Resonance (A Golden Beach Novel)

by Kim Loraine

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “Yes, the model. Now Parker, I’ve had my assistant checking out potential dates for you and we’ve narrowed it down to—”

  “No. No way, man. I’m engaged.”

  “Excuse me? When did this happen?” Dark lines deepened around Marcus’ frown.

  “Jason and I got engaged during the break between the tour legs.”

  “Jason?”

  Parker sat up and squared his shoulders, jutting his chin in defiance. “Yes. Jason.”

  “You’re gay?”

  “Yep.”

  Marcus growled something unintelligible under his breath, then swiped a hand over his jaw and sighed.

  “Married and gay alienates you from your target audience, which is eighteen to twenty-five year old girls. Gay is too mainstream at this point. And there aren’t enough openly gay stars out there we could place you with.” His eyes brightened as a thought came to him. “Wait, you’re not trans are you? We could sell that story. We could possibly even get you your own reality series. But just being gay won’t get you very far anymore. It’s not interesting enough.”

  Parker shot to his feet, eyes blazing. “What the fuck is this? No, I’m not trans. I’m gay, and either way I’m not selling out and pretending Jason doesn’t exist.”

  Garrett had been clenching his teeth so hard he thought they’d break as the conversation kept getting worse. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Get the fuck out, Marcus,” he said in a controlled voice, unwilling to betray himself and let the emotions come out.

  Marcus chuckled, rose, and straightened his clothes before strolling past them.

  “It’s a tough life. The spotlight isn’t for everyone, boys. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter 32

  Two years earlier

  Garrett sighed and let his duffel bag fall to the floor as he crossed the threshold of his family’s home. He’d done it—graduated from Berklee. It felt so good to be back permanently; no professors waiting for projects, no clingy quasi girlfriends hanging around waiting for him to write them songs. He was home, where he wanted to be. Here the only things waiting for him were his family and his band.

  As soon as he settled, he turned around with a quick goodbye to his mom and drove the short distance to Parker’s house. They needed to make a plan for their band. It was time to focus on their goal of fame and fortune. They’d taken time off and gone to college, all while maintaining a steady stream of gigs during the summers. However, now it was time to hit the ground running and branch out.

  Parker was lounging out back when Garrett arrived. The formerly sparse area had been transformed into something out of a magazine.

  “This is fucking fantastic,” Garrett said by way of greeting.

  Parker grinned and swept an arm across the area, gesturing to the view of the crashing waves, and the enclosed fire pit and deep cushioned couches which used to be only driftwood logs and sand.

  “Mom said it needed a makeover.”

  Garrett nodded and took the beer his friend pulled out of an ice chest. “Mom was right. Holy shit, dude. No wonder you never got a job.”

  “Uh, I have a job. I’m a wicked good bass player, and we’re going to be famous.”

  Garrett tipped back his beer and took a swig. “Right.”

  “So, home for good. How’s it feel?”

  Garrett shrugged. “About the same as always. I’m ready to really get the band going though. We’ve been in a holding pattern over the last few years and I feel like we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

  Parker held up a hand. “Say no more. I have a plan.”

  Garrett responded with a cautious eyebrow raise. Parker’s plans were rarely very well thought out.

  “Seriously. You need to move in. We can keep your kit set up all the time. None of the neighbors will complain. We can work on our stuff whenever we want. And the best part is, my dad sent our demo to this guy he knows. He loved it and wants to talk to us about a record deal.”

  Garrett nearly spit his drink all over Parker’s nice new couches. “No fucking way. You said you’d never ask your parents to use their connections.”

  “I didn’t. My dad picked up a demo at our last show before you went back to Boston. He sent it in without asking me.”

  “Holy shit. Does Angie know?”

  Parker nodded, grinning like an idiot. “She said almost the exact same thing. Dude, this is it. This is our chance.”

  “When does he want to meet us?”

  “He said in a few weeks. That gives us time to get some more material pulled together and polished.”

  “We need a solid set for him. Something to show him how good we are live but we want him to know we can handle a studio, too.”

  His mind was going a million miles a minute. He’d just gotten home from four years of formal education, his backup plan in case things didn’t work out with the band. Now he was weeks away from the thing they’d always dreamed.

  “So, I guess you’re moving in?” Parker asked as he took a seat and kicked back, calm and confident.

  “Fuck yes. This is amazing. Is Angie moving in, too?” The small spark of hope that burned in his chest ignited at the idea of her living with him.

  “Nah, she’s got her own place. Miss Independent. Besides, you two living together is a recipe for disaster.”

  “Why would you say that? We made a pact. We’re not going there again.”

  Parker laughed. “I wasn’t talking about your raging hormones. I meant, you two are basically the same person. You’d be butting heads rather than bumping uglies. It could get bad in here.”

  “You have a point. You’re a jackass, but you definitely have a point.”

  As he took another pull from his bottle, Parker stood and walked into the kitchen. “I’m grilling burgers. You can do the dishes. Angie will be here in about an hour so you should probably go get your stuff and your drums. We’ve got a lot of practicing to do.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?”

  “When did you get so gung-ho to practice?”

  Parker shook his golden hair out dramatically. “Since we started getting the attention we deserve. I’m not cut out to be a house husband.”

  Chapter 33

  The photoshoot had been awkward, to say the least. The only consolation was that Angela’s sister’s best friend, Lena Shirakawa, had been her photographer. Angela sat in the back of the car, happy to be out of the lingerie and stilettos she’d been forced to pose in. Her entire nether region felt bruised from the wax she’d endured the day before. As she flipped open the vanity mirror in the car she barely recognized herself. Her makeup was caked on. She’d been contoured and highlighted until she looked like a stranger.

  Her phone rang—Garrett, again. With a guilty conscience, she sent him straight to voicemail. She’d been ignoring him since the conference with Marcus, unsure how to handle the disaster that was her career.

  As the car crawled along in rush hour traffic, she dialed Valerie’s number.

  “Hey, Angie. What’s going on?” Her sister’s voice was light and cheerful. The idea that someone was happy brought a slight smile to her lips.

  “Nothing. I just finished a photoshoot for Rolling Stone.” In the back of her mind she added the words, and I look like a high-priced hooker.

  “Wow. God, that’s amazing.” She giggled on the other end of the line. “Did you need something?”

  “Are you busy?”

  Another giggle came over the line, followed by a whispered, “Stop it, Donovan.”

  “I can call back, Val. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. Donovan was just leaving anyway. What’s up?”

  “Is everything
okay with Lena and Michael?”

  “What? Why do you ask?” All traces of humor left Valerie’s voice.

  “Lena was my photographer. She seemed, um, upset when I asked her about married life.”

  “Things have been kind of crazy for them. They’re having a hard time. I can’t really talk about it.”

  That was surprising. Lena and Michael had eloped in Vegas, sure, but they seemed so in love.

  “That’s too bad. I hope they can work it out.”

  “Me, too. It sucks.”

  The car pulled to a stop in front of her apartment building while she and Valerie continued talking about everything and nothing. It was so nice to just relax and be her normal self.

  When the elevator doors opened, her heart stopped. “Val, I’ve got to go,” she said, hanging up without waiting to hear from her sister.

  Garrett was waiting for her, leaned up against the door to her apartment. His dark eyes found hers as soon as she stepped out of the elevator and a grin lit his face.

  “Hey, stranger.” His voice was light, almost teasing, but she could see the tension on his face.

  “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  “Am I not supposed to want to see you?”

  She looked around the surrounding area for signs of paparazzi and worried at her lower lip with her teeth.

  “No, it’s not that. We just . . . we can’t . . .”

  His soft smile vanished. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  She didn’t want to do this outside in the hallway. This was a conversation best left for the privacy of her home.

  “Keep your voice down. Come on. We can talk inside.”

  As soon as the door shut, she expected him to launch into a tirade about their situation. Instead, he surprised her by pressing his lips to hers, tangling her hair in his hands, and kissing her until her knees wobbled and her breath came in harsh gasps.

  “I should piss you off more often,” she couldn’t help but say.

  The sadness in his eyes caused an icy lump to form in her chest. “Why can’t we be seen together? You’re not with Aiden anymore. We should be free to be together.”

  She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t know how, really. How could she tell the man she loved that she couldn’t be seen with him in public?

  “Backbeat has me on a tight leash right now. That video . . . it fucked everything up for us. I can’t be seen with you. They’ll drop me.”

  “Drop you? Just you, not the band?”

  “Us. They’ll drop us.”

  He raked a hand through his hair and groaned in frustration. “Dammit, Angie. I can’t keep doing this. If we’re together, I want to be together. I’m not the kind of man who can sneak around and beg for your scraps of time. It was hard enough to do that when I thought there was an end date in sight. Now . . . this could go on forever.”

  She knew he was right. It wasn’t fair. Not to him, or her.

  “I knew this was a bad idea. Don’t make me choose, Gare. Not now.”

  “Choose? I’m telling you right now, for me there’s only one choice. I’ll choose you every damn time. I’d give everything up if it meant I could have you for the rest of my life.”

  These were words she never thought she wanted to hear from anyone. Now that he was standing in front of her, saying these wonderful things, she wanted to cry.

  “I can’t. Not yet. Just be patient. A little more time and it will all blow over.”

  He walked away from her and pressed a palm against the wall, eyes focused on the ground. She watched his shoulders move with his breaths, his fingers tensed and relaxed as he gathered his composure.

  “No,” he whispered, so softly she didn’t think she’d heard him right.

  As she stepped toward him, hand outstretched to touch his back, he turned. His face a raw mask of hurt and anger.

  “Gare?”

  “No. You can’t keep expecting me to wait. This isn’t a relationship. Not the way it should be. I want to love you, but not in the shadows. I’m done hiding.”

  Her eyes burned as the gravity of the moment hit her. This was it. She could either give up her dream or give up everything she hadn’t known she wanted.

  Her phone chirped on the table and she reflexively glanced at the message.

  Grammy buzz for Panic Station, best new artist—Aiden

  Her chest ached. There it was, proof that she needed to stay focused. Everything inside her had screamed for her not to let Garrett go—not to throw his love away. But then she’d looked at that damn text.

  “We need time.”

  He dropped his gaze to her phone, and she watched the anger take over.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” His voice broke on the last words and before she could say anything he was through her door and closing it behind him.

  She should have run after him. That was what her heart was aching to do. Sensibility and stubbornness kept her rooted to the spot, one hand pressed to the door, the other covering her mouth—working to keep the sobs at bay.

  Garrett sat at the bar, his beer getting warm and his shoes sticking to the floor. He’d been here for hours, nursing the same drink. The bartended had been subtly trying to move him along all night. It had been a week since he’d left her, left his heart in her doorway, and his chest still ached like someone had rammed a stake through it.

  “Buddy, two drink minimum. You’ve been taking up that stool for three hours.” The bartender gave him a stern look.

  Garrett glanced around the bar. The place was a dive—an empty dive. He shrugged and proceeded to chug the remnants of his beer.

  “Tequila, double.” He placed a fifty on the bar and downed the shot as soon as it arrived. “Keep them coming.”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and filled another shot glass.

  By last call the room was spinning, but he couldn’t remember the pain anymore. Angela was just another in a series of fuzzy thoughts. He couldn’t think about anything for longer than a few seconds, and that made him more relaxed than he’d been in six months.

  He fought the urge to fall asleep right there at the bar. He failed. A gentle hand woke him and assaulted him all at the same time. It was her hand. Angela. How had she found him? He could smell the perfume of her skin—that soft vanilla sweetness that drove him wild—and for the first time he wanted to run.

  Pushing away from her, he made himself stagger toward the door. He’d find his own damn way home.

  “Gare, don’t do this. Let me drive you.”

  Her voice felt like needles in his heart. Worse than any tattoo he’d ever had.

  “No. If I get in a car with you I’ll lose my nerve.”

  Her beautiful face was glowing from the lights that swung above her head. Why were the lights swinging? Were they having an earthquake? The ground came rushing up to greet his face and he heard a soft cry from Angela as darkness took hold.

  Garrett woke with a thick tongue and a pounding headache—in his bed. He was in his bed. How had that happened? His eyes stung from the smoky bar. He grimaced as he sat up, tasting the residual burn of vomit in his mouth.

  “Ugh,” was all he could muster.

  He needed water, a shower, and a whole bottle of pain relief. Turning to throw the blankets off his legs, he caught sight of the big glass of water and the bottle of aspirin on his bedside table.

  “Thank you, Parker,” he muttered.

  He threw back half of the glass and a couple of the chalky, white pills before shuffling to the shower. While he waited for the water to warm he brushed his teeth, riding himself of the nasty aftertaste of tequila.

  “Jose, Jose, you are a terrible friend,” he said to himself as he stepped under the spray of hot water.

  He was
honestly surprised he didn’t feel worse. Then again, he must’ve been sick at least once before passing out. It was only after he’d finished washing away the grime of his hangover that he remembered her. Just a flash of her at the bar.

  Parker was scowling at a video game when Garrett finally stepped foot outside the confines of his room. His friend arched a blond eyebrow and cast him a sidelong glance as he crossed the room.

  “You still alive? I thought you were dying last night.”

  Garrett grimaced. “Was it that bad?”

  “Oh, yeah. You fucking puked all over yourself. I’m glad something pulled you out of your funk. Sometimes you can be a moody bitch. You guys go out to celebrate the news?”

  A sick feeling that had nothing to do with his hangover took hold in his gut.

  “News?”

  “Yeah, the early Grammy buzz? Best new artist.”

  “Oh, right. Yeah.” He’d forgotten all about that. The last week had been a blur of raw emotions and excuses to ditch practice.

  “Haven’t seen Angie in a few days, aside from last night when you puked on her. You think she’ll come for practice today?”

  Her name hit him like a shock of cold water and he glanced at the door, expecting to see her standing there. She hadn’t told Parker what had happened between them. She’d just taken him home, cleaned him up, and left. Why had she come to get him at all?

  “Uh, I don’t know. I think she’s busy today.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit!”

  Garrett snapped his head back to Parker, about to offer up a rebuttal but realized his friend was yelling at the video game he was playing.

  “Is there still coffee?”

  Parker shook his head. “Dude, it’s after noon. There might be a Coke in the fridge.”

  He shuddered at the thought of starting his day with anything other than coffee, no matter how late of a start he got.