“Hello, Brooklyn,” Warren crooned, holding the microphone with both hands.
More yelling. A couple fans began to climb the fire escapes. Big, beefy men in bright yellow shirts stopped them. Security, thank goodness.
The sun began to set, lighting up the band from behind. “We’re so glad you could make it out on this fine night for our little impromptu concert. Now, if you’ve been following us on social media, you know there’s a very special reason why we’re here tonight. My girl is in that apartment building across the street, the one that looks like a cross between the Bates Motel and an asylum. She’s probably a little afraid to come out right now. You see, a lot of shit has been said about us the last few days. Some good but mostly bad.”
The crowd jeered, booing.
“Now, now let’s not get too excited. I don’t blame the media for what they’ve been saying, especially about me. But I’m pissed as hell they’ve been going after my girl. So I’m here to set the record straight. I’m not going to tell you all of the details, because that shit is private. But I will tell you Addison Wanks is the best thing that ever happened to me.” Oohs and aws from the crowd. “I’m not the easiest guy to live with. Most times, I act before I think, which happened a few weeks ago. My girl told me some stuff and I should’ve reacted a lot differently. Once I realized what a fuck-up I’d been, I decided the only way to get my girl back was this little concert.”
My fingers pressed to my mouth. He could’ve just called. But Warren never did anything small. Go big or go home was his motto.
“Baby.” He addressed my apartment building, light blue eyes searing through the window, into me. “I know you like that folky shit. I wrote this one for you. Here goes.”
A roadie switched out Ash’s guitar for a banjo. Lix moved to a keyboard and began to play. Derren slowed down on the drums. The melody was soft and slow, deep and meaningful. If love had a sound, this was it. I blinked away the tears building in my eyes. War strummed an acoustic guitar, his mouth opened and he began to sing. His scratchy voice echoed through the streets.
“I’m going to love you till kingdom come
Till the nights are dark
And the days are done
I want you to be my bride
Till I’m old and gray
Stay by my side
I’m going to love you till kingdom come
Till the streets are empty
With the setting sun
Promise I’ll never leave
Got me wrapped around your finger
My heart is on my sleeve
I’m going to love you till kingdom come…”
Before the song ended, I was out the door. Lily yelled my name, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I needed to get to him. To hold him. I bolted out of my apartment and hurtled through the crowd. Camera flashes went off in my face but people stepped out of the way. I took the fire escape. Big mistake. Halfway up, I was a sweaty mess. I had to stop and take a breather—a couple weeks as a shut-in and my physical health had deteriorated rapidly. Mind you, I hadn’t been that fit to begin with.
“War!” I yelled, cupping my hands over my mouth.
The music screeched to a stop. Warren peeked over the railing. “Jesus Christ, Addy. You could’ve been stomped to death. Again. What the hell are you thinking?”
I made frantic come down here gestures with my hands. Warren obliged and began climbing along with a couple security guards. He leapt the final steps down, landing before me. He grabbed my waist, hauling me into his body. The crowd screamed but the noise seemed distant. He cupped my cheeks. I cried. But the tears were good tears, happy tears. War misread them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes panicked. “Don’t cry. I’ll make them all go away.”
“No, it’s not that. You came for me. I’m crying because you came for me.”
Warren frowned. “Of course I came for you. I’m sorry I’m a little late. It takes a shit-ton of work to set up a grand gesture. You have no idea how many permits we had to pull.”
“I thought”—sniffle—“I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
“Fuck. The shit that goes through your head, I’ll never understand. I love you, Addison Price. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. I’ve loved you—”
I cut him off with a kiss.
This delighted the crowd. Roars of approval ran through the streets.
Warren buried his nose in my hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, baby, but you kind of stink.”
I chuckled. “I know. I haven’t left the apartment much the last couple weeks. And I’ve been packing all day.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He kissed me stupid again. “I love you sweaty and smelly.” A pause. “I want us to get married.”
I rolled my eyes. “We’re already married.”
“I want us to get married again and do it right this time. I’ll give you a big wedding, the wedding you’ve always deserved.”
I shook my head, clutching his shirt in my fists.
“No?” Warren looked crestfallen.
“I don’t need a big wedding. What we had was perfect. Maybe we could do a celebration or something. My dad would like that.”
At the mention of Billy, Warren’s lips thinned but he didn’t comment. I decided to accept his silence as progress.
“Are you two lovebirds finished making up?” Derren called down. “If we don’t start playing again soon, we’re going to have some rabid fans on our hands.”
Warren’s thumbs caressed my chin. “What do you say, baby? Are we done?”
I shook my head. “We’re not done. We’ll never be done.”
An easy smile curved Warren’s mouth. “Damn straight. No more secrets?”
“No more secrets,” I agreed.
Warren eased his hold on me and let go. He stepped onto a rung of the fire escape staircase and began to climb. I followed. A few steps up he paused and looked down, brow creased. “Did you say packing?”
I nodded vigorously. “Remember when you said we could live anywhere I want? And that you’d follow?”
Warren dipped his chin, tongue working the inside of his cheek.
“I have great news,” I said, smiling with all teeth. “We’re moving in with Billy.”
And that was the end.
Well, sort of.
The hallway on the other side of the door was quiet, but I could feel Warren out there. Pacing. Waiting. Gripping his neck in frustration. I exhaled a deep breath in the silent bathroom.
Eight months had passed since Warren’s grand concert gesture on top of a derelict apartment building. Unbeknownst to him, the record company had recorded said concert. The album had reached platinum and double platinum in under two months.
Wanks and Janks had finished their farewell tour the same night Daisy went into labor. She’d almost delivered my half-brother on stage in front of thirty thousand fans. I was there in the delivery room, coaching Daisy through much grunting and pushing. Billy fainted when the baby was delivered, not very rock’n’roll, so I cut the cord. Dylan, my brother, had tufts of blondish hair and a set of lungs you wouldn’t believe. The first time I held him, he screamed and farted simultaneously. I loved him instantly and with a ferocity I didn’t know I possessed.
War kept his word and we moved in with Billy. Saying things were tense at first was a bit of an understatement. The Arctic seemed like a summer retreat, given the way Billy and Warren acted around each other. They didn’t fight. They just didn’t talk. Daisy and I endured icy, brooding silence for five weeks. A day into the sixth week, I wandered the house, making my way to the basement studio. Daisy stood in the sound technician booth, watching through the window, a mix of amazement and apprehension in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” I whisper-yelled.
Daisy put a finger to her lips. “Sh.”
I followed her gaze. Warren sat on a stool, a guitar in his lap and Billy just above his shoulder. Billy’s arms were crossed, h
is face serious. “That’s it,” he told Warren. “You see, when you change that chord up a bit, it lifts the whole song.”
“You’re right, man. Thanks,” Warren said, scratching something out on a piece of paper.
“Oh, my God,” I said in a low voice. “Are they getting along?”
“They’ve been doing this for twenty minutes. I came down to ask Billy if he wanted lunch and I found them like this. I’m too afraid to move. I don’t want to spook them.”
I grinned. It was a lot like observing animals in the wild, two alphas that had stumbled into one another’s territory. We watched for another ten minutes, until a cry from the baby monitor in Daisy’s hand startled them.
“Shoot.” Daisy struggled to dim the volume. Too late. Billy and Warren had spied us through the glass.
“Have they been staring at us the whole time?” Warren asked.
Billy smirked. “Probably. Daisy can’t get enough of me.” My father puffed out his chest. Gross.
I flicked a switch on the sound board and spoke into a microphone. “I’m glad you two are getting along.” I gave a watery smile.
“Christ,” Warren complained. “It’s not that big of a fucking deal.”
And that was it. Fast-forward a few more months, and Billy surprised us with a late wedding gift. He’d bought us the house across the street from him. “I’ll let you take my daughter,” Billy said the day he presented us with the keys. “But not too far away.” Manipulative bastard.
The day of the move time stopped, ceased to exist. I’d just started unpacking our first box in the kitchen when I realized I’d missed something important. Something I hadn’t missed in three years. My ass hit the floor. Warren saw my dazed face. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did those fucking movers—”
“Sh, I’m counting,” I hissed at Warren. I ticked the days off on my fingers. Twenty-nine. One day late. It could mean nothing. It could mean something. Something big.
“What’s going on?” Warren crouched beside me. Concerned lines appeared between his brows.
“I’m late?” I wondered if my face was as white as it felt.
“Late?” Warren parroted. Three seconds, that was how long it took for Warren to get it. He sprang into action and immediately stubbed his toe on a box. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he chanted, hopping around on one foot.
Ugh. I rolled my eyes. “I told you to wear shoes. Who goes barefoot while unpacking boxes?”
“I do.” Warren jabbed a thumb into his chest. “Because I’m a fucking man.”
“Got it.” I nodded. “Real men go barefoot and scream like little girls when they stub their toes.” I rose to stand. Hands were on my shoulders, pressing me back down to the floor.
“Shit, sit down, baby. Rest. You’re pregnant,” Warren demanded.
Another eye roll. “I don’t know if I’m pregnant, War. I’m late. I need to take a pregnancy test. Let’s go to the store.”
Warren shook his head. “You stay here. I’ll go. Don’t unpack anymore. A box could fall on you. Don’t use the oven either. I thought I smelled gas earlier. Actually, don’t move at all.” The door was swinging shut behind him before I could disagree.
Now banging on the bathroom door jolted me from my thoughts. “Fuck’s sake, Addy. What’s taking so long?”
War had returned thirty minutes ago with a bag of pregnancy tests. I didn’t have to wee, so I drank some water. Warren had watched the whole time, intense eyes darting back and forth between the water bottle and my stomach. War had tried to follow me in the bathroom, but I’d stuck up a hand and forced him to stay. I had to draw the line somewhere.
I’d peed on one test then another and another. Five tests. Five positive signs glared back at me. I was pregnant. Again. I waited for the fear to take root, but it didn’t. Blinding happiness spread through my legs and arms.
Since the ectopic pregnancy had nearly ruptured my left Fallopian tube, it had been removed. The chances of me becoming pregnant again were slim, the doctor had explained. I’d relayed this to Warren. We’d decided not to use protection for the time being and if a baby came, a baby came. A very adult decision. It would be a miracle. We’d be thankful. But I hadn’t thought it would happen. At least not this soon. Warren, on the other hand, had been confidant, going on and on about his “super-sperm.”
“I’m going to beat down this door if you don’t answer me,” Warren warned.
Gathering the tests in my fist, I opened the door. Hands shoved in his pockets, Warren examined me, the tears glistening in my eyes, my happy glow.
“We’re going to have a baby,” he said.
Even though he didn’t pose it as a question, I nodded, holding the pee sticks close to my chest.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured. Then his lips were on mine, his arms crushing me to him.
“I can’t believe it,” I sort of cried and snorted.
“I can,” he said, kissing my head. “Super-sperm, remember?” Warren froze against me.
“What?” I peered up at him.
“Sh, I’m counting,” he repeated my words from an hour ago. It was amazing how your life could change in such a short span of time. I watched the ball in his throat work. “Shit, you’re due right in the middle of the tour.” The record company had booked a world tour to capitalize on Wild Minds’ newest bestselling album. “We’ll just have to cancel. You can’t be on the road and pregnant. And I’m not going without you.”
I shrugged. “Daisy did it.”
He considered this. “I’d want a doctor on call.” He sucked in his cheeks, thinking. “Maybe we can find someone to tour with us.”
My mouth curved in a smile, as I had a brilliant idea. The image of a six-foot-plus Highlander-esque Scotsman, half nurse, half bodyguard, danced in my vision. “I know the perfect guy.”
Warren groaned, then proceeded to kiss me silly.
And that was the end.
Really.
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Coming Soon!
Want more of Wild Minds?
Watch for Daisy and Billy’s story:
Hard Lessons
Summer(ish) 2017
Watch for Ash and Lily’s story:
Bad Reasons
Fall(ish) 2017
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Thanks to Mr. West for the unconditional love and support on this new venture. I’ll never forget when I said, “I think I can write a romance novel.” And you simply replied, “I think you can, too.” Love you.
Thanks to my team: RJ, Taryn, Sarah, Stacey and Chasity. It truly takes a village to publish a book.
And the biggest thanks to the romance lovers and readers! Without you, I wouldn’t have a job I love. You make everything worth it.
Charlotte West writes romance about strong heroines and the sexy alpha males who love them. She lives in Washington state with her husband and very large dog (think miniature pony size). She spends way too much money on books, and way too much time reading. When she’s not reading, she’s feeding her reality television addiction, eating chocolate, or traveling. She’s been known to eat her weight in Girl Scout cookies.
She has a degree in Science and a Master’s in Education, neither of which she is currently using but is still paying for. Occasionally, she moonlights as a YA author.
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Good Lies (A Wild Minds Novel) Page 22