“You lied to me.”
“You have no idea how many times I opened my mouth to expose the truth and then you would smile or crack a joke and the idea of losing you became too much to bear.”
“So you protected your own feelings at the risk of my own?”
“We have already established I’m a selfish asshole Camille who took every wrong turn imaginable and although I tried to fight my feelings toward you, they were too strong - too all consuming to ignore.”
“We fell in love under false pretenses,” I argued, frustration rising to a peak. “I don’t how I can love you and the man you were in the alleyway.”
“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking you to love me and only me.”
“But you are the same person.”
“I have beat myself up for not being able to protect you, for saying the words I said and for not coming forward, but you have shown me that our past doesn’t define who we are.” Grabbing hold of my hand, he turned it over and pressed a kiss against my palm. As his gaze latched onto mine, Matthew’s overflowing love poured into the cracks that scarred my heart. “Please allow me to prove I’m worthy of your affection.”
Tears streaked my mascara as I searched deep inside myself for guidance. Matthew had come blazing into my life like a comet and had shaken up my safe existence. He’d taught me how to laugh again while also acting as a mirror and reflecting the self-worth I’d thought I’d lost. In his arms, I’d felt cherished and whole. Was that enough reason to forgive?
Matthew sensed my plight and dug into his jacket pocket, drawing out a creased napkin. I instinctively knew what it was. Our contract.
“My second chance will be on a trial basis and you can write any terms you see fit. Wash your laundry, rub your feet when you get home from school, cook you dinner? No task will be too menial,” he said.
“You saved it?”
Following my line of sight, he nodded and unfolded the corners. Inkblots covered the white surface. “It was the only shred of evidence I had that you weren’t a dream.”
I didn’t need or want another contract with an expiration date, because with Matthew, I wanted our relationship to span decades until we were old and grey. Denying my love for him would be punishing both of us. As Marlene advised, I needed to stop being so stubborn and forgive. Our love, the kind that steals your breath and captures your soul, doesn’t come around often and when it does, you need to hold on tight.
Confusion tainted his expression as I crumpled the napkin and threw it to the floor. “What we need is a fresh start.” Holding out my hand, my lips stretched into a half grin. “Hello, my name is Camille. What’s your name?”
Understanding dawned as he matched my grin with his own. I let out a squeal as he tugged me forward and claimed my mouth, roughly and without pause.
Breaking apart, he said against my lips. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, Camille. I’m Matthew.”
Please turn this page for a preview of Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar #3)
Pinching the bridge of my nose, a headache throbbed behind my eyes. Prisms of light danced in my vision. Awesome. A migraine was exactly what I didn’t need. My friend and band mate, Matthew Lee, was stopping by in 10 minutes to discuss our upcoming tour. Since Five Guys, dissolved, Matthew, former lead singer, had broken out on his own and started a solo career. I jumped at the chance to be his drummer because nobody had voice like him. Matthew’s vocal rang rivaled Paul McCartney’s. Once I joined, Ash, the former guitarist for Five Guys hopped on as well. It was almost as if the old band had gotten back together but Milo was sorely missed. He decided to pursue his life long dream of becoming a pro-surfer and moved to Australia. Luke though, former bass player, opened his own record label, The Winter Blues. Matthew signed on as his first client, regaining the creative freedom he lost as a singer.
While I no longer had a wife or my 150 pound slobbering great dane, Bruno, I had my career which has kept me sane through months of negotiations about splitting assets and who gets what. The pounding increased as my gaze centered on the stack of paperwork that was sent over earlier this morning. My wife, correction, ex-wife, wanted ten grand a month in alimony. Ironic, considering the reason she ran off with her yoga teacher was because she wanted to live a less materialistic life style.
I padded into the kitchen and shook two ibuprofen’s into my palm. My head tipped back as I swallowed them with a gulp of water.
“Yo!” Matthew called out from the entryway.
“I didn’t give you a key so you could barge in here whenever you wanted.”
“You didn’t answer when I knocked.
He appeared in the archway, wearing his signature cocky grin. His girlfriend, Camille, showed up a few second’s later with a basket of muffins on her arm. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. They shared a look of adoration that made me want to puke.
“You guys need to get a room,” I mumbled.
“It looks like somebody woke up this morning and put on his grumpy pants. How ‘bout a blueberry muffin?” Matthew grabbed one from the basket and underhanded it to me. My hand reached up to grab it but my reflexes were slow due to my migraine. The muffin splattered on the floor.
“Probably for the best,” Camilla said as we stared at the pile of crumbs. “I mistook the salt for the sugar in the recipe.”
“Babe! I told you to always double check,” Matthew chastised.
“It’s not my fault there isn’t any labels on the jars in your kitchen.”
“It ruins the esthetic.”
“No, it makes it easier for you to actually figure out what the hell you’re putting into your food.”
Rolling my eyes out of their insignificant squabble, I walked back into the living room and layed down on the couch. I pulled a cashmere throw over my head to block out the light. Darkness consumed me along with relief.
“Is this how we are going to conduct our meeting?” Matthew asked lightly.
“Yes.”
“You should look into going to the doctor. An old-coworker of mine had migraines and had to be prescribed medicine.” This piece of advice came from Camille.
While I appreciated it, I didn’t need drugs to get rid of the jackhammer inside my skull, I needed an ex-wife that wasn’t a money grabbing whore.
“Thanks but I’m good,” I said from beneath the blanket.
“Ok. I’m gonna take off. My first client has extreme anxiety and doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Also, my play is on Thursday. Don’t forget to bring your friends or else the sea of empty chairs will mock me.” Camille’s voice was laced with nerves.
“Babe, you’re play is gonna be a huge success. Trust me.”
The sounds that followed could only be described as lips on lips, tongues mangled together. Jesus Christ. I’m glad the cashmere blocked my view of them making out. Sometimes, I wished Matthew and my singledom matched up. We could hit the bars, troll for ladies and relive the olden days. But then, I saw how happy Camille made him and those thoughts evaporated. She was his lobster. Plus, he was a miserable bastard when they were apart. Once the front door slammed shut, I sat upright and bundled the blanket in my lap.
“So when’s Luke getting here?” I questioned.
Matthew flopped onto the L shaped couch, setting his feet onto the coffee table. “About 10 minutes. He’s bringing the twins to give Marlene a break.”
I did a pre-emptive wince shutter throughout my body. Twins equaled screaming - lots and lots of screaming. “The meeting won’t last long. He can leave them at home and then take them.”
“I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Since when did you become so domesticated?”
“You were the first one to jump into that pool, buddy.”
“Yea and look how well it turned out,” I uttered.
“You guys got engaged after a month. Did you really think that the outcome would be any different?”
Bunny, my ex-wife, and I met dur
ing a bank robbery which wasn’t some made-up tale. It actually happened. I pulled her to the ground as the criminals were pointing their rifles in the air, threatening to shoot us all. When you’re faced with death alongside a beautiful woman who is equally as scared as you, you share a bond. Bunny and I fell in love, quickly without any bullshit games and or hoops to jump through. I truly thought she was the one I would grow old with.
“Yea I did,” I said. “Besides, you shouldn’t talk. You and Camille haven’t been together long and you’re already saying I love you.”
“That’s after we fought tooth and nail to get to this point.”
“And almost lost your career as a musician.”
Matthew went into hiding for a handful of months after him and Camille called it quits. I prodded to reveal the cause behind their breakup but his lips remained sealed. The man was more private than a CSI agent.
Matthew’s gaze shined with everlasting love. “I would have lost everything for Camille. She’s worth it.”
Luke chose that moment to bust into my townhouse, carrying two car seats. The twins were cooing at each other and Luke, out of breath, appeared as if he had been through the wringer. Sleeplessness painted the bags underneath his eyes, a frightening shade of black and blue. Matthew and I jumped up and relieved him of the twins.
“Thanks,” Luke wheezed.
We set the car seats on the floor so they faced outwards. Luke collapsed onto the couch as he kicked off his shoes. If we didn’t have important business to discuss, I would have sent him to my room to take a nap. He needed it.
“I’m dying,” Luke moaned with his arm draped across his forehead. “It’s been 36 house since I slept, took a shower or ate anything. Marlene is a god damn goddess for doing this by herself the first time around.”
“I can fix you something to eat,” I offered.
“That would be amazing.”
Getting off the couch, Matthew called after me. “No fancy cheese plates. This man needs a sandwich.”
I grumbled a string of insults aimed at him under my breath. My ex-wife used to cook elaborate meals with gourmet ingredients that I couldn’t pronounce. Honestly, while the food tasted good, it seemed empty as did the china and gold embossed forks we used.
I slapped together a grilled cheese alongside a bowl of warmed canned tomato soup. Setting it on the coffee table, Luke’s eyes lit up as if it was prime aged steak.
“I could marry you right now,” Luke said while his teeth bit into the white bread. Orange cheese oozed out of the sides. “Oh my god.”
“Do you want a minute alone?” Matthew joked.
“Dude, you have no idea.”
“You’re right I don’t and I’m not planning to for awhile.”
Luke cocked his head to the side. “You and Camille don’t want kids?”
“Maybe down the line but she and I are swamped with our careers right now.”
Seeing my opening to get the meeting on track, I clamped my hands together. “Speaking of careers, the tour. What’s the first stop?”
Luke wiped his grease stained fingers on his jeans and reached for his briefcase. Pulling out a disarray of papers, he fanned them on the table.
“We are hitting the south then the east coast.” When his baby girl began to cry, he rocked the car seat with his foot and continued to talk. “It’s gonna be brutal but we’ve already sold out on pre-sale tickets in Austin and Dallas. Your fans are excited, Matthew.”
Matthew smiled. “Good, so am I. I’ve missed the rush of being on stage.”
“Me too. These past few months of being idle have tested my sanity,” I said.
Luke slapped me on the back, causing the air to expel from my lungs. “Your sanity is always in question.”
“Thanks.”
Matthew and Luke’s laughter died as the twins began to cry in earnest. Their shrieks could bust an ear drum. Luke rocked both of their car seats with the balls of his feet while shushing them.
“Shh, it’s ok, guys. It’s alright. You’re just tired. Go to sleep.” Luke’s tone, seeped in desperation, made me feel for the guy. “Come on. Please, be quiet for daddy.”
They were ruthless though, as their cries increased in volume. Suddenly, the sound of Matthew’s singing filled the room. Even without a guitar or a band backing him up, his voice commanded an audience which was why, it wasn’t a surprise when the twins quieted. Their eyes round, focused on Matthew. I hadn’t heard the song before but it was soulful and came straight from the heart. The twin’s eyelids fluttered as they gave into the sweet melody. On the last note, they fell asleep and silence resided.
Luke’s gaze swung over to Matthew, alit with awe. “You’re the baby whisperer.”
He laughed. “Hardly. My mom used to sing that song to me when I was a child.”
“Have you considered recording it?” I asked.
Matthew’s shoulder hit his ears in a lighthearted shrug. “Not really. Why? Do you think I should?”
“I liked it.”
“Me too,” Luke said.
He chewed his bottom lip, thoughtfully. After a ten second beat, a smile spread across Matthew’s face as he looked up at us. Excitement radiated off him. “Alright, I’ll record it.”
Grabbing his cellphone, his fingers flew over the keyboard, most likely to add the song to his notes section. Once he was done, he dropped the device onto the seat cushion next to him.
“We should go into the recording studio as soon as we get back from tour,” I suggested.
“We will but I’m thinking we should drop the album on digital platforms only.” Luke tugged free a piece of paper from the stack that had graphs written on it. “If you want to take a look….”
Before he could jump into a slew of business jargon, Matthew held up his hand. “I trust you. No need to bore us to death with logistics.”
I murmured my agreement. Luke cradled the bowl in his lap while he spooned tomato soup into his mouth. A fear that he would stain my couch with his sloppiness made me bite the inside my cheek. Matthew already joked that my ex-wife ran off with my balls. If I requested for Luke to eat on the coffee table, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.
Between bites, Luke spoke. “I also have another piece of news I need to bring up with you guys. This tour is your announcement to the world, Matthew, that you are a solo artist. That you are no longer connected with Five Guys. Because of that, a production company has expressed interest in making a documentary about your rise to fame and why you decided to take the path you did. Going from a traditional record label, to a start up and so forth. Also, it would be an inside look at who you are as a person and each of the bandmates as well.” Predicting disinterest, he rushed onwards. “At least meet her first, please.”
Her?” I asked.
“Yea, she is a widely recognized documentary filmmaker from New York.”
“And she is going to be on tour with us??”
Luke looked at me sideways as if I was the crazy one. “How else would she get footage?”
“That seems cramped.”
“I agree with Sean,” Matthew piped in. “The bus isn’t equipped to hold the band plus a film crew.”
“They’ll stay in hotel’s.” Luke said.
“With what budget? Last we talked, you said we had to make cuts,” I recalled.
Shoving the paper’s back into his briefcase, Luke snapped it closed and stood. Once a patient man by nature, his newborn twins had sucked the well dry. “We’re meeting her tomorrow at noon. Be there or else.”
“Or else what?” Matthew and I questioned.
“Or else there won’t be a tour to speak of.”
This was a terrible idea. Worse than the time I ate a spider because my brother dared me fifty bucks that I wouldn’t. As soon as my tongue brushed it’s furry legs, I hurled into the grass while he laughed, triumphant.
But this - this rivaled for the number two spot. Number one was up for debate. I rolled my carry on suitcase off the plane and in
to the bustling Seattle airport. Following the signs for the taxicab pick up area, a war raged inside my brain.
Last year, I was in Uganda, filming a documentary about the genocide and interviewing victims that told stories so heartbreaking, they stayed with me long after I returned home. Now I was in Seattle to film the untold tale of Matthew Lee, former lead singer turned solo artist/rock god.
How the hell did that happen?
The diamond ring on my right finger flashed in the light, reminding me of the life I had run from in New York.
Right.
Marco happened. Three months from now, I would be Mrs, Sinclair. If you told that to my twenty one year old self, she would be screaming for joy. Marco has held my heart since we met my junior year abroad in Spain. He dripped in sexuality with his bronzed skin, tantalizing accent and wavy Fabio like locks.
Late at night as I lay in bed, my mind would wander to our future. What it would look like, how many kids we would have, where we would put down roots, the whole nine yards. Except, hard as I might, none of that appeared. It was like a strip of film that had been damaged.
Sighing, I jumped into a yellow cab that took me to the hotel where I was meeting Five Guys. Living on a tour bus sounded as appealing as a gynecology appointment but going home to my apartment which had been overrun with Marco’s belongs wasn’t an option either. It didn’t matter if I found this job beneath me. I needed it.
The revolving door spit me out into the stark white lobby. A rug that looked like a dead muppet designated the lounge area along with bean bags chairs and long S shaped couch in flaring hot pink that required sunglasses.
According to my cell phone, I had twenty minutes to kill. My rumbling stomach pointed me towards the hotel restaurant, designed more tastefully than the monstrosity of the lobby. I saddled up to the bar and placed my order with the bartender; a medium rare hamburger and fries with extra salt.
Broken Lullabies Page 23