  Ajia’s phone goes straight to voicemail, so I try his room. He doesn’t answer there, either.

  I look at my phone like some explanation should show up on the screen. Should I be worried? Possibilities nag at me.

  He could be sleeping, in the shower, at the hotel gym, meeting with the band. Explanations pour over me. He wouldn’t do anything crazy. Not after everything he’s been through. What we’ve been through.

  He’ll surface in a bit. The record label has a Edge of Return party scheduled for tonight, and we’re all expected to attend. It’s supposed to be a lot like the Wycked Obsession party last night, except bigger and more impressive, according to Baz. Tomorrow and Saturday are two more shows, they have more meetings, and eventually we head north to the Bay area and Sacramento.

  A part of me wants to get back on the road and recapture the close camaraderie of the six of us crowded into the tour bus. Except for Knox. That fucker has some apologizing to do, and I’m not giving him a free pass this time.

  I grab my key card and stuff it in my back pocket. I’m back to wearing jeans, a Wycked Obsession T-shirt, and flip-flops. I’ll slip down the hall to Ajia’s room and see if I can catch him there.

  I don’t even make it to the door when a familiar pounding starts on the other side. Knox. I’d know that maniac’s knock anywhere.

  “What?” I throw the door open with a scowl.

  Knox and Noah stand impatiently in the hall. My brother doesn’t wait to be invited but shoves past me. Noah gives me a quick, apologetic hug and follows.

  “Come in.” I allow the sarcasm to sharpen my voice.

  Knox spins to face me. “You called Mom.”

  “She called you?”

  “What the fuck, Bree? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why should I tell you anything? You can’t be trusted.”

  “What?” He frowns like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Asshole.

  “What do you have to say about it, anyway? You wanted me to tell her from the very first. Oh—wait! You didn’t want me to tell her. You wanted to beat the shit out of Gabe and be the big, bad I’ll-save-the-fucking-day Knox Gallagher.”

  Noah gives me a small but very distinct shit-eating grin.

  “What are you talking about?” Knox demands.

  “Jesus, Knox, who the fuck do you think you’re fooling? You don’t care that Mom knows what her piece-of-shit husband was doing—or trying to do—to me. You just want to be the one to handle it. Well, fuck you, Knox. I told her myself, and it’s over. I did my part, and now it’s up to her.”

  “Why are you so pissed off? And—have you been crying?”

  “Crying?” I make my eyes go wide. “Why the hell would I be crying? Just because I had to tell my mother that her new husband is a pervert? That he hit on me and I ran away like a scared kid? Oh, hell, no, that’s nothing to upset me.”

  “Here, baby girl.” Noah comes over with a hug and pulls me down onto the bed. The maid hasn’t been in yet, so the covers are all over the place, but it doesn’t really matter to either of us.

  “You wanna tell me why you got Knox on the shit seat right now?”

  Knox sputters from the other side of the room, but Noah slashes his hand through the air for quiet. For some reason, my brother complies.

  I look at Noah. “Besides the fact that he’s an asshole?”

  “We all knew that already.”

  “And besides the fact that he’s being a jerk about this thing with Mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Because he did something lousy to Ajia, and he didn’t apologize. He didn’t even feel bad. He just left acting like the smug asshole that he is!”

  Noah swings his head around to pierce Knox with a glare I don’t often see from him. “What did you do?”

  Knox shrugs with that same cocky attitude. “What had to be done.”

  “What’s that?”

  Knox just shakes his head, like he’s too good to answer. That just pisses me off more. “He told me about the accident.”

  Noah sti
ffens. “He. What?”

  “Well, let me be fair.” I nod toward Knox. “He didn’t actually tell me about the accident. Ajia did that.”

  “What did he tell you, then?” Noah keeps staring at Knox.

  “That Ajia killed a girl.”

  Two seconds of silence deafen the room before Noah blows. “You selfish motherfucker!”

  “Hey, it’s true.” Knox tries to defend himself, but he won’t make eye contact with either Noah or me.

  “It’s not true, and you know it, Knox. It’s far from the fucking truth. There’s so much more that happened, and it wrecks Ajia to know he was a part of it. He’s fought it longer than any of us have known him, and you did that to him?”

  “It had to be done,” Knox repeats, sounding less defiant and more defensive.

  “That’s such fucking shit.” Noah’s having none of it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say quietly. “I know it all now.”

  Noah looks at me. “So he told you.”

  “Everything. Stuff he says nobody else knows.”

  “Well, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why he left.”

  CHAPTER 24

  AJIA

  Baz has a Town Car waiting at LAX for me. I wanted to take a cab, but security won’t allow it. Far as I know, nothing new is happening with Edge of Return’s stalker shit, but the label isn’t taking any chances. I’m just glad it isn’t a limo. I don’t want to attract any attention. I only want to get back to my life—to Bree—and now I find out I fucked up. Again.

  Noah texted me yesterday, and my gut’s been in a knot ever since.

  I texted Bree as soon as I realized what a douche I must look like to her. What the fuck was I thinking to leave without telling her? She only answered once. We’ll talk when you get back. Since then, it’s been twenty-four hours of phone fucking silence.

  Shit.

  I knew I’d have to explain when I got back. I’d planned to. I want to explain. Especially to Bree. She’s the reason I left. To do what I knew I had to.

  Put an end to it all. At least in my head and my heart. Exactly as Bree knew I should.

  But now I’m nervous as fucking hell. I was so focused on what I had to do, I handled it all wrong. I hurt Bree. Again.

  Fuck.

  Traffic is typically L.A.-terrible, and I’m missing sound check. I text Noah, cause I’m not saying a fucking word to Knox. It’s not so much what he did, but the way he did it. Smug prick.

  Me: On my way. Traffic’s fucked.

  Noah: Good fucking thing.

  Me: Everything OK?

  Noah: UR in deep shit.

  I don’t even try to pretend I don’t know what he means.

  Me: I know.

  Noah: U ready to fix it?

  Me: Yes.

  A few seconds pass before I see the tiny bubbles that show Noah is replying.

  Noah: Good fucking thing.

  That must be his go-to response today, and I don’t have an answer that fits. I know I have my work cut out for me—and I know I’ll do whatever it takes. Bree’s worth it, and more.

  Noah: Bet U ain’t getting any tonight.

  I lose a soft laugh, even though I figure he’s right. All I really want to do is lose myself in the soft beauty of Bree’s body, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make this up to her.

  So why does my cock keep reminding me that I can’t wait to hold her, kiss her, touch her until she comes all over my fingers, my mouth, and then push deep inside her?

  Me: U fuckers are still way too interested in my sex life.

  Noah sends back an emoji of a bug-eyed grin, and I let it go. Gotta get my head in the right place. The last two days I’ve been thinking only about me. Letting go of the past so I can make a future with Bree. I’d probably still keep thinking about that shit right now if I could, but I have to get ready for the concert.

  We’re in L.A. for at least a week yet, and then we get a day on the bus as we head north. A day when I can focus totally on Bree. I don’t know whose turn it is in the fucking bedroom, but I’m taking it. Bree and me, and Knox—and whoever’s turn it is—can get fucked.

  Now, though, I’ve gotta take care of fucking business.

  It takes another thirty minutes before I’m at the venue. Straight there, no stopping at the hotel. The guys are ready when I blast into the dressing room, but there’s no sign of Bree.

  “’Bout time, fucker,” says Noah in greeting. I grin at him.

  “All good?” asks Rye from his place on the couch next to Noah.

  “Yeah.” I nod. “We’ll talk after the show.”

  Rye nods but doesn’t say anything else. Knox is on the other side of the room, but I ignore him completely. Zayne’s stretched out on the other couch, eyes closed like he’s asleep or in a coma. It’s typical for before we go on stage, so I ignore him, too.

  “I’ll shower and then I’m ready.”

  “Makeup’s waiting for you,” says Knox, but I don’t respond.

  I’m in and out of the shower in record time, and then dress in black leather pants, black muscle shirt, and black motorcycle boots. Between things with Bree and that ridiculous fucking photo shoot, I’m done with that open white shirt for a while.

  I rush through makeup, toss back a bottle of water for hydration, and I’m ready to go on. I still don’t see Bree anywhere, but, fuck me, I’m not going to ask anybody where she is. Not now, when I’m supposed to be concentrating on giving L.A. a kick-ass show. Marty’s got a bunch of label people out there for the next two shows. If we want a successful tour and a decent budget for the third album, we gotta impress them.

  I stand at the far side of the darkened stage. I always enter from there to avoid Knox’s spotlight. The crowd is restless as it waits for the show to begin. I’m surprised to hear the crowd yelling for us. Usually they’re shouting for Edge of Return, especially Mad, their lead singer, who the chicks think is sex on a stick. Their description, not mine.

  Tonight, though, I hear chants for Wycked Obsession, our names, the occasional, “I love you, Ajia!” It used to give me a feeling of power whenever I heard it. Acceptance. Now it barely makes me smile, because it isn’t Bree saying it. Are we growing our fan base because Tonight is still hanging strong in the top five on the charts? Or is it because of the fucking tabloid gossip?

  Zayne’s bass throbs, Noah adds his heavy bass drum beat, Rye runs the scales, and Knox impresses with the guitar intro. Spotlights shine on them all, leaving the rest of the stage dark, and I take my place at the mic. My head drops forward, and I wait for the exact right moment to start.

  Run, baby, run.

  You cannot hide from me.

  Are you really sure you want to go?

  You know I can set you free.

  We always start with Run, and tonight’s no exception. It goes off flawlessly, mostly because, in my heart, I’m singing to Bree. I haven’t found her yet, don’t really think she’s running, and yet…my gut twists in a hard knot.

  I need to see her, touch her, hold her close. Make love to her.

  I drop my head forward as Run ends and the lights go off. The crowd is in a frenzy, screaming and clapping and pushing forward toward the stage. I’m aware of it, and yet I’m totally preoccupied with one thought.

  I want to make love to Bree.

  Not fuck her. Make love to her. In the real sense of the words. It will be the first time in my life.

  The stage lights come up and I stare out into a crowd of faces. Can’t see most of them, but the frenzied screaming and applause tell me they’re there. My thoughts energize me, and I smile.

  “Hello, L.A.!”

  The audience shouts back, and I wave my arm in a wide sweep that includes the rest of the band. “We’re Wycked Obsession, and we’re here to show you a good fucking time!”

  They erupt again, and I decide to egg it on. “You ready to party?�
�� I pause as the noise grows and then demand again, “I said, are you ready to fucking party?”

  I let it all roll around us for a few seconds before I raise my arm. Noah strikes off the beat, and we launch into No Doubt. It doesn’t have quite the same meaning as it did before, not when I wrote it and not when I sang it earlier in the tour. That doesn’t stop me from strutting the stage so I can search for Bree.

  Then, finally, I find her perched on a high stool in her usual spot. The stupid question flashes through my mind—did that fucker Steve put it there for her?—but I let it go when I notice another woman, slim and pretty, seated next to her. Who the fuck is that? I don’t have time for more.

  No doubt that I want you.

  No doubt that I need you.

  No doubt that we’d be good.

  But I can’t have you.

  Shouldn’t take you.

  Should have left you alone

  Right where you stood.

  The rest of the show passes so goddamn slow, it’s like I feel fucking frozen in place. I want to just walk off. I don’t. I force myself to play to the crowd, flirt and laugh and tease, but I steal looks in Bree’s direction the whole time. I can feel her gaze on me, but she doesn’t smile or move with the music like she usually does. She just watches.

  I make it through somehow, and we end with Tonight. I can’t wait to get to her, but she gone from her perch just off stage left. That’s not unusual for her, I remind myself. I usually find her in the green room after a show, and I head straight there.

  “Ajia! Oh, my God!”

  “Ajia, you’re here!”

  “I love you!”

  “Great show!”

  “I’m your biggest fan!”

  Groupies squeal and hands grab, but I don’t stop. Not even for a quick, “Hi, honey,” or “Thanks.” Not tonight. Noah comes up behind me, almost like he’s running interference, while Zayne and Rye hang back to deal with the fans. I don’t know where the fuck Knox is, and I don’t fucking care.

  We reach the green room easily enough, but there are too many fucking people there for me. Still, I find her fast enough. I’ll always fucking find her.