by Kim Loraine
“Gare, hey, where are you going?” Angela pranced over to him, her skin was glowing and he couldn’t help but notice the generous helping of cleavage her tank top offered. He shifted his hips as a wave of lust ran through him. Stop it, stop. Baseball, Grandma at the beach, Mrs. Spence. That did it. Thinking of his witchy second grade teacher never failed.
“Garrett?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry. What’s up?”
“Where are you going? I thought we were going for a drink after I finished.”
He mentally slapped himself. The whole reason he’d endured the torture the last few minutes of the show had become was because she’d asked him out for a drink.
“Yeah, I was . . . just heading to the bathroom.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She giggled and waved him off. “I’ll meet you outside?”
“Yeah, great.”
He navigated the twists and turns of the corridors that would lead him to a bathroom and fought for control of his nerves. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like she was going to confess her undying love for him tonight. Was she? In a perfect world she’d drop the charade with Aiden and let the pact dissolve. An ache started in his jaw as he faced himself in the bathroom mirror. Don’t be an idiot. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder about all the possibilities tonight might bring.
After pulling himself together, he wandered outside to the back of the arena. She was waiting in the cold. Her leather jacket zipped up to the top and she’d changed out of her shorts and tights in favor of jeans and boots. Back to his Angela.
He couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his lips as he watched her. She fidgeted with her zipper, shifted from foot to foot, shoved her hands in her pockets, then took them out again. Was she as nervous as he felt? Maybe he wasn’t an idiot after all.
“Hey,” he said as he closed the distance between them.
Her eyes connected with his and his heart stuttered. “Hey.”
“Should I get a cab?”
“Called one already. Two minutes.”
“Awesome.” He took up the space next to her, leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder.
“I miss you, Gare.” The sadness in her voice caused his chest to tighten. He didn’t want to be the cause of her unhappiness.
“Me, too.”
“How can we fix this?”
He shrugged. He needed to be the bigger person and do what he’d said he’d do all along. Wait.
“We’re not broken. I just need to get over myself.” He pushed off the wall and took her arm. “And that’s what I’ll do, starting now. I promise. Consider the pact reinstated. No more kissing you.”
She gave him a weak smile and tightened her arm in his as the cab pulled up. “Good. Let’s go drink and talk like we used to. Maybe we could make a little music?”
He nodded and fought off the urge to brush her hair from her face. “Sounds good.”
Angela wrinkled her nose as the smoky air of the bar coated her skin like a grimy film. She’d been in plenty of smoke-filled bars over the years, but the initial assault on her senses always bothered her. The bar was crowded, a country band played on the stage, and couples sat at small tables sharing snacks and drinking. The two of them went unnoticed, and it was glorious. Enjoying the feeling of being ordinary again, she and Garrett grabbed seats at the bar.
“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.
“Jack and coke.” Angela looked at Garrett and grinned at his stupefied expression. “He’ll have the same.”
She forced a chuckle as she watched him, a niggling strand of jealousy working its way into her head. The bartender was a gorgeous brunette with skintight jeans and curves women would pay big bucks for. “Don’t fall into her cleavage.”
His guilty expression said it all. Busted.
“It’s fine. Even I had to look,” she admitted.
They sipped at their drinks in companionable silence. She was hyper-aware of his thigh brushing against hers, the spicy scent of him—somehow more appealing than it had ever been.
“So, Aiden and I were asked to come on The Rich Morton Show in a few weeks,” she offered, attempting to distract herself from his appeal.
Deep brown eyes connected with hers and an unwelcome fluttering began low in her belly.
“Wow, that’s a really big deal. This song is really taking off, huh?” He took a long pull from his drink and offered a weak grin.
“It’s just one song.”
“And a fake relationship . . .”
Her heart hammered as he uttered the words. “Shh, someone might hear you.”
“I’m not so sure it’s fake for him,” he muttered under his breath.
The spark of anger in her belly flared at his comment. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Okay, sorry. What should we talk about?”
“We don’t spend any time together anymore. I miss my writing partner. I miss the feeling I get when we make something good.”
“I miss that, too.” Those beautiful eyes found hers again, and she squirmed in her seat.
The music had stopped and the band stepped down from the stage. They applauded politely, though they really hadn’t been listening. She watched with mild interest as a wannabe cowboy with the beginnings of a beer belly sauntered up to the microphone.
“Excuse me just a minute, y’all.” He held up a hand. “It was just brought to our attention that we’ve got ourselves two thirds of Panic Station sittin’ right over there at the bar.”
“Oh, God,” she muttered, feeling her face redden.
Garrett grinned at her like an idiot. “This is so cool.”
Wannabe Cowboy waved at them. “So, maybe we can persuade them to give us a little show. What do y’all think?”
The crowd cheered and whooped. She looked from the stage to Garrett, then back.
“Shall we?” he asked, holding a hand out to her.
She shrugged and grinned. “I guess so.”
Garrett grabbed the offered guitar and she walked over to the piano unsure of what song they should play. Her palms were sweaty as she ran her fingers over the keys.
He came around and whispered, “Only,” in her ear. A chill ran up her spine. That was the last song they’d written together, right before the tour. No one had heard it.
She leaned up to the microphone and adjusted it before clearing her throat. “Hi, my name’s Angela Peters and this is Garrett Donalson. This song is called Only.”
Garrett counted off and they played. As she sang and he harmonized, she felt close to tears. The lyrics were so painful now, now that she knew what they really meant. He’d written this about her, about them, how he felt, and she’d ignored it. As the song died down to the last strains, her heart clenched.
She watched him watch her and couldn’t quell the urge to feel his arms around her. As soon as the crowd was applauding she jumped up and strode toward him. Alarm registered on his face as she approached and he quickly handed off the guitar before her arms were around him. Burying her face in his chest to hide the tears, she held him tightly.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she choked out.
He hugged her to him and kissed the top of her head. “I know.”
Aiden’s brows were knit together as he unwound the strings on his gorgeous electric guitar. Angela grinned as she walked down the hall toward him. She still hadn’t come down from the high she’d felt the night before at her impromptu performance with Garrett.
“Is that a PRS?” she asked.
His gaze shot up to meet hers. “Yeah.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She admired the tobacco sunburst finish that started with a fiery wood grain in the center and darkened from red to black at the edges. S
uch a classy instrument.
“Another custom job?” she questioned when he didn’t say anything else.
“No. This was the first guitar I bought with my own money.” He finished removing the strings and started applying careful coats of polish to the wood.
“Nice choice. I think my first guitar was silver with sparkles.”
A small smile quirked up the corner of his mouth.
“Did I do something to upset you?”
He didn’t look at her again, just pulled his phone out and began scrolling through it. Frustration gripped her. This wasn’t like him. As she was gearing up to tell him just how annoyed he was making her he shoved his phone at her.
“You need to be more careful.”
Apprehension tingled at the back of her head. Pictures of her with Garrett at the bar, his hand on her back, their thighs touching, looking into each other’s eyes, embracing, and a video of their performance.
“I didn’t realize . . .”
“Is there something between you two?” Aiden sounded hurt.
“I . . . no, nothing.”
“It looks like it to me. His behavior would make a hell of a lot more sense, too.”
“He thinks there’s something between us. I’ve told him it’s not an option. We’re trying to fix our friendship and move past it.”
Aiden raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not into him?”
Her phone rang as she was about to offer a denial. She shot him an apologetic glance and he waved her away, returning to pampering his guitar.
“Hello?”
“What. The. Fuck. Angela.”
“Marcus.”
“What is wrong with you? You don’t cheat on the sexiest man alive and expect the public to love you still.”
“I didn’t cheat on him.”
Marcus grumbled. “It looks like you fucking did. An intimate show with Garrett, drinks, hugging, and he fucking kissed you. You need to start thinking that cameras are everywhere because they are. You’re in the spotlight, like it or not.”
Her chest tightened as anxiety overtook her. “I’m sorry. Garrett and I are best friends. I wasn’t thinking . . .”
“Right, you weren’t fucking thinking. Look, you can’t get away with cheating on the rock star. The rock star can cheat on you because that’s what he does. You cheat on him and you’ll just be another wannabe who tried to slut her way to the top.”
Her mouth was dry, and she tried to swallow so she could get the words out. “It won’t happen again.”
“You bet your tight little ass it won’t. You need to invest more time and energy into Aiden. Write more with him, be seen being affectionate. You need to play it up to make up for this misstep. And tell Garrett to find a different place to put his dick. You’re legs are closed.”
He hung up leaving her hands shaking and an ember of rage smoldering in her chest.
“You all right?” Aiden’s voice was soft. He’d heard every word most likely.
“No.”
He set the guitar aside and opened his arms to her. She went willingly, needing some comfort, something to erase the confusion she felt.
“I can’t do this, Aiden. I’m not this person.”
“Can’t do what?”
“I feel like a liar and a whore. We’re not in love, we’re friends.”
His lips settled on her temple. “That’s how love starts.”
“You don’t love me.”
“But I could.”
She looked up at him, wanting so badly to have something be easy. She couldn’t have Garrett, shouldn’t want to have him, and they’d finally put their feelings back in the box where they belonged. This thing with Aiden would be so much easier if she didn’t have to pretend.
His face was so close and he smelled so good. She gave in to temptation and pressed her lips to his, once. This was the first kiss she’d initiated, the first one in private, unpublicized. She started to pull away but he caught her by the nape of the neck and shifted his body so she was crushed to his chest as he deepened the kiss. Her head swam with the rush of it all, the taste of his mouth, the scratch of a five o’clock shadow on her skin.
She pulled away from him, breathless, but fighting the memories of Garrett’s lips on her. She pushed the thoughts of him to the back of her mind and tried to focus on the rock god in front of her. “I’ve never been in a relationship.”
“Never?”
She shook her head. “It’s a distraction I can’t afford.”
“Baby doll, look around you. You’re where you want to be. You’ve got it.”
She knew he was right. She was sitting on her convictions like they were all she had left, but in reality she was scared. Maybe she could try. Aiden was hot, she was supposed to pretend to be with him anyway. She could do worse for her first relationship.
Garrett was a forever kind of guy. She wasn’t ready for forever. Forever could be lost with something as simple as the strike of a match. She’d seen it.
Chapter 13
Four years earlier
The crisp, black dress she wore was stifling. Angela pulled at the white Peter Pan collar and shifted in her heels. The church was a sea of black clothes and grim faces, all staring at the flag-draped casket which held the fallen firefighter, John Oliver. Valerie took her hand and squeezed as the sound of bagpipes pierced the air and the procession of family and fellow firefighters began.
It broke her heart to see John’s mother, a stoic expression on her usually kind face. But the sight of Grace McConnell, as she walked down the aisle, face pale and eyes haunted, was something Angela was unlikely to forget.
As they took their seats and the service began, Angela caught sight of Donovan in the mass of firefighters. They’d all worn their dress blues, all looked pained, all a little broken, but he was shattered.
“This is heartbreaking,” she whispered in Valerie’s ear.
Her sister nodded, dabbed at her eyes, and took a shuddering breath.
Angela didn’t listen to the eulogy, she didn’t take in the beautiful words Father Charles spoke, she just stared at the portrait of John in his uniform which was propped on an easel next to the casket. John had always been kind to her. He’d been there for her family after Simon’s death, helped Valerie get the job as Grace’s assistant, and had always made sure to acknowledge Angela’s presence. He’d told her once that he’d never met a person who wasn’t important in some way.
As the family filtered out of the church, Angela caught Donovan’s eyes and sent him a look, asking if he was doing all right. He offered her a curt nod and flicked his gaze back to the family, saluting as the pallbearers brought the casket past.
“Poor Michael,” Valerie said as they headed out to the parking lot.
“We know how awful it is to lose a brother,” she agreed.
Valerie shook her head. “No, I mean, yes, but he traded shifts with John. He was supposed to be working that night.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was there when he asked John. We were all having dinner because Grace thought it would be a good idea to try and set us up.”
“Really? Has she met you? Broody firefighter is so not your type.”
As they got in the car Valerie’s phone rang.
“Hi, Mom.”
Valerie sighed and held the phone away from her ear. The sound of a baby crying carried even through the small speaker.
“Yeah, we’re heading to the graveside burial now.”
The idea of more bagpipes, hearing the last call for John on the radio, watching his family as he was lowered into the ground made Angela uncomfortable. She’d never been to a firefighter funeral before this one, but Donovan had shared the details.
“Sure, we’ll be ho
me in a few hours.”
She could hear her mother’s voice over the cries of their new baby brother, Asher. He was taking a toll on their mother’s sleep schedule. By the time Valerie hung up, Angela had put together that they needed to go to the store, get more diapers, and bring home some kind of food.
“Asher?” she asked.
Valerie nodded. “Mom swears none of us ever had colic.”
“I don’t know, but if she wanted to provide a case for birth control, that baby definitely got the job done. I am never having kids.”
“Talk to me in five years. You and Garrett will probably be married.”
“Garrett?” she’d never told her sister about the one heated moment she’d shared with him years ago.
“It’s pretty obvious. You’re totally in love with him.”
She shook her head, fighting the heat that crept up her cheeks. “No. He’s off limits. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s got a girlfriend over at Berklee. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve made a decision. Until the band makes it, no relationships and no distractions. I’m focusing on the band and my music.”
Valerie’s phone rang again, this time a look of worry crossed her face. “It’s Grace. I’m sorry. She’s a mess.”
A pang of grief washed through her at the mention of Grace and she nodded when Valerie stepped out of the car.
Pulling out her own phone, Angela sent a text to Garrett.
Funeral is over. So sad.
She got a response almost immediately.
Are you okay?
A soft smile spread over her lips.
I’m fine. Wish you were here.
She waited for a response but nothing came. He was probably busy working on something . . . or someone.
Chapter 14