Hold You Close (Seattle Sound Series Book 3)

by Alexa Padgett

  I made it to the dressing room and swiped at my sweaty forehead. No one joined me. Not that I expected them to. Sure, it hurt, Jake’s defection the most. My younger brother had long viewed me as his hero. Until I stepped so far over the line even he couldn’t defend me.

  The girl entered.

  “You eighteen?” I barked. I might be a complete arse, but I wasn’t going to jail.

  “Yes. Of course,” she stuttered.

  “Let me see your ID.” I held out my hand while she fumbled through her bag. “The real one,” I sighed.

  Flustered, she managed to pull out a driver’s license with her actual picture. Pretty. Fresh. And too damn young.

  Handing it back, I snagged my pen and a bottle of water. “What can I sign for you, sweetheart?”

  Relieved, and angry because I was relieved, I pulled out one of our band tees and scribbled my name on it. I thrust it toward her as I called, “Harry!”

  Our manager strolled in. He pretended to ignore me in favor of pulling a piece of lint on his bespoke suit. I scowled as I nodded to the girl and he moved toward her, cupping her elbow and leaning toward her. If he wanted her, fine. But I wouldn’t be the one written up on a gossip site for screwing an underage Yank.

  Jake sauntered into the room. “Glad to see you aren’t a complete dissipate.”

  “Not yet,” I said, sighing as I slid onto the couch.

  “I’m going back to the bus. Might grab a bite.” He hesitated. “You want to come?”

  I glanced up, wondering if he wanted to offer or if he felt like he should. “No worries, Jakey. Do your thing.”

  “Murphy, it’s just . . . you seem unsettled. Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  I chugged the rest of my bottle before I threw it, hard, toward the rubbish bin. I missed but didn’t have the energy to pick it up. Not that I needed to worry about cleaning anything. Someone was happy to fix my—our—messes. Like the girl, our roadies and even the stadium staff thought of us as gods.

  “I’m fine. Enjoy your night.”

  Jake stepped farther into the room as if he planned to start the first real convo since he’d told me he planned to quit the band. Back in Europe. These last few weeks had been some of the longest and loneliest of my life.

  “What’s the worry?” he asked.

  “Not sure I want to go back to Sydney.”

  “You haven’t been, have you? Since you wrote ‘She’s so Bad?’”

  “Just the venues. Not to our old stomping ground,” I sighed. And I didn’t want to go back now. Mila shattered me, but staying away wouldn’t help. I needed to find her. I’d asked around. Mila disappeared the night she dumped me.

  She left me and everyone who knew her, up and quitting her job with no notice. Totally out of character. At the time, I’d reckoned she’d been too ashamed of her cheating and the fact she’d left me to face the rabid bunch of journos, desperate to hear all the dirty secrets as to why she dumped me just days after that photo hit the Sydney paper.

  Those sick, slimy bastards questioned me about her affair. I wouldn’t believe the allegations until I read in the papers a few weeks later that Mila Trask, ex-girlfriend of up-and-coming indie rocker yours truly, was in a car accident. Every instinct told me to go to Perth and see for myself if she’d survive. To find out why she was in Perth of all places. Couldn’t get much farther away from Sydney, which worried me further. I’d been about to hop on a plane when I opened another gossip site and found out she’d miscarried a baby.

  And I’d hated her since.

  I never did meet the bloke who stole and impregnated my girl. In fact, his name never went public. Probably for the best she’d managed to slip away with her new man. If she hadn’t, I might well have spent these months locked up for ripping him apart instead of turning to my guitar with a kind of singular focus that got me to the highest level of rock stardom possible. Multiplatinum levels, thanks to the song “She’s So Bad” and Hayden Crewe’s formidable talent.

  Not my talent. After writing that song, I hadn’t completed any new material. “She’s So Bad” sold nearly as many copies as Adele’s “Hello” but our album sold over three million copies—and was still selling. We were being compared to the big guns—Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, and the biggest thrill: The Beatles. I might have written the song that caught the world’s attention, but Hayden carried the band now. I was a one-hit wonder—the sad, pathetic former bandmate who would eventually star in reality TV shows and lose all his hair.

  I flicked the tip of my tongue through my lip ring. I wasn’t quite thirty. I didn’t need to worry about aging yet, but I should slow down on the partying and booze. Too little sleep and too much alcohol weren’t as much fun as it used to be and didn’t help me focus on my goals. I needed another song to bring to the table, especially now that the label requested I consider a solo project.

  In a month, I’d meet with the execs to hash out the agreement, but next week, I was scheduled to be back here in Seattle for a charity concert. I’d signed on as soon as I found out the proceeds were earmarked for battered women and children. I’d aligned myself with the cause early on, before we were famous, and I was pleased to have helped so many families.

  But I didn’t want to go to the meeting with the record execs. I didn’t have anything worthwhile to show them. Worse, Jake didn’t know about the offer. I’d lied to my brother. By omission, sure, but didn’t change the fact. He and I weren’t in the best place, and our relationship wouldn’t take many more blows.

  Since Mila left, everything I’d worked for skyrocketed into the stratosphere before I began the long and painful descent back to Earth. I hated feeling this unsure of my next step.

  3

  Mila

  “Mila.”

  “Wha—”

  “Sweetie, it’s after seven. Are you going to work?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  The bed dipped, causing the worst sensation ever—somewhere between seasickness and death. I clamped my teeth shut, refusing to vomit. I hated being sick. Not like a normal, ick!, that’s gross feeling. No, more of a there’s no way in hell I’m letting that come up my throat feeling. Because I didn’t vomit. No matter what.

  I’d powered through three months of morning sickness, and I could power through this as well.

  “You are so hungover,” Noelle giggled.

  “I hate my life. I hate you.”

  “Aw, sweetie. No you don’t. I’m the reason you didn’t go to the hospital.”

  I cracked open an eye, angry when it immediately swelled too large for the socket. I took the ibuprofen Noelle handed me and swallowed it quickly. “I hate being a patient at the hospital most.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re thrilled with me right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You wanted a third drink. Considering you never drink and those martinis were doubled, I think you owe me a huge thank you.”

  I closed my eye and groaned again.

  “I want to hear the words.”

  “Thank you,” I mumbled.

  “You’re welcome,” Noelle chirped.

  “Wait. Did I cry?”

  “Buckets,” Noelle said, hopping off the bed. “But you’ve held those tears in for way too long. We’re going to talk again about the fact you dated Murphy Etsam and you didn’t tell me. Now are you going to work?”

  “I never knew him when he was famous.”

  “You knew him.”

  I knew him then. I didn’t know the man he’d become now. I’d read everything I could find on him once I discharged from the Perth hospital. The pictures splashed all over the Internet showed the progression: each week, his eyes hardened more and his features tightened with disgust.

  I’d done that to him. He’d loved me as much as I’d loved him. It wasn’t as though I could forget the expression on his face when I told him we were over. He would have pleaded with me, his pride be damned—that’s how much he’d wanted me—or kiss
ed me until I told him the truth. So I gave him as much truth as I could while backing from the room.

  I scrubbed my cheeks with the sheet, reveling in the slight scratch.

  “Later. Please?”

  “Has to be. I’m running late right now as it is.”

  “I guess I’m going to take a sick day.”

  “No, you aren’t. I refuse to let you sit around and stew.”

  “I’ll work from home.”

  “You aren’t home.”

  “My office doesn’t know that.”

  “You see patients. Can’t do that via Internet connection.”

  “Fine. I’ll text them I’m coming in a little late because I’m recovering from a stomach bug.”

  Noelle snorted. “College code for hangover.”

  “I’m too old for this,” I moaned.

  “’Kay. Well, I’m off. Hop in the shower, will you? You smell like the bar.”

  “I feel worse. Why did I think going out for drinks was a good idea?”

  “Because it was. You talked about all that crap you’ve been suppressing. Just wait. The whole world will seem better.”

  “Not right now it doesn’t.”

  Noelle patted my shoulder, and I squeezed my eyes and jaw shut. “Bye, sweetie. See you tonight!”

  “Do we have plans?”

  She tucked her mass of hair up inside a black cap and tugged down her cute pink scrubs top. Must be raining outside. Noelle’s hair was even more out of control in the rain. “Course we do. You’re spilling the rest of your life secrets. Maura’s coming, too.”

  “Can’t,” I rasped. “I have to go to the Tractor Tavern. I need to see Murphy, to finally let him go.”

  Noelle smiled gently as she took my hand. “I know, sweetie. We’re going with you.”

  “You are? How’d you get tickets?”

  “Friend at work. I told him it was an emergency. You owe me two-fifty for the tix, by the way. He wouldn’t let them go easily.”

  I crawled out of the bed, trying not to gag. I didn’t believe Noelle’s statement about an improved world, but she planned to be there for me tonight when I’d finally see Murphy again. She had hugged me while I cried, and she’d gotten me back to her place.

  I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in tight. “Thanks, Noelle. I appreciate your support. You are a great friend.”

  “I’m an amazing friend. Now, I have to go to work. If I’m lucky Briar will be there.” She waggled her brows. “And where there’s a Briar, Hayden Crewe isn’t far behind.” She winked and waved before heading out the door.

  I made it to the bathroom, my stomach still rolling higher than the waves at Bondi Beach. I glared at my reflection, hating my puffy, red eyes, the mascara streaks over my hollowed cheekbones. Fine, my gaunt features were because I didn’t eat much or often; I’d struggled with meals since I broke up with Murphy. Just the thought of Jordan finding me gave me chills and twisted my insides into a mass of emotions I was too tired to try to untangle.

  I took a long, long shower. If Noelle paid for her water, she would have cursed me seven ways to Sunday. Thankfully, I knew the utilities were included in her monthly rent.

  Stepping out, confidence built in me. I would survive the day.

  I wandered back into the bedroom’s closet, wrapped in a towel, and pulled out some clean clothes I kept here. Noelle moved nearer her new job at a large clinic late last year—nearly an hour from my residency at the hospital in Federal Way. Because of the distance, we left a few outfits at the others’ homes for just this type of occurrence. The slacks and blouse were loose, courtesy of my difficulty eating a decent meal these days, and the only shoes in the closet were the low-heeled sandals from yesterday. I shrugged. The brown shoes weren’t ideal but I had much bigger issues to deal with. Like getting through the day. And the night.

  The day at work proved long. An emergency cesarean kept Dr. Cahill in surgery all morning, so I managed her caseload as well as my own. At five o’clock, I headed home for some cuddle time with Alpie, hoping she’d ease my fears.

  She snuggled onto my shoulder and shushed me, rubbing her feathered cheek along mine.

  “What would I do without you?” I asked.

  Alpie fluttered her wings before hopping onto the back of a kitchen chair to preen. “Love-oo.”

  I smiled, tears in my eyes, as I caressed her head feathers. “I love you, too, darling girl. Noelle’s taught you right.”

  “No-elle. Love-oo,” Alpie called before clicking her tongue against the roof of her beak. “Ca-shoo. Ca-shoo.”

  I laughed. I tossed a handful of nuts into Alpie’s cage, ensured she had water and that the latch was locked. Now, an hour later, I’d changed into jeans and a pretty knit top but was too nervous to consider going to the show. I pulled out the ticket and fingered the edge.

  No way I’d get to see Murphy, and if I did, what would I say?

  As if they were able to read my mind, Noelle texted me right then to let me know she and Maura were already at the Tractor Tavern. The selfie showed them, cheeks pressed together, with margaritas out front. I stared at the picture for many minutes, debating with myself. I should go. I didn’t have to see Murphy. I could hang back, leave as soon as it ended. Better yet, I’d walk out right after he sang “She’s so Bad,” leaving him and his anger where it belonged—in the past.

  My chest was tight as I exited my house and into the Uber I’d called. I desperately wanted to see him, be in the same room as him. Hear his voice sing those lyrics—throw my words back at me. Then, finally, then I’d get the closure I needed and more on.

  I could do this—I needed to do this. The driver dropped me off out front and I walked slowly toward the entrance. Once again, I thought I heard someone call my name.

  I turned, and this time I saw him. About five foot ten, with well-styled salt-and-pepper hair. A large nose and a slight pot belly. Typical middle-aged Westerner. His spectacles made it impossible to see his eyes, but they were brown, a few shades darker than my own. I shoved my way through the door, panic building in my chest. I stumbled up to the table where Noelle and Maura were laughing.

  “The band just took the stage so you’re just in time! This is going to be so much fun . . . What’s wrong?” Noelle asked, eyes darting from my face to the swelling crowd.

  “Jordan,” I panted.

  The people around us quieted and a man’s voice came over the microphone. Aussie accent, baritone. Hayden.

  “He’s here?” Maura asked. She narrowed her eyes as she stood on the rungs of her bar chair. “That no-good piece of shit. Where?”

  “Outside.” My teeth started to chatter. “I can’t stay here. He’ll know I came to see Murphy. He’ll try to hurt him.” The words stopped, and I sobbed into the napkin Maura handed me.

  “What’s done is done,” she said, her voice practical. “He knows you’re here.”

  A thick, heavy hand dropped on my shoulder. I wasn’t quite able to stifle the scream as he spun me around to face him.

  “Mila, darling. It’s been too long.”

  His blunt fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he tugged me toward him. This time, I screamed long and loud, clawing at his fingers, the fright of him being there, touching me, overpowered everything else.

  Pandemonium erupted around me, and I didn’t care. I needed Jordan’s fingers off my skin. Away from me.

  Maura and Noelle jumped forward just as a man from the next table also stepped in and yanked Jordan off. I ducked out from under Jordan’s arm and darted left, my chest heaving.

  “Mila?”

  My gaze slammed into Murphy’s. His blue-gray eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in shock. I couldn’t move. Murphy was so close. Anger seeped into his eyes. His lashes lowered, and then the arse the world saw was back, his face and shoulders stiff.

  “You’re not getting away again,” Jordan growled, into my ear.

  I’d forgotten him. So focused on Murphy, his disgust turning palpable, I’d
forgotten to run. Defeat weighted on my back. But then Jordan’s fingers were at my throat, arching my neck back. My eyes pleaded Murphy to understand. This was why I left, but I still love you. I’ll always love you.

  Someone pulled on Jordan, and I screamed as his fingernails raked across my skin. Murphy’s eyes widened, taking in my struggle, the man behind me—the man who broke us. Somehow I read his lips, heard his voice even over the tumult around us.

  “Mila.” Just my name, but it was more than I could handle.

  I ran.

  My arm was up, and I flung open the door of the closest cab. “Pike Place Market,” I panted. No choice but to get back to my house, get out the suitcase. Tears blurred my vision.

  I pulled up my Uber app and set a pickup in the Pike Place Market. Crowded, lots of black cars coming and going. Best chance of losing Jordan was there.

  I scuttled from the cab to the new ride, glancing over my shoulder each time. My text app chimed as I slammed the door shut. Noelle.

  Are you okay?

  I’m in an Uber car. Going back to my place.

  No!

  I can’t be near Jordan. You saw—he won’t stop. He wouldn’t. Not until I submitted or he killed me. Maybe both. The hurt in Murphy’s eyes. No. I wouldn’t think about that. He could hate me all he wanted, but he wouldn’t break me. Jordan already tried. Almost succeeded.

  Noelle responded. Head over to my place. I’ll meet you there.

  No, don’t worry about me. I’ll go home. Lock all my doors.

  My phone rang. “Hello?”

  Loud voices slammed against my eardrums and I winced. “You will not go home by yourself,” Noelle yelled into the phone. She mustn’t realize how loud she was. The volume behind her was insane. “Go back to my condo. I have security at the door. I’ve already called Arnold. He’s expecting you. I’ll be there shortly. One more thing I have to do.”

  “Noelle—I can’t. I can’t let Jordan near me again. I can’t get Murphy more involved in this.”