“I know, my friend. I feel like it's all my fault. I’d wanted to search for her long before this went down. Wanted to get you out of the funk you’d been in since the day I met you. You might have fooled everyone else around you pretending to be happy, living the good life, but you never fooled me. She’s the part of the true Roman Nixon that’s been missing. About shit my pants when I was down in San Diego on business a few weeks ago and saw her having lunch with a woman. Knew it was her from those photos you used to have hidden in your office. I followed her to a law office. Dug around and found out she works there. Dug a little deeper, and that’s how I found out she lives here. By herself, if you get my meaning.”
“I hear you.”
“If this is Gwen's doing, which I’m sure it is, then my guess is, she scoured your office and saw those pictures. I know you kept that room locked up tight, but think about it; she was alone in your house for months at a time. Bet your ass the minute she found them, she paid someone off to help her out. Whoever she told found Joslyn, and they waited until the perfect day to sucker punch you both. Whoever is behind this has money to obviously pay off the security guards at the courthouse, for Christ’s sake, man. We both know Gwen has a shit ton of money. We both know this, too: Gwen doesn’t have the brains to do this on her own.” My jaw ticks as I tip my head back and pinch my eyes closed. I grip the counter tighter to remain steady. Makes me want to lash out knowing if this is true, it was my money she used. Fucking hell.
I take as many deep breaths as I can in order to collect myself. “It isn’t any of our faults. The only thing you're guilty of is keeping her whereabouts from me. This might stun her for a bit. However, she can handle it. I know she can. The bottom line is, she has a brother. Everything else she needs a little time in order to adjust to the hounds, as we all did in the beginning.” I don’t even know where to begin with this. Gwen and someone else, or someone from Joslyn’s past. The whole thing reeks of filth.
“I believe you. She doesn’t appear to be the type of woman to let them get to her. I’m sorry again, man. If I had told you about Joslyn, the hell you're going through now would be frozen in ice. It’d be over.” That same guilt I’m feeling is laced in his stressed words. Man needs a vacation after dealing with this.
“True. But it isn’t. We’ve dealt with worse; we’ll deal with this, too. There isn’t enough money in the world or the right words to thank you for looking out for this band and Joslyn and me. You’re more to us than our publicist, Marcus. You're our brother. Look, my concern is her and what we need to do about her brother. The paparazzi don’t give a shit about anything except how much money they can make, nor do they give a flying fuck what the hell this is going to do to a woman who was abandoned as a little girl. Fucking hell, Markus. I swear to God I’m about ready to say fuck this life and move to a deserted island and take her with me.” I have to figure out how to tell her. She needs to hear it from me instead of being blindsided with the brutal force of a baseball bat upside her head. Pisses me off that her ruthless so-called parents cared as little about her as the bastards trying to break her do. I’ll never understand people.
Uncurling my grip from the edge of the vanity’s white marble top, I run my hands down my face, catching sight of my troubled expression in the mirror. I don’t know jack shit about her parents any more than I do mine. Never once thought about them or hers in a long time. Any parent who put any damn thing before their own flesh is nothing but scum in my eyes. This news, though, is going to hurt her in a bad way.
That feeling of regret beats down on my chest. Joslyn and I would have given everything up to save our child, and these masochistic fucks never thought twice. Christ, did they give up her brother, too? This is all kinds of fucked up. The thought of all sides coming at her at once makes me want to go apeshit on someone.
“I couldn’t save her back then, couldn’t save my kid. I have to save her now, man. Give me and her through tonight to talk about this. Knowing her, she’s going to leave here soon, whether I want her to or not. She’s worried about a few friends. One of them might be the woman she was with when you saw her. Check with her boss, too. Track them down and make sure they are both alright. Ask them if there’s anything they need, anyone else we should look out for. Take care of this for me while I take care of her.” I rattle off their first names, knowing he has the resources to find them, and disconnect. The need to jump back in the shower and scrub my body raw from this news is tempting me the longer I’m away from her. How the hell am I going to tell her this?
I stare at my phone for a mere second, resisting the urge to call Gwen and threaten I’m slapping a slanderous lawsuit on her ass if she’s behind this. The thing is, this is what she wants out of me. She wants to be the one to pull the trigger and get a deadly reaction from me. If she knew the real me, she would know it’s never going to happen.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I head down the stairs not knowing what to say. The only thing that makes sense to me at the moment is with every step I take, I know this is all going to end with us walking through life in the right direction.
I stop and admire the view as I hit the bottom of the stairs, where I peer into my living room to find her curled up in a ball on my couch. Legs for miles tucked all around her. Hands in a praying gesture tucked under her face.
I haven’t seen anything more peaceful in my life. More stunning either. Hair all messy, lips slightly parted. A vision I never thought I’d see in my house.
I can hear the trepidation in her voice from earlier creating havoc in my head as I watch her sleep. Every word she spoke soaked into my aching chest. They stripped me down. Smashed me and consumed me. It hurts when you listen to someone tell you a tear-jerking story. One of strength and determination to fight. To gain control of the shit life throws at you in a blink of an eye. Raw and brittle truth. Hurting you with an indescribable pain from the inside out. Life can be brutal at times. A gust of wind out of nowhere knocking the air out of your lungs.
I don’t know a damn thing about postpartum depression. I can’t wrap my head around it at all. Not even going to try. What’s done is done. There’s too much other shit trying to wreck her beauty and snuff out her light. One thing I know for sure is, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I’m the man who keeps her shining bright.
I slip away from the doorway. Leaving her be. Food is the last thing on my mind, but we both need to eat.
Tinkering around as quietly as I can, I mix up a salad, grab the lone thawed steak, a beer out of the fridge, and slide out the door to fire up my grill. My phone is going off repeatedly.
“Roman, Jesus, man, do you have any idea how worried we are? This shit is whacked the fuck out. I can’t find a station that doesn’t have the two of you on it. Talk to me. Tell me what I can do. We all have your back; you know this.” Dean Wagner, the band's drummer, roars out on the other end. At forty years old, he has been through more shit than everyone on this team put together. How he’s managed to hang on beats the shit out of me.
Rage begins boiling thinking about his ex and the bullshit she did while we were on the road about five years back. This has nothing on the loss he had to endure. Not even fucking close.
I slouch down in my chair, take a long-needed pull off my beer, and try to calm down. I respect everyone in the band. From the four us to our roadies. We’re a family. A team. Where one goes, the others follow. It’s a bond that nothing or no one will touch.
Suddenly, the events that led me here hit nerve after nerve until my anger grows in my stomach and spikes damn near out of control. Both my legs start bouncing out of infuriation, my attention gazing out in the distance to the Los Angeles skyline. Power and money. Greed and an insatiable hunger to rule this city mean more to people than morals and respect. A fucking harsh environment that’s just waiting to self-destruct. Goddamn shame this place is full of people who will slit someone’s throat to be the one sitting on a throne of lies and deceit. Good thing I’m surrounded by pe
ople who want nothing to do with it.
“I’m thinking about talking, man. Telling them why I got a divorce just to get them off Joslyn’s back.” The hiss coming from his end causes me to simmer the hell down. I drop my head, disgusted at myself.
I lean back, silence pounding in my ears. What I said was wrong. Especially after witnessing firsthand the cruel way life can toss a person around. “Fuck,” I snarl. “Dean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fire off like that. I would never talk to them. Damn it. I’m overly frustrated, quite obviously not thinking clearly.” Dean and his family went through some horrible shit. Every one of us, involved or not, has taken a vow of silence. His ordeal is one of the reasons we stay away from the media. They twist stories and leave destruction behind.
“Stop. I know you didn’t, know you won’t either. Those ratty fuckers know how to fuck with your mind. Don’t let them bring you down. You hear me, Roman? They are not worth it. You let them spew all the shit they want. You take care of her and you. Although, from what Marcus says, she’s quite capable of taking care of herself. If there’s anyone else who needs a place to stay, you can set them up at my place.” He’s right about them; they are ruthless when going after what they want.
Thinking about me taking care of her, though, pulls me back to where I need to be. It lights a smile clear across my face, spreading it larger than it has been in a long-ass time.
“Haven’t wanted anything more than her in my entire life. Both of us fucked up years ago. I do need a favor from you. Joslyn, she needs clothes. She has a friend we could call up to get her what she needs. You and I both know that’d lead to someone else becoming involved. Thought maybe you could see if Leila minded giving me a call.” Leila is Dean’s nineteen-year-old daughter. Attends college at UCLA. The girl loves to shop. Spends most of her time on campus and hanging out with her boyfriend, whom I know Dean can’t stand, but she frequents this neighborhood quite often and knows how to shun the press. There’s no doubt she wouldn’t jump at the chance to help me out. Like father, like daughter.
“Yeah, I’ll call her. You let me know if you need anything else. Hang tight. I mean it, Roman.”
“Don’t worry, man; my grip is deadly tight.”
Knowing she’s back in my life is all I should be concentrating on. Still, I can’t help but wonder who the hell the real culprit behind this is.
I’m making it my number-one mission to find out.
Chapter 7
Joslyn
Liveliness shook throughout the house in a tall, willowy bundle of dark hair and bags of clothes a few hours ago. Any other time the young woman’s excitement would have had me laughing. Not tonight, though. Something was troubling Roman earlier. His mind was somewhere else most of the night. Dodging my concerned expressions, blowing off my questions when I asked what was wrong left and right. I finally gave up trying to talk to him. And, as I sit here in his bed barely able to hold my phone in my hands, I believe I know why.
After I woke up, we ate quietly on the deck. Talked for well over an hour in peace until a couple of helicopters started swarming up above. Roman said the privacy is one of the many reasons why he kept this place. It’s surrounded and tucked up deep in the Hollywood Hills. They’d almost have to be low to the ground and positioned in front of the house to catch a glimpse of the activity off to the side. Needless to say, we opted to come inside. Closed the place up and waited for Leila to show up.
The girl splurged. Spent thousands on clothes I don’t need and refused to take my money. I’m not staying here for very long, no matter what Roman says to try and convince me. Especially after finding out about what has me feeling emotions I never even knew I had.
Leila tried to tell me this entire new wardrobe she brought, where every item was on sale, was courtesy of her mother teaching her how to bargain shop before her dad struck luck the night Roman walked into the bar where he played on the weekends with some hometown band.
“Bargain shopped, my ass,” is what I said after she left and Roman took me upstairs, told me to use the master shower and to get comfortable in his bed. I’m not comfortable at all, and it doesn’t have a darn thing to do with her taking the time to go out of her way to do this for me, or that the scent of an arrogant, sneaky yet sweet man who wants to protect me is penetrating through the vastness of my steel walls. “All in less than twenty-four hours,” I add out loud.
Hearing the story of how Roman and Dean met brought me so much joy that I nearly wept. It took the three of us into a conversation on how the two of them sought out Miles and Brock. They held auditions. I told them they were more of a melting pot than the United States.
Roman told me to stay away from the Internet, but like the curious woman I am, I didn’t listen. My intention was to call Caroline the minute I knew she would be free at the hospital. Upon turning my phone back on and seeing all the missed calls and urgent voicemails, I knew she had heard already. I called her back; panic droned out of my voice, sobs eventually erupted, and after she calmed me down by telling me she could either come over to be with me or stay at the hospital a few days, where the press couldn’t get to her, I felt slightly better. Told her I would be fine here for now. But there was something in her voice that perked up my ears. I know her, and she was hiding something she didn’t want to tell me over the phone.
After hanging up, the distress over what was happening outside of these four walls killed me. I hit my browser, typed in my name with shaky fingers. I didn’t see anything I hadn’t already suspected to be there. My shocked expression from them attacking me was all over the place. Headlines all accusing and wondering if this was the way Roman and I were coming out about our secret affair. The theory of not worrying over spilled milk came to mind, the concept of it being human nature to worry struck me, and I almost shut my phone off when I clicked on a few articles talking about my accident, speculation over how long we had been foster siblings. How people found our relationship strange since we lived under the same roof. All the dumb stuff I can handle and pretty much guessed would be there. Idiots.
For some reason, I kept scrolling for a few more minutes and suddenly stopped when I saw an obituary stating my parents were dead, and right there in black and white was one remaining survivor from the car accident that killed them, and it sure as hell wasn’t my name listed.
It was the name of a seventeen-year-old boy. I gasped, googled his name through blurry eyes. Tears were flowing down my face like a waterfall.
I have a younger brother named Alex Reynolds, who is now twenty-three. I can’t pull my eyes away from his picture. He’s staring back at me with the same-colored, different-shaped eyes as mine proudly in a Marine uniform. I shake my head, unable to believe what I’m seeing. It hurts to breathe. Hurts my heavy heart, makes my head throb in a way no one will understand. Everything hurts right down to my weak bones.
“Hey,” Roman whispers from the door. I sit up further on the bed, feigning a smile. My heart is aching and heavy. The guy is being dragged through hell all because of me, and he still gazes at me as if I’m all he sees. As if my happiness is all that matters to him. I feel the same way about him, only my heart is bleeding out for a different reason now. One I can’t begin to comprehend.
He looks from my face to the phone and back to me again. I hate seeing him wounded for me. I suppose it’s better than pity. I couldn’t cover up my sadness no matter what if I saw pity on him or anyone else when it comes to me. “Never thought I’d have you in my bed without me in it with you. I think I’ll keep you right there. I tried to sleep, then I thought of something. Do you know we’ve not once shared a bed for an entire night?” Regret taps on the lump in my throat. Harder and harder it flickers until the air between us becomes too thick to capture in my lungs. I stare at his torn face and wonder when life is going to decide that the two of us have had enough. Tell us to stop and point us in the right direction. All I want, all anyone wants, is to be happy with the one and only life they are given.
“We tried once, remember? Ruthy came barreling into my room to tell us we couldn’t sleep together under her roof.” I breathe deeply; my foster parents were good people. They weren’t overly affectionate with me or with each other, but they provided for me. Expressed time and time again that because my life had taken a turn in the wrong direction, it didn’t mean I couldn’t turn it back around. Education was drilled into me more than compassion was. I learned the meaning of true love from the man standing a few feet away from me. Guilt lies on my tongue. It dries my mouth out until my throat hurts from trying to swallow it down.
I push away the tears that beg to fall. The crushing rejection from my parents not wanting me hasn’t broken me down in years. They don’t deserve my tears. They deserve nothing at all from me. But my little brother... He deserves everything. I love him already. He’s a part of me I’ll welcome with open arms if that’s what he wants.
What has me wanting to cry at the moment, though, is this overwhelming urge to give in to Roman and have him fuck me until this all fades away. An aggravating decision of what’s wrong versus right. Emotions strong enough they flash in front of my face, confusing me over which way to go with this sudden fork in the road that’s sneaked up on me and placed a difficult choice in the route my life was taking.
“I remember a lot of things about you, Joslyn. The good and the bad. There isn’t anything anyone can say or do to change that. The woman sitting in my bed waiting for me to take her in my arms is the woman I know. She has a beautiful soul, a dangerous mind, and a heart I want more than anything to capture all over again.” His words are purely meant to take my pain away. They do, except they have me wanting him more than anything.
My thighs quiver and shake when he moves from the darkened shadows into the light. Muscles and ridges flex across his smooth bare chest as he climbs into bed beside me. I need to curl into his arms, confine myself in the refuge of his embrace and let him soothe away my chest that’s ripping open with each breath I take.
The Right Direction Page 6